Did you survive the holi-daze? More importantly, did your waistline? If you're a naysayer when it comes to this time of year, fret not—for there is but one celebration left: ringing in '08.
If I'm to be honest about it, New Year's Eve is my least favorite in the holiday fun-pack series. The gist is: forget the past year and look to the next 365 for emancipation.
Harumph that. I'm more of a live in the moment kind of gal.
Sure, I made some boo boos in 07, but I embrace them and move on; chalking up my dingleberry behavior to myriad excuses usually stemming from not knowing any better. Who knows why we do the stupid things we do. We're human; it's what we do.
What I do know is—I've got today. And today looks pretty darn good this side of 7am. I'm on my third cup of coffee, my legs are aching for a run and I've got left over Pad Thai in the fridge.
Christmas is 5 days away from becoming the most important here and now, and I'm as mellow as a marshmallow. "How's that?" you ponder—duly noting that egg nog libations have been known to aid in reducing holiday stress, as well as give meaning and purpose to the phrase 'holiday cheer'.
It's simple really. It's all in the attitude.
Sure, it would be easy to get wadded up and snap after waiting an inordinately long time at the post office to ship off schmaltzy gifts to family members two states away.
"How dare you ask me if I want a return-receipt!" you seeth, dope slapping the postal worker in your head while quickly rejiggering your todo list to make up for the two seconds you just lost in productivity.
But common sense prevails and you turn your attention to the blinky Christmas pin she's chosen to adorn herself with instead. She smiles when you flatter her holiday fashion sense. You note that she gently places your package atop others awaiting delivery as opposed to drop-kicking it into submission. You pay for your shipping, bid each other a happy holiday and head straight to Walgreen's for a blinky Christmas pin of your own.
cheet: The orange dust that coats your fingers and lips after eating [Cheetos]. This is why you shouldn't eat Cheetos in public unless you have a wet-nap handy.
Foo—I know you've been eating my Cheetos again, you've got cheet all over your nose!
woot: An expression of joy and excitement. And speaking of Advent Calendars, this years has been chock-full of woot. Who knew that the real reason Joseph and Mary ventured off to Bethlehem on donkey was to register for tax—not to pop out God's son.
Compunicate: When you are in the same room with someone, each on separate computers, and you talk via Instant Messenger instead of speaking to them out loud, in person.
Even though they are sitting right next to each other, Jesse and Justin only compunicate when they have to tell each other something.
It's true. Foo is one of those Christmas enthusiasts who decks the halls with blinky lights, carols off key and takes pride in precise corners when wrapping. But please, don't hate her just because she's jacked up on Christmas spirit.
The origins of the Advent calendar come from German Lutherans who, at least as early as the beginning of the 19th century, would count the days of Advent physically. Often this meant simply drawing a chalk line on the door each day, beginning on December 1. Some families had more elaborate means of marking the days, such as lighting a new candle or hanging a little religious picture on the wall each day.
Advent calendars have come a long way. What was once a chalky countdown, has become an elaborately designed poster with perforated panels that open to reveal chocolates and a narrative about how Christmas came to be.
Sure, it's sort of like making a movie about the Titantic: you know how it's going to end, but you can't help but watch (or read as the case may be). Each day, as more of the story unfolds, I wonder if more will be revealed. Was Mary cranky about no room at the inn? Did the wise men question the length of their flowy robes as they navigated a donkey-pooped manger floor?
Was Jesus born with a shock of red hair that left Joseph scratching his head?
I'm only 6 days into this years calendar (a chocolate/narrative model; an improvement over last years which was calorie-free) and the suspense is killing me. Me and Foo will keep you posted.
The man running in place atop a rapidly spinning metal wheel high in the air is breathtaking. He stumbles. Hearts stop. Somehow he manages to regain his footing fast enough to keep up with the merciless spinning of the round metal cage, propelled by his partner running inside its twin wheel at the other end of a rotating shaft. Then the man leaps—not once but several times, higher and higher, his body floating weightless for an instant before he plummets to barely catch that wheel and keep running as before.
That's just the opening of the second act of "Kooza," the new Cirque du Soleil spectacle that opened its U.S. tour Friday, November 16th in the company's trademark yellow-and-gold Grand Chapiteau outside AT&T Park. By then, hearts have been stopped so many times and breaths held so long—by daredevil high-wire, trapeze and unicycle acts and anatomy-defying contortionists—it's a wonder we still have the capacity to be thrilled. We do, and are.
The sylph-like contortionists gracefully twist their preternaturally flexible bodies into impossible shapes as they balance on each others' shoulders or hips. A statuesque artist—striking attitudes midway between a dominatrix and a femme fatale—soars, flips and catches herself by ankles or calves on the high-flying trapeze. A Russian duo execute impressive balletic maneuvers on a fleet unicycle.
From Spain comes the astonishing two-tiered high-wire act, four performers working without safety wires and at first without a net as they dance and leapfrog across the wires to Spanish tunes. Fortunately, a net was rigged up by the time one of them slipped and just managed to catch himself by a hand.
The eclectic, propulsive score references the artists' many nationalities in a dynamic mix of American and French pop, jazz, funk, Bollywood and traditional Indian melodies, brightly executed by a sharp band. The warm tones of a vocalist glide sinuously through Côté's melodies.
The thin framework features a guileless Innocent introduced to the circus world by the candy-striped, serpentine Trickster—with some "Sorcerer's Apprentice" repercussions that unleash a comic dance of skeletons and creepy long cape made up of scampering rats. There's a cluelessly bossy King and a deft pickpocket that capably fill some of the other clown roles, with a great deal of audience participation (some will get wet; many will be covered in confetti; one person's chair may have a mind of its own).
There's also magic: wondrous chair balancing, eye-blurring juggling and that gripping Wheel of Death act that's impossible to describe. It's almost too much. The show ran nearly three hours, counting the half-hour intermission. But it's not such a bad thing when one's main criticism is that a show is generous to a fault.
Thanksgivng: the recap Do not attempt to ingest, let alone digest the following unless you are a trained professional. In other words, don't try this at home. Ever.
1 Apple pie
2 French Silk pies
1 Pecan pie
1 Pumpkin pie
1 Turkey/trimmings
1 Lemon cake
1 defrosted birthday cake (abandoned after multiple attempts)
6 quarts of ice cream, assorted flavors
1 batch sugar cookies
2 packages of Fudge Sticks
1 bag of frosted animal cookies
Are you detecting a theme? It was all rather gluttonous; parents, tweeners and Foos alike vying for sweet treats like a bunch of burgeoning crackheads. On the rare occasion a slice was still standing, we'd duke out eating rights by playing cards: winner takes the slice, losers do push ups (number determined by how badly you lost). Suffice to say, my pecs paid the price for the card gods did not shine kindly.
Thank goodness for Pinnacle Peak, Spur Cross Trail and Camelback Mountain.
To battle the bulge, we hiked. The usually hot AZ temperatures were replaced with a snappy November chill which garnered Ms. Foo a fashion-worthy, purple-fringed angora scarf—kindly knitted by Grandma Meems (in between making pies and cookies and such). Up and down Pinnacle Peak we went, passing like-minded folks thanks to a blistering pace set by none other than Auntie Kenno who never ceases to make us feel slightly unfit. Camelback brought us bouldering and Spur Cross reminded us that we were traversing desert terrain as Mama Foo almost squished a tarantula during her hiking fervor.
After packing and a concerted effort to button ones pants, after 5 days it was time to head home. Upon reflection, it was a drama-free, non ER visit, flaming turkey ball-less kind of Thanksgiving. Just the way Foo likes it.
And now, onto Christmas. Although Foo is seriously rethinking the chocolate-filled Advent calendar.
Did you survive the holi-daze? More importantly, did your waistline? If you're a naysayer when it comes to this time of year, fret not—for there is but one celebration left: ringing in '08.
