Category Archives: Conspicuous consumption

June 11, 2012 · 0:00

Birthday Party Blasts!

Sigh.  The guilt.  The knot in my stomach.  The heartache of knowing that I am an inadequate mother.

No, I didn’t forget my child on the roof of the car.  I did not sell him into child pornography or child slavery.  I did not force him to converse with me only in Pig-Latin so that his classmates would laugh at him when he started school.

Nope.  I failed in a much more important way.

Birthday parties.

Maybe it is just that I became a parent too soon.  Maybe there is still time to discover a spacial anomaly that will allow us to remedy the situation.  So that we could once again hold our heads high with the other parents who hosted birthday parties for their equally indulged children. Sigh.

We had fun.  Or so I thought.

When Jacob was young, we had a swimming pool.  And so we had lovely gatherings for dozens of friends with everybody in the pool.  I was young enough then to even appear in front of my friends in a bathing suit.

As he aged, we progressed to other types of parties.  We had one at an indoor playground with tunnels and ball pits and slides and pizza.  We did bowling and laser tag.  All with pizza.

It’s true that unlike a classmate of Jacob’s in 1st grade we did not hold his 7th birthday party in one of the fanciest hotels in Geneva, Switzerland, as did one of his classmates.  It was quite a doo, actually, with waitresses in little French maid outfits carrying silver trays full of, yeah, pizza.  (I’ve always wondered where they’ll hold her wedding.)  But Jacob is a boy, and didn’t care a hoot about fancy-schmancy.

Once we had Jacob’s birthday party at a skateboard rink; helmets and pads were required.  We indulgent parents want to keep everybody safe, and bubble wrap tends to be somewhat suffocating.  We served Pizza, natch.

We only had one real disaster.  And that was when the day before Jacob’s 13th birthday party, which had been postponed, John was called out of the country for an emergency meeting.  Jacob has never recovered.  “Dad missed my 13th Birthday Party,” he sniffed, just this evening.

I thought that was the worst possible child’s birthday fiasco imaginable in an age where parties aren’t done at home, and really all parents need to do is write a check.  It’s hard to go too wrong unless the check bounces.

I thought that until today, anyway.

That’s when I learned that there is a whole new type of kids birthday party that will, well, blow away the competition!  And we missed it.  Sigh.  We were simply born too soon.

And, of course, as in so very many things, Texas is leading the way.  You see, a Texas gun range will be hosting birthday parties for children as young as 8 years old!

“I don’t know whether anyone has ever tried this before,” said David Prince, who is building the indoor gun range.

Personally, I myself, cannot imagine why no one has ever thought of arming children with lethal weapons, filling them with soda and candy and pizza and letting them go at it.  What could be more fun?

Mr. Prince did mention that lots of staff will be around to “help parents supervise.”  Boy, that’s a relief.

Because supervising kids parties isn’t really as easy as it sounds.  That bowling party Jacob had when he was 8?  There were heavy balls falling too close to kids feet, there were shoe rentals (and the fact 8 year olds never know their size) the drinks and snacks to be ordered and kept off the special floor.  It’s complicated.

“We’re not just going to have kids running around waving loaded guns and shooting at piñatas,” said Prince, an accountant and gun enthusiast.

Yup, staff assistance will be available.  This is handy, natch, when lethal weapons are involved; I’d say it’s worth at least an extra $5, easy.  Perhaps an extra $20 if no one dies. 

But you know, I imagine that the release form will be a bit intimidating for the parents who actually like their kids:

Yes, I agree to hold Bubba’s Bullet and Billet harmless, in the event that someone blows my 8-year-old child’s head off.

Nevertheless, I think that it’s good to know that entrepreneurs are developing better ways for parents to get a bang for their birthday bucks.

I just hope the staff is good at distinguishing between pizza stains and blood.

72 Comments

Filed under Conspicuous consumption, Gun control, Health and Medicine, Humor, Hypocrisy, Law, Stupidity

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May 1, 2012 · 0:00

Going Downhill

It started as a theory.  An hypothesis.  And naturally, my scientific research proved my conjecture correct.  At least to the best level of scientific certainty I could muster for this particular experiment.

And so now I know exactly why the whole world is going to hell in a hand basket.

It’s the cars.  Or specifically, it’s the cars folks are driving.  Actually, it’s the specific cars specific people are not driving that is causing all the trouble.

“Huh?” you say.  OK.  I’ll back up.

It started last weekend when our family was gathered around in the family room watching a movie:  Spy Game.

I sat up a little straighter during the first scene when Robert Redford/Nathan Muir rushes across Memorial Bridge to CIA HQ at Langley in his Porsche.  [And not only because he was driving in the wrong direction,away from Langley, either.]  No, I sat up straighter because I knew that he was going to save Brad  Pitt/Tom Bishop who went rogue. (No, Brad did not quit his job as Gov’ner of Alaska.  Pay attention!)

Of course Robert Redford/Nathan Muir was going to succeed.  Was there ever any doubt? No! Of course not!  Folks who drive Porsches always succeed, don’t they?  Isn’t that how they get the Porsches?

Well, that first scene made me think.  I thought back on my extensive experience with spies, espionage and intrigue.  Since I’ve been in the DC area for the better part of 30 years, well, obviously I know a lot about spies.  Osmosis works, you know.

Anyway, that’s when I hypothesized that it is the lack of seriously cool cars in the hands of spies that has doomed the US to being a second-rate power.   You see, I live not too far from CIA HQ, and I sometimes drive right by it on my way to work. 

Hmmmmm, I thought. I don’t remember seeing cool cars driving into or out of Langley.  But I needed proof.  Damn.

Now, you can’t just hang out outside of CIA HQ.  They frown upon it, even.  So I knew that I had to be sly.  You see, in 1993 there was a terrible incident where bad guys drove in through the front entrance and started shooting people.  As a result, the CIA folks guard the entrances quite carefully, which is pretty smart.  And I’m usually glad that they do.

Well, except for one night.  That one night on the way to my house, some friends took a wrong turn and entered the facility.  Oops.  They were stopped and searched; the guards even searched the salad Zoe was carrying.  Good thing the Supreme Court hadn’t yet ruled that salad-toting folks could be strip-searched, even though the salad was still naked so it would have been pretty simple.

Anyway, to conduct my research took a bit of sacrifice on my part – I had to “stage” an accident – so I cleverly rear-ended the car in front of me so that I could hang out in front of the entrance to CIA HQ and see what-all today’s spies are driving.  It wasn’t pretty.  I saw:

22 Toyota Camrys

31 Honda CRVs

12 Buick Le Sabres

127 Jeep Grand Cherokees

47 Nissan Altimas

13 Jeep Wranglers

432 Completely nondescript cars

Nondescript car

 and 210 folks who took the bus.

Are you excited?  Envious?  Awake?

There were also several mini-vans with rear windshields covered with those Mom+Dad+Johnny+Suzie+Fido+Fluffy+Flip-flop decals on the rear windshield.  There was ONE BMW, but it was disappointing, too – it was an SUV, an X-3, with a “Love Animals Don’t Eat Them” bumper sticker on the back.

Not a cool car in the bunch.  No wonder our spies are so demoralized.

Or maybe, it is simply having to work here:

*     *     *

Hey, this is my 100th Post!

Thanks everybody for coming back.  You are coming back, aren’t you?

69 Comments

Filed under Conspicuous consumption, Driving, Humor

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April 14, 2012 · 0:00

For the Little People

I’m rich.  Didja know?  Wildly, fabulously wealthy.  Dripping in cash even.  I own more homes than Mitt Romney and John McCain combined.   And I will soon install a car elevator in each and every one of them.

Being so rich, I try to avoid taxes.  Usually, I just make my team of accountants/tax avoiders do them and sign the form on the dotted line.  Then I wash my  hands thoroughly. Really, though, I don’t even like to think about taxes.

You see, I believe in the Leona Helmsley rule:

“Only the little people pay taxes“

With all that money, couldn't she afford a bag to put over her head? (Google image)

So I must say I was ticked off when the White House came up with this Widget that lets people know whether I might be paying a lower percentage of my income in taxes than they are.  And just how many of my NASCAR-team-owner-buddies are too.  [I was even more annoyed when, despite my best efforts and all the technological assistance I was willing to pay for, I could not embed it on my blog.]

But I learned something from this Widget, nevertheless.  I learned that I am still paying a higher percentage of my money in taxes than other, lesser mortals.

Here, you try it.

http://www.whitehouse.gov/economy/buffett-rule

Happy Tax Weekend to all the little people!

(Google Image)

Ummm.  That gold is mine, by the way.

77 Comments

Filed under Conspicuous consumption, Elections, Humor, Hypocrisy, Politics, Stupidity, Voting

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April 6, 2012 · 0:00

Maybe Next Year

I have a house full of folks, meals to cook, wine to drink and stories to be told.  So I’m neglecting my blog.  Yup, me.

So here is my very favorite post, from Long, Long Ago, when I was a baby blogger, in case you desperately need to get a life! need to hear my voice.

Happy Easter!  Happy Spring!

Downsizing

My husband John and I had an appointment to look at smaller houses with a realtor.  We were going to go this afternoon, but after going to the grocery store early this morning, I cancelled.

“Why did you do that?”  asked John, puzzled.  John wants to get rid of the big house.  He wants to get rid of the big mortgage.

“Sorry,” I told my husband.  “I can’t downsize.”

“Why not?” he asked again.

“Toilet paper.”

“Huh?”

Everyone I know talks “downsizing.”  Our friends are mostly middle-aged like us.  We all bought 4 bedroom 2-1/2 bath colonials back when our kids were small – we thought it was a legal requirement that came with the birth certificates.  Now the kids are off at college, or off working, or just off.  Occasionally friends decide to downsize because they are not yet empty nesters and are trying to push their overgrown open-mouthed offspring/bloodsuckers out of the nest.

As I said I had just come home from the grocery store.  With 36 rolls of toilet paper.  Double sized rolls.  That means I had actually just come home with 72 rolls.  For two adults and one dog.

What made me do it?  We really only need a fraction of that.  Why not get a six-pack?  And then a six-pack of toilet paper?

Earlier, I stood in the aisle at my local Safeway and considered my options.  Hmmmm.  I thought.  This HUGE package costs $15.00.  The size I really need costs $9.00.  But the 36-which-equals-72 roll package was only 6 bucks more.  I had no choice; I bought the big package.  It was cheaper — unless you totaled up today’s groceries.  And then it wasn’t cheaper at all.   But into the cart it went.

I continued on down the aisle.  Damn, I thought.  I need paper towels too.  Sixteen rolls?  Why not?

Go through any grocery store.  You can buy small, but it’s gonna cost you.  You can buy a six-pack of soda for $4.99.  Better still, you can buy a twelve-pack of soda for $6 or two twelve-packs for $12 and get three twelve-packs FREE!  What a deal.  You save $18 just by spending $6 more than you were going to spend in the first place!   I must buy them.  Just because I stopped drinking soda in 1996 doesn’t mean I should pass up this deal.

Twenty-four 12 oz. bottles of pure spring water?  Sure.  I only have six left from the two dozen I bought in 2007.

These promos work on me every time.

The price of wine also goes down as the quantity goes up.  I can buy one bottle of my favorite Pinot Grigio for $9.00 or I can buy two for $7.50 each.  If I want to buy even more, I can buy six or more bottles for $6.00 each, get totally sloshed and not really care what I’m spending.  There’s some logic there.

It even happened in the produce section. I wanted one small container of blueberries and one of strawberries.  Instead I took home two hefty containers of each.

“Are you going on a ‘berries only’ diet?” asked John as he helped me unload the groceries when I got home.

“No,” I responded.  “It was ‘buy one, get one free.’  I couldn’t let them go to waste, could I?”

“Well at least not until the extras have been in our fridge for a few weeks,” John muttered.

So you see, I can’t downsize.  I cannot get a smaller house. I can’t even get a smaller car.  How would I get my groceries home?

I think I’m going to call the realtor back.  We need a bigger house.

57 Comments

Filed under Conspicuous consumption, Family, Humor, Real Estate, Stupidity

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March 31, 2012 · 0:00

Who Am I?

Even before computers I found a lot to laugh at.  But since computers?  I’ve found that it’s hard to not laugh at whatever happens to appear in front of my eyes, magically, through the tubes that are the internets.

Just now, while sitting alone here at my kitchen table, sipping a cuppa, I laughed loudly enough to wake up Cooper, who is stone deaf.  Yup, it was that funny.

What was it?  What could it be?  What could make me stop writing what I was writing to share a laugh?

Well, I really don’t know how it happened.  Or I don’t know how I got to the starting gate.  You see, I was Googling pictures for a post when I suddenly found myself at Moondustwriter’s Blog.  I had never seen it before; it’s a photography blog, and the picture on this particular post was a beautiful shot of a rocky beach in the moonlight.  It looks like Maine to me, and I love Maine.  The accompanying poem was beautiful too.  But not being a poetry lover, I was quickly distracted by what I saw on the sidebar:

Can you see it there on the bottom right?  I write like Mark Twain.  Pretty cool, don’t cha think?  Of course, I wanted to know who I write like.  So I clicked on the link.

Wait, wait, come back!  Don’t you want to know what happened next?  Don’t you want to know who it is I write like?  Or like whom I write?

Well, I looked at my list of favorite blog pieces, and chose what I thought was my best:  Both Sides Now, my story about how all my family members die on holidays.  And I learned :

Wow!

Cool.  I like Kurt Vonnegut, but I never considered myself in his league, or even remotely like him.  But I’m guessing the dark humor is Vonnegut-esque.  Interesting.

But, I wondered, are all my posts so dark?  I didn’t think so, so I plugged in another piece:  Downsizing, a story of how hard it is to resist stuff.

And lo and behold, I write like Chuck Palahniuk, who I’d never heard of.  I immediately went to Amazon.com and ordered all of his books though.  That is, of course, what I want anyone who hasn’t heard of me to do when they find that they write like me.  Here’s a sample:

Look, it's even got my face on the cover!

Again, I wasn’t sure that either of these two posts really reflected just who I am.  I mean, my blog is a mish-mash of stuff.  So I tried it again.  And again.  And again.

  • I entered my About page:  David Foster Wallace (damn, more books to buy).
  • I entered Take Me Back, about how Sarah Palin thinks that President Obama wants to go back to pre-Civil War days:  H. P. Lovecraft
  • I entered Color My World, my recent piece about Redbud trees:  Margaret Atwood.  Hey, I’ve read HER!

Lastly, I entered Great Balls of Fire, my piece about my neighbor Beau who built Tara Oaks, and who, I’m sure will soon host Civil War reenactments on his meadow:  this time I was Margaret Mitchell.

Apparently I am either wildly talented or have a multiple personality disorder.

Here’s the link.  Let me know who you are!

Hey, wait, I need to keep checking the link until I find that I am, in fact, Victor Hugo.

99 Comments

Filed under Awards, Conspicuous consumption, Humor, Music, Technology

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