Oldest and Middle had a surf lesson early this morning. We drove, all over the place, looking for the surf center. Owned and run by a blond fellow with a heavy accent it was a terrific location - he had some wonderful land rovers too and we sat on benches and watched as he first taught the boys the principles on dry land - which looked pretty silly, and then paddled them out past the breaks in the surf -- a good distance, to give it a try.
Oldest has been on a surfboard a few times, but Middle never has. They both stood pretty quickly but it’s not the standing that proved difficult, it’s the paddling. Their teacher was pretty good about towing them back out past the break again and again and helping to set them up to ride the next waves in. They did very well, and the fellow was so nice - we had a great time.
On the way home we were told where to get some dolphin and some breadfruit -- and we needed, believe it or not, a fingernail clipper (everything grows very quickly here) and some zinc oxide for the boys noses.
No luck on the breadfruit -- but K was able to describe Mutiny on the Bounty in its entirety to the kids while we searched. Scored a nail clipper, but it took three stres, and then we hit the fish market.
It was open air -- with a wooden roof. There were huge wooden tables with hoses and fish in big plastic bins. Just beyond the market was the docks and the boats. There was fish everywhere, fish still moving, and yet nothing smelled of fish. The tables were hosed down after every customer was done. A tiny saleslady helped us and told a young man with long long braids what we wanted. He had huge knives and cut it all up. We bought fresh dolphin and swordfish -- eight pounds in all for $24 US. I cannot buy any fish for $3 US per pound in Tuvalu no less something that fresh.
K is going to grill the swordfish for our lunch and then we plan on taking a late day trip to the beach.
Vida is making a pork dish tonight that, frankly scares me. Fortunately I talked her out of adding feet and ears.
Later: Happily the zinc worked - the kids faces were starting to look like...like pumkin fritters. The boys are playing english monopoly. Streets I have never heard of - Mayfair and Park Lane. There are men picking coconuts in the yard behind ours and the goats have gotten loose -- they are running through the houses being built across the street, where they are using a bit of explosive to blast through rocks. Some of the workmen are wearing long pants, long sleeved shirts and hats and bandannas over their faces to protect them from the dust I suppose. But it is so hot.
Have I already written that the turn off for our street has an open hut on it? And in the hut there is a full sized kitchen stove and table and chairs. We cannot figure out what it is supposed to be and there are different people in it from time to time. The town is dotted with little shacks with signs on them and they are rum shops -- but this appears to be someone’s outdoor kitchen - and yet it seems to have a menu posted - Vida tells me I don’t want anything they have.
Just now there seems to have been a watermain break. Many shouting voices, all work across the street ceases and some official trucks arrive.
surf
etheline
Sounds like a type of petrol yes? It is the name of the housekeeper. She came walking up the road as we were headed out to swim at a not-so-far beach.
We stopped and said hello and told her that Oldest was staying behind -- warned her that he might look scary (and in fact, drew stares at the supermarket) but that he was harmless.
Off we went. Breathtaking beach -- somewhat rough surf - crystal clear very salty water. We body surfed for about an hour or so and headed home salty and tired.
Etheline was working away --
and when she first saw us she said: you are mistaken.
Blink blink -- (me)
Where is the scary one?
There, in the pool. (me)
He is not scary he is so sweet!
Vida will be jealous.
Etheline is washing the floor of the garage right now.
The boys have taken the moke to the race track and K is filming the ocean from the top of the cliff. I am sitting in our room at the top of the house - it is a large square room with exposed white painted rafters and it is decorated with dark wood furniture -- plantation style.
I can hear a little crowd of goats that are just beyond our fence.
We have made arrangements for the menfolk to go on a snorkel (I have terrible vision, don’t own prescription goggles and part of the trip includes feeding turtles which would give me a small stroke) trip.
But tomorrow morning, very early, Oldest and Middle have surfing lessons on the other side of the island.
I have just realized that the sunblock I am putting on my face is only 15 spf -- and so, I am a little tanned which I am kind of liking. Meanwhile it is all I can do to keep the boys faces from burning. They are constantly slathering on the sunblock (30 spf) and their noses are still very red anyway. Oh - and along with my tanned face I have second degree strap mark burns on my shoulders - you can see exactly where I missed with the sunblock and it is not attractive.
there are posts below the house photos!
but here is a new one...
I cannot imagine staying on the south coast of this island.
Jammed into villages too small to accomodate them, hotels have been smashed between tiny streets and the sea. Yes, the sea is beyond description. But the area around these hotels has been built into a candy colored amusement park for tourists. Stupid stores selling every kind of tee shirt, ash tray and shells. (and I don’t think there are any shells here to sell)
We have not yet been to “the gold coast.” Apparently there is unimaginable wealth there and pricey hotels and estates - while this does not especially interest us I suppose that we will venture off to see it at some point.
We drive around to the next coastline, to see the big city. Not my choice, but some wanted to take a trip there. Hot and dirty - a city in the tropics. We didn’t stay long. Driving back around the island to our home, which takes rather a long time as one can be stuck behind any form of bus, we stop at some beaches as we need to touch the water in an attempt to understand, to prove to ourselves that it really is that color. But there are too many people on this side, it overwhelms us - we want solitude and it is not here.
(a little finch has just hopped into the house, got a crumb from the kitchen floor and left)
We stop for a roti. It is spicy and we nearly burn our mouths on the temperature of it, but we suck it down -- the boys are thrilling at flavors they haven’t had before.
The boys gladly accept the keys to the house - which is locked like a fortress and go home while K and I go to the supermarket with our latest shopping list from Vida.
I know from renting other homes that it can be difficult to set up a kitchen for one week’s cooking...but Vida needs an awful lot it seems -- For our arrival I ordered what she requested for the first two meals. Big bag of rice, potatoes, bread crumbs, sugar (which is cane sugar, like sand), oil, flour, butter, salt, pepper. All these things come in bags - and the ladies at the market (a modern looking new supermarket) put them in different colored bags --you know, so that I may identify them at home.
Blue = dry goods, pink fish, green meat, red snacks.
But Vida sends me for things for the other meals -- she needs a different flour than the one here - the one here is fine for cooking, but not for baking. Butter is for putting on foods, not IN foods. She asks for a pound of “mello creem.” But she also requests a pound of “glo spread” and these are all oleo spreads of different um, colors.
Firstly I do believe Vida’s pantry will be well stocked when I leave - but yesterday in the market, I asked a large round lady why, WHY would the cook send me for a different margarine and flour? Oh, she said, she’s to be baking for you. And which salted fish for fish cakes? what pork for the souse? Nearly everything she makes (is delicious) is “the national dish!” My sample menu, from before we arrived included “orange cake.” There was vanilla essence required and cake pans bought, and oil spray and flour and sugar. But no orange cake seemed to be in the offing from Vida.
Vida?
Yes?
What is to be for dessert?
Well, I suppose there is ice cream...andthenVidaspeaksveryfastandIcannotunderstandher.
What of the “orange cake?”
Oh I don’t know anything about that.
What? but it’s the NATIONAL DISH!
Who tole you that then?
It said it on my list -- in the email.
Well, I will tell the agent that I asked some other cooks and no one knows nothing about orange cake as such! (it is a cockney voice -- she says foy-ve for 5)
But Vida! our mouths are just ready for orange cake! and I have bought pans and flour and just EVERYTHING.
All royt all royt - I will figure out something.
Next evening Vida arrives with a mixer, a whisk, a bag of things. She works hard. Mixing, reading, grating orange, testing. I glance over her shoulder and see she is reading from a yellowed paper. A recipe for a lady who adds handfuls and pinches? At the top of the page it says
JOY.
Vida?
Yes?
Where did this recipe come from!
Oh don’t look at that!
But it says joy!
Some old book- she says.
JOY OF COOKING!?
Yes --she breaks into quiet laughing.
I have flown around the world for the national dish of orange cake from The Joy Of Cooking. And it is superb. She has put colored sprinkles on top.
And has agreed to sit with us and try it.
Oy never mayde this before! it’s quite good!
WELL OF COURSE - IT’S THE NATIONAL DISH!
now
Herded through immigration we were -- hot hot hot and crowded. Crying babies and waiting on endless lines.
Difficult. Especially as we worried that Oldest would be turned away -- that the Senior Immigration Officer giving his permission for entry would be a ruse of some kind or that he would be off duty. And so, this anticipation made the waiting worse.
Finally it was our turn -- she looked at Oldest’s documents and started to point us to an office, then suddenly caught a second glimpse of his name and said something like: oh yes, I have a note about him here --- please pass. Which must have meant that each of the immigration windows had “a note” his arrival. Many passports and papers stamped and we wait again to buy liquor for the house (which we definitely needed) and then through customs -- to wait in another crowd for our rental cars. More red tape, more waiting, Youngest nearing tears, Oldest at his wits end -- Middle silent, while K and I rush around for papers and money changing and and and...finally, following Wilbur, sent by the rental agent through towns of tiny shanties to our house by the beach.
Literally steps away from the beach in the photo it is a good sized house, with thank heavens, air conditioning in the bedrooms as it must be near 90. One can hear the surf crashing down the street. French doors at the back open to a porch and pool beyond.
Our cook, Vida, a tall thin woman with perfectly coifed hair arrived at 5pm. And proceeded to cook, completely without pretense, family dinner. Flying fish seasoned to perfection, pumpkin fritters, just a little sweet, spanish rice with tumeric she ground herself in front of us, christophene(squash) with a creamy onion cheese sauce. We inhaled the food. She smiled a lot at us.
Listening to us, and we to her. We fell into our beds at 9.
We rented a suzuki peredo - small jeep liberty type thing and a moke for Oldest. The moke is a go-cart with fabric roof -- he is in love with it. He and Middle disappeared yesterday for a couple of hours and returned with glorious tales of finding a race track! (my minds spins with the idea of them alone on a faraway island “finding” a race track--but I am trying not to think too much, and they had their phones with them)
We now have our requisite sunburns in all the places we didn’t reach with sunblock -- fortunately the boys were wearing rash guards all day and so today is a driving around day. An explore.
The moon and stars are beautiful and we look at them each night instead of the television.
The ocean is an intense turquoise and very powerful.
The air is filled with the sounds of birds we have never heard before.
boys...don’t eat the candy bars in the pool boys! boys!
because we are crazy
we get up at 4, we leave the house at 4:35 -- four hours before our flight. we are crazy -- we are the type of people who are compulsively early. strangely there is some traffic, construction traffic and we arrive at about 5:45. some of us wait while K leaves the car in long term parking -- he has Oldest with him. Oldest who never got his passport. But I checked with not only the Tuvalan Department of Travel, but also the immigration office of the far away land. No problem. Oldest could travel, with us, with a birth certificate and a valid photo ID. and yet, we arrive at the airport with nearly three hours to spare, and are told by the ticket agent that they will not allow oldest on the plane. they tell us that the far away land will deport him even if they do allow him on the plane. I fret, I tear my hair, I pace and pray. And my husband? he calmly asks for the telephone number and name of the senior immigration official on the far off island. and from the check in desk, he telephones him. he calmly explains our situation. the desk agent meanwhile expalins that some of us may travel on but that one adult and oldest wiill have to wait until monday to appeal to the Tuvalan Department of Travel for an emergency passport. K has told me that I will take the others and fly and he will join us when he can. but. the Senior Immigration Official, a man with a beautiful name and a heart, on the far off island tells K that he grants permission for us to arrive -- with Oldest.
And so, with one gracious stroke Mr. M has saved our vacation --
and now we are flying -- flying towards our sanity. and the blue blue sea.
spring
Mr. E has brought us a pile of ramps. Do you know ramps? they taste the way that onion grass smells -- with a little sweetness. Sauteed in olive oil and a little butter, over pasta with some fleur de sel, they are amazing -- and only available for a few weeks a year.
Thank you Mr. E.
K is very pleased that we now have baby grass all over the front yard.
Man make grass. Said he.
Its got a lot of rocks in it, said I.
That's okay he said grass cover rock.
And lo, a new form of rock/scissors/paper was born.
Mower (Middle miming the starting of a pull cord mower) cuts grass
Grass covers rock (Youngest makes his fingers stand up and squiggle for grass growing)
Rock blocks mower.
How cute are we? HOW EFFIN CUTE ARE WE, PEOPLE?
All right.
Drinking now as I have total airplane-crazy-scared-anxiety. Which I mention to my mother, in a moment of weakness, and SHE SAYS
WELL, AT LEAST YOU WILL ALL BE TOGETHER.
Am intending to attempt to write during the week, you know, from Joe's Tropical Internet Cafe where I can, hopefully, get smashed on island rum, update, and then drive the mini moke back to the house.
godspeed.
show and tell
and so, the life you all imagine as glamorous, exciting, and glamorous, is exposed for the sham it truly is. I am outed by my bedside table. do I, can I, possibly explain it away? somehow lend some fraction of romance to the image before you?
well.
you know I can't shut the hell up -
so here goes.
It has become apparent to me, of late, that while there are rooms in our house where form meets function with a beautiful simplicity of design and fine taste, our bedroom is not one of those rooms. Yes we do have a Ralph Lauren bed set -- complete with lots of pillows, and true, K built our bed himself and I do love it. There is an antique church bench in the room and a terrific old wooden ladder with my collection of white coverlets on the rungs ---and then there is just crap everywhere else. Not a ton of crap. But crap. Framed photos, books, magazines, candles, ironing in a pile, socks in a cool bag from Hong Kong, vintage suitcases, more books, bowls of cool stuff, baskets of cool stuff. Too. Much. Stuff.
And the table by my side of the bed? My grandmother's sewing machine covered with one of the many many small tablecloths she left me (I change them all the time, this one is embroidered). Craft paper shaded lamp which is no good for reading, bose radio that is WASTED as an alarm clock, my favorite candle, and always some lotion/cream/salve.
Under the table? Piles and piles of books, some knitting and the heavy duty asthma stuff (in case I need it for Youngest in the middle of the night).
A mess. And thanks to Loretta, I will now make an effort to re-organize it all.
So, enjoy! enjoy your insight into the actual me.
survivor UPDATE
How did I get myself into this each week?
Is anybody reading this?
WTF?
This week one might almost say that we were more effected by the commercials than we were by the episode. One might.
Ashton Kutcher sucks, who is selling kitty litter to whom during survivor, and we cannot take another moment of Julia Roberts saying "innernet." These are our commercial observations. And, oh yeah, we hate pringles, have never liked pringles and are sick of survivor pringles.
It's day 25. There are flies and hairy armpits.
Janu feels a huge loss. (of weight we notice)
A cat fight ensues.
It's Janu vs. Steph -- a slick editing job, and all we really need to know about the show this week.
Time for a challenge. Middle spies what he thinks is a zip line. He bets me $10 that it is a zip line challenge. He now owes me $10 as it was not a zip line challenge.
Jeff, who is a little minx this week, says they must build a tower. In the water. (the only element missing is fire!)
We are startled by the fact that it is the skinnies vs. the not so skinnies.
Other than that initial observation, I cannot tell who anyone is. But it appears that much is made of Janu slouching through the first half of the feat and then rising to the occasion in the end.
Mom: how many pieces are involved in this building of the tower? four?
Me: eight hundred.
Janu, Tom, Caryn and Gregg win and whisk off to a feast. We catch a glimpse of a pudgy little Palauan baby and there is much dancing and chanting. Dancing and chanting and bras. Bras of coconut and thatch -- hmm, doesn't seem so comfortable.
Janu thinks she has an embolism. But alas, she is just bulimic. She ruins the reward for her teammates by puking.
Full and queasy, the four of them return to camp. Laden with leftovers wrapped in aluminum foil and ziplock bags. And just as they are sharing the remains of the feast -- Janu is ready for a little desert.
For the next challenge the survivors must, I don't know, not drown, or freak out about drowning. And suddenly Jeff gets pretty manipulative. He announces that the first one out of the not drowning or freaking challenge will spend the night alone on a deserted island. He proceeds to freak Janu into ducking out. Making her the big loser. As Jeff does the play by play for the rest of the contest he gets creepier and creepier.
Of course Fireman Tom wins.
And Janu goes off alone. And makes fire, and has a wonderful bonding experience -
with herself.
(and she is clearly wearing a thong. who in their right mind would wear a thong for 39 days? with no laundry or proper toilet facilities? I have a new and different respect for Janu.) Turns out, Janu has a wonderful night away. Away from the team. The team who decide that Steph has to go home.
This makes Steph cry -- and plead and Jeff (in his new guise as instigator) gets Janu to quit.
To lay down her torch.
The only decent thing -
nay
the only THING
she has ever done right.
I am beat.
And thrilled that I got to use the word nay.
'night.
UPDATE - I meant to write about the fact that the twists and turns of plot, the personalities and the motivations of the participants working within the structure of a show that is interesting to begin with is what makes survivor work -- for us anyway. There is always a twist that pleases us, what is expected does not always happen, and while we have come to accept that certain things are just going to occur we can often be surprised. It is a great show.
I was going to say that last night -- but I rushed through my post and went to bed.
done
shopped. washed. pressed. packed. on the last trip to Target I got a laptop bag and travel sizes.
tomorrow, clean.
tonight, Survivor.
I'm with Ayelet
and that is why when I whined about not having a book to take on our trip, to read at night, I went weak in the knees when K said: why would you want to read at night?
other vacations
The first time we went to Sea World we had flown into florida to visit K and surprise the kids. He had been shooting on disney property for a couple of weeks and wrangled free entry for us to the big parks. Middle was really too young to be there and Youngest was a baby. Not even walking. But we went because it was free and it was the week before christmas and it was fun.
The afternoon before we went to the orca show, M, a crew member who was down there with K had told us that he had not been outside in eleven days and that other crew members had been playing practical jokes on him all week. I volunteered to run over to the coach bag outlet (an awful, awful, task) as K wanted to buy M a new wallet.The day before the crew had rigged up one of the vans -- rewired something in the dashboard so that every time M stepped on the brake, window washer fluid would squirt from the steering column into his crotch. (I suppose I could stop right here as this is a pretty good story in itself -- but you know me, I will continue.) It took M just long enough to figure out the booby trap to soak his pants, and ruin his wallet. And so, K gave M a new wallet, and M agreed to go with us to the show to enjoy some down time.
Little Oldest, only about 8 at the time, begged to sit in the splash zone. And I thought it would be great. GREAT! And it was a terrific show -- I love those shows - leaping dolphins and huge whales doing things they shouldn't be doing while living in probably horrible conditions...all right, I am skiing off piste here. I do like those shows. And despite the announcers warnings M and I and Oldest sat in the very center of the splash zone. And we were not disappointed. As anyone who has been to sea world can tell you, the audience in that part of the theater gets truly soaked. In huge splashes that careen toward them. We were soaked to the skin. And that was when M realized that his new wallet was completely soaked as well.
The second time we went to sea world, we were all grown up. Sort of. We went during the summer because we got great deals. And we brought both grandmas (okay, they got their own plane tickets) and we rented a fabulous house (3 miles from the gates of disney, 4 bedrooms, 3 baths, and a pool -- beautifully furnished it even came with a car -- for $189 per night!). It was hot hot hot that week and by the time we got to the orca show we were wilting. Florida in July is not so easy. We, some of us, very deliberately sat in the splash zone -- we sat and waited with great anticipation, we watched as people with cameras wondered if they should move to a drier area (and didn't) we waited as each trick provided just tiny splashes. But we were rewarded eventually -- we were splashed with giant waves of water. It was fabulous watching the kids getting totally blasted in their seats. We were laughing and screaming with delight.
We howled with laughter right up until Oldest pointed out that the whales pee in that water too.
entertainin
Tonight, the boys is watchin Raisin Arizona a film which quite possibly has the best opening song in the history of all of filmdom.
It ain't all disney and flowers over here.
show and tell
Loretta wants to see our bedside tables.
And so, on friday -- we shall show them to her.
managing
K came home last night and reported that he'd like - as if he has the time, to blog the cell phone conversations that he hears on the train. He has overheard, with clenched teeth, many many private conversations. Private conversations which are no longer private due to the volume of the call. Last night in particular is was a woman complaining that the man in her life is always sleeping. I am sure that K was riveted.
Plus, work at the salt mines has been at a fever pitch for him lately and he has been coming home beaten with exhaustion.
Today he sent this email:
My day ahead...
B is out (again) with kidney stones
L is "working" from home
F is late because they went until 3AM
R doesn't come in until 12PM
P is going directly to an unnecessary Film to Tape session off site
T who the F knows.
Do you see a disaster in the making?
I'm just sayin'
K
I cannot wait wait wait to get him on the plane plane plane -- could this be the dreamy relaxing and restful family vacation that we all need very badly?
the little voice in my head is saying: naaaaaa.
song
Wait...go get your guitar
Are you open tuned?
No? I'll have to play Dad's...
What's that?
Something of mine...
They played for about 15 minutes. Together. Something Oldest had written. He who sings with a Leon Redbone/Jack Johnson kind of sound. He who had bootleg cd's of Jack Johnson four years ago. He who can be so poignant yet so trying.
And Middle who probably plays better than anyone in the house, who is taller than Oldest, who kept right up.
I WAS Meg Ryan
Before she had bizzaro fish lips and cheek implants that is. I was Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail. Another of my favorite movies.
Remember what I wrote about 9/11? You don't? Well, I will tell you again. Try to bear with me. K was prepping to shoot a life insurance commercial. Did you notice that there were no life insurance commercials after 9/11? Well. You can just imagine our financial state then can't you.
I decided that I would find work to pay for christmas. We had some money put aside, but christmas was bearing down upon us and I decided I would pay for it. And so, I went to the local "shop around the corner" bookstore -- owned by the two lesbians. One angelic and pure and one evil and horrible. Married of course. Over the years the angelic one had asked me if I wanted to work there when they were short staffed, and over the years I asked the angelic one if I could work there when I was short funded. I had worked in publishing, I knew the biz.
But we never needed each other at the same moment. Until 9/11.
They hired me on the spot. Embarrassingly cheaply. And I worked 6 days a week from mid october until christmas eve. And when I went home that last night, K and the kids made a sign that said congratulations Mom, you made it out. They left about the part about making it out ALIVE, but we all knew it. 50+ hours a week? On my feet? with entitled deserving demanding customers? and an evil bitch lesbian boss?
NOT. EASY.
But damn if I didn't look adorable. I swear to god (an old Unitarian phrase) that I wore (because I already owned all of it) all the stuff Meg wore in that movie.
And one day - an older woman took a look at me and said:
Oh! do you know who you remind me of?
That little girl.
In that movie about the bookstore!
You've Got Mail!
And I smiled slightly, with smug satisfaction.
Oldest is in town for a few days before we leave. Took him for some shorts and tee shirts - but I especially like this outfit.
Also - in other news...I have a new toothbrush, and it's lavender and it makes me very happy.
wherein my public implies that I am not aging well
For a while, just after Will And Grace premiered, people would say to me:
oh my goodness, you look like (remind me of, are like) that woman on Will And Grace. I would nod and smile and they would tell me how funny the woman was, how I was just like her, how they just could not get over how much I seemed JUST LIKE HER.
I had never seen the show. And so, one night I made sure to watch it. At first, I thought they meant the woman who plays Grace. I was so flattered, I mean, she's cute and willowy and funny in an off handed kind of way. But then, about 10 minutes into the episode, I realized something horrible. People weren't referring to the actress who plays Grace -- people were referring to THAT OTHER ACTRESS. The FAT DRUNKEN BITCH. THE FAT DRUNKEN ABRASIVE BITCH WITH THE BIG ASS AND THE AWFUL SCREECHING VOICE.
So, yeah.
In answer to your questions regarding my identity --
Fortunately, the popularity of the program has waned and I have not been approached as much lately.
Unfortunately, a woman at the Volvo dealership the other day, who couldn't remember the name of this actress,
swore that I bore a striking resemblance to her. She couldn't remember the name of the sitcom either - -and I pretended to not understand what program she was talking about.
from above
Middle has discovered this and is having a wonderful time with it.
This
is the site of our next adventure.
waiting for Star Wars post #3
Who? Who among us can forget the infamous Star Wars Holiday Special? Certainly not George Lucas who famously attempted (and failed) to buy up all master copies of this special to ensure it was never broadcast again.
The entire original cast was assembled for a moving story...
in which Chewie and Han Solo try to get home to Chewie's family, so they can celebrate Lifeday -- thereby proving that Wookies are, in fact, Unitarians.
Perhaps this is why we feel so terribly moved by this landmark television presentation.
crisis CORRECTED
There very nearly was a cheese shortage.
Happily, the situation has be corrected.
THAT'S RIGHT -- IT BE CORRECTED NOW.
drive
I got a dvd in the mail from Volvo. It was a special invitation. I got very excited as I assumed it would involve food. Or a cocktail party to congratulate me on my excellent choice of vehicles, but it turns out that I have been invited to The Drive For Life Owner Experience.
So, my next guess was that this was somehow a charity event. A bunch of Volvos going around a track all night for cancer. ho hum. A Volvo road rally? Now that I could get into -- but it's not that either.
It is a three hour course presented by Volvo and Skip Barber Racing.
And I am so going.
I will experience, first hand, the handling dynamics, accident avoidance safety features and roll stability control.
And I watched the dvd and it looks like I get to drive fast (30-50mph), swerve around a lot, brake really hard and do autocross runs, whatever the heck they are.
And the boys get to come and watch --
As I am not a timid driver, I look forward to lettin her rip.
from around the globe
I rather like seeing where my readers are coming from. Of course, I don't like it enough to pay for the expanded service, but even without the extra expenditure one can learn some interesting things.
I have many readers from institutes of higher education, both esteemed and um, less esteemed.
I fancy them all very professorial and pipe smokers.
I have a lady who reads me at work from California -- and if I worked where she works - I'd be surfing the net as well.
There are a few people who read my blog through various utility companies -- I don't know what this means, perhaps these utility providers provide internet service as well.
A smattering of europeans -- I am famous among dozens (as Maggie says) in italy and france.
And those durn Canadians -- who, by the by, I am finding ever more intriguing. (some people feel that Canadians are as boring as plain bread, but not I. I find Canadians quite effervescent).
Hmmm, let's see, coupla people at consulting firms, ad agency people, some folks coming in through Cox network (K did commercials for Cox).
And just the other day -- someone new! someone who stood out from the crowd,
someone from a Milwaukee valve company!
Welcome Milwaukee valve company person! Have some onion dip! leave a comment!
T-MOME
The Tuvalan Minister of Musical Enjoyment
has decreed that all children of school age prepare a musical solo to be played before the distinguished Judge of Fine Musical Accomplishment(J-OFMA)
after which the Judge, whom we hold in the highest esteem, will critique each child's performance.
This evening is Middle's turn. Middle will be playing Rondo in D, by Mozart, on his alto saxophone.
He has been instructed by the Russian to not eat anything sweet, or sour, to shake the esteemed judge's hand before the piece and to concentrate and breathe, breathe boy.
Although I believe Middle will do well, it is a bit nervewracking for the parents to sit and wait while their child performs before the judge, alone. With the door shut. To say nothing of the special suspenders and hat that Middle will wear in accordance with Ancient Tuvalan Ritual Artistic Presentations (ATRAP).
Sometimes it is difficult to persue one's art here.
show and tell
Rear garden
I believe I mentioned that we had some work done.
Front garden
Needs a little attention.
packing math*
The weenies and I are going away at the end of next week. For a rest, which, each of us in our own way, really needs.
We are renting a house on a further away island. Down the street from a spectacular beach.
We have rented little open jeeps, hired a cook, and ordered groceries (how much christophene do you think we need?).
In preparation, I have been going through our warm weather clothing. Some of us are endowed with extensive wardrobes of swimwear, sarongs, capris and kicky cotton skirts. But others of us have the rattiest looking polo shirts in the free world.
So. In conclusion. I have noted:
# of outfits for Blackbird suitable for a week on a tropical isle = 47
# of outfits for Oldest suitable for a week on a tropical isle = 1.2
#of outfits for Middle (who just spent a week on a tropical isle) = 8
# of outfits for Youngest = 7
# of outfits for K = 3.4
# of bottles of sunscreen dredged from linen closet = 6
# of hats I feel I must bring = 4
# of pairs of flip flops we are bringing = 12
# of suitcases we are packing = 4
# of carry-ons being carried on = 5
# of airline miles used to purchase tickets = 150,000
*Show and tell of my garden to come
survivor (in which I report on the episode and make noises in print and say pissy a lot)
Much was learned in this episode. Some of it on the show -- some on the couch.
Let's see.
Steph is home alone and Tom is swiggin scope.
But before we can get into the real action we must endure the freakin Lamisil commercial that makes us all sick. GAD! when that little fungus guy lifts the toenail like the hood of a chevy our stomachs turn. And the whole commercial is yellow. And the woman at the end is a SIM. A bad SIM at that. eew eew eew.
oooh Steph is scared to be at the camp -- can't go to sleep...all alone with a cameraman, a sound guy and maybe an assistant with fresh water and script notes...eek. And only twelve days to go. How many episodes is that? really?
Over at Kuror the back biting has begun. Janu is stuck in the hammock sniffin lilies. Coby is pouting and shampooing. And then Steph gets sent over and breathes new life --into the back biting. Much rallying to gain her favor. The girls get all girly but consider Steph a threat.
Big burly Palauans arrive to teach fishing. We notice they are huge men. With tribal names like Joe. These guys can catch fish just by looking at the water. But the team remains pissy. Fighting over who will fish and who will catch bait. Coby-panties-and-beard-man the queen of pissiness is left behind. Many fish are caught. Much rum is drunk. Much drunk is Tom.
The next morning I notice that Janu is wearing a twin set. And Coby is still gossiping. Time for a challenge. An endurance challenge. The old stand-on-a-tiny-thing-in-the-water-challenge. But there is no display of resilience as we have seen in the survivors of old.
(I am so poetic amn't I? People go jumping of for cookies or donuts. Ending it all too soon.
And this, friends, is where we learn so much.
I would never jump off so quick! for cookies! for donuts! no way! Say I.
But then again, I wouldn't be worried about who would vote me off if I did give up, because everyone would LIKE ME.
I foolishly add.
Oh right. Says K snidely. Cause you are NEVER abrasive or anything, He adds.
YOU'D JUMP OFF FOR XANAX AND WINE! MY MOTHER screams.
Nice. Very nice. I'll show them. Or not.
We'll see.
Tom wins the challenge and it's time for an immediate vote. And we wonder who it's going to be. And are somewhat shocked yet pleased to see that it is Coby. Coby with his bikini panties and his pissy attitude. The perfect person to be first on the jury.
I've had my wine.
Time for the Xanax.
thursday news
Okay - so no undersea adventure for most of us. This morning K explained that he envisioned a romantic interlude at the underwater hotel so now I get more of the idea behind his... er, interest.
In other hot news: the kind lady from Maine would like to see our gardens for the friday photo meme which is now called show and tell. She has explained that this could include how far along our gardens are, which I think is just a weensy bit cruel as we have just had quite a bit of soil installed in our garden.
Also -- let us not forget that tonight is Survivor night. Fortunately or un - I will be in residence this evening, maybe I will do some amazing platings just to remind me of where I was last thursday. Missing some of that food. So. I will be watching. And already I am tired of Steph crying alone in her camp at night as seen in the commercials.
Finally, this piece of news.
I made my own virtual model. I don't know why as I wouldn't even be buried in any of the clothes available for the virtual model. I had to answer an interesting variety of questions to accomplish this. Smaller or larger bustline? Older or younger face? Height and weight of course -- but not how the weight is distributed upon the height. And why not ask me if anything is sagging? TMI?
Well, shield your eyes, cause here I (virtually) am.
That's right.
I have no left hand.
Just be happy I put a skirt on it.
how different we are
K sent me an email from work yesterday. He wanted me to see the site for this undersea resort. He is totally ready to book a trip there. If he were wealthy he'd probably invest in the place.
But this? I could never close my eyes in this submerged ring of hell.
I would be clawing my way out on the submarine ride down -- and I can only surmise that one would take a submarine to arrive at this underwater adventure.
But K? K would have been an astronaut or a fighter pilot -- he wouldn't think twice about riding in a rocket or a submarine.
While I would be much happier in a little house near the ocean. Not under it.
good company
Middle was home with me one day this week --
here are some of the highlights.
- I'll give you the remote if you let the dog in.
- If I had a monkey, which I would actually have to give birth to, I'd name it Buttons.
- Mom, I am changing my name. To Der.
- Why do we lock the front door?
- Watch, I can make a swan with this tin foil.
- Let's go somewhere, the zoo, I haven't seen a tiger for a long time.
- DID YOU JUST PUT ON PASSIONS?! GIMME THE REMOTE OR I AM GONNA PUT MY FOOT ALL OVER YOUR KEYBOARD.
critique
You know what's not such a good movie?
The Hole.
You would have thought we could tell by the tagline:
Desperate To Get In. Dying To Get Out.
But no. We sat through it.
kirstie allie
I don't really have any feelings about her one way or the other. She used to have big hair, now all of her is big. Whatever.
What I think is that someone needs to address is the outfits. I think they have always pretty much run along the same lines -- which would be kind of a psychedelic princess escapee look.
Perhaps Manolo could help me understand it.
sound effects, a post which blogger said was a draft for several hours
scene: Middle and I are watching television on the couch.
K is eating his dinner nearby in the living room.
Middle: Did you hear that sound they just used in that commercial? that kind of wumpwumpwump sound?
Me: yeah, isn't that the sound of the Millennium Falcon when it can't start up?
K (with mouth full of fish sandwich): no, no, that's the sound of a Pod Racer. Wumpwumpwumpwumpwump.
Me: Wait, I thought that was the sound of the Falcon when it can't make it into hyperspace.
Middle: No! that's sort of a weepweepweepweepwongwong sound.
Me: so, the Falcon isn't such a great ship then right?
Middle: Watch your mouth kid you'll find yourself floatin back home. Going through hyperspace ain't like dusting crops boy, you could bounce right into a star or fly into a supernova.
hgtv
I don't want you guys to think I only watch foodtv. The fact is, I watch plenty of hgtv as well. And I would like to discuss some of their programs.
I love House Hunters. I do think we should be told how much these houses are selling for, but even without that information, I really enjoy seeing the homes available (it looks like they are usually in california) in the person's price range and then seeing what they end up with --especially when they show the home three months or so after the people move into it.
I like Country Style -- but what's up with the coverage of Texas? I feel like I have been inside every home in Fredericksburg, where, apparently, everyone is very talented when it comes to decorating.
Homes Across America is a pretty good show to iron to. One can look up occasionally at the television and see a home that one could never in a thousand years afford, and it's cheaper than purchasing Architectural Digest.
Now, as I think I have mentioned, Crafters Coast to Coast is something of a problem for me.
I don't want to watch some woman weld a lamp in her driveway. And why do ceramic artists seem psychologically unglued?
Finally, I used to like Divine Design. Twee dah, dah dah deeeee dah (that's me doing the theme song). I liked Candace Olsen's hair, and the diversity of her crew. But now it annoys me.
It's all Chico's going to put pot lights here and here, with her Canadian accent, and the rooms she does seem to have a bottomless budget. And she's way too tall and skinny. Annoying.
Was that show Designing for the Sexes on this channel? I think it was...now that was a show worth a whole stand up routine.
I'm your tiny decorator who is terribly natty, and this is Jenny and Tim.
Jenny envisions a living room that is a victorian fantasy complete with roses and tea sets.
While Tim is enamored of large leather couches and granite tables....
Can we decorate their space and keep their marriage intact?
Hopefully we can find a compromise.
automobile care
The owners manual for my new car, which is covered in pollen, says that it cannot be put through a car wash* for six months as the paint needs to set.
Anyone call bullshit?
*L, you are not permitted to comment on this post as I know that you would never, in a million years, submit any of your vehicles to a car wash.
talent
Have I mentioned that we are Unitarians? We are. We attend church every sunday (except in the summer because Unitarians are cool enough to know that people need the summer off) and K and I hear the service while the kids are in RE (religious education). It's a nice church, its beliefs are humanist based rather than Christ based and it seems like a good fit for us and what we would like the kids to believe. Our congregation is a welcoming congregation -- which I thought meant that it is very friendly. That's not what it means. It means that our congregation welcomes couples, or singles of all sexual lifestyles. We recognized single sex marriages long before anyone else bothered to and we embrace families with non traditional lifestyles. Which is cool. And what's really neat, for me, is that my children grew up, are growing up, not even thinking about the fact that having two moms is special or different. For them, it is what it is. And I like that.
Several years ago a member of the congregation underwent the process of changing their sex. This did not happen over night and interestingly enough -- to me anyway -- the person remained married to the woman with whom he had a child. They were emotionally committed to one another and that did not change with the eventual surgery.
I didn't know them and so was just an observer. But at the time, Oldest was attending the OWL classes at church. I am not going to get into the OWL controversy, you can see all of it on the internet, I will simply say that OWL is Our Whole Lives and it is the equivalent of a human sexuality class and it is taught to our 9th graders. When this church member's transformation was complete, she agreed to speak open and honestly to the class about her experiences. Oldest was really moved by her discussion that day and I made a point to find her the next week and to thank her -- the kids in that class had a unique opportunity to hear about something they might never get to learn about, first hand.
But all of this is just a bit of background. For the real story.
Saturday night was the annual church talent show. For $20 our family enjoyed a pasta dinner and watched about 30 acts. The boys performed with the church jazz band and Youngest played Zoot Suit Riot on his trumpet, all on his own. We saw lots of singers -- an 84 year old lady crooning a jazz piece, a couple of broadway belters, a tiny girl who whispered a song about rainbows (I truly hate all songs about rainbows) and three snappy older ladies singing Puttin On The Ritz. There was a 6 year old girl magician with her 4 year old harem girl assistant, a gymnast, and an 11 year old stand up comic.
But these acts paled next to the finale.
The lady? who used to be a man? appeared in a blues brothers suit, complete with fedora. Her partner, wife, spouse, a heavy woman with brutally short hair, entered the opposite side of the stage in a sexy sequined blouse and flowing black pants. And they proceeded to act out the complete song, including the somewhat sexually explicit spoken part, of Paradise By The Dashboard Light. They groped, they squirmed, they embraced, and kissed -- they screamed and exclaimed and shimmied and sang about going all the way ...
and as open as we all are and were --
as welcoming and understanding as we work to be...
we were all embarrassed.
Old and young - gay and straight, it did not look like any of the hundred or so people there were comfortable with what they were seeing.
And it took a while for me to realize that it had nothing to do with the sexuality of the performers. In that setting, with families as their audience, performing that song was not appropriate for any church.
It was quite a show.
blogger news
Two Things
A problem with the problem page is being fixed and the new recover post feature is offline for a bit while we make some adjustments.
– Biz [4/8/2005 11:41:00 AM]--Blackbird [4/10/2005 8:52:00 PM]
amped
Middle is an extraordinary guitar player. I know, I know, lots of parents brag about their kids musical abilities, but I am telling you that this is the truth. He may not be able to walk across the front lawn without tripping and falling, but the guy can play everything from blues to Zep -- which may not be a stretch but I am musically illiterate.
He has been bothering us for an amplifier. We have a small one, had a big one but it went with Oldest to the the apartment, and Middle has been left with one with not much er -- watts? amps?
I don't know. Anyway, he's been on my case for months now and it became especially fervent this past couple of weeks as his band is playing a couple of hot gigs. The bassist, he tells me, has a bigger amp and is therefore louder. This is not good as Middle is the lead guitarist. Begging. Pleading.
I started an amp jar. Every time Middle brought home a good grade or made a decision I was proud of, I put money in the amp jar.
Meanwhile totally on the sly, K bought the Marshall half stack of Middle's dreams on Ebay.
Got a good price -- and we decided we will give it to him for his Coming of Age in June.
The problem with June was, if the amp was no good it would have to be tested and returned within a couple of weeks. We would have to present it early.
It arrived this week in two giant boxes. I told Middle it was a desk chair. A big leather desk chair and that I was angry at K for buying it -- told him we didn't need it and it was expensive and that it was a sore point. When Middle asked why it was in two boxes I said it was the swivel base and the chair part. When Middle asked why we didn't open it, I said it was going back to Staples and that K would have to do it this weekend.
Yesterday afternoon K called down to Middle to help him with the desk chair.
Middle was very happy.
His face got very red.
There was lots of hugging.
We are both really proud of the young man he is becoming.
And I? I am presently deaf.
actually
One of my most favorite movies ever, is Love Actually. I realize that in the history of filmmaking it is no landmark but it is so sweet and well done -- and I just cannot help crying at the end, when all we see is people meeting people at the airport.
I am truly a sucker for this kind of movie - and no matter when we tune in, no matter how much of the story we've missed, K and I always watch it through till the end.
This seems so out of character for us --
jaded, cynical, pessimistic us.
We look over at each other and realize that we are sentimental.
And often it takes something unexpected to have us realize it.
j crew, I hate yew*
You arrive ahead, way ahead, of each season and taunt me. I am far too short to wear most of your clothing, (and I am no petite, so don't even go there) a little too old for the rest of it and, thus far, I have pretty much failed to get any other member of the house interested in you, J.
As ll-bean-with-an-edge you are exactly what I am in the mood for. But everything I like is always at least $68. What's with the $8 price point? I would love this bag
or this skirt
but who are we kidding? We aren't kidding anyone, J -- you should know that by now.
And your outlet -- it's a joke. I mean, it is quite obvious that you are just trotting out the same old stuff and labelling it as outlet stuff. The great stuff from the catalog, that I am pining for? that stuff ain't never gonna be there.
And another thing, MR. CREW, what the ef is up with the sizing? When I finally decided that I would spend a ridiculous amount of money on a freakin pair of corduroy pants (which ended in an 8) I fit into THREE DIFFERENT sizes, depending on color or length. That is just bad manufacturing.
These are just some of the reasons I have such conflicted emotions when your glossy catalog lands in my Restoration Hardware mailbox. You are the Pottery Barn of my wardrobe and I can only hope that Old Navy will choose to rip you off. In a size I can wear. For $22.50.
*originally published on 1/11/05 and yet! never seen. thank you blogger.
trip #12 - the station
Jenny writes, Middle writes, I write - PLUS the photo meme for friday
I wonder how many of you will make it to the bottom of this entry -- those of you looking forward to seeing my bookcase (completely undadulterated I might add) will have to slog through this entire entry comprising not one but two Survivor updates as well as the story of the party for Chef.
Here are Jenny's notes:
Koror-slobs, flies and rats abound, shark head hanging
on a stick. Coby goes on about the lazy girls. Janu
wants out, he says she's a whiner.
Reward -you missed the always gross food challenge.
Fertilized duck eggs minus the shell, 20 days
gestation. They had to eat more of them as each round
went on. Tom and Ian vs well, Ulong. Tie breaker Tom
vs. Bobby Jon and Tom won. They won 55 gallons of
fresh water and a basket of toiletries. Swigging
Scope they were.
Koror girls want showers, Tom nixes the idea rather
sternly. Might be in danger in the future, but you
knew that. BJ finally got frustrated and Steph
complained how bad he stinks, etc. BJ is ALOT rough
around the edges out there. But they catch some food.
***Big News*** Tom and Ian are talking and have a
silent alliance with Katie and Stephanie. They also
have a regular/spoken alliance with Jennnnnn and
Greggggg but they want to vote either J or G off to
split them up. WHO KNEW??? Stephanie???? yes!
Immunity-Swim, dive, balance beam, puzzle, wordsearch,
word jumble. Bad news for Ulong, puzzle can'tdoers.
They win the race (barely) and lose badly on the
puzzling. Jeff makes remark about 'Bobby Jon walking
on water' because he's running in so fast. Thought it
was cute. Even Jeff looked kind of disappointed that
Koror won again.
Coby spends some time confessing he's always wanted to
be part of a team, was never accepted, etc. He quit
school because of the grief he got from everyone and
he's NOT QUITTING THIS. Not no how.
Tribal council is an individual immunity challenge.
Steph and BJ talk about how the most important thing
is fire at camp and how BJ does so much and EXCELS at
fire. Surprise, the challenge is making fire to light
your torch. Steph looks nauseous. And then she wins.
She's scared to go back to camp by herself but is all
smiles.
The end.
Middle writes (to provide us with the perspective of a 14 year old)
Only 10 left...building a fire at night - LOSERS.
Rats. Hairdresser has to do everything. "I am too much of a feminist."
Food challenge "delicacy"
Fertilized egg -contains baby duck!
for 55 gallons of fresh water and bathroom items, loads (product placement)
only two members can compete
Tom gets it down first
Tom gets three down!
Bobby John gets four down
first to get five down wins
Tom vs. Bobby John (battle of balls)
Bobby John starting to gag -- mouth stuffed
Tom takes his time, clears mouth and wins!
Middle took four pages of notes...
he wrote about Bobby John being aggravated by Tom always winning, Bobby John blowing snot rockets, Bobby John throwing things...
He describes the puzzle challenge - which seems hard to describe.
then he went and got some peach sorbet.
And I gather that Steph is the last member of Ulong.
Very cool that there is only one -- what will happen next week? Is that when they will send Wanda back in?
Yes, and while you were all watching Survivor, I was in an oak paneled library/conference room with 50 or so, watching Chef on Iron Chef America while eating amuse bouches and drinking lots and lots of wine.
oooh, it was awfully nice. First of all the tiny treats were, of course, all of Chef's design. Tall narrow glasses with soups! tiny deep fried balls of mushroom risotto, crispy on the outside, warm creamy rice-y on the inside. Small boneless smoked short ribs with an incredible sauce.
Exquisite sushi, platters of cheese and meats -- I can't even remember it all. Each of the plates that was being passed by the staff had little treats sitting on beds of things like crystallized sea salt and parsley, or miniature raw peas -- sometimes in several colors arranged in designs.
Many of our neighbors were there which was nice. We are so fortunate in that we live on a block where everyone is friendly and fun -- yet we don't get to see each other socially much, so this was a treat. The husbands looked dashing standing and chatting with those huge Riedel wine glasses in their hands, while it was fun to see the wives all prettied up -- since we usually just crawl off to the bus-stop in jeans and tees.
It looked a bit like the Apprentice with the big boardroom table -- at the end of it was a huge lcd screen for watching the show. K was worried that the group would be reserved and not react to the show, but happily he was wrong -- Cat Cora got cat calls and hissing. K and G, Chef's brother, who also attended the taping, got into shouting about the way things were that night vs the way they looked on tv.
And I? I met a very nice lady. Wife of Chef's sous. I had a wonderful time speaking with her. She is in publishing, has the most beautiful tiny boy, and was completely charming. Her father is the forum host at egullet.com. Her husband C and the other sous, J are very nice guys. Very serious about their work -- and charming. C was being stalked by a swarthy pirate who spent the evening dropping foodie names. It is somewhat interesting to me that chefs are now celebrities - ten years ago it was unheard of . The pirate was all over the chefs in the room and he had a little pad of paper which he took notes on -- he wasn't a reporter, I asked Chef. When he was introduced to me his eye (he actually appeared to have only one functioning eye) glazed over and he looked off into the distance scanning the room for someone more interesting to put on his little paper.
Foodies and friends cheered for Chef, who ducked around checking plates while doting on his guests. Humble and quiet, he spoke to K for a while about wanting to give the network a piece of his mind. But when K asked him if he'd like a re-match and he said he would they agreed that he should not say anything. J and C both said that they had a great time, that it was a fun day. And then we watched as Cat Cora plated her moussaka, for the second time and the room filled with hissing and jeers.
Someone brought me a tall narrow glass with a parfait of mousse, a brulee I think, mousse and cream -- wonderful. K was off in a corner munching tiny Parisian style macaroons. We said our goodbyes and drove home too tipsy. We told J and C and the charming wife and G and Chef and his wife that we'd love to do pulled pork for them this summer. K does a 10 hour smoked pulled pork that has me salivating now.
And so, back here in the real world -- I have a sore throat, the weekend is nearly upon us and is packed with plans, and, for those of you who have hung in here, I present:
the bookcase in my bedroom.
You don't want editorial comment on this photo do you? I swear, I am a little too hung over, or it's my cold, but anyway -- I didn't TOUCH anything.
I am off to make a cup of tea.
Thank you to today's contributors --
Blackbird out!
just give me a minute
I will write about survivor, thanks to the kind assistance of Jenny and Middle --
as well as the swanky pants party for Chef, upon my return from the foisting.
The foisting of the children.
To the schools.
waiting*
It's a difficult time for many Tuvalans. Awaiting the arrival of a new Star Wars film can be shear torture for many. And the anticipation crosses generations. At least we aren't involved in any of this. (courtesy Mr. Sun)
As we pass the time, carefully avoiding Target and their exclusive toys, building Lego ships based on brief glimpses of ships in film trailers, purchasing expensive official movie posters to add to our already impressive collection that we cannot afford to have framed and wouldn't really want to, we each seek our own solace...waiting...waiting...waiting.
When does it open? May 16th? 14th?
And so, when possible, I will publish a little Star Wars tidbit, if you will, whenever possible, to help pass the time.
Our first SWT is provided by B. Who has noted that Grace Jones may in fact be related to Max Rebo.
*dear readers, please note that I, with a killer sore throat, will be off at a party for Chef this evening, and so, will not be able to see Survivor -- I may tape it but it could get complicated (all those buttons!). Perhaps someone could fill me in?
answers
sheesh.
you people need a lot of answers.
and that, my friends, is what I am going to give you. herewith, I will address some comments of late, late.
so - in no particular order
the dresses - in that picture I took at the mall? representative of the first three rings of hell? forced to choose I think I would go with the middle one as the one on the left has bare midriff. and ruffles. the one on the right, one word -- beaded.
the crab cakes - yes, old bay is yummy, yes one can purchase freshly made cakes from the monger (not that you know what is in them)but people, we cook over here, from scratch and even though I was crabby about it...well, I was just crabby about it. heh heh, crabby re the crab cakes.
the day bed - the day bed I now have my eye on is in fact from west elm. and I would be in a much better mood about it if I was actually able to return all the linens I bought for the white ikea daybed after I waited out an ikea power failure (for 45 minutes) and then did not have the right credit card.
the foil cutter -- wait, there aren't any comments regarding this. perhaps someone can be of help here? my beloved aunt has asked that I find her a wine foil cutter that is not made of plastic -- I'll be damned if I can. anyone? anyone? bueller?
the palinode - is too funny. am enjoying the palinode.
ann - ann who? Ann, you leave very nice comments with no links. who are you ann with the boys and the white woodwork? I am so sorry but I have lost track of you.
blog of the day - yes, blog of the day is cool. it brought about 5 readers over - which leads me to believe that no one is really reading the blog of the day, or that my blog didn't sound very interesting. but the thing is, blog of the day - it's like an emmy. you nominate yourself. so don't get so excited.
jo's list
Chocolate or Vanilla? chocolate
Foreign or Domestic? foreign
Standard or Automatic? automatic - with that triptronic shift thing-y
Laptop or Desktop? lap
Arthouse or Mainstream? a little of both
Gin or Vodka? gin! ooooh g & t season is almost upon us!
Cotton or Silk? cotton
Comforter or Duvet? comforter
Down or Synthetic? down
Film or Digital? digital
Peanut Butter or Nutella? peanut butter
White or Wheat? wheat
Chinese or Thai? chinese
Sushi or Sashimi? sashimi, tekka don
Salty or Sweet? salty
Comfort or Fashion? a mix
Ocean or Lake? ocean
Warm or Cold? cold
Standard white headphones or alternative? standard
Coffee or Tea? both
Tap or bottled? bottled
Blonde or Brunette? brunette
Summer or Winter? winter
Spring or Fall? fall
Money or Time? time
look. I don't know why
And there truly is no offense meant to our dutch relatives or friends, but we are finding this absolutely hilarious.
I have to go make the lunches now. I had actually written a tirade regarding this time of year and the making of the lunches and how I hate it and how Youngest, even though he is in puberty, still needs to take a snack to school and what bullshit that is, but then I realized that no one in their right mind would want to sit and read about me bitching about what a drag it is to make lunches every morning.
Not only is it insignificant, it is nothing, NOTHING, compared to my issue with socks.
photo meme for friday 4/8
Ladies and gents, I just wanted to let you know that I have asked Jo to choose our photo meme for this week --- and Jo, being a very clever insightful woman, would like to see our book shelves.
Please leave your link in my comments so that we may see them --
thank you all --
spring
Did some shopping with M. Have been helping her choose carpets and crap for her living room, dining room and den. Cause M simply has no crap at her house and she needs some crap to crapify it up. And if anyone can purchase some crap, it's me. We did some damage at pottery barn and resto and her place is crapping up quite nicely. And I have found that when it is someone else's bill, I am quite free feeling with the purchasing of said crap.
Spotted these three while at the mall --- can you imagine which one suits me? is me?
could be a trick question.
Oh, and ya know how I was all this? for the now empty room in my house?
Well, forget it.
I am totally all about this...
Who was I kidding anyway?
White furniture --
a momentary lapse of judgement.
data
The meal: crabcakes
macaroni and cheese
Usage: 7 pots and pans
three mixing bowls
two cutting boards
three knives
two measuring cups
2 spatulas
1 medium whisk
6 dinner plates
assorted silverware
the colander
Somehow things seem, just wrong, when, for a simple "comfort food" type of meal, the washing up takes twice as long as the prep and cooking.
virtuoso*
While I can appreciate the intricacies of asian/greek fusion cooking, from the first course to the last, our friend Chef, once again proved himself an artist.
And that, my friends, is all I am sayin.
*people are freer to speak their minds over at egullet.org
crisis
Over dinner this evening, it occurred to those gathered that the bakeware of the Tuvalan people has fallen into disrepair. The silvery non-stick coating on the bakeware can be found sticking on several of the national dishes, rather than the baking sheets that it was originally intended to sitck to. And so, the topic of the bakeware arose at the dinner table.
The Commissioner of Cooking admonished the Deputy of Bakeware for the poor condition of the bakeware and during said conversation it became clear to the citizens of Tuvalu that there is a scandal in our midst.
While it is true that the deputy of bakeware can be somewhat lax in the cleaning of the bakeware, it became clear to all present that the Commissioner himself is guilty of
"just wiping down" the baking sheets and then cooking on them again even though they were not really clean.
And so, it becomes clear to the citizens of Tuvalu that it is, in fact, the Commissioner himself who has caused the bakeware to go bad. And thereby insuring that he himself will pay, through the nose, for new bakeware.
puberty
Youngest saw the film in health class last week.
You know, the film.
Pubic hair and body odor and whatever else they deem fit for 10 year olds to learn about.
And deeming fit is kinda interesting anyway as we are Unitarians. Our children hear about, are taught about how babies are made starting in first grade. In terms that first graders can comprehend. They get more explicit human sexuality classes when they are older. But that is neither here nor there.
The point is that Youngest saw the film and appears to be completely entranced by the idea of puberty. He has, in the past few days: requested more mature clothing, sweatpants and tee shirts have now been deemed babyish, asked that I purchase deodorant, he feels that body odor may overtake him in an instant, without warning. Yesterday, he blamed the stuffed animals falling from his bed during the night on puberty. He told me that he remembered that when Middle went through puberty he slept restlessly and knocked things off his bed too.
He announced that he is going to get a hairy back -- an impossibility both from a genetic standpoint as well as being beyond the rules of our home.
It really is too cute, and I cannot bear to tell him that he is miles from puberty -- I can just tell.
He has no signs of losing his little kid voice (Now I know why Middle has that bump in his neck!) He is tiny. His brothers didn't change much until they were 12 -- and also, I am considering some form of bonsai technique to actually stunt his growth as I have no interest in losing a third boy to the evil evil world of teenagerhood.
radio head
The radio in my car has a little screen that displays the name of the radio station, the song presently playing and the artist, in green lcd letters. But, obviously, the screen can only display a limited number of letters.
So today I noticed that I was listening to...
Stone Temple
Pilots Interst
Ate Love
things I am not doing
I don't know about you (110 of you) but I do this thing wherein I purposely will NOT eat, watch, or read the very thing thing that well meaning people tell me I would really LOVE to eat, watch or read. Could be passive aggresive, could just be aggressive, I dunno, but if people are raving about something my first instinct is to run in the other direction. Herewith my list of crap I AM PRESENTLY NOT DOING:
- renting and watching The Notebook
- pilates
- wearing white shoes or pants before memorial day
- watching American Idol
- going on a cruise
- leasing a japanese vehicle
- scientology
- drinking bubble tea
the shoes
I think this is a pretty fair representation. I am not including mistakes or my coach sandals which weren't where I thought they were...
from left to right, top to bottom
- favorite black men's shoes - wear them with pants or skirts! with little socks
- camper elf shoes
- pointy black pumps with kitten heels - must be worn with stuffing, don't fit right
- black biodegradable rubber clogs - wear them too often, good in bad weather
- very high heel sexy - the strap is diagonal, as I would never wear mary janes
- camper jute clogs - made by a womens business collective in india, love em
- camper wool flats - they are called twins, love em but they cut me
- dansko black clogs - okay, obviously I am into comfort
- jcrew dragonfly flip flops - cheap, cute
- pointy black funky flats - great with skirts
Middle - converse all star high tops in black or pale pink, doc martens
Youngest - converse all star high tops in black, black merrells
Oldest - doc martens, flip flops, skate shoes
survivor
We begin viewing with two pieces of information.
- Mom reports that she heard on the commercial for tonight's episode that something they never thought would happen will happen.
- My people, in Sayville, saw fireman Tom yesterday, and he looks very thin.
We made some crass remarks regarding the first item. As for the second, it could mean that Tom stays on the island for a long time -- but the difference between, let's say, 30 days and 39 days of not eating much might not make a difference. He could just be on Atkins.
In any event, I noticed immediately that Ulongs camp, with its three inhabitants looks exactly like the caveman exhibit at the museum of natural history. And their water cistern looks like it was built by the carpenters at disney world. And it is Bobby Jon who looks pretty skinny to me.
Tom's doing crunches over at Kuror, and a giant clam hauled in by Ian makes for a giant clambake! And then there's shark! Tom machetes a shark! One cannot describe Tom's actions without using exclamation marks!
Time for a challenge. The famous build a symbol on the beach challenge.
To my eye they appeared to be equally effective from the air -- but what do I know?
I don't quite understand why the teams were concerned with the symbols being on fire. I realize that the smoke would be visible from the air, but it proved to be an unnecessary worry as Kuror won and were never able to keep their sign lit. And so, win wine and mre's. Ho hum.
The Ulongs look so sad. I almost feel sorry for them. Ha ha. Almost.
What's interesting is that there has been no merge. I keep thinking they are going to bring Wanda the singing survivor back -- and I am always wrong.
Over at Kuror, Jenn and Gregg have too many consonants in their names. No. Sorry, that's not it -- they are snuggling. But Gregg is too serious about competing and so, will not take the relationship further -- and who hasn't heard this from a man? (my feeble attempt at dating humor) Middle swears he has never even seen Jenn before -- but I remember she's a nanny.
But lo! time for a puzzle challenge. With a twist. The teams must complete what Tuvalans call a fifteen puzzle, but they must do it in the water. With a hair dresser ordering them around.
Good challenge, probably made to appear more gruelling than it was by stressing the scenes of stress. In stressful shots of people under stress.
I can't help it, all those water challenges make me want to swim. In a turquoise sea. In three weeks.
So - no surprise, Kuror wins again.
Shots of guns and snakes at tribal council.
(comment from B: You'd think they'd drop the shots of snakes at tribal council. I mean it's been ten years, we get the symbolism.)
Jeff has laryngytis -- a bit of a shock.
Ibrehem gets voted out -- which shocks us even more. Well, except for K, who believes that Ulong is now solely responsible for building a new tribe through procreation. Steph, therefore cannot be voted out. And so, Ib, as he has been nicknamed, may now return to his life at home. And his hobby....
I will post the shoes later today --
and for the record, I don' t do april fools via blogs.
