Oh, If We All Were Mountaineers...

First off, Merry Christmas and all that jazz - hope everyone had a good one and continues this happy holiday season with food and family and fun. I myself will lead by example...

What's really important is this: the WVU Mountaineers' bowl win on Saturday. We were lucky enough to see it live in Charlotte, with thousands of other gold and blue faithfuls and it proved to be a great game - in fact, I could have used a bit less on-field drama, but the Mountaineers wouldn't have it any other way. Pat White, who may emerge as one of my all-time favorite people in the world, did not disappoint and it meant the world to see him go out on a fantastic finish. Good work!

But, onto what I found most ineresting about the game, aside from the actual play: the fans. I am accustomed to the WVU legions and will forever feel at home surrounded by them and their seemingly endless supply of Bud Light, no matter in what geographical location we find ourselves. But UNC fans? I felt unprepared.

Some of them wore blazers and button-down shirts. Some had preppy powder blue sweaters and khakis. Some ladies were dressed in heels. And skirts. To go to, you know, the football game. Now, you will be hard-pressed to find many skirts in the WVU crowd, unless you count the man known as "Big Cat" and that little number he's worn the past one hundred years and I don't think I will.

Many of the Tar Heels appeared ready to go to some sort of fancy mixer. Some WVU fans looked like they might need their stomachs pumped. One intoxicated Mountaineer (And really, is there any other kind?) yelled to the Tar Heel section of the stadium, "Yeah, wine and cheese at a tailgate! This is UNC football!"

Wow. To top it all off, I sat a few rows behind a Tar Heel fan in a blue bow tie. I once knew a guy who wore a bow tie everyday at WVU law school. He seemed nice enough, but I am leary of bow-tie-wearers walking amongst me daily. But, I swear, even he took it off on Saturday morning to drink from a keg before Mountaineer games. I saw it.

Seriously, folks. It's a football game. And you live in North Carolina. It's a nice place, I know. I live here too. But, it's hardly the Hamptons or Boston or some similarly snooty place where this is considered normal. (If this sort of place even exists outside prep school movies ala "Scent of a Woman.")

Take off the bow tie for the bowl game. Put on a stained hoodie like any other self-respecting football fan, grab a hot dog and chug a Natural Light outside the stadium before you have to go inside, and scream your head off for your team. Maybe paint each side of your face different colors. Or take off your shirt in sub-zero temps. Something.

Or maybe, this is just what we do at WVU. And in this, too, we wouldn't have it any other way.

Hotlanta

We spent the weekend in Atlanta. I have never visited the "new Capital of the South" as it was so referred in the Marriott's guide to the city, so it seemed a good time for a new adventure. While I spent most of the day Friday Christmas shopping in a mall (not the biggest, grandest plan I might have had at a different time of the year, but one must prioritize...) I did get to see a bit of the city on Saturday afternoon.

Scott and I took in the Georgia Aquarium, which fulfilled quite nicely. We have come to compare all aquariums to the one in New Orleans and always hope those poor creatures escaped Katrina's wrath. Anyway, Georgia's version wasn't equal to NOLA's, but we had a grand time nonetheless and I especially enjoyed the otters - they never cease to amaze, or amuse, me.

Before a gluttenous and wonderful dinner at New York Prime, a steakhouse of top repute, we strolled around the Centennial Olympic Park, centerpiece of the 1996 Summer Games and unfortunate home to the tragic Olympic bombing. This weekend, there was outdoor ice skating and blaring Christmas music, which made me super warm and fuzzy, though I could not convince Scott to join me for a wobbly turn around the rink. There are numerous statues and tributes to the city's Olympic hosting, and an interesting "Quilt of Remembrance" for the victims of the bombing.

As this visit was totally my idea, I couldn't help but take in every detail and one of those included the homeless who hang out in the park, not as tourists to remark on the spirit of the Olympics, but as residents of the streets. It saddened me, especially at this joyous time of the year and only solidified my gratitude at the very blessed life I do indeed live. While on my way to fill my belly with too much food and drink, I couldn't help but close my eyes and savor my fortunate existence.

It's nice to visit new places to remind me of my own warm and comfortable life. Happy holidays for sure.

Fear Not, Small Beagle

I put up all the Christmas decorations over the weekend. For someone as obsessive as me, it took a while. After each little thing had found its home for the next month or so, my husband pointed to the Christmas Steelers snowman stocking which hangs from a corner of the television cabinet, 'Is Gracie still afraid of that?'

I gasped. I had completely forgotten about that phobia! In years past, Gracie the Beagle pup had an irrational, yet hilarious, fear of this black and gold snowman. When she saw it hanging lifeless in all its terror, she barked, cowered, and ran from it wildly. We discovered through trial and error that she seemed afraid of anything black and gold - my Terrible Towel, the dancing football man, a Hines Ward jersey. Quite a hazard in this household, let me tell you.

Squealing with anticipation, I grabbed the stocking from its nook and yelled, 'Let's find out!' So naturally, I stuck that stocking right in the Beagle's face as she lounged on her brown dog bed in front of the roaring fire.

What I got was absolutely nothing. Not a peep. Not a howl. Nary the bat of a Beagle eye. She looked at me as if to say, 'What? Can't you see I'm chilling over here? Take that thing and do what you will. What do you want from me?'

My husband and I shrugged and hung that stocking back up. Later, I thought how wonderful it would be if we all could let go of our quirky neuroses as easily as Gracie seems to have let go of hers. In a year's time, what once held such a terror had become completely forgotten. It held no power over her anymore.

Maybe we all will be so lucky. Maybe we all can learn to let go of our fears as quickly and easily as a Beagle.

Face to MySpace

In the past week or so, I've discovered the evil nemesis of MySpace: Facebook. (In reality, I don't know that the two are enemies. In my mind, they are polar opposites and thus, must be pitted against one another. Cue the evil cackle - mwaaah, mwaah...)

While I naturally enjoy the more adolescent tone of MySpace, with the surveys and layouts and music and, well, surveys, I have to say it's been quite a trip to catch up with some long lost pals on the more sophisticated Facebook. In fact, there is also a bit of overlap, with more than one MySpace friend drifting with me between the two sites, updating profiles and pictures and current status.

In a way, I feel like I am a voyeuristic stalker of these other folks - and in large measure, of my own past. When I see those faces from days gone by, it's like a flashback to a whole different life. Was it really that long ago we were all hanging out at Kegler's on a Friday night? Gosh, that seems like yesterday.

Or, put another way, was it really only six years ago? Feels like forever. Our lives moved upward and onward and did so quickly. It happened in such a blur, I was hardly aware of it. One day, things were different, changed in some fundamental way while I turned my head for a second. Marriages and pregnancies and families and now, we're all hooked into each others' lives through virtual networking sites.

It's just as well. A lot of these old friends still have real-life, in-person relationships with each other, miles and lifetimes away from where I sit typing my random thoughts. Others are like me, off on our own to trudge through life on alternate paths.

I guess I'm just glad to have a connection where I can get it, even if it does come with a twinge of nostalgic sadness. These people are still my friends, even if we can't sit at the same table anymore to trade laughs and smokes and carefree whimsy. We have all gone to our respective corners, which is as it should be as you grow.

It is good to know everyone seems well. It is good to realize we can still share the love, even if we no longer can share a pitcher of beer. It is good to think that maybe, someday, in some spin on the universe, we may sit together again in person, laptops put away for a night of honest-to-goodness comraderie.

I, for one, hold out hope for that. I also know that Facebook may be the closest I ever come.

Ho, Ho, and Here We Go

After turkey and cranberries and football and shopping, it's time to hunker down and settle into the Christmas spirit. Usually, I'm annoyed by the early onslaught of Andy Williams' "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" blasting through the mall in mid-November, but this year, I am ready.

And to prove it, I've made a list of holiday things I for which I can not wait:

I can't wait to give all my spare change to the Salvation Army bell ringers in front of the stores. It's a great way to feel fuzzy inside, to help out those who are less fortunate, and to unload about five pounds from my purse. Everyone wins!

I can't wait for that NFL game right before Christmas day when the sports shows have the wreaths on the front of the desks and the little trees in the shot and everyone is all festive. This year, that game will be the Steelers against the AFC powerhouse Titans. Oh boy - it will be a doozy! (And the decorations will only make it better in my mind.)

I can't wait to fight through crowds at the mall, right before the big day, when I need that one last thing. I know this sounds miserable, and in a way it kind of is. But, deep down, I love the pressure and exhileration and look of panic on my fellow shoppers' faces as we all scamble through American capitalism.

I can't wait to see the Biltmore Estate all decked out for the big day. It's fabulous and breathtaking and a true joy of living here near Asheville.

I can't wait for the frantic traveling, with all the quirks each family brings to the holiday traditions. At times, I can complain about the pace of running to and 'fro, but really, it's pretty fun.

I can't wait to spend Christmas morning with my little family in front of the fireplace and gorgeous tree. Merry times indeed!