I finally saw the bad family Christmas card that my in-laws sent out. I wouldn’t say that I’m scowling, but I definitely look vexed. And I probably was, considering that Tim’s aunt went on some kind of freak-rant about how the wine Tim and I brought was dessert wine, which it wasn’t, but since she’s got shitloads of money* it apparently means that she knows EVERYTHING ABOUT WINE.

I’m not sure if the picture is the worst thing about the card, though. I’m not particularly happy having my name associated with a religious holiday card of the “camels visiting the Baby Jesus and have a blessed holiday season” variety. They don’t get that I’m not religious, nor is Tim. I keep getting religious geegaws from them: nativity sets, angel protection charms for my car, that kind of stuff. I have no idea what I’m going to do with it. Anyone want a primitive-style wooden nativity set? Come on! You know you do! The Baby Jesus looks like a peanut!

I am also not happy that the card is (electronically) signed “from the In-Laws Family: Nanette, Tim, [insert in-laws names here].”

Seriously, if I had wanted to send out holiday cards, I would have sent out my own damn holiday cards. I did not ask my in-laws to send holiday greetings on my behalf.

My 81-year-old grandmother was right, though: they do look like a bunch of dorks in the photo, what with the grinning and the festive holiday-wear. I swear I will never, ever let those people near me with a camera ever again.

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*She also has a house that looks like a Miami drug lord’s hangout, circa 1983. The wallpaper in their downstairs bathroom kills me. It’s teal and magenta paintbrush swishes. I feel like people should be snorting coke off the top of her toilet tank. Someday I shall brave her and her stockbrokerbankerdude husband who refuses to acknowledge my presence and take a picture for posterity.

Okay, so I know I’ve written about the Kidz Bop series of CDs before. They’re these awful compilations of kiddie cover versions of popular songs that are insanely popular with the elementary-school aged youth of College Town. These things are so evil that they make me want to have my ovaries removed to prevent me from ever having a child so I will never have to purchase such a ridiculous thing, ever.

It gets better, though.

Today, I received a copy of Kidz Rap Radio, which is apparently the rap music version of Kidz Bop. If you thought a kiddie version of “Take Me Out” was nutty, wait until you hear the kiddie version of The Ying Yang Twins’ “Wait (The Whisper Song.” You know, the song with these lyrics, which are so not safe for work that they may set your computer aflame with their straight-up dirtiness.

Needless to say, the sanitized version is only 2 minutes and 30 seconds long, and features the refrain “Wait ’till you see my kicks.” The Ying Yang Twins did not mention shoes at all in the original version. As a matter of fact, I’m sure that all shoes had already been removed. As well as pants. And underpants.

There’s also a version of “Laffy Taffy,” another song I’ve blogged about before, but I can’t bring myself to listen to it.

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Also, I would love it if someone would tell some of the folks on Newlib-L to shut up. Seriously. This argument about whether or not MLS holders are entitled to a job is getting stupid. It’s the same five people going “yes it is!” “no it’s not!” over and over and over.

I can’t believe some of the people out there who consistently make asses of themselves online and then wonder why they can’t find a job.

Last Sunday, Tim and I went to Decatur to visit some friends and to enjoy the lush, delightful smell of soybean processing in action. We knew that the weather was supposed to get nasty that afternoon, but we didn't give a crap–the last time we canceled our plans to go to D-town because the Weather Channel had a "tornadoes likely" forecast, the weather didn't do anything and we felt like jackasses.

One of our stops in Decatur was Menards, because Colin needed to return some stuff. We decided that it would be a good idea to purchase a new weather radio, because the old one is no longer functional, and because I am a weather geek who really likes to know when the Big One is coming so I can scare the living crap out of myself over it.

After a long afternoon of gyros at the Lincoln Lounge (which is surprisingly fresh-smelling on a Sunday afternoon), shopping at the Hickory Point Mall (which just isn't the same since the demise of Corn Dog 7), loafing in Colin's basement, and watching the cable TV get interrupted by tornado warnings, we decided that it would behoove us to get the heck out of Decatur while it was still semi-decent outside. We listened to the radio on the way home, and heard the warnings for the approaching storm, which hit Decatur right as we arrived back at our apartment.

We immediately put on a local news station, and I was thrilled to note that the weatherman who reminds me of Dafydd from Little Britain was on. I always feel safe when Dafydd is giving me immediate updates on impending severe weather. I split my attention between the TV and our large picture window, which offers a magnificent view of both our carport and the western sky. It didn't look that nasty. Whatever.

Then the cable was interrupted for a tornado warning! We get tornado warnings here all the time. It is no big deal, unless you have just moved here from Chicago. It is, however, a big deal when the cable is interrupted for a tornado warning. The interruption usually includes a variation on the message "The National Weather Service has issued a tornado warning for [insert quadrant of] Champaign County. Please take cover TO SAVE YOUR LIFE." Sometimes the message is delivered by a very unsettling robot voice, which really freaks the Chicagoans out. This time, it was delivered by a friendly-but-businesslike ESDA guy.

I still didn't care too much and kept looking out the picture window and listening to Dafydd talk about the Doppler radar.

Then the power went out, so there was nothing but the picture window to entertain me.

Tim turned on the weather radio, which worked just fine (thankfully). Yes, there was a tornado warning for Champaign County. No, it wasn't our part of Champaign County. So I continued going about my business, which wasn't much considering that the power was out.

I was doing something besides looking out the picture window when Tim said, in an uncharacteristically stern voice, "It looks creepy and hazy out there, and kind of green. Get in the bathtub!"

Ah, the bathtub of our second-floor apartment. As the one interior room with no windows, it is our shelter from tornadoes. Tim grabbed the weather radio and a couple of towels, I grabbed the two giant pillows from the couch, and we sat down in the tub, hoping that the impending tornado would skip over our apartment building. Those pillows are great and all–I have fallen asleep on them while lounging on the couch many times–but I do not think they are the best protection from a mighty force of nature. In the mythical battle of tornado versus the pillows on my couch, the tornado wins 99.999% of the time.

So we sat in the bathtub and listened to the weather radio and all of the creepy noises from outside. There's something unsettling about sitting in a bathtub with a pillow over your head during a tornado warning. Everything sounds like a tornado. A light breeze blowing a leaf across the porch? Tornado. Static on the weather radio? Tornado. The wind blowing everything off the windowsill? Definitely a tornado. I probably would have felt safer standing in front of the picture window, where I could at least see what was going on.

The bathroom got stuffier and stuffier. The flashlight on the weather radio went out. (It only lasted for about 15 minutes.) The noises from outside continued. The tornado warnings on the radio mentioned places like Flatville, St. Joseph, and (my favorite) Foosland. I love Foosland. At around 7:45, the tornado warning was finally lifted, and we ventured out of the bathroom. Our apartment didn't sustain any damage, other than some knick-knacks blowing off the windowsill. The next morning, I noticed that the address sign had blown off the window, and Tim noticed some shingles in the parking lot next door. Our power didn't come back on until the middle of the night, but we were lucky–there were people in town who didn't have power for two or three days because some power lines blew over.

Of course, since nothing happened, I felt kind of lame for sitting in the bathtub. My vindication came two days later, when it was reported that a tornado touched down on Oak Street south of Kirby Avenue, which is only a mile or two from where we live. So perhaps that weird haze that Tim saw was a funnel cloud. There was also a funnel cloud north and west of where we live…right near the area where we'll be moving in July. Our new house wasn't damaged, fortunately.

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One brief note: this weblog won't contain much, if any, library-related content any more. The library content will move to the brand-spankin'-new YALT Blog, which is a joint venture between Tim and I. There isn't much there right now, just some stuff that Tim posted, but we decided it would be fun to do a joint library tech weblog. YALT Blog stand for "yet another library tech blog," because we are fully aware that there's a glut of library tech blogs. I don't think any of them are written by a married couple, though, so at least we've got something original going for us.

On the way home from work this fine afternoon, I heard a song on the radio that encouraged me to “shake that Laffy Taffy.” Since no parts of my body are reminiscent of Laffy Taffy (or Now ‘n Laters, or any other type of candy that was ridiculously popular among the students I taught back in my Catholic schoolteachin’ days), I decided to dust off my musty ol’ reference librarian skillz and do a bit of research.

According to the Urban Slang Dictionary, “laffy taffy” means ass.

So I am now off to my bellydancing class to shake my laffy taffy, which I will decorate with a jingly hipscarf!