Where's H.G. Wells when you need him?

If at some point tomorrow you hear a sound akin to nails on a chalkboard, don't be alarmed. It's just me clinging to the remaining minutes of 2009 with all of the strength I can muster.

Were I equipped with a homemade cardboard sign and a blow horn, I would stand on the nearest street corner and protest the coming of 2010. Since I am not, I will sound off here.

Let the soapbox rant begin: I am not in favor of a new year.

"Not in favor" doesn't exactly do my current emotional status justice, "diametrically opposed" is a closer and yet still inadequate descriptor. I am quite happy with this year. In fact, I do not recall a year that elicited more of my favor than this current, beloved year. It has been so good to me! Blessing upon blessing, wonderful day upon wonderful day - this was a year with no equal. Now I am well aware that this was not of 2009's doing, but of God's (thank You, by the way), and His perfect plan may very well include a respectable 2010 to go along with an outstanding 2009. But if there is a 365 day trend in life that coincides with the year on the calendar, it's just common sense to not want to disrupt the flow and throw a whole new number scheme into the mix.

Also, I am notoriously not a fan of change. (One of two reasons why New Year's is my least favorite holiday. The other reason being I find it a tad discriminatory. I don't gather together with kith and kin on January 31st to usher in February with cheerful affection, so why all of the ruckus over December rolling into January? Answer me that and I'll start celebrating New Year's with more enthusiasm.) I absolutely loathe making the switch to writing a new year on everything I date. I'll be well into May before I am consistently dating everything correctly. Who wants that? Not I. Not the bank teller who has to remind me for the thousandth time that it is no longer 2009, either.

And let's not even talk about how 2010 ushers in a whole new decade. DECADE. Since when am I old enough to talk about life in terms of decades??? This soon-to-be-past decade was the wonderful collection of my teen years, high school and college, the glory of young adulthood. All good things. The prime time slot in the TV Guide of life. And all of a sudden, we are moving on to the next chapter in a new section? I am not done with this decade yet, thank you.

As a result of the above complaints, I have decided to rename 2010. Just for my own personal use, of course. I'm not going to petition the whole world to use my system - that would be a little much and I'm fairly certain there are few as reluctant (read: stubborn) as I am about this whole new year deal. Since I am so content with 2009, I would like this next year to be a sequel - a GOOD sequel, I'm talking Shrek 2 here, not 102 Dalmatians. So, henceforth, 2010 will be known to me as 2009: The Sequel.

Amen.

The Decade Charted

So fascinating -

http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2009/12/27/opinion/28opchart.html

Christmas Weekend Finale: The Gift of Football

A trifecta of football perfection:

1. Won my office fantasy football league. This was a highly unexpected victory considering I lost five consecutive games early in the season. But everybody loves a good comeback, especially me. I am so pumped!!!

2. Packers clinched a wildcard spot. WE ARE IN THE PLAYOFFS BABY!!! Oh, it feels so good.

3. Urban Meyer is just taking a leave of absence, not resigning in full. Sigh of relief. This comes as a relief to the world of college football as a whole, not just Gator Nation. Urban Meyer is too good of a coach - and a man - to lose in the sport so soon, although I do hope he gets his heath completely in order before he comes back.

All in all, an excellent day for all things football. Woot.

There's no place like home for the holidays

Mom: I'm thinking we'll have apple sauce as the vegetable tomorrow. I can't think of anything else.
Me: Do you like brussels sprouts?
Mom: EW. UGH. Wait...do YOU like brussels sprouts???
Me: Yes!
Mom: Who are you and what did you do with my daughter?
Me: I'd never ever had them before last week! My childhood was devoid of sprouts because you don't like them.
Mom: Who are you? Some veggie loving hippie?
Me: Yes. Clearly.
Mom: (throws her hands up and starts singing) Peace, love, and brussels sprouts!
Me: Ok then, apple sauce as the vegetable it is.
Mom: (Can't hear me because she's still laughing.)

Family, the true gift of Christmas.

(And apparently all of my posts have to be named after Christmas songs this week. I can't help it...I am a woman consumed by carols.)

(Also, I just found out that its "brussels sprouts" not "brussel sprouts." Who knew?)

I'll Have a Blue Christmas

This title is in reference not to my current state of emotions, but to the current state of my knees, which are going to turn blue for Christmas. Not from hypothermia, but from bruises. What's funny is that I could compile one of those school-picture-of-the-year frames with annual pictures of me besotted with bruises instead of yearbook pictures. I wish that there were a contest for the clumsiest walker in the world, because I would surely win, as evidenced by my face plant to the pavement last night while walking to my car.

No matter the color of my knees...I am on my way home for Christmas!!! Well not directly at this instant, clearly, but soon. As soon as I can pack and clean and make a few stops. Which are the very things I need to stop writing about and start doing at this very moment. Off I go. Merry Christmas!!!

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

People, I am about to embark upon a blessed occasion: Christmas break. Good Christian Men Rejoice, I will be Rocking Around my Christmas Tree in less than 24 hours.

But before I go, I would like to share a Christmas List I look forward to every year: The New York Times Buzzword List. (I also look forward to the Webster's Word of the Year, and was deeply disappointed that "admonish" was the most looked-up word this year. Really, America? Really?) Personally, I think "aporkalypse" is my favorite, with "crash blossom" coming in a close second. Love it.

An Open Letter to the NFL

Dear NFL,

Just wanted to let you know that ever since I checked tvguide.com last Monday and saw that the Packers/Steelers game would be televised right here in Rochester, I have been anxiously anticipating today's arrival. I planned my entire weekend around having this afternoon's 4:15pm - 7:30pm time slot free from activity or interruption. Turns out I could have planned some extra Christmas shopping, or a coffee date with a friend, or even a full-fledged circus, because you chose to air the EAGLES/NINERS game instead (and an entire Sunday of meaningless games, by the way. The circus really could have been an option.)

This, more than being cause for fury, is a quandary. Even if the Eagles game was remotely competitive (which, in fact, it was not), wouldn't it be more prudent to show the Steelers game in this area anyways since we are closer to Pittsburgh than we are to Philadelphia? Yes, yes it would. Additionally, it is not my fault that a blizzard hit the mid-Atlantic and the Philadelphians needed a few extra hours to shovel. Pre-arranged football schedules, like time, should wait for no man. And yet you allowed time to wait for the snow to be cleared in eastern PA. Those old adages are around for a reason, you know.

I'd also like to thank you for airing the final minute of the aforementioned snow-laden game so that I could bear witness to the action-packed sequence where Donovan McNabb takes a knee, the commentators thank everyone who has ever worked for FOX, and time expires. Be still my heart. It was also great of you to air a commercial after that and then to cut back to the Eagles celebration before finally deciding to show the final three minutes of a game you had promised to show in it's entirety.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm glad I got to see the final three minutes. Although they were agonizing and did not result in a favorable outcome, they were the type of final minutes that make football the blessed event that it is. My apartment morphed into an impassioned war-zone. In my defense, I'd like to say that my screams of frustration were partially due to the circumstances of the game and partially because I was only viewing the fleeting fourth quarter. Although I'm sure that neither excuse would appease my neighbors and their dinner guests, as I can only imagine that my enraged outcries were not the background noise they were hoping for.

In conclusion: a plea for better decision making. Just as it was a puzzling decision for Mike Tomlin to opt for an on-side kick early in the fourth quarter of a game in which he was winning, it was equally puzzling for you to opt for a lame game over a game that was basically the definition of all that is beloved about professional football.

Next time you are presented with a similar situation remember me and my tale of woe, and choose wisely.

Sincerely,

A Disgruntled Cheesehead

The Night of Polar (Temperatures and) Opposites

So tonight I had the joy of experiencing two vastly different emotions within a 60 minute time period. First was the charming reception I encountered while calling a prospective student about her application. Conversation was as follows:

Me: Hi, is Shelly* available?
Parent: Who is this?
Me: My name is Beka and I am Shelly's admissions counselor at Roberts Wesleyan College.
Parent: (Puts hand over phone and yells) Shelly!
Shelly: What?
Parent: Phone.
Shelly: Who is it?
Parent: I don't know, some admissions counselor from some damn college.
Shelly: (Pained sigh of exasperation) Hello...

*Names have been changed to protect the ridiculous.

Nothing gives me that fulfilled, contented feeling about slaving away daily, nightly, and occasionally weekendly in the Office of Admissions like an open display of warmth and appreciation. Shocking, but it turns out Shelly does not want to attend Roberts Wesleyan College. Which begs the question: Why did you apply?

Little did I know that in a matter of minutes I would be crying. Not due to the pain of rejection, but in response to one of the funniest YouTube videos I have ever seen. (Bonus: I also discovered two new amazing blogs in the process; props to Snoodlings and Carpool Queen for making my day today and predictably many more days to come in the future.) Please stop whatever you are doing and read the following post/watch the YouTube video it contains. Trust me, you won't soon regret it:

http://snoodlings.com/2009/12/16/word-of-the-day-mondegreen/

With Love, from Martha

I was honestly excited to see that Martha Stewart was the author of the messages inside Dove's individually wrapped Christmas-edition chocolates this year. Usually the morsels are besotted by a nauseating anecdote - very spread your wings and fly - and I am not a fan. I'm all for the inspiration, but in thought-provoking, non-Hallmark-esque doses. Martha doesn't exactly strike me as a bleeding heart sort of gal, so I was anticipating her Dove quotes being better than the rest. I was not, however, anticipating this:

"Keep poinsettias out of drafty spaces."

Just a touch more emotion wouldn't have been overkill, Martha.

Thank you, Page 2, thank you.

With the return of 8:00 am arrivals to the office this morning (as opposed to the travel season grace period of 9:00 am), I needed a little something to buffer my resentment against the extra hour. As per always, Page 2 delivered. Thank you TMQ and Patrick Hruby for saving my bleary-eyed day.

Let It Snow

I can't let this day pass without commenting on the near-miraculous snowfall this morning.

Anyone who has known me for longer than 5 minutes knows that I love snow more than just about anything (coffee, chocolate, and football notwithstanding). Last night I was hoping and wishing and praying that Rochester - located in the supposed Antarctic horror that is Western NY - would finally receive it's first snow. What better day for a first snow than the first of December???

I woke up this morning and peeked through my window out of habit, not expecting to find a veritable winter wonderland glistening in the early morning light. In The Night Before Christmas fashion, I jumped out of bed and tore through the house, jumping up and down ecstatically (approximate time: 6:50 am) at seeing the full effect of the first snow through my living room windows (much to the chagrin of my neighbors below, I'm sure). The window was instantly thrown open, coffee was made, a background soundtrack of Christmas music was played, and I pulled a chair right up to the window to sit and stare in contented awe.

If people really do have love languages, then mine is snow. Without a doubt.