Sweet deception

Walking by the bakery in our nearest Whole Foods yesterday, I noticed a few real life examples of why we don't use Roman Numerals anymore.

 

It's maybe a little harder to read on the cake.  But there it is.  Repeatedly.  Super Bowl XLVI (or "46").  Since we're actually awaiting Super Bowl XLIV (or "44"), I pointed it out to a sweet blonde baker who blushed and shrugged.  

 

Maybe I should have offered to buy a few cupcakes at a discount to protect the children and random cheeseballs at today's Seattle viewing parties from this sacrilege.  I'd be willing to bet if someone bought an equivalently mis-decorated sweet vegan treat for a PETA event that a few letters to "Mother Jones" or Rachel Maddow would soon follow.  With well chosen adjectives and a very snarky font.  

But I let it go.  Still, if you encounter one of these cupcakes, dear Seattlite, take a stand for justice in our antiquated numbering systems and say put down the damn treat and go for a Rice Krispie bar instead.  And watch out for similar mistakes in your Olympics-themed frosted fun.  You're welcome.

If she reacts this way to teeth polishing, watch out when you see her "donut!" face.

If she reacts this way to teeth polishing, watch out when you see her "donut!" face.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Maya had a regular dentist visit yesterday. She's now totally stoked to be able to floss between her molars. It's like this kid is an alien from the Planet Nothing Like Me Growing Up. No cavities, all smiles.

Smart smart smart smart smart.

Here's something I didn't expect to be saying anytime, well, really ever - Sarah and I just spent a quick weekend in Salt Lake City.  And it was pretty cool.  Decent coffee (Salt Lake Roasting Co. - a bit rough around the edges, but they know what they're doing).  A totally funky all-about-the-details boutique hotel (Hotel Monaco).  Good sushi in a vibrant, fast-moving cafe/bar (Takashi - one of the only lively spots we found downtown).  We really liked the cafe named Coffee Garden in the 9th and 9th micro-neighborhood that provided above average people watching along with average to slightly better coffee (don't bother with the sandwiches or quiche).  Beyond that, we ventured over to Park City for a chunk of the final competition day of Sundance.  No celebs cited.  Thankfully.

SLC also benefited considerably from having Sundance screening films on a bunch of screens.  We saw "Waiting for Superman" that won the Audience Award for documentaries.  I'd give it a bit of a harsh rating - a straight C.  The style is just what you'd expect (brutal realism joined by quirky, animated cut segments) and the subject is a simplistic take on what's wrong with America's primary school education system.  According to this movie, charter schools=good; bad teachers=bad.  The kids shown struggling to get slots in better schools in tough areas (DC, NYC, LA, etc.) all break your heart.  But aside from prompting some good conversations about a tough problem, this doc won't solve anything. 

The best cultural moment, though, involved the Mormons.  We went for a walk through the Temple Square Saturday night after dinner.  We playfully dodged the young and friendlies.  And when we ventured into the building where the Tabernacle Choir performs where some dude was doing his bizness on the monstrous pipe organ, an adorable old elder swooped in to see if we wanted to take pics or come back Sunday morning for music and prayer.  Maybe cookies, too.  Sarah was quick to say that we had an early flight, which was a lie (we left closer to noon).  So we're headed to Mormon hell (or at least she is if our case comes up for review).  Regardless, after we got back to our hotel, we watched that brilliant "South Park" episode about the formation of the Mormon religion.  The perfect counterpoint to the real thing.  Most importantly, I agree with the sentiment that I respect their right to believe whatever it is that they believe.  Just don't ask me to join.  And since I didn't see any of them at the coffeehouses or the bars we spent some time in, I'm glad we got a chance to meet them (in principle) on their turf.  Because they have a nice place.  Not sure if "this is the place" as they like to say.  Potaytoe, potahto.

Hope your own travel guide adds a few surprising pages today.  Rock on.

Remember that thing he did, and how much it drove you crazy? Yeah, but better.

I'm as guilty as the next football fan for having too many things to say about Brett Favre.  His career and latest season-ending mistake (whether it's even appropriate to call it that) have been dissected and re-bagged and dissected again like a small town upper-level biology class fetal pig.  Everyone's sick of it.  Even the smell of the debate ("will he or won't he retire?") makes people throw up just a little bit in their collective mouth.  But before I can let it go for this off-season, I need to break it down one last time.

For the super majority of Packers fans, Favre is an old girlfriend (or boyfriend, depending on your chosen gender).  Actually, he's "The Ex" from hell.  The one you took to Prom, the one you went all the way with for the first time, the one that (cover the kids' ears, folks) is a first-ballot Hall of Famer.  In the sack.  But after years and years of creative shtupping, Favre is the one that the Packers dumped because they met somebody new that was kind of hot in college (Aaron Rodgers).  Favre and the Packers goofed around with trial separations and reunion hook-ups.  But a few years ago, Favre was gone for good after the Packers broke it off.  If that was all there was to it, both parties would have gone on with their lives.  Except that after fooling around for a year, Favre did the unthinkable.  He hooked up with the next door neighbor.  And Packer fans can hear them doing it ALL THE TIME, making a big deal out of how great it is and how could anyone have ever let something like this go.  So when it looked like Favre and his new flame were on their way to the Big Show, Packers fans cursed their "Ex" with the sort of vitriol that could never be taken back.  In the end (at least for now), Favre didn't get the storybook wedding and honeymoon that was desired.  And Packers fans jumped up and down and partied extra loud in the parking lot outside where the ceremony was to take place, making it sound like they always knew it wouldn't work out and that anyone that messes around with Favre ends up broken-hearted in the end.  Favre's new flame wants him back.  Maybe this time it will be different, they're trying to tell him.  Maybe this time, the Vikes will get what they've always wanted and in the process Favre will get what he always dreamed about.  Meanwhile, Packers fans are still taunting and laughing.  Maybe while imagining how great it once was.  Maybe while closing their eyes and trying to make it work with the new flame.  It will never be the same, and all those old pictures and memories are not only faded.  They're now dirty and some Packers fans can't even flip through them any longer.  It just hurts that much.

Sound ridiculous?  Probably.  But the point for me is that all this overheated emotion and overly sexualized lust or revenge or whatever it is misses the real point by a million miles.  Money.  The NFL is a business.  And they are the ones that truly love him.  Brett Favre came back and for one year got $12M in salary.  In endorsements alone, I'd bet that he can pull down $50M in the year ahead - even if he retires for good this time.  If you think not, consider his substantial upside in a post-Tiger Woods world (grizzled veteran who just had his best year ever at age 40, married to his high school sweetheart, appealing for his toughness and, yes, he still takes chances like a big ol' kid).  But aside from what may be to come, just consider what has happened to both franchises from a money position.  The sales of Vikings merchandise went up 533% from 2008 to 2009.  Their merchandise was the Number 3 team as of December 2009, Brett Favre's Vikings jersey was #1 among all players.  The Packers?  Last year by some rankings they were in the top 10 (#8 as of before this Season).  As of December 2009, they don't even make the top 10.  They've got no players in the top 25.

Say what you will about Brett Favre.  But I can tell you one thing for certain.  I'm not going to be blogging about it anymore.  Because on some level, that's exactly what the NFL wants.  And I've got other things to do, what with life and all.  I suggest everyone else look elsewhere for their drama, in similar fashion.

Hope your own merchandise is flying off the shelves today, no matter what color.  Rock on.

Surprise, surprise - being heard feels good. So let's try that again.

First of all, I need to offer up a well-earned correction.  Happily.  Last week, with very little subtlety I tore into Williams-Sonoma for not attending to my initial plea for help in replacing or repairing a big ol' KitchenAid mixer gone kaput.  Thankfully somewhere out there in the collective dingy basement of those scouring the internets, my wee little post made its way up the ladder to the PR Director at Williams-Sonoma in San Francisco.  Fast forward through a few emails and you now find me dealing directly with the General Manager at our local Williams-Sonoma.  I'll keep you posted on the mixer.  But, rest assured, Williams-Sonoma has surprised and impressed me immensely.  

Which has me thinking - where have I missed out on past complaints that a special someone keeping an eye on little ol' us here @ andthefamilybuick might have been able to do something about?  So as I wait for a brake job on our generic family wagon (don't EVEN get me started on the enigmatic duality of Firestone here in Ballard), I think the time has come to pick at a few scabs.

Hey, NPR - remember that car we donated this past summer?  Yea, the Volvo with like 180K miles, the busted head gasket that essentially meant we needed a new engine, and the caked-on decade and a half of good memories.  Yea, you sold it at auction and gave KUOW here in Seattle 700 bucks.  That one.  Well, we never even got a travel mug.  Or a tote bag.  I know you have our address 'cause we get new pleas for pledges every few weeks, it seems.

Hey, Apple - remember me coming in nearly a year ago to see if you could repair my wife's old iPod (screwy internal drive) a few months after I'd replaced my laptop with the shattered screen (my daughter innocently pulled it by the power cord off the breakfast counter)?  Yea, the guy you told that you'd give 10% off a new iPod if we donated the old one.  I must have misheard you.  What did you really say?

Actually, this is pretty fun.  So one more.

Hey, President Obama - remember me, the guy who's been defending you even as seemingly every other dolt who could afford a bumpersticker back in '08 has jumped ship in protest of some sort of nonexistent gripe about your job performance? Remember, the dood with the broad historical reading of politics who's nonetheless learned a bit from past forecasting mistakes and the past election cycle called it for both your and McCain's nominations back in November '07?  No, I'm not one of those going all "MassHole" on this Scott Brown special election and calling it the end of ObamaCare while wasting time building strawmen and blathering about "revolution".  And no, I'm not those guys demanding that the Dems dig in their heels and fight back.  I'm that other one, up here in the Northwest wearing the Milwaukee Brewers hat.  Yea, the old classic logo one - that's me.  The one looking for you to show how well you can play the rope-a-dope routine on health care.  Pull the compromise bill.  Push through a smaller bill on the obvious stuff.  Pivot to the economy.  Frame the argument, don't take it spoon fed by the haters.  And play more basketball.  The country somehow seems to feel better about itself when we see you loose and lithe on the court.  Thanks for that.  Oh, and if you want, could you erase my NSA file?  You should be fine if you go back to about '87 or so.

Hope your own customer service success stories also go all the way to the top today.  Rock on.

Maya sports some of the fairy and princess crap she's borrowed from playdates over the last few days.

Maya sports some of the fairy and princess crap she's borrowed from playdates in the last few days.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

While Sarah's in Nepal, I've been doing what I can to keep Maya focused on everything but that fact. Which has, actually, been a breeze. For those wondering what she's been up to, a few pics follow. Rock on.

Today's skate rats and all their protection make me wonder how I ever survived.

Today's skate rats and all their protection make me wonder how I ever survived.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Maya checks her work on our first shot at bread in 2010.

Maya checks her work on our first shot at bread in 2010.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

The new Barbie, never out of reach.

The new Barbie, never out of reach.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

What's my least favorite Customer Service excuse? All of them

Anyone who knows me well can answer the following question - aside from over-priced hipster cupcakes, what modern convenience do I find most irritating?  The answer, of course, is dealing with a"customer service representative".  It's an impossibly broad category, if you waste time thinking about it.  Any job, really, should be considered a customer service job.  But I'm specifically miffed by those generally still human members of society who have the task of answering our questions about, say, a broken Kitchen Aid mixer (Williams-Sonoma, I'm possibly looking in your general direction).  Those people are the ones that pee in society's coffeemaker, wrinkle our collective laundry, don't clean up after their dogs who always stop out front of our shared driveway, and/or just plain make certain tasks that, say, 30 years ago were not that big of a deal a whole ton more irritating.  Not that I'm talking about anyone in particular.  But if you decided to dump a whole bag of really obnoxious garbage in public to stage your own personal tea party protest, you may want to consider the front entrance of a Williams-Sonoma.  As an American who's also a big fan of all the Founding Fathers, I wouldn't try to stop you.

To be less opaque if you don't get that last reference - Sarah Palin did it again.  She's 500-miles-wide and an inch deep.  Which is as new and insightful as saying the ocean is wet.

From the wonderful adventure that is Maya's not-quite-5-year-old life, the new favorite word metaphor around our house is "rollerskates".  She just got a pair, after I returned the poorly received Razor scooter that Hanukah Harry left under the ol' Festivus pole.  She really only wanted the skates.  I was just being a wuss in thinking that she might be a bit young.  Hell, in little more than a year she can start kids roller derby here in Seattle.  So you can rightly expect that I'm psyched that she is picking it up pretty fast.  For a normally cautious kid, it's a treat to see her get a bit ballsy.  And it brings back memories of how I lived in rollerskates for a hearty chunk of most weekend days in the Winters of my youth.  My cousins who lived nearby and I had skates to run constantly evolving courses we set up in their huge cement floored basement.  I'm glad Maya got that gene.

Hope your own lost memories show up in genetic copies today.  Rock on.