My Oh My

March is going out like a lion. Actually, right this second, it's pretty nice. Cold, but nice. Not like the sloppy snow-rain and frigid temperatures of the last few days. I think it's because The Neighbor returned from a week long trip to her mom's. (She's a very nice daughter but that sort of behavior really messes with my cocktail hour).

This is what it looked like on Friday.

This is what The Child thought about it:

Life now returns to normal. The Child is back in school, The Neighbor will be home for cocktails this evening and I, well, I am caught up in the magic that only happens once a year, swathed as I am in the sense that anything is possible, anything can happen...all you gotta do is believe. Yep, it's Opening Day.

(Do I like the M's chances this year? Their record was 13-16-3 in spring training, which pretty much means nothing. Who knows? Ask me in July).

Simply a Look Can Break Your Heart

(Note: I'm having some issues this morning. The video isn't synced up, even though it was when I was downloading. Now I'm having buffering issues on YouTube. If the video is wonky maybe wait to play it and come back later. I'll try and fix it).

Here's what I know about this band: nothing. I had to look 'em up because when I say "AFI" I'm usually talking about the American Film Institute. In this case it stands for 'A Fire Inside' but it used to represent 'Asking For It', which I like better.

The band formed in 1991, broke up when all the members went off to different colleges, then got back together. They didn't have mainstream success until the '0s; I';m guessing because their early stuff was hardcore punk (I've been listening to it this morning....it really is) which morphed into horror punk. Now they're alternative rock. They kept the horror punk look.

I really like this song. The first bit is an extra little prelude, which is kinda cool, then it gets into the main song. I was going to say "rips into" the song but that bouncy little guitar intro is deceptively perky. The ripping comes later.

I also really love the video. It's all stylized and elegant, like some of the best videos of the 80s. The motif on the chorus gets a little creepy and borderline fascistic but that's cool, too. A little tension is good for a song.



AFI Prelude 12/21, Miss Murder

(Yes, this is another song that I can play on Guitar Hero (at 100%, thankyouverymuch) and yes, I'd never heard of this band before I played GH and yes, that makes me lame. What's your point?)

Legacy Numbers

4,000 dead in Iraq. (And that's just the Americans).

405,000 home forclosures.

36.5 million Americans living in poverty.

8.7 million children without health insurance.

300 days left in the worst presidency in United States history.

By The Way

Have I mentioned that The Child is on Easter Break?

Here's what The Spouse and I will be doing during the evenings:

Triple coconut cream pie makes a really excellent breakfast.

I want a hamburger for lunch.

How Was Your Easter? Mine Was Great. Thanks.

The food was pretty awesome.
There weren't any leftover potatoes.
The centerpiece was pretty.The BAH was, as always, a masterpiece. The remains are now in the freezer, awaiting Pentecost.

The company was jovial, there was the annual singing of "I Don't Know How to Love Him". People played Guitar Hero.But there was some unpleasantness. It had to do with The Baby. His parents, Seattle Coffee Girl and The Prince are really lovely people, don't get me wrong. But no one really likes their baby.

Uncle Jerry doesn't like him.


I don't like him at all.Ree Ree doesn't like him and as you can see, The Neighbor isn't the least bit impressed with him.
Not to mention, he has some very unpleasant table manners. When he's not chewing on the good linens, he's drooling.You know what the real problem is? The kid is just so dour and lacking in personality.A shame really.

Happy Easter, from our house to yours.

Alleluia!

In the Catholic tradition, the "A word" is buried for 40 days. Not until the Easter Vigil do we again sing "Alleluia". And last night we sang it probably 100 times, at least, stuffing it into every possible acclaimation and chorus there was. It was awesome. Funny how you can take a word for granted. Because I'm telling you, it choked me up the first few times.

Mass was wonderful and now, well, now I'm getting ready to pull out the strata and fry up a mess o' sausages for the brunch guests.

It's pouring rain so the Easter Egg Hunt will be indoors. Which is good because it forced me to sweep hours before I might have otherwise bothered. Once the guests are sated and wend their way home, mommy is going to hit the rack for her traditional Easter Afternoon Nap, a sacred and wonderful tradition. (I did a lot of cooking yesterday and have very little to do for tonight's feast. I'm smug).

For those of you who observe it - Alleluia, He is risen indeed.

For those of you who don't - what the hey hey; Alleluia anyluia!

Good Friday Jukebox

7 years ago we had a particularly magical Carnevale. It's always big fun but that year was especially raucous. At one point Abba came on over the stereo and everyone in the room started dancing. I was dancing with my beautiful friend ChouChou, who is always the sedate one. We were laughing and talking, totally in the moment. I looked at her and then around the room. It felt like something out of a movie. I said something to her like, "Don't we have the best friends ever?"

"We sure do," she smiled.

A few weeks later, that dancing moment came back to me. I was on the phone with ChouChou when her other line rang and I listened as her doctor confirmed that her brain cancer was back.

In the coming weeks I remember that Abba moment a lot. I claimed it in my prayers. ChouChou was too young, too vibrant, too important to die. She'd beat that frakking thing before, she had to do it again.

By Easter all the tests had been done, surgery was scheduled and I had shaved my head in solidarity. (Turns out, they decided not to do chemo but since part of her head would be shaved for surgery I did it anyway).

When the Carnevale group convened for Easter dinner we did something unusual. We gathered around ChouChou with holy water and we laid hands on her and prayed. We prayed for her healing. We prayed hard. The cancer was a tricky one and it was near her eye, which complicated the potential outcome. Even if they got all the cancer she could end up blind. All our love for her and all our faith poured out. Then we ate ham.

Surgery was scheduled for the coming week. Her husband was to call me when it was over so I could pass along the word to our group.

About an hour after the surgery was to begin John called. It was way too early.

"Her surgery is rescheduled," he said.

"What?"

Turns out, the xrays taken that morning didn't match the map the surgeons had created based on her first tests. The tumor had moved. It was no longer anywhere near her eye. It wasn't gone, but it had moved. They had to wait to remap the site. You call it what you like. I believe it was a miracle.

ChouChou had her surgery and they patched up her head with skin and muscle from her arm. She still has the scars but she wears them gratefully because 7 years later she remains cancer free. Yep. She beat it twice.

I always remember that experience during Lent: the fear and worry, the tears and prayer and the miracle. Our little group walked into the desert together that year, everyone's Lenten experience became a shared one as we focused on ChouChou. We shared, too, in her miracle, a kind of resurrection, if you will. The experience, on balance, sucked. But it changed all of us for the better.

"Life is better than an Abba song; it's better than 'Dancing Queen'". - Toni Colette, "Muriel's Wedding"



Abba "Dancing Queen"

Numeric Memes and the First Day of Spring

I promised light and fluffy, light and fluffy you shall have. (Did any of you ever sneak into the pantry, open the marshmallow fluff (that was hardly a staple but sometimes made an appearance) and just sit and eat it out of the jar with a spoon and then smooth over the top so it didn't look like you'd stolen any? Me neither).

There are a couple of Blogtopian games that came my way recently and today seems as good a time to stop avoiding play along as any.

First, Rosie tagged me with the really hard meme, the dreaded 6 word memoir. The rules go like this:
1. Write a 6 word memoir.
2. Post it on your blog and you can add a picture or some other visual.
3. Link the meme'r (Rosie made up that word and I like it)
4. Tag 5 other blogs and let the memees know they are tagged. (Rosie isn't the only one who can make up words. Also, I'm totally breaking the rules on this one and pulling the old, "if you wanna play consider yourself tagged thing. Because it's kinda hard and I don't want anyone getting mad at me).

Have you ever known me to say anything of substance in a mere 6 words? I can't order coffee in 6 words. Wait. That's not true. My standing order is "tall drip, no room". That's only 4. Never mind.

I've been reading the memoirs of some of Rosie's other victims memees and they have emboldened me slightly in that folks seem to be going for more of a summing up of personal philosophy than a strict memoir. Which opens up the options a bit. I mean, my memoir would have to be "Born, loved, bred, blogged about it", which leaves out some good stuff.

Let's try this:

Imperfect woman with charmed life. Wine? That actually leaves out a lot of good stuff, too, but it's how I feel about my life. I haven't always made good choices and I've had my share of decidedly not-swell moments but fundamentally I consider myself the most blessed chickypoo on the planet and when I count my blessings I like to lift a glass of vin rouge so there you go.

Moving on, this one comes from Dana and was way easier:

Four Jobs I have had in my life:
Undocumented farm worker
Street vendor (hawking stuffed crepes. I lasted 2 days).
Nanny
Office Manager

Four Movies I would watch/have watched over and over:
"Say Anything"
( "I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed").

"Princess Bride"
("Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die").

"Annie Hall"
("Well. Oh well. La di dah, la di dah").

"Philadelphia Story"
("I'm going crazy. I'm standing here solidly on my own two hands and going crazy").

[The quotes aren't a part of the meme but I thought it would be fun].

Four Places I have lived:
Portland, Oregon
Hubbard, Oregon
West Linn, Oregon
Seattle, Washingon

(I don't get around much).

Four TV Shows that I watch:
"The Office"
("Bears. Beets. Battlestar Galactica").

"How I Met Your Mother"
("It's gonna be legen... wait for it... dary!").

"What Not to Wear"
("Shut up!")

"Battlestar Galactica" (or I will be, come April)
("So say we all").

Four Places I have visited:
London, England
Nantes, France
Chicago, Illinois (Hey, gang!)
New York, New York

Four People who email me regularly:
Buck
Brooke
Wendy
the penis enlargement/replica watch people (Seriously, I think it's getting time to change my email again).

Four Favorite Foods:
Chicken and leek pie
Macaroni and cheese
BLTs
Cheddar cheese

Four Places I would like to be right now:
Drinking absinthe in a Paris cafe.
At DNC headquaters having a little 'come to Jesus' with Howard.
On "Oprah" with The Hat.
Having coffee with Buck on the Balcony of Terror.

Four Things I am looking forward to this year:
Seeing The Child graduate.
Finishing a book.
Seeing JP again. (Not sure how or when, but it's sort of mission critical).
Meeting up with bloggy buddies in California.

Four People who should post Four Things:
Danny
Sageweb
Willym
Doralong

---

So here it is, puppies, the Vernal Equinox, the first day of Spring. It is also the first day of Purim and it's Holy Thursday, the beginning of the sacred three days for us Catholic types. I started my morning at the Seder service at school. The Child was one of the readers. It was very simple and lovely. I teared up a little; there's just nothing quite like commemorating the Last Supper with a roomful of sincere, prayerful little kids. Tonight we'll be going to the Holy Thursday service at the Cathedral, one of my favorites of the whole year.

Lent went by fast this year. To be perfectly honest with you, I'm not sure I entered into the whole thing quite as deeply as I usually do. Not sure why that is but I suppose reflecting on that will give me something else to do today.

The word "lent" comes from an Old English word for spring. Goes to the whole lengthening of days thing. And it just seems perfect to me that Lent is wrapping up on the first day of spring. Which has sprung. Even though it's 40 degrees out.



(Somebody seriously needs to do some gardening before the Easter Egg hunt on Sunday).










Our Lady of the Weeds

The Elephant in the Room: Obama on Race

I'm warning you right now. This is long.

---

Before my dad, Sean Connery, was a pastor he was a high school teacher. He taught a class called "Modern Problems". This was the 60s, so you can imagine some of the topics. As "black power" was birthed out of the civil rights movement, Dad took the controversial step of inviting a leader from the Portland chapter of the Black Panthers to address his class. (And yes, he nearly lost his job over it). He tells of this young man coming to his class and giving a passionate and sometimes angry speech to the mostly white class but how during the Q&A he softened, allowing for some genuine dialogue.

But that wasn't enough for Sean. He knew that the conversations he was having with his students about race were being conducted in a white context. He wanted to broaden their understanding and so he gave them the option of going with him to services, with the permission of the pastor, at the largest black church in Portland. (He made this trek for at for at least 3 years straight, each year the group of students growing larger).

I remember going with him. First of all, for the first time I felt different, a little puddle of white in a sea of black. I remember feeling awkward and uncomfortable. But even as I, as we, stood out like the proverbial sore thumb, we were welcomed and literally embraced by the church members.

It was like nothing I'd ever experienced before. The church was packed, for one thing, with hundreds of people filling the pews. I was astonished by the fashion, the very definition of "Sunday best". These people weren't just dressed in nice clothes, like the folks at my church. They were decked out: the men in gorgeous 3 piece suits and swell ties, the women in vibrant dresses with jackets, scarves and huge hats. I can still see one woman in a lemon yellow suit, large feathers bouncing on her veiled hat.

Church started with prayer. A loooooong prayer. (Sean said it clocked at 25 minutes). A prayer during which the deacon thanked God for everything, from the pillow on which he laid his head to the floor he stepped on when he got out of bed; a prayer of detailed gratitude.

Then there was music. I knew the hymns, but I'd never heard them like this. They would start slow and soulful and then cascade into rich, spirited gospel. There were drums and bass guitars. The pianist would go from standard gospel playing to full-on rocking as the choir swayed as one. Then, to my wondering eyes, came the dancing. Mennonites don't dance under any circumstance. Now I was surrounded by people who were, at a minimum, standing and swaying with the rhythm. Other parishioners would be in the aisles dancing and clapping, singing along or lifting their hands toward heaven. There was a wildness to it that I didn't understand, a passion I'd never seen. Dancing for Jesus? People did that?

Somehow the pastor would bring all this under control for his sermon. But the worship experience was hardly sedate. People called out "amen" and "praise Jesus" as he spoke. They applauded, laughed and shouted. The pastor would make a point and say, "Can I have an 'amen'?" and the whole congregation would call it back to him. It was interactive worship.

I remember something else. I remember the pastor at one point looking straight at my daddy and calling him "brother". What I didn't remember was the context. Sean says that he was railing at his people for dying their hair and doing other things to try and be "more white". He was, clearly, urging them to embrace their heritage, to be proud of who they were and telling them not to pander. He wasn't trying to suggest there was anything wrong with white folk being white but he wanted to instill pride in his own people. It was appropriate for him to do so because in that church, on Sunday, his ministry was to black people. He knew they had to go out from their sanctuary (literally) and live in a white world for 6 more days until they could again find some respite in a place built on their culture, their experience, their way of doing things.

It's important to understand that.

I don't talk about race much because, like a lot of progressives, it makes me uncomfortable. I prefer to focus on how far we've come. One day I was hugging a little girl who sometimes rides in my car pool and one of her classmates asked, "Is that your mommy?" Rosie is dark as a bar of bittersweet chocolate. That another child could think I could be Rosie's mother was one of those signs to me that we are living in a different society, one where the next generation, at least, has the chance to get some of this stuff more right than we have.

But racial and cultural identity are real. So is the racism and prejudice that come with it. So is white privilege and anger and all the rest of it. I think Barack Obama was hopeful that his candidacy could be about something other than race because he would prefer to think, as do I, that we are more or less passed "all that". Barack and I can be sweetly naive like that. But when the hateful words of his former pastor came to light the issue came up. Of course it did. Because however uncomfortable it makes any of us, it is always right there, just below the surface. Race is the elephant in the room and just like a dysfunctional family that ignores Uncle So and So's unfortunate behavior at holiday, Americans try to ignore it.

Obama couldn't ignore it anymore. He had to address it head on. Now, he could have done the politically expedient thing: denounce Wright's words, dismiss him from his campaign and move on. That's the formula for these situations, which happen in nearly every political campaign. But Obama knew that Wright's comments required more than that formula so yesterday, steps from the Liberty Bell, he faced it in an eloquent (well, duh) and straightforward way. He did it with courage and resolution.

Context matters. The words of Rev. Wright matter within the context of the black experience in America. Obama's denunciation of those words matter within the larger context of his experience with that church and that pastor. Unfortunately, the way news is reported in this country means that the context isn't going to be in play. News organizations are going to cull the sound bites that suit their agenda. If they are for Obama it'll sound good, if they're against him the selected bits will stir the pot further. That's seriously unfortunate because yesterday Barack Obama gave a speech that every American should hear, a speech that in it's entirety has the potential to actually get us talking about race in a meaningful way. It was, I dare say, a speech whose time is long overdue.

I fully understand that you can't drop everything and watch this right now. The run time is nearly 40 minutes. But I'm asking you to keep it in mind and when you've got some time, maybe later tonight, between say, dinner and whatever passes for must-see-TV for you on a Wednesday, watch this. At the very least, take 10 minutes and read the transcript.

One of the reasons I support Barack Obama is because I sincerely believe he is the right guy for this moment in our history. America, which has never been perfect, has never strayed so far from her ideals as we have in the last 7 years. But there is a promise in our founding documents that we should seek to reclaim and Barack Obama has what it takes to embolden ordinary Americans like me to engage more fully in that process. That he has emerged to push us in that direction is simply a beautiful, beautiful thing.

That is all. Tomorrow I'll do something completely light and fluffy.

Slainte!

On St. Patrick's day, when The Child was in kindergarten, I showed up for my weekly volunteering gig right after recess. "Mama!" she exclaimed, "the leprechauns came!" She took me into the classroom, which was a mess...desks overturned, papers strewn about, green glitter everywhere. The leprechauns, it seems, had a tradition of mischief-making in the K and 1st grade classrooms.

Ever one to snag a good idea when I see one, I immediately instituted a similar tradition at home.

A few years ago, right before St. Paddy's day, I remarked to The Child that she'd be safe from the leprechauns because her room was such a mess that they wouldn't be bothered. "Why not?" she asked, stricken.

"Well, how would you know? Nothing they could do would be worse than this". Yes, of course she immediately cleaned her room. What would you do?

On Sunday night she looked around her room and said, "I guess I'm safe from the leprechauns".

I concurred.

"Maybe they'll clean it up?" She looked hopeful.

"Naw," said I. "That's not how they roll".

Yesterday morning she rose early and got her room cleaned and her bed made. She didn't say anything. Neither did I.

When I picked her up yesterday she asked, casually, "Did anything weird happen in the house today?"

"No. The Dog got very agitated at one point, but you know how he is. It was probably just the postman".

"Yeah," she agreed, grinning.

When we got home she immediately ran to her room. Her desk chair was on the ground and the laundry basket turned over, but otherwise her room was fine. But she found this letter:




Dear Child,

We came to play a prank on ye, but sure and after we saw how nice and clean your room was we didn't have the heart to do it. Even leprechauns know that it's hard for a teenager to keep her room clean and yours was so sparklin' and fine we just couln't bring outselves to do more'n to knock over a chair and your laundry basket. (That was Seamus' idea. The rest of us told him not to do it but he's a bad one, that Seamus is).

We hope you aren't too upset about the mess. The rest of us stole a brownie from yer ma's kitchen for ye. That was a prank on her and a reward for you. Hope you enjoy it, darlin' lass.

A Happy St. Patrick's Day to ye and yer family and we'll be lookin' forward to causin' some trouble in your room on next St. Paddy's Day!

Erin go bragh!

Liam and the other Leprechauns

As it turned out, I had to make a run to the market and when I returned my bedroom was in a shambles but there was this note:






Dear Laird of Kincavel, Lady Lorraine,

Sorry ta do this ta ya, lass, but since yer daughter's room was so clean we had to do some mischief. This is all Seamus' doing.

So hope ye aren't too made, my dear. But we did steal a juice for ye. Hope ye don't mind too much.

Liam and the other Leprechauns

I'll tell you, one of the perks of parenting is being able to facilitate magic, working in cahoots with Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy and the leprechauns. But it's very, very fun when your kid gets to an age where they too play along with the magic making.

We had corned beef with boiled potatoes, sauteed cabbage with bacon, fresh soda bread with Irish butter and black and tans for dinner.

It was a fine St. Paddy's Day.

Kiss Me, I Really Am Irish

Top of the mornin' to ye and for the love of all things holy, why are you here when you could be at The Hat's bein' properly entertained, is what I'd like to know?

I'm wanted down in the peat bogs, I must protect The Child's room from an invasion of leprechauns and then there's the corned beef to boil so I'll not be a'wastin any more of yer time.

Slainte!

I Love This Song

One of my resolutions for the new year was to get into some new music that didn't have airplay on Radio Disney. The fact that the agent of some of that exposure would be "Guitar Hero", well, that's just funny. But it'll do.

I fell in love with this song the first time I heard it. (I have been working to master it on the game. So far I've still only managed to hit 99% of the notes on the easy level. I will not rest until it's 100%). I love everything about it, from the bass line to the sustained chords, the orchestral sound, the lyrics about love and yearning (because that's pretty much a key theme of rock music). It's simply superfantastic.

This band has only been recording since 2004 so I'm not too far behind. And yes, I'm going to be picking up the CD today and yes, it's sometimes a fool's game to buy an album based on one song. But since these guys site as influences bands like Depeche Mode, U2, the Beatles, Dire Straits, David Bowie and Queen (the influence of the last 2 is very evident in this song), I feel pretty confident that I'll like their other stuff.

Also, the lead singer, Brandon Flowers, is yummy.




The Killers "When You Were Young"

Cinematic Wonders

Take 30 seconds, if you will, and check out the trailer for
our movie.

Didn't The Spouse do a nice job?

Cleaning Up

The Child had a friend over after school yesterday, to work on the Constitutional Scavenger Hunt project. I'd asked her to pick up her room but her version of clean and mine are not in sync.

"That's not exactly clean," I said. (One couldn't walk from one end to the other and actually touch the floor).

"It's not like we'll be in there," she replied. (I'd already told her they were working at the dining table so I could be sure they were on task).

"Yes, but don't you want to make a nice impression?"

She shrugged.

"What will you pay me to clean it?" I asked.

She beamed. "50 cents - which is all I have. And a really cute bookmark. It has a kitty on it".

Now, it isn't often someone pays me all they have PLUS a cute kitty bookmark so I donned my HazMet suit and went in.

First layer: dirty laundry and general trash. Clearing that out made a big improvement right away. Then I sorted. A lot of the mess was stuffed animals who sleep with her at night and wind up on the floor by morning. I culled out some things that can be saved but don't really need to be in there. Precious toys, like her Chicago bear, Wisconsin cow and the-dog-on-a-pillow The Boy won for her were placed on shelves. That just left Chicago dog, Aloyisus the teddy bear and the giant frakking Tweety Bird that's the size of a 4 year old (with I loath, btw) for her bed.

Now we were down to the detritus of teenagedom: stray hair clips, lip gloss, CD cases, pens, fan magazines ("Zac and Vanessa - their true love story!"), earrings, nail polish. All these bits have homes and were quickly put away.

As I put away and tucked up, I though about the design scheme we're going to execute this summer. I have told her there'd be one more room makeover, for high school. The plan is dramatic, based on a display we saw at Anthropologie. (They have the coolest art direction department). The walls are going to be painted with black chalkboard paint. We'll put white egg and dart crown molding at the top of the walls and a matching chair rail all around. She wants pink floral bedding. It will look awesome. More to the point, it will look awesome for me, because the second The Child goes off to college, that's becoming my study. Oh. Yes, it is.

But my giddy delight at the prospect is tempered by the knowledge that I'll be a blubbering mess when that day comes.

Hey! There are an awful lot of dishes in here considering she's not supposed to eat in her room....

Almost done. Papers on the desk ( none of them missing assignments) tidied into a folder. iPod stashed in "the garage"...a drawer she keeps just for her small electronics.

Sweep, vacuum, fold down the bedcovers, shove the basket of dirty laundry into the closet...done. I looked around. What a nice room, despite - or maybe because of - the posters of Zac, Corbin and the Jonas Brothers. Yes, this is a cozy room, a room that's transformed from the pink and yellow of toddler years to the purple of grade school time. Now it's destined for a "little black dress and pearls" classicism, which be the background for the highs and lows of high school. And then she'll be all grown up and she'll move out. She'll move out.

I think I can handle her having a messy room for a while longer.

Dream Dream Dream

Last night I dreamt that The Child and I were siblings. I invited her to cycle into town because I wanted to get some lotion. While she was deciding if she wanted to go, Dame Judi asked me to stop and get a pound of bacon for dinner.

I lifted a 2 pound package of bacon off the kitchen counter and said, "We have bacon, Mommy. And there's a pound in the fridge".

"I know", she replied, in that way mothers have who know everything because they do know everything. "And I need another pound of bacon".

I balked and she looked at me oddly. "I'm a little scared, Mom. I'm scared that you think we need 4 pounds of bacon for 3 people".

True.

I've never been one to analyze dreams too much. Dreams are nothing more than the arena where I work out my woes and encounter fantasy. They are comprised of wishes and fears, informed by what I've consciously done or experienced, read, seen or thought about. They are colored by the random bits that float quickly through the transom of my mind, bits so small they don't register to my awake self but which manage to embed themselves in some soft place in my subconscious and transform into something more.

If I'm stuck in Barack Obama's website, it's probably because I've been reading his book and thinking a lot about politics. If I'm on the deck of the Galactica, it's because the new season of BSG is long over due. If I'm dating John Cusack during one of my semi-regular "Celebrity Guest Appearance Dream Weeks", well, who doesn't want to date John Cusack?

Last night's dream makes sense. Engaged, as I am, in the epic challenge of mothers and teen age daughters, it would make perfect sense to seek the safety and security of being a child again, in the home of a mother who always knew what she was doing and never once said "Who needs a cocktail?" or that my subconscious would make my relationship with The Child only slightly less fraught by turning us into a pair of bicycling sibs.

The bacon? Again, as with Mr. Cusack, who doesn't want to date bacon?

You Know What I Really Hate?

I really hate it when you open a bag of the Easter jelly beans to do a taste test to make sure they are the right kind of jelly beans (the ones where the red tastes like red and so on) and you put some in a small dish to munch on while you're at your computer and you're pretty sure you pulled out all the black ones because the only person you know who likes the black ones is your mom, Dame Judi, and she's not here to give them to so you just throw them out because no one in your house is a fan of the black jellybeans (which, oddly, are the only ones that taste like an actual thing, in this case, licorice, which generally you enjoy but somehow not in jelly beans so much) and you are munching away and looking for the recipe for tonight's dinner and all a sudden you bite down and somehow you snagged a black one so then you have to spit out your mouthful of jellybeans and take the time to vet them all again to make sure there aren't anymore black ones that obviously looked purple in the light.

I really, really hate that.

Another One Bites the Dust

I swear, as long as I live I am never going to understand things like this. What is the disconnect in the mind of a person whose entire political career has been predicated on ethics and busting the bad guys thinking he can hire a prostitute and not get caught?

Gov. Spitzer is yet another casualty of the "above the law" syndrome.

I don't get it.

Every six months there is another politician who goes down in flames because he or she did something wrong. Do all the other politicians read those stories and say to themselves, "Yeah, but see, I'm too smart to get caught"? Do these people not understand the term "cautionary tale"?

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

(shakes head and reaches for a piece of pie)

"Well, politicians are human, too," says you.

"Human, schmuman," says me. "I understand making mistakes. I understand losing your temper, misplacing your Blackberry, doing 35 in a 30 mph zone. Geez, I'll even forgive late filing of your taxes. But for heaven's sake, if you're gonna live in a glass house, not only should you not throw stones, it would be a good idea to get curtains".

---

The Child has a cool social studies assignment. For the next two weeks she's engaged in a "Constitution Scavenger Hunt". She has 3 pages of questions about the Constitution and has to seek answers through reading, research, thinking and interviews. I've already put the call out to folks I think may have some expertise in this area but if any of you have any Constitutional Law experience or are a naturalized US citizen or work/worked in government, would you email me if you're willing to help out?

I told her teacher that I think this is one of the best assignments I've ever seen and that if more teachers taught the Constitution we'd probably be in a slightly less sorry state than we are right now.

Last night I was looking for the copy of the Constitution that I gave The Spouse for Christmas a few years ago. (I believe I inscribed it with something along the lines of "Now more than ever"). I couldn't find it and asked if he knew where it was. "I think the President took it to wipe his butt." he replied.

Yeah. Probably what happened.

---

So I'm back to being the worst mother in the world. The Child is totally mad at me because I asked her to make sure to get an update from her teacher on her progress report.

"STOP TALKING ABOUT THIS, MOM! YOU'RE REALLY FREAKING ME OUT!"

Dude, you want to shut me up? Bring home a progress report that doesn't have any zeros on it.

I do not know how to get her to figure out that worrying about her grades isn't going to solve anything. She has the power to control this situation. And while you're explaining the whole "above the law" thing to me, explain how someone can do work and then not turn it in. Please.

I went in to school to give her teacher a head's up that she might be a bit, oh, dismal this morning. (She was crying in the car). He wasn't in the classroom so I went to the teacher's lounge and found the 3rd and 6th grade teachers...who are both superfantastic women.

"Have you seen M?" I asked.

"I don't think he's in yet," replied 3rd Grade Teacher. "Why? You want me to kick his ass for you?"

That was funny. "No, his isn't the ass that needs kicking".

6th Grade Teacher said, "Let me guess, your ass doesn't need kicking either".

"Nope. Somewhere in between him and me you'll find the ass in question".

They were both supportive, not just because they have experienced this with students (including mine) but because they both have kids who have done the same thing. "What is the deal with doing the work and not turning it in?" I asked. 3rd Grade Teacher chalked it up to The Child being one of those really creative kids that always has something else on her mind.

Yeah. I get that. I totally do. But for the love of all things holy, why, why, why can she not get this simple mechanism for success into her dreamy little head? She knows the lyrics to every Top 40 song on the radio. She can discuss in minute detail every nuance of every Harry Potter book ever written. She writes poetry, designs dresses, spikes volleyballs and can say the Lord's Prayer in flawless Spanish but she can't turn in a damn social studies assignment.

Who needs a cocktail?

Reasons Why Guitar Hero is a Good Thing

1. I have discovered some new songs and bands that I'd never paid attention to before and they are informing my life in meaningful ways.

2. Sustained playing really works the abs and it's way more fun than sit-ups.

3. I can pretend I'm skinny.

4. Practice makes perfect. Always a good lesson to remember.

5. Being forced out of your comfort zone is a good thing. I've discovered that I'm usually better on songs I don't know because I'm not thinking about what I think the song is supposed to do and I am thus able to concentrate on the notes.

6. Hair metal is easier to play than rap.

7. Consequently, I like Metallica better than the Beastie Boys.

8. It still hurts my fingers so I can't play forever which means that it doesn't actually interfere with my life the way other forms of digital crack can. Plus it gets me off my butt.

Man. I am sooooo good at justifing things.

I've Got Blisters on Me Fingers!

As The Spouse announced yesterday, we now own "Guitar Hero". And last night he brought home a second guitar so we can have bands.

Hi. My name is Lorraine and I'm addicted to digital crack.

I used to play guitar for real. I was only ever tolerable. I had a small repertoire of songs and could hold my own in jamming sessions around assorted campfires or what-have-you, provided the songs were your basic C-G-D sorts of tunes. (Which thankfully, most rock and folk songs are). I always had trouble with F and I never, ever figured out bar chords. Also, I pretty much had one strum, which either sped up or slowed down depending on the tune. Finger picking? Are you kidding.

I was a hack.

But I enjoyed it.

The thing about playing the guitar, though, is that it takes some time to build up callouses on your fingertips. Whenever I'd first start out (I gave it up, then took it up again a couple of times) there was a unique pain that accompanied me in the first weeks of playing, a kind of tingling bruised feeling that reminded me constantly that I was playing guitar. Over time it would subside until I could play for hours without discomfort. It was just part of the deal; you have to press your soft, delicate flesh pretty hard against a steel string in order for it to sound right. It was part of the pain and sacrifice of being a musician. (Which is a way loftier word for what I was but you get the point).

Now, again, the tips of my fingers hurt. It's silly, because in "Guitar Hero" you don't have strings. You just push buttons. And you don't have to push them hard to accomplish the task and hit the "notes". But some things are just instinctive. When I've got my axe slung on and am rocking my tentative way through "Hit Me with Your Best Shot" I push down on those buttons like they are steel strings and consequently, my fingertips hurt. (Ouch, she said as she typed. Ouch).

The Spouse is probably expecting today's video to be Foghat's "Slow Ride" (at which I'm pretty good. On the easy level). But no. I'm playing another one of those songs that you totally know because snippets of it have been used to sell stuff. Which could make it over used and annoying but I happen to find it very fresh and fun.

It is, according to the band, a song about just being silly and crazy and letting loose. I felt compelled to mention that. Because I know how some of you think.



Caesars "Jerk It Out"

Project Runway: The Grand Finale

As we join our designers, 3 days before the runway show, every ounce of fierce had drained from Christian's little tiny frame. He was nervous, scared and just waiting for Friday to come. Rami's response to that: smug.
The Gunn came in for a final look-over. He told Jillian that parts of her collection seemed "incongruous" and he encouraged her to play with the designs and "have fun". He was generally pleased with Rami's collection. His notes for Christian were that he had "so much exuberance" (don't we lurve when The Gunn says 'exuberant' or any of its variations? Yes, yes we do) but mused that it might be "over designed". Christian just sorta stood there looking a little hang-dog and pensive and Tim asked "What happened to the cocky, confident Christian?" What indeed? Although he did do a cute little catwalk in a crazy hat. Adorable.

Rami's role in this episode was that of older, more smug wiser fashion guru. He played big brother to Jillian, talking her down off the ledge and encouraging her to focus on the positive when she started second-guessing her choices during the model casting. (It was her first one and she just responded viscerally to the women..."she's cute," "like her walk", etc. whereas both the guys were more focused on a uniformity, if you will, of look and matching models to their vision). When it came to Christian, however, he was singularly pompous and bitchy; delighting in Christian's apparent insecurities, opining that his looks were "over the top" and that he "has a lot to learn". Yes, yes. Pat the little poppet on the head and stick a pin in him, why don't you?

Some of Christian's models complained that their shoes were hard to walk in. He informed them that he'd walked around his apartment in them for a week and if he could do it, they could do it.

The Gunn came back on the last day and called for a "final gather 'round". He told them how proud he was of them all, how immensely talented they all are, how in all the seasons of PR to date he's never seen such a tremendous group, etc. etc. etc. He got all varklempt and told them how much he loved them and then they had a group hug. Oh, Tim Gunn, into my pocket you go...here's a little bit of cake for you. ♥, ♥, big, puffy ♥ him.

The designers went off to the tent where they would be showing, marvelling at the capacity (2000) and kvelling at what lay before them. There was another group hug. Must say, for all the complaining they did do about each other, there seemed to be more genuine affection overall with this bunch than any season prior. Lovely.

Day of the Show
Christian is frantic because some of his models are late and that wasn't a good thing for him given that he was already on the edge. Poor baby. He wanted this win so badly the desire and hope were just bristling off of him. Rami went on and on (again) about how this had been his dream since he was 5, how he relished having a larger audience for his work, blah blah blah. And Jillian, having come to terms with the diverse looks of her models, was just all dimpled and overwhelmed. She was really proud of herself when she had a backstage "gosh, I really did this!" moment.

Guest judge was The Posh One, Victoria Beckham. Btw, I saw about 2 minutes of the reality show she and David did (which aired for all of, I think 4 minutes) and she is way, way funnier than I would ever have thought. I admit it, I like her. But my like is nothing to the pash Christian has for her and he was all a twitter and going on about how he would love to dress her every day of every year for the rest of his life, amen. You thought he tinkled all over Sarah Jessica? Nothing compared to his love of the Posh.

Jillian
Girlfriend showed first, coming out and doing a cute little curtsy in a great dress. She noted that she was "astounded" at what she did. Oh, goodie, thought me. I was so eager to see what she did, given my general fondness for her and her consistency throughout the competition.

Everything she showed was fine. But there were no "wow"s. "That's nice," "I'd wear that skirt", "That's a pretty color" but no "Golly Moses is that superfantastic or what!??!" There were, in fact, a couple of "mehs". Jillian could have walked all her designs from all the competitions and we'd have seen more consistency and a stronger POV. Nope, she wasn't going to win.

Rami
Dude swanned onto the stage and told us that he was showing a collection he "strongly believed in" that "celebrated women". Whatev.

The professional reviewer (tee hee) in me was willing myself to be objective. The real me was praying he sucked. Of course, he didn't. He avoided overt homages to drapery and had some pieces that were meticulously crafted. He certainly had more stuff I liked than Jillian but still, neither The Neighbor or I were saying "wow" very much. If part of Jillian's problem was a lack of cohesion, Rami's collection was cohesive to the point of being same-y same. He had a weird elongated cap sleeve thing on some of the garments that really put me off and the evening gowns, though lovely, seemed really hard to walk in. The choppy walks of the evening gown models didn't help the overall presentation.

Christian

Christian was a poppet. He got on top of his nerves, being cute and sassy during his introduction. The collection was, in a word, stunning. His weakest piece had more oomph than anything in Jillian's line. The Gunn had been most concerned about a big ruffled blouse with a collar that billowed up past the model's cheekbones. It did initially looked weird coming down the runway, especially paired as it was with a face obscuring giant hat but when the model got to the end of the runway she popped back her head and the effect was incredible. In short, his collection was strong, dramatic and full of wows. And yeah, his last gown was a little over-the-top but hello? This was a runway show. Christian had amply displayed his ability to make accessible clothes. Aren't we supposed to expect some drama at Fashion Week? Yes, darlings, we are.

The Judging
Jillian's inspiration, still, was the "Master of the Argonauts" painting she'd seen at the Metropolitan. Posh said that her attention to detail was "fantastic". Kors deemed the collection "feminine and modern". Heidi noted the "new shapes I'd never seen before" and Nina acknowledged that Jillian had taken a chance. They were all pleased and surprised to see that she had incorporated some knitwear into her collection. But Nina spoke for all of us when she opined that there were "too many looks and somewhere we lost Jillian".

Christian said he was going for a juxtaposition of "hard and soft" in his collection. Posh was gaga, having "loved everything". Kors was pleased with most of it but found his use of black to be too repetitive. Nina said she was worried that he had too heavy a hand but Posh soothed that wrinkle by saying he'd made her smile and that wasn't easy to do. (True that).

Joan of Arc was Rami's inspiration (again I say, whatever). Heidi and Kors swooned over the woven effect he used, though Kors suggested that some of his colors were a bit "Brady Bunch". Posh appreciated his level of workmanship and Nina worshipped his "strong point of view", deeming the collection "fantastic". She appreciated that he had tried to show more separates but said "evening is where you shine". (Nina loves Rami. Nina loves Rami).

One last judges conference. Despite being pleased with the inclusion of knits, Kors found Jillian's collection merely "acceptable, wearable". Consensus on Christian was that he delivered consistently and was very stylish. Posh cooed that he was a breath of fresh air and she'd wear everything he showed. "Yeah, but not everyone can wear what you can wear, Victoria", countered Kors. (Again, true. She's a stick). Nina felt Christian's show was overly designed and had too much black and too many ruffles. The judges noted that Rami has a very "cerebral" approach to fashion, fine attention to detail but were very "eeeewww" about his colors.

Out come our designers and the summary judgements:

Jillian:"youthful, beautiful, feminine".
Rami: "stunning, exquisitly crafted".
Christian: "drama and creativity beyond your years".

And then, with little fanfare, Jillian was auf'ed. She said she felt disappointed and let down. Yep, that summed it up for me, too, Jillian.

Then, oh then, tension filled the room and hogged the Prosecco. Christian started to cry. Oh my yord! I almost did, too, and when Heidi turned to him with a soft, "Christian..." he got even more trembly. But her sentence ended with "congratulations, you're the winner of 'Project Runway'". And Baby Boy, who wanted it soooooo bad, got it. Whoo hoo! Cheering from the peanut gallery, clinking of Prosecco filled glasses.

As if all the money, prizes and accolades weren't enough, Posh told him in front of God and everybody that she wanted him to make clothes for her. Sweet! His model came out and gave him a "you are so talented, I'm so proud" speech then started crying and I started crying and there was much hugging and jubilation. The Gunn came out to hug him and said, "Do you believe it?"

"Yeah," Christian said, with a little shoulder shrug. Oh yeah. The fierce came flooding back and he was his old self again. "But," he told us in the end, "I'm taking a vacay - a breaky break". A well deserved one, indeed.

Congratulations, Christian. You showed us what you can do, revealed that there's a pretty tender guy under all that crazy ego and hair and in the end, you won our hearts. You get on with your fierce self. You earned it. (snaps fingers in that way the hip biatches do).

A fine end to a fun enough season. And the good news, casting is getting underway for Season 5.

---

I would like to send a special shout out to the fine folks over at Blogging Project Runway. They are kind and generous and have been very sweet about my recaps. Thank you Tbone, The Scarlett and Laura K for blogging the love of PR and for letting me play. You're fierce.

OH! And Lest We Forget (But Of Course We Didn't)

Tonight is the finale of Project Runway. Whoo hooo! I'll be there, on the runway, all dressed up and ready to shower Jillian with congratulatory kisses.

Unless it's Christian. In which case, he'll get a peck on the cheek.

Or, heaven forfend, Rami. In which case, I'll just go home and bite my tiara.

Recap tomorrow.

Oh, and btw, Hat, I love you very much. But please stop giving me crack.

I Want John King's Map and I Want it Now

Top of the ninth, Obama slams a home run to make it 12 in a row. Hillary comes up in the bottom of the inning, 2 men on, and hits a little piffer...just to to the fence, but it was enough to bring in the two on the bags as she rounded the bases. Extra innings!

"Uh, Lorraine?" you say. "He still has more delegates than she does. She hardly tied it up. And they still don't have numbers from the Texas caucuses".

"I know", says me. "I'm horrible at sports analogies. But baseball, politics and apple pie, baby, that's the American trifecta right there".
"Uh, that's another sports analogy. Now you're mixing metaphors. Are you sure you were an English major?" says you.

"I said there was pie!" says me

"Oh!" says you, grinning,"Excellent!"

John King's map is the coolest thing in the world. It's like a giant iPhone programmed just for politics. I want to play with it so bad I can't stand it. CNN should have some kind of contest where the winner gets to come for one election night and mess around with the map. And I should win that contest so I can say things like, "Now, having said that, Wolf, let's look at what happens if Obama does well in Pennsylvania" and then I get to touch the state and it expands and turns all dark blue and everything. Man, that would just be the coolest EVER.

OK, so all I have is an Excel spreadsheet and the way I see it, Obama has to win all the remaining contests by 80% or better before he racks up enough delegates to clinch the nomination. And even I know that isn't going to happen.

Nope, this one is going all the way to the convention, unless one of them has a serious misstep before then. And considering that Hillary has been deemed down for the count 3 times already...."Thef y gur agur", says you. "Please, stop talking with your mouthful," says me...we're talking about a misstep that will necessarily have to be of gargantuan proportion.

So what does that mean, sports fans?

It means that for the first time in a long time, every state has a legitimate say in the outcome of the primary season. Every vote, from Guam to Pennsylvania to Oregon to Wyoming is going to matter to the candidates. That is what democracy looks like.

It means we aren't going to get any relief from the talk of superdelegates and the fear of a brokered convention. Now, if by "brokered" we mean delegates on the floor, arguing the thing out and swapping votes, like at a caucus, I say 'bring it on'. If, by "brokered" we mean superdelegates with cigars in a back room with Howard Dean, that would suck. (Love me some Dean, don't get me wrong. But I really hope that a guy who was the first to understand the power of the grassroots in the age of the internets doesn't forget that this is about the will of the people, not "what's best for the party" as determined by a bunch of suits. I should probably write him a letter).

There are only two people right now who should be concerned about what's best for the party. And their names are Hillary and Barack. Whatever they do, however they proceed from here on out should be done in such a way that we don't have to call in a Hazmet crew before we can unify around the candidate.

Mike Huckabee conceded last night. It was gracious. He quoted too much Scripture (which made me thankful that he conceded because while I am quite the fan of the Bible, I do not generally enjoy it being quoted at me by politicians). He noted that the contest with McCain had been respectful and civil, far more so than the contest between the Democrats. He's right about that and both camps, Clinton's particularly, need to make a note of it.

Oh, sure, I know that there is going to be credence now that "going negative" is what helped her win last night. Gawd, I hope that's not true. If the only way she thinks she can beat this guy is by being aggressive and negative, that says way more than I like about the kind of person she is. Last night The Spouse described the Clintons as "terriers". And he didn't mean that in a cute, fuzzy way. He went on to suggest that it is that "sink in your teeth and shake it till it's dead" thing is part of what so many on the other side find objectionable about the Clintons. He could be right about that.

The pressure will be on Obama to fight back, to return negative for negative or worse yet, to go on the offensive and dig up crap. Lord, spare us. The GOP will just be sitting on the sidelines taking notes for the general. We cannot give them fuel to the fire.

Hillary, Hillary, Hillary PLEASE play nice. Tell us what you want to do, by all means, but please do not drag Obama through the mud to do it. Because, whether you like it or not, this guy is the future of our party. If he doesn't win he'll be back in 4 or 8 years to run again. Please, for the love of apple pie, puleeeeeeeze keep the big picture in mind. I'm beggin' here, Hills.

Hello? Is this thing on?

Dammit.

Anymorass, the pundits were saying last night what an advantage McCain has now, with months to "introduce himself" to the public and "solidify his message". Whatever. A) America knows who John McCain is and 2) I still maintain that a contest that includes every state in the Union is not a bad thing for the Democrats. There's a whole lotta party building going on right now and we're going to need that machine in the general. Let's remember that this contest isn't just about getting a Democrat in the White House. It's also about increasing the Democratic majority so that no matter who wins, we can actually get something done. (This is very important if we want things like universal health care to become a reality. It's critical if McCain wins...particularly if we are going to get out of Iraq in my lifetime).

Meanwhile, McCain is going to go have lunch with Bush and then have a make-out session with him in the Rose Garden. Getting George W Bush's endorsement. Wow. That's kinda like Lynn Spears nominating you for Mother of the Year.

Last night The Child was watching McCain's acceptance speech and she noted that he seemed nice. "Yep," I said, "and if that nice man is elected, your sweet ass will be going over to Iraq in 4 years". She blanched. I do think it is important to note that those of us with kids and grandkids (plus nieces, nephews and family friends) of a certain age best be very wary of a man who insists that staying in Iraq for 100 years is a good idea, unless you're really willing to serve up your baby for that particular cause. Because I'm telling you right now, we don't have the military to sustain even a few more years over there, let alone 100. The draft will have to be reinstated. And this time girls will go, too.

Still fine with McCain? That's what I thought.

On another note, why is it the President swears to uphold the Constitution on the religious book of his/her choice? Shouldn't the President swear to uphold the Constitution on the Constitution?

Also, apparently Hills hinted this morning that she's open to sharing the ticket with Barack. The more I think about it, that's exactly what should happen. They are both strong candidates with a ton to offer. Give the top spot to the person with the most delegates and let the other one ride shotgun. Win/win.

And finally, two towns in Vermont last night voted to order the police to arrest Bush and/or Cheney if they ever come to town. The crime? Not upholding the Constitution. Now there's a city ordinance I'd get behind.

Theme Song for the Day:


Queen "I Want It All"

The pie will be ready this afternoon. Bring a fork.

Tuesday Twitters

This is going to be a great day. The Child has volleyball practise after school and now that we have our own gym, I don't have to pick her up and take her somewhere else. I love that. Nope, instead, I get to stay home until 5pm and do whatever I want. Tra la la la la la.

I've been invited to contribute something to a book project. I'll probably work on that because I finally have an idea about it.

I'll do some householdy sorts of things but not many, since I did most of it yesterday. Huzzah for clean counters.

Mostly, I'm just looking forward to the game tonight. Love me some CNN on an election night. Today, as you've no doubt heard, is huge. Lots could happen. I'm sooooo excited. I'd love to see Obama win everything, particularly given the questions such a win would raise about the future of the Clinton campaign. On the other hand, it would be fascinating to see if she can staunch the bloodletting his campaign has inflicted on her. I could be happy about that, assuming it means that she stops whining.

Because she is whining and I'll tell you something about that: I don't like it. Hillary Clinton ain't anybody's victim and as a woman, I really hate seeing her play that card. And yeah, if she was a guy and saying the same thing I wouldn't like it either. But then, most guys wouldn't whine. Guys whine, but usually when they are sick or have to hold your purse while your shopping the sales rack. Otherwise, they suck it up. If the situation were reversed, Barack Obama wouldn't be complaining that he always gets the first question or that people aren't listening to him because he's a man (of color).

The historic nature of the Democratic contest is just that. Historic. Either way, we're going to be putting up a candidate that doesn't look like any candidate we've ever had before. That's awesome. It should be embraced. Period.

That said, I also kinda hate that supporting Hillary is being connected with being a woman. I'm a 50 year old white woman. I'm her demographic. And I'm supporting Obama. What that tells me is that, when we really get down to it, this election is about soooo much more than the simply categories of race or gender on which the pundits seem, still, so focused. I'm supporting Obama because I like his out-of-the-box approach to politics, his notion not just that America is capable of more but that Americans, working together in spite of their differences, could achieve that. I agree, in most cases (according to all the little "select your candidate" quizzes I've taken) with his position on issues. (And yes, Hillary, he has positions on the issues...shut up about that already. You're just jealous that you're not as electrifying a speaker. I already told you to get over it. Now do it).

But you know what? I agree, in most cases (though a few less than I do with Barack) with Hillary's position on the issues. So I'm good either way, because I don't need to match a candidate 100% to vote for him or her. In November, I'm not going to be holding my nose when I vote, which is more than can be said for most of the Republicans I know.

Anyprimary, I'm excited to see what happens tonight. Plus, we're going to be eating Stouffer's lasagne for dinner so I don't have to spend time in the kitchen and let me tell you, that is some good-eats-in-a-box right there. Just as good as my own lasagne, and I make demmed fine lasagne, people.

And yeah, depending on what goes down tonight I'll probably wonk out tomorrow so consider yourself warned.

Oh, and boycott Exxon/Mobile. JP has a plan. Cylon.

Update: Pretty Much for Sageweb

See?

Banish oogie feelings.

And just so you know that I really cleared the pile and didn't just move it. Looky my nice shiny desk.Ridiculous, really, probably only took me about 30 minutes, and that included the filing.

Sheesh.

But seriously, isn't it fascinating that something that is so joyful to do for someone else is so the last thing I typically do for myself? But then, that's pretty much my motto when I'm working with a client..."it's not my stuff". I'm not attached to it, I have no emotions about it, it gives me clarity and focus when I'm helping someone else. And those of you who've been here know that I don't keep a cluttered house. Just something about that stupid ass paper....

Achoo again.

Physician, Heal Thyself

I had a significant revelation today. My lifelong dream of being a syndicated columnist is now dust and ashes, for lo, if I were a syndicated columnist, I'd have to come up with significant things to say on a daily basis. And guess what? I can't.

So instead I am going to spend the day doing for myself what I am paid to do for others, something which, btw, I love to do for others and not so much for myself. I will be striving to get rid of this:

Oh, and The Child got all her makeup work done this weekend and I didn't even have to crack open the gin. Praisalluia.

Achoo.