EUFIUIIOW, Ch. 1

Every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

Over here, Regan has been "helping Janey get packed for camp." In the way characteristic of my spouse's family of origin, she defines "helping" as it pleases her. She's been over every day this week since Sunday; tonight she's on call (she's interning as a chaplain at Tentacled Hospital), so she won't be able to come. First she helped Janey clean her room, then she helped Janey rearrange her furniture, then she helped Janey decide what clothes and books she didn't want anymore, then she helped Janey put away her laundry and identify what she already had that was camp-ready. Janey seems happy with the results, so I'm happy (the more so since her room is neat and her clothes are put away). This is what motivated Cindy to begin work on her own room - this and a gorgeous satin comforter she found. Both girls are so much more content and less contentious now that they have their own space. I am happy with the end, so I endure the means.

So everything was going well till last night. Regan came over about dinnertime, and, though I had planned to cook, I was so worn out that both Nick and Cindy thought we should go out for sandwiches. So we asked Janey and Regan what we could bring back for them or if they wanted to come or what. Regan was waiting for a call from EB, she said, and she would take Janey out later. Okay, fine. So as we're getting ready to walk out the door, the call from EB comes, and it turns out that he's taking Regan and Janey shopping and out to dinner. JUST Regan and Janey. We didn't even know he was in town.

Well. I deal with it in my usual mature way by crying, hollering, and biting pieces out of Nick in the car all the way to Sandwiches R Overpriced. Cindy is hurt and angry and feels like this confirms her belief that Regan and EB like Janey better than her. Nick is torn up because he doesn't want to be mad at his brother and his oldest daughter, but they're behaving like assholes.

We do some modest retail therapy at Indigenous Tchotchkes after Sandwiches R Overpriced and get home about 9:30. Regan calls and says they're just now sitting down to eat. I expostulate, if that's the word I want, loudly about people who don't have children and don't understand about schedules and bedtimes (after Nick hangs up). Nick has almost made up his mind to go ahead and be pissed off anyway. brother and daughter be dammed. We get ready for bed. At 10:30 or 11, Regan and Janey walk in the door and go to Janey's room to drop off her things. Regan doesn't say kiss my ass to her father or me. Janey, poor thing, is happy with her nice things and enjoyed her dinner (at Chez Local Personality, thank you very much). Cindy is furious. I'm choking back tears, in a mature way of course, but I stress to her that nothing is her fault. And so to bed.

Apple Announces Lolcats Strategy

From the Crazy Apple Rumors site. Mac users will soon be able to roll their own lolcats. I might spring for a .Mac account now. Certainly this feature adds value to the upcoming iPhone (iPr0n).

Formulating in the Oral Tradition

This just in from The Dilbert Blog. I use the same process to make up bedtime stories for Cindy, but I had never thought of expanding it to cover life anecdotes. We are the stories we tell.

The Dilbert Blog: Good Stories: "It has come to my attention that most people have no good stories. If you ask people to tell their best stories, you get blank stares and then something along the lines of “Well, once I lost my wallet.”

This has long puzzled me because I’m full of stories. How could I have so many, and other people have so few?

My brother made the same observation recently. Like me, he has plenty of stories that would make your jaw drop. And he noticed that other people seem to have none. One theory for this apparent discrepancy is that everyone’s life includes plenty of fascinating events but few people organize them in their memories as stories.

I have the same facility for jokes, which are essentially little stories. If I hear a joke once, I own it forever. Usually I’ll remember some seed of the joke – a key word or concept, and I can reproduce the rest of it by understanding how jokes are constructed. Apparently I have a story-oriented brain.

Now I suppose I owe you a story. Fair enough. I’ll pull one from the bag."