I Really Need to Remember that Wednesday is Late Start

Then I wouldn't be yelling at The Child to get up when she doesn't actually have to.

Not much to report, kids. The job closed...now we just wait to see if Rainey is on the list of candidates. Stupid government hiring. Keep those prayers and naked pagan dances coming.

We went to a concert Saturday night at our friend David and Tine's house. It was awesome. Talented young dude out of Idaho named Marcus Eaton. Sling, you'd really admire his chops. You can actually watch the show we saw on his website. You won't see me. You might hear me clapping and "whooting".

BSG "The Plan" is out on October 27. That's a wonderful thing.

I'm drinking more coffee more often now that it is fall.

I need to make my bed.

I have no idea what we're having for dinner tonight.

I need a pedicure but my hair is awesome.

MAB has been out of the office all week. Geez, I miss her.

"iCarly" is the best show on television. You should watch it even if you don't have a teenage girl in your house.

Looks like Nancy Pelosi has grown a pair and is pushing for a "robust" public option on health care. I smirk a lot when I hear people bitching about that. Especially the ones who I know are receiving government health care. Like Republican congresspeople.

38,000

For two people who'd been up drinking sipping wine and talking until the wee hours, you'd think JP and I would have been slow to start. You'd be wrong. We dusted off his coffee maker and had some restorative brew. I also have a vague recollection of toast. Then we were out the door because we had things to do.


We had to go to Italy

and visit a shrine to the 12 lords of Kobol and pay homage to the hybrid.

(And those last 2 things won't matter to you because you don't watch "Battlestar Galactica" but we do. Or did).

We had a very tasty quiche at Delice, one of JP's favorite haunts and found a beautiful dress, for me, at Nouvelle Eve. They seem to get a little French in Omaha, actually.


I posed in front of the great blue orb of Omaha and then we had to scamper because JP had arranged for me to get a hair cut, which -as you can see- I badly needed. This also gave me occasion to take some photographs of the lobby of the Paxton Hotel, which used to be a grand place of hostelry and now is mostly business on the ground and apartments above.




A girl can get a very good haircut in Omaha for only $35, btw. Almost reason enough to live there.


I have not mentioned it but there was an undercurrent all day of excitement that teetered between fear and joy. The whole point of my visit, you'll remember, was to watch the series finale of "Battlestar Galactica" and this was the day. So even as we scampered about and joked and talked and shopped and all that, we were mostly doing things like counting down the time and talking about "what"...."what if it breaks our hearts"...."what if it's the best 2 hours on television ever"...."what do you think will happen with..." So many questions remaining and so little time to answer them.


Back at the flat we alternately admired my new do and prepared dinner while watching the "Behind the Scenes" special for BSG. Then the champagn-ya was popped and the moment we'd been simultaneously anticipating and dreading arrived.

There will not be a review because we realize we are the only ones in our neck of Blogtopia who would care and we've already reviewed it for ourselves. Suffice to say we were entertained, surprised and fundamentally satisfied. Except about Kara. What the H?

Moving on.

We were somewhat excitable after the finale so JP decided to show me his "bar", which was not the "bar" I'd always imagined but far more of a "club". Still, there were cosmos and lights in the trees and pool tables. We played 3 games, I think. JP was far superior to me, actually managing to sink intended balls and do so with the sort of skill one associates with Cool Hand Luke some iconic pool hustler. (He claims that I actually used the 1 ball as the cue ball but I deny it. I also, alternatively, suggest to you that yellow can easily read white in night club lighting).

Then something happened. You know how you have those occasional moments of clarity? The times when you realize you are fully present in the moment? Well, I had one there at the Max, over the pool tables while, ironically, listening to Vanessa Hudgens' "Sneakernight". In some way I can barely explain, I plugged back into myself. I had been so stressed and anxious about so much in the last weeks leading up to this trip. Everything was focused on my various roles and the ways in which I was (or deemed myself not to be) fulfilling them. But there I was, bopping to music and shooting pool and drinking cosmos and laughing with one of my best friends ever after watching the end of the greatest show ever on television on a crisp and beautiful night in a place not my home but familiar and suddenly I felt truly myself again. And if nothing else happened for the rest of the weekend that was going to be enough.

Dateline: Omaha, Nebraska

If you're going to fly to the heartland for no other reason than to watch "Battlestar Galactica" with your Poodle, you could do worse than to end up in Omaha. JP lives downtown in the most superfantastic lofty type apartment that you will ever see and within crawling distance are all sorts of shops and eateries and alcohol. The streets are wide and every building downtown is repurposed, old brick and beautiful. Last night we went out to dinner with his friend (and my new Facebook bestie Minogue) and it was downright civilized and European, walking to the restaurant and being out on the street. Everyone was out in the street. It was not exactly vibrant in the way being on the streets of say, New York or London, but it was surprisingly sophisticated.

That probably reads real snotty.

Because let's face it: you think of Nebraska and you think of beef and corn. Beefy corn. Beefy corn-fed boys and girls. But there is, actually, more to Omaha than that and we're just fixin' to go out now and experience a little more of it. So the first lesson is, never ever ever presume. Open yourself to the possibilities. Don't pre-judge. Forget about corn and beef or even corned beef because every place has more to it than what you think. Even Omaha.

Also, not to be all smug and stuff but, hello, I'm with JP and you're not. Gotta run. Must get provisions for our big "BSG" finale tonight.

Plans

I called to reschedule The Child's orthodondist appointment for next week.

"You're going out of town?" politely inquires The Receptionist.

"Yes. I'm flying to Omaha to watch the series finale of 'Battlestar Galactica' with a gay guy".

There was a split-second of silence.

"Delores," I said, "You can't make this stuff up".

Time's Up

I have an expectation about videos; an expectation which is often disappointed, but an expectation nonetheless. In that vein, I don't particularly enjoy this video. What in the world has this to do with the lovely song about wanting to be remembered for the good stuff and forgiven for your imperfections? Nothing.

On the other hand, it's a little "Battlestar Galactic-y" and that's cool.

(We saw this show the other night about parallel universes and so now I can content myself with believing that somewhere there is a parallel universe where "BSG" is on every week without fail and the producers never put the show on a year long hiatus just for the hell of it. There's also a universe where "Gilmore girls" is on. And there's one where I actually live in Stars Hallow. Cool, huh?)

Anytrekkie, I do enjoy this song quite a lot and that's why I'm playing it. That's how I roll on Jukebox Friday.



Linkin Park "Leave Out All the Rest"

Golly, I Could Make a Habit of This

Here's another actual email transcript. But it requires a smidge of explanation.

Last Friday The Neighbor was, per usual, over to watch "Battlestar Galactica". She mentioned, when she arrived, that she'd grabbed the wrong keys upon leaving, thus locking herself out of her own house, so she'd need to borrow mine at the end of the evening.

'Cept when I went to the hooks wot hold the keys, hers wasn't there. Which was weird, because I'd used it fairly recently.

One of her kids bailed her out and it was all fine but as she is leaving on vacation in a few days we needed to make sure I had a key and she was going to make another one for me but today I was able to send her this:

-------Original Message---------
From: Lorraine
Sent: Thursday, May 22, 2008 7:30 AM
To: The Neighbor
Re: Your Key

Neighb,

I found it. It had fallen into the little thingy that collects bottle caps.

(Ed. Under the hooky googa that holds the keys is a vintage Coke bottle opener and under that is a little whoozy that catches the bottle caps. The Spouse uses it. For beer, mostly, not so much the Coke).

Nayb


-----Original Message-----
From: The Neighbor
Sent: Thursday, May 22, 2008 1:57 PM
To: Lorraine
Subject: Re: Your Key

I'm so glad it has been found! Whatever compelled it to want to associate with bottle caps?

From: Lorraine
Sent: Thursday, May 22, 2008 2:00PM
To: The Neighbor
Subject: Re: Your Key

It was Friday night...the bottle caps were feeling a little rowdy...they invited the key over (because, you know, if you're going to have a big, noisy party it's best to just invite the neighbors) and obviously it was a pretty killer time because the key has been sleeping it off in there ever since.

Unless, of course, it was just waiting patiently because, what with having no actual hands or feet, it couldn't crawl home on its own.

From: The Neighbor
Sent: Thursday, May 22, 2008, 4:45PM
To: Lorraine
Subject: Re: Your Key

I knew you'd have an explanation for it.

Mother's Day

The Spouse and Child went to Comicon yesterday to be geeks. They brought me home an early Mother's Day present:

That right there would be my autographed picture of Jamie Bamber, otherwise known as Lee "Apollo" Adama from "Battlestar Galactica". I realize that the only other people who give a rat's arse about that are Emma, The Neighbor and JP, but still, it was really super cool and made me inordinantly happy.

I sent a card to my mommy. It said, "Thank you for not killing me when I was a teenager". I think that pretty much sums it up, don't you?

To all of you to whom the greeting applies, Happy Mother's Day. Please know that I know how hard you work to care for your families & raise your kids into reasonable human beans. Motherhood has plenty of rewards but sometimes it can feel a little thankless, too. I honor you for your dedication. I think you rock.

And Dame Judi, I really truly mean it; thanks for not giving up on me or sending me off to boarding school or actually smacking me into next week. You would have been justified, but I appreciate your restraint. Especially now.

Now I'm going to sit on my arse and play Sims2 until the guests arrive for Pentecost supper. Because it's Mother's Day.

So Say We All

Today's video will be meaningful to exactly 3 of my readers. (Unless there are fans hiding in the shadows, in which case, hi - speak up already).

Tonight is the premiere of the final season of "Battlestar Galactica". And while the fact that the show is ending makes me sad, at least we all know it's ending and consequently it's not going to be all lame and weird like the last season of "Gilmore girls".

Mock if you will but I'll just mock back at you. BSG is one of the best written shows on television and if you haven't watched it to figure that out, shut the frak up. Or put it on your frakking Netflix list and see what all the hubbub is about. Or, you know, shut the frak up.

It bears noting: JP turned me on to BSG. He wrote a great review of the finale for season 2 and I was intrigued. I had to Netflix everything prior, including the miniseries that started it all (you totally realize that I am NOT talking about the Lorne Greene version, right?) to get up to speed but that was fine. By then, JP and I had taken our bloggy relationship to the "next level" and we emailed back and forth about it all. (Then we started talking on the phone about it). And you know what? The only thing that mitigates my unbridled joy about tonight's viewing is the fact that he won't be with me. I have to make do with The Spouse and The Neighbor. Which is fine, because I love 'em and all. Still. The good news: JP and I have already discussed being together for the finale.

Anyviper, all I can think about today is tonight so there you go. Today's video is an homage to the finale of season 3. Like I said, 3 of you care. But it was also the only video I could find of the song, which is an old classic with a fresh rendering. Which, now I think on it, is part of what makes this song a classic in the first place. Over the years it's been done any number of ways. Folks have their preferences. (I've heard many a Bob vs. Jimi debate get entirely out of hand). But it's a meaty enough song that it holds up to reinterpretation; possibly, in this case, reinvention.

So even if you don't give a frak about BSG, you could just play this while you unload the dishwasher or something and listen to the song.

Good hunting.

Bt4 "All Along the Watchtower"

Born Not Made

I have strong evidence to suggest that geeks are a fundamental result of nature rather than nurture and further, that the geek gene does not skip a generation.

Let's start with The Spouse's parents. His father was an engineer at Boeing from the day he graduated college until the day he died. The man owned a slide rule. His mother met his father while working at Boeing, as one of the first women engineers in the company. See? Brainy people. (I never knew these people but I do count among my acquaintance any number of engineers. I love them. But they are definitely a little geeky).

Along came The Spouse who is, without question, a geek. He was one of those guys who had a personal computer when the monitor ran in orange. He programmed stuff and fooled around and one day he loosened his tie after church, sat down with the want ads and said, "Hey, there are a lot of computer jobs in this town".

Yep. And coffee on every corner.

He also reads science fiction, watches science fiction and, for what it's worth, his aunt is best friends with the woman who wrote the Clan of the Cave Bear books.

Me? I never considered myself much of a geek. I wasn't good at math. I've read some science fiction and enjoyed it but it was all pretty mainstream stuff: the CS Lewis trilogy, Madeleine l'Engle, Dune. I even took science fiction in college, but that was because it was one of those seminar classes that was structured so geeks could take it for English credit and English majors could take it for science credit. And sure, I was a little pissed when everyone started using Windows because by then I'd figured out how to manipulate my computer world in DOS. (I still kinda miss DOS if the truth be told). But that owes more to my not liking to learn new ways of doing computer related stuff than to any actual geekiness. But otherwise, not so much a geek. I know 0s and 1s manipulate the computer landscape but I don't know how. (I know how to write the html code for italics but I don't know how it works. And I don't care. So long as it does work).

Plus, there are those (Iwanski) who call me a geek because I watch "Battlestar Galactica". Although, anyone who has ever watched "Battlestar Galactica" knows that it is a show about race, politics, religion, sex and the meaning of civilization which just happens to be taking place in space, which hardly makes it geeky but you'd have to watch it to know that (Iwanski) and besides that, anyone who ever dreamed of writing for movies/television (Iwanski) owes it to himself to watch it before he shoots off his mouth anymore (Iwanski).

So The Spouse is pretty much of a geek by all the standards commonly accepted for geekdom. (He doesn't wear a pocket protector. He does have a slide rule, but only because I bought it for him at the Rummage Sale from Hell). I am a nominal geek. (My numbers amp up a bit if you factor in computer games).

The Child comes along. A child who consistently gets Cs and Ds in math. A child who claims to hate science because "it's boring", although she thinks that growing up to be an archaeologist might be cool. Ah. The chain is broken.

Hold on there just a minute, Mr. Tesla. Not so much.

The Spouse had to stop watching "Battlestar Galactica" about halfway through last season because SciFi switched the air time to 10pm on Sundays. So we've been watching Season Three for the last week, to catch him up for tomorrow night's season premiere. That's a lot of episodes. And The Spouse gets up pretty early. So for the last two evenings we have gathered as a family in the kitchen, held hands to say grace and then The Child has taken her food to her room and we've gone into the family room to watch "BSG".

(I can't believe I just admitted that to you. It goes against my nature, against everything I believe about the importance of the family table blah blah blah. But there you go).

So yesterday The Child says to me, "You know how sometimes you really become a fan of one thing? Well, I'm really into "Star Wars" right now".

Yep, while we've been watching BSG she's been reacquainting herself with Luke and Leia. But that's not all. She and a friend have decided to start a newspaper. She's written her first article. "Aliens: True or Hoax?" in which she argues, fairly effectively, that alien life is a strong possibility. Ask her about Area 51 sometime. She can tell you way more about it than I know.

When she's been all het up about Harry Potter, with a rabid attention to detail that would serve her well were she to apply the same to academics, I just figured it was a kid thing. It is arguably the defining book/movie series of her generation...what The Wizard of Oz or Tolkien's Ring cycle were to previous generations. But now I'm not so sure. Hello? Wizards? How geeky is that? Coupled with her new found interest in interplanetary life forms, the conclusion is inevitable. My child is a geek. Like her parents and grandparents before her.

I don't know whether to hang my head in shame or get her a poster of the Very Large Array.

Carl Sagan, here she comes.

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.

That Was Close

Last night it looked like my blogging days were over. Not in a "I'm over this and have better things to do with my time and blogging is so 2006 anyway" sort of way. No, it looked like my blogging days were over in a really final, "You are so denied entrance, what are you, kidding me?" sort of way.

It made me have a little panic attack.

So I called The Hat, which is one of the things I do when I panic. (Also, when something makes me laugh, when it's time for a second cup of coffee, or when I hear/read/observe something interesting in the universe. But also, when I panic).

So I call her and tell her, with no ceremony, that my blogging days are at an end. And she, being the sort of squenchy wench that she is said, "Oh...(with that really sweet and sensitive "I'm listening" voice)...what happened?"

Here's what happened:

I have my blog set up so that I get an email whenever someone leaves a comment. You probably do it, too. It's a useful device, especially for those of us who like replying to comments. Saves you checking your blog every five minutes to see if anyone has read it. Right. So a few months ago, I got one such email, clicked on the link and that stoopid "Security Information" screen pops up. I click on it and it went away, for a nanosecond, and then popped up again. And again. And again. Didn't matter if I pressed "yes" or "no". It wouldn't go away and I couldn't get to the comment box.

Fine. It was annoying but I entered through the Blogger dashboard and it was all good.

Last night I get an email. I went to my blog to respond (not through the email, mind you. Because that didn't work. I went straight to my blog). I COULDN'T GET IN. I was at the sign- in screen and it sat there, blipping and blipping and blipping. I couldn't type in my email address. I couldn't do anything. I COULDN'T GET INTO BLOGGER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My entire bloglife passed before my eyes. There were at least 3 months of posts I hadn't yet backed up. My morning ritual of blog reading with coffee, gone. Oh, sure, I could spend 412 hours of my day typing every one's blog title into Google but that was going to get old. Plus, the blipping thing was going to keep me from commenting.

It would look like I was disappeared. One day here, the next day gone. No note, no explanation as to why there's a full pot of coffee and not a bite out of the delicious pie on the counter. Just G.O.N.E. Only I wouldn't actually be gone so much as locked out of Blogtopia. And, I might add, in a really passive-aggressive way. "Oh, I'm still here," says Blogger. Blip. "And all your blogs are here," blip. "Everything you've ever written" blip. "You just can't get into them," blip. "Ever, ever again," blip blip blip.

(Please note, "blip" it is not a euphemism for a vulgar word. (In those cases I say "frak", like they do on "Battlestar Galactica"). No, I mean what I say. Blipping. The screen was blipping. It was even making a little blippety blip of a sound).

I begin to mourn. I rue not backing up my archive. I keen the loss of Blogtopia: the give and take of commenting, the in-jokes, the nicknames, Pop 101. Sure, I have the emails of my bestest blog buddies. Their phone numbers, too, for that matter. It's not like I'll lose them forever. But Blogtopia will be gone. On a technicality.

Hat listened to my woe. She said something along the lines of "No, I'm not going to let this happen". She said, "Try this" and I did and it didn't work and she said, "What if you..." and I did and that worked but it was a really backasswards way to beat the system and then she said, "Do thus and so" and I did and not only could I log into the dashboard but it fixed aforementioned email problem, too.

Then she laughed at me. And Sling brought sandbags. And all was well in my bloggy little world again.

---

Learn from my experience. If the weird blipping thing ever happens to you, here's what you do:

1) Go to a blog where you have commented. Find yourself on the comments page, click on your name, which takes you to your profile and click the "big B" in the upper left hand corner. That gets you to the dashboard.

2) Go to "settings" and scroll down to where you have the email address to which comments should be sent. Delete the address. Save your settings. Go back and re-enter your email and save again.

If that doesn't work, I have no frakking idea what you should do. Probably call The Hat and tell her your blogging career is over. Worked for me.

Well, Ain't That a Pip

I just got off the phone with my lovely friend, Judy, who I met when I was volunteering for Senator Cantwell. Judy was the volunteer coordinator when I started. I like Judy very much, she's a very interesting, charming woman.

Right. So the reason she called today was because she's interim director for a non-profit agency and she needs a part-time office manager for a few weeks and would I be interested?

So there you go.

It's just a 3 week gig, from 9 to 2, 4 days a week, through the end of the month. This means The Child is going to be on her own for most of the rest of the summer, which is fine. She actually thrives on that sort of responsibility. I'm sure it will all work out. Judy also knows of some other commitments I have and she's just so thrilled that I said "yes" that she's completely accommodating.

Judy actually wanted me to start today, but that was a little much. So my first day will be Friday. I found myself getting a little fluttery, which seemed silly because I can totally do the job. But then I realized why. It's nothing to do with the job and everything to do with karma slapping me upside the head.

Read this.

That's right. Starting on Friday, the DOT is shutting down a major section of I-5 through the city, all lanes, to do road work. I repeat, all lanes. During commuting hours. For 3 weeks. (And yes, you read that right: our totally brilliant mayor has suggested that people should just work from home or use the wireless at Starbucks. Because, you know, everyone in Seattle has a white collar job and a laptop. What a putz).

The point, my friends, is that while in conversations this weekend with people who are going to be severely impacted by the lack of a freeway and the gigantic tie-ups that will inevitably ensue on all the side streets, I was Perky McPerkison about the fact that none of this would affect me. Oh, I wasn't exactly gloating or anything, but I sure was grateful that this particular headache would pass me by.

Then I get a job. Starting Friday. In the north end of town. I live in the south end. Do we see the problem now? I have been wracking my brains for the last 15 minutes trying to think of alternate routes and every one of them is going to be impacted by the closure.

So now, instead of spending the next 2 days organizing the things I need to organize so I can be out of the house 4 days a week, I have to build a Viper and lay in a supply of tylium.

Rats.

Sur la Table

There are a number of items in the news that bear comment today. However, the thing that struck me was this article in the NY Times. Go ahead and read it. I'll wait.

la la la la la

Ooh, I really need a manicure.

dum di dum di dum

"I'm going down to Liverpool to do nothing..." la la la la la

Edward James Olmos won best actor at the ALMA's last night. I love "Battlestar Galactica".

Maybe red nail polish.

'K, back? That's right, kids, no schaudenfraude about Lewis Libby getting 30 months (whoo to the hoo). We're going to talk about how silly people are about food. I've confessed before to having, once upon a time, been a foodie. Which is why reading about these people in New York engaging in dinner parties like it's some sort of blood sport really got me going. Talk about missing the point.

Breaking bread with someone is one of the most profound symbols in human culture. We come to the table to nourish ourselves and strengthen bonds with others. Period. When feeding others becomes about impressing or even intimidating those gathered, something has gone terribly, terribly wrong.

When we have a dinner party I thoroughly enjoy lavishing attention on the details of the feast with every intention of pleasing my guests. Because I want to please them. I want to do something nice for them and make them feel special. It is not, I repeat not so that they will spend 15 minutes between the entree and cheese courses telling me what a marvel I am.

Granted, a reputation for consistently serving good food has a price. Here is a list of people who cook for us:

The Cardinal and Mr. Mikey
The Neighbor
Seattle Coffee Girl
Jim and Kelly
JJ & Elroy
Stina and Dave
Ree (she rarely entertains but is always happy to bring food to parties)
The Sister-in-Law

This is not to suggest that cooking for us is the only way to prove friendship. There are plenty of people in our lives who show their love and friendship in other ways. That's fine. Not everyone entertains or enjoys cooking like we do.

But it does bother me when people say, and they have, that they are "too intimidated" to cook for me. "Too intimidated". As if I'm that Jeffrey Steingarten person who judges on "Iron Chef America". (He has a book called The Man Who Ate Everything. He regularly gives the impression of being the man who ate everything and didn't enjoy any of it. Ever. And furthermore, holds you in contempt for daring to cook).

This intimidation, and I know because I've asked, hasn't to do with me being some hard-to-please snoot, insufferably inquiring as to the pedigree of the brie. "Oh, no, it's just that you do it so well and I'd be embarrassed to serve you ordinary food".

Ordinary food. That's funny. Because I cook ordinary food. It isn't sprinkled with fairy dust or gilded or brought to the table on angel wings. Good food, lovingly prepared is all that is required for a nice dinner. Do you hear me? Food as art, the dinner party as weapon...this is so not the point. Crack open a bottle of 3 Buck Chuck, throw something on the grill and have a party. Lighten up.

It almost makes me not want to write about food anymore because it makes me feel I might be contributing to the madness. If joy, affection and a sense of celebration - even if you are only (only?) celebrating the gift of being alive together - isn't at the heart of your meal then what is the point? I'd rather have a dried out pork chop offered in love than duck breast in peach sauce served with ulterior motives.

One of the things I'm most looking forward to about our trip to Chicago is cooking for people. And Jon and I are looking forward to cooking together. Because it will be fun. Because it will be a way of showing these heretofore virtual friends that I care about them. I don't worry that I must somehow prove myself and therefore everything must be perfect or the whole evening will be ruined and my reputation along with it. If something goes awry we'll send out for pizza. I hear they have pretty good deep-dish pie in the Windy City. Maybe I'll screw up dinner on purpose.

Let's have some fun. I hereby invite you to a virtual pot luck. I'm making a simple roast chicken. What are you bringing?

Hi! I'm Having a Pity Party. Wanna Come?

I've been putting off blogging today because I don't want to tell you what I'm really thinking lest you find me lame beyond belief. But then I thought, "Hey, like they haven't figured that out already. The kids are alright".

It goes something like this:

A friend sent me a link to an article in the local paper about these two women, one in Seattle, one in Paris, who both have blogs (about food) and both just got book deals. I know my friend's intention was to show me what is possible, to be encouraging and all that but the net effect was flaming green-eyed jealousy and a whole lot of "pft"ing.

Now here's the thing: I didn't start my blog to get a frakking book deal and I'm perfectly happy with my 110 hits a day (on a good day) and the handful of faithful readers who comment. (Because I like the back and forth of the comments and, as has been noted before, sometimes the comments are better than the initial post. It's fun. And if I was getting thousands of hits a day, like those stupid book deal women, it might translate into more comments and then I wouldn't be able to answer them all and that would stink).

I pretty much have abandoned the "discovered in a soda shop" route to any sort of success. It's all about plugging away and risking and all that "up by your bootstraps" stuff. But still. Sheesh. Stupid book deal women. We hate them. (Even though I'm pretty sure I'll end up buying at least one of the books).

The Neighbor asked if I'd read the blogs and I muttered that I wasn't going to give them another hit, silly women with their stupid book deals, especially the one who lives in Paris which should be gift enough for a person for crying out loud. But today I did. And they are good blogs. I didn't read them, however, and say, "Oh. My. Lord. Well, that explains it. Of course they got a book deal and not only that we should all stop writing because they are saying with eloquence and beauty everything that ever needs be said". They were good blogs, I repeat. But on a good day mine is just as good. So bollocks.

And then there was other stuff: a friend who just got a superfantastic new job and I couldn't be happier for her for she truly is deserving but part of me was all, "Well, crap" and jealous. Because there is one iron in the fire that might be very nice but it's one of those deals where if someone special takes a job I'll have a job and if he doesn't than I won't. It's just a possibility. Which essentially leaves me in the same frakking place I've been since February of wanting a job but not wanting just any old job for the sake of having a job and trying to figure out what's next. I do not do well with uncertainty. Which is unfortunate, given that not much is certain. Ever.

I started my pity party last night with The Neighbor, giving her strict instructions that I was NOT looking to be encouraged or jollied out of my mood or given stirring speeches. I just wanted to vent. And she let me. But we got into the notion of success and how I would count that. In most areas of my life I'm perfectly content, yea verily. But when it comes to writing, I do have some nebulous goals. I don't write for the sake of art. It isn't enough to craft a particularly elegant sentence. At some point along the way, I want it to be read. I don't need to be on the New York Times best-seller list for 6 months. But published would be nice.

"You are published," she said.

"Yes, but one article in one literary journal isn't enough", said I. Because it's not. It was all very thrilling and affirming and all that but it's not like I said, "Excellent, that's one off the short list. Now all I have to do is learn to make chevre and I'll die happy".

But blah blah blah. We've already established that my musings about being a writer are utter twaddle. There's more:

1. I had a profound conversation last night with The Child which made it clear that she is at the point of considering Deep Things. She's thinking for herself, questioning for herself, making things her own. Which is lovely to see. And a little scary. We set her on a path, which is our job, but she'll be travelling it in her own way. She's growing up and that makes me feel shaky sometimes.

b. We're planning this boffo trip to Chicago in July and someone was going to come and now he can't. Which sux so much it isn't even funny. When The Child found out she wailed, "Well, then I'm not going either". Yes, she is, because we've already bought the tickets, it will be fun and she'll get to meet other people but still. I'd be bitter® about it but I don't own the rights.

3. My stupid frakking car stalled on me twice this morning so as soon as I got the kids to school - by the grace of God and all the archangels in charge of all things automotive - I had to take the piece of crap to my car guys. Again.

So grumbled, grumble, fuss, fuss, fuss.

I'm in a valley time and have been for a while. I'm so over it but as I don't see an incline in the near distance, I'm forced to look for whatever beauties the valley might afford. And there is, at least, some dappled light on the path:

• We had our first al fresco family meal last night - chicken with chutney crust, moist and delicious.
• There's plenty of wine in the house.
• I started watching "Battlestar Galactic" (the mini-series) again.
• I got an email from Dariush this morning. (Oh, btw, I'm jealous of him, too; but he's not stupid). It had nothing to do with any of this but managed to be encouraging and stir me to action on a little project I've cooked up.
• The car guys just called and the problem appears to just be some silly wire so it probably won't cost $412,000 to redeem my piece of crap vehicle. (2000 Ford Focus - worst car since the Edsel. Just saying).
• I had a nice chat with Payson.
• JP called and made me laugh, plus I think I've convinced him to come for my birthday in September.
• The weather is very beautiful and it's hard to be completely poo-headed about everything when the sun is shining.
  
  I think it was Julian of Norwich who said, "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well". I believe that. Even when I'm in a pissy mood.

Chicken with Chutney Crust

1 c. fresh breadcrumbs
¼ c. dill weed
½ t. dried basil
¼ t. salt

chutney (Major Grey's is yummy but any sort will do)

2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts

olive oil for drizzling

Preheat oven to 425 degrees.

Combine breadcrumbs with seasonings.

Pat dry chicken breasts. Spread both sides with chutney. Dredge in breadcrumb mixture and place on a rack in a baking dish. Drizzle with olive oil.

Bake for about 20 minutes, until chicken tests done.

TGIM

It's not often that the weekend makes you wish for Monday but this was pretty much the kind that can. Not that it was monumentally horrible. The front-end was too loaded with running around plus there's some ambient stress in the household that, shall we say, wasn't managed in the best possible way. On Saturday morning I was having coffee with The Neighbor and asked, "Is it Monday yet?"

But there were some highlights. Working backwards, the season finale of "Battlestar Galactica" was swell. I'll never hear "All Along the Watchtower" in quite the same way again.



Bob Dylan is a cylon!

I made a terrific pork tenderloin thing for dinner last night, oven roasted with an orange marmalade-ginger glaze. I cooked down the pan juices & glaze & enriched it with a blob of butter to make a sauce. Accompanied by couscous with lemon, mint & chives and some asparagus, it was a very lovely springtime supper.

Not that the weather around here has been remotely springlike. March is a stupid month. We're ready for spring, it is spring but we had borderline torrential rain all weekend. And while it is actually clear this morning, there was ice on the car again. I digress.

The best thing about the weekend was that The Spouse and I got to attend the Seattle premiere screening of ""Fortune Hunters" the film he worked on last summer. It was terrific.

With a run time of only 21 minutes, it is a sweet little film about a Chinese-American guy, played by Kelvin Yu, who writes fortunes at his dad's cookie factory. His girlfriend is planning to go to China for a year so he decides to break up with her. After realizing what an idiot move that was, he writes her, begging for another chance. He unknowingly sends the message to the fortune printer and mayhem ensues.

The movie is charming, funny, well-acted and beautifully lit (which, of course, owes almost entirely to The Spouse. Just saying). The film has been screened at a couple of film festivals and they've entered it in SIFF, the Seattle International Film Festival. Given that this is in fact one of the biggest festivals in the world, it would be huge if they get in. Fingers crossed.

Meanwhile, the film just begs to be a feature. Writer/director Thom Harp and Mike Standish, who produced and co-wrote the show, are working on the full-length script as we speak and plan to shoot in Seattle, with as many of the crew who are available. The Spouse told Thom he'd do what he could.

You'll remember that The Spouse had a terrific time making this movie. Part of the reason for that had to owe to the fact that everyone involved in the production was just as nice as can be. I didn't have a ton of behind-the-scenes experiences during the time that he was making movies for a "living". But based on what I did, it always seemed like the crew were totally awesome, fun people but that the farther up the echelon you got, not always so much. Thom and Mike are truly lovely people, not at all pretentious and really super funny. There was a little Q&A after the screening and I kept imagining the two of them in tuxes, accepting the Oscar. Oh. Wait. Oscars rarely go to comedies. More's the pity. They deserve it.

If you have a chance to see this little number at a film festival near you, please go. You won't be sorry. And Seattlites, if it gets into SIFF you gotta go see it.

Before the movie started, The Spouse was talking to some folks and called me over to meet them. I'd met Neil Holcomb, the cinematographer, on the set. There was some lad who I totally forgot already (sorry) and a cute little thing who reminds one of Goldie Hawn. The Spouse introduced her with a "And this is Jessica, who did something on the show". She was only the female lead.

After the screening I went up to congratulate her and said, "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, would you mind giving me your autograph?" I told her about The Child and her new-found love of acting and thought it might be very cool for her to have an autograph from a real live actress. Jessica was so cute...I think it might have been the first time anyone asked for her autograph. She gave it to me, adding "Break a leg" to her signature. I'm going to frame it for The Child.

The other cool thing about the screening was seeing The Spouse get a credit. He's worked on a lot of stuff but his name didn't always make it onto the credits. Seeing it on "Fortune Hunters", especially when he so enjoyed the experience of making it, was really superfantastic. Way to pad that IMdb profile, sweetie!

Mutimedia Thursday

I have a new look. My hair is getting really long, which is very exciting to me. I colored it over the weekend, going with more of a cocoa brown thing than what I've been sporting. I hate styling my hair, mostly because I never really learned how, so I bought some hot rollers to make things easy on myself. My hair has a lot of body and if I'm not careful, the curling action gives me very big astronaut's wife hair. But when the curls are just so (usually after I've slept on them), I get this kind of Laura Roslin* thing going on. It's awesome.


You may address me as Madame President.

*Laura Roslin, President of the 12 Colonies on "Battlestar Galactica", in case you didn't know.

---

Wednesday has become movie night around here. Last night we watched "The Lake House". It's a quiet little romance starring Sandra Bullock, or as The Spouse likes to call her, The Child's New Mommy. She teams up with "Speed" co-star Keanu Reeves who, let's be honest, has all the acting range of a cat but I like him anyway.

The story is about 2 people who meet and develop a relationship by writing to each other while living in the same house. The catch is that she lives in it in 2006 and he lives there in 2004. There were a lot of things to like about this movie but what I enjoyed the most is that it is a perfect example of "suspension of disbelief". The point of the story isn't that they don't inhabit the same space-time continuum. Love, it would seem, conquers all. What's cool is that there is no attempt to explain the time glitch. There is no mystery about it, no one tries to understand it. It just is. And the viewer is invited to ignore this niggling little point as well and to just watch as these two make the connections they need to make and understand what they need to understand - about themselves and their choices - in order to finally be together. It was charming and simple and sweet. I liked it way better than "Brokeback Mountain".

out of 5.

---

Just for fun, if you haven't seen this clip, it's worth the watch. I don't exactly know why I find it so uplifting and charming, but I do.

Sunday Night TV

We completely forgot that the Grammy's were on last night. As a rule, I wouldn't even care. As I told JP last night, it's not like U2, David Bowie or the Pretenders were nominated for anything. I haven't paid much attention to the music scene these days. My knowledge of current music is influenced largely by the amount of time I spend listening to Radio Disney in the car with The Child. Ask me about Hannah Montana and I've got trivia up the wazoo. Anyone with an actually hit on the Billboard top 100, not so much.

But I had wanted to see the Police reunion, which I just watched on YouTube. They are still just the cutest things ever and I'm going to listen to their records while I clean house today. That will make me happy.

The big news, of course, is that the Dixie Chicks cleaned up, winning in all 5 of the categories for which they were nominated. This is first and foremost, recognition of an absolutely perfect record album. (Which we actually own, although it's gone missing, so one of my tasks today is to find it). But no one can escape the fact that they also took quite a beating some 3 years ago for speaking out against the war in Iraq. The criticism was scathing and it looked like the end of their career. But as adversity is wont to do, it just made them fiestier and stronger. The record certainly reflects that as well. So last night was as much a vindication for them as it was an honor for the musical achievement that is "Take the Long Way Around". And I rather wish I'd been able to see it.

The good news? At least we remembered there was a new episode of "Battlestar Galactica".





"Not Ready to Make Nice"

Things I Wish

I would like to be Benevolent Dictator of the World. I would take on this job for a small stipend and a superfantastic tiara*. That's all. Countries could still even have their own leaders, provided those leaders were able to play nicely with others. If they couldn't, they would get a time out. I am tired of stupid leaders, tribal atrocities and global warming. Someone has to do something. I think I'd do a good job. Plus everyone would have all the applesauce cake and 80s music they wanted.

I wish that whenever The Child asked for the 412th time for some stupid thing that I'd already told her she couldn't have my head would convert into a large blue neon "NO" that would blink on and off until she stopped begging. (I am now convinced that she will become a lawyer and go to work for a big lobbying firm. This does not please me, but she is obviously gifted).

It would be nice to have a force field around the stovetop so that The Cat would bounce off of it whenever she tried to jump up to eat something that is thawing up there. (Getting rid of the cat is not an option, Charlie).

There should be new episodes of "Gilmore girls" and "Battlestar Galactica" every week, in perpetuity, until I grow weary of them. (There is a new episode of "BSG" on Sunday. I. Can't. Wait.)

I would like my neighborhood to stay exactly as it is except that it would look like a French village and there would be a fabulous boulangerie next door. A girl should be able to get pain au chocolat whenever she wants.

I want a pigmy goat. Also chickens.

I think that's everything.


* By the way, Neighbor. You know that superfantastic birthday party you're planning for later this year? Yeah. I really want a tiara. Totally serious.

Bravo! Brava!

The show tonight was super fantastic. I am not kidding. Great, great show. Oh, and "Bye Bye Birdie" was really good.

I'm such a kidder. The musical theatah evening out with the fam was great. The Child was totally into the production, reacting in all the right ways at all the right places. Personally, I'd forgotten how many classic tunes come from that musical. "Put on a Happy Face"? Did you remember that? Anyway, it was just a swell evening of entertainment and we got home at 11:01, which means we missed the whole "The cylons were created by man..." ritual and "previously on Battlestar Galactica" but we got to see the evening's new story, which was quite, quite compelling for those of us who care and now it's beddy bye time.

Except for this:



Bloody good thing I go back to check the comments on jp's blog, isn't it, Gina?

Building Community

Of all the things I hoped to accomplish by writing a blog, expanding my circle wasn't among them. It never even occured to me. I have plenty of "real" friends, after all.

But now my blog is more than a vehicle for getting myself to write. It is a place, a neighborhood, full of friends who, despite being far flung in reality feel, in this little neck of Blogtopia, as if they live right next door. Just as in every neighborhood, people come and go. There are some with who you have merely a passing encounter or two, you nod in recognition and move on. And then there are the others, the ones from whom you, virtually speaking, borrow sugar, chat with over the fence and look out for.

I got think about it again last night after talking to Amy and Charlie. There we were, Charlie talking about his travels in America, Amy sharing life-changing news, both of them hearing me tell my family to bugger off as they kept pestering me to know who was on the phone ("Amy? Blog Amy?" asked The Child. "Charlie? Put him on speaker," said The Spouse. "Yes, yes, leave me alone! I'm trying to talk here!") And it wasn't "I've never talked with you before" weird, just like the time this summer when Edy called and we started in chatting as if we do it everyday.

There was an email this morning from Jon, telling me he was off to Texas and me responding that I hoped he'd have Interent access because I couldn't imagine going for two weeks without our near daily emails about everything and nothing. (We've talked on the phone, too. And he was with Ms. Healthypants, so it was a two-fer).

Tonight we're having dinner with Alan, the first blog buddy I've ever actually met. And I'm so excited to feed him cocoa-rubbed pork tenderloin and my infamous applesauce cake, to catch up and to talk about his brilliant new blog, knowing that hanging out with him will be delightful and comfy and we-do-this-all-the-time normal.

I think of our plans to go to the middle of the country this summer to cook for Edy and impose ourselves on Jon and the Iwanskis and to finally meet my darling poodle, JP, in Omaha. Geez, Omaha. Like that was ever a place high on the list of cities to visit before I die. But now it is. Maybe we'll even get to actually watch "Battlestar Galactica" together, forgoing our ritual Saturday morning "how much did you love last night's show" email.

There are the shoes from Edy and the cheese from Pat and I think, well, first I think that I really must bust a move and send those shoes back, but then I think "How lucky am I?" Finding all these people - and all the rest of you- was so random and yet, there you are, living your lives and connected to mine somehow by the stories you share, the observations you make and the jokes you tell. I want to be independently wealthy so I can visit you all, from O-town to Texas, plus all points in between and on both edges. And then I'd have to go to Canada and Europe and the UAE. And I bet most of you wouldn't mind a lick.

Strictly speaking, one should preserve a respectful distance, not assume too much, not impose. But at least with my little batch o' buddies, there is surprisingly little pretense. Even as we make our careful choices about what to share and what to hide, we tell a lot. We reveal enough truth about ourselves that actually meeting wouldn't be a shock. No one would redecorate or go on a crash diet. We'd have our beers and tuna sandwiches and chat away, with all our little in-jokes, as if we've known each other forever. It's a very nice thing, one of the things for which I will be thankful in this week of focusing on thankfulness.

All that said, I do now have to go dust and sweep, not because I think Alan will judge me harshly if he spies a dust bunny but just because that's what one does when one is having a friend to dinner.