Whoa-ho! Look who came a-hoppin' out of storage tonight!
It's angry rubber-face guy! Filler of many a Christmas stocking and boring afternoon. Back in the day, angry rubber-face guy could make a Holland child laugh within seconds, and somehow there's always been one around wherever it is I live. Who knew fifteen cents worth of rubber could be so entertaining? And quit with the Trojan jokes, wiseass.
Back to our wedding recap, already in progress:
After the calorie-loading at Cracker Barrel, we headed back to the house, where I assembled my digital arsenal. DV camcorder? Check. Digital still camera? Got it. Extra DV tapes? Yup. Plenty of Smartmedia cards? Of course. Charged batteries? You know it. Pack mule? Uh... I knew I forgot something.
Climbing into my monkey suit (I'd like to thank my mother for countless hours in department store outlet stores – at least I had some inkling of where to go for an inexpensive suit), I climbed into the back of Tanya's Saturn. (Hey, it's her name on the loan paperwork.) We were off to the church.
Directions were pretty much right on target – turn right shortly after the KFC – and we arrived to find Jennifer sequestered with her bridesmaids in a big white limo out front. Seeing my dad stationed out front with his digital camera (no need for me to duplicate the pictures he would take), I went to secure seats in the family section on the groom's side. Naturally, there were more people on the bride's side – it was her hometown, after all – but I think Geoffrey's side filled out nicely. They were all people I didn't recognize, so I figured they were fraternity brothers and other college folk with whom Geoffrey had forged bonds by doing ridiculous things in various stages of inebriation. Those are, after all, the sorts of people one invites to a wedding.
The wedding wasn't short, but it wasn't bad for an Episcopal service. Some sitting, some standing, and a short communion that most people sat out. I went down and had a bit of bread and wine. I figured I should get my face time in with God while I was there, so it wouldn't be a wasted trip.
Soon thereafter, the newest Mr. and Mrs. Holland walked out of the church and let the throng blow bubbles at them before they went back into the church for the traditional torture of wedding pictures. We stood in for a few of those and then left for the reception at a country club just over the bridge on the mainland side. The food was mighty fine, especially the cake, which takes the prize for most unusual wedding cake I've seen.
Benjamin, youngest of the Holland boys and the best man, had to leave about halfway through the reception to drive his friend (girlfriend?) Rachel back to school in Virginia. Benjamin has always been slippery at family gatherings, usually off with friends or watching TV while the rest of us drink beer and hang out in the living room. He probably thinks we don't notice his absence, but I do. Geoffrey seems to know him pretty well, though, since they both lived in Rock Hill, SC, for a while. It's nice to think that someone in the family knows him. I didn't get much of a chance, since I left for college when he was ten and I don't think he and I were destined to be buddies at that stage. (Whenever I see him, I want to apologize for being such a crappy older brother.) He still fascinates me though, in part because he seems so inaccessible. And because he's one hell of a bowler.
As these things do, the reception wound down, and Jennifer threw her bouquet. One of the bridesmaids caught it, and it might have been the one who earned the nickname "crotch-digger" (not my term, although I'll leave its originator safely anonymous) for her bizarrely inappropriate habit of yanking at her panty hose in public. Honey, it's a pretty tight dress. If you have to adjust something, there are restrooms available for the purpose.
Lord, I hope my new sister-in-law doesn't read this.
Next time: hangin' at the Piggly Wiggly, Pamela's frightful hair, and a walk in the dark.
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The Friday Five
I don't normally participate in the Friday Five, but this one actually pertains to my alleged subject matter, so here goes.
What was the first thing you ever cooked? I don't really remember, but if we exclude microwaving canned pasta, I'm pretty sure it was a grilled cheese sandwich.
What's your signature dish? Up until recently it was also the grilled cheese sandwich. Nowadays it's a chicken pot pie, which I learned to make from scratch at the Food TV Live convention. It's the one people ask for when I come to visit, which is neat. It's a traditional comfort food, and it actually takes a bit of skill to make, so it's more of an accomplishment than two slices of Kraft American Cheese Food Product between two slices of Wonder Bread.
Ever had a cooking disaster? Describe. Sure. Who hasn't? The most recent was some turkey mignon things and some instant mashies that didn't quite come together. Burnt on the one hand and gloppy on the other. Eeeugh.
If skill and money were no object, what would make for your dream meal? A really great beef roast made from one of those cows they pamper on Japanese hillsides, with fresh garlic mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli with that cheese sauce my sister-in-law Jennifer made last Thanksgiving, and some of those cheese biscuits from The Lady & Sons. Yeah, tons of carbs and fat. But the question says "dream meal," so I'm dreaming that it all evaporates from my body the next day.
What are you doing this weekend? (I guess they ran out of cooking questions.) Hopefully I'll get some more edits done on the book. Scott and I will write a review of The Satanic Rites of Dracula. Tomorrow night we're going over to Tim and Teresa's for a game night. And hey, Monday is a holiday, so hopefully I'll get lots of work done on the book. Maybe I'll even wrap up the wedding recap for the blog.
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Check it out! They're cloning cats now. This article has some really interesting info about what gives cats their coloring – apparently it's not only a matter of genetics, but also of conditions in the womb. There are some folks who are worried (understandably) about the kinds of crazy things people will do when they (mistakenly) think their beloved Mr. Foofus can be replicated indefinitely. Personally, I like to think that this whole cloning mess is going in a positive direction, and eventually less emphasis will be placed on science fiction ideas like pet replacement or body snatching and more on things like organ replacement.
It seems more congratulations are in order; my sister Pamela's scholarship project for Tulane resulted in a phone call, offering her full tuition to the university in the Fall. Cool beans! Red beans, of course, with rice.
More wedding recaps to come.
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Jeff Stanford e-mailed to say he'd been chosen as the Employee of the Year for the Orlando Science Center. As Communications Director (or some such position), Jeff has worked his ass off and brought more media attention to the Center in the last year than I think they've ever seen before. He deserves something for the work he does, while still tolerating crappy pay, snotty interns, and terrible hours. Here's to ya, Stanford.
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Odd Todd does it again. Don't miss the Valentine for lonely ladies from "Elf Up." Requires Flash.
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Friday evening we made our way onto Hilton Head Island, which I've heard about my entire life (it's a popular getaway spot for Atlanta folk, since it's only a five-hour drive from the city) but never visited. I'd seen other of the barrier islands on the Georgia coast – Jekyll Island, St. Simon's, and the tiny Tybee, which is essentially a strip mall surrounded by beachfront – but none of those quite prepared me for the sheer magnitude of the tourist industry on this one island. There are reportedly three thousand restaurants on the island, which is about twelve miles long and five miles wide. This information comes by way of the natives, who were only too happy to ramble on about the golf courses, the hotels, the beaches, and anything else you wanted to discuss.
I'll give them this: the beaches are gorgeous. On the stretch we visited, there weren't the miles of parking lots stretching parallel to the beach like you'll see in Florida. Palmetto Dunes, which is where we stayed in a many-bedroomed house (I didn't visit them all so they went uncounted), had its own stretch of beach. On a blustery Sunday afternoon, we had the shoreline to ourselves, which is a pretty neat trick if you can manage it.
After changing into some "nice" clothes, we were joined at the house by my youngest brother Benjamin, my parents Lynn and Rob, and my sister (the youngest sib and only girl) Pamela. Then we had to hurry hurry hurry and get to the rehearsal dinner. We weren't part of the rehearsal but it was nice to be invited to the restaurant anyway. There we saw the lucky couple, Geoffrey (my oldest sibling – I'm the oldest of four boys and five kids, for those counting at home) and Jennifer. A few minutes later we were joined by a multitude of relatives on both sides of the family, including my grandparents on my mom's side and my aunt, with family in tow. Once Nicholas (the middle child and Duke law student) arrived with his girlfriend Sarah, we had nearly the entire clan together. I think the only person missing from the old days of Christmases at my grandparents' place in Florida was my cousin Joshua, who now has a kid and lives in Louisiana. I could stop here and talk about the vertigo it gives me to think that he has a child of his own, but I think I've digressed enough for one paragraph.
After dinner a "Mardis Gras party" was held at the aforementioned beach house. So yes, even more food, free-flowing booze, and a pair of airlifted king cakes that didn't look as if they'd made the trip as nicely as they could have. Somewhere in there Amy and Tanya arrived, sneaking in the back door and completely freaking me out as I'd been kind of looking for them out the front door. As an honorary Holland, Amy is automatically granted admission into family functions like this one. Geoffrey, as the eldest of my siblings, probably remembers most clearly those days when Amy lived in Atlanta and used to help lug bricks into the back yard. (Another long story. Let's not get into it.) Legend has it that Amy lent me an algebra book when we were in the eighth grade, thus saving me from academic ruin and a life of panhandling or at least an endless succession of low-grade food service jobs.
Amy, Tanya, Christina, Sarah and I retired to one of the bedrooms with our libations in hand. Sarah is the president of the Amy and Tanya fan club, although I don't think I'm giving away any secrets when I say that Tanya is her favorite member of this particular duo. Up to the moment at which A&T arrived, Sarah had been pointedly looking at her watch and asking how much longer it would be until their car would pull into the drive. Amy and I pulled the iBook into a corner and perused the music we had brought each other (she, the new Ben Folds album; I, the I Am Sam soundtrack) while the other three spoke on topics which I am sure were of great import, except for the fact that I can't remember what any of those topics were just now.
The next morning brought a "gentlemen's breakfast" at the local branch of the Cracker Barrel restaurant chain. There I observed yet again the reason for my grandparents' extraordinary fitness: while the rest of us were enjoying biscuits and eggs and bacon, my grandfather indulged in two boxes of Special K, a banana, and half an apple-bran muffin. They say you'll live forever if you give up everything that makes you want to. This man, however, thrives on vigorous exercise and a modest diet, and he seems to enjoy every minute. At eighty-some years old, he could probably whip my ass in a heartbeat. One of his doctors used to call him "the Beast" – and this was only a few years back.
This did not, however, stop me from ordering the biscuits and gravy. I did fall short of eating the whole serving, but I like to think that this stems more from my desire to live past the age of forty than from any intimidation I felt in the Beast's presence.
Next time: the wedding day, the reception, and the clan begins to depart.
Christina and I missed the traditional Shrove Tuesday practice of cooking pancakes for dinner, so we're going to do it tomorrow night for Valentine's Day. Who needs to fight the restaurant crowds when you've got flapjacks a-cookin' at home? I bought an electric skillet for the task – I'm tired of our stove, which has only one properly working burner, and it's sort of lopsided at that. Bed Bath and Beyond wanted $40 for a Black and Decker skillet, but I knew that Target had a comparable model for $25. BBB may be great for gourmet kitchen gadgets, but for most everyday stuff they're astronomically high retail.
I buckled down tonight and actually got some editing done on the book, fixing typos and incorporating improvements suggested by our crack team of proofreaders (thanks, guys). The first chapter is just about done and soon I'll send it on to the fact checkers who will tell us that The Blob was directed by someone else entirely. Or something like that.
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New entry delayed by life. Funny how that works.
In the meantime, enjoy Odd Todd's Day in the Life of a Laid-Off Guy.
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Chris Magyar expressed some concern that Nicholas' lotto ticket might have been an expired one, thus depriving my brother of his prize. I'm happy to report that Nicholas was able to cash the ticket on the spot ($500 is the upper limit on tickets that can be cashed in-store), and so Sarah had a good time with a stack of twenties for the rest of the road trip. Of course, upon arriving home she immediately got a $75 speeding ticket. Easy come, easy go. You can read Nicholas' account of the lotto experience at the family blog. I promised a journal of the weekend's events, so I'll cover it in stages and be done with the whole thing by the end of the week. On Thursday Christina and I lit out of St. Petersburg at about 5:30 p.m. Our plan had been to depart mid-afternoon, but my boss Rob asked specifically if I'd be staying through the day, so I was stuck. About 4:30 he came by with a bunch of questions about orders I'd placed on his credit card (annual audit, coming through!), which made me grateful that I'd spent so much time saving electronic invoices into PDF files. The delay put us in Orlando at about 7:30. I-4 was eerily empty during rush hour, but we knew better than to complain. We stopped in Orlando at the home of Jeff "Filmboy" Stanford and Loren Faust, where we had dinner. This included the company of long-time friend L and her new husband A. L&A recently moved to Orlando from their previous homes in Boston, which I consider an extremely wise move. So does Liz, although I suppose lifelong Boston-native A still requires convincing. I expect that the 60-degree February weather and absence of state income tax will soon win him over. Much of the evening was spent attending to the needs of Mr. Cavanaugh, the aging Scotty dog that Loren inherited from her mom, who passed away early last year. Cavanaugh likes to be the center of attention and will let you know when he's unhappy with your performance. Still, he's a pleasant enough presence in the house and it's amusing to see Jeff interact with a dog in his domain. Previously, Jeff didn't so much as share his abode with a house plant. Now he has a live-in girlfriend and dog – and come to think of it, a bunch of house plants. It's good to see your friends grow. The two hours we invested on Thursday evening paid off the next morning. We were able to get a leisurely start at 9:00 a.m.; Hilton Head was only five hours away, according to our handy Yahoo map. Knowing better than to trust the Yahoo map's final few steps of driving instructions, we printed out the hand-drawn map that my dad scanned and sent via e-mail. The high-resolution image printed out on six sheets of letter paper, so Christina's morning project was to tape them together into a mega-map. It actually looked pretty cool, kind of like a treasure map. About 1:00 in the afternoon, we were approaching Savannah and we still hadn't eaten. Since I'm convinced that my parents know all the good places to eat in the South, I gave my dad a call on the cell phone and asked for a recommendation in Savannah. His driving directions on finding "The Lady and Sons" restaurant were frustratingly vague, but as it turns out they were perfectly adequate. Just pilot into the historic district and it's incredibly easy to find. Parking is somewhat more difficult, but manageable if you're willing to throw a few bucks at the problem. The restaurant was packed, of course, but we were patient and got seats about twenty minutes later. The lunch buffet was the perfect plan for two hungry road trippers, piled high with fried and baked chicken (both excellent), mac and cheese, grits, collard greens (no thanks), and more. But the main attraction for my carb-addicted palate was the bread plate that made its way around the restaurant, depositing hoe cakes (like pancakes, but smaller and with corn meal) and cheese biscuits at each table. I like to think I know a little something about biscuits, but these were so light and fluffy as to defy description. At the end of the meal, our waiter told us that the buffet includes a dessert. I opted instead for another biscuit and a copy of the cookbook, which "The Lady" signed for me in between rounds of refilling our drinks. After scrutinizing the biscuit recipe, I think I see how she gets them so light (added sugar and a bit more baking powder than most recipes), but only experimentation will provide me with the same results in my own kitchen. Repeated checks of the oven thermometer confirm that my oven heats 25 - 50 degrees too hot, but thankfully biscuits are more forgiving than that. Speaking of our own cooking, Christina and I conquered the vat o' cheese sauce. Another batch of mac and cheese will do us for a few meals. Cheap eats. Leaving The Lady and Sons behind, we found the highway again and made our way to Hilton Head Island, South Carolina, where the wedding weekend would unfold. But that's for tomorrow night. If you'd like to see some pictures from the wedding weekend, they're in one of my Yahoo photo albums. I haven't labeled any of them, so if you don't know my family you'll just have to guess at identities. Good luck.
Well, we're back.
This was, without a doubt, one of the most pleasant weekends in recent memory. I'll have updates on all the fun things we did later this week, but now I'm just exhausted and need to get some sleep.
The first thing I did after getting back this evening was to install the G4 processor upgrade I bought for my Blue-and-White G3. I would like to have one of the new iMacs, but it made more financial sense to just upgrade Ol' Blue. Plus, I really love the look of that blue-and-white case. It is, in my humble opinion, the best looking computer tower released to date. In another few months I'll add another hard disk and then I'll be able to run iMovie at home. Really looking forward to that, especially since I have a lot of raw video footage that I'd like to work on.
One last thing: my brother Nicholas (he's not the one who got married, that was Geoffrey) called me from the road to say that he and his girlfriend Sarah won $500 in one of those scratch-off lotto games. Apparently he called all the members of the family, desperately seeking a witness. "When you call someone to tell them, that makes it real," he said. Christina remarked that seeing the five-hundred bucks cash in her hand would probably make it even more real.
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