blue girl

Rated G No More

Awhile back, I took some Internet quiz that said this blog is rated G. What a goody goody.

Enough!

I have to post this video. I love it. I just can't get enough of it. I think I'm addicted to it. I wish I had made it. (But, I never would have because I'm rated G.)

I'm sure most of you have seen it by now. But, I know some of you haven't. And you have to watch it. But! Don't watch it at work. Don't watch it if your kids around. Don't watch it if you're easily offended. Don't watch it if you're the type of person who hears a catchy tune and then can't get it out of your head. Because, like me, you may find yourself strolling through the cereal aisle at the grocery store singing it. And that's not good. People will think you are rated R. Possibly X. (Although they might be a little jealous of you if they believe what you are singing is true.)

For those who haven't seen it and don't know the background (like me), Sarah Silverman has been dating Jimmy Kimmel for five or six years. I don't watch Jimmy Kimmel, but I guess every night he takes a jab at Matt Damon at the end of his show. Sarah Silverman and Matt Damon decided to get him back.

Here's Jimmy Kimmel's response. Absolutey hysterical. The longer it goes on, the funnier it gets. But, I just love the first one. Oh, how I would love to have pulled something like that off. But, again, the whole G thing.

The Crusty Old Pop-Top

If by some grim jest of fate John McCain is elected president (I picture David Brooks, Chris Matthews, Mike Barnicle, and rawhide Don Imus getting all misty-eyed and sentimental at the inauguration, like a Lonesome Dove cast reunion), perhaps the rest of us should form concentric circles around the White House and wait for McCain's pop-top crust to blow. Unfortunately, once his temper blows, it may be nuclear clouds that spume...

Conjures up an image, don't it? That Wolcott. Read Wolcott's entire post here. Some good readin' about McCain for all you liberal heathens.

And if any of you are contemplating voting for McCain (and I know who you are!) just look at this picture right now. Click here! Just look! People can be forgiven for a lot, but that? Pshaw!

Only One Constant

I am not rooted in the everyday. I move from place to place like a sybarite in search of pleasure, always thinking the final resting place will be just around the corner, at the end of this plane ride, behind the next door. I can never release myself from the mercurial aspects, can't allow myself to stand on some kind of ground. Instead I tend toward that which destabilizes and feels most like home; change, impermanence, a pattern of in and out, here and there, city to city, place to place.

Houses are temporary containers. Some walls, a roof, a bathroom. I have exchanged spaces more times than I can count. I transition easily from neighborhood to neighborhood, coast to coast. I unpack and pack my belongings, shedding some and picking up others with ease and economy. The Miles Davis disc stays, Squeeze goes. The Esprit pants go, the Levi's stay. The Diary of Anne Franks stays, the Derrida reader goes. Letting go and holding on, letting go and holding on, this is the only constant. Not the people I love, not the person I become in their arms, under their gaze. There is only this process I have that is familiar: putting the sofa there, the books in stacks against the wall, hammering the nail for the painting here.

From Black, White and Jewish: Autobiography of a Shifting Self by Rebecca Walker, writing about the effects of moving back and forth between two worlds while growing up, after her parents' divorce.

"Make Art! Make Art!"

Last night's Oscar show may have been low-key, but it was filled with incredible moments. From Daniel Day-Lewis' eloquent speech where he talked about how an idea starts out as a "devilish whisper" to Diablo Cody thanking her friends and family for always accepting her for exactly who she is to the beautiful Marion Cotillard thanking life...thanking love, the talent and diginity of all the winners was inspiring.

But nothing was as sweet, and more deserved, as Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova winning in the Best Song category for Falling Slowly, the incredibly special and moving song from Once.

"Fair play to those who dare to dream and don't give up."

Peaceful Sunday Morning

This morning I set the timer for 45 minutes then poured another cup of coffee. I pulled the container of blueberries out of the refrigerator and rinsed them, then set them aside. I walked into the living room, sat down on the couch and watched the Elton John segment on Sunday Morning. The Skimmer was sitting on the floor in front of the TV with several sections of the paper spread out before him. I told him that I didn't care who didn't like Elton John and that I love his music and always will. Nee-nee-nee-nee-nee. I thought about posting one of his songs on my blog and then I thought that I had never seen Tantrums and Tiaras and thought that's just as well.

I heard footsteps upstairs and then music. Knowing blue kid was up, I climbed the stairs, knocked on his door to tell him breakfast would be ready soon. He had climbed back into bed after turning on his music and with the covers pulled up over his head, he choked out a, "K."

I came downstairs and turned the oven light on and peeked inside. The casserole was not yet bubbling nor could I smell the cinnamon, sugar and nutmeg egg mixture wafting through the house. I hoped I hadn't forgotten an ingredient or had mismeasured somehow.

I poured the orange juice from its bulky plastic container into a plain glass pitcher as blue kid walked around the corner. He looked into the window on the front of the oven, asked for a glass of orange juice and plopped himself hard down on the loveseat, grabbed the afghan at his feet, fell down on one side, stretched out and quickly covered himself up.

The buzzer rang and I took the casserole out of the oven, covered it in fresh blueberries and a light brown sugar, butter and pecan mixture.

"Mom? How long?"

"15 minutes. Maybe 17. I want to take a picture of it when it's done."

"Why?"

"Because I have a feeling the bubbling blueberries will be pretty."

I set the table and walked over to the china cabinet to get a crystal vase. I remembered I had received a glass flower last year as a gift and wouldn't that look pretty in the crystal vase? The sunlight streaming in from our kitchen window, catching the colors of the flower and the crystal? Yes. I found the purple glass flower with the long green glass stem and placed it into the vase.

The sunlight streamed through it.

Lego, our long-haired black cat weaved in and out of my legs. I got a saucer out of the cabinet and poured him a little milk.

"Honey, how much longer?"

"Two minutes."

"You have to read this article when you're done."

"About what?"

"Mom, it dinged."

I pulled the casserole out of the oven. The blueberries had bubbled beautifully, just as I expected.

I placed the breakfast casserole on the table and then poured the warm maple syrup into a white porcelain gravy boat.

The three of us sat at the kitchen table eating the pretty french toast, bubbling blueberry concoction.

"It's good."

"Yeah, it's good."

"Can I have some more, Mom?"

It's been a good morning.

Good Mornings

...years of getting up early have made me attuned to morning's charms. There's a crispness in the air on a fall morning, and on a humid summer morning, if you get up early enough, the mist hangs around the ground and dampens the sound of the world. I love watching the sky shift from night to morning light, and I love the stars early in the morning. A sunrise is as beautiful as a sunset, and sometimes, on certain mornings, I'll be driving to work when I see a jet plane rising into the air from the Buffalo Niagara airport (about seven or eight miles more distant) in such a way that it catches the glow of the rising sun and shines like a sliver of new sunlight, arcing into the sky.

Besides, coffee smells the best in the morning, and that's when waffles and maple syrup and eggs and bacon and sausage smell best.

Mmmm. I can't wait till Sunday morning. This is what I have planned.

Read the rest of Jacquandor's post here. Is Unidentified Earth coming back or what? You must read to find out!

Female Weaknesses and Feminine Psychology

John Baker discovered some tips for male managers to consider back in 1943, when women started flooding the workplace.

1. Pick young married women. They usually have more of a sense of responsibility than their unmarried sisters, they’re less likely to be flirtatious, they need the work or they wouldn’t be doing it.

3. General experience indicates that ‘husky’ girls—those who are just a little on the heavy side—are more even tempered and efficient than their underweight sisters.

4. Retain a physician to give each woman you hire a special physical examination—one covering female conditions. This step . . . reveals whether the employee-to-be has any female weaknesses which would make her mentally or physically unfit for the job.

8. Give every girl an adequate number of rest periods during the day. You have to make some allowances for feminine psychology. A girl has more confidence and is more efficient if she can keep her hair tidied, apply fresh lipstick and wash her hands several times a day.

All wisecracks aside (and boy could I make 'em!), I am so grateful for all the strong women who came before me.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to rest. And then maybe tidy up a tad. (With confidence, of course.)

Toodles!

*Air Kisses!*

Wait, hold on. Before I apply fresh lipstick, here are two more John Baker posts you may be interested in reading.

The Shakespearean Scholar of Sarajevo
Sounds Like a Good Book

Yeah, they're totally unrelated to the idea of the post. But, that's just ditsy old me, wanting to use my brain and my mad blogging skills, thinking that you'd like to use yours, too.

Heal Thyselves, Please

I tried to watch In Treatment again last night. I've only seen two episodes, but they were both the same. Gabriel Byrne who plays Paul, a psychologist, seems to counsel women who are in love with him but he doesn't treat them very well. (So to speak.) The women try to humiliate him and he tries to humiliate them in return.

Twenty minutes into the episode last night, I pulled the blanket up over my head, begging them to stop whining.

Please. I beg of you. Stop whining.

I stuck it out till the end, a set up where Laura, the humiliated woman, who wasn't humiliated at all, but should have been, left her session and then immediately made a play for Blaire Underwood outside of Paul's office.

I came upstairs to shut down my computer for the night. Music was coming from Blue Kid's room and he was singing loudly...

Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby
picks up the rice in the church
where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window,
wearing the face
that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

I stopped outside of his door to listen and thought to myself, Now that's my kind of therapy.

Goosed!

Just sitting here minding my own business and along comes Connie, who bops me on the head and then just runs away laughing....laughing. Such energy that girl has!

She memed me:

• look up page 123 in the nearest book

• look for the fifth sentence

• then post the three sentences that follow that fifth sentence on page 123

Easy enough. I've got the energy for that.

In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, Ohio had been a favored destination for free blacks and runaway slaves looking for a place to settle in the North. Some of the state's longime citizens must have been descended from those old emigres. The only reporter who ever asked Harding himself was James Faulkner, the revered political writer for the Cincinnati Enquirer.

These three sentences are from Scorpion Tongues, The Irresistible History of Gossip in American Politics by Gail Collins. The back cover reads:

Did Woodrow Wilson murder his first wife? Of course not. Did Hillary Clinton throw the lamp? Maybe. From Thomas Jefferson to William Jefferson Clinton, Scorpion Tongues examines the evolving relationship between politicians and the press and speculates on the cyclical nature of gossip throughout our nation's history. Expertly researched and wickedly entertaining, with salacious scandals, completely unfounded rumors, and shocking innuendo, Scorpion Tongues is the history book you wish you read in school.

I bought this book a few years and ago but haven't read it. I pulled it off the shelf last week because you know, we're all so deprived of gossip and innuendo in the political realm these days. Plus, The Economist promises that it will be "hilariously readable" while Entertainment Weekly states that it is "A major public service."

Now I've got to goose five people. Duck, duck, duck...

Goose
Goose
Goose
Goose
Goose

Better do your memes, people! Or I will perform a major public service and gossip relentlessly about each and every one of you.

Our Coffee House

While out running errands today, I stopped by a local Arabica to buy my favorite new drink. A medium frozen Mocha. (You can say "medium" at an Arabica without being fined.) I've only had two. One last Saturday and one today. They are so good. I'm hooked.

As the barista was making my chocolatey ice creamy frozen awesomeness coffee, I spotted a basket full of plastic coffee scoops on the counter. We need one of those, I thought to myself. Our really beautiful, pewter, ornate scoop I bought in Pittsburgh about 15 years ago disappeared a couple of months ago.

How does a coffee scoop just...disappear?

Don't ask me. I have no idea.

That's why I'm asking you.

As the barista was ringing me up, I told her about the Case of the Missing Really Beautiful, Pewter, Ornate Coffee Scoop from Pittsburgh.

"It's gone. I have no idea where it went. I knew that coffee scoop. I knew how much coffee to put in to make it the way we like it. One more scoop for the amount of coffee you're making. Want eight cups? Five scoops. 10 cups? Six scoops. I had it all figured out. Now, it's just a wing and a prayer. I've used teaspoons ... tablespoons. I've tried just shaking the coffee straight from the bag into the filter, trying to remember the right amount for the cups we want. Sometimes it's too weak and sometimes it's too strong. It's been a disaster, really."

"I know how that is! It's like, you know what you're doing and then all of a sudden you don't! It's like life threw you a curve ball. Well, this scoop is a good one. You'll get to know it and I'm sure you'll love it for years to come!"

I left the Arabica happy with my frozen Mocha but a little unhappy with the scoop. Out of all the colors I had to choose from, I chose bright yellow. I have no idea why. But, I will regret that forever. It's too bright.

When I came home The Skimmer said, "Do you want the good news or the bad news?"

"What?"

"Do you want the good news or the bad news?"

I hate that question. I only ever want good news. But, since I am strong and brave and want to head problems off at the pass, I always choose the bad news first.

"Bad. Lay it on me."

"I broke the coffee maker."

"How?"

"I broke the...thing. The carafe part. I was scrubbing it out, trying to get that shag chocolate coffee out of it that you made this morning, and I dropped it in the sink and it broke."

My mind raced. What can we do? What can we do? We're having people over for brunch in the morning! We need to be able to make coffee. And even if we weren't, we need coffee. I just bought a bright yellow plastic scoop, for crying out loud!

"I know! Don't we have another carafe thingy in the basement from the coffee maker we had when we had our office in Cleveland?"

"That's the good news! I found that one! The whole coffee maker's in its original box. I got it out and I think we should test it."

"Good save! And while you're testing it, try the new coffee scoop I bought today."

"Oh, great! We really needed one! Wait. Why did you get this one? It's so yellow."

"I know! Look at that bright thing. It'll glow in the dark! Why'd I get it?"

"Don't ask me. I have no idea. That's why I'm asking you."

"It'll be easier to find when we lose it?"