That's a little forward, don't you think?

In November 2011, my dad and I got our first iPhones. As you know, my dad is not very tech savvy. The cell phone he had before he got his iPhone was so old that the antenna had broken off of it. That isn't an exaggeration. That is a fact... that is true... about his phone... in 2011. He was so overdue on phone upgrades that he got his iPhone 4S for free.

In fact, his camera-less flip phone with half an antenna was so old, they weren't even able to transfer over his SIM card, so he had to enter his contacts manually. I was home for Thanksgiving when we got our new phones, and I texted my cousin Eddie saying that my dad had an iPhone and this was bound to inspire a great blog post (ok, I'm a year and a half late but here it is). I told Eddie that my dad had to enter his contacts one-by-one and Eddie said, "Wait, so your dad doesn't have my number in his phone?" Given that I just taught my dad a few weeks ago how to copy-paste on a COMPUTER, at the time of this iPhone tutorial I knew that it would be awhile before he'd get to the E's in his phone book.

Two minutes later, my dad informed us that he had been contacted by his iPhone texting assistant, "Stefan."

Eddie, sometimes you really are quite brilliant.

I managed to record the whole thing without my dad noticing (I apologize it's all vertical.. I was new to the iPhone as well). I've trimmed it down to one video with just the highlights.  Enjoy.

I'm bad at the internet.

Kelly informed me that the video at the end of my last post wasn't working.  I've fixed it.  Sorry, internet. 

He was shitting on my deck. I got him.

I did not realize that between yesterday's blog post and the one prior to that, three months had passed.  Yikes.  Thanks to everyone who apparently still checks my blog and enjoyed yesterday's post - I appreciate you not giving up on me.  

Since it's been forever, let's play a little catch up.  I know my "dad" posts have been the fan favorites, so even though it's been a few months, I will try to relay some of the highlights of his visit at Christmas.  I kept some notes on my phone and am trying to dust off my brain and remember what they mean.  Let's take a look:

"Peter Dinklage" 

This was great. We were at a Thai restaurant for dinner and were sitting in the window.  My dad says, "Hey, you know who just walked by?  That little guy.. You know, the one from Elf?" Without even saying a word, I bolted from my chair and ran out of the restaurant in pursuit of Peter Dinklage (in case you weren't aware, I have a not-so-secret, inexplicable thing for Tyrion Lannister). I ran up the block only to find, it was a child with his mother. Not Peter Dinklage with his wife. It would have been offensive had it been just another little person but the fact that it was a child was a whole new level of rude.  Oops.

"Raccoon in a cage"

I am so bummed I didn't have the foresight to send myself this video from his phone. My dad is looking through his photos and then starts chuckling to himself, à la Mariel's-party-hat.  "Mariel, you gotta check this out." So he shows me this video on our back deck of an angry raccoon in a cage. I asked why he took a video of it and he just said, "He was shitting on my deck. [more chuckling] I got him."

"Drawing glasses on Evita"

While waiting for the curtain to rise at the Broadway production of Evita, I noticed my dad drawing glasses on his playbill. I asked if he was going to draw a moustache too and he just said "no" with a straight face. When he was finished drawing the glasses he laughed and said, "She kind of looks like your sister right?" Don't worry, Katy, I think it was a compliment.

A striking resemblance.

"I used to have hair like Ricky Martin."

I've mentioned his receding hairline paranoia before. I don't think I need to explain this one any further.

"He has pants on."

No recollection on this one. But it sounds awesome.

"Punjab"

That's what he would call me when I was getting ready in the morning and had my wet hair wrapped up in a towel. More or less offensive than the case of mistaken Peter Dinklage identity?

"The hillbilly you marry"

I don't remember the context of this but all you need to know is that this is not the first time he has accused me of hillbilly affiliations.

"Space Cowboys"

He was partnered with my uncle Joe for our family boozeball foosball tournament on Christmas and given their seniority in the group, he referred to their team as the "Space Cowboys." God, I love a good Space Cowboys reference. Dad FTW.

"Law & Order retirement"

His dream for partial retirement is to play "the neighbor" in a few episodes of Law & Order per season. His line would always be something along the lines of "he mostly just kept to himself, never seemed to bother anybody." I'm not sure how you get away with playing that part multiple times but if elaborate disguises are involved, I will lead the crusade for NBC to greenlight 8 new Law & Order franchises in the next 10 years.

"Instagram"

We went for a nice family walk in Central Park and I snapped a couple of nice Instagram photos out of it:

Not an Instagram pic, but please note that the first 4 times I tried to take this picture,
my dad would wave his hands around like a jazz clown right before I could snap the picture.

We went to a bar after our walk, and I showed the pictures to my parents, knowing that my dad's reaction to the filters would be similar to if I hopped in a time machine and treated Buster Keaton to a screening of Avatar. Obviously this was spot on, and I explained Instagram to him. Distressed that he was just finding out about this now, here was his response: "We've wasted so much time over this trip. You could've been teaching me this." Instagram? "Apps." There is not enough time in the world.

"Walking on the moon"

After leaving aforementioned bar, his Irish coffees had caught up with him and he just said "Whoo, I feel like I'm walking on the moon!"

And finally.. a short video I captured when he was trying to insist that since he's gotten an iPhone, all of a sudden everyone started to text him all the time and he doesn't know how they know he has an iPhone now..  Yeah I know.. If you think that explanation rattled your brain, just wait until you see what it does to him (note: Mary Manning is a nursing home on the Upper East Side):

Cannot stop laughing at that meltdown. Incredible.

Just Checking

I was on the phone with my mom today, and she told me that she and my dad were planning the itinerary for our trip to London/Ireland this summer. She then casually mentioned that she was looking through papers and notes from when we went to Ireland when I was a kid and found a note that I had written to her on the trip.  Take a look at this and join me in trying to figure out what the fuck kind of weirdo child I was once upon a time:

"Oh my god, what?"  (Yes, I heard you say that out loud. Don't worry, I had the same reaction.)

When I asked how and why I had creepily given her this note, she said she couldn't remember what the context was but that she thinks I PASSED IT TO HER UNDER THE TABLE. 

Oh my god, so we were sitting in a pub eating some shepherd's pie and I was in the corner sketchily composing THIS note under the table, like a squirrely little missionary? Like, oh man, I'm so excited we finally got to meet our cousins in Ireland. They're so nice and fun. Shit, what if they're not Catholic? What if these really awesome people aren't Catholic like me and instead of meeting me at the Pearly Gates, they're going to BURN IN HELL?!???  (for the record, I do not - nor have I ever - believed anything like this.. it's just fun to imagine the psychological innerworkings of whatever the eff prompted me to write this very strange note.)

Or was I crafting some clever joke in my head, something about three guys walking into a bar, a Galway man, a Limerick man, and the pope... and thought to myself, maybe it's only funny if you're Catholic. Expert comedy maneuver, Mariel.. definitely double check with Mom. Know your audience.

I really love the "just checking" at the end of it. Because it's like there's an unwritten "or else" that follows. Like I was sitting there and suddenly wondered whether they could be in cahoots with some Northern Ireland Protestants and this pleasant group consumption of shepherd's pies was about to turn into a Tarantino-style blood bath at any moment.  Quick, Mariel, better draw some shitty mountains, circle them, and write Mom a note confirming the religious preferences of our cousins... you know, in case we need IRA reinforcements. JUST CHECKING.

Speaking of messages taken out of context, I will leave you with a text from Kelly McKenna that I received tonight after telling her I was writing a blog post:

"If you site me in this one, don't make me sound like a racist."

No problem.

God Bless German Engineering

My dad sent me this video the other day via iMessage..

First thoughts... Did you mean to send this to me? Is that our kitchen table?  Does it play music?  Are these pigs involved?  What is that?

Let's find out:

That is some serious confidence in your 4 level German Christmas pyramid carousel, Dad.  Hope it lives up to expectations.  #ItWill.

People You May Know

Tell me if you see anything unusual in this screen grab from my Facebook homepage this evening (click to enlarge).  I'll give you a hint: it has nothing to do with Duane Reade.

It's the title of this post.  Just give up.

That's right.  According to Facebook, people I may know include Nathan Thomas, friends with Anthony P. G. Berger, and Joe Rogan, host of Fear Factor.  Obviously I clicked on Mr. Rogan immediately because this sparked my interest.  Do I have a mutual friend with Joe Rogan?  Here is what I found:

Do you know Joe?

8 friends?!  You hosted a show where people won trips to Las Vegas based on how many inches of cow rectum they were willing to digest on national TV and I literally have 719 more Facebook friends than you.  Congratulations, Joe.  Evidently friends are not a factor for you.  You must be the most miserable human to interact with face-to-face.  When your friends want to hang out, do you make them walk barefoot through a tank of hypodermic needles and then feed them a pizza topped with coagulated blood and giraffe tongues?  Is that why you're so lonely?  Good lord, that gig messed you up.

Aside from your Fear Factor psychological trauma, though..  UFC (Color Commentator)?  Seriously?  You get ONE line from the resume that goes on your Facebook page and you're going with UFC Color Commentator rather than Fear Factor or NewsRadio?  No wonder Brooke Burns won't accept your friend request.  You are the Balthazar Getty of reality show hosts.

Given the fact that we have zero mutual friends and that this is clearly a fake Facebook account, I am curious as to why Facebook has suggested that we know each other.  Has Facebook been pushing Joe Rogan on anyone else?  Please let me know.  I'm probably going to lose 12 minutes of sleep over this once I'm done writing this post.

In conclusion:

Duh.

Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree

While I was growing up, my family never put up our Christmas tree until December.  My mom hated rushing the holiday after Thanksgiving.  But given that I am the only person in my family who enjoys helping my mom decorate the tree, we became "those people" once I went to college because if I didn't put up the tree with her over Thanksgiving, she'd have to go it alone sometime in the weeks following.  Now that I'm living out in New York, though, this has become an especially important part of my Thanksgiving break at home.  My family comes to New York for Christmas, so Thanksgiving weekend, when I decorate the tree with my mom, is the only time I actually get to see our Christmas tree in person.  I have always loved Christmas (if Nat King Cole's "Christmas Song" makes an appearance in the old iTunes shuffle, at any time of year, I will not skip the song - out of respect), and since we have had the same artificial tree for the last 15 years (we could never have a real Christmas tree since we always traveled during the holidays and apparently that would be a fire hazard - one of those facts your parents tell you when you're 8 years old and you just accept as the truth of God, like how eating carrots gives you strong teeth), seeing this tree is a fond reminder of Christmas memories and a welcome constant as life has transitioned rapidly from high school to college to moving across the country and trying to be an adult (I'll get there one day).

Maybe it's because I'd just entered my 24th year on God's green earth just a couple of days before, but as we were decorating the tree this year, I contemplated how many years, how many Christmases and vacations and birthdays and presidential elections (yes, we commemorate each presidential election with a Christmas ornament, you mean your family doesn't do that?), had resulted in the endless number of ornaments my parents have collected. 

So then of course, I started thinking, geez Mariel, you're already 24 and you have about 3 ornaments in your wheelhouse and you don't even have a Christmas tree to put them on, and next year you're going to be 25 and then you start the countdown from 30 and it's like, ok you've got 5 years to get your shit together and have a respectable Christmas tree.. STEP UP, WOMAN.

Ok, nearly-quarter-life-crisis aside, my mom and I started laughing about how funny some of these ornaments are so without further ado, here is a glimpse into the Christmas tree at the Synan house:

It came without ribbons.  It came without tags.  It came without packages, boxes or bags.

This year, Christmas came straight up with a twist.  

This ornament was one of my sister Katy's creations.  I think she made it in first grade.  You know, back when she was going through her Chinese throwing star phase.  I swear to God, one of these years, this thing is going to pierce one of our hands while we're rustling through the ornament box.  This has weathered a lot of packing and unpacking over the years so believe it or not, it has actually LOST a few toothpicks but this could absolutely still double as a weapon.  Kevin McCallister would be proud.

I can't give Katy too hard of a time without calling to attention one of my signature pieces.  That's right.  This is a Turd original.  Gold bangs on snowmen were definitely on trend that year.  #MostLikelyToHaveTheBestHair.  The "y" on "Melly" was spelled backwards on the back of this.  Shocking.

I started to rip on my brother Nicholas when I saw this one.  I mean, talk about an egocentric Christmas ornament.  Forget baby Jesus, Christmas is ALL. ABOUT. NICK.  But then my mom reminded me of the homemade Christmas ornament we have from my dad's childhood...

Note that this is the only ornament I am not showing with a close-up, because I needed to give perspective on how large this thing is.  There is no appropriate place to hang it on the tree.  But I have to hand it to my dad, talk about a power play.  There was no amount of macaroni or glitter his brother or sister could use that would upstage this behemoth.  As a fellow middle child, I respect the strategy.  Naughty or nice?  Walk that line, Dad.  This one is for Santa to decide.

Wait, your family doesn't have a dentist/oral surgeon Christmas ornament?

Wait, your family doesn't have two dentist/oral surgeon Christmas ornaments?

Nothing weird going on here.. Nope, just ask these furtive pigs clutching a candle.  

This has always been one of my favorite ornaments.  I don't know what it is, maybe the side eye.  Bringing a little bit of bitchiness to the holidays?  Absolutely.

I can't even take credit for finding the humor in this one.  Way to go, Mom, for pointing out the pantless, pre-pubescent basketball player.  Why is he giggling about covering his privates with a basketball?  Why did he curl his eyelashes?  WHERE ARE HIS PANTS?  Attention readers: if you stumble across an "Unintentionally Inappropriate Christmas Ornaments" tumblr, please, for the love of baby Jesus and the Magi, submit this.

And last but not least.. what's that lurking in the shadows?

Oh don't worry, it's just the velvet-armed gnome-acorn centaur.  Trust me, it's more afraid of you than you are of it.

This ornament is everything.  I feel like my mom got this in Austria?  Or maybe she made it when she was a kid?  Regardless, it is one of those ornaments that doesn't have a string or ribbon or hook or anything, so instead of hanging it up, it nestles on the branches.  

Nestles on the branches.  This creeped me out as a child.  I was convinced it was alive and didn't want to be restrained hanging mid-air by fishing wire so instead it sat on the branches so that it could move about freely during the night.  I don't know why it scared me.  It's not like it has velvet arms or a cane or is half-gnome, half-acorn or anything.