guilty pleasure monday: three little birds (bob marley and the wailers)
Jul 19th, 2010 by wrekehavoc

when the going gets tough in this house, the tough get bob marley.

my go-to guy when i start to get a little loco en la cabeza is none other than rastaman himself, bob marley. his music has always hit me in a place that nearly always soothes me into nirvana (or a reasonable facsimile thereof.) and three little birds to me is just like my own personal prayer to the universe. yes, i was delusional enough to believe that i didn’t need meds when i was going into labor with BC; all i needed was my boombox loaded with legend and i was all set.  (and yes; i really did try that. got special permission from the hospital to bring in a boombox and everything. only too bad for me, it turned out that i really, really, r e a l l y needed those meds. trust me, even bob himself showing up from the dead in my delivery room with a giant spliff in his hand would not have done anything except give me another man to yell at.) still, my kids are aware (or at least, BC is aware) that when i’m really stressed, i often turn this song on. it’s like a simple mantra on a never-ending loop. and for me, labor notwithstanding, it works.

i’ve been humming the damn song in my head for the past two weeks straight.

the week prior, BC took the train with her uncle middlebro to visit my parents. she wanted some time without me and without jools. sadly, not only was their train car without air conditioning on the 103F day (hey, thanks a lot, AMTRAK!), but my parents’ AC also died once she got there. long story short, i ended up driving with The Boy up to grandma’s house, where we proceeded to live like nomads for three days until PSE&G could come and fix their air.  we had fun staying at uncle middlebro’s house and at hotels; but to put it very kindly,  it was not the visit anyone had expected.

we then returned to our home, already a work in progress. we are in the last week or two of the renovation process. except for the day when i returned home to find a giant hole drilled through my concrete basement floor (and props to my good friend richard, who came over that day to borrow our laundry machines only to discover — at the same time i did — that people were busy unearthing jimmy hoffa all around the washer and dryer. to his credit, richard didn’t even murder me and still speaks to me, both plusses.), the process has gone relatively smoothly. sure, there are moments when i would have liked a little more lead time to purchase paints and other items, but it has worked out pretty well.

that being said, living in a few prescribed rooms is beginning to get old. the kids are hating camping out in the family room, BC on the couch, jools in a sleeping bag beside her on the floor. (well, in truth, BC and her back are hating it; i suspect jools loves the company every night.) BS is audibly mumbling about moving his office out of our bedroom and back into the tiny room where it belongs and where it has more sustained cable internet access. and me? because the kids are sleeping in the family room, home of the HDTV,  i have stuff from netflix that i’ve been waiting to watch for going on four months now.

but we’re working it. BS and jools were to be off to cub scout CubWorld (6 and 7 year old boys running amuck! camping! BB Guns! clearly BS’s idea of paradise) on friday, leaving BC and me free reign in the house until sunday night.  SQUEE! you would think, right? only we were left in a house that reeked horribly of floor refinishing fumes, leaving me to turn off the AC and open windows so that people could breathe. and oh, thursday night, there was this little matter of a gas smell in the basement, resulting in a call to washington gas to come and check things out. (glad it wasn’t a real urgent emergency; it took them about two hours to get here, by which time we could have been blown to kingdom come and come again.) the wash gas person kindly dealt with the little leak and explained that some of the smell were those lovely toxic floor fumes hitting the furnace and burning up.


so it was going to take some time for the gas smell to dissipate. (no way in hell i was turning on the stove this weekend.) meanwhile, i had then closed up the windows and turned on the air. sadly, the thermostat is currently in the basement, as it has been moved during the renovation. because i’m a little thick on such things, i now know that one must turn it down really low so that the rest of the house has a fighting chance to actually cool down. oops. i didn’t know that; so when BC and her pal were going to have a slumber party friday night, the house was pushing 80F and certifiably tropical. they ended up sleeping at her friend’s house (bless her mom!)

this left me alone FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME IN MY ENTIRE LIFE AS A MOM. (that’s nearly 12 years for those of you counting.) did i dance drunk and naked around the house? of course i didn’t. i was still worried about being blown the fuck-all out of here by the remaining gas in the basement. the house was hotter than a witch’s fart. oh, and the fumes were making me nauseous and giving me a stupendous headache.  so what did i do? i painted a few colors on the walls with my home depot paint tester cans — because what’s a few more fumes, right? — then settled in to watch a 20-20 show about a murder that made me want to go to bed with a baseball bat beside me.  and then, the lightning storm started, reminding me that i had moved everyone’s bike and scooter onto the lawn, getting them wet and making them sitting duck lightning rods.  i ran outside in the pouring rain after midnight, took one look at the thundering light, and thought, crap, i’m not bringing that stuff  in or else i will end up deep-fried.. move along, lightning, move along…

i laid there in bed for literally hours, unsure as to whether i was going to meet my Maker via heat stroke, asphyxiation, electrocution, murder, or simply explosion.

after four solid hours of sleep, i was annoyed to be awakened by the sounds of hammers on my neighbor’s renovation project. they weren’t in the wrong, of course, though i was surprised that they were doing that sort of work before 7 on a saturday morning. but wasn’t their fault i was up all night. but then again, i was also delighted to still be walking amongst the living, so i found my silver lining.

so, the weekend continued, a sleepy flurry of home depot visits, a walk in the mall with BC (who, along with me, got busted at Claires for trying to take a picture of each other wearing obnoxious sunglasses — apparently, it is verboten to do so), and moving things out of the way of the painters…  i was completely strung out and overtired and overstressed. bob marley played feverishly through my brain: my own personal serenity now prayer. and then, as i dropped BC off at her buddy E’s house saturday evening for her second sleepover for the weekend, E’s mom, one of my dear friends, invited me to join them for dinner. her dad put a glass of wine in my hand. i helped my friend bake some chocolate chip cookies for church the next day. in short, i had a lovely evening with her family; it was absolutely what i needed.

in short, i am convinced that bob marley does answer all prayers.

guilty pleasure monday: misty mountain hop (led zeppelin)
May 24th, 2010 by wrekehavoc

Why don’t you take a good look at yourself and describe what you see
And baby, baby, baby, do you like it?

today’s guilty pleasure monday brought to you by the letter C for camping.

those of you who know me in real life know i love nature. oh yes, i really, truly do… love to hike in it, love to play in it, love to search in it. and then, at the end of the day, i like returning back to my home or a lodge or a resort of some sort, nicely appointed with electricity, bathrooms within the building, and nature coexisting outside the confines of my indoor world.  i like indoor plumbing, i like restaurants, and i loveloveLOVE showers. (i’m high maintenance like that.)

so it came as a huge surprise to everyone when i agreed to join our girl scout troop as we embarked on a cabin camping trip to misty mount in the beautiful catoctins. after all, the one and only stipulation i had made when i agreed to help my dear friend M as she led our troop was no camping.  i’ll do lots of things with the troop if asked; i’m generally not a shrinking violet. but please dear Dog, no overnights in the great outdoors. at least, not for me.

in short, i am not a happy camper.

i know this, not from experience but from knowing what camping entails. if i don’t like when ants come into my home, i know i won’t enjoy whatever more interesting wildlife decides to say howdy-do while i’m trying to get some shuteye. i like climate control. i like having a bathroom nearby, one i don’t need to put clothes on in order to pee in the middle of the night, should, ehhem, nature call me. yet somehow, i threw the whole to thine own self be true biz to the wind. and i brought jools and BS up into it for good measure because why shouldn’t we all have fun together! after all, it’s not roughing it. it’s cabin camping! (which my more experienced friends said is a cakewalk in comparison to tent camping.) there’s a building with bathroooms and showers, just a short walk from our cabin. and one my friends graciously organized the whole she-bang, and lots of other families were bringing food and knew what to do.

so thanks to target, we had sleeping bags, we had mess kits, and we had liftoff.

BS was being a super-good sport when he went along with us; i offered to leave him home, but i think the idea of me being lost up in the maryland mountains with the kids probably compelled him to refuse my offer. he, like queen victoria, was not amused, but he came along anyway, bless his pointed little head. we arrived in the sunshine, somewhere before 1pm. the folks who had slept over friday night left us a note; they were hiking, but lunch foodstuffs were available and we should help ourselves. very very kind of them! another mom, her daughter, and another scout were there, so the mom took the kids, including BC and jools, on a mini hike while i waited for BS to walk back from the parking lot, where he had to leave our car. when he returned, he and i decided to hike a little hike ourselves.

now the thing about hiking here is that there actually are no paths. you really are walking through woods, over streams, and into mushy things that may end up on your pants when you sink in them (not that i would know about that personally, though my jeans are currently swirling in round two of my mini-wash-a-thon at the moment in the hopes that nature will leave my levis alone.) and when you’re a person who has fractured, then sprained one of her ankles, you tend to remember that perhaps unsure ground is not the place you ought to be walking until after you’ve had the surgery to fix said ankle and then have had a few months of physical therapy. but of course, this all had been realized as BS and i were deep in the woods.

gee, i hope we can actually find our way back, i mused aloud, fiddling in my pockets in search of crumbs i could start throwing onto the ground. just in case.

fortunately, we soon heard the happy chatter of our kids with the other girls and mom, and we knew we were on the right track. and if i only walked ever so carefully, i would make it back up the hill to our campsite without requiring a med-evac transport. which i did. yay me! well, yay, BS, who held his hand out, gentlemanly, at certain pivotal moments. (like the one, for instance, where i didn’t want to jump down this one giant rock onto the lower rocks at the stream. but i digress.) how cool is this camping business, i thought. it’s sunny, it’s fun, and food is involved!

the others returned, and we proceeded to have a fun afternoon. kids played, grownups ate and chatted, and other than BC getting stung twice by a wasp or yellowjacket on her knuckle (her pal H was stung just before she was) and having her middle finger look like it was blown up and ready to fly in the macy’s thanksgiving day parade, it was a lovely time. i brought benadryl, and since the girl had never been stung by anything in her life besides a mosquito and some sharp criticism, i gave some to her, hoping she wouldn’t have a reaction. and hooray hooray, other than a big old blownup finger, she seemed to keep breathing.

then, the deluge.

grownups made some awesome food in spite of the buckets of rain that came down. i am so very, very thankful to the others who brought so much delicious food and who knew how to prepare it out in a camp situation. (i saw my first camp stove, and in short, i was awestruck.)  i had amazing veggie chili made fresh, i made a smore for the first time in a campfire (yes, i make them in my microwave, don’t judge), and the yummy spinach artichoke dip that my pal and co-leader M brought from whole paycheck foods was absolutely delicious! knowing that jools was not a veggie chili eater, BS cleverly brought along a pack or two of hotdogs, which he and the boy roasted beside some baking dump cake (which i totally have to try at home!) the park rangers do, in fact, check on you to make sure you haven’t brought any grownup beverages (which is truly unfortunate.) while it rained, the boy continued to poke at the fire, which probably ensured that it didn’t go out. in fact, i think some of the boy’s and BS’s happiest moments involved poking at fire. which, in hindsight, should probably frighten me a little, though i prefer to think that perhaps they are both frustrated firemen.

yes. that must be it.

anyway, the light rain became heavy rain. we three retired to our cabin; BC slept in a bigger lodgey-cabin with my friend, the organizer, her family, and several other girls. (bless you, my friend.) the minute i sat on my bed, it sagged 3/4 of the way to the floor. a great sign in sleepland, to be sure. i crawled into my new sleeping bag. have sleeping bags gotten smaller, or have i gotten bigger? i remember fitting myself and a friend once in a bag, and now, i barely fit myself comfortably. i tried to stay on my side in an effort to preserve my back. and i tried desperately not to move. every move made a noise, and every noise, i feared, would wake up BS. the light shone in through my window, and i watched it blurry and hazy-eyed (my glasses were resting on a makeshift table of board games we had brought up.) jools, on the other hand, slept like a rock; his sleeping bag was practically off him, and he was just the best. sleeper. ever. would that i had been him.

when i saw BS stir, i knew the morning must have come. i didn’t have a watch (and couldn’t have read it even had i wanted to without my glasses on), but he did. when i don’t sleep, i just get boohooey. but when BS doesn’t sleep? well, let’s just say he’s not his usually, happy-go-lucky self. and waking up meant having to put clothes on to get to the bathroom (which, i will say, was very nice to have, as opposed to say a latrine. but still not psyched to have to put on clothes to get there.) i let him hike to his bathroom in the rain first, and i somehow ended up waking up the boy. it was 6:00somethingish in the morning. after he returned and i trudged to the ladies room, we did what any normal family would do: we broke open our two packs of donuts and started to inhale them. powdered donuts! jools exclaimed, mouth stuffed to the brim. mpfmpfmpfmpfmppfffffhhhhhh! yep. they’re definitely an important part of his training table. then, as others were still asleep, we played a game of yahtzee. the boy actually rolled a yahtzee and beat us both. badly. badly enough as in he wants to actually save the score sheet badly.

i’m sure my grandchildren will one day hear the tale of just how bad grandma is at yahtzee.

we finished, and people were beginning to stir. but watching hellboy struggle putting on his raincoat and whining because the sleeves were saturated was the straw that broke the camping camel’s back.

we’re done, BS simply said.

i am so grateful to all the families who did all the work while i did precious little, and i do mean precious little. they organized things, they fed us, they were so amazingly wonderful and generous to us. and i’m hoping they know that our experience is not any reflection on all that they did at misty mount.  if my house wasn’t a shambles, i would totally want to invite them all over for a thank you festivity.

so, in their honor, some zeppelin. cos nothing says thank you like robert plant.

happy passover
Apr 19th, 2008 by wrekehavoc

just remember, it’s not called the bread of affliction for nothing.

thanks to mykidsdad for finding the video 🙂

happy birthday to me
Mar 9th, 2008 by wrekehavoc


March 9, 2008 — Your way with words will make it easy for you to get what you desire over the coming year but, having got it, you may then decide it was not what you wanted after all. Never mind. Life is not about finding one sure thing and staying with it forever. Each day should bring new challenges and delights.

(from the NY Post, so it MUST be true.)


Feb 16th, 2008 by wrekehavoc

while chomping on my almonds today, i noticed something hilarious on the package (translation below the poorly-taken photo):


Almonds were first cultivated in California in the 18th century. Today, the state is known for producing some of the highest grade nuts available.

i didn’t even make that up.

::ducking before my CA friends smack me down::


left of center
Feb 5th, 2008 by wrekehavoc

best. homemade. granola. recipe. ever.

jools keeps eating it up. BC, of course, turns her nose up: EWWWW! did you put cashews or something in it? (almonds, sweetheart. almonds.) i don’t have barley flour, so i used whole wheat. it made the yummy crunchies in it, and it didn’t made a zillion gallons, which is what most granola recipes make. as if you need 5 cups of granola.

guess which way i vote 😉

feed the tree
Jan 10th, 2008 by wrekehavoc

now that i’ve firmly entrenched myself as a mean and instransigent mom, i may as well go all the way with it. in short: what the hell is up with picky eaters? specifically: whatever happened to people being guests and not giving a giant list of what they eat versus what they don’t eat?

let me backtrack here for a sec. BC can be miss picky-picky when it comes to food. in short, the list of foods she likes is a lot shorter than the list of food that she does like. she can be a royal pain the patoot come dinnertime when she refuses what’s on her plate. and there was a time when i lived out my dream as a short-order cook, making one meal for us and another for our lady of macaroni and cheese. but once child #2 came along, all bets were off. i had no time, no inclination, and no interest in making a third meal (considering the baby needed his own substances, something which i obviously couldn’t begrudge him, considering he was a baby and all.)

so the new rule went into effect. i try to make at least one part of the meal that i know missus will eat. the rest, though, might be something she likes, and then again, it might be something she loathes. if she doesn’t like it, well, to borrow from john belushi — she goes hungry. tuesday night is kid night, aka chicken nugget and macaroni and cheese night. but otherwise, it’s chef’s choice. and, 6 out of 7 nights (at least) je suis le chef.

ego crustulum , proinde ego sum. (i cook, therefore i am.)

(have i mentioned before that i’m a terrible cook?)

well, i get an A for effort in terms of trying to introduce my kids to different foods, foods that usually involve veggies, chicken or vegetarian protein sources, and fruit. and G-d bless jools — when BC isn’t around, he usually is quite complimentary… like last night, when i cooked a mild tandoori chicken. M I L D. like i actually sought out the recipe based on reviews that said things like lacks spice and real tandoori fans should look elsewhere. jools and BS liked it. and i made jasmine rice and peas to go with it, knowing BC would at least eat those things.

and she hated the chicken.

BUT, i digress. per usual.

i am trying desperately to train her so that when she is a guest at other people’s homes, she tries her best. she doesn’t get rude. she’ll note that she can’t eat pork or meat with cheese, but beyond that, she gives it a try. if she doesn’t like the food, she should just leave it and deal with the consequences of being hungry until she comes home and can fix herself a peanut butter sandwich or eat a cheesestick. (and hey, if she’s a guest at anyone’s house and she is a PITA about the food, i want to know about it so that madame and i can have a friendly little chat about being a guest.)

so i continuously get amazed when young playdates visit and tell me what is acceptable and what is not acceptable in my pantry. i always ask about food allergies, of course, as i don’t want anyone getting sick. i am willing to give whatever i have. but i have what i have. i still remember when i was a teen and a friend of mine from out of town stayed over my house. (a BOY. not my BOYfriend. actually, i think he was my aforementioned friend wah’s boyfriend at the time. but i digress. again.) i still remember him walking up to my mom and asking her whether she had a certain brand of frozen pizza. the look of shock burnt onto my mom’s face was priceless.

i think we were so shocked simply because everyone else who visited was so polite about food. as i was, of course. i knew that if my mom heard that i was being rude to my host, we, too, would have a friendly chat. so it’s a shock to me when people of a certain age tell me that my food is unacceptable. like i can do anything about it at that time? one word, one word i share with a sympathetic smile.


for jewish girls who've considered suicide when christmas cooking was enuf
Dec 23rd, 2007 by wrekehavoc

with apologies to Ntozake Shange.

some friends are coming over for christmas eve. i’m pretty excited, as i have not yet hosted either family over my house. it’s kind of amusing, really, that the nice jewish girl is hosting a christmas eve ‘do, but i just consider it another occasion for celebration. as i said so sweetly to BS this morning as he was getting cranky because of cleaning duties: get ahold of your holiday spirit, dammit.

it’s clicheed, but it’s true: my dream of christmas day has always been a movie followed by chinese food. for the many years of our marriage, i went without those, deferring instead to BS since this annual trainwreck holiday belongs to him and i wanted it to be as he would want it to be. i love to see his face, all happy and thrilled 🙂

but last year, i got my dream of chinese food: to be clearer, crappy, overpriced, but still chinese food. we were surrounded only by dressed-up chinese people who all seemed to know each other and who ordered stuff emanating from animal parts which i, a borderline vegetarian, probably don’t want to contemplate. this year in jerusalem, BC would like to have vietnamese food instead. BS and i (embarrassing history geeks who should no longer be allowed to watch the history channel) have already spent actual time contemplating whether certain southeast asian nations have had significant numbers of christian missionaries invading (thailand? india? cambodia?), as this might determine whether they would actually be open on christmas day. do normal people talk like this? i don’t really know. [note to self: just call the damn vietnamese restaurant tomorrow to find out whether they’re open and forget about seeing whether the history channel has an answer for you. they won’t.]

consequently, i have no earthly idea what one eats on christmas eve beyond the cookies and carrots one’s child has dutifully left out for st. nick. (oh, and by the way, for any of you kids out there reading this — auntie wreke wants you to know that those are only the cookies and carrots that santa and his reindeer left behind. they get kind of full on christmas eve, you know.) so we’re going with modified thanksgiving. i can hardly wait to taste the brined turkey that kellyo is bringing over; and i’m full of thanks that nylonthread’s AJS has something with which to actually carve the bird — and he’s not afraid to use it.

i found a recipe for sugared cranberries. heaven knows why i decided this, but i’m making said cranberries, which apparently create a lovely sugar syrup that’s appropriate for mixing with vodka. i added some orange peel to steep in there — i like my cranberries with orange whenever possible. i’m not entirely sure what the hell to do with this, but kellyo assures me that she does. i think i might welcome that sort of drink after the cleaning and cooking i’ve been doing.

additionally, i’m making ginger-orange carrots (a modified tzimmes, for you red sea pedestrians out there), some sort of garlic mashed potatoes, plain peas (because there will be 6 kids there), hummus, some sort of challah rolls (haven’t decided yet, but i guess i better get on the stick) and dessert. one dessert has turned out well — red velvet cupcakes topped with white chocolate peppermint cream cheese frosting (say that 10 times fast). in fact, the kids helped me decorate many of the cupcakes with lots of colored sugar and frosting, so if people haven’t started out in a diabetic coma, they will definitely end up nearing one.

dessert #2? well, that’s a different story. the gingerbread in question started out life with a different purpose. (a special purpose.) i made gingerbread cupcakes from an online recipe source and was all set to make the lovely frosting to go with it. people swore up and down, 5 stars, amazing recipe. so i made it. only, too bad for me. the cake, while delicious, ended up quite fragile and fell. the batter was quite thin. no way in hades would this stuff stand up to a stiff wind, much less frosting. i had to come to plan b.

or, in the words of my hero, winnie the pooh, think, think, think.

and sha-ZAAM! it came to me. a trifle. when G-d gives you lemons, make lemonade. the cake tastes fine; it just won’t be a pretty thing. i found a recipe and i’m modifying it by using my gingerbread. if nothing else, people might like pumpkin pudding, which tastes fine.

so what have we learned, boys and girls? stick with recipe sources where you can stick it to them via the letters to the editor section, if need be.

and when all else fails,we’ll always have kung pao chicken.

my big, fat walt disney world vacation. part 4.
Dec 10th, 2007 by wrekehavoc

ah, the happiest place on earth.

first, a round-up of some of the happy moments, for those of you who think i hate everything. (and, for the record, i don’t.)

1) BC, age 9, discovering her “favorite” rides at disney: rockin’ rollercoaster, space mountain, and expedition everest. i have to say that the imagineers (another great job title, methinks) have an incredible way of making your wait (and yes, friends, sans a fastpass, you will wait. and sometimes with a fastpass, you will wait.) somewhat entertaining. i especially enjoyed expedition everest’s realistic paraphenalia; it made me actually even more interested in the area and the people of the region. and going on said rides with my kid? priceless 🙂

2) jools, age 4.5, discovering his favorite rides: buzz lightyear, star tours (and yes, i went on this 6 times thanks to little man and memorized the corny jokes of the person who got us situated), the haunted mansion (which broke down while he and i were riding it one NIGHT, right in front of some graves — and he wasn’t scared (though i was a little creeped out) and watching the how-to show on becoming a jedi. (be prepared for the crowd to get crazy when the man running the show highlights his first young female jedi-in-training.) i’ll admit: i love going on buzz lightyear a lot, too. i also think everyone in the family loved mickey’s philharmagic. i think it’s the best of disney’s 3-d shows, even better than the old muppets chestnut. also, test track (note that jools is not afraid of roller coasters, so if your child is, he might not enjoy it as much)

3) we had lovely meals at boma and jiko. the kids were a little perplexed by the food choices in the norwegian restaurant akershus (we’re not from the big scandinavian food choosers), but as that was where the princess lunch was, that’s what we ate. i would recommend people stick to the breakfast if possible, though lunch is ok (just not what i would normally pay that kind of money for 😉

4) as people staying at WDW, we were allowed to send our kids to a childcare center (for extra $ of course). we chose simba’s cub club in the animal kingdom (so that we could have one grownup dinner date.) not a terribly high-tech place, but when we returned to pick the kids up (at 9:30; we’re so lame at staying out late), the kids begged us to let them stay. of course, they were fed a meal they loved of mac and cheese and chicken nuggets, with all the cookies they could stuff; what’s not to like? kids age 4-12 can enjoy this, though they must be potty-trained to do so (we actually saw a couple getting busted — their daughter was in pull-ups. you know it’s not a good sign when you walk into the club and the cast member takes you aside and says: “there’s something we need to talk about.”) $10 an hour per kid. actually comparable to what we pay around here, almost, when you throw in the pizza we always order for the kids and the sitter 😉

5) the parks, especially the magic kingdom, are WILDLY crowded on night when they stay open late. the exception to this for us was when we paid extra for mickey’s christmas party. it was a snap to get on rides that night. little parties and dancing aboundeth that night — my kids danced with goofy, and yes, dear reader, even jaded little me enjoyed that moment. that’s the night when they have the much vaunted holiday parade.

RANT ALERT! (you knew i couldn’t go all the way through in a happy way, didn’t you?)

we used to visit disney when i was little. i’ve sat through a gazillion parades. and even though they’ve always piped in music, the people in the parade used to sing. i’m pretty darn sure of that. so i am wondering why we all sit for hours to watch people lip-synch? i have zero interest in watching people lip-synch. i want actual singing, people. if i want lip-synching, i’ll go watch some MTV awards show.

jools slept through the christmas parade. BC loved it. so i’m just a picky-picky crank.

but you knew that already.

how do you spell chanukah?
Dec 7th, 2007 by wrekehavoc

apparently, the leeVees (Adam Gardner (Guster) and Dave Schneider (the Zambonis) are pondering this, too. and in a way that absolutely rocks.

big shout out to testosterone zone for bringing this to my attention.

and to everyone out there who celebrates it, have a groovy one with plenty of latkes and jelly doughnuts.

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