Ooooh! I haven't seen this movie since I was a girl!

Julia, starring Jane Fonda and Vanessa Redgrave and Jason Robards, was a huge deal to me when it first came out in the 1970s. I happened to be in my Lillian Hellman period -- I read everything of hers I could get my hands on. "Julia" is a chapter of Pentimento, one of Hellman's memoirs. Robards played Dashiell Hammett, Hellman's lover and mentor and a great man of letters his damn self. And Redgrave was Julia, Hellman's girlfriend friend/idol/conscience. The "bad guys" in this story are as villainous as they come -- Hitler and Mussolini.

At the beginning of tonight's TCM broadcast, Robert Osborne said Julia marked Meryl Streep's movie debut in a bit part. I'll have to look for her.

I love Oscar time because movies like this one get dusted off, and I get to fall in love with them again!

Or not. This just in: I dozed off before the end. It seemed far more pretentious to me this time around. Maybe I should have just left it as I remembered it. "Pentimento."

Though I did see an impossibly young Meryl Streep in a scene with Fonda/Hellman, playing a shallow socialite.

Emergency provisions are called for

A winter storm warning kicks into effect tonight and will last until Wednesday morning. By that time, we could have up to 14" of snow. The ol' Gal has lived in Chicagoland all her life and knows what's required for times like this.

Cat food (check)
Cat litter (check)
Milk (check)
Coke (check)
Vodka … DAMN! I don't know if I have enough hootch to last me! Must stop at the store tonight!

I have to come in tomorrow for a client meeting. But I am seriously hoping for a snow day on Wednesday.

First of all, I'd simply like the day off. Secondly, I hate listening to people whine. It's winter in Chicago. WE KNOW THIS IS GOING TO HAPPEN!!!!! That's why our closets contain boots with treads and thick mittens and down coats that make us all look like Ralphie's younger brother in A Christmas Story.

Snow can be pretty. Snow can be fun. Surviving a good snow storm can leave you feeling like you're made of stern stuff. And it gives you an excuse to drink tea laced with brandy. (Must remember to pick up brandy, too.)

Movie Monday

This week's movie topic is all about Bugs...

Movies that feature insects. Share on your blog others instances of those crawly critters and link back here at The Bumbles. And don't forget to visit your fellow participants!

One great lady springs instantly to mind: Charlotte A. Cavatica. She, who spun Charlotte's Web. In the latest version, she's voiced by Julia Roberts, who sounds very wise and soothing and lives up to how Charlotte's friend, Wilbur, eulogized her: "a true friend and a good writer." If my life can be summed up the same way as that spider's, I'll die a happy woman.

Steve Buscemi is a suitably ambivalent Templeton, and Robert Redford does a good job as the rather skittish horse, Ike, too. But Charlotte has been a heroine of mine since my mother read me the book, and to this day I when I encounter I spider, I try to catch and release.

Buy this book

I did.

The author, Sarah Levy, is more than ambitious and successful. She's also completely adorable and has a very generous spirit. I met her this afternoon at a local booksigning and she not only autographed a copy for niece, the budding chef, she also gave me her card and so my niece can contact her with questions about life in the culinary biz.

With apologies to A Flock of Seagulls

"And I swam. I swam so far away ..."

I had the entire pool to myself this evening! Most of the healthclub members were watching the Super Bowl. So I got to paddle and stroke lap after lap all by myself. With that song going through my head.

The week in Beatle history

The Lads invaded America 46 years ago this week. While I am older now, and therefore no longer compelled to scream, cry or wet my pants at the sight of him, a day doesn't go by that I don't listen to Paul McCartney's voice. He's eternally my Valentine. (Nancy Shevell, you take good care of him now!)

I don't get it

Without belaboring the point, just let me say that my erstwhile best friend's wife is threatened enough by our relationship that she has, effectively, ended his and my 5-year friendship. He's left quite a void, and this situation has left me feeling vulnerable and isolated.

As I try to work through this, I found myself checking out her Facebook page. I have met her and seen photos of her, of course, but on Facebook you present yourself to the world as you see yourself. Her picture is lovely, of course. She's wearing little makeup, just some lip gloss, and she looks like she's delighted by whatever she's looking at. Her interests are her girls' school and ballet studio and she has over 100 friends -- doctor and lawyer friends from the development they live in, moms from her kids' school, relatives whose names I recognize, other members of the cycling club the family belongs to ... It looks like such a perfect life from here.

I look at her face and feel bad that she believes I have caused her pain. But whatever is wrong inside the perfect life she projects is not my fault. I am, at most, a symptom of something that's between her and her husband. I am not in that marriage, that household, or that circle of friends.

In fact, I am about to separate my whites from my colors and change my sheets before going to bed. I don't see what there is about me -- fat and 50+ -- that could make this pretty balletomane and stay-at-home mom with the affluent family and accomplished circle of friends unhappy. I wish she would stop scapegoating me and let me have my friend back.

Not that I don't blame him for hurting me in all this. But thinking about that makes my throat close up and I just can't deal with that right now.

Sorry to drone. But I want this blog to be an accurate snapshot of who I was at this time of my life, and I'd be less than honest if I didn't document this.

"Lucy, you get out of there right now!"

Lucy's locked in the freezer again.

There's an I Love Lucy marathon on the Hallmark Channel and I may not breathe fresh air for the duration. Unless I force myself.

Saturday 9

Saturday 9: I Started a Joke

1. Tell us a joke that you think is funny. If you don't tell jokes tell us why. I've heard many versions of this and I love them all: A grandmother takes her beloved grandson to the beach. As he plays in the sand, a sudden tidal wave sweeps him away into the depths of the ocean. The grandmother immediately falls to her knees in the sand and prays to God for the return of her grandson. "Please God, I have always been a good person and a loving Grandmother, please return my grandson to me." Just as she finishes her prayer, a huge wave crashes back on the beach, returning the young boy to his grandmother's side. Grandma begins to cry and hug her grandson that she thought she would never see again. She is overcome with joy and gratitude. She looks once more at her grandson, then looks back at the sky and yells, "He had a hat!"

2. Where do you buy most of your clothes? Macy’s.

3. Which famous person would you like to meet? Why? Cubs’ skipper Lou Pinella. If you have to ask why, you don’t visit this blog very often.

4. What is your ultimate ambition? Serenity.

5. Do you like to live in the area of your country or would you prefer something a little different? I love living here.

6. Has a newspaper or television reporter ever interviewed you? If so, what were the circumstances and what did you think when you read or saw what you said? I have refused to be interviewed for both the Chicago Tribune and the Weather Channel, so I have no regrets about what aired or was printed.

7. What was the last CD/mp3 album that you purchased? How did you like it? "Love Is the Answer" by La Streisand. It's great.

8. Write down 5 songs you often listen to or that mean a lot to you. "My Tears Dry on Their Own," by Amy Winehouse. "My Brave Face," by Paul McCartney. "Spring Can Really Hang You Up the Most," by Barbra Streisand. "Viva la Vida" by Coldplay. "Thunder Road" by Bruce Springsteen.

9. Do you are your partner usual begin intimacy? I don’t have partner.

Culture Vulture Post

Yes, I went to see the revival of a Pulitzer Prize winning play that got it's start right here in Chicago. Very literary, very deep, very dark ... and really very funny. Terry Letts' August: Osage County is touring and if you get a chance, go see it.

It's about a smart, gifted, Oklahoma-based family that is completely unraveling. Daddy, a published poet, disappears. Mommy, a powerful personality battling with cancer, needs the help of her daughters. Well, not all three of them. The only one she really wants is Barbara, who moved to Denver to start her own family. Ivy, the dutiful daughter who has stayed in Oklahoma to care for her parents, resents this (and her mother's constant carping about clothes and hair) but bears it all stoically. Karen, the baby of the family, is trying to start an independent life in Florida. But as soon as the family tragedy brings her through the front door, she reverts back to being the silly little girl the family expects her to be.

It's about mothers and daughters, daddies and daughters, depression, addiction, suicide, infidelity, and all the other things that make family gatherings memorable. Especially if your family is smart enough to spout dialog worthy of David Mamet or Tennessee Williams or Edward Albee.

I saw it with my friend Barb, my theater-going buddy, who kept saying all through our pre-theater dinner that there was no way she would be able to sit there for more than three hours. Barb and I have different tastes in plays to begin with, and this kind of sinister, talky drama is not generally what she enjoys. (I tease her that in her perfect world, every play we see would be River Dance or Mama Mia.) Yet once Act II kicked in, she didn't want to leave her seat -- not even to check her ubiquitous iPhone. There is no higher praise for a character-driven, non-musical production.

Special cast notes: One of the less savory characters in the play, Steve the Fiance, is played by Laurence Lau. Back in the day, he was Greg from Jenny-and-Greg on All My Children. He's older and carries an air of depravity that works for Osage County but would shock those who knew him in Pine Valley.

And Mama Violet was played by Estelle Parsons, just as annoying as she was in 1967 when she won an Oscar as Blanche Barrow in one of my favorite movies, Bonnie and Clyde. I had to restrain myself from celebrating her entrance by getting up and yelling, "My eyes, Daddy, MY EYES!"

I feel a little like Pepe le Pew

Or any of the Warner Bros. cartoon characters. Because this afternoon my heart has been beating so hard I swear you can see it thumping through my sweater.

I'm just wound up, nervous. No particular reason. Made all my deadlines, so there's no professional Sword of Damocles hanging over me. And I'll be able to get out of here soon and begin braving the snow storm. (I suspect it's more wind and storm than actual snow.)

I had hoped that working out over lunch would have helped, but it didn't.

Oh well, at least I have a lovely, low-key weekend ahead of me. And agitation is better than the blues!

When did we all get so freaking sensitive?

Scott Lee Cohen, the freshly-minted Democratic nominee for Illinois Lt. Governor, is refusing to step down. He doesn't feel that the 2005 arrest for assaulting his girlfriend, or a prostitute, or his prostitute/girlfriend (it's getting confusing) is reason for moving aside.

I don't know how we're going to get him off the ticket, or even if we can, so right now it looks like Democrats will lose both a Senate seat and the Governor's Mansion here in Illinois.

The newspapers are full of stories about Mr. Cohen's indiscretions today -- Thursday, two full days after the election. It would have been nice if they had run these stories before we went to the polls.

We've been down this road together before, she & I

Babs and me.

I first discovered her when I was in high school. The 1970s. After the Beatles had broken up and the world was listening to disco and soft rock shit. I took refuge in the two classic albums I refer to as, "The Runs" (Band on the and Born to) and Streisand. Her music and her movies were a revelation to me.

Uncompromising in her art, always going her own way, tough and vulnerable and sincere, she was a terrific role model for me then ... and now.

I'm feeling isolated, misunderstood and overworked. I'm tired -- no, make that weary -- as I settle in to my 50s. Then I look at her. Oscars, Emmies, Grammies, Tonies, lifetime achievement awards and even a Peabody. Last year, with Love Is the Answer, at age 67 she not only outsold Mariah Carey (who released a CD the same day), she became the only artist to have a #1 album/CD in five different decades.

A troubled childhood and on-going family issues, divorce, broken romances, splintered relationships, failures along the way, bad press, bad reviews, "Shut up and sing" ... she survived it all. Perhaps because she keeps going. Learning from her mistakes (you can hear that hard-won wisdom in her songs), but ploughing ahead. Like an indomitable Energizer Bunny.

I've been listening to her a lot these past few days. I know I can count on her to help me through this rough patch.

But I'm trying to lower my cholesterol!

You Are Chicken Fried Steak

You are bold and fearless. You tend to think big, and that includes eating big. If you're going to go out to eat, then you're going to order something amazing. No salads for you! You live in the now. You figure the future is uncertain, so you might as well just make the best of today. You don't believe in moderation or holding back. You just go for it, consequences be damned.

What Kind of Diner Food Are You?

I first discovered this "Blogthing" over at Endomental.

Bruce Willis scratched me

He didn't mean to. He was giving me a back rub. He was late 80's-David Addison vintage Bruce Willis.

It was a dream, of course. I just wish I could remember more of it.

It was about Blago

Regardless of what the national press insists, the Illinois primaries had nothing, NOTHING to do with Barack Obama. Both of the major races -- Governor and Senate -- were seriously impacted by Rod Blagojevich.

1) When he was impeached and tossed from office, Blago left his Lt. Governor, Pat Quinn, a fiscal mess of epic proportions. Worse, Quinn was blind-sided about much of it because during much of his last term, Blago wouldn't talk to anyone but his staff.

2) The open Senate seat is the one that Blago (allegedly) tried to sell -- it's "fucking golden," after all -- and may have been purchased by Roland Burris.

3) Tony Rezko, one of Blago's best buds, has donated money to every politician in Illinois. It would be only a slight exaggeration to say that Rezko money may have even tainted the Pinewood Derby.

The result of these scandals is that many of the marquee Dems -- most notably Attorney General Lisa Madigan -- played like Punxsutawney Phil and were reluctant to leave their holes, lest they see their shadows. Safer to stay put, to stay out of the fray, to avoid the scrutiny.

There was more to yesterday's results, of course. Quinn tried to tie his opponent, Dan Hynes, to a particularly unsavory cemetary scandal, while Hynes "exhumed" Mayor Washington, using a decades-old video of Harold bashing Quinn. It was so dirty and so irrelevant that I don't know anyone who truly cared who won. Alexi Giannoulias, the leading Democrat in the Senate primary, is involved up to his hips in his family's bank -- which is having such major solvency problems that he didn't campaign these past few days, lest he have to answer questions about it.

But none of it was a referendum on Barack Obama. And should Illinois fade from blue to purple, with a Republican Senator or Governor elected this November, that won't have anything to do with the President, either.

It's hard to believe that a buffoon like Blago can leave such ruin in his wake. It's hard to believe I voted for him twice, too. Shame on me.

They're $18 a box!

One of my coworkers is cleaning out his office. ("I'd say that he has spring fever, but I know it isn't spring ...") As I walked by I spied tons of green, letter-sized hanging files in the dumpster! Those babies are 72¢/each.

Not only are his spendthrift ways bad for this agency's bottom line (and my prospects of a raise), it's bad for the environment.

I hope I can get over there in time and rescue those little green beauties.

Six minutes is a very long time

Go ahead. Time it. See for yourself. You can sing "Just the Way You Are" all the way through almost two times in six minutes.

That's how long the grown man sitting across from me on the train picked his nose. And picked. And picked. I know because I actually timed him. He was elderly -- somewhere between 60 and death -- and slender. And apparently quite mucous challenged.

It was creepy and disgusting, yet I couldn't look away.

I ache

PLEASE NOTE: Thank you, ladies (and, maybe, Andy) for the kind words on this post. It alwasy helps to feel understood, especially when I've lost the one person who really "got" me.


I severed ties with my best friend at 6:00 PM on Friday. At that point it had been 7 1/2 weeks since we last spoke ... when he told me that his wife had deemed our five-year-old friendship "inappropriate" because he shared more with me than he did with her.

During that time I sent him no fewer than 50 emails, assuring him that as long as he wanted me to give him room to figure out with her what "an appropriate" friendship looked like, I'd be happy to. But he never answered a one. Sure, some were of a personal nature, but those were about my life, not his. Most of them asked how his Christmas had been, if he and the family had any ski plans, how his job was, a picture of Scott Brown naked, you know, superficial stuff. Just to maintain contact.

He didn't answer any of them. It's humiliating and painful.

"Pride can hurt you, too," both my shrink and The Beatles warn me. My shrink told me that it might not always be this silent between us. That if his wife really put her foot down, she may be checking his voicemail and emails. After all, he works from home and doesn't have a ton of privacy.

So maybe, sometime down the road, I may hear from him again.

I know how serious his problems at home are. I understand that he has two little girls to consider in this. I appreciate that both he and his wife are the children of divorce and are, consequently, conflict-averse in their marriage. I know that he believes in that saying, "If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy."

I also know I have done nothing wrong and it makes me angry. I mean, THIS ISN'T FAIR! We've never even kissed, much less made love. How come my feelings get blown up like just so much collateral damage?

I am worried about him because this isn't him. He could talk until all hours of the night about real things. He was so worried about me in November, 2004, after John Kerry lost the election and a year of my volunteer work and many of my ideals went down the drain. He's the one who gave me so much support and real-life advice when I had problems with my job, my self esteem, my family. (Especially my niece and my uncle.)

And now he's gone. I am facing the world without him for the first time in 5 years. And I ache.

I worry, too, because he is facing the world without me for the first time in 5 years, too. While he might not realize it yet, he's lost his best friend, too.

Over the weekend it wasn't so bad. But today has sucked. I just want to go home and get drunk, but that's stupid. I think I'll go work out. Then I'll go home and get drunk.

Monday Movie Meme -- Highs and Lows

Name someone whose work you admire enough to overlook, or even forget completely, those performances where they weren't quite on their game. Or perhaps there is someone whose portrayals are usually forgettable, but they have surprised you with a gem here or there. Even a blind squirrel finds a nut as they say. Here are some examples we thought of. Share on your blog other highs and lows of a particular actor/actress and link back here at The Bumbles. And don't forget to visit your fellow participants!

Liza Minnelli
aka "The Blind Squirrel"

As a rule, I hate her in the movies. She's too obviously "acting" and her look is so severe that she never disappears into character.
The Good -- Cabaret. The exception that proves the rule. Everything about her -- even the green nails -- is delightfully decadent and very Sally Bowles.
The Bad -- Arthur. C'mon, admit it: Didn't you wonder why he didn't opt for the money and Jill Eikenberry?
The Ugly -- That's Entertainment! When she introduces the best-of-Garland segment by speaking mawkishly about "Mama," and later says, "Thank GAWD for film," I want to vomit.

Cher

Just about everythng I said about Liza is true of Cher, too. Yet, I always root for Cher and want to like her.
The Good -- Mask, Silkwood, Moonstruck, Mermaids, Witches of Eastwick ...
The Bad -- Tea with Mussolini
The Ugly -- Chastity

THE QUEEN'S MEME

The Queen's Meme #23 ~ The Blog Blizzard Meme
1. An unexpected blizzard occurs. The power goes out for 10 days. There is no food in the house, no gas in the car, no heat, no TV, no computer, nada! You are snowed in and can't get to the store for supplies. How would you survive? How would you get out of this mess? I'm screwed, aren't I? How's this for a plan? Since I live on the 4th floor, maybe I can open a window and jump, landing on a snow drift and then ... I'm outside with a broken limb in a snow drift. I really am screwed, aren't I?

2. Tell us about your last snowball fight. I don't remember. Which means it has been way too long!

3. You have been asked to make a snowman. What is his name? Jethro Leroy Gibbs, because he looks so good in his dress whites.

4. I have mountains of snow outside my door. I would like to make snow soup. What is the recipe? Add 6 drops of the essence of terror, 5 drops of sinister sauce and a tincture of tenderness. You'll either end up with a bowl of soup, or Milton the Monster.

5. It is Day 5 of the Big Blog Blizzard. You have been hunkered down for a very long time and in danger of losing your sanity. Your blog neighbors (that would be us) come callin' to see if you're OK. We peek in the window. What do we see? What are you doing in there? Playing at pogo.com. Probably Turbo 21. That's my web destination when I "turn off my mind, relax and float downstream." Though I'm not sure I can "float downstream" in the snow ...

6. Who is the flakiest snowflake in your life? Past or present. Right now, me. I don't trust my decision-making capabilities anymore. I feel like I'm fucking up a lot these days.

7. You are Snow White. Which dwarf is your favorite and why? Ringo. Because he's no one's favorite and even dwarfs need love.

8. What is the most fun you've ever had inside during a snowstorm? My fondest memory is of a lover tending to me while I had the flu. I know it doesn't sound like fun, but I felt very safe and much loved.

9. What was Jack Frost nipping at? I think he was just nipping wildly, randomly at the air because he was in so much pain. After all, weren't his chestnuts being roasted on an open fire?

10. Due to blobal warming (that's blog + global for all you non-blog speakers) your snowman has prematurely melted. What was his last request? Gibbs' last request was that I not forsake him for American Idol again this year.

And the award for "Best Performance by a Smile"

No one in the history of film has ever flashed a more effective, more seductive insincere smile than Robert Redford. The teeth are too perfect, too white. It's such a bright smile it looks like Redford probably had a plutonium milk shake for lunch.

He uses his smile to terrific inauthentic effect in The Great Waldo Pepper (1975). His character is alternately called a "con man" and a "four flusher," and yet when he flashes that smile, you like him in spite of it. You know what he is, and yet you can't help but be charmed.

The is not a great movie, but it is a fun one. And while Redford has given better performances, his smile is brilliant.

Tom Sizemore is creepy and scary

I'm watching VH1's Celebrity Rehab and he checked in with heroin and Viagra. He's dirty and menacing and unreliable and actually exploited his desire to see his children as an excuse to go out and use.

I don't know why I'm watching this -- it's just on as I run up and downstairs to do my laundry -- but it helps emphasize how good Jeff Bridges was in Crazy Heart. He's disciplined and together enough to merely portray the tragic life Sizemore is living.

Wow! He really is that good!

I've heard all the Oscar buzz about Jeff Bridges and thought it was, "yadda-yadda-yadda-deja-Mickey-Roarke." How could Bridges be as good as George Clooney in the almost-perfect Up in the Air?

Well, because acting isn't an athletic competition. And because Jeff Bridges is so completely believable in this that I not only bought him as an over-the-hill country singer, I swear I could smell how bad his whiskey-and-cigarette breath must be. And because this part was so different from all the other times I've enjoyed his work:
• the President in The Contender
• the Husband in The Mirror Has Two Faces
• the Accused in The Jagged Edge
• the The Bad Boy Brother in The Fabulous Baker Boys
• the Sweet Fiance in Kiss Me Goodbye and ... (drumroll, please)
• in one of my favorite love/sex scenes of all time in Against All Odds.

But back to Bad, his character in Crazy Heart. I can't tell you about his best moments without giving away a plot twist, but there's a sequence where my heart went out to him even as I wanted to slug him.

And Colin Farrell is surprisingly good, too.

See this.

Saturday 9

Saturday 9: Everybody is a Star

1. Did you ever think that you'd be a star? If yes, doing what? Yes. I was going to be a great singer. I was hitsville when it came to lip-synching into my hairbrush.

2. Tell us about the last time you had a romantic dinner. It was at the Cityscape Bar. Terrific floor-to-ceiling windows gave us a lovely view of the city from the Chicago River. Really beautiful at night.

3. Tell us about your worst job interview. Got a call from the Chief Executive Creative Director from another agency. His office called, actually. He had heard tremendous things about me from a mutual acquaintance. He had to meet me to discuss a job. WOW! Really? But that agency did most of its advertising online and I'm more a print kinda girl. Are you sure it's ME he needs to meet? Oh, yes, I was told. My vanity got the best of me, so I went out there. Wearing a suit, on a day that was about 175º. The first thing Mr. Man said when he looked at my work is, "Where's all your online stuff?" Then I got a REJECTION letter from him. I'm still pissed, even after more than 5 years ago.

4. Tell us about your stupidest date. Our first date was terrific. Our second/last date sucked. He wore white jeans, which he could not bear to let get dirty. Even though he knew we were meeting at a bowling alley (which I assumed meant we were ... um ... bowling). Earlier that day he had cut his finger while washing his car. The wound wasn't deep, no stitches were required, just a bandaid like you have in your medicine chest. Anyway, between fiddling with bandaid and fussing over his jeans, I realized I was not his priority.

5. How much in common do you think you should have with a romantic partner? Oh, hell, I don't know.

6. Tell us about a favorite meme that you loved but no longer posts. Is the Thursday 13 still out there somewhere?

7. How did you get into blogging? I wanted to have an organized journal that I could update whenever I felt like it, wherever I was, so that it presented an accurate snapshot of who I am at this point in my life.

8. Do you share all your fantasies with a significant other? I have. I think it's sexy, as long as we limit it to people we'll never meet. It gets messy when it's "which of my friends would you love to sleep with?"

9. What change in your life would you like to happen this year? I'd like LESS. Less clutter, less weight, less drama.

Not "as seen on TV," but ...

... as seen at Kwizgiver's.

Bold the true statements:

I live on the east coast (of anywhere).
I can spell definitely the correct way, thank you.
I have spellcheck enabled on my IE/firefox.
And right now it's telling me that spellcheck isn't a word.
I do a sport that isn't a team sport.
I'm right-brained.
I'm left-brained.
I'm split-brained.
I can read sheet music.
Horror movies are usually just funny.
I'm in serious kiss withdrawal.
A lot of people call me by my last name or my initials.
I have two middle names.
I enjoy sporks and other pointless things.
I am/want to be an organ donor.
I don't subscribe to any political party.
I'd like to/I do go to college in a city.
Whatever happened to green ketchup?
Drugs are lame. [medication is not, however]
^ You're lame.
^^Thanks.
Stephen King was right about Stephenie Meyer.
The universe tends to unfold as it should.
I can't stand cough drops with menthol in them.
I can name at least 35 U.S. presidents off the top of my head.
^And at least 40 state capitals.
I can hardly name any of either.
^But that's because I'm not from the states.
I find it hilarious that Miley Cyrus thinks she could win an Oscar for her movie.
Why the hell would Britney Spears (or anyone) make a song out of "If you seek amy"?
I get frustrated when someone cries during a movie when an animal dies, but then doesn't when a person does.
I wonder why the band "The Devil Wears Prada" named their band that.
Frankenstein is NOT the name of the monster.
I pronounce "route" like "root".
I say car-muhl, not car-a-mell.
I hate talking on the phone.
What the fuck is up with everyone wearing Uggs?
I've used a Wii Fit.
Angelina Jolie's lips distract me.
^But she was AMAZING in The Changeling.
I've never seen any of the High School Musical movies. And I don't care to.
Costco/BJ's/Sam's Club would be the perfect place to go in case of a zombie apocalypse.
I spell my name a way other than the most common.

Friday 5

Friday 5 for January 29: Hoops

1. When did you last feel required to jump through meaningless hoops to get something you wanted? The song and dance I recently did on the phone with Fifth Third Bank. First collections, then customer service, then a customer service rep, before the situation was finally resolved. I'd relate the story in greater detail, but I'd just get pissed all over again. Just know that I in no way endorse Fifth Third Bank!

2. What kind of hula hoop memories do you have? The kids down the block and I didn't play with our hula hoops the way you were supposed to. Instead we played "horse and buggy race." The one inside the hula hoop was the horse, the one outside was the jockey, and we'd race across our yards.

3. How do you feel about basketball? I haven't given it a moment's thought since MJ left us for good in 1998.

4. What do you think of hoop earrings? I love them! When I wear them, I feel like a 1960s hippie chick. This reminds me I should dig a pair out for the weekend.

5. What's your favorite Whoopi Goldberg movie? I'm not a big fan, but Sister Act, I guess. (Love the "hoopi" question, though.)

I forgot she hates sports

The art director I'm in double-harness with hates sports. I suspect she hates sports with a particular virulence when I'm around because it gives male coworkers and I something to discuss that she's not part of. But, after 5 years of trying to pull the plow with her, I have given up the psycho-analysis and just try to keep my head down and do the best job I can without the bit hurting my mouth too much.

Our assignment is to come up concepts, or spins, on the same idea. That idea is: when you invest with us, you're supported by a team of professionals.

Last week, when I was not coming down with whatever the hell I have, I came up with three concepts for the art director. In a perfect world, we would do this in tandem, bouncing ideas back and forth. That will never happen with her. She's an art director because she's in love with her Mac and all it can do, not because she's an idea girl. Fine. I'll pick up the slack. While I may not be the most innovative writer in the world -- while the words I put on the page may not be especially clever or fresh or even memorable -- I'm a great alchemist. I can take elements from different genres, put them into a blender, and come up with an acceptable spin.

So, last Friday, I came up with three ideas. Three broadstroke concepts. She said she understood them and would look for the appropriate artwork. The first concept centered around the long-term aspect of the support, "we won't forget you after you open the account," kinda thing. The second concentrated on the high-level of service. The last one was like the song "Centerfield" -- "Put me in coach, I'm ready to play." You know, you have an untapped resource of investment advice, use it. Three different ways to convey the client's message: when you invest with us, you're supported by a team of professionals.

After almost a week of working on these (three days is all it should have taken, btw), we finally showed them to our boss yesterday afternoon. He didn't like the photo -- a man in a sweater standing amid others seated -- she selected for the third concept. I liked it because the guy looked like he was volunteering. My boss didn't like it because of the proportions between the guy and the others in the shot. Fair enough. Since there was nothing that could be done to fix the photo with Mac magic, it was out. Not the concept. Not the headline. Just the photo. She then shared a photo she had already found, and discarded, of hands clapping and wanted to use it instead.

How do hands clapping say, "you have an untapped resource?" They don't. So she thinks I should just write something new to match the photo.

No.

A concept is more than the words or the graphic. It's the idea, it's the way we convey the client's message to the consumer, it's the SPIN. I could slap something together for that photo but it would be wrong for the client's business, and wrong within the presentation we're giving Monday, because it's our job to provide them with options to choose from that will each say, in one way or another, when you invest with us, you're supported by a team of professionals.

Now here is where it gets good. I told her the easiest way to solve our dilemma would be to find a picture of suited-up athletes sitting on the bench. She recoiled in horror. "Like what kind of athletes? Football players?" OK, or baseball players or basketballs players. And they don't have to be professionals. In fact, I thought a company softball team would be kind of cute.

"But why would anyone want to look at a sports team when they are investing?" I pointed out to her that in the past she had been very proud of an investment brochure cover of a couple sitting near a campfire, looking up at the stars. I asked her if she was selling camping equipment then.

"But I didn't think of 'team' as meaning sports." Oh, she had me there. No one considers "team" a sports term. Except for dictionary.com, where it's defined as, "1. a number of persons forming one of the side in a game or contest: a football team."

I forgot. She hates sports. And if there's anything she hates more than sports, it's working on deadline. We didn't have a tight deadline at the beginning of this project, but we do now.

I explained the concept to her again -- use an untapped resource. I could write to a light switch, a windmill, a waterfall ... any form of power, since she doesn't like sports. Of course she'd have to give me a couple of hours to do that. But I could do it. It would work and it could be effective.

No, sigh, she'll look for sports pictures. Not that she'll find any she likes ...

That was last night. Our internal review -- the initial dress rehearsal for Monday -- is at 1:00 today. I bet we'll only have two concepts to show. Is she lazy? Stubborn? Petulant? I shouldn't hurl pejoratives her way when really, it's my fault.

I forgot. She hates sports.

The good thing that came out of writing this post is that (1) I respect my client and want to give them quality and (2) I really do enjoy parts of my job. These are good to remember, because after writing for 30 years (last June 1), I could be burned out, but I'm not.

About that bruise

There's been a mysterious bruise on my left breast. It's quite noticeable and big enough to peer out of my bra. I have had it all week, and it's only now beginning to fade ... a bit ... I think.

It's disturbing me because I can't, for the life of me, figure out what I hit that hard there. Did I walk into a door?

And, because it's my left breast, I was frightened that it may be something more serious. After all, a bruise is the pooling of blood under the skin. Could this be a return to the problems I had last summer?

Then it hit me. Literally. It's my cat, Reynaldo! Since I've been battling a bug of some sort, I've been more sedentary than usual. Spending Sunday and Monday, and every evening since, on the sofa. In the evenings, when Rey has his wild times, he interrupts his racing about to jump on my chest, look into my face, knead my boob for a while, and then leap up and off and return to his adrenaline-fueled adventures.

While this is kitten behavior -- checking in with "mommy" -- Rey-Rey is no longer a kitten. He'll be 6 years old this spring. A skinny cat, to be sure, but still an adult cat. So there's more power in those kneading paws than before.

And that bruise on my boob? It's Rey's pawprint.

Thanks to Snarkypants for the perfect illustration for this post.

Why I don't think Tiger is the worst athlete ever

Today's sports pages are filled with players who do far worse than cheat on their wives. For example, Gilbert Arenas, who not only pulled a gun on a teammate in the lockerroom, he joked about the incident on national TV.

Arenas, Crittenton suspended for rest of season

NEW YORK — Gilbert Arenas and Javaris Crittenton were suspended without pay for the remainder of the season Wednesday by NBA commissioner David Stern, who said guns in the workplace "will not be tolerated."

Stern delivered the punishment after meeting with Arenas earlier Wednesday, and with Crittenton a day before. Arenas already had been suspended indefinitely by Stern on Jan. 6.

Both players admitted bringing a gun or guns into the Washington Wizards’ locker room — a violation of the collective bargaining agreement — after a dispute stemming from a card game on a team flight. Stern said the players expressed remorse, but added, "nevertheless, there is no justification for their conduct."

Asked during a conference call what message the penalties sent, Stern said: "We mean what we say when we say that guns are prohibited from being in our buildings and on team business.

"You will be dealt with harshly because it’s very potentially dangerous to our players, to the other players and to anyone else who might be involved."

Arenas, who is forfeiting about $147,200 per game, had already been suspended indefinitely earlier this month. Crittenton, who met with Stern on Tuesday, will lose about $13,435 per game from his $1.48 million salary.

Arenas pleaded guilty Jan. 15 to a felony gun charge after a confrontation with Crittenton at the Verizon Center. Arenas, who is scheduled to be sentenced March 26, is in the second season of a six-year, $111 million contract.

He has asked the players’ association not to contest the penalty, while Crittenton’s plans are unclear. His agent, Mark Bartelstein, told The Associated Press that, "David Stern has done what he thinks is right for the league. We’re going to look at it and talk about it with Javaris and the players’ association."

The Wizards have 38 games left in a woeful season that was thrown into turmoil when news of the confrontation involving the guns broke on Christmas Eve. The team has distanced itself from Arenas since Stern indefinitely suspended him, removing his likeness from the Verizon Center. Crittenton has been injured and wasn’t playing, anyway.

The team said it supported Stern’s ruling.

"Their poor judgment has also violated the trust of our fans and stands in contrast to everything Abe Pollin stood for throughout his life," the Wizards said in a statement.

"It is widely known that Mr. Pollin took the extraordinary step of changing the team name from ‘Bullets’ to ‘Wizards’ in 1997 precisely to express his abhorrence of gun violence in our community. We hope that this negative situation can produce something positive by serving as a reminder that gun violence is a serious issue."

Piper Hall, a spokeswoman for Arenas’ lawyer, wrote in an e-mail to The Associated Press that neither Arenas nor his lawyer, Ken Wainstein, would comment "at this time."

Arenas, a three-time All-Star and once the face of the Wizards’ franchise, will miss the final 50 games of the season. Stern originally planned to follow his normal policy of waiting until the legal process was further along before acting, but handed down the initial suspension after Arenas joked about the gun situation on his Twitter page, then was photographed before a game in Philadelphia pointing his index fingers, as if they were guns, at his teammates.

"I felt that I should do something to keep Arenas from doing even further damage to himself and I told him that," Stern said. "We also try to protect (players) from doing things that are foolish and damaging. I felt that Gilbert was in the process of doing that and it was incumbent on me to stop it."

Stern said he would not advise the Wizards on how they should proceed if they sought to void the remainder of Arenas’ contract. Players’ association executive director Billy Hunter warned the union "will respond aggressively to any improper attempt by the team to impose additional penalties."

Stern said he and Hunter would meet in the coming weeks to perhaps build a stronger gun policy than the one in the collective bargaining agreement.

You Are Colorful Because You Are Optimistic

You insist on seeing the bright side, even when the world seems gloomy and dreary. You may not be naturally optimistic, but you believe that staying positive is an important part of happiness. You may be bright and constructive, but you're also a realist. You know when things need to be fixed. And because you stay so positive, you are able to fix any problems that come your way. You have a lot of strength.

The Colors Test

Thanks to Boliyou for introducing me to this one.

Can't look away

In no way did the Edwards split happen to me personally. He wasn't my cheating husband. It wasn't my dad who started a second family without telling me. It wasn't my dad who spent two years denying me.

I'm not the one who gets to start my "new life" even as I'm dealing with cancer meds and a clock loudly ticking my life away.

Yet I'm bereft. I can't shake it, and I can't look away.

Elizabeth's sister tells the upcoming People how Elizabeth wrapped Christmas presents and brought them along when she went to meet her husband's love child for the first time. Apparently she wants her own children to have a comfortable relationship with their half sister.

It's an act of grace and courage that makes my throat close up a little. It reminds me of another heroine of mine, JBKO. No matter what else was going on in her life Jackie O dependably managed to suck it up and behave admirably when her kids were involved.

For example, John-John's third birthday. Jackie was at the center of a televised State Funeral that day, honoring her husband as she laid him to rest, then representing her country by graciously thanking foreign heads of state. Then she celebrated her little boy's birthday with a preschooler's bash that included cake and games and presents. She went from Eternal Flame to Charles DeGaulle to pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey all in the same day, within a matter of hours. Because John-John was her son and he was only 3 and he deserved a party. Because she was his mother, and that's what mothers should do.

Like Jackie, Elizabeth Edwards is a profile in courage. I have learned much about life from Mrs. Edwards and her books. I'm just sorry her books don't close with a happy ending. I'm sorrier than I ever imagined I'd be. I guess the little girl in me still needs heroines who triumph over all to live happily ever after.

Icon on Board!

This morning, as I hauled my flabby, sorry, sick ass down to lunch, I swung by Starbuck's because I wanted hot chocolate. I don't normally go into Starbuck's because the smell of coffee makes me a little nauseous, even on the best days. But there was no line (unusual for 11:30) and I figured I could get in and out without inhaling too many perfumas de Columbia.

As I headed into the coffee shop, I saw HER. Oh. My. God. It was Stacy London of TLC's What Not to Wear. She had the whitest complexion I have ever seen, which made her eyebrows and mane look positively inky. I believe she was already made up for the lights. She's taller than my 5'2, but that could be thanks to the black stilettos that clicked on the tile. Her eyes were locked into those of the woman who was walking beside her and telling her who would introduce her -- I believe this is Stacy's way of avoiding fans like me, who would have expressed disappointment at her well tailored, but still obviously real, mink.

From the snippet of conversation I heard, and judging by her makeup, I think she was the featured speaker at some corporate luncheon upstairs. I know she has addressed business groups before on the connection between self-esteem and style.

Whatever.

I SAW STACY!!!!

Why is it so tiring?

Commuting to work is really such a passive activity. After all, I don't drive the train or collect the fares. I just walk a couple blocks to the station, wait for the train, board it, ride, disembark, and walk a couple blocks to the office. Yet, on days like this one when I don't feel that great, commuting really wears me out.

Psssst! All he's wearing is his crown!

I used to work at a terrific agency which was owned, and run, by a really great man. He retired, sold the agency, and eventually it was folded into a multi-national corporation and is no more.

There's a Yahoo! message group for former employees, and it's being used to organize a reunion. Lovely idea, right? Well, the guy who is running the message board is demanding that we all do more than merely rsvp to the reunion. He insists we complete a poll, too.

You see, for 24 years he was a powerful senior vice president at the old agency. He sat on the right hand of the great man who ran it. The thing of it is, though, he retired in 2000. That was 10 years ago.

When I receive these high-handed emails, requiring me to respond to the poll, I simply smirk and dump them. Part of me wants to say, "You're no longer the boss of me," but I don't bother because, in reality, this pompous old gent really doesn't take up that much space in my consciousness anymore. He's not even actually planning the reunion -- he just runs the message board that disseminates the information.

I'm surprised by how many emails he's received back titled, "YES to the reunion, NO to the poll." Apparently his bossy attitude is rubbing many the wrong way. It's too bad, because the reunion could really be something special … if he doesn't poison the mood with his officious ways.

Maybe it's hard for the emperor to accept that he's naked, that after nearly 34 years, he's no longer the center of the universe, he's now someone many of us would pass on the street and wonder, "Didn't I know that guy?"