blue girl

He Could Be Kind Of Human, If Only...

Last night my husband and I went out to dinner.  Well, not actually dinner.  We ended up just sitting at the bar drinking martinis and listening to the piano player.  Piano Man and I had been at the same party several years ago.  He was my old boss's wife's piano teacher.  And I remember when the conversation turned to politics.  The Piano Man and most everyone else at the party were Republicans. My boss had been a Democrat in a former life, but his wife had converted him.  He used to joke that he single-handedly elected Jimmy Carter president, because he never talked to anyone who would admit they had voted for him.

My old boss may have pretended to be a Republican on the outside, but he had the big old smooshy heart of a liberal on the inside.  When he'd complain about Bill Clinton, I would just tell him to shut up because deep down he knew he was a liberal.

I am not.

You are too.

No.

Yes.  And.  If Bill Clinton walked into this office right now, I'd bet you one million dollars that you would act respectful and shake his hand.

I'd kick his ass.

You would not.  You're a lovah, not a fightah.

You're fired.  Pack it up and get out.

As I sat at the bar last night, eating olives for dinner and listening to Gershwin, my cell phone rang and it was my son.  He had seen a ghost and wanted us to come home.

As we were getting ready to leave, I said to my husband...I'm going to see if the Piano Man has any CDs.  If so, I'll buy one and post some of his music on my blog.

Do you ever not think about that blog of yours and what you're going to post?  Ever?

Obviously not.  Like Kevin Wolf says, it *is* what life is all about.

Piano Man was just finishing up a song when we walked up to talk to him.  I didn't want to get into some long conversation about my old boss, so I didn't bring up the fact that we had met before.

You play beautifully.  Do you have any CDs here of your music?

No, but you can buy one off my website.  And he handed me his card.

Oh, great!  I have a blog and was thinking I'd post some of your songs.  Would that be okay with you?

Sure!  What's your blog called?

Blue Girl in a Red State.

He sort of winced.  I ignored it and thanked him for his card.

As my husband and I were walking away, Piano Man piped up.

Blue Girl!

Yeah?

You should post this song on your blog.  And he began to play a song.

How nice!  I thought until I recognized what he was playing.

So being Blue Girl, I said what only Blue Girl would say in a situation such as that.

Which was, of course. . . Pshaw!

And oh by the way, Piano Man -- just in case you googled me and are reading this.  That link to the song above?  That's Gary Clark.

You don't deserve any linky love.

See?  Blue Girl's thinkin'.

Who We Are

There is an immense, painful longing for a broader, more flexible, fuller, more coherent, more comprehensive account of what we human beings are, who we are and what this life is for.
                                     ~Saul Bellow

Make It A Double

Last night at dinner, my son ate everything on his plate.  A real switch from the old days when the only thing he'd eat was a cracker smeared with A-1 sauce.

Wow, you ate everything.

I'm always starving.  There's never anything to eat in this house.  I'm going outside.

No, wait.  I want to tell you about this meeting I went to today.

What?  Hurry.

Well, I just thought I was meeting with this one doctor and he was going to give me information on a brochure that he needs designed and produced.  But, when I got there he asked me to sit in on a lecture he was going to give to about 100 or so med students.  It was really cool.  It was a cross section of society.  Kids of all kinds.  All with their laptops and they were all so smart looking and interested and everything.

Did you take your laptop?

No.

Why?  You're so lame!

Stop it, teenager.  So, the lecture was on how a doctor can affect behavioral changes in their patients.

What's that?

Well, how a doctor can help their patients change their behaviors so that they become healthier people.  His lecture was specifically about helping patients to quit smoking.  But, he also talked about other forms of escape that people use to turn away from their problems.  Like drinking or gambling.  Stuff like that.  He believes a doctor can help their patients change.

Yeah, so?  Is this a "Don't Smoke Blue Kid" talk?  Mom, I don't smoke.  And I haven't tried beer yet either.

No, I'm not lecturing you.  I'm trying to tell you about how he lectured his students.  He was a really cool guy.  He started the lecture with a poem.  It started something like..."pain is caused by too many thoughts in the brain."  And when there are too many thoughts in your brain that you can't stand and you begin to worry, you may try to find escape somehow.  By smoking or drinking.  Or something else.  Most everyone uses some form of escape.

Ok?  So?

Well, I'm trying to explain to you how cool the whole thing was.  He was a deep guy.  He had a real special soul.  He quoted from this book called The Road Less Traveled.  It was a great quote, something like...

Resist being the force that pushes and try to be instead the call that beckons.

I don't even know what you're talking about.

Well, when you're too pushy, people tend to stay away from you.  They won't listen so much.  It's like you're being too bossy.  Too pushy.

Is this going somewhere?

Shut up.

That was bossy.

Shut up and listen.  When you're a call that beckons, I don't know, what do you think it means?

I have no idea.  Can I get up now?

No.  What do you think it means?

I don't know.  It means...you're not so bossy.

I think so.  You just suggest things maybe?  Or you behave in such a way that makes people want to listen?

Well, you should learn how to do that.

Where are you going?

I'm going outside.  I thought this story was going somewhere.  Bye!

Come back!

Leaving!

I'm trying to be the call that beckons you right this very second!

Well, you're no good at it, Bossy!  Try again!

As my husband was looking down at his plate, shaking his head, I suggested he and I have a drink.

He agreed.

Perfection

I've written before that while I can appreciate it, I don't fully understand why golf holds such an obsession with people.  But, while watching the British Open yesterday, I became somewhat obsessed with watching Tiger Woods.

He is perfect.  His skin tone is gorgeous and he has a beautiful smile.  He's built well and he looks great in his clothes.  He seems to be a gentleman.  He's very polite when being interviewed -- he seems to have good manners.  Plus he has one of those names that seemed to predestine him for his career.

My husband kept saying...watch his swing.  He doesn't move his head at all.

I'm watching.  I'm watching.  Perfect.

While I don't fully understand why people like golf, I know a lot of you don't understand how anyone can like advertising.  But, when something is done extremely well, I'm sure you can appreciate it.

There's a new Nike Golf spot that is mesmerizing.  It seems to be an art director and copywriter spot, one of those rare times where the creative team had an idea and no one else on the project felt the need to add their thumbprint to ruin it.

Go watch Swing Portrait.  Sheer perfection.

We Interrupt Our Regular Scheduled Programming...

...for this urgent announcement.

By way of Tbogg, who I love because he cracks. me. up. (look at his cool dogs!)...

I discovered this horror show this morning.

Dear Readers of Blue Girl In A Red State:

If you ever, and I mean ever begin to get even the slightest feeling that I'm behaving in that way, you must act!  You must!  I implore you!

Hightail it to Cleveland as fast as you can by plane, train or automobile, whatever floats your boat -- come by boat if that's the only way.  I beg of you!

Make me a promise right now that you would stop me.  Do whatever you had to do.  Rip out my fiber optic cable, destroy my electronics -- force feed me Prozac if that's what you felt needed to be done.

Just please don't ever enable me.  You have to promise me right now you are committed to saving me from myself.

That is all.

Now back to our regular scheduled programming.

Close Your Books and Get Your Pencils Out

Kevin Wolf had a post awhile back about his favorite words.  And then at the end he asked his readers what their favorite words were.

I have a confession to make. 

My name is Blue Girl and I have BPQA. 

Blogger Pop Quiz Anxiety.

It's where a blogger asks a question at the end of his or her post and all of a sudden I get kind of nervous and my mind goes blank and I can't think of one thing to say.  I begin to worry that I have no thoughts or ideas.  No opinions.  That I'm just an empty shell of a person with no history to draw from.  Ok, that's just a tad dramatic, but I do worry that I am in the early onset stage of Alzheimer's.

As I have pondered this disorder of mine over time, I've come to realize that it makes no difference whether the question is hard...

Dear Readers, my favorite mathematician of all time is Dr. Charles Addingitup who lived in England in the year 1877.  He formulated the most brilliant word problem of all time, in my opinion anyway. 

If you took the square root of 9,762 multiplied by .3% and your mother had to go buy bread and the store was 7 miles away and she drove a Chevy Impala, would the country road run parallel to the highway and if so name the store your mother went to minus 6.

Brilliant!  Dear Readers, who is your favorite mathematician of all time?  And why?

Ok.  I've got another confession to make.  I couldn't care less when a blogger asks me a question like that.  I'm like...huh?  What?  And then I probably would immediately think of Russell Crow in that one movie where he played the schizophrenic mathematician remembering how mesmerizing he was in that part.  I'd name that movie, but, you know, the whole early onset Alzheimer's situation going on over here.

And it also doesn't matter how easy the blogger's question is either...

Dear Readers, my favorite breakfast food of all time is pancakes with syrup.  What's yours?

I would immediately start thinking about the one time when I was in 6th grade and slept over Susie Fetterman's house and her mother made us pancakes with syrup for breakfast, but I was sick and threw up and now I can never even smell sryup, let alone eat it.  Ick.  And then I'd start thinking about scrambled eggs and toast, comparing that to custard filled Krispy Kreme donuts in my mind -- then I'd throw a little bacon into the mix and then after all that, I'd just think...I don't know what the heck I'm even talking about.  And then I'd just click away.

But I have to say, since Kevin wrote that post, I've been thinking a lot about my favorite words.  And I finally have a partial list!  Aren't you all thunderstruck?

Yes, that's my first favorite word.  Thunderstruck.  As in...

I was thunderstruck by the fact that I was able to form a partial list of my favorite words and it only took a few months.  Brilliant!

Yes, that's my second favorite word.  Brilliant! You can use it different ways...

You say you want to go to dinner at a cozy little restaurant that's swathed in ruby light?  Brilliant.

Or...

George W. Bush seems to think that all we have to do is get the bad guys to stop doing bad things.  Brilliant!  Glad to know he can extrapolate such a brilliant meaning from such a complex situation.

Yes, that's my third word.  Extrapolate.  I love to say extrapolate.  Ex.  Trap.  O.  Late.  I also love to say the word Accoutrements.  A.  Cou.  Tre.  Ments.  But, accoutrements is not one of my favorite words. 

My husband used it in a sentence last weekend when I showed him the new top I bought.

Why must all your new clothes have all these accoutrements?

Ooooh.  Big word.

And I thought...accoutrements?  That's a good word.  Is it one of my favorites though?  I said it out loud.  A.  Cou.  Tre.  Ments.  And then decided against it.  Didn't mesmerize me enough.

Mesmerize is also one of my favorite words.  (Bet you already caught on to that little trick of mine, huh?)

Paul Newman has the most mesmerizing blue eyes.

Listen to this song by Genesis.  It will mesmerize you.  You say it doesn't mesmerize you?   Well, why not?  Why wouldn't this song mesmerize you?  It has all the ingredients of a mesmerizing song.  First, it's by Genesis.  Mesmerizing reason #1.  Second, listen to the words!  Completely and totally mesmerizing.  There are other reasons, but it looks like I can't convince you.  So, I'll stop.  But, I do have to ask one question of you all.

Dear Readers, if you're not thunderstruck by that song, what song are you thunderstruck by?  What song simply mesmermizes you?

And don't worry if you're feeling anxiety right now, just drop me random clues from your fragmented thoughts in the comment thread and I'll extrapolate the meaning from your incoherent rambling.  Ex.  Trap.  O.  Late.  Ing.

I'm good at that.  Brilliant!

It's Lots Of Fun To Have You There

For the last 28 years, if my best friend Jennie and I weren't getting in trouble for passing notes to each other, we were getting in trouble for playing music too loud.  Once in high school we were even accused of cheating in some class, but all we were really doing was passing notes -- lyrics to Fleetwood Mac songs...


Miss Jennie!  I hope you're not doing what I think you're doing.  The teacher screeched from the front of the classroom.  What is the capital of Ohio?

Jennie stammered and stuttered as I tried to become invisible.

Um.  Um.  Hmmm.  Cleveland?  Oh, no wait...Columbus!

Well aren't you lucky.  Put whatever it is you're looking at away and get back to the test.  This is your last warning.

And you, Miss blue girl. He looked directly at me.  You do the same.  I don't want to have to call your parents.

John S., basketball jock who sat in between us seemed to take much satisfaction in the fact that we got in trouble.  He had been trying to intercept our notes, failing each time.

Jennie and I got back at him though, when we double dated with him and his other jock friend.  All we did was dance and sing Fleetwood Mac songs to each other the entire night.  They thought we were witches.  Which I guess we kind of were.

We were so fun.  And we still are!

A few years back we met in the Bahamas and stayed on a very big, big, big, big boat.  After a few cocktails, Jennie and I were up on the roof of the very big boat and she put on Michael Jackson's Billy Jean -- full blast.  We were singing and dancing and having a grand old time while our husbands looked on in despair.  They know better than to say anything though.  Not so with the Captain of the very big boat.  He came up to the roof and told us we had to turn the music down.

He said we didn't have the entire island to ourselves.

What a spoil sport Captain K was.

Last summer blue kid and I went to Jennie's house for a long weekend.  When she and her kids picked us up at the airport, the first thing she did was rummage through her glove compartment for a CD.

You have to listen to this song through these speakers.  It's amazing.

She popped in the CD and Neil Young's After the Gold Rush blared through the car...so beautifully.   I think the kids thought we were crazy.  We hadn't really even spoken to each other yet, but we were sitting there in total silence listening to this song from our past at Volume 11.

Jennie called me yesterday because she and her husband are coming here at the end of August and she wanted me to make dinner reservations for the four of us.

Let's go to that little restaurant that's so dark and small.  I loved it last time, she said.

Yeah, that's a great place.  It's drenched in ruby lighting and the martinis are good.  I can't remember the name of it.  It's got a number in the name.  Bacardi 151?  Room 222?

Just call it Studio 54.

We talked and laughed for over an hour.  And after we hung up, I thought I'd write her a little note telling her how much I enjoyed talking to her.  Notes have taken on a new form, so I wrote her an email.  But before I sent it, my computer crashed and I lost it.   

Here's what it said as I imagined it while I was typing.

You can't conceive of the pleasure in my smile.

Stupid Is As Stupid Does

I don't have time to write a masterpiece of a post this morning.  I know you're all shocked and dismayed by that thought.  But, I just want to say that President George W. Bush completely embarrasses me.  I could care less if he swears.  I'm embarrassed by his simple mind and the fact that he has no class whatsoever.  When I saw the video of him talking to Blair with his mouth.  full.  of.  food, I was disgusted.  And then when I heard what he said, I was disgusted even more.  Not by the swear word, but the meaning of what he said.

Tbogg, one of my new favorite bloggers -- because he's funny and he also has the coolest dogs -- I think said it best...

Which is why we're in the mess we're in because we need to do better than Earl from down at the garage who thinks that fixing the Middle East is as simple as gettin' folks to stop doin' that "shit". George Bush doesn't offend because he's crass...he offends me because he is such a dumbass.

My buddy Neddie Jingo wrote a great post a few days ago.  The Little Stupid and The Big Stupid that is our dear leader.  Well, that little performance by Bush yesterday was like Little Stupid and Big Stupid all rolled into one.

And it's an embarrassment.

And speaking of stupid that comes in all sizes, including XXXL! -- this also from Tbogg.

Pammy of Atlas Shrugs is going to Israel on the 29th to cover the world from there.

I wait with bated breath.

A Quiet Sunday Morning At Blue Girl's

Turn on Meet The Press.

Alright.  Oh, Joe Biden's on.  World War, World War, World War...

Have you read Frank Rich yet?  My husband asked as I glanced at the section he was reading and read the headline The Instant When Everything Changed and saw the pictures of Iraqi amputees. War...

No.  I'm scared this morning and Meet The Press is getting on my nerves.  I'm going to put in Sex and the City.  Do you care?

No.  Which one are you going to put on?

The one where Mr. Big tells Carrie he's engaged.

How can you watch that again?

It's heartbreaking.  I love it.  I love the restaurant scene.  Shhhh.  It's starting.  Where are you going?

I can't watch that one again.  I don't like when she gets hurt.

C'mon!  Watch it with me.

You know what I was thinking?  If the Democrats don't get a majority in Congress...

Shhhh!

...we should move to New York.

Shhhh!  Oh, poor Miranda.  I love Steve.  I love his voice.  He's goofy but adorable.

When does Mr. Big come back on the scene?

Shhhh.  Here it comes.

Mr. Big:  So, how are you?

Carrie:  I'm good.  I'm A-Ok.

Mr. Big:  Well you sound a little nutty.

Carrie:  Couldn't you just let one slide?  Maybe I should just move on to my prepared speech.

Mr. Big:  You have a prepared speech?

Is blue kid up yet?

You're talking!!

Carrie:  Well, I was thinking...instead of you and I acting like each other don't even exist, why don't we just try to be friends.  Why don't we do lunch?

Mr. Big:  Lunch sounds good.

They get to the restaurant and Mr. Big is nervous and trips going up the steps to the table.

Did you eat Special K this morning?

Oh my God!  How can you talk during this scene?!

Well, someone ate a bowl of Special K.  You know, I've got to get "The One Percent Doctrine."

Stop talking about Ron Suskind!  I've got an idea...why don't you go get it now?!!

You're ridiculous.

Shhhhh!

Carrie:  Enough, enough.  Don't want to hear about your girl.  Can't take it.  I've got an idea.  We'll only tell each other details when it gets serious.

Mr. Big:  Carrie.  He looks directly at her, his glass of scotch sitting in front of him.  It is serious.  We're engaged.

Ahhhh!  Here comes the best part.

She puts her head in her hands and says she has a splitting headache.  She yells at him -- doesn't care who hears.  She gets up and knocks her chair over.  He gets up to try to help her or stop her.  She yells at him again and as she begins to storm away she throws her napkin behind her.  Then she trips going down the stairs.

Scene over.  I watch the rest analyzing every minute detail.  Sigh.

Perfect.  Perfect.  Perfect.  A little corny is some spots, but still perfect.

Where are you going?

I'm going down to Barnes & Noble to buy Season Two so I can have that episode.

You know...that sounds like something a twenty-something girl would do.

I don't care!

At Barnes & Noble I picked up Season Two and it was $50.00!  I thought to myself...I can't pay $50.00 for this!  The twenty-something version of blue girl would've done it in a heartbeat.  Probably would've even charged it.  I put it back on the shelf and decided to get a coffee to go.  But not before I did what I usually do and flipped over as many conservative books as possible before getting caught.

As I was leaving the bookstore, I saw "The One Percent Doctrine" on the front table.  30% off!  I laughed to myself and bought it for my Mr. Big - Mouth.

When I got home my husband was sitting quietly at the kitchen table paying bills.

Here!  Look what I got you!

Oh, you didn't have to do that.

Oh, shut up.

"We Die Some And We Rise Some"

I cast these gifts to you -  forests of obsessions and streams of depression and deserts of apathy...

Bobness writes pretty words plus he's going on vacation soon.  Oregon beaches and California redwoods await his arrival.

Bob wonders if the ocean will speak the truth.  I often wonder what the ocean says to me.  What does it say to you?