C.P. Snow once said, "There are two kinds of people, those who know how a refrigerator works, and those who don't." Similarly, Tony Lauro c. 1981 said of fourth floor Willard, "We've got two cliques on this floor, The Craves and The Douches". This distinction better fits my current mindset, but you'd be surprised who falls into which group, and also by the fact that I choose this time around to focus more on the former category than the latter. But I may change my mind at any moment as I write this, so watch out.
After a year off, last year I re-entered the annual Christmas letter arena, only to discover that the rest of the world had passed me by. While I was still typing out my missive through-composed in tiny print and minimal paragraphs, other people were getting creative, particularly Heather, who designed an entire newsletter complete with multiple columns, headlines, and graphics. Although the content was still much the same (had another kid, drove by your house and didn't tell you, etc.), the presentation actually made it more conducive to actually being read, something from which this letter of mine always seems to be suffering. Then Jennifer went and did the same thing. While I'm typically not a luddite about such advancements in technology, I'm in no hurry to take this rambling mess of a letter and reorganize it. After all, imagine the headlines if this were a newsletter: "Stonefamily Visits!" or "No Tone in San Antone!" Not exactly the Weekly World News, now is it?
But enough about you all, what about me? Still have the two kids. Justin is two, and does a remarkable job of communicating his opinions even though he doesn't talk much yet. Most kids I've seen who start talking late have developed this wonderful habit of screaming instead, but thankfully he hasn't acquired that particular trait yet. He's such a boy it's not even funny, give him a room full of toys and he'll choose to go over to the wall and play with the lightswitch. Chloe is now five, and is in five-morning-a-week preschool, and is taking "dance" lessons again (at that age everything associated with dancing is in quotes. In June she'll be in a "dance" recital). She's big into all the girly stuff, likes any and all dolls and dress-up stuff and such. But she'll sit down and watch Star Trek or Batman with Dad when given the opportunity, much to Beth's annoyance. She also likes the Three Stooges, which really thrills Mom to no end, but hey it's better than that Pokemon crap.
This year, feeling like gluttons for punishment, we decided to drive to Chicago in our increasingly undersized Honda Accord, mostly because, although it took me nearly five years of trying, I more or less perfected the ability to drive down the road and tune out just about everything. Plus we were going to be there for close to two weeks and I didn't feel like shelling out $500 for a rental car. The pilgrimage this time coincided with the World Science Fiction convention, which we last went to in SoCal in '96. This time it was downtown in the windy city, so the chance to go again when it was so handy was too good an opportunity to pass up. Generally we're out in the boonies at my sister's during our visits, so it was fun to actually be downtown where the action is for a few days. Even Bill Stonehill got himself a membership and drove up with the Stonefamily for the Labor Day weekend and attended a few panels and the Hugo Awards with me.
It was exceedingly complicated to orchestrate everyone's schedules, and, as the instigator of the whole trip, this task seemed to fall to me. Not only did I attend the convention whenever possible, but also had to work in time to see the rest of my family, my relatives, the Pollocks and the aforementioned Stonebrood. Not to mention working out the logistics of how Beth and the kids would meet up with and occupy their time with my Mom and/or siblings and/or their families. The crowning achievement was getting 16 of us, including four kids, out to dinner at Giordano's on a Saturday night. It all went amazingly well, and the con was even better than the one in Anaheim. Although there will always be a trip to Chicago, fortunately it'll be at least nine years before it coincides with the Worldcon again.
The big news on the Stone-front was that Karen was back at Northwestern. After 14 years of the real world, she had decided to go back to school and learn something useful, and what better place than her alma mater, so what if it was three hours from her house? So she's been commuting on Sunday night to Evanston, staying in campus housing until Thursday, then driving back to South Bend for the weekend while she gets a masters in music education or something. It's only for a couple of years, she says. Bill must have said fifty times, "Yeah, I'm Doctor Dad now", but if anybody could handle it of course it's those two. Karen even asked me to write her a letter of recommendation, which I was happy to do, although most of the reasons I could think of that NU should take her weren't necessarily ones that NU would agree with. But they accepted her nonetheless, and even though she's 60 percent older than her classmates I'm sure she fits right in and just sits in the back of the room and doesn't draw attention to herself.
Didn't see the Rebstocks during that trip. I sent Don a message saying when we'd be there, and he wrote back saying, "As luck would have it, we'll be in Iowa that week." Still trying to figure out how to interpret that. But Nate came down for a couple of days, and he and I met up with Liz Cohen and Jim Andrews and saw the Wildcats, in a rare Thursday night game, trounce perennial whipping-boys Northern Illinois at Ryan Field. Nate wanted to tailgate before the game, but, not being a season ticket holder, couldn't park in the tailgating lot, so we schlepped everything four blocks from his car and discovered you didn't really need an actual tailgate in order to tailgate. While Nate probably would have come down for the game even if we weren't going to be there, he never said as much, preserving at least the appearance of going out of his way to see us. He was also homeless, jobless, and of course woman-less at the time, which made his decision to come to town that much more impressive, although it made the tailgate easier because all of his worldly possessions were already in his car.
Like Karen, Nate had undergone some sort of epiphany recently that maybe math without numbers isn't so bad after all, and is certainly better than teaching. So, like Karen, he was about to restart his education and go for a higher degree in math, although at Minnesota, not NU. After all, once you've been embroiled in the palace intrigue that is professional croquet administration, only advanced number theory would not seem like a step down. The evening after the game Nate joined the Bartletts and the Pollocks for dinner at the Wild Fire restaurant downtown. Doug and Jennifer are expecting their second in a couple of months, and Jennifer was looking forward to telling her crazy boss that she was quitting. Their first, Benjamin Pohn Pollock (I forget his real middle name), is now two and a half and wants everyone to know it. The restaurant was perfect for kids because the general noise level was such that nobody even noticed we had three noisy tykes at our table (including, sometimes, us). But it made conversation a challenge, so I didn't really get much new info out of the Riverside contingent.
One unusual aspect of this year was that it was Kevin-less. Nancy and Lee moved over the summer deeper into the bowels of New Jersey and closer to their respective places of employment, but farther away from both New York and us, which I'm sure is great for them but damned inconvenient for me. And when Wolsky blew into town for a Sox game this summer, it was the same day we were coming back from a trip to Maine, so we weren't able to make connections. I assumed there would be another opportunity to hook up once the 'Cats were bowl bound, but alas Adam refuses to go to Texas. "They've got hicks there," he says. And Connecticut doesn't? Come on, who wouldn't want to spend New Year's Eve in a state that not only allows open beer in your car (or, more likely, your truck), but also condones concealed weapons. And now they've given us a President, too. Yee-haw!
Then there's Tony, who for all intents and purposes dropped off the face of the earth last year after inexplicably moving to Michigan. As it transpired, he and his family ended up back in Charlotte only a few months later, and just never got around to mentioning it to anybody. Last Christmas I sent Tony's letter to Charlotte, not having the new one in Michigan. It didn't come back, so I figured he must have gotten it, replete with my address, two phone numbers and e-mail address (things he was always in the habit of "losing") emblazoned at the top of page one. But still, not a peep. So when the trip to Chicago was imminent, I got down to brass tacks and set about to track down the s.o.b., figuring that if he was in Michigan we might arrange a drive-by, or else get them to come to Chicago for the game. It took a few days, but I actually came upon Tony Sr.'s e-mail address through Altavista, sent him a message, and a couple of days after that, we were back in business. Tony was tempted to have his dad just send me a message back saying, "Gee, I'm sorry, but Tony died tragically," just to cover his ass, but he wisely decided to fess up instead. As it worked out, I flew to Charlotte on business a couple of months later and spent the evening at the Lauro's, where they have a very nice house and all the rooms have furniture now, and of course Linda cooked an enormous amount of food. Their little girl, Katie, is only a few days older than Justin, and was exceedingly cute and already talking a blue streak. Despite his previous epistolary transgressions, Tony was well on his way to absolution. He kept saying, "Well, I'm terrible at keeping in touch, but I'm not as bad as Nancy, right?" Nope, Tone, try again. "Well, at least I'm easier to find than Creighton, right?" As Alex Trebec would say, "Ooh, no, sorry."
By this time, the Wildcats were winning, and after our spectacular victory against Michigan we were bowl bound again for the first time in four years. The odds-on favorite was either the Citrus or Outback bowls, both in Florida, and Tony and I were already mentally planning to spend New Year's down there, and what the heck, even bring the families. But then the 'Cats got hosed, going to the #4 bowl in spite of being the #2 team in the Big Ten. Tony refused to go San Antonio, somehow thinking this would punish the other bowls for passing us over. Then it transpired that we would play Nebraska, a higher ranked team than either Michigan or Ohio State would get. Now Tony was psyched again, but too late to do anything about it. So it looks like it'll be me, Nate, the Cohens and the new, improved, svelte, clean-shaven Daren Smith in Texas after Christmas. During the halftime show, the NU Marching Band will form a circle at mid-field around a 30-foot stand-up cutout of Tony and chant "Weaaaaaaaaak".
Let's see, who else was destined for douche-dom this year? Jeff was at the top of the list after completely ignoring every single e-mail sent to him for the last six months regarding the Wildcats or anything else, until I recently discovered that he had been seriously injured by a rabid rhino while on safari in Tanzania. After months of physical therapy in a third-world hospital, he has only recently regained the use of his extremities to the point that he can even check his e-mail. I'm told, however, that a complete recovery is expected in time for him to participate in the synchronized snowboarding competition of the next Winter X-Games, whenever they are. Chloe watched our wedding video for the first time recently, pointed at the best man and said, "Who's that?" Sad, really.
Got an e-mail from the e-Man shortly before Christmas last year announcing the Olson's entry into the internet generation. But after a few weeks, further messages to him started coming back saying "no such address". Guess they found out the hard way that only the first month of AOL is free. Even better, last year's card to Phil came back saying "forwarding address expired". Not surprising, now that he was married I figured he was coerced into ditching all his college cronies like everybody else. Don got the same treatment from him. Unlike either of us, Don's parents got a Christmas card from Phil, though, so we were able to track him down that way, still in Norfolk, new address. Kinda wanted to go down there this summer and assess the situation for myself, and even toyed with the idea of spending a week at Virginia Beach with the family, but ended up going to Maine instead.
Others have briefly checked in, keeping them in the clear for one more year. Cris is still in New Mexico, and if you close your eyes while Ralph Nader is speaking (and who doesn't?) he kind of sounds like Cris, which makes me think that's a prerequisite for admission into the Green Party. Doug & Rise are adopting a baby as we speak, which somehow just makes me feel old. Creighton let it slip the other day that he's back in Boston temporarily, but nobody showed the slightest interest. If our favorite uncontrollable nihilist makes an appearance before he disappears again, I'll be sure to let you all know.
And as for me? After three years as Treasurer and 12 years as a member of my chorus I'm taking a break from singing this year. Now I can just stay home on Tuesday nights and watch Buffy like the rest of the world. I may even be changing companies soon, although the increased responsibility would force me to admit that the computer arena I've been working in for the last 11 years is now unequivocally my "career". Ick. Still working out, too. A truly historic event took place while visiting Illinois this summer, when my brother Scott and I went on a three-mile run around Mom's neighborhood. Never before had two Bartletts exerted that much energy simultaneously. If you felt the heavens quake or saw some other strange portents (a horse with two heads and eight legs, perhaps?), that was why. Think I'll do a 5K this spring, so hold on to the furniture! In the meantime, Happy Holidays, and enjoy the REAL beginning of the new millennium!