LES REVENANTS

Oh God, don't get me started on my midterm election anxiety. As much as the media has been hinting around about the "blue wave" that could be coming (hmm, when have we heard that one before?) and the Dems possibly flipping the House and Senate....I'll believe it when I see it. I used to be lowkey optimistic about such things, but--as Madonna once sang--I've learned my lesson well.

Regardless, VOTE in this election, people! VOTE EARLY! Come on, do it! GO NOW!

Well, go in a few minutes. Read this post first, for I come here today not to preach, but to amuse. And this story is definitely amusing. It's also from the right-wing, Murdoch-owned New York Post. However, to avoid giving that rag more clicks, I've copied and pasted all the pertinent details below, including an image of the offending item from the article.

Talk about a buzzkill.

A furious California father said his family vacation to Central Florida theme parks was “ruined” after his 3-year-old daughter found a sex toy in their condo — and he claims the resort barely took the shocking discovery seriously.

Mike Gross and his family had booked a four-day stay at Holiday Inn Club Vacations’ Orange Lake Resort in Kissimmee.

"It looked great, had good reviews — that’s why it was so shocking,” Mike Gross told The Post.

On the second night, Gross said his little girl walked up behind him with a “present” she found in a drawer.

It was a six-inch vibrator.

Okay, stop. First of all, that thing pictured below may technically be a vibrator, in that it vibrates (see the USB cord attached), but it's obviously not your basic straightforward bedroom toy that most people likely envision when they think "vibrator." This particular apparatus definitely seems designed for something more specific, if you catch my drift. Possibly a massager for the prostate or the G-spot. But whatever. Maybe I'm just being pedantic.

Gross said he was horrified by the discovery but calmly scrubbed his daughter’s hands — and then his own.

I'm middle-aged and my vision is going, so I first read that sentence above as "Gross said he was hornified by the discovery."

After he and wife put their daughter and 5-year-old son to bed, they quickly searched the condo for any other adult playthings.

Gross called the front desk and said he was told someone would contact him immediately.

But nobody did.

Stunned, he tried to hook up with management again.

By the next day, he still hadn’t heard a peep from staff — and started to suspect he was getting screwed.

You know, as much as I loathe the New York Post, I do appreciate the writer's snark. "Buzzkill," "tried to hook up," "getting screwed"? Bravo, madam.   

“At first we were laughing about it, trying to have a sense of humor,” Gross said. “What made me so mad was their total lack of concern.”

The next day at Disney World was not the experience Gross had dreamed about.

“I couldn’t enjoy myself,” he said. The hotel was “ignoring a potential biohazard. How can they not care?”

Uh-huh. Let me translate that: "At first we thought it was hilarious when little Maddysyn wandered into the room holding a sex toy, but eventually the hamster wheel in my brain started turning and I said to my wife, 'Hey honey, potential payday!'" 

Later, Gross went to the lobby, slammed the dirty sex toy on the desk and loudly demanded answers.

“By that time I was so mad I was shaking,” he said. “Everyone was staring. You could have heard a pin drop.”

Gross said he saw a manager, but got a decidedly limp response.

Dude didn't appreciate a limp response. He likes his responses rock hard. Also, "slammed the dirty sex toy on the desk and loudly demanded answers"? MARY! What a drama queen! 

Three weeks passed before the resort responded with an offer of $1,300 — on the condition that he not post reviews, speak about the “incident” or contact government agencies.

“No way I was taking that deal,” he said.

So he went screeching to the tabloids and got a better deal! Hey, they don't call it checkbook journalism for nothing. 

Instead, he took his daughter to a doctor for testing.

Oh, for fuck's sake. What exactly were they testing for? Didn't he say he washed the kid's hands immediately? This is such an obvious cash grab. Dad's still got dollar signs in his eyes, and he's laying the groundwork for one of the most bullshit lawsuits ever.  

“Everyone makes mistakes,” Gross said. “But ignore the situation and the potential danger, now you’re gonna have a pissed-off dad. Holiday Inn will never get my business again." 

Right. I'm sure each and every front desk staff member of each and every Holiday Inn around the globe is observing an International Day of Mourning to grieve the loss of your patronage, sir.

Also? A sex toy seems pretty damned pedestrian, as far as things you could potentially find in a Florida hotel room. Seriously. 

Anyway, the whole thing reminds me of that scene in Parenthood where, during a family gathering at Dianne Wiest's house, the power goes out, everyone is fumbling around in the dark, and Steve Martin gets ahold of what he thinks is a flashlight. Then the lights go back on.

"Mommy, what was that?" 

"It was....an electric ear cleaner."

Just an aside: I can't get over how much Mary Steenbergen looks like my mother did at the time! In 1989, Mom had the same hairstyle (perm, color, and length), same petite build, and similar facial features. It's making me all verklempt!

Go hug your moms, everyone. And don't forget to vote.

 THE BOOK 

I was temping in downtown St. Paul around the same time I was dating Jay (see previous post). I remember very little about the job itself--the details of mind-numbing temp gigs tend to blend one into the other over the years--but I do know I was working at The Ramsey County Government Center on Kellogg, next to the Science Museum. I remember having to walk through a metal detector every day, and needing to wear an ID badge to go anywhere in the complex. Our supervisor was a goofy, genial guy who was the spitting image of Dan Fogelberg and frequently quoted old cartoon characters (Mr. Peabody, Underdog, etc).

My old boss, before he got a government job.

I became friendly with another temp, a lady named Reva who was in her mid-40s. Reva was a bookworm like me, and we often traded paperbacks. One day she came in with a novel called Spilling Clarence by Anne Ursu, a book she'd started reading but was "not really feeling it," so I said I'd give it a try. 

Spoiler alert: I never read it. The job assignment ended later that year, I lost touch with Reva (one of the folks lost to the mists of time in the days before social media, back before everyone was trackable) and I never read the damned book.    

Guess what, though? I still have it. 

It's like it was with the mug: I didn't plan to hold onto this book all these years later, I just did. Although, there was some intentionality with this one. See, I have to regularly do sweeps to pare down my collection and get rid of any books I don't plan on reading again, otherwise I wouldn't have room for anything else.* The books I end up keeping are either signed copies, or ones that have sentimental value (if it was a gift from someone dear, I'll usually hold onto it). But all the books in my "slush pile" get dispatched to Half Price Books and various Little Free Libraries around town. 

I've kept Spilling Clarence for over twenty years now. It's been on the chopping block every time I've done a book purge, and every time, it manages to stay. 

Why have I held onto it? The main reason is, well, because I never read it. As a book lover, I cannot---will not---get rid of a book that I haven't read yet. I mean, what if it's amazing? I'll never know if I donate it. 

Also? Spilling Clarence sounds intriguing, if the description on the back cover is anything to go on: 

"What if you could suddenly remember everything that ever happened to you? Would it be a blessing, or a curse? This is the fate of the residents of the town of Clarence, who fall under the spell of a strange and powerful drug that unlocks their memories. The past comes flooding back without the buffer of time, and the townspeople, young and old, find themselves awash in their own reminiscences--of love and death, of war and childhood, of happiness they've experienced and sins they've committed. Beautifully rendered with a light comic touch, Spilling Clarence is a beguiling exploration of our relationship with our histories, the seductive pull of regret, the unreliability of memory, and the bliss of forgetting." 

Hey, look what I found stuck in the pages! 

It's the passport card from my very first passport, which, judging by the date, was issued on July 2, 2006 (ten years before the expiration date listed). Cool!

Without further ado, I am reading it. Yep, today's the day. 

Let's do this, bitches.

* I have to periodically do the same with clothes and shoes, or my closets would overflow.