Somewhere Beyond the Pea

My family is weird. Your family is weird. All of us have bananas families, but at least my family is brave enough to admit it. After this past Thanksgiving, I'm not sure we can avoid it.

This Thanksgiving a great majority of you probably gathered at your gammy's home to the sweet aroma of yams tainted with the awkwardness of your brother's girlfriend's appearance at this exclusive meal. You probably watched football even though you don't understand the rules and you probably thought the bulldog was going to win the Westminster Dog Show (I sure did anyway).

Well, the Lammerts took a different approach to Thanksgiving this year. We bucked tradition and headed to the coast--Galveston to be exact. We stayed in a condo right next to the ocean, actually. I am not really sure about the steps that led us to this decision. My sister, Johanna, and I were both tired of going to church on Thanksgiving (since it always made us miss the parade) and somehow that equaled going to Galveston and renting a condo...

Either way, we had a whale of a time (see what I did there?) and thankfully, we documented this trip with pictures.

Wednesday (Thanksgiving Eve):



Ah, to be By the Pea. This was the name of our condo, however, I found no such pea nearby. It must have been in the ocean. Regardless, as I saw this sign, I immediately felt at home.

That all changed when I walked into the actual condo. While the place truly had everything we needed, its decor carried with it a strong political message.












These flip flops were everywhere. These are just a few of the hundreds of chanclas in our condo. I spent the better part of this trip pondering their significance. While one might think that they merely symbolized fun and relaxation, I knew better. These flip flops (or "thongs" as my parents still call them) were a message to anyone who threatened the Galvestonian way of life. Flop or be flopped.

That night we had much debate about where we were going to eat. We had it narrowed down to two restaurants but the decision was clear after a Yelp.com review of a place called "Gaido's" which read: It stinks in there like 100 years of old men in leaky diapers have been chain smoking and puking up the disgusting food. Obviously, we just HAD to try it.

Just kidding. We didn't go there.

We went some other place that Johanna picked (and she made sure we didn't forget it). Delicious.

Below is a picture of a Shrimp Poor Boy, a flounder, and someone's MUG of wine.



As always, my dad told some pretty great stories which made me and Johanna's faces look like this:



And then my mom did this:




And we knew it was time to head back to our condo.


Back at the condo, I read the guestbook to see what others had thought of this place. One particularly enthusiastic entry gave me some high expectations for the following morning:




Thursday (The Big Show):

Unfortunately, when I stepped out onto the balcony in the morning I was met with the smell of feet. Oh well. It was THANKSGIVING.



That morning, Johanna busied herself in the kitchen while my parents ran all over Galveston looking for tacos, and I set to work on my great American duty: watching the Thanksgiving Day Parade in my Snuggie.






Pictured below is my plate of Thanksgiving goodness placed on our elegantly understated flip flop placemats:



And in case you were wondering, yes, that is a deep-fried redneck gobbler. We pulled out all the stops for this Thanksgiving.




Enjoying a feast fit for a flip flop-wearing king.


"I can't believe I ate the whole thing"

A good portion of my time after this was spent watching the Westminster Dog Show. Sidenote: The Westminster Dog Show is possibly the only reality show where I simply cannot predict the outcome. I have no idea how these dogs are scored and it is extremely disheartening. I had faith in the bulldog.




Later on, we drove to the beach.




Gross, right?

A possible alien invasion threatened our day...



...but we made it out alive.

That night, Johanna and I went to go see The Fantastic Mr. Fox (amazing) in a town called Texas City. Texas City has a clear dedication to the style, architecture, and technology of the year 1996. It also has a whole slew of rude people working at concession stands. Just saying...


That's me in a time-warp at the local Texas City cinema.

Friday:

We set off to achieve more educational goals the next day, so we went to a boat museum...it had a boat.


Jazzed about the BOAT.


Not so jazzed about boats.

While we were exploring the many secrets of this illusive boat, a demon family with tiny demon children joined us. These kids were so awful and loud and scary that it very nearly ruined our experience. At one point, my mom, Johanna, and I were below deck in some room when these kids ran in, unsupervised, screaming at a decibel that could destroy hearing. Seeing my mother wince in pain, I said to them "Hey guys, that is NOT cool." (kids hate not being cool) to which they responded with devilish belches and cackles. Parents, admonish your children when they act like the devil. Please.


These are the children practicing spitting. I am not being cute. That is actually what they were doing at one point.

After the thrill of the boat came an entirely different kind of adventure.



This picture was taken at "The Strand", Galveston's hippest and happeningest shopping district. The size of this massive trumpet stands as a symbol for The Strand...because IT BLOWS. There is nothing there, people drink on the streets like its Mardi Gras, and every store you go into sells either nasty tourist crap or nasty homegoods crap.


Jo made this. There was no "u" available, but I think the message is still pretty clear.

Even with Satan's minions and the unimpressive Strand, the Lammerts trucked through and managed to have a killer day.

Saturday (So long, city by the pea):

On the morning of our departure, we cleaned every flip-flopped nook and cranny of the condo. It was as if we had never been there.


My father already in the Christmas spirit as he packs up the car.


The Lammerts said one last goodbye to the sea and headed our separate ways (my parents back to San Antonio and myself and Johanna back to Austin).

This trip gave us new things to be thankful for. For example, I will never take closed-toed shoes for granted again. I now thank the good Lord nightly that my parents did not raise me to be a demon child who ruins the experience of a historical boat. But above all, I am thankful for my weird, weird family. We may not have a gammy, but we will always have Galveston.

and don't you forget it.

Tavi

Thirteen-year-old prodigy, Tavi, is ruining my life.

It's stuff like THIS that makes me wonder what the frak I'm doing in college.

And Don't it Feel Good

I don't know about that Miley Cyrus. There is definitely something a little fishy there. Her identity crisis is becoming more and more severe. One minute she is in some cooky mix-up as Hannah Montana and the next she is doing a pole-dance in stripper boots on live television. Oh, those crazy hormones.


She's "tah-erd uv livin' a dubble lah-eef."

Either way, she is here for now, and I suppose she is mildly interesting to follow. Her success is one of those classic "rags-to-riches" stories, if by "rags" you mean hillbilly-wealth and "riches" you mean exorbitant-sixteen-year-old-hillbilly-wealth.

Anyway, I shouldn't be too hard on her. She's got every single one of us singing her new hit single "Party in the U.S.A." It is one of those songs that you catch yourself singing absolutely everywhere, from the grocery store to funerals (which is inappropriate unless the deceased was a big Hannah Montana fan).

Regardless, Miley is harmless. I do not envision my future children finding some kind of romance in listening to "Party in the U.S.A." on retro iPods instead of the sound devices implanted in their heads. She just does not have that kind of replay value.

At the same time, crazier things have happened. In the last century, there were plenty of songs that should have died brutal deaths, but instead they lived on inside of a mutated americana that should have just been terminated at first playback. These songs have infiltrated our radio stations, our commercials, our films, our bot mitzvahs...the list goes on. And surely we hate them. I know I do, but somehow they just will not die.

What songs, you ask? Well, for instance:

Celebration - Kool & The Gang



Everything occurring in the above video is everything wrong with this song. It is only mildly enjoyable near the end of a wedding where everyone is drunk. Apart from this highly specific situation, there is nothing good about this song. It repeats something like ninety-three times and is a song that commands the listener to do something that is nearly impossible when listening to this funky jam.

Wild Thing - The Troggs



As is exemplified by the maudlin crowd in this video, no one really likes this song, but somehow we feel like we always need it. Whether we are stuffing a singing Valentine's Day bear or spending a crazy night at a Korean Karaoke bar, this song is unavoidable. However, it is terrible. It brings to mind such a weird visual of the lead singer and his "wild thing."

"Wild thing...I think I love you" (...that's nice) "but I WANNA KNOW FOR SURE" (...getting nervous) "so come on and...hold me tight" (gross) "...I love you."


Walking on Sunshine - Katrina and the Waves



I once called my boyfriend, frustrated because he wasn't answering his phone. I sang this song at its appropriate volume (a blood-curdling scream) while only repeating the lines "I'm walking on sunshine. Whoaaaa" for about sixty or seventy times. The punishment fit the crime.


...and last and certainly least...

All Star - Smash Mouth


If only his parents knew this is what he has been up to in his room.


Now, I am not trying to be dramatic here, but "All Star" may just be the epitome of everything I hate. This song, which became most popular from the movie Shrek, crept into every corner of media imaginable simply because it has the buzz phrase "all-star" in it. The lead singer gives me the absolute heebie-jeebies while he tries to pull off a whiny Blink 182 sound out of a pudgy, middle-aged body. For whatever reason, this song is used to advertise anything from sports equipment to obscure ointments. Terrible, terrible song.



There are many more songs that deserve this death penalty, but it is our apathy which allows them to continue to be in circulation. While we probably all secretly know that a song like "All Star" is less clever than an infant's ramblings, it is a lot easier to play it at someone's retirement party than to say how you actually feel about that person. A good mix of laziness and kitsch keeps these songs living and breathing in our culture. It is our collective fault, and only by our collective hand can we put an end to all of this.

Doubtful.

So maybe, Miley. Maybe "Party in the U.S.A." will be performed as an art piece in the School of Music at some major university. Crazier things have happened.

Humble Beginnings

The purpose of this blog is to accelerate my stardom so that I can afford a house with a closet big enough to fit all of my Snuggies as well as those belonging to my future husband, the cloned version of Orson Welles (from his "War of the Worlds" days...NOT his Paul Masson declination).

VS
The winner is clear.

When a film based on this blog is inevitably produced, I do not want Meryl Streep or Amy Adams to come anywhere near it. Instead, the actress starring as myself would definitely be Cher in full on Half-Breed garb (not because she bares any resemblance to me whatsoever. If that were the case, I would have to go with Josh Groban...in full on Half-Breed garb).


Half Breed...it's all she ever heard.



Eerily Similar Photos taken without knowledge of the other...freaky.

As for the challenging role of my boyfriend, Daniel, I know he would probably prefer Zach Braff, but after seeing "Slumdog Millionaire", I am pretty sold on Dev Patel.



Uncanny.

The film will gross well over a million dollars (I know, I know), and I will make a lofty portion of that. It will be the highlight of my existence and in my later years, I will probably endorse Paul Masson or some other fine champagne "inspired by that same french excellence".

That inevitability, however, is some time off from now. In the mean time, I am writing this blog with, I suppose, a secondary purpose of shedding some much needed perspective on everything. You're welcome.

But all of this will have to start later as I am too distracted by puppy videos on YouTube to continue any further.