The Recovering Journalist

Important post from der Fuhrer

An important message to all on my important holiday mailing list (if you received Valentine's Day, you'll likely get St. Patrick's Day, etc. etc.): The mail might feature a little dictator decor this month.

I went to the post office a few days ago to mail a package and two square cards, which require extra postage. The ever-helpful and more than a little neurotic postman was happy to help.

You'd think that the Ballantyne Commons post office would stock up on supplies given the amount of people it services. But no. Everytime you go it's pretty much like this is a dry run for the postal service. Labels are everywhere, their paper backings strewn about. And forget about ever getting any special-issue stamps. The posters might show LOVE and Celebrate! stamps, but all you'll be getting is the Liberty Bell, my friend.

So I shouldn't have been terribly surprised when my postman turned his back to me and headed to a tiny back counter that had on it what appeared to be a New Balance shoebox (basically) filled with all the "odd" stamps.

"Well, I don't have any 20-cent stamps," he told me. "But I do have 10-cent ones!"

"Great," I replied. "Can I have 30 or so?" I asked. Looking at my two sad envelopes, the postman appeared confused."I'm mailing St. Patrick's Day cards soon and they're all square cards and envelopes," I explained. He nodded.

"I can give you 60 10-cent stamps," he said. Great, I thought.

"Fine," I answered.

Well, imagine my surprise when he plunked down 60 of these babies.

For all of you not in the know, this bad boy is the American Clock stamp, first copyrighted in 2002 (really? is that necessary?) and issued in 2003, from the oh-so-popular American Design Series, which also features (more famously) a Tiffany lamp and a Navajo turqoise necklace.

After a bit of research I discovered this fine piece of postage commemorates the Banjo clock, first made in 1805 by Simon Willard in Massachusetts. Despite its fascist features, this clock grew from home use to widespread popularity in schools and businesses - supposedly.

But as I stood there at the post office counter I knew nothing of the Banjo clock or its creator Simon Willard. All I knew was that before me sat a sheet of what looked like Nazi clocks, the favorite stamp of der Fuhrer. Between the camo-green and that awfully angry-looking eagle, how could I think anything else? How could the American government approve, copyright, print and distribute stamps that look like this? Who in the world could look at this and think, "We have a winner. Killer stamp design!

I looked down at my two sad square envelopes, which practically begged me not to place two American Clocks on each of them. It was bad enough they had un-festive Liberty Bells as it was. To make matters worse, the square envelopes thoughtfully suggest in tiny lettering: "Requires extra postage! A butterfly stamp!"

Butterflies might work for 20-cent stamps but when you cut down to 10 cents you get a Nazi timepiece.

My German and American heritages were offended simultaneously.

"You're kidding me, right? This is a real stamp? An American stamp? A stamp that's currently in usage?" I asked in disbelief. The guy nodded, clearly unsure about what was giving me pause. You could almost make out the thought bubbles over his head: "I thought I told her we didn't have 20-cent stamps. I checked the shoebox twice. These are lovely stamps!"

I sighed and handed over my money.

So to all of you receiving St. Patrick's Day mail from me, your envelope will be covered in postage. Most of it might be green, but I'm pretty damn sure it's not celebrating the same holiday I am.

Love lessons from my grow prince

Two or three years ago, maybe more, my sister gave me a host of presents that included a "Frog to prince" growth tank, if you will. It's a small plastic container that held a rather large green frog. Instructions detailed that the user should fill the container with water and watch, amazed, while the frog turns to a prince. After, the prince should grow to his full height in 72 hours.

That frog to prince kit has been in the side pocket of the passenger side door of my car for so long that I can't remember why it wound up in the car in the first place. I've had at least three different love interests ride shotgun in my car and on more than one occasion have thought, "Huh. Maybe the frog to prince thing spooked him in the door."

This occurred recently with my current boyfriend. It's not like this was the only thing in the car door. There's a mini umbrella, a package of thank-you notes (should I need them on the fly) and other assorted odds and ends that can be shoved in a side door pocket. I don't know exactly how it happened, but grow prince fell out of the door. He's been around so long that the glue from his packaging was no longer up to snuff and cardboard backing and frog prince separated for good.

"What is this?" my boyfriend asked.

"What does it look like?" I, a regular princess, snarkily replied.

"Frog to prince?" he said, mystified.

I told him to read the back of the cardboard packaging. You can tell by the wording that the frog and its concealed royalty aren't made in America. "Watch the prince to grow up." Then again, maybe the wording is onto something. ...

I quickly gathered the pieces and stuffed them back in the door. I didn't need to answer anymore questions about my vehicular frog prince.

I figured the fall was a sign from the universe that I might as well go ahead and grow the damn prince already. It was interesting.

I admit I should've taken time-lapse shots for the full effect. I'd apologize but I've already done so in the form of purchasing a NEW frog prince on clearance at CVS to repeat the process. So maybe photos will surface at some point. In short, here's what you need to know about how to grow a prince - and what I learned in the process.

Once you find and remember the frog, he really is as ugly as the fairy tales say. Mine had lost his coloring a tad. He had freakish eyes. I wondered if the thing would even disintegrate properly after all this time and exposure to oven-like temps in the Southern heat.

*Lesson* Whether you kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince or your prince initially seems a frog, no amount of bedtime stories or warnings will prepare you for how disappointing the frog can be.

I added water. And waited. And waited some more. My frog's pupils bled - black, weeping stains that muddied his face and swirled in the water. Eventually, a day later or so, he disappeared.

*Lesson* Despite how you might be told this time and time again, the frog stage can be a long one.

My prince was revealed. He was small as hell. And oddly colored. Why was my prince yellow? And for such a large frog, why was my prince so small? The water remained muddy and greenish.

*Lesson* Princes might not be perfect when they appear. Rather, they might not be the perfect you thought you were looking for.

A day or two later, my prince simply hadn't grown up. I painstakingly emptied the prince's gross froggy water through the weird slits in the container's top and refilled with rather hot water. The prince liked this and grew to a nearly normal size, a tad or two larger than the photo shown.

*Lesson* Being in hot water always helps princes grow up. Hell, being in hot water generally helps everyone grow up.

The larger my prince grows, the more he tilts to the side. This is puzzling. He's relatively firmly anchored. And he wasn't tilted before. He's still garish shades of yellow and red and seems to be losing his hair, but he seems content - even being in a confining container. He's grown up and I've likewise grown fond of him.

*Lesson* Nobody's perfect. Even princes.

Thank you to China for making this lovely little novelty that so perfectly captures every girl's fantasies and the surprising realities that generally accompany them. I'll try not to think of the lead paint involved and potential child labor and carcinogens.

Truly, however, my car in itself is a talisman to finding true love - a Subaru shrine to sweet sentiments and the quest to securing one's better half. I never thought about it until I removed Grow Prince from the car, but I have a frog prince keychain and some mistletoe in my dashboard container and somewhere in the cupholder region is a tiny plastic cupid, complete with miniscule man boobs. Moobs, as I'm told they're called.

Of late they've brought me luck but I'm nowhere near relinquishing them to some other hopeless romantic. Not yet, at least.

This post concludes birthday month - a fabulous time that for the first time felt like a true grown-up birthday. Sure, a big fuss was made - as was expected AND appreciated. But I honestly could've done without it this year. I wound up sick the majority of my birthday week and beyond and while it bothered me, it didn't really make me inconsolable like it might have in the past. That's progress, I figure! And true maturity. About time at 30, wouldn't you say?

More on birthday Bali spa experience anon. Sleep well and happy March! xoxo