McCain's America: Day Six

Went to bed fairly early last night seeing as I had to get up at the crack of dawn (ok, 7:30) to leave for church by 9:00. In case you are unaware, people in Memphis love their churches, the bigger the better. Seriously, the city features the biggest bunch of big churches you'll ever see in one place. There's one with so many bells and whistles that my sister's husband calls it "Six Flags Over Jesus." However, after visiting their church, I note that they really don't have room to talk. First stop, the parking lot. There are parking directors (embarrasingly named "coneheads," don't ask me why) and trams. Yes, I said TRAMS. When we got on, I asked my nephew which ride he wanted to go on first.

The tram drops us off at the door and we walk about half a mile to Jackson's classroom. It is one of I don't even know how many 4-5 year olds classrooms. Then we start the trek to the new sanctuary. The new multi-million dollar sanctuary. We pass a lobby worthy of a fancy hotel. There are information booths. Coffee bars. A soup station. And then there's the sanctuary. I'll just say this: I've never seen a sanctuary with nose-bleed seats before. I have also never seen a church with its own map before, so I, of course, felt the need to include it.

As we're getting settled, I put my water bottle in some sort of complicated cupholder. Cupholder! And then we stand for the music, which I admit is impressive. Having grown up in the baptist church, I am always impressed when churches feature musicians besides organists and pianists. The saxaphone was an added bonus.

My sister loves her church, and I'm glad she does. But I just have a fondness for my smallish church which doesn't even own a building, much less a multi-million dollar one. I enjoy the thrill of making my own parking space each week and then walking a few steps to the door. There's the Pepto Bismol pink bathroom tile, the puke yellow carpet, the seventies-era artwork, and the crazy ass tracts of the Seventh Day Adventists whose building we lease on Sundays. It's homey, not to mention homely. But when I'm thousands of miles from my family, homey is good.

Something about the South makes me extremely nappish. After a bit of shut eye, I walked down to the "lake" in my sister's subdivision and did a few laps around it. Got my fix of "This American Life," and tried to avoid the "mean ducks" (aka geese). I was doing fine till the fourth lap when a couple of the geese hissed at me as I went by. I decided I was cold and wet enough as it was, so I headed back to Jenna's.

I played with Jackson a bit and then got in a few crosswords (yes, I realize I'm nerdy. my sister informed me years ago.). Jenna made Greek food for dinner. It was yummy. Best part was: it didn't involve turkey. Yay!!

McCain's America: Day Five

My sister and family met some friends for breakfast, and I slept in. My ulterior motive was to do some yoga in peace. I never imagined myself as someone who would be jonesing for the opportunity to do some yoga, but there it is.

After they got back, there was a brief ruckus over Jackson's missing Tigers t-shirt, but it was eventually located. Then Shawn and Jackson headed out for the Tigers game. (I'm not exactly sure what sport the Tigers play. Given the time of year, I suspect it's football.)

They brought me back a pumpkin muffin, which was super-yummy. Of course, the best part was the cream cheese icing. And, yes, I realize that the presence of cream cheese icing made it less of a muffin and more of a cupcake...

After Jenna had time to rest up from her breakfast, we decided to give Target another go. Thankfully, there was no line snaking around the store. However, there was also no Chi flat-iron or stand mixer that we'd come for. (I'd noticed that my sister had a flat iron on her vanity, and I asked her if it was a Chi. She said, "No, it's a cheeeee-ap.")

We did manage to load up on toys for Jackson. I opted for Play-Doh stuff since most of his current stash is an amalgam of a whole mess of colors. I realize the new stuff will probably look the same a few days after Christmas, but figured it was worth a shot anyhow.

Jenna got him a big box of Crayons, so the evening's activities included a coloring contest. Ok, it wasn't actually a contest, but I consider myself the winner anyhow. My Eeyore rocked!

More turkey for dinner. I am seriously beginning to understand my sister's distaste for the bird. I mean, I do like turkey, but it starts to get old after three days. Not to mention pretty dried out.

McCain's America: Day Four

At 3:00 a.m. my alarm goes off. I hit the snooze a couple of times before reluctantly dragging my ass out of bed. I throw on some clothes, brush the teeth, and put the hair in ponytails. Call me ready to go.

We pull into the Kohl's parking lot at about 5 til 4:00. Half of Memphis has arrived before us. The line snakes half-way around the building. There are Kohl's employees outside helping shoppers plan their strategies, i.e. Shopper: "Where are the mp3 players?" Kohl rep: "Go straight to the back of the store." Shopper: "Where are those down throws?" Kohl rep: "Turn left and they're about half-way back in the bedding area." Seriously.

Jenna and I split up immediately. She's racing to the mp3 players. I'm looking for cheap cashmere. Priorities.

I am dissapointed to note that the "cashmere blend" socks are 5% cashmere. But, hey, they're soft and 5 bucks for two, so I get them anyway. Next stop, cashmere sweaters. I snag three cardigans (black, purple, and aqua) for $34.99 each. Whee!! I grab some taupe suede ballet flats ($15), which I ultimately reject after carting them around the store for a while. Then I swoop in on the cute pink purse I saw in the flyer, and I'm done. I run into Jenna who is dragging around a very large Kohl's mesh bag filled with mp3 players, a portable DVD player, games, clothes, and who knows what all. Eventually, we make it to the back of the line, which is conveniently at the very back of the store. There are two lines actually. Each is equally long. We note the time: 5:05. Jenna continues to shop as I kick her bag forward while trying to balance my various purchases. Whenever she returns to the line for a few moments, she commences to chat with the folks around us. (Need I say these are women folks?) She's like our mom that way. She'll strike up a conversation with anyone, anywhere. Me, I zone out. I should add that she sits at any given opportunity. Her favorite part of the line was when we were in the bedding department.

If this is sounding pretty boring, that's because it was. I believe this is the longest line I've ever waited in that didn't have a ride at the end. As we were edging toward the front of the store, someone passed a box of doughnuts forward. Sadly, they were not Krispy Kreme, so I passed. Though I did appreciate the gesture. Even in Seattle, people are unlikely to hand out free doughnuts to strangers. Ah, the humanity. I should also add that this was the first time I had ever seen a whole mess of Southern women sans makeup. This just doesn't happen. However, I was even more floored by the fact that some women were in FULL makeup (and hair) at 4:00 a.m. Scary.

We finally made it out of Kohl's around 6:30. (Yep, that's an hour and a half in line.) So we promptly headed over to Target. We were due home at 8:00 so Jenna's husband could go to work. After Jenna almost ran over people angling for a parking space, we went in only to discover that Target also had a mega line. We followed the line around the store trying to gauge whether or not we could make it out in time. We made it to the back of the store and kept going and going (like the energizer bunny) but we never did see the end of the line. Needless to say, we bailed.

I can't recall too much of the rest of the day. It involved several naps. And leftovers. Lots of leftovers.

McCain's America: Day Three

Turkey Day arrives. Although if my sister had had her druthers, it would be Non-turkey Day. She called me several times before I left home saying things like, "Do we HAVE to have a turkey?" (um, yes.) and "What if we just had a turkey breast?" (um, no.) and "Kroger has bone-in turkey breasts. What if I got two of those? Does anybody eat dark meat anyway?" (no and no, but still...) My sister doesn't like turkey. She's more fond of the pig. But only when it's doctored up with honey, brown sugar, and coke. (Another half-dessert that I forgot to mention.) This year, she used orange juice in lieu of the coke. The ham was decidedly citrus-y. Thankfully, her mother-in-law brought over a bird.

Due to the prep work the night before, we were done with the cooking in record time. I actually had time to sit down and watch the parade. Thankfully, I'd recorded it, so it only took about 20 minutes to see the whole thing (fast forwarding through all the marching bands, high school musical-type acts, singing, commentary, etc.). In short, I watched the balloons, a handful of floats, and Santa. I now realize why I haven't watched the parade in years. It's one big commercial, which I find extremely annoying. I'm watching the Smurf balloon, (Smurf!!) and the commentators start rattling on about how there's going to be a Smurf movie. Another float promotes the return of Hair to Broadway, etc. etc. The highlight of the whole thing was the Fred Hill Briefcase Drill Team. Hi-larious.

Jenna's mother-in-law arrived around 1:00 with the ubiquitous crudité. This year it involved purple cauliflower, but sadly there was no dip. When Shawn asked where the dip was, his mom said, "We don't need that. It's bad for us." While this is undoubtedly true, it seemed rather a moot point seeing as our spread included 1. candied ham 2. sweet potato "casserole" 3. cranberry "salad" 4. cornbread dressing with duck 5. candied green beans with bacon 6. rolls with butter. suffice it to say, not a lot of purple cauliflower was eaten.

after the feast, pretty much everybody lapsed into a food coma.

a few hours later, we reconvened and started going through the sales flyers in the paper. every year, my sister and I swear we're not going to go shopping on Black Friday. And, yes, we're fighting the crowds every single year. so as we're perusing the flyers, my sister says, "These kind of make me want to get up and go shopping." (I should note, that while we do usually end up at the mall every year, we have long since given up the early-bird specials.)

Long story short, my sister asks, "If I went to Kohl's at 4 a.m., would you go with me?" Me: "Why not?" We retire early, hoping for some semblance of rest...

McCain's America: Day Two

My first morning in McCain's America starts with a migraine. Fitting. After a quick hit on the Imitrex pipe, I was feeling somewhat human by around 10:00. Human enough to recommence my newfound yoga routine, even.

It started out a bit awkwardly and quickly went downhill from there. My sister's DVD situation is a bit dicey at the moment, so I popped the dvd into my laptop and positioned it on the coffee table. So far, so good. As soon as I press play and get settled cross-legged on the floor, two things happen: 1. my sister commences to mock me and 2. she also turns up the volume on the TV. (I should mention that the base level of any TV my sister watches is LOUD. She turned it up to Almost Earsplitting.)

I'm following along best I can without the benefit of the soothing yogi's instructions (or the mellowing soundtrack), when my adorable four-year-old nephew joins in the routine. Apparently, four year olds don't have the best balance; he fell over a lot. But he put forth a valiant effort. Much more than my sister who was watching Intervention on the couch, eating pita chips and what I thought was cream cheese, but later found out was swiss cheese. Tomato, tomahto.

Oh, and whenever I attempted to lie on my back, my sister's cat, Tigger, amused himself by eating my hair. This is nothing new from Tigger. He always eats my hair. I'm just not usually attempting yoga at the time.

Halfway through my stretching routine, the cable guy shows up. I take a break and start unpacking. The bookshelves in my sister's guest bedroom are hopelessly cluttered with a vast array of picture frames and candles (about a third of which were given to her by yours truly, so I suppose I've little right to complain. However, I won't let that stop me.) My stuff is perched precariously on any inch of open space I can find, such that trying to locate any particular item is like playing Where's Waldo. While blindfolded.

The day was rather uneventful from there. I worked a few hours, watched Sponge Bob with Jackson (um, not recommended), had dinner, blah blah yadda.

So then I'm in the kitchen doing prep for tomorrow's feast when my sister starts watching Law and Order. I sit down when she's about half-way through the episode I've been half-way listening to from the kitchen. She says, "You can rewind it; I haven't been paying attention." (She is presently in the grip of an insidious Facebook addiction.) So I rewind it and get about half-way through when she says, "Do you mind rewinding it? I haven't been paying attention." Do I mind? Yes. Do I rewind it anyway? Yes. Right about the time I'm learning brand new plot points, Jenna's husband walks in. Graciously, he does not ask me to rewind it...

Later, my sister's in the kitchen attempting to put the top layer on her not-exactly-congealed cranberry salad. (As she pointed out, I'm not sure something can actually be called a salad if it contains cool whip, not to mention cream cheese and jello.) She's having quite a time trying to get the somewhat thick cream cheese/cool whip amalgamation spread across the liquidy jello bottom layer. I point out the various mountains, valleys, craters, and faults which comprise the topography of this particular side dish. Yes, I said side dish. Only in the South do you find desserts as a side dish, in lieu of vegetables. On Thanksgiving, we feature two and a half desserts as side dishes: The aforementioned cranberry "salad," the sweet potato "casserole," and the green bean bundles. Yes, green beans are technically a vegetable...until you douse them in bacon, butter, and brown sugar.

Until tomorrow...

Thirty Days in McCains America: Day One

At approximately 8:00 a.m. today, I left the comfort of my blue state and embarked on the social experiment I've dubbed "30 days in McCain's America." It's not exactly a Morgan Spurlock adventure, seeing as I grew up in McCain's America. Of course, back in the day it was Nixon/Ford's America. But I digress...

I figured the only way to embark on a journey to McCain's America was to go first class (seeing as how I haven't a Lear jet at my disposal.) I suppose I should mention that I lucked into said first class ticket by booking with a frequent flyer back in July.

Before I even boarded the plane, my attitude shifted. I caught myself thinking, "Isn't there a FIRST CLASS security line? I have to wait here with all these COACH people?" But it wasn't until I sunk into my big, plush leather seat–with more leg room than short people like me could ever need–that I thought, "As God is my witness, I will never fly coach again."

And then there was the food. Apparently it's still free in first class. Hot food even. How long has it been since I've seen that? I'm sad to say I had to pass on the food seeing as I'd gone with my coach instincts and bought a pre-flight muffin at Tully's.

Did I mention that my seat was stocked with 1. a pillow 2. a blanket 3. headphones 4. a wee bottle of water and 5. a masseuse? Ok, no masseuse, but there's an idea to pass along to Delta. How about some vibrating chair action? I mean it IS supposed to be first class!

In first class, one is trusted with actual glassware. You wouldn't think a plain old glass could be a perk (it wasn't even cute). But when you've suffered with plastic all these years and then are offered actual glass, Hoo Boy!

It may have been my imagination, but I believe there were two attendants assigned to first class. That 7:1 ratio sure beats the 582:1 in the seats behind the curtain.

Not to belabor the point (but I suppose it's too late), the lavatories had hardwood floors. Probably fake hardwood, but still. Which lead me to think, "What is that ruffian from COACH doing in the FIRST CLASS lavatory?" And yes, I actually thought "lavatory."

The nadir of the experience was realizing that first class luggage is delivered at the same baggage claim (and in the same slow-ass manner) as everyone else's. Although in the end I was delighted to discover that I'd made it through Atlanta without losing luggage. Another incredible first!

All this falls into my theory that you never quite understand how bad something is until something far better comes along. Don't get me wrong. I am well aware that coach sucks and manages to get worse every time I fly. But now that I've tasted the free margarita (in glass glass!), something tells me I will never again be excited by the windfall WHOLE CAN of coke again. Sigh.

p.s. Holy crap! I forgot to mention the hot towel service before the meal. Seriously.

p.s. #2: I apologize to readers who are already familiar with all the comforts of first class. You know, those of you who were wondering, "What is that girl in the stained Uggs doing up here with US?"