1. “Like a boss” – Unless you are the actual boss of eating Twinkies, playing chess, or finding a parking place. In that case, carry on, but first please tell me what the job requirements are for that position and who’s doing the hiring. Do you get a 401k with that?

2. “That awkward moment when…” – You mean the awkward moment when you discover I threw a flaming brick at my monitor so I didn’t have to read that overused string of words ever again?

3. Any reference to how much you hate Mondays – I believe @JustinRyan sums it up best.

4. “RT to win!” – Asking customers to retweet something so they can do your brand marketing for you is taking the lazy way out. Exception: Home-based businesses and sole proprietors. You get a pass because you don’t have deep-pocketed marketing departments whose employees are out to lunch when they ought to be building customer relationships.

5. “RT @ AnyoneEver “ZOMG, ur product is teh bomb!’” – Companies who retweet 48 customer-praise tweets in a row yet never interact with their customer base should leave Twitter immediately because you’re doing it wrong. So wrong.

On the plus side, I’m continually amazed at how wonderful the Twitter community-at-large is. The people I follow make me laugh until I can’t breathe, cough up quick answers when I need them, and are some of the all-around coolest people on the planet. I love Twitter and have an affection for the people there that probably qualifies me for some sort of virtual Baker Act.

What do you hope never to see on Twitter again? Tell me.

You know what, you shiny, brown motherfuckers? You have no business living on this planet so fuck the fuck right off and die.

Stop coming in my house just because it rains and you don’t want to get wet. You’re a fucking BUG, get over yourself. I don’t come find you for shelter when it’s sunny and try to protect myself under your disgusting shell. Unless you plan on paying some bills around here, get the fuck out. I’m sick and fucking tired of opening a cabinet door and finding you sitting there staring at me like you’re waiting for me to serve you tea or some shit. Oh, and stop bringing all your friends and family with you everywhere you go. You are not elephants, you do not need to travel in herds. When I kill one of you, I shouldn’t have to worry that your relatives are going to sneak up on me waving tiny little pitchforks in their antennae.

One of the reasons I fucking hate you is because you don’t live by the Bug and Vermin Code. Humans and unwanted creatures like yourself have a long-standing code of honor that dictates if we see you, you’d better run. Mice and your cockroach ancestors have this figured out but it seems to elude you (because you’re a species of insensitive pricks). When I turn on a light or open a door and find you there, it is your fucking responsibility to leave the common area in which we find ourselves thrown together. I have more rights than you in this world so YOU are duty-bound vacate the premises upon my arrival but, of course, you never do. You peer at me with one of your eleven eyes or whatever you see with, and I’m always the one that screams like a girl and runs for help. One of your fuckstick family members invaded my kitchen the other day and I couldn’t get to my coffee pot for hours. Asshole.

Let me be clear: When I show up, leave. That way we can pretend to peacefully co-exist.

Don’t think I’m not killing each and every one of you stupid bastards because I’m a merciful being. Trust me, I’m not. I want every last one of you shit-colored, smega-eating filthy beasts eradicated from the galaxy. I don’t kill you because that means I’d have to look at you long enough to take aim. You are so fucking ugly that I’m certain I will suffer permanent corneal damage if I even look in your general direction, which makes aiming a rock, broom, or napalm at you somewhat difficult. Anyway, I know my attempts would be in vain because you’ve apparently perfected eternal life. You fuckers just don’t die. Limbless, with one antenna broken off, you still find a way to writhe around in your personal version of Dancing With the Bug. I hate you.

The other reason I don’t kill you is that I’m never sure which particular brand of evil you are. Some of you motherfuckers scurry on one of your twenty wiry legs, but others have evolved into Winged Merchants of Evil. Some of your lineage can actually fly, which is a special brand of terror for me since it usually means our encounters end in a dive-bomb at my head. Do you know how many hours of counseling I need just to get over *one* of those incidents? DisneyWorld has nothing on you twatlickers. Fuck Magic Mountain. Just stick park-goers in a room with a couple of flying palmetto bugs and — BOOM — the world’s most terrifying adventure.

I’ve been living in Florida a long time and I’ve tried to make peace with your existence. Spiders, snakes, mice, and even raging, beastly, fanged bears don’t bother me, but you make my life a consistent and unrelenting living hell (and I once sat through an opera played entirely on handbells and accordions, so that’s saying something). You think just because you’ve been around longer than us common Homo Sapiens that gives you the right to infest our homes, cars, and trees. I’m bigger, badder, and have better resources than you so stop being so uppity or I’ll just burn down the fucking house to be rid of you. That’ll teach you, motherfucker.

I’m a stalker huge fan of contemporary cartoonist Hugh McLeod, whom many of you may know on Twitter as @GapingVoid. I love the way he looks at the world and the succinct way he presents ideas that you can’t help but identify with instantly.

I came across the image at the top of this post many years ago while struggling with some personal and professional decisions and it captured the essence of my situation perfectly. I’d gotten it into my head that I could have everything I ever wanted, if only I could figure out how to put the pieces together the right way.

Hugh’s cartoon made me realize I was looking at things the wrong way. I was never going to be Mother of the Year, Freelancer of the Year, Friend of the Year, Partner of the Year, etc all at once. All I could be was the best person I know how and hope for the best. Maybe I’d be Lisa of the Year.

The sliver I chose way back when seemed so tiny at the time that I wasn’t sure it was even worth it. Today, that sliver is enormous. I have choices and opportunities that I never expected, plans and goals that I know I can reach, people in my life who encourage me every step of the way, and a future that’s never been more exciting.

I chose my sliver wisely and you know what? I feel like I really do have it all.

I should get a medal for being willing to get into this bucket of steel and let myself be flung 3,000 feet in the air. According to my friends on Twitter though, apparently many of you sick bastards actually like to fly. I can’t understand why. Airports? Yeah, I’m down with airports because I love to people watch and imagine where my fellow travelers are going (of course since I live in the shadow of  The Mouse, no doubt 9/10ths of the people are going home). I even think the planes themselves are kinda cool, especially since everything is downsized. Miniature bathrooms, small seats, tiny liquor bottles (so I’m, uh, told), and itty-bitty pillows (who uses those? head lice, anyone?) But the actual act of flying? No, thank you.

I’d have no problem with plane travel if I bould buckle in while the aircraft simply rolled down the interstate until we got where we needed to be. Driving the plane down the road is about the only way to make this an enjoyable experience for me.

Sidenote: Some maroon in front of me just opened a huge bag of barbeque chips. The whole area smells like a Frito-Lays factory just blew up. How do I find out if there’s a air marshal on board? No, I don’t want this guy arrested. I just don’t want to go to jail for shanking him with my pen.

The illustrious Zack W. told me just before boarding to consider the plane a primitive space shuttle. I’ll admit that got me through ascent, typically the hardest part of the flight for me. Other challenges include: acceleration, takeoff, reaching altitude, flying straight, turning of any kind, descent, full wheelstop, and deplaning. But, yeah, those 13 seconds when I was quietly chanting, “primitive space shuttle, primitive space shuttle” were transcendent. Thanks, Zack!

I’m slightly hyper-aware on airplanes because there’s always the off-chance the flight crew might miss something important like a subtle smell, a tiny noise, or the loss of the entire left wing (who needs the right-wing anyway, bunch of jack-booted thugs *rimshot*). Every time we sail over the smallest bump of turbulence, I tense up like I’m about to be slugged by Ving Rhames. God help me if the “Fasten Seatbelt” sign comes on mid-flight because to me it signals impending doom and certain death.

You see, many years ago I was on my way to Kansas City when our pilot decided to amuse us by flying directly through a thunderstorm or, as I like to think of it Hurricane Delta. The seatbelt sign came on and the passengers dutifully secured themselves, but the cabin crew kept serving beverages (in hindsight, I should have had 36 shots of Jack instead of that Sprite). After a few minutes, the pilot announced “things could get a little bumpy,” which I later realized is code for “we may have to fly upside down to survive this.”

Since the flight attendants were still walking around, I figured things were still going to be all right even though the bouncing was beginning to unnerve me. About five minutes later, I heard a bell and the cabin crew snapped to attention, shoved their carts into the closet and quite literally ran to their seats. I must have looked like I was going to pass out because the man next to me started telling me everything would be fine, there was nothing to worry about, and all the other platitudes people say to calm a crazy person.

If what we’d experienced up til then was pebble-drop on the turbulence scale, the next 10 minutes were akin to being slammed by a meteor. We rolled, pitched, leaned, bounced, and jerked so hard I thought the paint would peel. We pulled maneuvers that the Blue Angels would envy. Of course, I did what any sensible adult woman would do in that situation.

I burst into tears.

The poor man next to me tried so hard to make me feel better but all I could do was weep into a napkin bearing the logo of the airline that was going to get me killed. The turbulence finally let up and everything began to settle down when apparently Mother Nature had one last flare of PMS. The plane abruptly dropped what I’m told was about two feet (though I’m certain it was more like 632), prompting me to grab the thigh of the man next to me. I yelped in fear and he yelped in surprise, no doubt while calculating the cost of a restraining order against me. Ever since that flight, the sound of the “Fasten Seatbelt” sign raises my blood pressure about 90 points.

I also consider it my personal responsibility to make sure I know where the flight attendants are at all times. For example, weight must be evenly distrubuted on both sides of the plane and for god’s sake, don’t ever lean over to look out the window! The aircraft may tilt. Flight attendants are the traffic cops of the airspace and I won’t hesitate to call one over to have to strapped to your seat with headphone cords if you try to alter our delicate balance while we are in flight.

Keeping track of the crew also keeps me aware if anything is amiss because they’re the first to know. If they keep serving drinks after a sudden boom followed by cabin depressurization, then I can go back to my book because everything’s fine. If one of them suddenly beats a hasty retreat to his seat and straps in when everything seems normal, I know it’s time to update my will. All in all, if the cabin crew ever leaves my line of sight I’m a basket case. If they sit, I know it’s time to panic.

Speaking of panic, you probably think I’d make a terrible seatmate but I don’t. Despite being a complete emotional train wreck, I’m the picture of serenity on the outside. To the casual observer, I look like I’m reading Sky Mall as we take off but what you don’t know is that I’ve been staring at the same picture since I sat down. I may seem like I’m enjoying the music on my iPod but in reality it’s not even turned on. I just have my earbuds in so no one will talk to me and distract me from listening vigilantly for the sound of falling fuselage. In fact, the only time a fellow passenger would have issues with me is over whether to keep the window shade up or down (down, so I don’t have to watch as we defy gravity and physics for the whole three-hour flight so back off the shade, bissshh!!!).

As I type this, we’ve hit some turbulence so I’m going to put this laptop away and concentrate on keeping the plane in the sky. One last thing before I go. Before I took off, many of you Tweeted and texted me with words of encouragement, humor, or both. I’m grateful that so many of you took the time to wish me well (or tell me to suck it up and quit whining but, whatever, that works too). If ever I can return the favor or support you in any way, just say the word and I’m there. Unless, of course, it involves flying and then, well, I’m not.

When blogs popped on the scene 126 years ago, batches of us jumped on memes as a way to connect and learn about each other. The 100 Things About Me meme in particular was popular for a long time, and lots of long-standing blogs still sport sidebar links to the posts we wrote about it years ago.

The idea has been resurrected recently on Twitter as the #100FactsAboutMe hashtag. We know how much I like to play along with the cool kids but rather than trash your timeline with 100 narcissistic tweets, I’ll point you to the list I wrote in 2004. Besides, I’m lazy and don’t want to bother coming up with 100 new things.

What follows is actually the third iteration of the original list, but this is the most current. Since it’s so old, I’ve added some commentary along the way but, for the most part, it’s still pretty accurate.

100 Things About Me

1) I am unreasonably terrified of heights.

2) I am unreasonably terrified of cockroaches or, as people in FL like to say, “palmetto bugs.” They’re roaches, people.

3) My middle name is Michelle but given my age, people always assume it’s “Marie.”

4) I love to cook but hate to bake. Well, baking is cooking, but you know what I mean.

5) I am happily divorced. [I wrote this seven years ago, and it's even more true now. I find that fascinating.]

6) I am disgusted when someone is rude to an elderly person. Tell me, when is there ever an excuse for that?

7) I keep secrets very, very well.

8 ) One of my favorite concoctions is Kraft Macaroni & Cheese mixed with cream of mushroom soup, canned peas and Open Pit barbeque sauce all mixed together. [Don't worry, I don't serve it to guests. Usually.]

9) I appreciate directness in people.

10) I have no time for whiners.

11) I’ve never seen “Friends” or “Sex in the City.” [Seven years later? Still true.]

12) I haven’t ridden a bike in more than ten years. [Now, 17+ years.]

13) I love going out to dinner. Anywhere.

14) I dislike talking on the phone. [As my Twitter friends know, "dislike" has been elevated to "hate." If I willingly talk to you on the phone for more than roughly eight minutes, you have monarch-like status in my life.]

15) All my children were born at home.

16) Each time, I threatened to kill anyone who counted to ten or screamed “Push!” [Like most things in my life, I get by fine without unsolicited advice.]

17) I am a klutz. A huge klutz.

18) I like bananas but can’t stand banana-flavored things.

19) I don’t like food smells in anything other than food so keep your mango-scented lotions away from me.

20) I am spoiled by Florida’s sunsets, beaches, oranges, and laid-back lifestyle.

21) I think well on my feet.

22) I never, ever want to hurt people’s feelings.

23) But it happens anyway.

24) I’m very impatient. Well, maybe not impatient. Just fidgety.

25) I can pick up just about anything with my toes.

26) I learned that from my mother.

27) It makes my boyfriend laugh. [Well, the one I had at the time.]

28) I’d do anything to make him laugh. [Heh. Not anymore, I wouldn't.]

29) I think I’m the only person in the history of the world who didn’t like “Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood.” Blech.

30) I once applied for a job and was told they’d get back to me “after they checked with their cats.” I swear it.

31) I’m never tardy.

32) At seven years old, I had a seventh-grade reading ability.

33) The world would be a better place if people took responsibility for things instead of passing the buck.

34) I don’t like pie.

35) People underestimate me nearly 100% of the time. [This really should be #1.]

36) That’s just fine with me.

37) I once slept on the floor of my bedroom for weeks when I was a kid so I wouldn’t have to make my bed.

38) I make my bed every morning now.

39) There are many things I find amusing that most people don’t.

40) I don’t own an electric can opener because I don’t like things cluttering my kitchen. [I finally broke down and got one a couple years ago. I guess we get lazier with age.]

41) I wish people were happier. Most people seem so sad, bored or lonely.

42) I love snakes.

43) I was directly affected by hurricane Charley.

44) I’m so opinionated.

45) I can barely tolerate shoes, socks drive me insane. Thank god everyone in Florida goes barefoot. [Well, they did where I used to live. Orlando, not so much.]

46) I grew up on the 53rd floor of a high rise in downtown Chicago.

47) Did I mention I’m terrified of heights?

48) I am most happy when it’s warm, sunny, and I feel free to be me.

49) I am most unhappy when it’s cold, overcast, and I have to conform.

50) When giving me directions somewhere that requires me to make more than three turns, I have to write it down or I will get lost.

51) I used to really like roasted cow’s tongue the way my grandmother made it, but feeling the tastebuds when I ate it really grossed me out.

52) I am thoroughly impressed by integrity and character.

53) I never wear fingernail polish. [Not true anymore. Now I have the hottest painted nails in all the land.]

54) I always wear toenail polish.

55) I used to love rollercoasters.

56) Now I wouldn’t get on one if you paid me. [Also not true anymore. Now I adore them again.]

57) I have several tattoos and plan on getting more.

58) When I meet a genuinely good person who doesn’t think much of themselves, it breaks my heart.

59) I can’t stand people who have to tell me what they think all the time.

60) I generally keep my opinions to myself. [Yeah, well, this was before Twitter existed. Sue me.]

61) I know almost every line in the movies “Airplane” and “Raising Arizona.” [Make that, "I know every line."]

62) I’ve never been one to get all hysterical if one of my kids falls down or gets a minor injury.

63) I used to be fluent in sign language but haven’t used the skill in years.

64) I don’t think I would like to be around someone like me.

65) But I don’t have low self esteem.

66) I don’t understand the attraction of Hugh Grant, Mel Gibson, or Sean Connery. [Still don't.]

67) I’ve always wanted someone to write a song or poem about me. [Still do.]

68) I usually have no trouble telling identical twins apart.

69) In the end, I will regret very few things in life.

70) I don’t trust people very often or very easily.

71) The smell of peanut butter cookies or popcorn makes me ill.

72) I don’t care for cereal or soup, but I’ll eat both.

73) It doesn’t take much to make me happy.

74) But it takes a long time to undo hurt.

75) I don’t like oysters.

76) I love sushi.

77) I don’t own any credit cards and never will.

78) I’m pretty sure most people think I’m a flake. But I’m not.

79) I think palm trees are one of the most beautiful things in nature.

80) My kids have never had Pop Tarts. [At this point, they've tried Pop Tarts, but I still refuse to buy them.]

81) I’m sort of militant about their diet.

82) But they get their fair share of junk food anyway.

83) I have a really short attention span so writing this list is killing me.

84) I get ravenously hungry every day at 10:30 AM.

85) I don’t care for breakfast foods.

86) I could live without TV very easily. [This was before Glee!]

87) But I like watching movies.

88) I hate making lunches for the boys everyday but their school has no cafeteria. [This is not why I ended up homeschooling. Truly.]

89) I mean, I really hate making lunches every day.

90) The “Marriage of Figaro” Bugs Bunny/Elmer Fudd episode is the funniest cartoon ever.

91) Every year I get frustrated that peppermint ice cream is only available at Christmas.

92) I like my hair a lot. Usually.

93) I don’t like leftovers. Especially cold leftovers.

94) I could easily drop $1,000 at a makeup counter or a bookstore.

95) There is nothing that would ever make me turn away from my children.

96) I hope they grow up knowing that.

97) If my food gets jumbled together on a plate, I won’t eat it (#8 is the exception).

98) I love wearing hats.

99) I skipped my high school graduation.

100) I will be genuinely surprised if anyone reads this whole list.

When it comes to writing, managing the detrius I need to track for articles and blog posts is pretty simple. I have a couple of different methods I use, depending on the cllient, and my system just purrs along like a kitten.

I've taken on a fantastic new client and, though I'm having the time of my life, the usual tracking processes to manage my client-related stuff just isn't cutting it. I need you brainiacs and fellow nerds to help me dream up a new workflow so nothing falls through the cracks.

My work with this client involves two things: being a part of a larger remote team, and overseeing lots of micro projects. I need to track emails (usually multiple threads, often with overlapping topics), spreadsheeets, timelines, text docs, notes from a conference calls and brainstorming sessions, lists, lists, and more lists. I've got data coming in from a million directions — some actionable, some information-only, some save-for-later.

With the exception of notes from my concalls, everything comes to me in digital format packaged in different ways (.doc, .docx., .txt, HTML, email, etc). In some contexts, I'm the point person. In others, I'm simply acting on tasks others need me to tackle. On top of that, I need to save links to webpages under my purview that need my attention today, tomorrow, or next week. Get the picture? It's madness.

Now, the obvious answer here is Google Docs, which I adore. I'm toss the majority of my data in there and, really, one of the only issues that drives me nuts is that I can't access the source code of a doc when editing a file  (I know @RonMiller feels me on that one). GDocs on its own, though, isn't enough to manage everything that needs my attention.

GDocs lets me easily convert everything I get in Gmail into workable/editable stuff, allows me to create folders, etc. Awesome. The problem lies in how to organize and prioritize the shitload of data I've got in front of me. I'm a visual/tactile person so printing out every piece of paper and making tickler files would be my Nirvana. Unfortunately, that would kill about 9,000 trees and require seven toner cartridges so, not an option. For the most part, I'm gonna need to go digital on this and I can't for the life of me figure out the most streamlined approach.

So, lay it on me, folks. How would you manage this workflow? I need to be able to access the solution anywhere but if part of it is paper-based, that's cool. Bonus points for a solution that relies exclusively on Google tools.

Email me or enlighten me in the comments. Go!
]]> http://lisahoover.com/2011/01/31/help-me-manage-my-workflow-and-ill-love-you-forever/feed/ 0 Lisa Hoover http://lisahoover.com/2011/01/23/why-getting-skins-off-the-air-shouldnt-be-a-parents-biggest-concern/ http://lisahoover.com/2011/01/23/why-getting-skins-off-the-air-shouldnt-be-a-parents-biggest-concern/#comments Sun, 23 Jan 2011 22:10:58 +0000 Lisa Hoover http://lisahoover.com/?p=753 ]]> I’ve been following the fracas over the MTV show Skins for several days and I feel the need to weigh in. I’ve hesitated this long for two reasons. First, the idea of jumping on the “mommy blogger” train is anathema to me. I oppose the insidious phrase “mommy blogger” with the fury of 1,000 brightly-burning suns and avoid being designated as one at all costs. Don’t get me wrong, I’m definitely behind the concept of mothers who blog, it’s the terminology that makes me want to kick puppies. If my name ever appears in the same sentence as the word “mommy blogger,” I’ll be inclined to throw my laptop out the window and never publicly discuss parenting again.

I’m also leery of sharing my opinion about this show because it differs greatly from the majority of other moms who’ve taken the time to tweet or write about it. I respect these particular women tremendously and don’t want anyone to think that because I view the situation differently it also means I think other moms are nuts (because I don’t). Okay, so my neurosis are showing — what of it?

At the heart of the anti-Skins argument is the idea that MTV’s airing of the show somehow promotes or glorifies the idea of teen sex and drug use. If this sounds vaguely familiar to parents of a certain age, it should. It was only a few years ago critics were certain that violent video games encouraged kids to become homicidal maniacs. A few years before that, Tipper Gore stood in front of Congress  screeching that heavy metal would turn America’s youth into hedonistic sex-fiends. By historical estimation, adults who came of age in the last twenty years should be certifiably insane or under house arrest.

I’m 42 years old and grew up listening to AC/DC (“Big Balls” anyone?) while playing shoot-to-kill video games with my friends. I don’t use drugs, I’ve never been arrested, and I’m quite the standup citizen, thankyouverymuch. That’s not to say, as some have suggested, that it’s not good to want your kids to be exposed to better things that you were growing up. To suggest, however, that a single TV show will lead to a child’s ultimate ruin is ham-handed and overly dramatic.

By the time a child hits their teen years, they ought to have a fairly good baseline of values and a somewhat tuned moral compass. For parents who are terrified this show will undermine what we’re trying to teach our kids, I suggest worrying far more about what they’re exposed to during every day real life. If the parents who worry about this show can spend an afternoon in the halls of their child’s high school and walk away unscathed, then I’ll lead the next MTV letter writing campaign against Skins.

Bullying, teachers with guns, kids killing themselves because they aren’t given the resources to cope with being different — that’s some serious real life shit happening right in front of today’s teens. I’ve got a crisp $100 bill here on my desk that says many of the teens watching Skins are doing so for the very escapism we seek when watching Real Housewives of Beverly Hills (because, you know, that’s some quality programming right there).

I also feel compelled to point out that, according to the show’s viewer community, Skins is “realistic” and “shows it like our lives really are.” If parents want to hone their protest skills, the best possible use of their time is to get involved at the local level by holding their school administrator’s feet to the fire over the environment their teens are in every day. I’d worry far less about my child watching someone smoke a joint on television and far more about them watching it in the school’s second floor bathroom.

Parents, I get the fear. I really and truly do. I have a teenage son, and two more coming up right behind him. My oldest went to public school this year after many years of homeschooling and my overriding concern is what he’d be exposed to in-between and after classes. I’m not crazy about the idea of him seeing it on the small screen as well. I’d sell my soul to protect him from the dangers of drug use, teen sex, and all the other scary things that keep parents awake at night, but in the end all I can do is hope I gave him a good foundation during the first 13 years of his life and that he’ll use it to make wise decisions.

I understand why Skins disturbs some parents. However, if you’re going to pretend it doesn’t reflect what your teens see and experience every day, you’re kidding yourselves. Sweeping the show off the air and the associated issues under the rug won’t help your son or daughter make sense of their world. On the other hand, talking to them about what the characters on this show are doing just might.

Happy holidays!

~ Lisa

Dec. 23, 2010

Allard Beutel
Kennedy Space Center, Fla.
321-867-2468
allard.beutel@nasa.gov

RELEASE: 56-10

SANTA LOOKS TO FINAL RENDEZVOUS WITH NASA’S SPACE SHUTTLES

CAPE CANAVERAL, Fla. — Santa Claus is expected to make an
unforgettable flyby of NASA’s Kennedy Space Center in Florida this
Christmas Eve to see the three space shuttles as they are prepared
for their final missions.

NASA granted the jolly ol’ elf and his nine reindeer permission to fly
over various Kennedy sites, including the Shuttle Landing Facility,
the Vehicle Assembly Building (VAB), and orbiter processing
facilities (OPF) where Discovery, Endeavour and Atlantis are being
readied for launch.

The VAB is considered to be one of the few structures outside the
North Pole that is big enough to hold Santa’s giant sack of toys.
Reaching 525 feet into the Florida Space Coast sky and covering eight
acres, the VAB could hold more than 129 million typical toys.

Inside the VAB, Discovery’s external fuel tank is being evaluated to
make sure there are no cracks in 21-foot-long support beams, called
stringers, on the outside of the tank’s intertank region, before
launching on the STS-133 mission to the International Space Station.
Santa’s leading reindeer, Rudolph, might even pick up some tips on
how to spray foam insulation onto his coat, and nose, for future
out-of-this-world, gift-giving journeys.

Mr. Claus also can sneak a peek inside Discovery’s payload bay to
check out a small shuttle replica, made entirely of LEGO building
blocks. The toy shuttle is the beginning of a three-year partnership
between NASA and the LEGO Group, and is meant to spark children’s
interest in science, technology, engineering and math, or STEM.

Also going up with Discovery is a human-like robot called R2, which is
short for Robonaut 2. The robot vaguely resembles “Eve” from the
Disney movie “Wall-E” and is equipped with humanlike hands and arms
and stereo vision to help astronauts with tasks aboard the orbiting
laboratory.

Next, St. Nick can drop by OPF-2 to get an up-close view of Endeavour,
which is being processed for the final scheduled shuttle mission,
STS-134. He also can get a look at Endeavour’s payload by stopping
off at the Space Station Processing Facility where the Alpha Magnetic
Spectrometer-2, or AMS, is undergoing testing. The AMS will measure
cosmic rays as they move through space and is expected to unlock more
answers to the structure of the universe while raising more questions
after it is installed on the outside of the space station next year.

Comet and Cupid could also pick up some horsepower tips from Atlantis,
which just got its three main engines installed this month — the
last planned space shuttle main engine installation before the Space
Shuttle Program retires in 2011.

And as is tradition, Kennedy’s Shuttle Landing Facility will be
available for Santa and his reindeer crew if they would like to make
one last “touch-and-snow” while it is still an active space shuttle
runway.

For up-to-date information on the final space shuttle missions, visit:

http://www.nasa.gov/shuttle

For more information about NASA’s Kennedy Space Center, visit:

http://www.nasa.gov/kennedy

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