Happy New Years!

Look at the beautiful "corn in the snow" picuture my sister took this morning.


Have a great end of the year, everyone!!

I am looking forward to another year of blogging. And, I promise more frequent blogging in 2008.

Happy Christmas!

It's finally christmas!! Yay.


Merry Chrismas everyone! Feliz Navidad. Wi na ge nyare Su dome Kirismass. Bonn e Erez Ane. Sugeng Natal lan warsa enggal. Ia manuia le Kilisimasi ma le tausaga fou. Nadolig LLawen a Blwyddyn Newydd Dda.

So that's Merry Christmas in a bunch of different languages. Yeah. And for all I know, I could have just said you look like an elephant and smell like one too. I am a trusting soul.

Merry Christmas in 360+ languages...

O Christmas Tree

I absolutely love my grandma's Christmas tree. It is so quaint and endearing. The colored lights make me feel nostalgic. She sets it up in a large antique basin/sink structure so people can see it from the front window.

And I love my mom's Christmas tree. After dumping the the old one last year, my parents got a new, 'cheating' tree, as in the lights come already installed in the fake green piney branches. Let's just say it made my dad happy as it practically eliminated his job. My mom, nevertheless, laments about how we are all party poopers and won't bother to help her with the decorating anymore. We tell her to just not put it up then, and that makes her sad so she ends up making it look like a Martha Stewart tree year after year. Her tree standards are just too high for the rest of us.

Cookies, Cookies, Cookies are for me

My family's annual cookie-baking day was this week. Look at the yield below.

If that's not enough cookies to last a year long, you either smear cookies on your toast for breakfast or are friends with the cookie monster.

My grandma's house was so nice and warm and smelled Christmas-cookie-delicious. Mmmm.


Seriously. We made bucket-loads of cookies. The whoopie pies are my favorite, but I don't have any pictures of those. Amazinlgy, I escaped the day only eating one cookie. That is self-control my friend!

Icing Explosion

May have had a little mess while baking cookies yesterday.
When I was mixing up the icing for the whoopie pies, I may or may not have used a bowl too small for the recipe. Everything in the kitchen got splattered with powerdered sugar, including myself. I ran to get my camera and left empty floor-colored footprints where I had been standing. Whoops.

StumbleUpon

Hey, I just now discovered StumbleUpon. It is so cool. You create a profile, select your interests, download a bar for you browser, and then click on the button. Every time you click it takes you to random site in cyber space. They have a subject for every fancy. Satire, humor, bizarre, advertising, blogs, linguistics, literature, varius nerdy topics, photography, everything! You can learn such cool stuff.



You can also piggyback on the cool stuff that other people have found too. If you want to be my friend, let me know and I will add you. (I also added an icon to the right if you want to Stumble my blog).

Choir Clash

A guy from Shippensburg is actually on Clash of the Choirs on NBC. He is part of the Oklahoma City choir directed by Blake Shelton. That's exciting. He was stationed at a military base in OK and made it onto the show.

About the show: Writer's Strike evident, no big news flash there. I hate how every clip had a sob story. "Oh, something bad happened to me and I overcame it. Vote for me and my choir." If you are good at singing, then you don't need the sad, sad story. The melodramatic edge was really insulting and over the top by the end. The only choir that didn't have one of those stories was Patti LaBelle's, and hers was amazing--exactly what you think of when you think of the Southern Baptist church choir, only from Philadelphia

If only I had a Harley

I love this ad. It makes me smile. The small details are what counts.


The gloves, the headphones, the neckbrace, the black socks with white pants and shoes, the long corridoor, old man's little tiny head. It's just advertising art.