The Suburban Masquerade

A Coffin Nail

2010-10-26T16:17:00.009-04:00

I'm blogging again. Which can only mean one of two things. Either Michael Penn has released new music, or...um...er...well, I can't think of the second thing right now. It'll probably come to me in another year or so.

In the meantime, you may have noticed there's a little thing called the "midterm election" coming up soon. It's a special day we Americans like to celebrate with weeks of truth-twisting political ads that insult the intelligence of those of us who like to think we have any. Which I guess would be just about all of us.

On the bright side, the attack ads do give me and my Esteemed Husband something to bitch about on our daily walks around the neighborhood other than critiquing the homeowners' choice of shutter paint. (Okay, that's just me. Choose your beiges carefully folks...and with the dozens of perfectly viable shades of blue exterior latex available at your local Weekend Handyman Superstore, why-oh-why ELECTRIC blue?)

But I digress.

With apologies to Mr. Penn for diluting his message with my own, I am asking for two things.

One: Vote on November 2nd. But vote with reason. Not blindly following some ideology. Not based on us-versus-them. Not swayed by a 30-second spot in a CSI break. Look for the glimmer of truth in that ad and find out how much of it is fact and how much is just twisted. (Check out FactCheck.org, for a start.) Don't let yourself fall for the scare or be courted by the sweet nothings of empty platitudes. Do some research. Make an informed choice.

Two? I ask that you give some consideration to these lyrics from Michael Penn's "Count of Pennsylvania"

A mob is a democracy
that buys a rope
and picks a tree
and clamors with a clamory
and think that makes them free

As usual, Michael Penn says the things I think in a way I wish I could. And grows a beard better than I could ever dream of.

Hearing the Call

2009-09-29T14:12:00.006-04:00

Something kind of amazing just happened in a company-wide conference call that I was part of.

The non-amazing part involved both furloughs and pay reductions. Basically taking away 20% of people's paychecks in the 10 weeks leading up to Christmas.

The amazing part was during the Q+A portion. These things are usually restrained exchanges, if anyone even feels the need to ask a question.

But this time a woman, whose husband is also an employee, spoke out. You could hear both anger and tears in her voice as she asked how they were supposed to get by and pay their bills. She, along with everyone else in the rank and file, took a large pay cut earlier this year. Most of us earn very modest salaries to begin with. Why was the salvation of the company being placed on the backs of its lowest paid workers?

Naturally, the executives had no real answer to her question. The economy is in the tank, you may have heard.

Perhaps emboldened by her candor, several more callers from across the country expressed similar exasperation/despair.

In the overall scheme of things, the outrage means nothing. The corporation must do what it must do, in order to survive. The millionaires who pull the strings cannot relate to the marionettes so far below them.

But maybe today the company's president got to understand, just a little, that those budget figures represent real people. Skilled people. Good people. People who will have to run up debt to put gifts under the Christmas tree, who will juggle to pay their bills, who will pray that nothing breaks or leaks, that no one gets sick.

We'll get by. Driving a 10-year-old car, throwing blankets over the holes in the couch, stretching the kids' clothes so they don't grow out of them so fast. No savings, no vacations, basic cable, voice-only cell plans, crappy cheap food and avoiding the doctor to save those $20 copays.

Such is life in the new Millennium. Ain't it grand?

After A Long Hiatus

2009-07-26T20:15:00.003-04:00

I'm blogging again, and Michael Penn has released new music. Both tend to occur as frequently as last week's solar eclipse, although one might argue that Mr. Penn's music is a tad more significant to the world-at-large.

So whether or not we can credit the moon obscuring the sun with putting all this into motion, the fact is that singer/songwriter/film scorer Michael Penn has released three new songs online. That's a marvelous thing.

And at least two of them actually sound...happy? "I love you as it happens" and "This is the life"? Quick -- somebody check the Penn/Mann rec room for a pod!

Turns out you can cancel that call to the FBI's Bodysnatching Division. First of all, these newly-released songs were produced for an IFC mini-series, "Bollywood Hero" starring Chris Kattan, so you can expect the lyrics are at least partially plot-centric.

[I've never been a huge fan of Kattan's SNL work - but I'd watch six hours of his Mango riding a CGI-winged Mr. Peepers over the Roxbury marquee if Michael Penn wrote the music for it. (I should photoshop that for this space, if only time permitted...it's creepy/funny in my head anyway.)]

But, instead, a photo from Michael's April 2007 tour...if you play a kazoo onstage, you have to figure that eventually it will appear online.

Secondly, a closer listen to the songs tells us "the rains will come, the winds will howl" and "sometimes it's nothing but struggle and strife." Yep, that's Michael Penn alright.

It's been nearly four years since the critically-acclaimed Penn released his last album of new songs, "Mr. Hollywood Jr. 1947." And two years since his last U.S. tour, where he unveiled the (as yet unreleased) song Making Me Three For Three. Since then, his musical output has been confined to instrumentals: scoring a number of indie films including "Sunshine Cleaning" (if you don't count his pre-election musical contribution to the Not Spencer series on arubberdoor.)

Of the three new Bollywood Hero tracks, "Untouchable" seems the most soundtrack-y. It's interesting, infinitely listenable, but I'm not going to be humming it in the shower.

But the chorus of "Two Worlds" has been looping in my head since I first heard it. It's a duet -- MP sharing vocals with Aimee Mann...at its core is a straight-up pop song that gets all silk-and-sequined with sitar and other jingly things (technical musical term.) The song's conclusion needs the mini-series to explain. Before that though, some really nice Penn/Mann harmony. And extra points for working the word "expatriate" into the lyrics.

There also seems to be a "No Myth" nod in the beginning of the song (the down-strum of the guitar?)and perhaps the drum at the end is too. Speaking of that Romeo in black jeans, listed on IFC's website: an "exclusive Bollywood-inspired reimagination of Penn's hit 'No Myth'" performed by the Bombay Dub Orchestra. Another oldie from March, "Brave New World," is also featured in episode 2.

But it's the track "This Is The Life" that I have fallen in love with. It opens as a pared-down piano ballad. As the song weaves its way with a powerful hook, the Penn production ramps up and turns it into an anthem for the disengaged. Or maybe a call to arms. (Is that a fife in the last verse?)

The beauty of it, as with all of Penn's best lyrical work, is that he takes a simple phrase and makes it infer at least three different things. And while you get the impression he means to be telling you all three simultaneously, he leaves enough wiggle room to wrap his basic idea around your own individual circumstance.

So, the listener could hear "This Is the Life" as someone savoring a particularly perfect moment in time, with tinges of c'est la vie...or a carpe diem reminder to focus on the present - the here and now - because it's fleeting.

Or (and maybe this is my singular pathology) the song serves as a reminder that life does not wait for you while you're off in your head, building your own little cyberspace monuments to yourself. In the meantime, you're missing out on some good sh*t -- and losing sense of what is real life and what is virtually...nothing. THIS is the life.

Now that I've dissected that four word phrase like it's Michael Jackson's autopsy...listen...and see what you hear.

'Bollywood Hero' premieres August 6, 7 and 8 at 10 PM ET/PT on IFC. A breakdown of each episode's music can be found here.

This Is The Life

People used to call me lucky
Never understood the word
Thought it was a happenstance
A penny turning up by chance
But on second glance

Well, sometimes it's hard, but you get by
And sometimes it's nothing but struggle and strife
But not in the here and now
This is the life
Yeah, this is the life.

Sure there's gonna be a future
Yesterdays are piling up
And I remember thinking how
As much as effort will allow
There's no time like now

'Cause sometimes it's hard, but you get by
And sometimes it's nothing but struggle and strife
But not in the here and now
This is the life
Yeah, this is the life.

At the point you realize
It's vaporized - it's already gone
And you can sit around
Another town
Or try to move on
A Ponce de Leon
Out on his own

So everybody up and at 'em
Everybody draw the blinds
Anyone without a clue
Is wondering what they can do
And looking at you

Well, sometimes it's hard, but you get by
And sometimes it's nothing but struggle and strife
Well, not in the here and now
This is the life
Yeah this is the life
Yeah, this is the life
Yeah, this is(the)life.

A Startling Announcement of Vital Importance

2009-01-23T12:52:00.020-05:00

To put an end to the rampant media speculation, Coke Zero and I are issuing a joint statement:

"After a trial separation, up until now known only to our immediate families, Coke Zero (sometimes known as "Diet Coke") and I have agreed to part amicably. Proceeds from any forthcoming recycling income are to be split equally amongst the parties. There were no children from this relationship." (Unless you count the kidney stone I passed in 1994.)

Now, I know this is a shock to those of you who thought Zero and I were inseparable. Truth be told, I knew he was no good for me all along. But when we met, some twenty years ago, I was just a kid...and he was so shiny, so hard and smooth in the palm of my hand. And cool...real cool.

He called himself "Diet Coke" back then, and he was all promises. He would keep me alert without the caffeine jitters of my previous beau, Juan. He was just as much at ease with a PopTart as he was with a cheesesteak. And all with the taste that refreshes.

It was a match made in heaven (actually the kitchen at work where we got free soda, but whatever...) and I have to admit, I was insatiable. Six, seven times a day I would reach for Diet C, and he never let me down.

Sure, we split up in the mid 90's after I blamed him for leaching calcium out of my bones; calcium that went on to throw an oxalate crystal party in my right kidney (FYI: If your doctor ever uses the words "stent" and "ureter" in the same sentence, politely hit him/her in the head with the nearest giant rubber mallet and run away.) But I never had proof Coke's phosphoric acid was the guilty party. And I never forgot my Diet Coke.

And when word got around a few years ago that "C" was back in town, with a brand new ride called the 'fridge pack'...well...it wasn't long before he was back in my refrigerator, and my heart, again.

By now, he had reinvented himself. He was Zero - Coke Zero - and he was better than ever.

He'd greet me first thing every morning...the rush of carbonation as the chilled aluminum touched my lips. Oh yeah, baby, it was good.

But he was still all wrong for me. I found myself spending hours in my bedroom with Coke Zero (and a bag of microwave popcorn.) Truth was, Zero didn't motivate me anymore...he just made me want to eat crap and watch British folks auction off their stuff on BBC America.

And the trust was gone. I held on to the nagging suspicion that he was slowly-but-surely turning my bones into rubber, like a turkey's wishbone soaking in vinegar.

So...it's sayonara, Coke Zero. You know I'll always love you - we'll do lunch from time to time, awkwardly perhaps. But I can't let you run my life again. I need to be free.

From the "Never Thought I'd See the Day" File

2009-01-20T12:01:00.015-05:00

My first post of the new year, on this auspicious day...

2009.

The year the dream I didn't allow myself to dream came true anyway.

The year the nation I live in would truly, and collectively, see beyond the color of a man's skin to the content of his character.

The year my hopes - long encapsulated in the frost of cynical despair - have been released.

I never thought I'd live to see this day, but Lord, I'm glad I did.

Godspeed, President Obama.

The $150 Pencil

2008-12-31T08:05:00.016-05:00

She's usually the Girl Who Cries Wolf, but this time her shrieks seemed more than the typical over-exaggeration of a minor pain.

In between the screams, we made out "I stepped on something" and "It's bleeding a lot."

Now "bleeding a lot" to this particular 9-year-old could mean that she saw something red in the next room a couple days ago. She is prone to hyperbole and hypochondria and probably any other behavior that starts with "hyp."

But it was bleeding. A bit. Esteemed Husband took a look at her foot, while I went to the couch (where she had either stood on or jumped on whatever-it-was) searching for the guilty party. Didn't see anything - not even a pine needle.

EH thought it looked like a splinter - and I'm pretty good at removing those. Needles, tweezers, rubbing alcohol. Target-dollar-aisle reading glasses for super-sharp close vision. Soaked her foot in warm water to clean it off. Got my needle and prepared to work whatever out of her foot.

The 1/4-inch cut has a grey edge. Graphite. Esteemed Husband finds the weapon wedged in between the back couch cushion and the seat. Pointed upward, with our daughter's name on it. Literally. It's a personalized pencil, without its point.

pointless

I'm prepped to operate. I know what I'm looking for. But I can't see the actual point in her foot. Chuck the cheap glasses and remove contact lenses for better close vision. Still can't see anything except a gash that looks deeper than your typical splinter. Start to feel woozy; luckily I was already sitting on the floor.

This is above my surgical skill level. Call pediatrician's office. It's 9 PM and the office is closed. Is this an "emergency" worth tracking down a doctor on the phone or an "emergency" worth a visit to the emergency room? Foot is slightly swollen, so the answer is ER.

Esteemed Husband is the hero in the climax of our story. He carries daughter (who he later finds out weighs 94 pounds) off to the car and to the hospital while I stay at home with the elder sibling - a tween who spends most of her day attached to mp3 player and/or Nintendo DS and interacts with the family in a most disaffected way. She bursts into tears when I tell her what happened. She's so used to her sister's, um, vocalizations that she didn't even come out of her bedroom to investigate the earlier drama.

While Tween and I wait for news, I employ a diversion tactic: The Simpsons Movie DVD she got for Christmas. It works, and she's laughing and asking for popcorn. Instead, I let her eat limitless Xmas stocking candy while I collapse gift boxes and barely notice Spider Pig. Even Homer cannot distract me from my worry.

Anyway, a mere hour (a millisecond in ER time) later Husband and Daughter are on their way home. A minor surgical procedure removed what we hope is all of the pencil point. The doctor wasn't sure he got everything and sliced around a bit, but did all he could without causing "further tissue damage." Doc said she'll most likely have a residual "tattoo" from the graphite for the rest of her life. (If I can restrict my daughters to tats on the bottoms of their feet for the rest of their lives, I'm good...)

Esteemed Husband marvels at how our histrionic daughter barely whimpered during her ER treatment. Daughter shows off her gauze-adorned foot. I look over the antibiotic and gauze-changing schedule and wonder if the pain shot she was given will wear off during the night.

Anyway, so here we are. Her foot hurt a lot this morning, but hopefully Motrin will be the trick. She gets to be a princess today and be waited on hand and foot ;)

Oh yeah, the post title -- our co-pay for the ER visit was $150. Luckily, they take Visa.

Happy New Year!

Jesus Wants My Soul Back

2008-12-09T09:31:00.010-05:00

Oy vey!

My aggravation quotient is way up there. I usually try and ignore negative blog comments (actually, I get so few comments I kinda enjoy the negative ones.) But the tone of some recent ones was getting too judgmental for me to leave unchecked.

See the comment thread at Spending Christmas with Jesus.

Anybody who would like to defend me, or even condemn me more, as long as you do it intelligently (FYI to Anonymous #2 -- it's supposed to be "too" when you use the phrase "too late") feel free to jump on the bandwagon.

I've said my piece, though, so don't expect a tete-a-tete.

Oh, credit for the blog title goes to Jackdaw4:

Jackdaw4 - Jesus Wants My Soul Back

Looking for a Savior Underneath the Mistletoe

2008-12-05T10:00:00.041-05:00

It's Christmas again
December is here
Hasn't it been
A wonderful year

With all the plans you're making
And all the time you're taking
Greet the next one with good cheer
Won't you dear
As you ring the chime
Just because it's Christmastime

And on the tree all the ornaments go
Tinsel will cover where the branches don't grow
There's lights on all the houses
Spouses with their spouses
Children playing in the snow

One in the sleigh and one upon the horse
Keeping on track's another matter, of course
That's the great divisor
You are now the wiser
Maybe just a bit less so
Touch and go
Til you stop on a dime
All alone in Christmastime

Christmas again
December is here
What did you wish for
What did you fear
Look at your behavior
Looking for a savior
Underneath the mistletoe

You should know
It is less a crime
To be all alone in
Christmastime

So...my plans were to post something about Christmas songs, my husband's huge collection of said, and some good (imho) non-traditional ones. It was to be a happy post -- penance, if you will, for my last cranky-ish one.

Starting out with "Christmastime" -- the song written by Michael Penn & Jon Brion; recorded as a duet by Aimee Mann and Michael Penn, and by Aimee solo. (Three guesses as to which recorded version I prefer.)

Yes, Virginia, some people should be legally barred
from using Photoshop.

But -- I got so engrossed with making sure the Christmastime lyrics I was posting were correct to the word that I've run out of my allotted blogging time. Although we can only guess what horrors would await me if I chose the incorrect of "divisor" or "deviser" (upon reflection, the "great" preceding tells me it's likely "divisor," as in the 'greatest common divisor'... ) It all adds up to more time spent on trivial stuff, time that I will never ever get back. Story. Of. My. Life

Anyway, Arianna Huffinton (charmingly shilling her book about blogging on The Daily Show the other night) says blogging should be off-the-cuff and unpolished. The first unedited thoughts out of your head.

Viola! I will oblige her here.

Last Christmastime, Esteemed Husband and I decided we would work up a little rendition of "Christmastime" and bestow our singing talents upon the unenlightened masses (that would be our respective families.) Granted, we barely ran through the song twice at home beforehand - still - who would have guess the room-clearing power of our rendition? At both my family's gathering and the gathering with my in-laws.

We'll have to dust off our version again this year for when we want a little alone time at the holiday get-togethers.

Granted, it's a song nobody there knew...and a wee bit dark at that. But one of the things I love about "Christmastime" is how it turns minor with the second verse, as the lyrics start to reveal the shadows cast by the holiday sparkle...okay, maybe it's not all quite that melodramatic, and I'm most likely mixing metaphors wildly. But I enjoy the little journey the lyrics take from "a wonderful year" to "all alone."

My favorite line, or at least the one that sticks with me, is the "Look at your behavior, looking for a savior, underneath the mistletoe." It's nearly a chastisement, and maybe that's why I like it.

And now it's your turn -- feel free to comment, oh ye vast legions of readers (all two or three of you...and that's including husband) with any favorite Christmas songs, lyrics, or room-clearing hints.

Premature Embellishment

2008-11-25T18:28:00.029-05:00

Let me make my feelings twinkle-light clear: there is no justification for decorating your house with Christmas lights nearly a week before Thanksgiving. Yet, when I drove into my development after work Sunday night I was greeted by a fully-lit, entirely Christmassed-out house flashing me in the most inappropriate (for November 23rd) manner.

And I wonder, what is the message this house is supposed to be sending me? Is it "Look! I operate independently from the Gregorian calendar!" Or is it just the bragging rights of being the first, at something...anything.

"DECEMBER - not NOVEMBER," says Miss Cranky Blogger

In a new-found effort to be kind or empathetic or mimic some other charitable emotion, I wondered what extenuating circumstances might prompt, or even require, the early Xmas decoration. I could only think of two: Someone shipping off overseas to serve their country before the holiday, or someone with only 5 days to live whose dying wish is to see their house all lit up, just one last time.

If this is not your situation, I beg of you: Please don't turn on the lights before Thanksgiving. See, I'm not saying don't put up your lights -- for all I care you can leave them attached to your eaves 365 days a year. I'm just saying please don't turn them on before turkey day.

In addition to being annoyed at the premature embellishment, I am perplexed -- it was freezing this weekend. At least 10 degrees colder than normal. I can see rushing things to take advantage of unseasonably warm weather, but to take advantage of unseasonably frigid weather?

Even more annoyed by illogicalness of it all.

I'm not a grinch. A contrarian, yes, and somebody who is old enough to remember when Christmastime meant Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Boxing Day even - but - not an entire "season."

The next evening, upon his return home from work, my Esteemed Husband told me there were now three houses lit in the neighborhood. Oh yes, we suburbanites are nothing if not intensely competitive beasts.

So, to the folks who won the bragging rights to First Lights this year...you may be thinking you are being festive and jolly and all that. But I find your early lighting depressing - in that it just seems another dilution of the Christmas Spirit into something much less potent and meaningful.

On the other hand -- tomorrow's Thanksgiving! So all the rest of you can decorate to your heart's delight and my mouth will be too full of pie to complain.

Run! Here comes a former vice-presidential candidate!

Cyn's Movie Recommendation for Stoners, Stay-at-home Moms Who Don't Like Soap Operas, and the Employment Challenged

2008-11-12T18:35:00.027-05:00

Yesterday, I was paging through the Verizon Fios On Demand menu for something free to watch while I did mending (Mending? Yikes! When did I turn into a granny?) when I saw it listed -- The Brain That Wouldn't Die!

Guess how I spent the next 80 or so minutes.

As manner of explanation (or excuse), I present one of my earliest television memories:

My sister and I were sleeping over at my grandparents' house...in my hazy memory, we were tucked in, each on our own little cot, in a small room that might have been my grandfather's home office or a spare bedroom. The room was dark, save the glow from the black-and-white television sitting on a cart between our parallel cots. The whole set-up was quite a treat, because (of course) we didn't have TVs in our bedrooms at home.

We were being allowed to watch a television program before we went to sleep. That show was: The Outer Limits.

...we control the horizontal...we control the vertical...

If you're not familiar with Classic TV (read "not anywhere near as old as I am") The Outer Limits was kind of like The Twilight Zone, but scarier - at least to a kid. And I probably wasn't any older than 7 years old at the time. But I loved that show. And it seems to have either set the stage, or have been an indication, of the viewing tastes of the rest of my childhood.

ANYWAY, a long and roundabout way of saying I watched a lot of Sci-Fi/monster flicks in my misspent and sedentary youth...and although I may have seen The Brain That Wouldn't Die half a dozen times on UHF in the 1960s-70s, I've never watched it as an adult. Naturally, I had to rectify that when I saw the listing yesterday afternoon.

Turns out I really got a kick out of it. In fact, I'd give this flick four (out of five) Dust Bunnies (what other measuring unit would a person use that's watching a B movie at 1 in the afternoon?)

It's got the requisite inadvertent humor you look to a B movie for, but also a plot that is fairly inventive. And a feminist message -- she's not going to let a little thing like a lack of torso and limbs keep her from taking control of a bad situation!

Even if you've never seen the movie, the image above is fairly iconic. And evidently, this film was used in a popular MST3K episode -- but I would suggest watching the original version and adding your own heckling.

Because the movie stands very well on its own (lack of) feet. Like most successfully cheesy Sci-Fi, The Brain That Wouldn't Die explores/exploits a scientific innovation. It was made in 1962, the year that a severed limb was first successfully reattached. View it in that light, and you see the movie works not only on the pure horror level, but also played on a prevailing fear of the time -- that medical science might venture into areas where it didn't belong...doctors playing god and conducting unethical experiments...hmm, absolutely recycles the Frankenstein plot...so, um, forget my analysis and enjoy the bad acting and pure camp of it all.

Expect something very low-budget (a couple times it's glaringly apparent they used music so they didn't have to mic a scene), enjoy the retro vibe of the trolling for loose women scenes, and laugh out loud like I did at practically everything Jan In A Pan says.

She Asked for a Smiley Face

2008-11-05T07:57:00.008-05:00

This was the first presidential election my nine-year-old daughter was aware of. She followed the campaigning with interest (in a fourth-grade superficial kind of way.)

Even so, there was no way she could stay up last night to watch all the results come in, not with school today.

Before she went to bed, she had a request. If Barack Obama won, she wanted me to slip a drawing of a smiley face under her bedroom door...and if John McCain won, I was to make a sad face.

I've never enjoyed doodling more.

There's not much I can say here that won't be said better by those more eloquent than I...and maybe the election results are a clear sign that the time for words is over and the time to act is here. But I'm smiling inside, more than the smiliest of doodles could convey.

Because I doubted reason would prevail. Because I didn't believe that racism could be overridden in my lifetime. Because I had given up hope, but now it has been given back to me.

Thank you, fellow voters. Thank you, Barack Obama, the 44th President of the United States.

Things Michael Penn and I Have in Common

2008-11-03T11:24:00.006-05:00

#1 Both vertebrate mammals.
#2 Both wearing a vest on April 27, 2007.
#3 Both have posted in the Not Spencer series on the blog A Rubber Door.

Okay...so I'm still working on fleshing out the list -- but in the meantime, check out the new, exclusive (imagine the word "exclusive" surrounded with sparkly thingies) song/musical -blog-contribution, "The Count of Pennsylvania" by fantabulous singer-songwriter Michael Penn.

And, for my political ranting, see: "Hope vs. Fear in a Steel Cage Match for the Title" (Ah, I've been waiting years to work a professional wrestling term into my writing!)

12 Questions

2008-09-15T16:57:00.020-04:00

Following the lead of Merujo...who was following the lead of Spencer...and so on...and so on...

1. Eclipse by Cyn McCurry, Ft. Worth
2. Learn how to make sushi.
3. Pope (St.) Pius X
4. be bold be brave be red
5. Portrait
6. Coke launches new advert for Zero
7. Nevis from space (click to enlarge)
8. 10Dark Chocolate
9. Power Aware Cord
10. The Fractured Family
11. Hybrid- different
12. vintage Tipple strings by cynicsgirl

Stock instructions: "Want to give this meme a whirl? Here's how: Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search. Using only the first page, pick an image. (You can arrange by "Most relevant," "Most recent," or "Most interesting.") * Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into fd's mosaic maker -- fd's Flickr Toys.

(Now that I'm finished...I realized I was supposed to do this with Flickr - and I used Google Images. Oops. Was there a question about inability to read directions?)

The Questions were:

1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food?
3. What high school did you go to?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. Favorite drink?
7. Dream vacation?
8. Favorite dessert?
9. What you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. One Word to describe you?
12. Your flickr name?

Okay - redone in the proper format. Used exactly the same answers in my search, so it's interesting (at least to me) to see the variation.

The Flickr images:

1. Cardinal Cyn
2. sushi b-day
3. Saint Philomena
4. I don't wear masks
5. removing context from the lexicon
6. Coke Zero
7. In the event of a beach landing, your seat cushion will act as...
8. Pleasant moments
9. Dreaming.......
10. Each war is different, each war is the same
11. eccentric beauty
12. Cakes 4

One Thing Leads to Another

2008-09-05T10:48:00.020-04:00

What would you call a voodoo doll that makes bad things happen to your home? A voodoo dollhouse? I've been seriously wondering if such a specific form of black magic exists - imagining that someone with a vendetta has fashioned a cloth-and-stuffing replica of our little pseudo-Victorian house, and has been inserting long hatpins into it with frightening regularity.

Either that or it's just a regular ole voodoo doll - with one huge pin stuck directly into my wallet.

Because things have just been falling apart, failing unpredictably and just generally costing us a lot of money for the past few months.

I won't bore you with a laundry list, but a typical example was two days ago...a couple of guys came to install a new dishwasher to replace the 16-year-old one that hadn't run properly for the past month. When the One-Who-Spoke-English pulled out the old appliance, he found a nice section of our subfloor had rotted out due to some hidden leak. Naughty dishwasher!

And so Esteemed Husband and I will wait for what's left of the subfloor to dry out for the next week or so before we can attempt to patch up the floor...and we explain the unbelievable concept of "hand-washing" to our children. All the while, the sparkling new dishwasher hangs out, unattached by the breakfast bar, taunting us.

The day before the dishwasher surprise, a surprise of a different sort -- when a worker from Verizon shows up completely unannounced at our front door, to install a new line I need for work. "Install" as in "install in my bedroom."

Now maybe you are the kind of person who makes their bed neatly every morning and doesn't leave (stacks of laundered) undergarments artistically scattered about the bureau tops. But I am not that kind of person. So, while my husband stalled the installer at the door, I ran about the bedroom, hyperventilating, throwing various unmentionables in the nearest drawer...shovelled a pile of dirty clothes into the bathroom...and then ran and hid myself -- because I was wearing what amounted to PJs at 1 o'clock in the afternoon. (So, yeah, I'm that dreamy combo of messy and slovenly.)

From my hiding place in the laundry room, I hear husband and Verizon Man pulling our bed away from the wall. The phone jack is there? Behind the big old sleigh bed that hasn't been moved since Bill Clinton was president?

I suppose I should be happy that neither Husband nor VerizonMan were fatally mauled by the dust Woolly Mammoths (um...see...there was more dust than your typical dust bunny...get it?) that were disturbed by the bed moving.

And that glass of juice I knocked off my nightstand in 1994? When I was all whacked out on Vicodin for a kidney stone? Turns out a large portion of that spilled juice pooled under the bed way-back-when. Science lesson du jour: crystalized orange juice takes on an appearance not unlike a bloodstain after 12 years. Half-expected Mr. Verizon to call in CSI to take a sample.

(But later - Oxyclean and it's gone! And, yes, I am available for product endorsements.)

Anyway, here's where I stop - before I go into a tirade about our recent string of computer failures and internet outages, or launch into a discourse on the extraordinary high cost of orthodontia.

But now you know why I haven't been blogging much lately.

On the other hand, kids are: Back! To! School!

Maybe things aren't so bad after all.

Look Ma -- No Brain!

2008-08-13T09:24:00.022-04:00

It was officially The Week Insomnia Ate My Brain. The perfect storm of a new fill-in gig, a weeknight concert, and preparing for my parent's 50th wedding anniversary party basically ripped the last shred of coherence outta my head, then whipped it up into a nice pate that was served with a side of insomnia.

If you are lucky enough to have your parents celebrate their 50th...well...it is an occasional well worth a party that would rival any wedding reception. And so that's what my siblings and I planned.

c. 1955

The celebration was a pseudo-surprise. My brother told our parents to save the date -- for a "couples colonoscopy" (evidence that everyone in the family has the same interesting sense of humor.) Being that my mom showed up in a full-length (non-hospital) gown, I don't think she fell for our cover story. (Plus, they completely neglected to drink the prep solution we so thoughtfully provided.)

August 16, 1958

A word of advice to anyone planning a similar affair: if you are stupid enough to decide to try and make a slideshow from 50 years of photos on a laptop that has a dangerously low amount of available memory...well...you will be up until 3 AM the night/morning before the party trying to burn a DVD, give up and wake up 3 1/2 hours later to complete the task (the burn ended up taking nearly 12 hours start to finish) and consequently will be even too tired to get drunk at the open bar when the party you've-been-working-on-for-weeks finally arrives.

1987

Despite my sobriety, the day was a complete success. Both Mom & Dad were beaming in typical bride and groom fashion, and Dad said it felt like the big wedding reception they never had.

Anyway, there's a lot of sentimental stuff I could write about how awfully great it is to be witness to a marriage that has lasted half a century...and a happy 50 years at that. How wonderful it was to have family and friends gathered together to commemorate that milestone without a single arrest (that I know of.) But I'll keep it simple here, and just say

Happy Anniversary Mom & Dad!

Aimee Mann!

2008-08-06T11:15:00.004-04:00

Saw Ms. Mann last night at World Cafe Live -- a singular treat.

I'm planning a full post on the evening, eventually...with an overloaded schedule for the rest of the week, realistically it'll be awhile before I actually manage to get around to it.

In the meantime, the photo that will probably end up being my favorite (at least of the ones I took) because of that smile.

A Defining Moment in the History of Philadelphia Radio

2008-08-05T11:10:00.009-04:00

(Not really. Just wanted to get your attention.)

So...I started doing some morning drive fill-in on Monday. (I'm not going to use names, because there is no need to sully the reputation of this particular radio station and its personnel by associating it with my blog forevermore in Google searches.)

"Ho hum," you say. Au contraire, my extremely-exclusive readers. This is quite an event, at least in the minute corner of suburbia that I call my own.

Because I am getting to broadcast out of my bedroom! Actual live terrestrial FM radio. Through the magic of a piece of equipment that I guess is usually used for station remotes, a microphone, and my trusty laptop, I am doing news and traffic Mon-Fri for a month or so while the lovely lady who usually provides this information is on maternity leave.

This is where the "magic" happens.

Broadcasting from home has been one of those cockamamie schemes I've mentioned to my boss jokingly(keep in mind that 99.9% of humor has its basis in truth) over the years; since the existence of my children has kept me from being able to work drive-time. It only took a guy who is a legendary radio personality - one of the best-known, most-widely-respected morning men in this town (and yes, John, I'm sucking up to you...but it's true)(sucking up even more!) to actually make it happen. So, I feel like a pretty lucky little reporter at this point, even with some first-day jitters and technical problems.

Still not entirely sure that I'm just not part of an elaborate hoax, and sitting here talking to myself. But (so far) my kids have not screamed at each other when I've been on the air...my kittens are being held at bay with multiple early morning feedings...and I've come pretty close to making sense with only about 4 hours of sleep the past couple nights.

And to anyone who managed to uncover this page while searching for a topless picture of me on the internet -- I swear that such a thing does not exist! (Although if you find any, let me know.)

Dwarf, Chippendales, Cockroaches

2008-08-02T08:58:00.019-04:00

A while back, when pondering the possibility of poltergeist in my bedroom I mentioned having a photo of myself with the small-statured star of Poltergeist, Zelda Rubinstein.

Yesterday, I was scanning old photos for my parents' 50th wedding anniversary..and lo and behold, in an album from early 1988:

(An odd expression on my face...probably overwhelmed by actually standing next to someone shorter than I.) As I recall, she was a super-sweet lady.

A couple more photos from the same album:

The requisite picture with Chippendales (for whatever reason, Chippendales seemed to be the recurring theme of my late 80s-early 90s radio career. Maybe because they were an easy booking.)

Note pants of the guy on the left...1988 was big on pleats, it seems.

And then -- of course -- giant cockroaches.

The hands belonged to a guy from "Steve's Bug-Off" (I'm pretty sure it was actually "Steve" himself -- a Northeast Philadelphia exterminator who opened an "Insectarium" a few years later.) Seemed like a good way to end this post, anyway.

Back to the present --a radio first (for me) on Monday...a return to the past, with a radically new twist. Details to follow.

Granted, my Mind's in the Gutter...

2008-07-08T13:34:00.005-04:00

...but something seemed a wee bit peculiar about the placement of the spouting tube...

As seen on an Ocean City, New Jersey mini-golf course

The Things We Do for Cats

2008-06-25T09:42:00.009-04:00

From the files of Things I Wrote for Publication Elsewhere (but here you get the Director's Cut - woohoo!)

The world is full of mysteries: Stonehenge…Bigfoot…crop circles…the popularity of Deal or No Deal…

But, for me, the biggest mystery of all is: Why doesn’t everyone love cats?

Cats are beautiful creatures, they make that neat sound we humans call purring, and they’re self-cleaning. But somehow they can’t shake a reputation that goes from being called finicky and aloof to being accused of “stealing the breath” of babies.

Whereas the dog gets to be “Man’s Best Friend.” The most derogatory thing people say about your average dog is that their breath is nasty. Doggies are considered so generally agreeable that an owner can even forgive Fido for making repeated romantic overtures to their leg.

But I am not here to bash the canine, rather to praise the feline. Ancient Egyptians, the earliest cat fanciers, weren’t just fooling around with leftover strips of linen when they mummified their kitty companions. They understood that cats deserved to be revered.

Ask any modern day feline aficionado, and they will tell you that cats are intelligent, affectionate and devoted to their humans.

Sure, a cat owner has to clean a litter box -- but, when coated with litter, one can pretend the gravel-covered lumps are anything other than excrement. Personally, I like to imagine I'm panning for gold, although admittedly one wouldn't want to wear any jewelry made from those particular nuggets.

And while cat hair will instantaneously bind to the fibers of every dark-colored garment you own…well, just think of it as some sort of extra layer of insulation to increase the energy efficiency of your clothing. In fact, research scientists are currently studying the static electrical properties of cat hair for use in green technology. (Okay, I just made that up, but feel free to pass the idea along to Al Gore...)

That theory and more are currently being but to the test in my suburban lair by a pair of kittens named Koto and Lyra, who recently purred their way from a local shelter into our household.

I used to think I was just one spouse away from being a crazy cat lady. If my husband hadn't come along at an opportune time, I'd likely be holed up in a house with twenty cats right now, yelling out at the neighbors’ kids to get the heck off my lawn.

But any waltz through the World Wide Web will reveal a whole contingent of people whose feline devotion makes me look like an amateur – I call them Extreme Cat Owners.

The Extreme Cat Owner fills their home with specialized cat gear – multi-level jungle gyms, plush heated beds, and a wide assortment of catnip toys. In comparison, my Koto and Lyra are paupers. Still, they appear blissfully content as they claw their way up the arm of our sofa like Spider Man suctioning up the side of a building; sleep curled up together in the powder room sink; and madly pursue tossed wads of paper, which they carry around in their mouths as if displaying a conquered rodent.

While excessive gear is a clue, one cannot judge a cat owner’s Extreme Quotient based on the number of cat-themed knickknacks in their house. An abundance of cat tchotchkes could be a sign of an Extreme Cat Owner, but it might also be the result of friends and relatives who think, “Cindy likes cats – so she’ll love this whimsical wood cutout of a cat arching its back. And the cat dish towel. And the cat stationery…” (And, um, if you’re reading this Mom, I do love it all. Soooo cute…)

Extreme or not, I implore all cat owners to refrain from the urge to put clothing or headgear of any sort on your cat. Dignity is paramount to a cat, and it is impossible to look regal when wearing strap-on reindeer antlers on one’s furry little head.

While I consider my kittens to be part of the family, there is at least a small part of my brain that remembers that I did not actually give birth to them. Therefore, I will not refer to myself as their “Mommy” nor is my husband their “Daddy.” (Although I swear my dearly-departed cat Leo decided to imitate our kids and perfected a meow that sounded an awful lot like a whiney “Maaaahm.”)

But the Extreme Cat Owner makes no distinction between human offspring and feline companions. Their pet is a surrogate child, and while undoubtedly better behaved than the average human child, this can be taken to extremes. Case in point: my web-surfing found an Extreme Owner with no qualms about sharing food with their kitty --- specifically trading licks off a shared ice cream cone!

I do love my cats, but I know where those tongues have been. And they are not getting near my Ben & Jerry’s.

But I discovered something on the web even more disturbing than human-feline food sharing – a number of different companies that will take a deceased pet’s ashes…and transform them into a gemstone.

The ash-to-gem process seems to vary from company to company (except it is invariably “patented” or “proprietary.”) However, the website of “Pets Gems” is kind enough to divulge their process, part of which is:
“… an ionic exchange between the zircon and the atmosphere created from your pets ashes. The easiest way to describe it is to imagine a sponge, first we ring out certain atoms, and then let it absorb the new ones….”
Then they grasp the zircon tightly with thumb and forefinger, raise hand over head, and hop around on one foot while invoking the spirit of Morris the cat. (Alright, I made up that last part too.)

So, while it is none of my business how any pet owner goes about memorializing a lost friend, I would gently suggest a donation to a local animal shelter might be a better tribute than spending thousands of dollars to meld ash to zircon.

And to any Extreme Cat Owners who might be reading this, remember, we are all on the same team. Invite me over for lunch, and we can compare albums of our cats’ photos. Just don’t expect me to share my dessert.

Unionized

2008-06-19T18:07:00.006-04:00

Yesterday, the employees of my office voted to join AFTRA -- the American Federation of Television & Radio Artists.

(I like the logo, if that counts for anything.)

Think it's safe to say that emotions are mixed. In a perfect world, corporations would value their employees (and by "value" I mean give them fair and equitable pay, without having to bring in a third party to negotiate it.) Oh well.

Feel like we are off on an adventure of sorts, or maybe an education in The Way Things Really Work. Wish us luck.

My Haunted Bedroom

2008-06-12T18:51:00.003-04:00

I am freaking out just a teeny bit right now...so do not expect eloquence.

Here's why: a couple days ago, I was taking a "before" photo after moving a chair out of a corner to make way for a new piece of furniture in my bedroom. When I looked down at my digital camera screen, I saw what some paranormal researchers call "orbs" in my picture.

If you are not familiar with "orbs" - some believe that the orbs that show up in photos are spirits...or balls of energy produced by spirits...or even some sort of wormhole. Groovy!

Personally, my mind is open. I believe some people are psychic (and many are frauds) though the mechanism that allows them to sense dead people or past/future events may never be understood. For example, I'm not sure that people actually can communicate with the dead (sorry, Ghost Whisperer) but maybe are sensing some sort of lingering vibration or another layer of time. If you think I'm sounding crazy, just consider broadcast television/radio...waves broadcast that are invisible until received/decoded. There may be other frequencies (for lack of a better term) that people with psychic abilities can tap into that the rest of us cannot.

Anyway, back to the orbs. I generally am amused by this sort of thing - the logical part of my brain (which seems to be getting smaller every day) says it's some sort of lens flair.

So I took another photo, and saw more orbs. Though they are hard to see in these photos, so I have provided handy arrows. There are not actually arrows on my bedroom walls, although I can think of certain instances where that might come in handy.

Then I took a series of shots one after the other -- assuming that if the orbs were reflections off the lamp, they should be in the same spot for each photo. Though I've cropped the photos to show better where the orbs appear (and hide some of my bedroom's clutter)

Above are two of the many photos taken - I was standing in the exact same place with my camera in the same position. Slightly different angle below.

Even in photos a few seconds apart the orbs are in different places/sizes/number. Maybe they are really little bundles of spirit energy floating around!

(This is where it would be really cool is I stuck in the old photo I have of myself with the Little Woman who was in Poltergeist. But it's not scanned into the computer. Oh well.)

I go and sit on the floor in the empty corner, to see if I can feel any "vibrations" (Hey, I'm a child of the 70s -- a time when Uri Geller used to bend spoons and all that. Wait -- he was fake, wasn't he?!)

But I digress...again. I don't really feel anything while sitting on the carpet in the corner, except a little silly. I make a mental note to discuss this laughingly with my spouse when he comes home from work. Then I forget all about it.

Last night, my husband moves our bed a few inches over to the right - and a few inches closer to the corner where I had photographed the "orbs." With no thought of anything orb-related, I come into the room, see the new bed position and get all freaky on him -- saying my side of the bed is way too close to the window (it's still like 5 feet away) that it feels claustrophobic...that the bed looks crooked...generally ranting. He is perplexed by my insanity, and I leave the room feeling weirded out.

Later, I remember the orbs. Did my discomfort with the new bed position mean I was sensing something paranormal? Something that doesn't want me any closer? I fall asleep restlessly, imagining a presence is by my side trying to rouse me. (Roll your eyes here.)

All is forgotten today until I am looking through some Mother's Day pictures my husband took. Then I see this one with an orb right in front of my daughter's face.

When I look closely at the other pictures, I see less obvious orbs in all but one of the ones taken in our bedroom that morning.

So I am freaked. Mildly freaked, but freaked nonetheless.

Mind you that my husband's Mother's Day pictures were taken with his camera and my wall pictures with an entirely different camera. That my husband took lots of other pictures Mother's Day and only the ones taken in our bedroom showed the orbs.

So that's what led me to this blog post, and now has led me to google "paranormal orbs" and has led me to conclude that all those orbs that mysteriously appeared in my photos and have haunted me for the past few days were most likely, probably, nearly assuredly...

...dust.

My Left Toe

2008-05-22T21:02:00.005-04:00

I don't know which was worse -- having to hold my foot still for more than half an hour, or wearing headphones that piped an adult contemporary radio station into my ears during that more-than-half-an-hour.

The setting was your basic MRI imaging room, and the story was...well...the story started the day after Mother's Day when I was trying on a pair of shoes my thoughtful husband had given me the day before. One shoe hurt and the other didn't. Couldn't figure out why until I looked down and saw I had a big ole lump on the top of my left foot's big toe, between the joints.

Being the mature (read doctor-avoiding) adult I am, I didn't do anything for another day-and-a-half. Eventually though, some form of common sense prevailed, and I ended up in a podiatrist's office.

It's interesting to be a woman of a certain age and still be able to claim a "first." And this was the first time I'd ever been in a podiatrist's office. I rather enjoyed the small quiet waiting room - just me and the seniors (waiting to get removed whatever it is that seniors get filed off their feet.)

And it was a distinct pleasure to be have an examination that didn't contain the word "stirrups."

The podiatrist sent me off to a nearby facility for an x-ray (because silly insurance wouldn't allow me to take advantage of the machine in the doctor's office) and less than an hour later I was back with my films.

Which showed some sort of bone abnormality. Which meant she wanted me to get an MRI.

Now...here's where the internet comes in. You know the drill. You do a Google search and keep reading every link until you find out that your symptoms mean you have an extremely rare, but ultimately fatal, condition. (Or is that just my game?)

Google didn't let me down, and it didn't take long to find at least 5 bone-cancerous-type things that can affect the big toe. Who knew? Well, the doctor did, I guess. Because in the office when this financially-cautious patient (me) was quizzing her on the need for an MRI, the doctor more or less admitted that the reason for the MRI was to rule out the scary reasons my toe bone looked abnormal.

That's why today found me lying on a table for more than half-an-hour with most of my body in a white tube of magnetic resonance and with the aforementioned Adult Contemporary B101 serenading/torturing me. The tech had asked me what station I wanted to listen to (I requested WXPN) but supposedly she couldn't get that tuned in. Oh well, I think 'XPN is fund-raising this week anyway...although listening to David Dye's membership pitch would have been infinitely better than Rod Stewart's "Downtown Train" (which I still can't get outta my head. Aaaaargh!)

Not the least bit of apprehension on my part regarding the MRI procedure (because the internet also told me my head wouldn't be in the tube.) In fact, I approached the whole thing with a lot of curiosity (and any hour away from the kids is kinda like a mini-vacation.)

What I didn't count on: the harder I tried to keep my foot still, the more it would twitch involuntarily.

Perhaps the tech thought she was being helpful when she announced the time of each series of strange magnetic thumps and beeps -- "This one is four minutes" she would say...and all I could think of is "Must stay perfectly still for FOUR minutes...try and focus on Meatloaf's hypnotic voice...oh no, did I just move my toe when I started to relax?...yikes, that magnetism is kinda tickling my feet(toes twitch)...just one more chorus of Two Outta Three Ain't Bad, and I'll have a 2-second break between sessions to wiggle my toes (calf twitches)..." And so on.

The MRI tube had this little digital timer at the end where I could see the minutes and seconds of each series counting down -- although there was also a laser eye right next to the timer that warned not to stare directly into it (the laser.) Although it didn't seem to be on, I wondered if maybe it was some sort of secret MRI laser that was invisible or something.

See what Adult Contemporary music does to my brain?

It was all a medley of stale music, involuntary muscle movements, and stolen timer glances. With a shot of contrast medium towards the end for good measure.

My idea of a fun afternoon.

My Kid Made Me Do It

2008-05-20T19:59:00.019-04:00

I kinda hate survey-result blogs, but here I am, doing it anyway. (Never discount one's need to stoke the self-loathing fire...)

Anyway, my children were all excited about this Golden Compass website survey -- evidently the elder child and her teacher both did it today at school (our tax dollars at work!!) Elder child showed it to younger child after school, and then I was requested to participate.

Now you lovely blog readers who actually know me - or would like to pretend you do - are being asked to click below and agree/disagree with five character traits, to see if my perceptions of myself and your perceptions of me are the same. (Although I'm rather afraid of what your perceptions might be. But I guess that's the whole point.)

The five questions pop up right here on the blog page - click on the brown blob (technical term) in lower right corner of the picture below to advance to next question. My daemon will actually change below depending on your answers.

How Second Life made me $26,320 richer in just one day!

2008-05-12T08:04:00.031-04:00

(My most spam-ish blog title ever.)

Yep, I was paid the above amount for a magazine article I wrote on Second Life. Unfortunately, that's my fee in Linden dollars (the SL currency.) In U.S. dollars...well...let's just say the amount was substantially less.

Anyway, being a neglectful/lazy blogger, I am posting my article here in lieu of actually writing something new. It appeared in the March issue of the unnamed (to protect the innocent) publication I write a column for.

But you, lucky internet readers, get to see snapshots that did not appear in the print version! I might also humbly suggest that you click the pictures to enlarge them and see my SL adventure in greater detail.

(My crystal ball shopping never made it into the article...oh well...)

Home Sweet Virtual Home

“Good evening, M’am.” The gentleman startled me, as I did not hear him approach as I stood on the darkened street, outside a lovely Victorian era house. “Good evening,” I replied, “I was just admiring your home.” Thank you,” he responded, “but my wife deserves the credit. She did all the work.”

A rather pedestrian conversation, if not for the fact that the “gentleman” I was chatting with was actually an adorable little teddy bear wearing flannel pajamas and a wizard’s hat. (I didn’t dare ask the species of his wife.)

Have I neglected to mention that this chat was in text form, and taking place on my computer screen? Yep, it was just another evening in Second Life, the online 3-D virtual reality world that I have been visiting with all too much regularity.

Oh wait – how rude of me! I haven’t properly introduced myself. I am “Cyn Peccable,” a steampunk Victorian woman of little means but great reserve (or at least that’s how my Second Life profile reads.)

Um…yeah…seriously…I’m waaaay too into this.

But let he who is without a time-wasting hobby cast the first stone…keeping in mind that in Second Life, you could throw that stone haphazardly about in a glass house without breaking a single window -- cool!

Mixed imagery aside, my attraction to Second Life can be summed up in two words: no cellulite.

So, what’s a person to do with their nice cellulite-free avatar? Explore! Shop! Make friends while shopping! Shop! Try on the stuff you bought shopping!

And find a place to live.

While I’ve mastered shopping, and even have a “partner” (my real life husband, who signed on to Second Life just long enough to take me off the market) so far I’ve resisted the urge to settle down.

Not that I’m unfamiliar with others’ residences. While Cyn is a proper Victorian lady, it seems she is also quite the peeping Tom. I’ve peered into houses ranging from haunted to Architectural-Digest-ready.

I’ve seen clam shells for mermaids, post-apocalyptic sheds for those surviving an imaginary blast, and double-wide trailers for wannabe trash.

Not to mention a gigantic undersea rusted-metal seahorse/house that would set Jules Verne’s heart a-racing (if he weren’t dead, that is.)

And plain old normal stuff too. Sometimes a house is just a house.

With all this in mind, I set off to educate myself about the cost of Second Life housing. A quick search gave me the location of a sales area, appropriately named “Home Sweet Homes.” One mouse click later, I had teleported there. (Teleporting = fun!)

Materializing in the center of an expanse of neatly-trimmed grass (that never needs mowing), I found the landscape dotted with model houses of different sizes and styles. And each lot had a large sign stuck in the front yard; if you didn’t fancy the model sitting there, a click on the sign would materialize another in its place.

In a blink of an eye, I conjured up a large 3-story Victorian mansion, complete with wrap-around porch and turret…and an asking price of 6,000 Linden Dollars (the currency of Second Life.)

Oh, did I forget to mention that the exchange of (real) money is a very real part of this virtual world?

The 6,000 Linden price tag of my Victorian dream house translates to about $23 U.S. dollars. A bargain in real life, but pricey for the SL world. And I’m not sure if I’m ready to make that kind of commitment.

I mean, it’s lovely…but why be tasteful, when you can be tacky? Methinks a castle might be more suited to my flights of fancy. As a point of reference, I decide to check out Victoriana Castle, which bills itself as “The Most Beautiful Castle in SL.”

Holy Ice Princess, Batman! Blindingly white and overdone in every way imaginable – Victoriana Castle has more spires than I can count. Its curlicues have curlicues! My blood sugar level rises to a dangerous level, forcing a quick teleportation escape…

…to “Elite Estates” -- where one can buy a castle of more modest proportions. In fact 1,500 Lindens (about $6) will get me my very own a starter castle!

Unfortunately, “Dakota Castle” is unimaginatively rectangular –and its façade bears a strong resemblance to cinder block. I half-expected to find medieval-themed dinner theater going on inside. Instead, the interior was empty, if slightly dungeon-esque (which could be a positive, depending on what one is into.)

Still…hmmm…even cinderblock could be made cozy with the right furnishings. After all, isn’t décor what makes a house (or castle) a home?

So, a new mission – furniture shopping. To that end, I enlisted the companionship of my sister, AKA “Angelique Nightfire.”

We meet in the small but elegant showroom of “Capalini Fine Furnishings.” There we playfully threw our avatar-selves onto an extremely tasteful Federal style sofa; then each chose a side of a four-poster bed (and just as when we were children on family vacations, I threatened her with a karate chop if she strayed over to my side.)

Then somehow, we veered off course. The next thing I knew, we were wearing diver’s suits outside a pirate bar. Once inside said bar, Cyn put on a kimono and served Angelique a gin and tonic.

Such is the waking-dream semi-hallucinatory Second Life experience.

Leaving Angelique to nurse her virtual hangover, my next stop was the vast showroom of “Prim Goddess Creations,” which seemed prepared to fulfill my every interior decorating need…as well as needs I never knew I had. Like – what exactly is a “cuddle rug”?

(Leading to the philosophical question: Why do avatars feel a need to cuddle anyway?)

In the bedroom section, I spy a mahogany sleigh bed just like the one in my real life bedroom (except in SL, the bed is made.)

And over there -- toilets! I can’t resist the urge to walk into a bathroom display and touch the handle. It flushes! (Or more accurately, the picture of water in the bowl rotates in a clockwise fashion for a few seconds.)

Very amusing, but does it sell? In all my spying into virtual houses, I have never encountered one with a bathroom – for good reason. A virtual bathroom would only prove a rude reminder of the real life bathroom that one should be cleaning instead trying on that dreamy flowing gown.

So…bye-bye Prim Goddess!

But then I find myself in a store called “Dust Bunny”…

...prompting a glance towards the real life dust creatures forming at my feet. Seems no matter how hard one tries, some things (like housework and Britney Spears) are inescapable. Sigh.

After all my “research,” I conclude it’s easier (and cheaper) to keep my avatar homeless.

Thus resigned, I fly off to a small deserted island I’d scoped out on an earlier expedition; where a creative somebody-I’ve-never-met has turned a lighthouse into their home, complete with a life-sized (and very cuddle-able) stuffed bunny sitting by the bed.

By afternoon’s end, my avatar lies stretched out on a pillow-laden hammock by the water’s edge. All alone, save a small squirrel darting around the base of a nearby tree. It eyes Cyn suspiciously, but I don’t care.

Ah, yes…(virtual) life is good.

(If you made it here, to the end of the article, first of all, congratulations on your perseverance! Secondly, if you look closely in the last snapshot, you'll see the "squirrel" of the article was really a tiny rabbit. But I thought I had just one too many bunnies in my tale, and there is a SL squirrel that I'm fairly certain has been stalking me...so...

Hey, it's all pretend anyway!)

(To learn more about Second Life: http://www.secondlife.com/)

You Knew It Had to Happen...

2008-05-01T21:01:00.002-04:00

Yep, I've got a blog for my new kittens. Just one more sign of the decline of modern civilization.

Actually, it's more of an excuse to deluge the world wide internet with photos of my appropriately adorable kitties than anything else; although for some reason I've actually been writing some stuff there too. (Must stop any behavior that involves thinking...)

Anyway, please stop by and fawn over the felines at your leisure:

www.KotoAndLyra.blogspot.com

Stranger Than Fiction

2008-04-24T11:19:00.021-04:00

I'm one of those old school types who still reads the newspaper. But I have to. Otherwise I might miss out on, well, something.

Anyway, I've come across a few things today that require very little commentary from me, but each is mind-boggling in its own way.

It Was a Fine Idea at the Time

Balloons carry the Rev. Adelir Antonio de Carli, now lost, in this photo from UOL Web site.

As seen in Philadelphia Inquirer 4/24/08

"Hopes of finding a Roman Catholic priest who disappeared after soaring into the air with hundreds of colorful helium balloons are growing slim, rescue officials in Brazil said. The Rev. Adelir Antonio de Carli has been missing since Sunday, when he lifted off from the port city of Paranagua in a fund-raising effort."

Um, well, I hope at least they raised a lot of funds...

I cannot imagine the lack of foresight that went into this stunt. Did the reverend drop the giant hat pin he was supposed to use to prick each party balloon (one by one) to lower himself back to earth?

Boggling the Mind & Turning the Stomach

Also in today's Inquirer, under the headline Animal-cruelty charges added in sex-assault case was a blurb about a Moorestown police officer in jail on allegations that he molested three children...who is now charged with four incidents of having sex with cows.

While I do not want to appear to make light of anything involving child molestation - it is about the most vile thing I can imagine - I couldn't help but wonder, "How did they find out about the cows?" Oh...then I read further to see that a "Pemberton Township filmmaker" -- a woman -- was also charged in connection with the sexual assault of the children.

Sick.

A Follow-up on the Gay-Porn-Star-Twin-Burglars:

I kinda dropped the follow-up ball when her involvement came out earlier this month, but it turns out Mom was the lookout while her gay-porn-starring twins did their burglarizing.

Proving once again that children learn their values from their parents.

From yesterday's Inquirer (See complete article here):

Burglary trial ordered for twin and mother
Two South Philadelphia merchants testified yesterday that more than $1,500 and other valuables were taken from their adjacent shops in a burglary in which two twins and their mother are accused.
Taleon Goffney, 25, of Maple Shade, and his mother, Towana Goffney, 42, of Swedesboro, appeared before Judge Harvey Robbins at a preliminary hearing on burglary and related charges. Robbins bound them over for trial. Taleon and his twin, Keyontili Goffney, are suspects in 45 rooftop burglaries in New Jersey, Pennsylvania and Delaware."

And now, for something completely different...

It Should Be a Mellow Wine

Proving that news online can be fab too, while looking up the links for these Philadelphia Inquirer articles, I found a story from today's Daily News:

Wine with a spin: Chaddsford label toasts vintage DJ Pierre Robert
Yay Pierre!

It's a fairly long feature article, but the news is that legendary and super-groovy WMMR DJ (who I had the pleasure to work with many moons ago) now has a wine named after him, Pierreno Grigio, courtesy of Chaddsford Winery...

"...which sells at Pennsylvania state stores and at select area restaurants. The winery Web site, where it sells for $17.99 a bottle, describes Pierreno Grigio as "mouthwatering with clean, crisp acidity and zesty juicy fruit."

It couldn't happen to a nicer citizen.

No longer "Whispers"

2008-04-19T08:18:00.005-04:00

From Wikipedia:

"The koto (琴 or 箏) is a traditional Japanese stringed musical instrument derived from Chinese zither (Guzheng). The koto is the national instrument of Japan.[1] Koto are about 180 centimetres (71 in) long and have 13 strings that are strung over 13 movable bridges along the length of the instrument. Players can adjust the string pitches by moving these bridges before playing, and use three finger picks (on thumb, forefinger, and middle finger) to pluck the strings."

Anyway...Koto was Esteemed Husband's brilliant solution for the male kitten's name to go with my name choice for the female. There is also another connection between the names that is not obvious from the photos I've pasted here. It's what sealed the deal for me...see if you can figure it out (it may require googling, by the way...)

The following had NOTHING to do with the name choice, but the whole concept of "Spacesynth" amuses me:

"Koto is an Italian synth pop group that originally consisted of Anfrando Maiola and Stefano Cundari. Their most popular songs were "Visitors", "Dragon's Legend", "Chinese Revenge" and "Jabdah", released in 1983-1988. Koto is often associated with a genre of music called Spacesynth, a music style streamed from Space Disco."

And "Space Disco"? That's just scary.

And "Buttons" becomes:

2008-04-19T07:31:00.010-04:00

Lyra, the lyre or harp:
A small but ancient constellation that is very easy to spot in the northern skies. Lyra contains the star Vega (the fifth brightest star in the night sky) and is one-third of the asterism known as the "Summer Triangle". Lyra represents the lyre or harp of the Greek musician Orpheus. Orpheus played the instrument so well he could tame wild beasts with its music, and even impressed the gods with his abilities.

Why you might not hear from me for a while

2008-04-14T19:21:00.010-04:00

We met these two fuzzy creatures at the animal shelter today...and if all goes with they will be home with us tomorrow night.

The artists currently known as Whispers & Buttons (but we're working on the names as I post this) being held by a shelter aide -- wee little balls of fur.

"Whispers" (left) had been washed into a coma by his sister "Buttons" (in middle.) Their brother "Pugsly" (the fluffball at right) has been adopted too.

Here I am, holding "Whispers."

Esteemed Husband holding tiny "Buttons" who is making HUGE eyes at him. ("Don't keep calling them those dumb names," says Husband, looking over my shoulder at this very moment.) (Perhaps I shouldn't admit that we've been bandying kitten names about for the past 90 minutes now and have yet to reach a consensus. It was easier to name our children.)

It's me and Mr. Whispers, er...the male kitten, curled up so sweetly.

So...18 months after losing Leo, looks like we're back in the cat business again. Our adoptees are about 2 months old, and going under the knife tomorrow. (They'll never know what they're missing...)

I predict about, oh, 8 billion more pictures to follow. And maybe even some real cat names.

I've Got the Cat's Tongue

2008-04-06T13:14:00.011-04:00

One week ago, I was on a beach doing the stereotypical tropical vacation lying-under-a-palm-tree-while-sipping-a-fruity-alcoholic-beverage thing.

And now I'm not.

Actually, we got back last Monday, but I'm still not up to speed. Think about the cruelty of being dumped off unceremoniously in 40-degree drizzly Philadelphia when you've still got beach hair. Trauma like that takes some recovering from. Well, actually, so did my vacation. But that's a story for another time (when I've got more time.)

For now, just a little visual with a little explanation. We were staying in Tulum, Mexico...and the night before we left, my clan was scouring the little gift/supply shop at the resort for some manner of (cheap) souvenir. Then a cute little kitty face caught my eye (have I used the word "little" enough for you?)

My Spanish isn't great, but...could this mean what I thought? I made eye contact with the woman behind the cash register and said, "Lengua es..?" as I stuck out my tongue and pointed to it. Stonefaced, she nodded yes. Giggling, I said something along the lines of "That's funny!" Senora Register did not appear see the humor, as she glared at me for daring to mock the native candy.

Of course, I had to buy them. Not only to appease the woman behind the register, but because it's not every day a gringa such as myself gets to eat a chocolate reproduction of an animal organ. Which I haven't done yet...I guess I'm saving them for some sort of special fiesta. Ole!

Parental Perks

2008-03-18T18:12:00.009-04:00

The other day, I found this paper in my 3rd grader's folder -- she had been practicing her newly-learned cursive during some free time at school.

"What's this?" I asked. "I made it for you!" she replied happily. Aw, shucks. She knows me well.

I usually try and stay away from the warm-and-fuzzy stuff in this blog, but sometimes an unexpected Diet Coke drawing can just make a mom get all...well...warm and fuzzy. So prepare yourselves -- as I'm about to go feel-good on ya.

Last Saturday, I was in a truly foul mood. When I woke up I realized I needed to make a banner for my mother's 70th birthday party (later that day.) Had to find photos encompassing 70 years, and arrange them somewhat artfully across 7 pages. And our desktop's hard drive had stopped functioning...with Esteemed Husband doing the computer equivalent of mouth-to-mouth to bring it back to life.

Anyway, I was working on this banner all morning long -- and no breakfast makes for a cranky mommy. When one of the girls came to me for lunch, I told them to make themselves a sandwich or something, because I had not even had breakfast. And I didn't say it in a nice way.

A little while later, they interrupted me again. With little mischievous smiles, they told me to cover my eyes and come into the kitchen. Where I found this:

(In case, you're wondering -- that's a cut-up banana on the left. It does look a bit questionable if you aren't sure what you're looking at.)

The best 2 PM breakfast ever. See, I am awfully lucky.

And just to take the saccharine level up another notch...my youngest presented me with a school project today.

(The top portion of a 3-foot-long creation)

I will transcribe it all here, complete with her special spelling and caps:

My mom is a "beary special person! She is cheerful and VERY smart! My mom is VERY happy most of the time. Also she is one of the room moms witch is SO cool!

I have learned a LOT from her like how to not make a big mess while eating popcorn and how to cook some frosen food. I would like to be like my mom because she's really nice and she always makes the right choice.

My mom is NEVER mean or rude! The super cool thing is that my mom and I look SO much alike! Also when you look at my mom you will see that she is as cute as a kitten. I love my mom and she loves me! My mom is ALWAYS honest. I love my mom!

Meow.

I'm also pleased to realize that one of the main things I've taught my daughter is how to microwave food. Because none of us is really sure what that stove thing is for.

It's great to be a mom :-)

Headline of the Year

2008-02-28T17:02:00.005-05:00

There is no question that I am easily amused; even so, I found a headline in today's Philadelphia Inquirer to be really special:

"Gay-porn twins are burglars, police say"

My first thought was "overachievers!" I mean, most identical twins would be content to be either gay-porn stars or burglars...and these guys managed to juggle two separate, and uniquely demanding, careers.

But then I realized this was simply another poignant example of the sorry state of today's economy. It's tragic that a couple of dudes can't make enough money to support themselves doing whatever it is guys do in a gay film (alright, I know what they do, but being a mom I'm contractually prohibited from using the terminology) and have to resort to moonlighting in breaking and entering.

And then I actually read the article. It was even better than I expected! One twin, Taleon, is a gymnast and karate expert who managed a 2006 escape from police by kicking out a cruiser window and jumping into a lake...swimming away while handcuffed.

The other twin, Keyontyli, has a funky name. Oh, and he attended the Barbizon School of Modeling.

This story has all the making of a Lifetime TV movie. (Are you allowed to reference gay porn on Lifetime? If not, there's always Logo.)

The boys reportedly perform under the names "Teyron" and "Keyron"... and the Inquirer tells me they "shared an infamous sex scene with porn superstar Marc Williams." Which just goes to show that you can be a porn "superstar" and I still won't know who-the-freak you are. My life is so, so sheltered.

And how were our handsome soon-to-be-made-into-a-TV-movie twins caught? Breaking into a beauty parlor.

Lunatic

2008-02-20T23:01:00.004-05:00

Sometime in my early adulthood, I read in a goofy meaning-of-names book that my given name, Cynthia, means "moon goddess."

For all practical purposes, this has had no significance in the course of my life. But it made a name I didn't like very much seem kinda cool (in that mystical way that maybe only a child of the 70's can appreciate.)

Anyway -- if our household wasn't in the midst of being ravaged by some life-sucking virus (most likely a flu strain not prevented by the flu shot) I'd have more of a set-up for the photos below (which I took about an hour ago.)

Who knows why we all felt compelled to go out in the freezing weather and look at the lunar eclipse.

Maybe it's because my daughters were looking for an excuse to stay up late.

Maybe it's because a star from the constellation Leo is in the sky with that eclipsed moon (mystical dead cat and general astrological connection.)

Maybe it's simply because I like taking pictures (of basically anything.)

Regardless, I was really thinking I saw the profile of the man in the moon here.

But maybe it's just the flu.

Surviving February

2008-02-12T08:26:00.000-05:00

How many times in your life has someone come up to you and said, “I can’t wait until February!”?

That’s right – zero. Zilch. Nada.

Because February is the evil stepmother of the Gregorian calendar. She might look pretty when the light is right, but take a step outside and you’ll discover her heart is made of ice.

The days are short, the air is chilly, the Seasonal Affective Disorder people are cranky. The best thing I can say about February is that it’s the month I can pretty much count on not having to shave my legs above the knee. Which saves me approximately 2.5 minutes a day -- 2.5 minutes generally spent shivering (evidently, the hair on my upper legs isn’t a great insulator.)

For the shortest month of the year, February has more than its fair share of Days (with a capital “D”): Groundhog Day, Valentine’s Day, Presidents’ Day. This trio of so-called holidays is obviously the product of a government conspiracy -- a futile attempt to distract us from the fact that it is numbingly cold outside. And really, how diverting is a groundhog anyway? Unless he suddenly turns on his handler, I’m not interested.

Valentine’s Day? Ever since the media discovered the magical antioxidants in dark chocolate, we no longer need an excuse to buy our own candy -- year-round. Thus Valentine’s Day becomes just another day when it’s really hard to find a babysitter, and even harder to get a decent dinner reservation.

Presidents Day does not involve dining or sweets; therefore, it is useless.

And it may seem like the cruelest of jokes, but February 5th is…National Weatherman’s Day – celebrating the only people who get aroused by the term “Blizzard of the Century.”

Time-traveling from January to March isn’t a viable option (believe me, I’ve tried…but it only resulted in me standing in my kitchen with my eyes squeezed shut, fingers crossed, chanting something vaguely cuss-word-ish…and it’s really embarrassing when somebody walks in on that.)

Therefore, there is only one way to cope with February – cocooning. And, at the risk of seeming immodest, I’ve got cocooning down pat.

In fact, I’m pretty sure I could happily spend the entire month of February without stepping foot outside my house, if it weren’t for that pesky thing commonly referred to as a “job.”

Bringing me to the First Law of Cocooning: Call in sick – a lot. Tell your boss you’re suffering from an acute case of Cheimatophobia (fear of cold) which may be developing into Pagophobia (fear of ice or frost) and that both are highly contagious. (Listen, if you can correctly pronounce “Cheimatophobia” you’ve earned the right to a couple of days off.)

Second Law of Cocooning: You must stock up on groceries, preferably non-perishable items such as canned goods, shelf-stable milk, Ramen Noodles, and Velveeta. (Yes, one could argue that these are not actually edible foodstuffs. But they will call up fond memories of those ole college days.) Oh, and don’t forget the most essential food group -- dark chocolate.

Third Law of Cocooning: Everything you need to know, think, and buy is on the internet. Between networking sites like MySpace and Facebook, YouTube (best place to get your hard-hitting news stories, although they may be acted out with hand puppets) and an army of internet retailers happy to deliver whatever book Oprah commands you to read…well, the world is at your non-frostbitten fingers.

Have some relevant DVDs netflixed to your door: “Cabin Fever” (even if you’re chilly, at least you don’t have a horrifying flesh-eating virus); “28 Days Later” (at least you don’t have a horrifying virus that turns you into a flesh-eating zombie); or “Cocoon” (at least you’re not that old.)

What about the kiddies? Engage your children in a practical craft – helping you build light boxes for your bright light therapy. The SAD will be vanquished and the tots will learn valuable carpentry skills (as well as some funny new words when Mommy accidentally whacks thumb with hammer.)

Or, for a slightly less-practical activity, allow your youngsters to take the literal route and spin their very own cotton candy cocoon! Imagine the joy on your little ones’ faces as they encase themselves in sticky spun sugar. Priceless.

And how could we forget Dad? With no pesky football to distract him, he’ll be happy to play the role of manservant to Mom’s wrapped-in-blankets-from-head-to-toe queen. (A girl can dream, can’t she?)

So, there you have it. Everything you need for a perfectly satisfactory lifestyle, free from wind chill factor.

And this February, we’ve got a whole extra 29th day to enjoy! Yippee.

All Vai Aside

2008-02-08T21:04:00.000-05:00

Well, I was all set to blog a bit about how we saw local TV guy Vai Sikahema walking his dog in our neighborhood this afternoon.

Well, actually my husband saw him...I was attempting to memorize the contents of the Target circular (a plan of attack is essential when discount shopping!) as we drove by Vai.

Anyway, my intention was to tie in the sighting with an observation about how the only celebs we have locally are TV news people (and isn't that a just a little bit sad?)

Unfortunately, a series of distractions called to me when I sat down to blog. First, was a very funny Aimee Mann YouTube trilogy (and she is just adorable)...

...then, I somehow found myself playing with a photosphere in Second Life.

A bit of everything...with no attempt to match

So, sorry Vai, I will not be elaborating on your stellar appearance on our street. Even though you seem like a swell guy. Even though you've got the best name of any Philadelphia anchorman (Just say it out loud folks -- "Vai Sikahema" -- it dances off the tongue!)

I won't even go into how I saw Vai jogging shirtless last summer. Or how we learned that he likes sushi.

Instead (because I am lazy and words seem to be hurting my head at the present moment) I will present a Second Life snapshot (dedicated to Merujo) of Dwight Shelford's apartment - Dwight Shelford being the avatar of the fictional Dwight Schrute of The Office fame.

Let's see...we've got the pretend apartment of a pretend avatar based on a pretend human. This is seeming more and more pointless all the time. But I guess that's the point.

Being a homeless avatar, I'm continuously looking for a quiet place to change "my" clothing...and it was for that purpose that I spent a bit of time in Dwight's deserted apartment a while back.

The Office-inspired booze cruise ship in the sky below was my changing room another day.

I promise some real actual sentences next post. Although I can't promise those sentences will be of any relevance whatsoever.

It's Official

2008-02-05T13:02:00.000-05:00

When I first registered to vote, way back in...well, no need to mention a specific year, lest you be horrified by my advanced age. Let's just say my mantra at the time was "Disco sucks."

Anyway, I've been an "Independent" for my entire voting career. Didn't want to be beholden to any master (or something like that.)

But today, I voted in my first primary...today, I am a Democrat.

Now let's get one in the White House.

On the set of The Office (well, sorta)

2008-01-31T09:02:00.000-05:00

On Monday night, NBC reran the "Local Ad" episode of The Office -- the episode with a little Second Life storyline.

One of my favorite shows and my favorite waste of time combined in a single easy-to-swallow gelcap! (Or something like that.)

Jim: Playing that game again?
Dwight: Second Life is not a game. It is a multi-user virtual environment. It doesn’t have points or scores. It doesn’t have winners or losers.
Jim: Oh, it has losers.

Being of the loser persuasion...

Oh hell, I was going to put a whole bunch of explanation here, but let's skip to the part when I went back to The Office's Second Life "set" on Tuesday and took a bunch of screen shots.

If you're interested in more explanation, see my full contingent of Office snapshots on Flickr.

Dwight's desk, complete with jello-encased stapler.

A semi-hidden backlot contained what I presume was the Schrute beet farm -- this farm stuff never made it to air...I guess there's a chance it could be used on a future episode.

Explaining the neighs and gobbling sounds I heard while I was inside the Dunder Mifflin office.

I have absolutely no explanation for the ghost lion. But remember, Dwight did kill Angela's cat.

Regarding the picture below...it occurred to me that whoever created this sports bar set couldn't have been from the Philadelphia area; I don't think a real Scrantonite would have bothered to put a 76ers poster up (see the back wall.)

I mean, I don't think anyone's cared about the Sixers since Allen Iverson left.

And I'm a Second Life geek. I know that, and I'm coming to terms with it as we speak.

Vindicated!

2008-01-17T10:05:00.000-05:00

Anyone who knows me, even a little, knows that I have been on an anti-clown crusade for years.

It's not that I'm afraid of clowns; rather I am highly suspicious of their motives. No one would wear all that makeup unless they had something to hide. There is something shady going on -- I'm sure of it -- and we need to eliminate clowndom before it's too late.

Anyway...I digress a bit from my intended purpose. On the way into work this morning, I heard a radio report confirming a hypothesis of my clown conspiracy theory - that kids (who often have clowns inflicted upon them) don't like them one bit either.

More than 250 hospitalized children were surveyed, and not one of the children - not one!- liked clowns.

Surely this is a sign, Ladies and Gentlemen -- the time for action has come! We must unite to remove clowns from our midst. May I kindly suggest sending them all off to a remote island...perhaps wherever it was that lepers were sent in biblical times. There the clowns could spritz each other with seltzer water to their hearts' delight.

By the way, I tried to upload a typically creepy clown photo here, but it just would not upload. Another sign...)

The Second Nest Syndrome

2008-01-03T22:02:00.000-05:00

My mom and dad have been married for almost 50 years, but lately they’ve been acting like a couple of newlyweds. (Not in that way. Ew, gross.)

What I mean is, my parents recently bought a second house. Just like newlyweds, they are starting their new household from scratch - needing every item imaginable, from blender to bedspread. Yes, just like Noah collecting animals…soon my parents will have two of everything.

In the meantime, they’re sleeping on leaky air mattresses.

But perhaps I’m jumping too far ahead in my tale of two seniors. Stroll with me, if you will, down the winding path that has transformed our happy pair from ordinary human beings into “active adults.”

For forty years, my parents have lived in a fieldstone house amidst 10 acres of woodland. It’s beautiful. It’s where I grew up. But it’s also a 90-minute drive from the house I share with my husband and children (squarely situated in an area I like to call The Land of Shopping Malls.)

Despite my parents’ gentle arm-twisting greased with a liberal application of guilt, it is awfully hard for my little family to make the trip out to the “country” with any regularity.

So, a couple of years ago, Mom and Dad announced their intentions to rectify the situation by buying a condo at a location half-way between their house and ours. But it wasn’t to be your typical empty-nester downsizing scenario.

They had plans to upsize to two residences, and refill their nest in the process. It was a scheme too cockamamie and convoluted to explain in-depth here, except to say it involved my 40-something unmarried sister sharing a place with Mom & Dad.

While one can only imagine the potential for hilarious sitcom-esque hi-jinks in such an arrangement (I hear guys really dig chicks who live with their parents) ultimately, the Gods of Good Sense prevailed, and the refilling-the-nest part of the plan was ditched.

It was then that my parents re-directed their search and began to look at options in the 55+ housing market.

And it was then that I began my campaign to convince them of the joys of homeownership in The Land of Shopping Malls

A cynic would say my campaign was fueled by fantasies of free and convenient babysitting just a (local) phone call away – but no! I truly enjoy spending time with my parents. (Although we mustn’t diminish the importance of the grandparent-grandchildren bond, must we?)

Regardless of motive, I gladly became an active participant in their housing search.

The most memorable moment of the process (for me, at least) occurred when we visited a “luxury active living” condominium complex in the early stages of construction.

A young saleswoman was giving us the standard presentation in the sales office. As we gathered around a rather impressive diorama depicting the community at its completion, said saleswoman pointed out the location of a “detention pond.”

Now, it was pretty obvious to me that she meant “retention pond.” But for some reason, my folks began to harp on her about it.

Dad: “Detention pond? Did you say ‘detention pond’? What’s a detention pond?”

Young Saleswoman: “Umm, a detention pond, you know, like a reservoir…”

Mom: “I’ve heard of a detention facility before, but not a detention pond.”

Meanwhile, my head nearly exploded as I tried to send my parents the psychic message “Drop it! Please! Drop it!!” (Leading to the disappointing discovery that I do not have any psychic powers whatsoever. Oh well.)

But it seems the pond, whether detention or retention, wasn’t enough. Mom and Dad began to steer their search away from condos and toward single-family homes.

Eventually, they found the perfect 55+ community a mere five-minute drive from my house. Ah, the pieces of my evil babysitting plan have begun to fall into place…

And so, at the ages of 71 and 69, Dad and Mom are starting over, in a sense. And we are more than delighted to be witness to it.

Even if visiting their new/second home means sitting on a yoga mat on the family room floor. (The lucky ones among us might score a beach chair.) See, with my parents splitting their week between two residences, all their furniture stays at the “country” house. And evidently, it’s easier to get yourself a widescreen TV (which was pretty much Dad’s first order of business) than to get furniture delivered in a timely manner.

Explaining why my parents have spent the first month in their new house sleeping on the floor, atop a pair of air mattresses they borrowed from us.

But the diva-as-packrat (yours truly) does not stop with lending air mattresses. “Hey Dad, how would you like to have your old bureau back? You know, the one you and Mom bought in 1958…remember you gave it to Bro when he got married 15 years ago…can you believe he was going to throw it out just because the drawer pull was broken? Anyway, it’s been in our garage for the last 5 years…it’s got that whole Danish Modern retro-chic thing going on…just ignore the colony of spiders living inside. And remember that coffee table we took from Grandfather’s house? We’ve been using it as a staging area for empty gift boxes in the basement -- but we’d be more than happy to lend it to you. Indefinitely. The legs just need a little wood glue, that’s all…”

He took the bureau by the way. Mom still needs some convincing on the coffee table.

Hmm…I wonder how many houses my parents would have to buy before I could clean out my entire basement and garage? A beachfront place would be nice…

Sweet Dreams, Darling

2007-12-16T11:50:00.000-05:00

I've always believed that normalcy is highly overrated (although a little bit every now and then might be refreshing.) Quirks and idiosyncrasies are what interest me...so I don't know if it's nature or nurture, but my two children are certainly quite interesting creatures.

Case in point: the youngest (previously introduced as Little Miss Deep Thinker) is now 8-years-old. Every night at bedtime, she has a request: "Tell me a story from the past."

Now, I've got stories - lots of them - but unfortunately a precious few that are suitable for even a precocious third grader.

She may have sensed I was scraping the bottom of the story barrel when my story-of-the-past du jour was a description of how my elementary school nuns used to throw down wood shavings on vomit.

Whether this tale was a catalyst, I don't know...but lately she has been asking me to tell her about "diseases that don't exist anymore" as I tuck her in.

Yeah, just your typical sleepy-time fare.

So far, I've covered Polio, Bubonic Plague, the Black Death, Yellow Fever, Scarlet Fever, Smallpox and that ole biblical favorite, Leprosy. She seems to lap it all up - rashes and fever and subdermal hemorrhages - oh my! Except she wasn't really thrilled when I told her about the rotting limbs associated with leprosy.

My theory is that hearing about illnesses that do not threaten her little 21st-century suburban self is comforting, because it reinforces that those dreaded needles she gets at the doctor's office are actually a good thing. Plus, my descriptions are generally pretty cursory. And I tend to place a lot of blame on rats.

Not being a medical professional (although my husband would be quick to note I'm pretty obsessed with maladies of any sort) I've pretty much exhausted my knowledge of obsolete diseases. So, feel free to comment if you've got any I've missed. Symptoms and morality rate would be greatly appreciated : )

Anyway, my infectious bedtime tales don't seem to be provoking any new nightmares -- our Little Miss Deep Thinker is sticking with her usual "my teddy bears came to life and are trying to kill me" ones.

Did I mention that I like unconventional people? Even when they wake me up in the middle of the night. (Plus, I've always thought those teddies looked a little shifty.)

Guaranteed to Give You Nightmares

2007-12-11T06:40:00.000-05:00

The Marvelous Ms. Merujo sent us an e-mail the other day, with the subject line, "Something guaranteed to give you nightmares..."

It contained this link:

http://www.elfyourself.com/?id=1170633125

I'll admit to a strange sense of humor, but it was laugh-so-hard-my-Coke-Zero-came-outta-my-nose funny.

Although, it may give you nightmares.

A Short "Why I Hate Politics" Rant

2007-11-16T10:31:00.000-05:00

I remember very clearly the day I became disillusioned with the political process.

I was in 8th grade, and the votes had just been tallied on our mock presidential election. I had been "campaigning" for George McGovern (yes indeed, I am that old.) Yet, inexplicably, Richard Nixon won our little Catholic elementary school poll.

Unfathomable.

What may be even harder to fathom is the way things have continued to degrade in the decades since. Our nation's political campaigns have been reduced to nit-picking, truth distortion and attack ads...

Political platforms have become piles of ambiguous bullsh*t on top of which our candidates precariously balance, dispensing meaningless rhetoric.

What is lost in sound-bite-ready quips is any real information voters can use to make an intelligent choice.

This particular rant is inspired by the current attack-the-front-runner syndrome going on in the Democratic race. Look...maybe I'm pro-Hillary, and that's why I'm annoyed. Maybe, I'm not pro-Hillary. I really don't know who I'm "pro" -- because everything that is presented to me comes across as just pure unadulterated bull.

I suppose there is real information out there if you search for it (via this wonderful internet thingie)...but the majority isn't going to bother, and the powers-that-be are not inclined to enlighten us.

Because it's all about spin. And that's a shame.

Dia De Los Muertos

2007-11-01T21:21:00.001-04:00

Today is Dia De Los Muertos - the Day of the Dead - in Mexico, a day for celebrating and honoring the deceased.

And it seemed fitting that this would be the day that my grandfather was buried.

The service was graveside; in a small church graveyard on a hill overlooking the autumn trees...the minister the same family friend that married my husband and I.

After the usual psalms, family members eulogized the man the two dozen or so people had gathered to honor.

The words "gentle" and "gentleman" were used by all.

The stories ranged from the amusing to, well, tear-jerking.

My brother told one my grandfather had often repeated, usually prefaced by a "How I decided it was time for me to leave college":

He was pursuing his master's degree at the University of Penna in the early 1930s. He had spent the good portion of a semester boiling/distilling the entire body of a horse (just why one would be doing so was never mentioned!) until the equine had been reduced to the contents of a single beaker.

It was at this point that my grandfather knocked the beaker over and watched helplessly as all of its contents spilled out onto the floor. And that was why he decided it was time for him to leave college.

My dad spoke of all the moments through his life that his father had been there for him...my aunt of how her dad had planned out the details of his funeral and chosen that exact spot to be buried because of its beauty.

My mom told not only of how much he meant to her, but also of all the strange spray forms of foodstuffs he brought home for them to try out -- and that the one that repulsed her the most was the sprayable cheese (she just couldn't fathom that cheese could be squeezable, I guess.)

My cousin, who was with my grandfather when he died, spoke of how my grandfather was trying to comfort him,...saying "I'm okay, I'm okay"...and that even though his "Pop" was frightened, he was so incredibly brave at that moment.

And there was so much more...too much to mention here.

The graveside service lasted about 45 minutes or so, which evidently is longer than they usually take -- because I overhead one cemetery worker say to the other, "I almost fell asleep back there."

Knucklehead.

At lunch afterwards, I had a nice long chat with my aunt, who has lived in Mexico for, oh, about 40 years now. So I rarely get to see her, although we have done a good deal of e-mail corresponding when I was working on the family genealogy.

Between salad and quiche, my aunt told me a story I had never heard before -- of a night in the late 1940's when she was of elementary school age. There was a knock on the door of her family's house late one evening. Although she was in her bedroom, something about the sound of the voices downstairs made her creep to the top of the stairs to hear what was going on.

Seems some men from that warm and fuzzy group the FBI were paying a visit to my grandfather. Asking him if he had any affliation with the Communist party. Asking him to name names. Which he refused to do.

Of course.

We speculated on a FBI file with his name on it, and I am going to use that little thing known as The Freedom of Information Act to see if such a file exists.

In the meantime, here's the obit that ran in yesterday's Philadelphia Inquirer:

Posted on Wed, Oct. 31, 2007
W. Earl Graham Sr. Research chemist, 99

W. Earl Graham Sr., 99, of Phoenixville, a research chemist who helped develop the aerosol can, died of pneumonia Monday at Manatawny Manor in Pottstown.

Mr. Graham joined Crown Cork & Seal Co. in Philadelphia in 1937 and eventually headed the firm's research department. In the late 1940s, he modified a seamless beer can to create an aerosol can. From 1957 until his retirement in 1968, he was vice president of sales for Clayton Corp., a manufacturer of aerosol valves.

In the 1970s, he co-owned a bookstore in St. Peter's Village in Chester County and also started a mail- order business dealing in books from Mexico, where his daughter, Dorothy Jean, lived. He closed the service in 1992 to care for his wife, Viola Crowell Graham. She died in 1996.

Mr. Graham graduated from Darby High School and earned a bachelor's degree from Pennsylvania State University.

He and his wife married in 1934. They had met when he worked for a food company in Landisville, N.J., and rented a room in her mother's boarding house.

The Grahams marched against the Vietnam War and were founding members of the Pottstown Unitarian Church.

Mr. Graham loved the Phillies; golfed in his younger years; and played bridge through his 80s.

In addition to his daughter, he is survived by a son, W. Earl Jr.; four grandchildren; and five great-grandchildren.

A graveside service will be at 10 a.m. tomorrow at St. Peter's Church Cemetery, Route 23, Knauertown, Pa.

1908 - 2007

2007-10-29T18:00:00.000-04:00

To follow up on my previous post...

My grandfather passed away today. He was 99 years old, had a good life, didn't suffer at the end - just slipped away - all that stuff that's supposed to make you feel okay about death.

So, yeah, it's okay. But it still sucks.

And by way of retraction -- I most certainly should have done some fact-checking on my grandfather's career before the previous post. I completely screwed up the timeline of his employment. Insomnia and the constant distraction of my darling little urchins do not make for accurate reporting, it seems. Talking to my dad about what he was going to include in the obit made me realize I was totally confused about which company my grandfather worked for when.

Oh well...that's why you shouldn't trust anything you read on the internet!

I'm trying to think of a good story to end this with, but...eh...I don't know...don't trust myself to get it right at this point. And to remember too much might disrupt the grand scheme of emotional repression that I'm working on right now.

A few years ago, my aunt sent me a copy of something her pop (my grandfather) had written when he was about 90 years old...I wish I knew which buried pile of papers I placed that letter in, because his words alone could bring this post to a proper conclusion.

The gist, as I remember it, was that he found happiness in his later years just "being" -- and this is my paraphrase -- as if he need ask no more of the world than to just be a witness to it, in all its mundane and profound glory.

And now, he belongs to the very fabric of the universe, whatever and wherever that may be.

The Reddi-Wip Man (and so much more)

2007-10-25T19:01:00.000-04:00

If you've ever tied a maraschino cherry stem into a knot with your tongue, or sucked Easy Cheese from a nozzle, you've got my grandfather to thank.

Seriously.

The man helped invent aerosol foodstuffs. He put the "Reddi" into Reddi-Wip.

My Grandfather

Isn't this a great picture? (And shouldn't everyone have a photo of a grandparent peering into a giant pressure cooker?) When I asked him for the circumstance under which this photograph was taken, he was fairly vague on the details -- besides telling me it was a giant pressure cooker, that is.

But if you're in your late 90's, details do tend to get lost sometimes.

Today he's 99 years, 4 months & 8 days old. And, after a life unmarred by serious illness...well, he's not doing so great right about now.

So -- I felt like writing something now; not waiting until whatever I would write would be in the form of memorial. Just a story or two.

About five years ago, I began to (finally) take an interest in the family genealogy. Even at the age of 94, my grandfather was able to give me vital clues that helped me take the family tree back several generations. And learn so much I had never known about him.

Like -- he was raised a Quaker. (And I would easily trace his mother's family back to Quakers that came to Pennsylvania with William Penn.) But more than that, it explained his demeanor...the anti-war stance he took throughout his life...and the quiet dignity with which he has dealt with the limitations of his later years.

When asked about the past, he would tell the same stories over and over -- with nearly the same words used each time -- because he could not quite remember if he had told us before. But we never tired of them, because each provided a glimpse of the past, and a hint of the secrets we would never know.

One story oft told -- how he left college (after deciding not to pursue his doctorate in chemistry...which is another good story I shall save for another time) and sent out hundreds of resumes. Unfortunately, it was the height of the Great Depression, which I believe is the definition of a bad job market.

He got one - just one - response, and in turn was offered a job at Francis H. Leggitt & Co. (a food canner in South Jersey.) He found a room to rent nearby in the house of the postmistress - a widow living alone with her youngest/spinster (30-year-old) school-teacher daughter.

(Can you tell where this is going...?) Yes, that spinster would become my grandmother. Although when my grandfather tells the story, he seems just as impressed that the house didn't have indoor plumbing in 1932.

Any Q & A about the past would undoubtedly bring up how he "invented the cocktail cherry."

When I pressed for details (on his 95th or 96th birthday) he clarified it a bit by saying he came up with the method/machinery to enable the removal of the pit from a maraschino cherry whilst leaving the stem attached.

Mankind, and sugary girlie drinks, have not been the same since.

Whether the depitting mechanism was an individual invention or a team effort, I do not know for certain; but he seemed to imply it was a group assignment for which he devised the solution. I am unclear, even, as to what company he was working for at the time. Google has failed me in this regard, I'm afraid.

I do know that he is not a man prone to braggadocio. So I have no doubt that he did indeed have a hand in that fateful moment in bar drink history.

June 1966 Seaside Park
Grandfather & granddaughters

And then...there's food in a spray can.

My siblings and I grew up with the understanding that every time our fingers pushed on the slender white nozzle atop a can of whipped cream, that my grandfather was somehow responsible

See, after conquering the cherry pit, he wound up working for Crown Cork & Seal, and later the Clayton Corporation.

I'll avoid turning this post into "Valve Talk"...but, if you will, travel back with me to the mid-1940's and imagine a wondrous time in our nation's past when the scientific community could conceive of nothing more glorious than devising ways to make various foodstuffs sprayable out of a can.

Yes, it was during that fantastic era that my grandfather was a researcher/inventor in the field of "food aerosols." Working for a man named "Bunny," he developed a revolutionary way to package and dispense whipped cream.

And thus, Reddi-Wip was born (as well as the valve that would later happily deliver Cheese Food Product directly into the eager mouths of people with munchies all around the world.)

When he retired in 1968, an article in "Aerosol Age" referred to my grandfather as "one of the pioneers of the early days of the aerosol package." (That wacky aerosol terminology! So pithy!)

But before you sic Al Gore on the man for inventing the Evil That Would Destroy the Ozone Layer, let me tell you another defining characteristic of my grandfather -- he has always been 100% Democrat.

Oh, besides the period when he was writing socialist propaganda under an assumed name, that is.

But that's another story...

You know you've bought too much dark chocolate...

2007-10-14T12:57:00.000-04:00

...when the check-out person says, "Having a party, are we?"

And you're not.

Six Easy Ways to Scare the Heck out of Your Neighbors

2007-10-10T15:26:00.001-04:00

(The following was written for a publication that I will not name, in order to protect the innocent from being associated with the rest of the nonsense I post.) (And yes, they actually pay me to write this stuff.)

I love the month of October. The crispness of the autumn air – the splendor of the fall foliage…

Or at least I used to love October. I’m not really sure it exists anymore. Because nowadays it seems we go directly from September 30th to Halloween.

If you’re an old-timer like me, one who thought Halloween was simply the last day of October – well, you are sadly mistaken, my little goblins.

At least in my neighborhood (location undisclosed, as I would like to continue living there) there is a mad rush to adorn the outside of one’s house with all things Halloween-y the very instant the calendar page flips over from the 9th to the 10th month of the year.

With elaborate front-yard tableaus of pun-bearing fake tombstones, garbage-bag witches smashed into trees and synthetic-fiber cobwebs adorning front porches…well, you can’t really blame a homeowner for wanting to get the maximum amount of display time for their Halloween decorations when so much effort is put into the process.

But somehow, my heart just isn’t into making my property look like the queue area of The Haunted Mansion.

Besides, those fake tombstones aren’t scaring anybody.

I say – if you’re going to go to all the trouble of decorating your front yard for the month of All Hallows’ Eve, why not make your display really frightening. And so, in my continuing effort to help all of mankind, I suggest the following Halloween themes:

The Kiddy-Party Mascot: Consider the impact of a strategically-placed Chuck E. Cheese animatronic lawn ornament. Any parent who has ever had the pleasure of escorting a child to the place where a kid can be an obnoxious kid (that is their theme, isn’t it?) will break out in a cold-sweat upon the sight of the larger-than-life mouse. Warning: may prompt a post-traumatic stress disorder lawsuit.

The Rachel Ray: Place a life-sized cardboard cut-out of the ubiquitous TV-talk-show-host/chef/product-shill on your front porch and line the sides of your walkway with boxes of Wheat Thins. The neighborhood children will run screaming as they imagine the horrors of whole wheat snacks being tossed into their trick-or-treat bags in lieu of candy.

Mime-o-rama: Honestly, can you look at a mime without feeling somewhat uneasy? I rest my case. Anything even vaguely mime-y will do the trick for this decorating theme.

Our Unemployed 20-something’s Moved Back Home: Piles of dirty laundry and unwashed dishes randomly scattered across your front lawn, along with a dummy clutching a joystick leaning against a tree or lightpost, will remind parents of the frightening prospect that their nest may never be truly empty.

Coulrophobia (AKA Fear of Clowns): If you really want your Halloween display to provoke palpitations and inspire general feelings of dread, skip the skeletons and go with a clown motif. Fact: Clowns were invented to give children nightmares. It’s true. There’s no other logical explanation for their existence.

The only reason my kids will ever get within 20 feet of anyone in clown makeup is if said clown is making balloon sculptures (evidently balloon sculpture is akin to crack for the elementary-school set.) And even then, they grab the twisted balloon thingies and run away from the creepy person with the painted face as fast as their terrified little legs will carry them.

Oh, but Ronald McDonald is cool. He’s not a real clown – he’s a McClown, which is an entirely different beast.

And finally, my own personal Halloween décor choice – which scares the bejeebers out of our neighbors year after year --

The No Decorations Theme: Imagine leaving your front lawn and porch completely unadorned for nearly the entire month of October! Your friends and acquaintances will be bewildered - befuddled even - by your apparent indifference to the impending holiday. Are you ill? On an extended vacation? Kidnapped by killer clowns? (Oh, sorry, that’s my own little phobia…)

Then, on or about October 30th, place a pair of custom-carved jack-o-lanterns (preferably fashioned by someone of school age) on either side of your front door. That’s it!

It’s a minimalist statement, to be sure – but one that will truly mark you as a trendsetter.

Happy Hauntings!

A Perfect Alliance

2007-09-30T20:41:00.000-04:00

There are rare times when all the forces of man and nature seem to enter into a perfect alliance - a blessed convergence of intention and chance. And my Esteemed Husband and I were fortunate enough to be witness to one of those times last night.

We were honored to be guests at a wedding that was remarkable in very many ways...from the absolutely gorgeous weather to the coolest wedding cake ever.

The evening somehow managed to be simultaneously fun, funky and elegant. There were tiny toys scattered in the center of the tables and nostalgic candy as favors.

Got to chat at length with the ever-entertaining and witty Merujo.
I "smoked" a toy cigarette, reveling in the political incorrectness.

But that was all just window dressing compared to the real joy of witnessing a man and woman pledge their love to each other...with the sense that yes, the union of these two lives is just so right.

I'm still smiling.

(Even as I vow to be back to my usual cranky self very soon...)

And they served Vomitting Lion water. (You knew I had to get smart-alec-y sooner or later...)

That Was Then...

2007-09-24T00:57:00.000-04:00

...and she just turned 8.

Newborn in '99

Exploring a hotel room floor in 2000 (very sanitary)

Leather....mmmm....

11 months old, many months ago...

Second Life Machinima

2007-09-19T08:43:00.001-04:00

This is my first experiment with YouTube on the Suburban Masquerade. (Yeah, welcome to the 21st century and all...)

Anyway, for your viewing pleasure -- a peek at the Second Life steampunk town where my virtual self is often seen wandering around aimlessly.

It was made by one Loki Elliot, the urchin featured in the video.

The Tina Fey Experiment

2007-09-13T15:56:00.000-04:00

A couple of weeks ago, inspired by a post on arubberdoor, I began a research project: to see just how many strangely pathetic people would be drawn to my strangely pathetic blog if I entitled a post "Tina Fey's Boobs."

I may be breaking some unwritten blog law by divulging that I have the tools to monitor such things as search terms. But, in the name of science, I will not only reveal that I do have that capability, but also just how few people actually come to my blog intentionally.

Oh well...

Here is the raw data:

Perc. Search Term

7.14% buy wood rosin
7.14% tina fey boobs
5.36% whirlpool calypso drain hose blocked
3.57% how do you break a calypso washer
3.57% my albatross symbol
3.57% eee cup
1.79% what ever happened to alizee
1.79% painkiller shot
1.79% dofus stools
1.79% whirlpool calypso ld drain hose blocked
1.79% long questions and long answer
1.79% spending christmas with jesus this year ornament
1.79% wood resin as a drink additive
1.79% comedy fart humor cd
1.79% the word troy on her panties
1.79% britney trailer park awful
1.79% cleavage
1.79% whirlpool calypso ld drain hose
1.79% song title costumes
1.79% suburban preppy
1.79% wood rosin in soda
1.79% britney trailer park
1.79% the mind of a six year old
1.79% suv symbolism
1.79% chuck e cheese cake taste
1.79% zeke leos
1.79% mcdonalds iced coffee ingredients
1.79% cabrio long drain
1.79% the comedians of comedy music credits
1.79% sears washing machine lemon law
1.79% homosexual wegmans
1.79% jerry seinfeld on leno in december 2005
1.79% diet drinks, glycerol ester of wood rosin
1.79% vince dementri
1.79% wing piano company
1.79% i'm spending my time with jesus this year christmas ornament
1.79% mcdonalds hazelnut iced coffee
1.79% masquerade party, pictures, what do they look like?
1.79% the masquerade november 10
1.79% trailer park britney
1.79% average 25-year old has had cavities
1.79% spending my christmas with jesus ornament
1.79% we are magic 80's
1.79% 50 cents lucky?
1.79% michael penn wing piano

And now for my incredibly insightful analysis...

I'm sure Ms. Fey would be quite pleased to see that her boobs are right up there at the top of the list, tied with wood rosin.

But are they? Actually, wood rosin wins! See, glycerol ester of wood rosin is an suspension agent in some citrus soft drinks, and when you combine all the wood rosin/soft drink searches, my in-depth investigation into soda ingredients is indeed the biggest draw my blog has.

Then again...maybe "buy wood rosin" isn't the same thing as wanting to know about the ester of wood rosin in Fresca. Judges?

Even with disqualifying rosin, it seems a poorly-designed appliance beats Tina's appropriately-designed cleavage. Because...

...when similar search terms are combined we have a greater percentage dealing with the Calypso washing machine than with Tina's ta-tas. Sad, but true.

To the searchers who asked, "How do you break a Calypso washer?" I answer, "By using it."

And "What ever happened to alizee?" Gosh, I just don't know. But now I'm starting to worry about her.

Who is it that keeps looking for "homosexual Wegmans?" This phrase pops up all the time in my stats. Whomever it is seems to be rather fixated. Out yourself!

The saddest search? "Spending My Christmas with Jesus" This is obviously a seasonal one, and I'll probably see more and more of it as we get closer to the holiday. Always feel a bit remorseful when it turns up, because I imagine someone making a sincere search and ending up on my mocking page that also features a farting stuffed animal. Stop making me feel human emotion! Let me go back to being the cold, cynical creature I was born to be.

I suspect the search for "the word troy on her panties" has something to do with the unfortunate discovery of Walt-would-blush-if-he-weren't-frozen photos of High School Musical's Vanessa Hudgens. Although I can't remember writing anything that put "troy" and "panties" in the same post.

Moving on...does anyone know where I can get me one of those "dofus stools?" I have an empty corner in my family room just crying out for one. All my seating is way too intelligent for its own good.

Finally, I'm happy to see a couple Michael Penn-related searches here. If you have eyes, even with the most fleeting sideways glance at my blog from across a crowded room it's pretty obvious I'm a huge fan of Mr. Penn's music.

I just think he's the cat's meow -- a super-talented artist -- and I'm always trying to do my part to spread the word. Let all followers of MP unite and together we'll take over the world (non-violently, of course) -- wielding the mighty sword of reason and the irresistible power of a catchy hook. Imagine that.

(Um, can you tell I haven't been getting enough sleep? Insomnia can be your friend, if you let it. At least that's what it told me this morning over coffee.)

Evidently, The Comedians of Comedy documentary was on Comedy Central recently, because last week there was a flurry of searches for "Down by the Riverside" which runs over the credits. By the way, that song is now available as a bonus track on the remastered version of Michael Penn's "Mr. Hollywood Jr., 1947."

So now you know.

Then The Monkey

2007-09-06T20:55:00.000-04:00

Heavenly hosts sing "alleluia" -- today was the first day of school in our district.

To celebrate, Esteemed Husband and I fulfilled our suburban-couple-with-no-kids-to-care-for requirements: we took a long walk around the development (rejoicing in the lawns that are just as weedy and overgrown as ours!) had sushi for lunch, Starbucks frappuccinos for dessert (I think EH would recommend the raspberry-mocha variety) and topped off our walk-on-the-mild-side excursion by heading to Trader Joe's for trail mix and dark chocolate.

It is as we approached this last stop that my story begins...

Rounding the corner in our suburbia-approved SUV (I'm still full of disdain for the SUV btw...I will try and work my evil sedan influence on EH when this lease ends) we spotted a small cluster of folks at a folding table outside the Trader Joe's.

Hanging from the side of the table was a poster/sketch of the current president of the U.S. (who I like to refer to as "He Who Should Not Have Been Elected") looking very Alfred E. Neuman-ish.

Written under the picture was: "Like a Rock -- Only Dumber."

EH and I got a little chuckle out of that, and I was not-so-secretly pleased to see something controversial in our little neck of stepford-urbia.

I was really wishing I had my camera with me...but descriptions will have to suffice.

Seeing the name "LaRouche" on some other flyers hanging from the table discouraged us from actually approaching the 2 or 3 folks manning it as we left our car and walked towards the store. They didn't seem to be actively trying to attract our attention either.

Just inside the entrance of the Trader Joe's was a large sign. (Again, a camera would have been really helpful!) At the top: "You have the right to distraction-free shopping" and it went on to say that no one was allowed to solicit/politicize/etc. on store property. (Evidently the little grassy triangle the LaRouche camp had their table on by their front entrance did not fall under the store's jurisdiction.)

The Trader Joe's sign ended by telling customers to "feel free to ignore" people at "cheap plastic folding tables."

So obviously the diatribe was specifically aimed at the folks outside. Unveiled hostility - awesome!

For me, this little spat made the whole shopping experience one-thousand-times better. I practically skipped through the crowded store aisles, not even the least bit annoyed by the overabundance of marginally-rude customers that Trader Joe's seems to attract.

On the way out, I really wanted to do something -- give the table-crew a thumbs-up or whatever. But, the LaRouche connection is a little bit scary -- I'm anti-Bush, not crazy. So I just smiled in their general direction.

Mostly because several of the posters hanging from the table read:

"IMPEACH CHENEY NOW

THEN THE MONKEY"

Tee hee.

Yeah, I'm easily amused. Even so, this was the best first day of school ever!

For Spencer

2007-08-26T13:18:00.000-04:00

Ask and ye shall receive -- the many moods of Tina Fey:

Shameless

2007-08-24T11:01:00.000-04:00

My Esteemed Husband surprised me with the following, and hell, I'd be stupid not to spread it around.

And I quote:

"Can We Do That Again" is...about how, after 14 years, I'm still just as fascinated and spellbound as ever, on EVERY possible level, by my lovely and talented and brilliant wife..."

Brilliant? Hmmm, I usually prefer the term "evil genius" but I'll take "brilliant," sure.

Seriously, how nice is that? And completely unexpected. He is awfully swell, isn't he?

Previous to reading this, I had considered blogging about how it can sometimes be disquieting to be the inspiration/subject matter for someone's lyrics. Like, it's very romantic in the abstract sense, but in practice it can sometimes...well...piss one off to see things expressed in song that one would rather bury in a very deep trench and then cover with quick-dry cement.

But, being brilliant and all, I'll save that topic for another time.

"Can We Do That Again" isn't one of those "good-but-depressing" (my usual kill-the-muse observation) songs anyway.

So I've "No Right to Complain" (which just happens to be the title of another new Esteemed Husband song. What a co-incidence!)

Anyway -- check 'em out folks!

EXTRA ADDED BONUS: "Can We Do That Again" may be the only pop song to feature the word "prurient" in the bridge. (See, he's brilliant too! Wow!)

Plus, it also marks the first time I've been asked to sing background on any of his songs, after lo-these-many years of not-too-subtle hinting...and he wrote a very nice counterpoint thingie in the bridge for me that's really super-awesomely-cool (as we brainiacs like to say.)

Okay -- the end of the shameless spousal/self-promotion. Until the next time, that is...

Tina Fey's Boobs

2007-08-24T09:31:00.001-04:00

Evidently, those three little words in the title will bring me tons of hits on my blog.

So -- come for Tina's cleavage and stay for the whiny humor and occasional thoughtful insight!

I may regret this post. In fact, I think I am already.

Think of it as research, and we'll all be just fine.

My Suburban Incompetence Becomes Glaringly Apparent (Again)

2007-08-12T13:27:00.000-04:00

Subtitle: The Devil's Accessory

FADE IN:

INT ELEMENTARY SCHOOL AUDITORIUM

Moms sitting in folding chairs waiting for camp talent show to begin...

Mom from my neighborhood (MFMN) sits between me and an unknown mom (UM).

UM (to MFMN)

OOOOOOH, your purse is so cute!

MFMN

Thanks. I just got it. But it's last years'.

Confused Mom - that would be me - thinks, "Wait? I do not comprehend! Is there some expiration date on pocketbooks ( and does anybody use the term 'pocketbook' anymore?) that I don't know about? Do you have to apologize if you continue to use it past the year it is manufactured? What language are these ladies speaking? HELP!"

Confused Mom scopes out purse from the corner of her eye. It one of those designer prints, with multi-pastel-colored letters or symbols scattered on a light background. CM does not find it cute. CM finds it one of those things other women have convinced each other that they should like because they are status items.

UM & MFMN continue to chat about the purse...MFMN confesses she bought it on eBay (CM gives UM points for knowing how to use the internet, and begins to obsess that someday MFMN and others of her kind will find CM's blog on said internet and come to her house bearing pitchforks and torches. But I digress...)

CM realizes she has no speaking part in this script and places an angry phone call to her agent.

ANYWAY, I actually spent 15 minutes just now trying to figure out exactly what brand of purse it was that was causing all the hoopla so I could put a photo here. But evidently, once such purses reach their expiration date, all evidence of their existence is obliterated from the face of the earth.

All this set-up, just for me to rant (once again)...and (once again) ask the question, "What is wrong with me?!" See, not only do I not give a rodent's heiney about designer purses, I don't even like to carry a purse.

Quick -- someone check me for an errant Y chromosome!

See...somewhere along the line (probably in high school or college) the whole idea of carrying a purse became a symbol of some sort of burden that women are forced to bear --maybe not on the scale of pantyhose, but still an albatross around my neck.

(Although, I just might dig a purse actually shaped like an albatross -- yeah, that would be cool...)

Having a petite frame, a shoulder bag falls off constantly. And any other form of purse just ties up hands better used for...well...anything other than carrying a bag.

For many years, I got by with a wallet jammed into a pocket. Which brings me to another thing to whine about:

Why, oh why, can't women's jackets have pockets on the inside like men's do?

With the exception of my sublimely functional Lands End barn coat (reminder of my temporary preppy affliction of the mid 90's) most women's coats are completely pocket-deprived.

And I'll confess (ashamedly) to have relied heavily on the fanny pack when it first emerged in the early 90's. Feel free to mock me behind my back/fanny.

Pre-children, the only reason I ever carried a handbag was to hide a camera I was trying to sneak into a concert (bad Cyn, bad Cyn...)

But children change everything.

I guess after the indignity of the diaper bag (and the accompanying diaper-changing) carrying a purse doesn't seem like such a bad thing.

So, I've begrudgingly slung one over my shoulder for the past 5 years or so, all the better to carry handiwipes, tissues, and the occasional Ninentdo DS.

But I still resent it.

Now, shoes...that's another matter entirely...

Oh Baby! This is Gucci I could go for.

Anybody want to lend me several hundred dollars? (And maybe a couple thousand more for the ensuing foot surgery?)

"Are You Ready to Rock?"

2007-08-02T18:32:00.000-04:00

...I said (in my best hokey-raspy-rocker voice) to the Eldest Daughter, and got the expected groan in response -- which was exactly the reaction I hoped for, since my mission in life at this point is to annoy my children at least as much as they annoy me. (Disclaimer: They are wonderful young ladies and don't really annoy me terribly much at this point. However, I'm still getting back at them for the whole diaper thing.)

But the other reason for my goofy exclamation, was that she got her Very First Guitar a couple weeks ago, when she turned 11 years old.

An electric guitar!

Shaped like a heart!

I'll admit, I was pushing for the Fender Hello Kitty guitar.

The immature mom's choice -- actually, it's even better in black.

But I guess the kitty doesn't cut it with today's tween. At least not our tween, who rolled her eyes when I suggested it.)

No, the birthday girl wanted a particular pink heart guitar (mom rolls her eyes) and according to my husband, who I defer to on all things instrumental, it is a legitimate (short scale) guitar...even if it looked like a toy to me.

And so, the Eldest Daughter is now the proud owner of a Daisy Rock "Heartbreaker" guitar. (But since I don't put photos of my girls on the internet, you're stuck with pictures of the old folks...)

It's easy to play, anyway, even for the long-past-tween mom. Not that I play it well...but it's easy for me to play badly.

And, at the very least, it proves that the Esteemed Husband is quite secure in his masculinity

It's a Virtual World, After All

2007-07-19T16:44:00.000-04:00

In the past few months that I've been involved with the virtual reality "game" Second Life, I've seen more and more of the real world being integrated into the virtual landscape.

As a way to rationalize the time I've spent wandering around as my cartoon alter ego, I've been doing "research" -- visiting a few corporate installations taking snapshots.

Like this one at the Sony BMG Media Island:

The rest of my Sony/BMG series(including a disco ball -- woo hoo!) is viewable at:

http://www.flickr.com/gp/10154959@N04/X6CLX0

It's the face of the future folks. Either that, or I'm just another slacker playing pretend. Or both.

Who knows?

Couldn't Help Myself

2007-07-14T10:27:00.001-04:00

Throwing aside any pretense of empathy, I laughed out loud (cackled, even) when I saw this photo from the latest edition of the "running of the bulls" in Pamplona, Spain.

Insert your own punchline.

Cyn's Summer Movie Guide

2007-07-10T15:05:00.000-04:00

...or something like that.

For whatever reason, we've been in that dark place commonly known as a "movie theater" quite a few times in the past few weeks.

Oh, I should mention that children were involved each time -- so actually the aforementioned "whatever reason" is that the movie theatre is the one place that requires my children to be silent for approximately two hours. And that's a lovely thing.

Besides silence, my girls know the only other (figurative) price they have to pay if they want to go to the movies -- they will be required to remain in the theatre until every last credit has scrolled by. This is my firm rule. There are no exceptions.

Of course, the theater lights invariably go up 2/3 of the way through the credits, to reveal that the only ones present are us and the sullen staff/trash-picker-ups. But we stay, no matter what, to the bitter Roman-numeral-year end. I am immune to whining and pleas of "I have to go to the bathroom."

As I said, No Exceptions.

In one sense, it's purely selfish, as I'm always interested in the music and that is last credit-wise. But in other ways it's meant to make them aware of all the people involved in the movie-making process.

Wranglers of the film world, I honor you.

ANYWAY - to the point of this post...

Since you all value my opinion so highly (yeah, um, that's meant to be sarcastic) here are my thoughts about films (in theatre and on DVD) that I've seen in the past few weeks...in the order viewed.

EVAN ALMIGHTY

I didn't care much for the Jim Carrey vehicle Bruce Almighty (even with Morgan Freeman's charming turn as God.) But I love Steve Carell, and my kids evidently loved the Evan Almighty TV trailers.

So, a recent rainy day down-the-shore found us in a small theatre - with few expectations.

And, as often happens when one expects little, we really enjoyed the movie. At least in the context of "Family Film." And it was better than most in that genre.

There were a few truly funny moments, primarily courtesy of Carell and Wanda Sykes.

And Carell plays silly with such sincerity - better than anyone, IMHO.

Oh yeah, and Morgan Freeman is way cool.

Definitely recommend this for those with grade school and older children. (Our group had children from age 5 and up.) It was rated PG...for a bit of bathroom humor (bird poop, anyone?)...and the word "penis" used in a zoological context (said by a kid.)

Would I recommend it for those without children? Yes -- if you like Steve Carell. And the ark effects are awesomely realistic.

THE FANTASTIC 4 - RISE OF THE SILVER SURFER

Another rainy day (only two bad days out of ten, not too shabby!) found us back in the same beach-town theatre. With three girls in tow, we really had wanted to see "Nancy Drew" but the times weren't right. And the kids were hyped to see The Fantastic 4 too.

Unfortunately.

The special effects were nifty, but the acting...? Soap-opera caliber. So much so that I wondered if the actors were specifically directed to be wooden (in some sort of retro-superhero vein.)

Esteemed Husband and I turned to each other mid-movie, as both noticed simultaneously that Jessica Alba's lips seemed about to devour the entire screen. I spent many moments (mind wandering during some cartoonish battle or other) trying to remember what she'd ever done before this (knew her name & visage, but not her resume.)

Nothing came to my mind...nothing to explain why she would be cast as the leading lady in a Major Motion Picture (yes, I know she was in the original F4 movie too) when her acting was rather sub-par. But, as Esteemed Husband offered in way of explanation, she's got a nice body.

Well, yeah, I guess...if you're into that kind of thing (she says, cattily.)

My youngest nephew stayed at the beach house with his mom (thankfully, as this film would have scared the heck out of him, even with its PG rating) and the remaining urchins with us were between ages 7-10. The 7 & 8-year olds were a little frightened by some of the (bloodless) battles - but not too badly.

And not as frightened as the adults were by Jessica Alba's pout.

On the positive side, the special effects were pretty cool. And the plot was easy to follow, so no brain cells were injured in the viewing of the film.

Would I recommend it for those without kids? Hell (I mean, heck) no. Would I recommend this for those with kids? Well, it's better than a trip to Chuck E. Cheese. That's about the kindest I can be.

After dining on this non-award-winning epic, Esteemed Husband and I had to cleanse our movie palate by watching the very adult (as is subject matter, not porno - what dirty minds you have!)film, NOTES ON A SCANDAL.

Wonderful, wonderful acting...engrossing plot...and some thoughts were provoked by the subject matter. It's basically a character study wrapped up in a game of cat and mouse. Two thumbs up!

And speaking of vermin...

RATATOUILLE

Another terrific Brad Bird story. Simply put - it's great family entertainment.

I don't know if I liked it as much as The Incredibles (probably not as many adult laughs in Ratatouille...) but it was sweet and engrossing and truly "feel-good."

During the film I couldn't figure out who was voicing the main rat character, Remy --until my much-beloved credits told me it was Patton Oswald -- and he played the part perfectly.

Would I recommend Ratatouille to those without children? Hmmm...definitely on DVD. Not sure if a grown-up without children needs to rush out to see it or not?

As much as I did like Ratatouille, my favorite kid-friendly movies of the past few months were:

MEET THE ROBINSONS (seen in 3-D!)

...and..

THE LAST MIMSY (which comes out on DVD today.) (And the Mimsy website is pretty cool too...)

Both "...Robinsons" & "...Mimsy..." had a time-traveling theme, which is one of my little preoccupations of late. The visuals on both were just outstanding -- mind-blowing, if you will -- on the big screen.

And both actually choked me up -- yes, me - even with my hardened cynical heart and all. The child actors in The Last Mimsy were quite excellent -- very natural performances.

So -- yes, even for those without kids (as long as you LIKE children) I would recommend catching those two.

Next in the movie queue was the 2002 (you can see we are a bit behind in our DVD viewing...) film "DIRTY PRETTY THINGS"

Another very enjoyable and extremely-well-acted suspense-with-the-hint-a-romance-thrown-in flick, even though I did have to suspend a wee bit of belief to go along with the cause of the plumbing problem in the beginning of the film.

I'm operating on not-enough-sleep right now, not unlike the hero (wonderfully portrayed by Chiwetel Ejiofor) of this film. So I'll cut to the chase and say "See it!" if you haven't already.

And finally, another DVD recommendation -- V FOR VENDETTA

My brother gave us the DVD for Xmas and we finally got around to watching last weekend.

Now, this is the way to adapt a graphic novel into a movie (as opposed to the very comic-book-esque Fantastic 4 film.)

Even though I'm generally not much into action/fighting -- the plot was quite intriguing...and more than relevant in the current state of the world -- as the anti-hero plots against a government that controls the public with fear and lies.

Not for kids.

But very cool.

Here, There (& Everywhere In Between)

2007-07-01T14:30:00.000-04:00

Since my last post I've seen the end of the school year, the beginning and end of a vacation, and a severe case of internet withdrawal.

And somehow, I managed to survived.

So...here are my observations (seasoned liberally with the complaints and whining you've come to know and love) in no particular order...

THE SCHOOL PICNIC

I'll probably go down in elementary school history as the Worst Room Mom Ever. I guess you could say that I just don't have the disposition or the inclination to play along with The Way Things Are Supposed To Be Done.

This became apparent early on, Halloween, when I told some other moms that I was happy that my Elder Daughter's teacher wanted the Halloween party to be low-key. (Which played very well into my plans to not bring any more cheap plastic Dollar-store-esque junk into our households.)

However, the other moms clucked amongst themselves about the lack of planned activities. In the spirit of fake vampire teeth everywhere, I couldn't help but think, "Bite me."

But my most excruciating room-mom moment was a couple weeks ago when Elder Daughter and her class were having their last-day-of-5th-grade picnic. Three of us mothers stood around while the children ate and frolicked and the like.

Which was merely boring until the other mothers began comparing notes about where they took their daughters for their pedicures (and one detailed her middle-school daughter's eyebrow waxing!)

During which I am singing "One of these moms is not like the other..." over and over in my head while I remained outwardly mute with my very best fake-pleasant expression plastered on my face. But, after ten minutes or so of salon-for-preteens talk, I'm fairly certain that the fake smile was fooling no one.

THE INTERNET ADDICTION

A few hours after being officially released from room-mom duty, my little family was jammed into our little SUV heading towards a little rental house in what we on the East Coast call "The Shore."

After last year's "vacation" with cancer-kitty...well, what can I say except that everything's easier without a dying cat.

But at least last year, we had a great internet connection in our rental. This time 'round I was forced to confront my dependence on all matters online.

We found we could latch onto an unsecured network BUT only in the morning and evening...and even then only on the roof deck or one very specific spot in the bedroom being used by my parents, while standing on one foot balancing an aluminum foil cone on one's head. (Well, kidding about the last part, but just barely.)

Luckily, my dad also had his laptop in tow, and understood my deeply-seated psychological need to make sure I wasn't missing some important piece of spam e-mail. So he good-naturedly accommodated my frequent intrusions into his sleeping space in my quest for the elusive internet connection, and we bonded while sharing connectivity updates.

I believe I'm now supposed to write something profound about how technology is sucking the free time out of our lives. But...um...I really like technology. And relaxation isn't all it's cracked up to be.

THE ACCIDENTAL COLOR

For years, I've been trying to make pallor into a fashion statement. So, you'll understand my upset when someone remarked that I "got some color" while on the beach.

Honestly, it was purely accidental, and I promise to be back to my goth-like ivoryness very soon.

THE JOY OF WALKING

And finally, I discovered the beauty of being able to walk instead of drive. Here in suburbia, walking has no purpose. Oh yeah, there's the walkin' the dog contingent... but jeez, I can't think of any better way to ruin a leisurely stroll than to have to interrupt it to pick up freshly-deposited crap.

Being dogless, our only excuse to make the development rounds seems to be to ridicule the neighbors' topiary, but even that gets old eventually.

All as a preface to say how great it was to be vacationing someplace where there was an actual reason/excuse to walk from here to there. Every morning, my husband and I headed out to the local pharmacy to pick up a newspaper. And there were any number of establishments within a 10-block radius of our rental: a pancake house...a 5 & 10...a little mini-golf course...

I can't tell you how much I enjoyed actually walking somewhere (as opposed to going nowhere fast on the gym elliptical.)

So -- three cheers for Long Beach Island!

P.S. THE HOLY GRAIL

My heartfelt apology here to my brother and sister-in-law for introducing their children to Monty Python and the Holy Grail. We saw the PG rating on the box, forgetting that "PG-13" didn't exist in those days. And the fast-forward button was used repeatedly.

Even so, I had no idea my 10-year-old nephew would be able to absorb so much dialog after only one viewing. And that he would be spouting it pretty much nonstop thereafter.

Again, I'm very, very sorry.

Ni!

The Guilty Pleasure

2007-06-05T08:08:00.000-04:00

What's my latest excuse for not blogging?

Too busy riding a flying giant squid.

(And believe me, it took quite a while to get him to agree...)

Yeah, it's Second Life...and I'm finally ready to admit that I'm officially wasting time playing with it. But heck, it's more fun than doing laundry and much less depressing than watching the evening news.

I mean, haven't I always wanted to be a flying Barbie doll? Well...no. But it's a nice change of pace, I guess.

Plus, I'm learning stuff -- probably things that have no value whatsoever in my First Life...but, I'm learning 'em anyway.

So...don't expect profundity here anytime soon (although I will gladly divulge where one can find free clothes + hair...)

And just think of all the time I've saved you, not having to read my usually-verbose posts. As always, you can show your appreciation with gifts of cash (Lindens accepted!) and dark chocolate.

Holiday Weekend In Review (Cliff Notes version)

2007-05-29T21:20:00.000-04:00

Saturday: I cracked my front tooth trying to rip open a plastic packet of pickled ginger.

Damn supermarket sushi!

Sunday: Either a lightning strike or high winds took a huge chunk out of a beautiful tree in front of our house.

Looks like lightning on our tree...

......but three other trees on our street also got ripped apart...

...including one that took out its frustration on a minivan.

The wrath of god! (How else could you explain a minivan getting whacked?)

Monday: Dijareedoo!

What? You didn't have a dijareedoo at your Memorial Day picnic?

Pity.

Add Insult to Injury

2007-05-26T10:01:00.000-04:00

One day after my last post...

...the addition of a nice black edge on top of the net, to make it even more visible.

I'm trying to let this whole matter go. Really, life is too short (and feel free to insert your own cliched platitude here...)

But obviously, since I'm blogging about it, I haven't gotten to the acceptance stage yet.

Last night. I dreamt that one of my daughters and I were in their backyard trying to get out before anyone saw us -- what we were doing there in the first place I don't know (investigating the best way to take down that net perhaps?) There were a series of platforms and ladders that needed to be negoitated to get to the gate to escape. I think we finally made it out, although that part is fuzzy.

Hmmm...Dr.Freud, your analysis, please? (Remember, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar...)

An Illustrated Guide to Why I Hate Suburbia

2007-05-24T16:09:00.000-04:00

It seems our next-door neighbor took it upon himself to add a little extra adornment to our backyard's fence (notice I said "our" fence, as in my husband paid for it...)

It's a lovely screen of wire and wooden sticks, nailed onto the entire side of the fence that divides our yards, from front to back; extending up about 4 feet from the top of the fence.

Red arrows in the photo below added to show the wood posts -- no arrows necessary in real life -- they are quite visible to the naked eye, thank you very much.

Evidently, he's turning his backyard into some sort of makeshift baseball diamond. Keep in mind that we are all on 1/4 acre lots with more house than backyard.

Shouldn't surprise me, since same neighbor decided years ago that his son and friends should try to hit the balls into our backyard for a "homerun." Why our yard was chosen over the other two adjoining ones, I don't know.

I do know that it's meant(for at least the last seven years) that we could look up and see a strange kid in our backyard at any given moment (the back of our house is all windows.) Meaning no privacy in a backyard where we've planted numerous trees around the perimeter for just that purpose.

I've tried to be good-natured about the errant boys - they're just being kids, after all - but I can't help but wonder how many have been traumatized by looking into our house to see me breastfeeding (when that was part of my daily routine) or in a nightgown or towel?

Well, I suppose I can get some satisfaction in that the boys' parents will have to pay for their psychotherapy.

My more benevolent Esteemed Husband thinks at least the wire addition was an effort to keep the balls (and kids) out of our yard. The Cranky Wife thinks the kids are in Jr. High now and will still easily hit one over.

And it just looks like crap.

Our beautifully-industrial New View in more detail

More than anything else, what really irks me is that our considerate neighbor didn't bother to ask us before nailing this monstrosity to a fence that does not belong to them.

Common courtesy -- that's all I expect.

See, we would have said, "Yes," if only in the name of good will (although rightfully I probably would have made some sort of passive aggressive "joke" about it being an eyesore.)

So, while visions of checking building regulations (or just knocking the dang thing down with a hammer in the darkness of night) danced through my head, we will do nothing. It's not worth starting a feud. (Just worth a bitchy blogpost, evidently.)

Who knows? Maybe it's all some sort of twisted revenge...we don't use pesticides on our lawn and so we're probably responsible for an occasional (or two...or twenty) dandelion cropping up in the neighbor's perfectly manicured front yard.

Yeah, not a single tree in their backyard (now baseball diamond) but their grass really is greener.

But our yard has bunnies...

Concierge Me

2007-05-21T20:26:00.001-04:00

A couple of you may know that I started writing a column for a monthly magazine a few months ago. (Yes, somebody is giving me actual U.S. currency to write down the warped thoughts that clog up my brain. Amazing!)

So...I present in the space below the column that appears below my name in current issue of the unnamed publication. (Now, that's a convoluted sentence...)

I can't say it's my best writing, but it sure beats having to put together a blog post from scratch. Enjoy!

A recent survey of Average Americans shows that their Number One Concern is “lack of time.” Okay, by “survey” I mean asking my husband and the lady in front of us in the Target check-out line.

But we all three agreed that there are not enough hours in the day to conquer one’s minimum-daily-requirement of obligatory tasks and still have time left-over to heckle American Idol contestants and make videos to post on YouTube.

So what’s a time-deprived American Adult to do? Since the American Way guarantees an entrepreneur stands ready to profit from our every need – a new service industry has risen like a phoenix from the ashes of our no-time pyre -- the personal concierge.

The website of one such service – headconcierge.com – describes its “lifestyle management services” as encompassing everything “from arranging a special evening to organizing the carrying out of any menial task.”

Since I already have my own personal assistant skilled in carrying out menial tasks (my husband) and two little-concierges-in-training (explains why all our dinner reservations are at Applebees) the headconcierge.com pitch didn’t really move me.

Until I got to this line:
“Just imagine a life where any conceivable task is completed quickly, efficiently and with a minimum of fuss.”

“Just imagine” eh?

“Any conceivable task”?

Okay…what conceivable task do I hate so much that I’d be willing to pay someone to do it for me? The first thing that sprang to mind – five little letters: O-B-G-Y-N.

Alright, that’s medically inadvisable and probably not on the list of your typical concierge duties.

So while a personal concierge is a fine idea, perhaps what I need is a stand-in …you know, like the person who substitutes for an actor before a scene is shot…

I can see it now – my stand-in sitting in the doctor’s waiting room, paging listlessly through last month’s Easy Yet Purposeless Family Crafts That You Feel Guilty Throwing Out magazine – while I lounge outside getting a pedicure from a guy named Sven in my air-conditioned Winnebago.

Forty-five minutes later, a quick call to my cell-phone tells me they’re ready for my close-up. Nearly painless!

Yes, so many, many things that a stand-in could be used for:

To take your place during the daily “Hot enough for you?” chit chat with the tedious co-worker you usually hide from…

To attend school functions and kids’ parties (and I’ll request my stand-in has thinner thighs than I do – we moms can be pretty critical)…

To call in sick for you (requires an impressionist -- preferably with an encyclopedic knowledge of exotic diseases)…

To step in during automatically after the first five minutes of your child’s half-hour monologue detailing the personalities of each and every Pokemon character…

To eat your vegetables.

But I digress…

I can only think of one person I’d actually hire to be my own personal concierge -- Jack Bauer. He’s high energy, requires very little coddling and he’s got a soft spot for the ladies. Plus he’d pretty much guarantee the kids would never get bullied.

Jack and his buddies from CTU would have come in handy a few days ago when my little family was taking a walk around the neighborhood. We encountered a familiar-looking woman escorting a gaggle of children. She greeted us with a huge hello, but I hadn’t the foggiest idea where we knew her from. So we picked up our pace and moved on before my memory lapse became evident.

Now imagine the same situation with Bauer backing me up…a van trails us discreetly and when the unknown soccer mom crosses our path, Jack’s there to snap her photo and relay it to Chloe who instantaneously cross-references it with her database…and in a split second: “Mary Smith -- Room Mom in 2004” is whispered into my earpiece.

Sure – I’d still probably walk away without any more of a conversation than “Hi!” But at least I’d know exactly whom I was being antisocial to.

One Lucky Mother

2007-05-14T19:56:00.000-04:00

This may have been the best Mother's Day ever in my personal history of motherhood. Primarily because my husband worked his b-u-t-t (as the kids would spell) off and did everything from planning stages through execution to clean-up afterwards. What a guy!

So forgive me for gloating.

In the days leading up to Mother's Day, our kids were very excited about the gifts they had purchased in their grade school's "Secret Shop"...

The younger, being one of many words and few secrets, gave me liberal hints about what she had bought for me. Told me she wasn't sure if one of my gifts was "real" because it had only cost 50 cents. She said, "Maybe it's real, or maybe it isn't, I don't know..."

Figuring it was a "diamond" adjustable ring or something of that sort, I told her that for 50 cents, it probably wasn't "real" but that I was sure I'd love it regardless.

Still, I was surprised yesterday morning when I opened the brown lunch bag that the gift has been secreted in. This is what I found inside:

I'm a Million Dollar Mom!

So...it wasn't "real"...but how sweet the gift of naivete that would make my 7-year-old think it was possible to buy a million dollar bill for 50 cents (and no wonder she had said she wanted to share the gift with me if it was real!) How much is that worth?

And my other daughter then gave me her paper bagged gift -- with another of the same bill inside.

So I guess I'm the two-million dollar mom. Woo hoo!

The day was a whirlwind of festivities (AKA a whirlwind of meals) -- from breakfast in bed...

Lunch at my mother-in-law's house with my husband's side of the family...

...where I was joined by the other Secret Shop gift from my youngest -- a bear we named "Gingerbread." Strangely, Gingerbread wanted to spend most of her time with my daughter (or at least that's what my Little Miss told me that the bear told her.)

And dinner with my mom and the rest of my family...

Yes, I'm still blurring my girls' faces...don't feel comfortable putting them up on the internet for all to see -- if only so that if they misbehave in public I can still pretend that they don't belong to me.

But I feel I can get away with the photo below from Mother's Day 2002, since they don't look anything like this anymore (although part of me still wishes they did!)

(I just came across this picture last week while going through the Mother's Day archives to see whose obligation..er...turn...it was to host this year. Not that we would be the kind to keep a tally or anything in case a sibling would try and escape their duty.)

Anyway, the photo's here because not only does it feature my girls in their old versions, but also my cat Leo trying to remind me of his existence. Which is even sweeter now that he doesn't exist (at least in the physical world) anymore.

2007 brought the first Mother's Day for us without a pet. And although I never thought of Leo or his brother Zeke as my "children," Leo was a very integral (and vocal) part of our family -- and 7 months after his death I think of him pretty much every day. He came up in casual conversation with my 10-year-old just tonight (I don't remember why she brought him up)...we were talking lightheartedly and suddenly she burst into tears. Aw.

But I leave you on a somewhat less poignant note, courtesy of Mother's Day 2005:

My Mom (the Queen) & Me (making a statement of undetermined nature.)

FINIS

2007-05-10T18:15:00.000-04:00

It's been almost two weeks since the Michael Penn concert at World Cafe Live, so I think it's about time to wrap this little blog party up.

Honestly, most of you would best be served to just look at the photos and leave it at that. Nothing too revelatory to follow, I'm afraid. But fear of being tedious never stopped me before, so why should it now?

As if to prove that point, I resort to a flashback:

A few weeks before the show, I got the grand idea to put together a copy of the tribute CD that the Pennlist members had compiled last fall, Look What the Fans Drug In, and give it to MP.

I had been meaning to make liner notes booklets for my husband and myself anyway...

And it seemed appropriate that somebody should give a copy to the man who inspired the project. So I anointed myself "somebody."

But ultimately, the decision was made because I'm always looking for some excuse to get into a project that will let me avoid cleaning my house.

Plus, for whatever reason I like to "collect" clip-art that interests me, so I had a virtual folder full of stuff that seemed semi-appropriate...that I could work in with the liner notes text.

Sample pages: A tuning fork -- self-explanatory.
The illustration on the right was originally captioned "boy listening to microphone"

Of course, not being a graphic designer by any means, it took far longer than I expected...plus I turned into a regular Martha Stewart assembling the darn thing with my paper cutter and various grades of paper.

But did it I did, and for a totally done-at-home effort the booklets turned out pretty okay.

All this background to say that I was even more nervous than usual as I stood in that meet-and-greet line, with my self-inflicted mission to hand these CDs over to MP.

Back to post-show:

As the line of fans thinned out, Esteemed Husband and I made our way over to Michael. I babbled something or other as I presented the tribute CDs to him...luckily, he was super-gracious...and I was super-relieved.

And we did the obligatory photo thing:

I'm wearing 3 1/2 inch heels and these two lovely blue-eyed lads still tower over me...

So...MP bid us adieu with a thanks for coming...we walked off...and realized -- we hadn't had our Palms & Runes.. and MHJ reissue CDs signed.

I believe the expression you're looking for here is, "Duh!"

To the back of the pack we went, to wait for a second audience.

Among the folks hanging out after the show was Philadelphia's own superb singer/songwriter Jim Boggia -- who opened for MP at The Point (RIP) in April 2005.

Michael Penn, Jebin Bruni & Jim Boggia (looking sharp in his pinstripes)

Jim has also opened for Aimee Mann (as part of Four Way Street) which is how I first became aware of him. Highly recommend his CDs "Fidelity is the Enemy" and "Safe In Sound."

But I digress...

Eventually we got back up to MP and I asked him an irrelevant question or two (I'm under contractual obligation to say insignificant things to people I admire.)

No need to go into specifics except to say that he was kind enough to answer me and go into a fair bit of detail, which was nice.

My body language betrays my nervousness -- the arms crossed protectively...

...the semi-crazed expression, which I suppose is better than fully-crazed. I have no freakin' recollection of what I was demonstrating -- if anything -- I'm half-Italian, so I don't need a reason to talk with my hands.

And here's where I destroy any remaining shreds of credibility:

I'd be disappointing those who expect shallowness if I neglected to dissect Mr. Penn's appearance this time 'round.

To summarize: he looked quite fine.

Females (and other admirers of men's fashion) may care to read on:

His white shirt, vest & jeans combo worked very well for him. I may be prejudiced as I was also wearing a white shirt, vest & jeans - I'm a big fan of the vest -- although MP is much trimmer than I and thankfully his shirt didn't involve ruffles like mine did.

As a matter of fact, at some point during a tuning interlude in the show a woman yelled out, "Nice vest!" I'd like to point out that that was not me, although if I were the type to yell things out during a show...well...I probably would have yelled out a song request...but anyway, she was correct...

Most impressed when MP came out after the show wearing a long corduroy jacket (maybe one would call it a "topcoat." In the International Male catalog, a jacket of that length would probably be called a "duster." Not that I ever studied the I.M. catalog in my single days or anything...)

The garment in question. Spencer was showing MP how that evening's World Cafe Live menu was superimposed over his photo, btw.

Whatever you call it, the jacket looked terrific. Love that jacket. Covet that jacket. The overall effect with the vest was simply splendid.

The last time Michael Penn played Philadelphia, my inner fangirl made a point of mentioning how his close-cropped hair was particularly flattering.

It was longer this time - at least on top -- but (as a purely objective critic) it not only looked quite nice, but was more appropriate with his outfit than shorter hair would have been...

Yes, Michael, you have my stamp of approval on your hairstyle. You can now go about living your life freely with that knowledge.

More importantly than the superficial crap, MP appears to be a genuinely nice person. Which isn't required for a great night of music, but certainly appreciated. His stage persona is self-deprecatingly witty...he can rib an audience member ever so gently when they deserve it...and after the show he was patient with and attentive to his fans.

In summary...all was good. Good (okay, it was great) music, good venue, good fans, good tablemates, good husband (mine, I don't know about yours...but mine is pretty darn sweet.)

I leave you with a photo of our little Pennlist assemblage, taken shortly before we disbanded for the evening:

Spencer, Kristen (displaying the MP emblazoned menu) Sasquatch, Merujo, Yours Truly & Esteemed Husband

As Spencer, Esteemed Husband & I walked back to our vehicles, a cargo van honked as it passed us on the street. I turned around to see the passenger-side window roll down and someone wave to us.

Who was it? That I leave to your imagination...

More photos of some musician guy who I never mention in my blog

2007-05-08T00:37:00.000-04:00

Folks, I present to you additional photos of Michael Penn performing at Philadelphia's World Cafe Live on Friday, April 27th. (With my apologies to Mr. Penn for the severe upward angle from which I was shooting. Almost too close, if there is such a thing...)

(Oh, one photo of Jebin Bruni too - although it's rather fuzzy; sorry, he was on the other side of the stage from my seat.)

Jebin Bruni

A ROUGH SET LIST - order not necessarily right (but close-ish - I took alot of this from the Joe's Pub setlist - thanks usblu!) and I may have forgotten a song*...forgive me for not being in the mood to be distracted by taking notes during the show. Feel free to correct me if you see a mistake.

*This list was revised May 18, 2007 using information from a member of the michaelpennlist who goes by the nom de plume of twilight_magic1. (Thanks!) I feel pretty confident that it is now correct.

Making Me 3 For 3
Lucky One
Bucket Brigade
Brave New World
Bad Sign
O.K.
Me Around
Long Way Down
Don't Let Me Go
Bunker Hill
Try
Denton Road
Cupid's Gor a Brand New Gun
Walter Reed
I Can Tell

(I think these were in the first encore, but I may be completely mixed up as to what was encore and what was pre-encore...)

Figment
Out of My Hands
High Time
------------------------------
Second Encore: No Myth

------------------------------

And not being one to feel guilty about recycling my writing, here's what I posted on the Pennlist after the show (so if you've read it already there feel free to skip this part entirely):

His entire performance just flew by for me. It was really stellar,
although I did miss having Buddy Judge's harmonies like we did last time.

The No Myth tale (and somebody correct me if I don't recall the details properly): Michael was all set to play the song in the first encore - as he started he was saying something along the lines of "Well...ok...here it is..." (I paraphrase) when a too-loud guy started yelling out "No! Don't play it!"

And I think a general ruckus began with people voicing their opinions(or maybe just the same loud guy repeating himself solo)(or some combination.)

So, MP calmly says something like "Alright then..." moves his capo to another fret and starts into Out of My Hands.

He did come back and do No Myth for a second encore. And a really nice version -- I think it's the first time I've ever heard him do it without inserting a "not the name of the song" and "also not the name of the song" into the chorus. Which was very funny before, but I really enjoyed hearing the song sung straight this time.

STAY TUNED FOR OUR FINAL THRILLING INSTALLMENT:
THE AFTER-SHOW MEET-AND-GREET --
COMING SOON TO A BLOGGER PAGE NEAR YOU!!

Five Short Questions, Five Long Answers

2007-05-05T14:32:00.000-04:00

Folks:

Merujo, of Church of the Big Sky fame, was kind enough to send the following five questions for me to answer - as part of something vaguely resembling a chain letter, but infinitely more interesting (at least in the episodes that preceded mine.)

Anyway, I have tried to answer her questions as thoroughly and honestly as possible. (And please forgive me for not editing myself more in Question #1.)

If you'd like to continue the interview chain, please see the end of this post.

1. How did you determine you wanted a career in radio? What was your first on-air gig?

Um, Ms. Merujo, isn't that technically two questions?

Short answer: I never determined I wanted a career in radio. Just fell into it.

Extremely long answer: I really wanted to be a recording engineer - starting when I was a young teen. Sort of a frustrated musician thing...I had an okay voice, studied classical piano & classical/folk guitar for years -- developed a basic level of technique, but I didn't have the "gift."

But I always loved machinery; took things apart to see how they worked as a kid, fixed things that were broken, etc. Switches & sliders turned me on.

I thought being part of the record business as an audio engineer would be the coolest thing ever.

But at the time there were no 4-year college offerings for music production - and as a good student, there was no question that I would be going to college.

So I decided to study television production.

Even so, during high school I joined an Explorers post at our local radio station (WPAZ in Pottstown, PA - woo hoo!) It amused me to no end that this allowed me to have a Boy Scout membership card with my name on it (Explorers being under the auspices of BSA.) Yes, I am easily amused.

Learned to cue up a record (turntables, my friends!) and run a board. And every week, my friend Carmelina & I would tape a goofy little segment detailing upcoming events at our high school. So I guess that got me comfortable behind the mic.

Like 8 million other people who attended Temple University, I majored in Radio-TV-Film (with a minor in Art & Music.) Also ran the dorm radio station which no-one could actually hear in the dorm or anywhere else (hence no pressure!) and did a radio show pretty much playing only Elvis Costello, Joe Jackson, Squeeze, Pat Benatar & Tom Petty.

Seems I couldn't avoid radio, even though I theoretically wanted to work in TV.

In my senior year of college, I accepted an internship at a Philadelphia adult contemporary radio station. I typed labels for the carts (Carts?! Typewriter?! This was a long time ago, folks) and basically didn't speak to anyone at the station for the entire semester. Literally. Painfully shy.

In 1981, Like 7.9 million people graduating with an RTF degree, I couldn't find a job. But I only looked in TV, not radio.

Fast forward several YEARS...I went on a date with a guy who was an intern at a small Philadelphia talk radio station. Radio started to look pretty good to me.

Soon after, I too was working for free on the morning drive show -- with a guy named Peter Tilden (who's been on L.A. radio since, oh, 1988? when he left the rest of the crew behind in Philadelphia. Thanks Peter.)

Anyway, Peter put me on the air, I said something typically inane, got a lot of positive feedback about my voice & the rest is history.

Keep in mind, I had absolutely no aspirations to be on the air. None whatsoever. Completely planned to be behind-the-scenes. But things just turned out that way. And I've been lucky enough to work for 20+ years in a major market without ever being fired.

My two years at that station, "Talk 900," were actually great experience, because the folks running the joint were long-time veterans of Philadelphia talk radio. I learned a lot fast. And I got to do everything: was a board-op, morning drive sidekick/producer, production director, public service director, and hand model (okay, I made the last part up just to see if anyone was still paying attention.)

Oh, and eventually I started getting paid.

2. Everyone loves to hear bad travel stories. What's the most horrible trip you've ever taken? (And on the flip side – what's your dream destination for a vacation?)

Hmmm, well...last year's vacation at the Jersey shore was pretty bad. Nothing like hiding a slime-drooling cancer-stricken cat in a tiny bedroom to make for a fun time. So, out of laziness, I'll just refer everyone to this blog post from last June.

I honestly can't pick a dream destination per se...I'd love to go back to Nevis, where Esteemed Husband & I honeymooned. That's the dream of relaxation - ever elusive.

But it would be wonderful to spend an extended period of time (months? years?) exploring my family's roots in Italy & England (and my husband's in Denmark & Austria-Hungary -- or whatever that region is called now.) Strictly a fantasy, I'm afraid. I also would love to have the resources (and babysitting) to visit Japan at least once during my lifetime.

3. What's your favorite guilty pleasure (movie, food, music, TV, you name it) that you'll almost be too embarrassed to admit to here on your blog?

Oh crap. The thing that embarrasses me the most right now is the frequency with which Michael Penn appears in my blog. But I don't necessarily feel guilty about that...

Um, I actually think Velveeta is tasty. And I could easily consume an entire jar of jalapeno peppers in one sitting with no gastro-intestinal repercussions.

But maybe that's more of a talent than a guilty pleasure...?

Oh yeah -- Second Life. My current favorite waste of time. I never ever expected to find myself drawn to "walking around" a virtual steampunk town, but the appeal lies in the appreciation of the work and imagination others have put into its creation. Plus, it reminds me eerily of a recurring dream I've had for years. Whether that means anything, only time will tell.

And you can fly.

4. If you could switch places with one person in this world for one day, who would it be?

Well, duh, Aimee Mann.

Or Michael Penn -- no-one said I couldn't be a guy, right?

Actually, I'm pretty content being myself. I'm a firm believer that (to a certain extent) one creates one's own reality with what one is given - by luck or chance - and that nobody's life is perfect. Not to say that I'm always happy...but for most of my problems, I've got no-one but myself to blame.

That said, if I could switch permanently, I'd definitely want to be a white male. Not that I don't thoroughly enjoy being a girl -- I adore it -- but honestly, we all know who wields the power in this grand ole country of ours.

Not that it should be that way, not that I want it to be that way, but I'm afraid that that's the way it is.

Just let me add, I'd like to be a tall white male with a full head of hair. Thank you.

5. Recommend five musicians or CDs that you think the whole world should be listening to (and for some strange reason, the world is missing out):

I guess it would just be too predictable to list MP's last five CDs, eh?

Here I take the evasive way out. Of course, it's obvious from my blog that I think Michael Penn's music deserves a much-larger audience...

And there are other lesser-known folks who have put out CDs that I've loved. But I'm loathe to name them, lest I neglect to mention someone.

Plus, I can't presume for the whole wide world.

So, let me just end by saying my Esteemed Husband writes some awesome lyrics. Even though 90% of his songs seem to intimate that I'm really rather mean.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

IF YOU'D LIKE ME TO SEND YOU FIVE QUESTIONS TO ANSWER:

1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me." (And make sure I have your e-mail address so I can zap you the questions!)
2. I will respond by e-mailing you five questions. I get to pick them, and you have to answer them all.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Michael Penn at World Cafe Live - The Sequel

2007-05-03T07:34:00.000-04:00

PROLOGUE:

There's a thin line between avid appreciation and idle idolatry.

And although I may appear that I have crossed that fine line, oh, about two years ago in my numerous mentions of Michael Penn -- be assured that my zealousness is fueled by a very grounded-in-reality belief in this guy's talent...and so I proselytize and post and generally try to twist the arms of anyone not familiar with Mr. Penn's music. Because I think everyone should be.

And besides, the masthead of this blog does contains the word "obsessions." So, ya know, let me have my fun.

Plus, I have photos.

Before I launch into my saga -- Michael is halfway through a short tour. He doesn't play outside of L.A. very often. So if you're anywhere near the cities listed below, do yourself a favor and check him out.

You can thank me later with gifts of cash (I accept Paypal) or dark chocolate.

May 3 2007
8:00P
Iron Horse
Northampton, Massachusetts

May 5 2007
8:00P
Club Cafe
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

May 6 2007
8:00P
Beachland Ballroom
Cleveland, Ohio

May 8 2007
8:00P
The Ark
Ann Arbor, Michigan

May 9 2007
8:00P
Schubas
Chicago, Illinois

THE SAGA:

For those not familiar with World Cafe Live, it's a great intimate venue for live music in Philadelphia. Michael Penn played there the last time he visited our fine city (see my October 2005 posts for details and photos) in support of his album, Mr. Hollywood Jr., 1947.

That was one terrific show, for which Esteemed Husband and I had terrific seats. So I was very pleased to learn April 2007 would bring a much anticipated sequel - with MP back on the same World Cafe Live stage. And extremely pleased to be able to get the same seats we had last time.

Only this time, we made arrangements to share the table with other folks from our little Penn-centric yahoo group, the michaelpennlist. Joining us would be Spencer, the fearless ruler...er, moderator...of the list and his fiancee Kristen (a very witty young lady who regularly cracks me up); the lovely and talented Miss Merujo of blogging fame (who is just as interesting and sublimely entertaining in person) & her good friend Sasquatch (who I felt like I knew from reading about him in Merujo's blog) who were driving up to Philly from D.C.; and our fellow pennlisters Lance & his wife Jamie, who made the cross-state trek to see Michael (and they're also seeing him again in Pittsburgh in two days -- grrrrr, I'm jealous.)

(Did I just write the longest sentence in the history of blogdom? Sorry.)

We made tentative arrangements to meet in the upstairs bar at World Cafe Live sometime around 5:30-5:45. Except Esteemed Husband and I made a wrong route choice and ended up getting stuck in a Jersey jughandle for about 10 minutes. So, when I walked into the lobby upstairs (huffing and puffing from running up the stairs) it was 6 PM.

Spencer was there - and greeted us with (actually whispered - he had laryngitis) "You just missed Michael - he literally just left a minute ago."

I'm pleased to say it was the only disappointment of the evening.

If you can judge an artist by his fans, well...gee...now I don't know how to finish the sentence with sounding like I'm congratulating myself. What I mean to say is that every Michael Penn fan I've ever had the pleasure to meet in person has been interesting, intelligent, and generally cool. And the folks we spent last Friday night with exemplified that.

Soon we were seated at our front-and-center table. Drinks were served; food arrived (eventually -- it seemed to take forever) and we all prepared ourselves for a stellar evening of musical entertainment.

The opening act was "The Last Town Chorus" which is basically a showcase for Megan Hickey.

She proceeded to lull the audience with her ethereal voice and the echo-ing twang of her lap steel guitar. Although her breathy songs seemed all too similar to each other to this unfamiliar listener, her take on David Bowie's "Modern Love" cut through the ether and got the biggest response from the crowd.

And then it was time for Michael Penn.

He opened with a new (unreleased) song, "Making Me 3 for 3." An unexpected surprise! Five days later, it's still stuck in my head.

About ninety minutes (including two encores) of Michael Penn at-his-best followed. He was accompanied by keyboardist extraordinaire Jebin Bruni.

Michael amused the audience with witty banter, even as he claimed he didn't have "the gift of gab" during his between-song tuning. He tells us that there's a mic at the soundboard and that the audience should consider this "a public square" and invites us to use it for "something you want to get off your chest, a good joke" even "a well-placed heckle" while he tunes his guitar. (His between-song tuning has become somewhat of a running joke in and of itself.)

The obligatory tuning photo

I'm pleased to say one brave soul told a (long) Buddy Rich joke, after which Michael says, "I could have tuned three guitars" in the time it took to tell it.

But noone else dared grab the mic. Unfortunately, there was a guy sitting at the table behind me that didn't need one, as his yelling-out-inane-things between songs grew louder and louder as the evening (and his presumably drunken state) progressed. (Mental note: Next time pack muzzle.)

All banter and loud guys aside, the audience was unflaggingly enthusiastic as Mr. Penn showcased his unique blend of carefully-crafted music with songs that spanned his 20+ year career.

Michael Penn's lyrics generally probe the intricacies of relationships -- with an emphasis on longing and disillusionment- - wrapped up with flourishes and hooks that soar.

What makes his live performances so effective is that he that obviously "feels" (for lack of a more eloquent word) the words as he sings them. One of the lucky benefits of sitting so close to the stage is that I could see how MP pauses briefly before he launches into each new song -- closing his eyes and seemingly putting himself into character for the story he is about to present. It's lovely to watch.

And amazing to see how powerful a man and his guitar can be.

On that note, I must end for the day (I think I've spent more time writing this than the length of the actual show.)

Stay tuned for the next chapter -- more musical details and our post-show adventures!

2007-04-18T03:24:00.000-04:00

Michael Penn! Michael Penn! (and more Michael Penn!)

2007-04-15T11:39:00.000-04:00

It's an embarrassment of riches for fans of singer/songwriter Michael Penn (and fans of intelligent songwriting everywhere) as the critically-acclaimed artist releases not one, but two CD collections this Tuesday, April 17th.

Palms & Runes; Tarot & Tea: A Michael Penn Collection

and a newly-mastered re-release of his 2005 album --
Mr. Hollywood Jr., 1947

(2005 Cover Art)

Actually it's a total of three CDs -- as the re-release of MHJ1947 includes a bonus CD: six songs from a 2005 MP performance at Los Angeles radio station KCRW, and the wonderfully evocative "Walter Reed" music video. (Penn's "Walter Reed" was released before the announcement of the closure of Walter Reed Hospital and the subsequent revelation of the inadequate conditions there -- and the intervening two years' events have only added to the song's multiple layers of meaning. )

Having gotten my sweaty paws on advance copies of all three CDs, this rabid fan can only say she's sending a big wet kiss (on the cheek, of course!) to Mr. Penn for making my day.

Maybe my month.

Because Palms... can only be described as the musical equivalent of the Best Gift Ever to his fanbase. (I was going to say "the musical equivalent of a big wet kiss to his collective fanbase"...but there seems to be way too much figurative kissing going on in this post -- my apologies to all for any psychological damage the resulting mental picture might have provoked.)

ANYWAY...

One can only hope that Palms & Runes; Tarot & Tea: A Michael Penn Collection will also make the uninitiated aware of the full range of this talented musician.

It's a collection of alternate takes, brand new versions of old favorites, and best-of-the-best album cuts -- selections from all five of his albums, spanning the course of more than 15 years.

Michael says he himself hand-picked these tracks, as well as the order in which they appear on the CD

From www.michaelpenn.com:

"I figured I should try to make this an actual album instead of just a collection of old songs-- or at least make it feel like one to me. I picked stuff that I still felt connected to and that fit together."

(This topic is also discussed in Dave Lifton's blogcritic interview with Michael Penn.)

It's obvious Penn didn't want his loyal following to feel ripped off with a typical Ultimate Collection thrown-together mix of old tracks.

Whatever the opposite of "feeling ripped off" is, well, that's how I'm feeling right now.

Palms & Runes; Tarot & Tea: A Michael Penn Collection is worth every penny of its $11.98 list (only $9.97 at Amazon!) solely for the revamped version of "Cupid's Got a Brand New Gun"

Full disclosure: I was never crazy for the original "Cupid..." on MP's first album, March. His live performances of the song - yes - but the album version didn't speak to me. So much so that I felt free to butcher it...er... reinterpret it as a torch song with my cover on the tribute CD Look What the Fans Drug In.

But MP's new version of "Cupid's Got a Brand New Gun" -- I LOVE -- a completely different feel from the original, with its addition of a bluesy piano, its freer vocal...an all-out driving chorus (horns and all!) -- it's perfect.

At this early point in my relationship with the album, it's definitely the highlight of the collection for me.

But there are 19 other tracks that could easily do the same for another fan. There's so much here to enjoy:

Track Listings
1. Lucky One (Version One - Previously Unreleased)
2. Bunker Hill
3. Out Of My Hands
4. Cupid's Got A Brand New Gun (New Version - Previously Unreleased)
5. Coal
6. Try (Alternate Version - Previously Unreleased)
7. No Myth
8. Barely A Sound (Instrumental - Previously Unreleased)
9. Don't Let Me Go
10. All That That Implies
11. Whole Truth
12. Brave New World
13. Me Around (Demo Version - Previously Unreleased)
14. Long Way Down (Look What The Cat Drug In) (New version - Previously Unreleased)
15. Macy Day Parade (from the Godzilla Soundtrack)
16. Figment
17. Bucket Brigade
18. I Can Tell
19. Walter Reed
20. Opening (Instrumental from the film, "Melvin Goes To Dinner" -- Previously Unreleased)

The demo version of "Me Around" is another stand-out track. A bare-bones rendition with just voice and guitar, it points what a terrific guitarist Michael Penn is. (And why he's so good in concert.)

"Me Around" is followed immediately by a new (beautiful) version of my favorite Penn song of all time, "Long Way Down." This song says everything about why I'm such a big fan...and nothing that I can properly articulate with mere words. Listen and you'll see.

Okay, I'm getting a little gushy. I'm still high on music here, folks -- give me a break.

As someone so intimately familiar with MP's body of work, I can't objectively judge how someone less Penn-ophilic will find Runes...

So...as a public service for those unfamiliar with Michael Penn's music, I will give you some reference points:

If you like Elvis Costello, you'll appreciate Michael Penn's clever turn-of-phrase wordplay and biting lyrics.

If you like Crowded House, you'll appreciate Penn's hooks and harmonies.

If you like Aimee Mann, you'll appreciate that she's married to Michael -- um, I meant to say: that MP seems to share Aimee's less-than-rosy perspective on life and love. Michael has been known to introduce his song "On Automatic" with the quip, "Optimism is the pretty side of denial," (making clear that the song's chorus of "Things are looking up..." is just a temporary delusion.)

More reference points (that might place my tastes on some sort of musical scale): I'm also a big fan of Fountains of Wayne, Jellyfish, David Mead, John Wesley Harding...and currently really loving the CD "Jollity" from the Irish group Pugwash, whose driving force (Thomas Walsh) also happens to be a fan of - who else - Mr. Michael Penn.

Ladies and Gentlemen - it's a giant musical lovefest!

All this blathering leaves no time left to delve properly into the remaster of Mr. Hollywood Jr., 1947. Except to say that the new Sony/Legacy re-release is supposed to sound even better than the original SpinArt version.

I say "supposed to sound even better" because personally, I thought the original non-mastered release sounded just fine. I liked the dynamic range in Michael's original production. But let your ears be the judge -- they're probably better than mine anyway -- and regardless, it's a great CD.

And, as I mentioned above (can you even remember the beginning of this blog?) the new release has dandy Extra Features which makes it definitely worth picking buying again (or for the first time!)

Mr. Michael Penn is about to embark on a short concert tour. Attend and I guarantee you will not be disappointed.

Apr 24 2007
8:00P
IOTA
Arlington, Virginia

Apr 26 2007
8:00P
Ram's Head - On Stage
Annapolis, Maryland

Apr 27 2007
8:00P
World Café Live
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Apr 28 2007
8:00P
Joe's Pub
New York, New York

Apr 30 2007
8:00P
Joe's Pub
New York, New York

May 2 2007
8:00P
Paradise
Boston, Massachusetts

May 3 2007
8:00P
Iron Horse
Northampton, Massachusetts

May 5 2007
8:00P
Club Cafe
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

May 6 2007
8:00P
Beachland Ballroom
Cleveland, Ohio

May 8 2007
8:00P
The Ark
Ann Arbor, Michigan

May 9 2007
8:00P
Schubas
Chicago, Illinois

Die Calypso, Die!

2007-03-31T19:18:00.000-04:00

For the second time in seven months, my Kenmore/Whirlpool Calypso washing machine has forsaken me. As in displaying the evil "Ld"...

If you have one of these monstrosities, you know "Ld" stands for "long drain," which is appliance-speak for "You are screwed, you stupid consumer."

I'm so pissed that it's gotten me out of my blog hiatus and everything -- although I don't promise anything resembling good writing.

The washer machine will not drain, and (if like last time) it will probably take weeks for the part to come in, during which time I will be forced to wash my unmentionables in the sink while cursing like a sailor. (I'm not forced to curse like a sailor, but that's the only fun part of this whole thing.)

Strangely co-incidental, because somebody put the first comment on this old post of mine last week. Could that somehow have displeased the appliance gods?

The main purpose it to WARN ANY POTENTIAL BUYERS to stay far, far away from the Whirlpool Calypso. Actually, I don't believe the Calypso is sold new anymore, judging from a visit to Sears.com -- but I do see a high efficiency (HE) washer called the "Cabrio" and suspect it may be the same bad product renamed. So, I would advise a great deal of internet research and complaint-searching before one purchases a Kenmore Cabrio.

At this point, I'd like to see my Calpyso dance right out of our lives...with the Master Protection Agreement we purchased last August, we get a new washer if our warranteed one needs four repairs in the course of any 12 month period. It's two "Lds" down, two "Lds" to go...

Oh yeah, I want this machine to DIE.

And not a slow death, but a heinous immolation kind of death. Well, maybe not anything that would require a housecall by our friendly neighborhood firefighters, but an immolation of a non-home-destructing nature would be just fine.

In case you haven't figured it out by now -- I HATE THE CALYPSO.

Next time, I know better than to buy the song and dance of less-water-usage and gentler-on-clothes. In addition to the complete breakdowns, the washer has periodically deposited little dots of black scum on the clothing (at least they usually shake off) and our knit clothes have had an overabundance of pinpoint holes develop in them.

I'll assume it's all some sort of punishment for my overall lack of domesticity -- because doing the wash is the only domestic thing I actually don't mind doing (it involves clothing - which I enjoy wearing - and, more importantly, it's an excuse to hide in a small room by myself and watch bad TV.)

I should have listened to my Esteemed Husband -- he never trusted the damn thing, with its suspiciously-low water level and its cavalier tossing about of our clothing. He saw through the pretty package to the black soul of the beast.

And now, I'll end my rant with some relevant links:

Class action settlement (unfortunately ours didn't break down fast enough for this):

http://www.finkelsteinthompson.com/settlements/calypso_settlement.php
http://www.calypsosettlement.com/pdfs/SettlementAgreement.pdf

To assure you that I am not alone in hating this thing, just a few of the many, many complaints floating about the internet:

http://www.epinions.com/hmgd-Large_Appliances-All-Washing_Machines-Whirlpool_Super_Capacity_Plus_Calypso_Washer_GVW9959KT/display_~reviews/sec_~opinion_list/pp_~9

http://www.thesqueakywheel.com/complaints/2007/JAN/complaint11222.cfm

http://www.consumeraffairs.com/homeowners/whirlpool_calypso.html

Time the Avenger

2007-01-07T15:45:00.000-05:00

If any of my readers remain...

My lack of blogging of late has little to do with lack of subject matter, and lots to do with lack of time.

I'm working something close to full time the next few weeks, and so there's no chance of me getting back to regular posting any time soon.

However, as a reward to those who stopped by to read this, here's a few updates:

I seemingly crossed over to the dark side by becoming room mom for my 5th grader's class. However, I consider it undercover work, as I intend to be as subversive as possible while fulfilling my room-mom duties.

The Sleighful of Cellulite remains completely sealed. Even so, I somehow managed to gain 3 or 4 pounds over the holidays. Did the calories simply ooze through their shrink-wrap into my pores? Or do you think the ten dozen cookies I made last month might have had something to do with that? The bag of mini-candy bars? The jugs of eggnog?

There's been one in our garage for more than a year, but I'm pleased to proclaim that I still have never driven an SUV.

All the Hummels I put up on eBay for my in-laws sold - which made me a few dollars...and more significantly, provided the patrons of a post-office with a lovely sitcom moment. I had to make a couple trips to bring in all the boxes, and came darn close to wiping out as I leapt over the queue rope carrying a stack of 5 large boxes, with the grace (or lack thereof) of Cosmo Kramer. ("That was close!" exclaimed the lady behind me - as if I wasn't already quite aware of all eyes in the lengthy line trained on me.)

More than a year later, the McMansion with a graveyard view has yet to find a (living) occupant...which should surprise pretty much nobody except the builder.

And finally, Little Miss Deep Thinker spent much of the month of December pondering Santa Claus. Our most memorable exchange went something like this:

LMDT (out of nowhere ): "If Santa can watch us all the time, I guess he can see us naked."

I cover my face with my hands to stifle my laughter. Which I suppose LMDT takes as me faking crying or being in some other kind of distress...

Because then she says, "Don't worry Mom -- I think only Mrs. Claus sees the girls and ladies without their clothes. Santa Claus is only interested in the boys."

She continued to elaborate -- but unfortunately I trying so hard not to laugh that I can't remember her exact words.

Anyway, thanks to those of you who have visited this site regularly in the past year or so. I've appreciated every comment - whether posted here or in person.

Just as when I started this blog, I'm still masquerading through suburbia - sometimes fitting in successfully, and other times...well...I'm doing a near-pratfall in the post office.

And even if I'm not posting here, I continue my pledge to fight humorlessness whenever it raises its self-important head.

I can't say if, or when, I will return to writing in this forum.

There is never enough time.

Ever.

My girls are growing up way too fast -- I need to be present for them mentally (and not rewriting stuff in my head during our time together. ) And my Esteemed Husband would like an occasional (okay, maybe more than occasional) shoulder massage.

At the risk of going all Dr. Phil on y'all - it's time for me to stop writing about life and start living it.

So, I bid you all a fond farewell. See ya at Target!

Sleighful of Cellulite

2006-12-22T22:55:00.000-05:00

For the past few weeks, the establishment where I work out (okay, usually I'm dropping my kids off for classes and going across the street to Target, but occasionally I do work out) has had a table of gift baskets set up near the front desk. A raffle for members - with a free ticket every time they swiped your card.

At least that's how it was supposed to work. But it seemed the ladies at the desk were rather swamped with class registrations the last two weeks and didn't offer a ticket to most people.

Including our little familial group.

But on Tuesday, Esteemed Husband and I had a couple of minutes before the children were done their class, so we went back to the desk and specifically asked for tickets.

And - lo and behold - this afternoon I got a call saying I had won Basket #1.

Which, it turns out, isn't actually a basket, but a wooden sleigh full of all sorts of packaged sweets.

Woo-hoo!

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus -- and evidently, he likes his women Rubenesque.

There's gotta be at least ten boxes of stuff shrinkwrapped in my Sleigh of Joy - and the name Ghirardelli is featured prominently...

Wait - I'm counting -- I think there's 15 boxes.

And Peanut Brittle! (Does anyone remember my peanut bar thing?)

Oh my freakin' diabetic-in-the-making gawd!

(Now, let's not ruin the mood with cynical speculations as to why an establishment theoretically devoted to increasing the health of its members would give away this massively-beautiful collection of sugar and fat...)

I've got to take a picture of it, but I'm not sure if I can hold my hands steady enough to get a clear shot while in such close proximity to its awesome caloric power!

There's even a cool-looking box of mint puffs emblazoned "King Leo" -- a brand I hadn't heard of before. I'm not a major peppermint fan, but a major fan of Leos (as in the astrological sign of my Esteemed Husband, and well, Leo my dead cat.)

Hmmm, I've never been a huge believer in spirits, but if this King Leo thing is a sign that my kitty is making some sort of magical food-raffle-winning sh*t happen from beyond the grave...?

I knew I loved that darn cat.

Happy holidays everyone - from me and my ever-expanding thighs.

Everything's Coming Up Hummels!

2006-12-10T11:03:00.000-05:00

First of all, even I don't know what I mean by that title.

But that's what happens when you spend 12 hours straight becoming intimately familiar with a bunch of cutesy-cutesy figurines.

Several months ago, I agreed to help my in-laws sell a collection of Hummel figurines on eBay...forgetting that I am way too obsessive to ever have anything be as easy as it would appear to be on the surface.

I put the project off until the holiday buying season in an effort to capture some of the gift-giving market, ensuring that it would also take a massive chunk out of my own holiday prep time.

All this exposition just another explanation/excuse as to why I've not been blogging.

Anyway, if you happen to know anyone who collects these darling little porcelain urchins, please check out everything I'm selling.

They are priced to sell -- really cheap, if you're into that kind of thing. A total of seven...buy lots and lots to save on shipping!

THE PERFECT GIFT FOR GRANDMA!

I also put up some Breeder's Cup swag that I got at work...PS2 game, t-shirt, cap, cards, cup holder -- all brand spankin' new. (Spanking not included.)

AND NOW, FOR THE NON-COMMERCIAL PORTION OF THIS BLOG:

Yesterday, we had our annual "Christmas Photo Shoot" -- when we take the girls' photos for our Christmas cards.

It's a wonderful family tradition, and like every family tradition worth immortalizing, it traditionally ends in tears. (See last year's "Adventures in Photographic Hell.")

However, 2006 will go down in the record books as the first time in our family history that all eyes stayed dry during the picture-taking process.

Yeah, I almost cried from frustration as the kids kept screwing around making funny faces...almost cursed as the Elder Daughter pinched her acting-angelic-for-a-second sister...almost threw the camera at the wall as the no-longer-acting-angelic Little Miss Deep Thinker decided to roll back on the couch and kick her legs up in the air just as the shutter finally went off.

But somehow I managed to control myself.

I suspect the wholesomeness of the Hummels has rubbed off on me.

Oh, did I forget to mention that they're MAGICAL? Of course, you'd have to buy them to discover their true powers for yourself.

Life Intimidates Art

2006-11-28T10:06:00.000-05:00

With sincere apologies for suggesting that there is any art involved in the production of this blog...

Real life continues to infringe on my free time, and hence the lack of of posts in this forum.

If you are interested in how I'm spending my midday today (Tuesday) and Friday, go to http://www.kyw1060.com/ and click on "Listen to KYW Newsradio" and you'll hear me in my full-fledged traffic glory..."on the 2's" between 10 AM & 3 PM.

Just try and contain your excitement.

(Hey, it's me again at 1:26 PM-- hopefully nobody followed that link today, because my shift has turned into a huge battle with phlegm ...although if you like the sound of a female with a cold, then by all means tune in -- you've got another hour-and-a-half

From Newton-John to Michael Penn

2006-11-19T11:56:00.000-05:00

Having taken my Olivia Newton-John title thing as far as I need to, it's time to cross-fade into my present-tense musical obsession: a critically-acclaimed yet criminally-unfamous, wordsmith-extraordinaire singer-songwriter -- a man who needs no hyphens, although I gladly provide them free-of-charge: Mr. Michael Penn.

While I could blather on about Michael Penn for paragraphs on end, my blathering today is aimed towards my participation in a MP tribute project, and what amounts to my first attempt to gift the world with the beauty of my singing voice (she says in a voice heavy with sarcasm.)

Being a presumably mature human, I won't cop to being part of a fan club; rather I am a member of a collective of highly intelligent individuals who appreciate the artistic vision of Mr. Penn - the michaelpennlist.

Earlier this year, one of the highly intelligent individuals, Ms. Merujo, presented the idea of a cover project to the group, which was enthusiastically received.

Man, I'm really into the multi-syllabic words today. Sorry.

Esteemed Husband and I chose to cover the song, "Try." Our plan was to take this straightforward pop/rock ditty & turn it into a duet. Esteemed Husband would handle all the instrumentals, and I would simply have to come in and sing, just as I've song along with that song innumerable times in my car.

But see, there's the catch: I've sung in my car -- alone. I've song in my shower -- alone. I've song in my house -- when noone else was around (except for the cats when they were alive, and my singing would generally prompt the felines to leave the room.)

Blame my stage-fright issues on a teenage guitar recital performance of "Annie's Song" gone awry (I daresay the music of John god-rest-his-soul Denver has wrecked many a budding career.)

Consequently, even after being together 13 years, my husband has really never heard me sing, other than very, very softly. And now we were going to record a song together.

Don't get me wrong...I've been pestering said husband to let me sing back-up on his songs for many a year (for those who remember "I Love Lucy" - imagine Lucy Riccardo trying to get into Ricky's band) to no avail.

(Okay, the set-up has turned to be so lengthy that I'll save the actual "Behind the Music" for the next post. Oh, I know you'll be able to wait...somehow...)

Xanadu

2006-11-13T12:21:00.000-05:00

I'm practically hyperventilating as I type this...as I found my heaven on Earth today in the most unlikely place -- Old Navy. See, there's nothing that gets me more excited than buying things really, really cheap.

Two hours of shopping frenzy, and a $135.92 charged brought me this:

10 tees
9 shirts
3 jackets
2 prs pants
2 skirts
2 camis
1 coat
(and a partridge in a pear tree...)

Bonus - I got to pretend my kitchen was a shop when I got home (all the clothing hides the dirty dishes!)

Yes, folks 31 items for $135.92 (plus $10 coupon for a future purchase!) All due to the beautiful collision of 50% off all clearance items and an extra 20% off for using my Old Navy credit card during their "stuff and save" promotion (my favorite big bag next to the Big Bag o' Clean!)

So, I got a start on my Christmas shopping...and then there's the other 75% that's for me (hey, I'm easy for me to shop for...)

All that's left to do is convince husband or parents to give me this stuff for Xmas gifts and it will be absolutely FREE (convoluted logic, but somehow it works for me.)

(We Are) Magic

2006-11-10T19:15:00.000-05:00

(Continuing the Olivia Newton-John blog Title theme)

However late I am, there was some interest in seeing my urchins' Halloween costumes, so here they are (in all their blurred-facial-features glory!)

Little Miss Deep Thinker is resplendent in an orange witch tunic with black organza puff sleeves & apron.

This costume was originally purchased for me to wear my little nephew's birthday/costume party a few years ago. Until I tried it on and found it was evidently a "naughty witch" costume, since it was so short that it barely covered my, um, assets. However unsuitable it was for me to wear to a kiddy party, it works great on an actual kiddy!

The Elder Daughter's "rock star costume" looks remarkably like what she wore for the first day of school this year. Evidently, first-day-of-school is magically transformed into a costume with the addition of an inflatable guitar.

I was rather crushed that she rejected a wide variety of gaudy 80's metallic-striped shirts that I presented her with when we were working on her "costume", but happy that she did choose to wear my authentic vintage (South Street, Philadelphia) studded wrist bands from my college pseudo-punk days.

The 20% candy tax at work:

Strictly in the interest of teaching my children about percentages, I devised an educational math-in-the-real-world exercise in which my kids give their parents 20% of the candy they receive during their trick-or-treating. (And yes, fellow parents, they fell for it!)

Esteemed husband and I got 36 pieces of candy out of the deal - not to mention the bowl of undistributed Snickers that somehow disappeared when the kids were at school & husband at work. I suspect a sudden infestation of mice, or perhaps poltergeist.

Next math lesson: calculating the percentage of body weight gained during the post-Halloween candy gorge.

Another tip -- hiding the kids' stash so they don't sneak into it between meals. I've found the perfect secret spot - a most desolate area, abandoned by all ye who reside here. It's a place so long unused I'm surprised it wasn't decorated (appropriately) in cobwebs; a spot that finally has a purpose.

It is - the oven.

Hopelessly Devoted...

2006-11-07T20:11:00.000-05:00

Maybe I'll give all my posts Olivia Newton-John song titles from now on. Hmmm...

Anyway, I showed amazing restraint in not acosting ONJ on her way out of our office yesterday. If only I had casually opened my studio door at just the right moment, it could have blocked her path. Or I could have stuck my leg out to trip her. But alas, it was not to be.

When you've been a star for as long as she has, you evidently become quite an expert in brisk walking. I thought my "shift's over" gait couldn't be topped, but ONJ set a new world record in beating a path to the door. In fact, I'm not even sure her lovely little feet even touched the ground, so efficiently was she whisked out.

For the fashion-mavens here, Olivia was wearing an ankle length-ish skirt (maybe a panelled thin denim.) I also got the impression of a vest worn open, and either a turtle neck or ribbed crew on top. My Esteemed Husband tells me she was on a local TV show (the "10" show) earlier in the day, so thousands saw exactly what she was wearing, as opposed to my blur.

Anyway, in honor of the moment (or lack thereof) I present you with proof positive of my little youthful fling with country.

Forgive me if I somehow neglect to mention the year -- suffice to say that a few of you reading may have been embryonic (or younger) at the time.

The scariest thing (yes, even scarier than me in a cowboy hat) is that I still have that shirt in my basement. When patchwork Western shirts come back in style I am ready, baby! (Hey, if leggings came back, anything can happen...)

Olivia in the House

2006-11-06T12:54:00.000-05:00

As I type this, Olivia Newton-John is just down the hallway.

Okay, I'm at work, and all I got was a glimpse of ONJ being whisked down the hall past my glass studio door. But one of her publicists smiled at me.

This is pretty darn exciting for a girl who spent her high school years in cowboy boots, singing along to all of Olivia's countrified pop. Yes, even before Grease.

Even now, even though I haven't listened to her music for many a year, I honestly love her.

It's all I can do to resist the temptation to meander down the hall -- maybe Ms. N-J would like a mini-Snickers bar? I've got one of those. Some herbal tea?

There's something about the idols of your youth that never leaves you. And if Pat Benatar ever shows up here, I'm tackling her at the door.

Always the Finalist, Never the Bride

2006-11-04T18:48:00.000-05:00

Scenes from an undisclosed hotel ballroom:

My blur is the upper left blur

Not me at the podium

If only they were giving awards for playful eyebrow-arching, I'd be a sure thing.

But I did get this lovely commemorative certificate -- and I promise to carefully place it with last year's certificates (if I could just remember exactly which pile of papers they're in.)

Pins & Needles

2006-10-29T11:25:00.000-05:00

I've been quite the non-blogger lately, due to an unusual convergence of all sorts of stuff that has been sucking up my time.

Most of it seems to be coming to a head this week, so I find myself way uneasier than even my usual neurotic malaise. Each of these events is probably worth a separate blog, but it ain't gonna happen. So, here's the edited-for-TV version:

I am "Room Mom" for Oldest Daughter's class. This is her last year in elementary school and the first time I've volunteered for the position. I was quite happy to be chosen from the women who volunteered..

Even so, I was pretty much counting on my Partner Room Mom (didn't you know that Room Moms generally travel in pairs?) to clue me in to what a Room Mom is actually supposed to do. So imagine my panic when I found out that this year (for the first time) there would only be one Room Mom per class.

But it has turned out to be a control freak's dream-come-true, after I realized that I now had the power to tell all the other moms to do whatever I wanted. Mwah-hah-hah.

So, Tuesday is our first class event. All I have to do is show up and help the kids with costumes before the parade.

Still, I'd be more comfortable if Eldest Daughter actually had a costume. She wants to be a "Pop Star" which evidently means she just wants to wear her normal clothes and carry an inflatable guitar. All my gaudy, metallic 80s clothes saved for 25 years for such an occasion were rejected. In fact, just trying them on had her on the verge of tears.

We've already had a request from Little Miss Thinker to avoid the home of Freaky Druid Guy, meaning our actual trick-or-treating may end up being a rather uneventful candy grab.

Even so, Halloween and all its obligations are #1 on my nervous list.

#2: I'm nominated for the same industry award I didn't win last year. Since at least half of the people who read this actually know me in real life, I'll won't be as coy as I was last year and I will mention the award by name.

It's an A.I.R. Award - (A.I.R. standing for Achievement in Radio, I think?) with all sorts of nifty categories for those of us involved in radio. Most importantly, the entry fees raise money for the March of Dimes. The awards luncheon is Wednesday (AKA the day after Halloween.)

After last year's agonizing about what-to-wear (and then seeing other on-air types attending in baggy sweatshirt and jeans) I figure my outfit doesn't matter much, so no concern about my fashion statement.

But unlike last year, I think I could possibly win this time (better entry IMHO.) I might even want to. I think. About the scariest thing I can imagine is standing in front of a ballroom jammed full of radio people and having to say anything into a microphone.

In the very least, it's a free meal.

#3: I'm filling in for one of my co-workers for several days starting Friday. Not interesting reading, but it always makes me nervous to do a shift I'm not familiar with.

#4: (More interesting, I hope.) Along with other members of the michaelpennlist, Esteemed Husband and I have been working on a tribute CD.

Forty songs written by super-dee-duper singer-songwriter Michael Penn were covered by various members of the group. Esteemed Husband and I recorded a duet ("Try") and each did a solo turn. And all the tracks have been gathered together and are just about ready for "release."

When the tracks are released, I will provide links, whether you want them or not.

Even so, not all that confident in my performances. (Caution: Excuse Ahead!) I felt pretty nervous and rushed during the first recording, and just rushed the second time (which really was a rush job, since we did it at the last minute after another person dropped out.) And my cat was dying at the same time (ploy for sympathy.)

In addition, I volunteered my services to design/execute the cover for the CD package. Which all seemed pretty simple until I realized it's hard to fit 40 songs & artists on the back of a CD and have the credits remain legible. Then, I ended up making 3 different back covers...worked for hours and hours Friday & Saturday and finally got so sick of the whole thing that I sent the final work in without really scrutinizing it...meaning of course there are a few minor things I missed (just simple stuff like extra spaces and wrong font choice for a word or two.)

Let the Whining Cease! Happy Haunting!

Not in the Mood

2006-10-17T01:00:00.000-04:00

Howdy folks! Seems I've been the non-blogging blogger of late. Just haven't been in the mood it seems.

Still reacting from the euthanasia of my cat last week.

Not necessarily "reacting" in a bad sense, but just taking a little time away from the computer.

Leo was a wonderful pet - with more personality jammed into his furry body than most people I know. With all the character traits that are usually assigned to dogs - affectionate, loyal, outgoing.

In times of "magic thought" I'd even wondered if he might have been human in a previous life.

After 13 years, we were bonded, to say the least.

And pretty much all of 2006 was spent watching him decline, after a tumor was found in his jaw in January.

Now that it's over, it's been like awakening from a bad dream in a lot of ways.

All along, I was keeping a blog, "My Name Is Leo," detailing his trials and tribulations (started when I thought he might only be with me for weeks after diagnosis, not 8 1/2 months!)

For those interested in the heartwrenching and ultimately uplifting (I hope) end of the journey, I've compiled the last few posts and put them in an easier-to-read proper-chronological-order here:

http://www.phillyfuture.org/blog/1117

If you manage to get through it, I think you'll understand why I've been quiet lately.

May 6, 1993 - October 8, 2006

2006-10-08T09:17:00.000-04:00

LEO "Fluffmeister Von Kittycat"

FELINE EXTRAORDINAIRE

Yin/Yang

2006-10-02T11:25:00.000-04:00

For every Light, there is Darkness...for every Woody Allen, there is Jerry Lewis...for every Back-to-School, there is Back-to-School-Night.

You'd think that after five years of Back-to-School Nights I'd be able to face it head-on with no anxiety. But it's always a nerve-wracking experience.

Blame it on a room packed full of parents sitting on teeny Honey-I-Shrunk-the-Chairs, which are definitely not sized for the mature behind.

Even the teachers seem uncomfortable to see adults humiliated in this manner.

(If you're new to this blog, you might want to check it my 2005 Back-to-School Night post .)

If you discount the seating (and the pained expression on my Esteemed Husband's face) it didn't go too badly this year.

Oh, there was that moment when Little Miss Deep Thinker's teacher looked directly at me when she said, "A couple of the kids really like to talk..." It was enough to make a mom squirm in her seat -- but if I had actually done so, I might have fallen off my miniature chair.

The highlight of this year's B-t-S Night? A new Tattooed Dad in one of my girl's classes!

Remember I'll Miss You Tattooed Dad? Well, I think I'm going to like this year's model even more!

I just caught a glimpse of his neck tattoo peeking out of the collar of his shirt. Yes -- a collared shirt -- quite the step above last year's mud-flap-girl t-shirt.

(Chalk another one up to the yin/yang: for every dad who flaunts his tattooed-ness is a dad who tries to cover his ink up.)

Still, the idea of a neck tattoo boggles my mind. I can't imagine a reason good enough to let someone get near my major arteries with any sort of needle.

Can't wait for the next school event to try and discern just what is printed on the new T.D.

Stay tuned for further details as they become available!

Big Box O' Clean!

2006-09-25T21:37:00.000-04:00

Has this ever happened in your house? Paper, toys, and debris of unknown origin accumulating to the point that you're afraid to delve into the pile for fear of finding a rotting sandwich or small animal carcass?

Well, I'm about to let you in on a little secret -- a revolutionary way of cleaning your house or apartment that will save you HOURS of tedious housework.

Ten years of extensive testing by a real-life mother of two small children (me) has led to the development of an exciting new system that will change the way you clean FOREVER!

And now I'm offering it to the general public for the VERY FIRST TIME!

Introducing: the Cynco BIG BOX O' CLEAN!(TM) Home Cleaning System.

How many times do you find yourself frantically straightening up your home before company arrives? By the time your guests ring the doorbell you're so wiped you can barely offer them a crudites, let alone engage in witty repartee?

Never again! Not when all you have to do is say, "Honey, can you hand me a BIG BOX O' CLEAN?"

Simply place your BIG BOX(es) O' CLEAN!(TM) on the floor of the problem area.

Toss all loose items within reach into the box. Continue through the house until the box is filled.

IT'S THAT EASY!

In mere minutes, your home goes from trailer-trash clutter...

BEFORE

...to a decorator's showroom!

AFTER

You may even find a musical instrument you never knew you had!

You might ask, "Why can't I just use plastic containers from my local discounter to store my crap?"

I'm glad you asked! Ordinary plastic containers allow the user to see the items inside. With the items in sight, the user feels obligated to sort through the box - thereby wasting HOURS of time better spent watching brain-melting daytime TV.

But BIG BOX O' CLEAN!(TM) is made from revolutionary opaque fiber (patent pending). The durable material keeps the contents discretely out of sight and out of mind.

You see, that's the beauty of the BIG BOX O' CLEAN!(TM) Home System! You don't ever have to look in it again if you don't want to! Simply place in your basement or upstairs hallway and forget about it!

Or throw a towel over your BIG BOX O' CLEAN!(TM) and you've got yourself a durable end table or pet bed!

And they're stackable!

The BIG BOX O' CLEAN!(TM) comes in two convenient sizes:

Medium, for small items

Large, for your bigger messes.

How much would you pay to cut your clean-up time to a fraction of what it is today? $100? $200?

For a limited time, we're offering the Cynco BIG BOX O' CLEAN!(TM) Home Cleaning System for the low, low price of $39.95 (or two easy payments of 19.99!)

Imagine, just $19.99 (per month) for the entire system that includes two (2) large and (2) medium BIG BOX O' CLEAN!(TM).

For just an extra $5 you can chose our authentic-reproduction Amazon.com option for your Big Boxes of Clean(TM)...

...to show off your internet savvy lifestyle.

BUT WAIT!

If you order in the next 60 minutes, you'll receive a bonus BIG BAG O' CLEAN! (TM) - absolutely free!

The BIG BAG OF CLEAN! (TM) is lightweight, yet durable. Folds neatly when not in use.

DON'T MISS THIS CHANCE to experience the BIG CLEAN system for yourself!

Your life will never be the same!!!

*child not included

Post-Traumatic Party Disorder

2006-09-19T20:05:00.000-04:00

I wake up, heart racing. I'm sweating, even though the air around me is cool.

Blame it on trauma suffered the day before - indignities inflicted upon me along with the title of "party mom."

Yes, as heinous as it is to attend one of these events, it is far more damaging to my psyche to be the party responsible for the party.

Our latest gala was a bowling extravaganza for Little Miss Deep Thinker's 7th birthday.

Every year, I approach the party-planning process as I imagine Christie Brinkley has entered each of her four marriages -- optimistic that this time things will go better.

But, as sure as a 47-year-old architect needs a 19-year-old assistant, something always comes up.

Something spelled "R.S.V.P."

I know those French have a different word for everything, but does it take a linguist to figure that R.S.V.P. means you are actually supposed to respond?

Every time we've thrown one of these parties, I'd say at least 30% of the invitees don't bother to reply.

This year, with only a few days left before the cutoff, we hadn't heard from half the children. And only a handful replied, "Yes."

The party package had us paying for a minimum of eight, so I briefly considering rounding up a couple of vagrants to reach the required number. But I'd be afraid to open any gift they might present.

And so, a note to parents everywhere: It's the not-knowing that really screws me up. Honestly, I really don't care why your kid can't make it...just call and say the damn kid can't come. We'll get over it, really we will.

You don't even have to say your child has a "previous engagement." (Does it make me a bad person to admit I chuckled at the mom who stammered over that phrase in her phone message?)

At least she called.

Heck, I'm fine with an ambiguous, "We have other plans..." (Even knowing that when I use that one, my "other plan" is to do whatever it takes to avoid yet another kid party.)

However, a flurry of last-minute (including one day-before-the-event) yeses brought the total number of kiddies to an even dozen.

Still...I'm creating a master list of all the parents who didn't R.S.V.P. There will be retribution for the habitual non-responder. (I'm not sure exactly what kind of retribution, but I know the giant mechanical Chuck E. Cheese mouse will be involved. Maybe in bondage gear. I haven't quite worked through the kinks yet.)

And Now -- The Actual Event:

All went well with the bowling portion. No ball injuries or fist fights. And we managed to keep the children out of the adjoining bar.

But then I met my nemesis - the party room.

Three folding tables were arranged around the room like three sides of a square. The kids sat down to dine as the parents stood along the sidelines with nothing to do except watch me and my Esteemed Husband awkwardly tend to the children's pizza and chip needs.

I have the hostess skills of a...hmmm...I'm at a loss for an analogy. I was going to say crack whore, but I don't know, maybe a crack whore is a good hostess? At least while high she's probably pretty entertaining. And the whole whore reference seems inappropriate when we're talking about kiddies...

Okay then, let's just say we don't do a whole lot of entertaining. And I really hate to have people watch me while I'm fumbling around like an idiot.

I actually said to one group of kids, while putting Doritos on a plate for them: "Here kids, have some unnaturally-colored snack food!"

The Cake:

Pre-party photo -- I'm afraid that if I look at the pictures from the actual party I'll be back in the fetal position again. And it's really hard to type all curled up like that.

After "Happy Birthday" was sung (cha-cha-cha version) I brought the cake to the serving table and, with my back to the children, proceeded to dole it out onto paper plates as quickly as I could.

Evidently, my "quickly" was not fast enough for little darlings.

Suddenly all urchins began to chant in unison: Cake! Cake! Cake!...as they banged their fists on the table.

Cake! Cake! Cake!

Now, if this had happened with my children at home, I could have turned around, smiled a creepy half-smile and intoned, "You do realize I'm holding a very, very large knife..." And that would have been the end of the chanting.

However, in a suburban bowling alley, threatening 7-year-olds with butcher knives is discouraged.

And it pretty much guarantees no-one will ever R.S.V.P. again.

So I soldiered on, pretending not to hear:

Cake! Cake! Cake!

As their cries echoed through the room, the situation began to take on a decidedly surreal quality -- and I don't mean this in the good surreal way, like bizarre in a way that's interesting or humorous.

I mean surreal in an "Am I really here, or is just the most realistic nightmare of my life?" way.

At any moment I expected to find myself spinning, hurtling down the vortex of a black spiral.

Seriously, I was just one "Cake!" away from running out of the room and never returning.

It was all very Kafkaesque. Or Felliniesque? Or even Mel Brooks-esque? Some esque was involved, of that much I'm sure.

Everything after that is kinda a blur. I do know that there were no police involved, so I guess no humans or animals were harmed in the making of this party.

Actually, I do remember getting a good deal of praise from the adults about the cake. Evidently, it was pretty tasty, even though my anxiety during the chanting had reduced several pieces to crumbly rubble.

After it was all over, my husband noted that my cake-making skills could be our ticket to suburban assimilation. (Okay, he didn't use the word assimilation. But that's what he meant.)

It figures that my only way to connect with the natives would involve a pound of butter and a whole lot of empty calories.