Ridiculously excited because my husband and I will embark shortly on our first date night since ...

wait for it ...

wait for it ...

January, when we splurged on a good meal and saw A Bronx Tale. 

Tonight it's Rodizio's Brazilian Steak House for dinner to indulge our inner carnavores and then Young Frahnkenshtein at the Civic Little Theater in Allentown. 

Time to beautify!

Reading: The Winter King by Bernard Cornwell.  Arthur just came over the hill!  

Wearing: Pyjamas - today is my work from home day.

Planning: To attend the wedding of Baron Von Heller  and the soon-to-be-Baroness Jen.  To attend the wedding reception of the Coldirons who snuck off and got married a couple of months ago.  Also tonight is TACO NIGHT!

Introducing: Leah Lopez, who is a good friend of mine even though we have not yet met in person*.  We were in a writers' circle on Diaryland, then on LJ.  She is an English Professor, a writer (she just had a poem published in Asimov's!), a Mom who homeschools, a knitter, a period piece/fantasy/sci fi geek and she writes great posts, so please go give her some love and make her want to stay here on OPW.

* I met Rabbit  via LJ (or was it Diaryland?), so sometimes people you meet online can end up as your closest real-life friends.

If you love Christmas pop music as much as I do, you know that 90% of it is dreadful. (You also probably apologize to your significant other a lot.) For every "Fairytale of New York," "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)," and "Merry Christmas from the Family," there are dozens of cynical little crapcicles that reek of contractual obligations ("Step Into Christmas"), wretchedly puerile "jokey" songs ("Grandma Got Run Over etc."), 
overproduced/uninspired versions of public domain carols (pretty much every R&B or country version of "Silent Night"), and well-meaning originals that land on the wrong side of the hypnotic/annoying line ("Wonderful Christmastime"). 

But still - that remaining 10% does wonders for filling one with a warm, nostalgic glow when it's time to see if that heavy jacket still fits. (It does - you look great.) And here's a wonderful collection of 80 Christmas pop songs from the 40s - early 60s that's currently on sale at Amazon for six bucks. Make with the clicks:

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GYV17AQ/ref=dm_ws_ec_mdl_dp_B00GYV17AQ

You've got some genuine classics here, like Bing Crosby's "White Christmas," Mel Torme's "The Christmas Song," and Brenda Lee's adorable "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree. You've got some gorgeous crooning from the likes of The Platters, Billie Holiday, and Nat King Cole. You've even got some genuinely fun novelty tunes, like Chuck Berry's "Run Rudolph Run," Dean Martin's "Baby It's Cold Outside" (no, it's not a date-rape song, it's just smarmy), and Eartha Kitt's delightfully purring "Santa Baby" (Julie Newmar was supposed to be sexier than her? Balderdash). 

                                                          (Exhibit A.)

You won't love 'em all, of course, but I'm the last person to judge you for enjoying a song I don't care for. (Unless it's "Mele Kalikimaka." Fuck that song.) You may not dig the big-band style that dominates the collection, or you might balk at the notion of Perry Como showing up on your iPhone. But c'mon - 80 songs for six bucks. You could delete over half of 'em and still walk away feeling like Larry the Liquidator. But before you delete...pause. Let the songs breathe a bit. Sure, some of this music is treacly and filled with cheese, but there's something so pure about holiday music from the 40s and 50s. Even the toss-offs (Sinatra sounds like his mind is on his next martini) have a certain cliched soul feel just right on a chilly night. These are original recordings, and their lo-fi sound is part of their charm. Even those of us with playlists filled of Naked City, Bad Brains and Angelspit can appreciate some good old-fashioned corn when fall really starts to kick in and you realize a hot chocolate would really hit the spot right about now.

So there you go - a little Holiday Music Tip from your Uncle Matthew. Do with it what you will. If you ask me nicely, I might even tell you what my all-time favorite Christmas pop/rock/jazz recordings are. If you ask even more nicely, I might even stop.

A good friend of mine, who happens to be the Director of Digital Content at PMA , spoke to my Intro to Professional Writing students tonight. I learned much more about her actual job - since our time together (we're also neighbors whose boys play together often) usually revolves around recipes, creating silly memes, a glass of chardoney, book chatter, the latest New Yorker or other "literary" magazine... I'm feeling a bit like a mental midget right now and as I'm delving deeper into the world of digital content, realizing how little I really know (although I can fake it really well) and how much I need to learn. And I'm in awe of her skills and ability to move fluidly among the communication worlds.

Apropos of learning, E. mentioned a local chapter of women who are teaching other women to code. Can't remember the name at the moment, but they meet at Wegmans, and they partner experienced with newbie programmers, and although my plate - nay, my tupperware - runneth over with hustling to freelance, repping for Young Living Oils, Celedon Road and Visalus, playing with a 4 year old son, doing the wifey thang with my hubby, I think I need to check out this coding group.

I've dipped a toe into the coding waters of website html. I can bold and highlight and italicize with the best. But this new world beckons. I have to remind myself not to dismiss my potential ability because I'm mathematically challenged. I see patterns - many patterns - everywhere, and isn't coding nothing more than a collection of patterns you manipulate?

Heck, by producing my son, born 01-01-10, a miraculous example of binary basic, am I not qualified to take my place among the other coders out there? I think I'm going in.

{Takes deep breath. Leaps.}

Beware the autumn people. For some, autumn comes early, stays late through life where October follows September & November touches October & then instead of December & Christ's birth, there is no Bethlehem Star, no rejoicing, but September comes again & old October & so on down the years, with no winter, spring, or revivifying summer. For these beings fall is ever the normal season, the only weather, there be no choice beyond.

Where do they come from? The dust. Where do they go? the grave. Does blood stir in their veins? No: the night wind. What ticks in their head? The worm. What speaks from their mouth? The toad. What sees from their eye? The snake. What hears with their ear? The abyss betweeen the stars. They sift the human storm for souls, eat flesh of reason, fill tombs with sinners. They frenzy forth. In gust they beetle-scurry, creep, thread, filter, motion, make all moons sullen, & surely cloud all clear-run waters. The spider-web hears them, trembles - breaks. Such are the autumn people. Beware of them.

-Bradbury

OK, here's a youtube-y link of my goofy kids earlier this evening. Hoping they work harder on math, because I don't think this is gonna do it for them.

I spent my evening teaching One Post Wonder to just Do The Right Thing when you paste a giphy link, or a youtube link, or a link to more or less anything that's meant to be embedded on the interwebs.

But now I'm going to shut off my computer. Because in our house, that's what happens at 9pm these days.

It's an adjustment!

There's a new post in my blog, Harbinger of Doom, regarding Rangers in D&D.

Other than that, baby-wrangling and LARP prep take up almost all of my time. We did take a break to play a bit of the new (?) - new to us, anyway - Portal 2 DLC. Short version of my review so far: Amaze.

Happy Birthday Brian Blessed!  I remember your warlike bellowing fondly, and today at work makes me want to have an honorary Brian Blessed Primal Screaming Hour ... so Happy Birthday to you and AAAAARRRRGGGHHHHH!

Whenever I drop V off at the train or at work or one of us leaves the house for some reason, I always think of the xkcd cartoon about considering your last words to everyone. I think the punch line was something like a couple saying something to each other like, "pick up some fucking milk on your way home, would you?" and what if that was the last thing you ever heard from them?  So I always worry too much about making sure I say, "I love you" to him and giving him a hug or a smooch or whatever. 
Usually when I drop him off at the train, as he crosses the street to the steps, I'll roll down the window and shout, "I love you!" and he'll get the slightly embarrassed face you'd expect on a kid whose mom is dropping him off at school and yelling it in front of all the other kids. he'll say, "I love you too," but it's with an air of "jeez, lady, do you have to shout?"

Considering that our neighborhood has a near-constant mantra of shouted cursing rolling from end to end of the district like an ocean wave, passed from junkie to alcoholic to nut to junkie to alcoholic to nut and so on, the result is that people who have their brains in order just stay as quiet as possible. My response to this is that maybe there should be more positive shouting. 

For example, when I call the dogs to come inside, I yell, "Hey ladiiiiieeeees!" or "What is up, my bitcheeeees?" 

if they refuse to come inside, they get, "Madam? Your Majesty?" until they give up.  All of this is always followed by enough "Good girl! Good Girl!" to make it sound like I'm advertising a dog food by that name. 

After two years of having lived next to Ant'ny and The Octomom's constant fighting, shouting, beating their dogs and calling their kids "motherfucker," I feel like I have to make a joyful noise to counteract their audiblebile (like that? see what I did there? "Audibile" would have been even better but autocorrect wouldn't let me do it without capitalization and quotation marks).

This morning, I rolled down the window to shout, "I love you," to the hastily departing Vincenzo, and I could already see his shoulders rising against the oncoming tide of embarrassment. I knew the rail trestle over my head would echo madly and make the whole thing worse, so instead, this is what came out of my mouth:

"What do we want? PEACE!
When do we want it? NOW!" 

He looked at me like I was insane, but he was laughing, so it was a good thing.