"Lost" When It Comes to Dan's Birthday Gift

My husband, Dan, celebrated his birthday last weekend. Even after eight years of marriage, I have a difficult time picking out gifts for him. Or I should say, I have a difficult time picking out gifts that surprise him. Usually, he sends me a link to his Amazon wish list a few weeks before. At least that way I know I am buying him something he will like. I can't decipher half the stuff that my geek chic engineer husband wants anyway, so it's nice when he just sends me a link to the exact items.

For some reason, his wish list was empty this year. He did have a set of TV speakers listed for a while, but he explained to me that he would have to store the subwoofer in the middle of our living room, and it would be awesome. I vetoed this awesome-ness.

Eventually, I settled on buying him Lost: The Complete Collection. This set included the entire TV series on DVD (plus a thousand hours of bonus features, I'm sure), a Black Rock journal entry, a collectible Senet game, a black torch light, and a Lost island replica. It was a gift made in Geek Heaven. I patted myself on the back for deciding upon a birthday present that would finally surprise and delight my husband.

About a week after I had purchased the Lost collection, Dan and I were watching TV when an advertisement for the new Game of Thrones DVD set caught his eye.

“That might make a good birthday present . . .” Dan said, throwing me a sideways glance.

I was thinking the same thing, but Lost was already en route from Amazon cyber land to my house.

This thought must have registered on my face because Dan quickly said, “Or is it too late?”

I shrugged.

“That’s okay. DVDs are so last year.”

Of course, seeing how a six-season DVD set was exactly what I had gotten him, his statement did not make me feel any better.

A few weeks later, Dan started to open his presents, and I was slightly nervous.

"I hope you like it," I told him. "You said something that made me think you might not."

Dan looked a little worried as he continued unwrapping his gift.

"Lost!" he exclaimed.

"Why wouldn't he like that?" asked my dad, who happened to be visiting for the weekend.

"Don't you remember?" I asked Dan. "'DVDs are so last year'?"

"Yeah, but it has a game included," my father pointed out before Dan could reply. "Dan likes games." 

Dan, who loves being the center attention, just shook his head and smiled. 

The next day, I caught Dan playing dismantling the Lost box set when I got home from work.

The day after that Dan asked, "When are we going to start our Lost re-watch marathon?"

Now, instead of a TV subwoofer, Lost: The Complete Collection is stored in the middle of our living room. I guess DVDs weren't as "so last year" as Dan thought.

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Battling Smog and Smug

In honor of Earth Day, I am rerunning my blog post about our beloved Ford Fusion Hybrid. It was originally published on January 24, 2010.

When my husband and I purchased a hybrid car in October, all I could think about was South Park episode 141. I realize that referencing a South Park episode probably does not uphold the intelligence of this blog, but - sorry, scholars - "Smug Alert!" was the only thing on my mind.

For those of you who have better things to do than watch South Park on a regular basis (and I promise that I only watch the show on occasion - albeit frequent occasion), "Smug Alert!" was an episode dedicated to exposing the pious attitude of hybrid owners. In fact, the featured fictional hybrid was the Toyonda Pious which, of course, bore a striking resemblance to the Toyota Prius.

I will summarize the high (or perhaps low) points of the show and leave out the cruder moments, which deal mostly with bodily functions, a topic most unworthy of this post. For a complete synopsis, you are more than welcome to research it on your own.

Kyle's father (Kyle wears the green hat, for you non-South Park fans) buys a hybrid car, tries to convert all the people of South Park to do the same, and decides he needs to relocate his family to the more progressive-minded San Francisco. Stan (the character in the blue hat topped with the red pom pom) writes a song, convincing the people of South Park to buy hybrids in order to convince Kyle's family to stay. His efforts are in vain; the townspeople buy hybrids, but Kyle and his family move to San Francisco. Soon, the South Park kids find out that hybrid owners emit a complacent gas called "smug" into the air. Once the clouds of smug from South Park and San Francisco merge with the smug diffused from George Clooney's 78th Academy Awards acceptance speech, a cataclysmic storm of apocalyptic proportions will occur. And hilarity ensues.

All the way to the Ford dealership, Dan and I discussed this episode, vowing not to "emit smug" regardless of our environmentally conscientious purchase. After all, no one would even know we were driving a hybrid because a Fusion hybrid looks just like its non-hybrid counterpart. And we were keeping our SUV which obviously cancels out our smug footprint. I will admit, however, that I feel a lot less hypocritical about transporting my reusable bags to the grocery in a hybrid rather than in an SUV.

After our sale was finalized, we felt a little . . . hmmm . . . (not smug!) pleased with ourselves when the car salesperson thanked us for being so kind while purchasing our car.

"People have been pretty cranky lately," he said. "It was really refreshing to work with you."

Of course our self-satisfaction gave way to sympathy as we made our way to the parking lot where we noticed a plump lady wearing a white sweatshirt and a scowl. She was arguing relentlessly with one of the sale reps.

"I guess he's right," I said, pointing out the altercation as we got ready to drive our car off the lot.

Pretty soon, I discovered Dan had not wanted to buy a hybrid for smug reasons. A hybrid fulfilled some of Dan's unrequited dreams of starring in a sci-fi movie and somewhat fueled his latent competitive tendencies.

For the first couple of weeks of our hybrid ownership, Dan mimicked the sound of the car every time we came to a stop. "It's like we're coming out of hyperspace." Our car really does sound like an X-wing fighter from Star Wars when it slows down.

Dan also spent the first few weeks of hybrid driving with his eyes on the dashboard rather than on the road. That's because our dashboard tells us how many miles per gallon we are getting as we drive. Getting the indicator to stay at 60+ mpg became a little game for Dan, one that he was going to win every outing.

"I got 60+ on that last block! That's really hard to do, you know, drive at the same speed."

"Yeah, but you're driving five miles under the speed limit, and you're going to wreck my car if you don't look at the road every once and a while." I was ignored.

"Uh oh. I dipped below 40. Maybe we can catch up." "31.8 for that whole trip! That's awful!"

Now that the temperature outside has dropped below 32 degrees, I've started to notice that we don't turn on the heater when Dan drives the car.

"I got 50 mpg the other day when I turned off the heater," he explains.

I think my husband's miles-per-gallon competition with himself is not so much about taking care of the environment as it is about advancing to the next level on a video game. And I suppose I should be grateful that we - the newbie hybrid owners - are too busy playing games to emit a cloud of self-righteous smug-i-ness over our city.

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Spring Neurosis Season Hits Early

A recent report on our local news station stated "Allergy season hits early," asserting that due to the mild winter, allergy season started earlier than usual in the Boise area and, due to the wet March, it will probably be long and strong.

So spring has sprung. Here are some of the things I love about spring:
1) Warmer weather despite some windy and rainy days
2) Only two months left of school signifying the light at the end of the tunnel
3) Going for a run outdoors without wearing Under Armour
4) Planting flowers and playing with my compost pile (That's not nearly as disgusting as it sounds, I promise.)

Along with the positive aspects of spring comes, not only allergy season, but something I like to call Spring Neurosis Season.

I know Spring Neurosis Season is just around the corner when my husband, Dan, starts talking about mowing the lawn.

"I guess I'll have to mow the lawn soon," he says with a sigh. "I wonder if I'll have to bag or not. It takes a lot longer to bag. I hope I don't have to bag. Maybe I won't bag."

About a week later, Dan mows the lawn, and I know Spring Neurosis Season has officially begun.

This year, Spring Neurosis Season brought me a plugged up ear, two migraines complete with acid-trip-like visual auras, and a few night terrors, more disturbing for my husband than for me. I usually sleep through them.

I have also had a few "Loss-of-Control" dreams. These dreams recur occasionally throughout the school year and consist of me standing in front of a chaotic Kindergarten or 6th grade class that is refusing to listen. In order to get the classes' attention, I launch into a tantrum that makes a two-year-old look mature, lots of eraser and SMART Board pen-throwing. Sometimes I even drop into a prostrate position and bang my fists on the ground. It doesn't work. Nobody pays attention. (Please don't turn me in. I've never actually behaved this way in front of a class in my ten years of teaching.)

My Spring Neurosis symptoms take a lot out of me. From January through March, I gave up my preps and lunches to prepare students for festivals and programs. I started evening rehearsals for The King and I. But I had plenty of energy. Now that all of my festivals and programs are over and my preps and lunchtimes are restored, I find myself exhausted.

This Spring Neurosis phenomenon doesn't just affect me. The kids at school are acting crazy too. And like allergy season, it seems a little earlier than usual. Typically, the kids wait until after the ISATs (Idaho's standardized tests that cause students, parents, and teachers many sleepless nights) to completely break down. Already though, many of my students have melted down, come to school in tears, and acted aggressively toward children and teachers. And our ISATs just started on Friday. Yes, my forecast says it's going to be a long Spring Neurosis Season.

Next week, we're playing instruments in music class. Am I nuts or what?

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Twenty Years Since Nevermind? (Or How to Make Gen X-ers Feel Old)

Last week, during spring break, I was generously given a few nights off from The King and I. So, being a spontaneous, carefree couple, Dan and I decided to hit the road and visit the Nirvana exhibit at Seattle’s Experience Music Project (EMP). (By the way, Dan and I are not very spontaneous. Because tone is difficult to convey over the Internet: I was being facetious.)

Nirvana: Taking Punk to the Masses was being installed last year during our pilgrimage to the Battlestar Galactica exhibit, and we missed seeing it by about a week. Nirvana's breakthrough album, Nevermind, just celebrated its 20th anniversary in 2011. This came as a bit of a shock. I still have a hard time believing I am from a generation whose iconic moments are 20+ years old.

“Do you want to make our trip Bohemian this time?” Dan asked, recalling that two years ago I had insisted on a more impromptu approach to our vacationing.

“No.”

“We could be a little Bohemian,” he said.

Before we left, we booked hotels in La Grande, Oregon, Seattle, and Leavenworth, Washington.

“What part of this trip is going to be Bohemian?” I asked Dan.

“I guess none.”

My totally not-free-spirited self was secretly relieved.

We broke up the trip so that we didn’t have to drive straight through from Boise to Seattle or, I suppose I should say, so that Dan didn’t have to drive straight through. My sister-in-law is always very surprised when I tell her that Dan single-handedly chauffeurs our road trips. I did not realize this was such a strange arrangement. So I attempted to put an end to this inequality in our marital roles.

“You know, I can drive too.”

Dan gave me a funny look.

“Forget I mentioned it. I would rather read anyway.”

I think he said, "Good," under his breath, but I can't be sure.

We had a “Nirvana Fest” on our way to and from Seattle. That’s what Dan and I call it when we play every album a band has ever made, usually in chronological order. I also included some Sleater-Kinney on our playlist. I had to represent my gender.

At the EMP, we walked around the exhibit making nostalgic statements such as:

“I remember seeing that shirt in ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit.'"

"That's the In Utero angel. I remember seeing that on stage."

"There's a clip from Unplugged. I remember seeing that on MTV (back when they used to focus on music, before The Jersey Shore was even a zygote)."

It's sad when you are walking around a "museum" exhibit - museums being the same establishments that house dinosaur bones - and you are able to recall the artifacts from your lifetime. It makes a 30-something Gen X-er feel quite old.

At one point Dan looked up from one of the early snapshots on display and said, "It looks like Kurt Cobain used conditioner back then. His hair's so shiny."

Before you think my husband was being disrespectful to Cobain's legacy, I should explain that Dan has been told on more than one occasion that he looks a bit like the Nirvana front man. I think Dan was comparing Cobain's shiny locks to his own. In fact, I wondered if other people visiting the exhibit would mention the resemblance or maybe even report possible "Ghost of Kurt Cobain" sightings at the EMP.

It didn't happen. Most guys in Seattle look a little like Kurt Cobain.

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