Showing posts with label Professor My Love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Professor My Love. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Dwight, My Hero



 In an episode of The Office: 

“Dwight is opening enormous cans and jars of food such as tomatoes, cereal, mayonnaise and pickled okra.  He explains, not surprisingly, that he has the best-stocked survival shelter in all of Northeastern Pennsylvania.  However, everything has a shelf life, so he must eat and replace all the food before it expires.  He’s sitting at a table in the break room during lunch, surrounded by his enormous containers, eating tomatoes right out of the can and grossing out his co-workers.

As they chastise him for eating 8-year-old tomatoes, Dwight reprimands them for their lack of emergency preparedness and describes what would happen to each of them in the event of an apocalypse:  Kevin will be eaten, Pam will be taken slave, Jim would be made a warlord’s jester, but Meredith would do ok, all because Dwight wouldn’t let them into his shelter, not because of the sign that says, No Pounding, No Begging, but because they laughed at him… “

Some people use humor as a weapon to avoid facing heavy subjects.  I have learned that when I start making too many jokes, it’s usually a sign that I am hiding behind comedy.  Just last night I started teasing the Professor.

“You know, I am going to start serving you all that emergency food you bought so we don’t have to move it back to La Jolla this summer.”

“What?  We need that food!”

“It’s almost four years old, it weighs hundreds of pounds.  It’s not worth it.”

“Well, check the expiration dates to be sure because I am just going to have to go out and buy it all again.”

“Maybe you’ll think twice about what you buy after you’ve had cold Dinty Moore Beef Stew out of a 5 lb can for three days straight.”

He laughed and we joked around about how this reminded us of Dwight and it was all very funny until I realized what I was doing.  It was time to face the crisis in Japan.  In many respects, it feels as horrible and saddening as the aftermath of 9-11.  Some of my friends have been sending out good information on where we can donate*, which, even if only a drop in the bucket, is something.  When I heard that others I know are going to special prayer meetings at their churches this weekend, I wanted to make jokes about how lighting a candle isn’t going help with nuclear reaction, but then, there I would go again.

Time for me to be serious.  What are you going to do?

*Relief Efforts for the March 11 Earthquake and Tsunami in Japan, as recommended by my friend’s (former Professor at Harvard) colleagues in Japan:

American Red Cross
AmeriCares
Donate via PayPal
Give2Asia
Global Giving
InterAction
JEN (Japan Emergency NGO’s)

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

My Funny Valentine




The same guy has been asking me for 18 years if I will be his Valentine. For someone who once declared, “Valentine’s Day is a wife beater’s holiday,” the Professor sure has come a long way.

I knew he was crossing over from cynical old goat to a first-class Romeo about 12 years ago when we were living and working in San Francisco. Wanting to really surprise me, he decided he would craft an arrangement himself.

“I don’t want to receive a florist delivery in an ugly vase with a bunch of cheap ribbon and fern filler!” I reminded him as I was gathering my coat and computer that morning.

“I know. You like plain roses. Given to you in person.”

“Well, yes, but not some big long-stem mafia thing. I like the Victorian nosegays.”

The poor guy really tried. He bought a dozen beautiful red roses and then proceeded to cut them down and tear them apart, hoping to transform the prickly, bushy queens into a tight little bouquet.

“Your husband came in a while ago with a big bunch of flowers, but he’s been in the restroom, with them, for quite some time.”

“What?”

The receptionist gave me a shrug.

15 minutes later my husband emerged from the office toilets with sweat beads on his forehead and a handful of bald roses.

“I tried to make them how you like them, but it just kept getting worse and worse. I thought you would be happy if I got them from the downtown flower market. I know how you love flowers from there. But I don’t think I did a good job. Here. Happy Valentine’s Day.” He thrust the symbol of love at me.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the receptionist slink off to clear the newspaper and floral debris from the waste bins. My husband was standing there looking so earnest that he honestly could have handed me celery stalks and it would have been just perfect.

“I love them. It’s wonderful not having thorns, or leaves, or anything, really, to distract the eye from their beauty!”

We laughed so hard I think I cried. The ladies in the office may have been thinking, “Wow, she is really mad.” Or, “Gee, what a lucky girl.”

Well, it doesn’t really matter what they thought, does it? Because guess what?

He’s mine.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Over the Falls in a Barrel



Upstate New York worked its magic yet again. A few weeks ago, my in-laws called, wanting a grandson fix, while at the same time, my friend from California let me know her hubby’s band was playing in Buffalo and we were invited to the show. We figured we could steal away for the night while Grammy & Grampy wrangled the boys. The band is one of my all-time favorites, so I was really excited to see them in a new, funky venue…


Our kind (and very talented) friend put us on the guest list which included VIP seating. Even though I cannot sit down during a Cake show (and please shoot me if I ever do), I found a spot to rest while we waited for the band to come on (yes, that is my cocktail)…



We partied like rock stars’ friends for the night. I befriended a girl with about 12 nose rings who was illegally taping the show with her phone. (Don’t worry, I made her erase it!) We were invited backstage after the show…husband was thrilled because he had never been “with the band” before…and was honored...thank you, G&V!!

I thought we were going to head home straight away the next morning but darling husband asked if I wanted to make a run for the border and see Niagra Falls. The last time I visited the Falls, I was 8-years-old and can only remember a loaner rain coat, floating around on “Maid of the Mist” and being awed by tales of the Daredevils going over the Falls in a barrel…


"Annie"--the first person ever to go over, 1901.

Rock on!