Make that SIXTEEN Gold Gloves

Guess who won the award that means he's the best fielding pitcher in the league. Why, Greg Maddux, of course. This year's is even sweeter because (don't think I enjoy saying this) he played more than half the season with a less than stellar (OK, crappy) Cub team.

Maddux's agent and the Dodgers' GM meet next week. I hope they can come to an agreement on a nice little two-year contract, and I hope they do it fast. I'll feel better when my favorite future Hall of Famer has a roster spot somewhere.

"So up on your feet! Somewhere there's music playing."

Barbara mooning over Cliff ... Bob obsessed with both Barbara and his tuba ... flat-chested Julie complaining about her archrival, Trish the Dish ... Ann making sure everyone at her office calls her "Ms. Romano" ...

Yes, I've discovered the One Day at a Time reruns on OnDemand. I don't know why, but I loved this show.

It's not particularly well written, nor well acted. Everyone yells. But I love revisiting the 1970s hair and fashion. And I seem to recall watching it while I was babysitting and fantasizing about an apartment like theirs, all those little nooks and crannies.

Ladies Rock!

I swear. A lot. I was amused by the fuss about Streisand "dropping the f bomb," because I don't think I've gone a day without doing the same, and before 10:00 AM. For example, as a Cub fan, I believe that the personification of evil is F-ing Steve Bartmann. I've said it that way so many times that I think I subconsciously believe F-ing is his given name.

I love greasy spoons. I am happiest in restaurants where the menu is laminated and where the waitress leaves you a bowl of peanuts while you decide whether you want a burger or a cheeseburger with that beer. I would rather remove my own spleen with a butter knife than eat sushi or drink wine.

I have a very vulgar, perhaps even infantile, sense of humor. My gay friends still very patiently sit through my Brokeback Mountain jokes because even after a year, few things crack me up more than gay cowboys.

And yet, and yet, these are the women I grew up on. These are the women I still admire.

But please don't tell anyone. I have a trashy image to maintain.

"It's always easy to manipulate people's feelings"

That was Laura Bush on C-Span, talking about Michael J. Fox, Parkinson's disease and stemcell research.

But look at this heartbreaking photo and you'll see that the First Lady sure knows what she's talking about. Her husband is a pro at this. These guys probably enlisted to fight terrorism because this President asked them to. Now they are poking fun at a decorated war hero because this President is exploiting a bad joke for political capital. (Even Andy Card has said he doesn't think President Bush honestly thought Senator Kerry was attacking the troops.)

Gentlemen, John Kerry believes that "protest is patriotic." So knock yourselves out. He supports you, even when you don't support him. When you come home and find that your veteran's benefits have been slashed so that the wealthy can enjoy tax cuts, know that he will be one of the lawmakers on your side. After all he has been fighting for veterans for decades. (Remember Agent Orange?) When at night, alone with your thoughts and distant gunfire, and you wonder why you are fighting harder for the Iraqis than the Iraqis are, know that John Kerry wants to bring you home. Gentlemen, he supports you because he WAS you. Like you, he volunteered during a time of war when his country called. His father was a diplomat, his mother's maiden name was Forbes ... he certainly could have pulled strings to avoid service, to put his Yale degree to use like this President did in the long ago 1960s but no, he joined the Navy instead.

A very wise coworker once gave me this advice when it came to navigating office politics: "Don't listen to what they say, watch what they do."

The advice applies to many situations outside the workplace, too.

And, by the way, while I am disenchanted with this war, I remain in awe of everyone who puts on a uniform and puts themselves in harm's way on my behalf. So, Gentleman, thank you. Sincerely.

http://thinkprogress.org/2006/10/31/laura-bush-michael-j-fox/

I'm fixating again

I have a strip of dry skin between my shoulder blades, right where I cannot reach it, and it is, quite literally, making me nuts. If I'm awake, I'm thinking about it.

It's caused by a combination of factors. Take it away, Mayo Clinic:

• Weather. In general, your skin is driest in winter when temperatures and humidity levels plummet. Winter conditions also tend to make existing skin conditions worse.
• Central heating. It's a dermatological disaster. Central heating draws moisture out of the air and out of your skin.
• Too much 'cleanliness is next to godliness.' When it comes to your skin, water is a double-edged sword. Inside your skin, it keeps the cells plump and moist, but it has the opposite effect when you're immersed in it. Frequent showering or bathing, especially if you like your showers hot and your baths long, breaks down the lipid barriers in your skin.

This illustration really has nothing to do with my dry skin -- which I am treating with a spray-on moisturizer, plus I've got a pair of humidifiers running right now and I'm trying to resist rubbing my back against the wall. But I've included it because I find skin fascinating. I mean, look at all that's going on under the surface! Isn't that neat?

Lurkers

One of the terrific benefits to Adsense (that little ad you see at the top right) is the free site meter it provides in exchange for that corner of my blog. This site has also become quite the moneymaker for me (Adsense has earned me a full 65¢ since May). Anyway, courtesy of Adsense I know that I average 13 hits a day, with as many as 40 on individual days.

I mention this for two reasons:
1) Ms. Hickory, if you want a similar counter that only you can see, go to google.com/adsense.

2) I suddenly became very nervous that someone who knows me in real life could be among the lurking 40. My village is on here, my cats' real names are listed, etc., so it wouldn't be hard to figure out that I am indeed ... me. Since I've been rather frank about feelings re: my family and coworkers, I thought it best to start referring to myself as "One Gal." There's something cathartic about keeping this electronic journal, and I am not at all sure it would do anyone any good if I wasn't able to be honest. On the other hand, I have no wish to hurt or embarrass anyone else.

Sky blue

Or white with clouds or gray or dotted with stars. Doesn't matter. I always love looking at the sky.

I also love watching my cats sleep. Especially Joey, my massive ol' gray and white tom. He sleeps so soundly, on his back, tummy exposed, legs splayed. He even looks like he has a smile on his face. His posture, his kitty body language, as he sleeps is so intensely relaxed yet trusting. It warms my heart.

We have a new oldies station here in the Chicagoland area. 94.7 FM. I can turn it on at any time, and hear a song that takes me back and makes me smile. Like "Rainy Night in Georgia" by Brook Benton.

I mention these things because my best friend has hit a bad patch. He's dissatisfied by everything and can't articulate why. I know how he feels. I've been there! I just hope he finds his equivalent of sky blue, or gazing at Joe or rediscovering a forgotten oldie. These tiny, daily miracles don't solve anything. But they do manage to make life bearable while we're on the way to solving things.

Welcome to the Big Leagues, Mr. Hobbs

Barack Obama's honeymoon with the local press is over. The Chicago Tribune has reported on Obama's relationship with Tony Rezko, the recently indicted Democratic fundraiser. Next door neighbors, long-time friends, and partners in a real estate deal, Tony Rezko is more than a casual Obama acquaintance. Rezko also doesn't represent the caliber of person voters want to see their new hero linked with.

I have no idea how this will play nationally. Or even if it will get any play at all, this close to the mid-term. But I know that as Obama's profile grows, the scrutiny of every area of his life will increase. This story is only the beginning.

And now for the real news

Sing it with me, please: "Anna Anna Anna Anna Anna Ni-cole!"

Uh-oh. Things are not going well for our Kentucky fried centerfold. The guy who owns the Bahamian mansion she's been hiding out in wants to evict her because she's not making agreed upon payments. This gentleman was involved with her romantically, but hastens to add that he's not the father of her new baby.

She's been hospitalized for pneumonia.

Her oldest child was recently buried in the Bahamas, much to the chagrin of Anna Nicole's own mother.

And, as I understand it, a judge will soon rule about whether Anna's new baby will have a DNA test to establish paternity.

Remember when her life was a goofy cable reality show? Now it's become a tawdry and tragic soap opera.

Legality aside, I'm beginning to feel about her the way I feel about Michael Jackson. The life I'm reading about bears so little resemblance to any life I can imagine that it's as though I'm studying a life form from another planet.

Willful ignorance & exploitation

I do not believe for a moment that anyone seriously thinks Senator Kerry meant to insult the troops. The full transcript of his remarks have been available in print and on the Internet from objective news sources and Chris Matthews even read them on MSNBC. Plus, it makes no sense for a man who, upon graduating from Yale enlisted in the Navy during wartime, to make such a remark. It makes less sense for a decorated war hero who has devoted much of his adult life to helping veterans to say such a thing. The people who insist they believe it just want to be angry, I guess.

I'm angry, too, of course, but I am not enjoying it. I am upset that a man I admire so made such a ridiculous blunder. It was unprofessional, unstatesmanlike and simply wrong for him to cast aspersions on the President's intelligence because it doesn't move the conversation along. We are in a mess in Iraq, and making a personal attack on the President's education or IQ doesn't help. (Plus he cannot tell a joke to save his life.)

It bothers me more, though, that the President (who spent Viet Nam protecting Alabama as a member of the reserves) and Dick Cheyney (who supported the Viet Nam war but couldn't be bothered to serve) are so cynically keeping this non-story alive, slagging a man who faced enemy fire in the jungle when they were "too busy." It deflects from the callous lies they have told us about our reasons for this war and their exploitation of 9/11, I guess. Oh, and as the niece and goddaughter of someone suffering from Parkinson's, I can't help but notice that no one seems to care about the insensitive remarks made by The First Lady about Michael J. Fox and stem cell research.

JFK once said that as a people, Americans often confuse civility with weakness. How right he was! How refreshing it would be if our politicians would behave like statesmen and have a real debate about Iraq, how we got into it and why, and even more important, what the end game looks like. And, while we're at it, I'd like to see a serious discussion of homeland security and what the hell went wrong in New Orleans.

There's no political hay to be made by that, though. Better for our President and Vice President to keep harping on a silly, bad and highly ill advised joke that the Senator already apologized for. What a lovely civics lesson for our young!

I wish, at times like this, that I wasn't such a true believer. I have always thought that in times of trouble, we get the leadership we deserve. Yes, I'm a Democrat, but my throat closes up when I think of how Gerald Ford helped heal us after Watergate. That's why I keep expecting this Administration to act as though they deserve our trust. And that's why I keep feeling my heart break like this, again and again.

I want resolution ... NOW!

Future Hall of Famer (and one of my perennial great loves) Greg Maddux filed for free agency. WHAT DOES IT MEAN?

Option 1: He's not sure if he will be back in 2007, and hopes that seeing what his talents are worth on the open market will help him decide.

Option 2: His agent is already talking to the Dodgers and this is a bargaining ploy.

Option 3: Talks have broken down/broken off with the Dodgers and he's shopping for a new team.

Option 4: He's telegraphing to the Cubs that he wishes to return to me ... er, um, I mean CHICAGO.

I can somehow cope with any scenario that doesn't include his retirement. (I'm simply not ready to let him go yet.) I just wish this chapter would come to a close quickly. Under the best circumstances, immediate gratification takes too long for me. Waiting around for this to work out will be TORTURE!

I get it, but Senator, what were you thinking?

Senator Kerry is a terrific statesman but an exasperating candidate. When I worked on his campaign, I was amazed by how disciplined John Edwards -- who has far fewer years under his belt as a public figure -- was when it came to staying on message. And how quick Senator Kerry was to depart from his prepared remarks and just riff. As we saw yesterday, the results are sometimes heart-stoppingly bad.

Of course he meant that if you don't stay in school and learn about the world, you'll pull a dumb ass stunt like getting your country enmeshed in a no-win war in Iraq. It's not only evident from the remarks he made immediately before that clip that we have all heard, it's also evident from the way the man has lived his life. We're talking here, after all, about a Yale graduate who enlisted in the Navy and went to Viet Nam. Who worked to get the health dangers of Agent Orange recognized and treated. Who has battled to make sure the soldiers in Iraq get their body armor. No one familiar with the Senator could believe he meant otherwise. (That includes the Republicans who slandered and "swift boated" him. But that's who those people are. Being surprised by how far they will go to win is like being surprised when a puppy digs in the yard.)

The real shame of all this, of course, is that two news cycles are spent discussing Senator Kerry and not the issues at hand.

I find it ironic that George W. Bush is the one leading the demands for an apology. He should be sending the Senator a big "thank you" for that Halloween treat yesterday, for it deflected attention from what our First Lady said in an interview on C-Span regarding Michael J. Fox: "It's always easy to manipulate people's feelings." Gee, it's bad for Alex Keaton to do it regarding a disease he has, but OK for your husband to do it regarding 9/11?

As for Senator Kerry, I wish I could just remind him to STICK TO HIS NOTES. He's not funny. Not that stand-up comic should be a prerequisite for a President, but we live in television age and he must learn to adapt to it. Though something tells me his aides have said this very thing to him more than once since yesterday.

http://thinkprogress.org/2006/10/31/laura-bush-michael-j-fox/

Oh, I must, must I?

Madonna is on the Today Show right now, talking about how she didn't expect to be "demonized" regarding her adoption of an African baby. Oh, look! She's all teary-eyed as she talks about young David's medical condition.

Whatever.

She's done bisexual chic. She's done her SEX book. She's tried Broadway. She's tried movies. She's been an angry ex-Catholic and a follower of Kaballah. She's been a cone-wearing strumpet and a Burberry-clad children's book author. Now she's Mia Farrow-cum-Angelina Jolie. I simply cannot take her seriously. I never have.

She just told Meredith Vieria that people like me "must" take her seriously.

Sorry, no.

She's not an artist. She has no unique voice or compelling POV. She's a marketer. I work in advertising, so I grant her my grudging admiration for her gift for getting ahead of trends and reinventing herself. But that makes her as artistically valid as a light beer. In terms of her musical "product" and her public persona, I find her annoying and frivolous. She may be wealthy and successful, but (yawn) she's not powerful enough to make this old broad take her seriously.

The Audacity of the L&O Franchise

A beautiful child actress is murdered in her basement on Halloween night. A pedophile in Viet Nam emails a crime author with details about the killing, and 14 years later, he is arrested for the girl's murder. NYPD travel to the Far East to bring him into custody. They fly him back First Class, plying him with champagne en route, hoping to loosen his tongue. Cable news anchors -- particularly a bottle blonde with a regional accent -- are aghast at the preferential treatment the creepozoid gets.

Sound familiar? It's tonight's epiosde of Law & Order: Criminal Intent. Clearly it has nothing whatsoever to do with JonBenet Ramsey and Jon Mark Karr because she was murdered in a basement on Christmas, and the pedophile who emailed details about the crime to an author was apprehended in Thailand. She was a beauty queen while this little girl was an actress. These cops are from New York, those cops were from Boulder. See? Very different.

I just saw a commercial for this Friday's episode of Law & Order, the original. A celebrity goes on a tirade about Jews and how Jews are out to get him. Another episode, "ripped from today's headlines."

Perhaps all this should offend me, but it doesn't. Instead I'm amazed by the sheer nerve of Dick Wolf and Co. Aren't they worried about libel? Or do they have a team of lawyers who know exactly where the line is, and just how much they have to change to avoid crossing it?

Greetings from the Midwest

Maybe it's because of Halloween. Maybe it's the studious John Callaway series on Leopold and Loeb on PBS. Maybe it's because when you can't sleep, it's just natural to think about things that go bump in the night.

But it occurs to me that Chicago has had more than our share of horrific characters, monsters in losers' clothing. Leopold and Loeb were our first "crime of the century," self-anointed geniuses who "thrill killed" a child to see if they could get away with it. And even with antiquated forensics, they were caught right away. (What a pair of depraved dumb asses.) Then Richard Speck, the bogeyman of my girlhood, who killed 8 student nurses in their home. Pockmarked and chainsmoking, even with his cuffs on, he looked like the perfect villain. As an adult, I look at him with horrified contempt. He was a failure at everything he did, except mass murder. And most recently, the Killer Clown, John Gacy. A predator who understood that many parents were ashamed of their gay sons, and therefore didn't go looking for them, Gacy gave these poor boys a home -- in his crawlspace.

I love Chicago. It's the most beautiful, most alive, most livable city I've ever seen. But we have a darkside that's as inky black as it can get. (I didn't even mention Al Capone and that unfortunate Valentine's Day incident in the garage.)

One of us has changed

It must be me, because poor young Regan is frozen in 1973. But no matter how you look at it, things aren't the same between us.

When I first saw The Exorcist, I had already read the book, knew what to expect, and yet it still scared the crap out of me. But this evening, when I happened upon it on AMC, it was just ... well ... funny.

And it was The Big Scene that I saw tonight, too. Father Damien asks our girl Regan/Satan to prove she's all that by coming out with his mother's maiden name. Regan responded with a steady stream of green vomit. Yes, I tuned in just in time for The Pea Soup Scene. Somehow, this time around, it was just goofy. The next scene -- Mom folding Father Damien's freshly laundered tunic -- was kind of a hoot, too.

Every time I think of him, I always catch my breath

And yes, there's a storm raging through my frozen heart tonight.

My best friend has been incommunicado since Thursday night/Friday morning. We've exchanged emails, but I probably won't get to hear his voice again until Wednesday afternoon. I hate this.

But I ain't missing him.

The John Waite song that I feel I'm living was recorded in 1983. That's the thing about classic oldies, isn't it? They tap into emotions so universal that eventually, each of us feels like the song was written specifically for us.

I'm sure it's lovely, but ...

While not the "hot ticket" my niece's birthday party is (see below), TomKat's impending nuptials are getting a lot of attention, too. And according to this evening's news reports, they are going to tie the knot in Mussolini's getaway place.

As if his image isn't already domineering and more than a little spooky. Tom, Tom, Tom ... what sense does it make to get married in the preferred hideout of a dictator?

I wonder what happens to Katie Holmes if she tries to escape?

Happy news

My niece called me at dawn this morning. Her 14th birthday party will be celebrated en famille this Saturday. (Friday will be spent with her posse.) She sounded so happy and I'm so glad.

Her mother, my baby sister, is busier than any woman with two children has ever been. (No, really, just ask her.) And she has an unfortunate tendency to restrict access to her children as a way to exert power. (If I wasn't working hard at remaining cheerful, I would wander down memory lane to the kids' recent baptism and then my nephew's recent birthday.) Little Sis has things to work out and she'll either work them out in her own way or she won't. But ...

I just hated my niece thinking that we didn't care about her special day. 14 can be a delicate age. She deserves special consideration and I'm glad we're giving it to her.

My best Halloween costumes

No Halloween parties this year. But as an adult, I've celebrated dressed as:

Harpo Marx. My favorite costume because I got to see myself as a blonde, and as a bonus, annoy everyone with my bike horn.

Edie Sedgewick. I had a nice ass back then. I don't have the nerve to attempt this one now. Unfortunately everyone thought I was Twiggy or a generic "hippie chick."

Bruce Springsteen. Forgot about the party until the last minute, and made do by wearing white t-shirt, blue jeans, and slipping a Cincinnati Reds cap in my back pocket.

Here's hoping there's a flat screen TV in Heaven

My late father loved the Chicago Bears. They didn't bring him joy, but that's OK. Neither did the Cubs. Nor did my mom, my sisters, nor me. He had no hobbies, other than watching sports on TV, and he hated his job. Nothing much made him happy in this life. He was a very angry man whose glass was always half empty.

I believe in Heaven, and I hope that with the peace and the wisdom one gets upon entering, he is able to ENJOY watching his 7-0 Bears kick ass.

It still hurts

Oh, it hurts less. But it still hurts. November 2, 2004, I mean.

I worked very hard for Senator John F. Kerry, and I'm prouder of that than just about anything else I've ever done with my life. We ran a clean campaign, even after we were "swift boated." We were scrupulous about reporting our campaign contributions. Both of those points seem to loom very large as we approach another election day, where negative commercials and fiscal scandals seem to be the order of the day.

War hero. District attorney. United States Senator with a sterling environmental record and a clear understanding of the role we should be playing in the world. And real supporter of women's issues. He has not only consistently supported our reproductive rights, he's also long been a serious advocate in the battle against sexual assault and domestic violence, dating all the way back to his days as prosecutor.

I felt completely alive when I was working the phones, canvassing, writing letters, and (that campaign tradition) stuffing envelopes. We believed we were going to change the world. Really make a profound and lasting difference. There's an adrenaline rush that comes along with that, one that's stronger than anything found in a can of Red Bull. I wonder if I'll ever do anything as important again.

When I think of how different Iraq would be today if only ... or how different Abu Gharib and Gitmo would have been if only ... or how different New Orleans would be today if only ... my heart weighs a ton. I often wonder how the Senator is doing, how he feels about coming so close and being proven so right by time and events.

I did my best, but I'm still sorry I didn't do more and didn't do better for my country and my candidate. He's a completely honorable man, dedicated to public service, and we would be better had things turned out differently in Ohio on November 2, 2004.

Give me strength

I bought my Halloween candy today. It's sitting on my kitchen counter. I have promised myself that my reward for self-restraint will be that I can devour whatever is left on November 1. We'll see how strong my will is.

Ah, the 1970s

Today there's Jesse McCartney, John Mayer and Orlando Bloom. But back in my day, here are the heartthrobs who decorated my high school locker. I think I had impeccable taste ... for the most part.

Robert Redford. Hubba hubba Hubbell Gardiner. Can I pick 'em or what? He's gone on to be an award-winning director, a serious environmentalist and indie auteur.

Warren Beatty. I knew him more from Rhona Barrett's Hollywood than from his movies. I'm still curious what he must be like in bed. Gossip leads me to believe I may be the only woman of my generation who doesn't know for a fact.

Joe Namath. He delivered. And besides, he made my parents and teachers nuts.

Paul McCartney. Forever and always. This was his Wings period.

O.J. Simpson. Yeah, well, who could have possibly guessed?

I Miss My Mommy

Early Saturday evening is when my mother and I usually check in with one another. This weekend she is staying with my uncle, her baby brother, who is unfortunately suffering through advanced stages of Parkinson's Disease. I would call over there, except his illness makes his moods very unpredictable. He might think it's great to hear from me, or he might get pissed that I'm interrupting whatever they are doing together. So tonight, I feel a little twinge. Our routine is off, and I miss her.

And mentioning Parkinson's Disease and the impact it has had on my family: Rush Limbaugh, you are an asshole. Michael J. Fox was courageous in showing the ravages of his disease on that spot. The twitches, the tremors, the mood swings, the lack of control … patients attach so much shame to what they can't help. (At times the tremors are so bad that my uncle's preschool-aged grandchildren are afraid of him. Last Christmas, while trying to write out a gift tag, he suddenly was unable to control the hand that was holding the pen and accidentally "wrote" on my sweater. He was so upset, so apologetic, that it broke my heart.) To say it's an act, to say MJF shouldn't have appeared while "off his meds," was so insensitive it's as if you've lost your humanity. Shame on you. It makes me sad that this is how ugly the campaign season has become.

Do I LOOK happy?

Got a most fascinating message from my doctor yesterday. Even though I have lost weight ... even though I have increased my aerobic capabilities ... even though I have begun choking down (ugh) oatmeal on a regular basis ... even though I (try to remember to) replace at least one Coke a day with apple juice ... even though I have been taking my Lipitor religiously ...

SOMEHOW MY CHOLESTEROL WENT UP!

I am miserable, and feeling rather rebellious. That's why I'm considering eggs benedict for breakfast, a cheeseburger for lunch and fried chicken for dinner. I know, I know. That is not the direction I wish to be moving in. But I mean, I've been consuming frigging oatmeal and apple juice!

In praise of McDreamy

Have you seen the new issue of US? I am once again sooooo in love with Patrick Dempsey.

Seems that the on-set argument we've heard whispers about included a castmate using hate language to refer to TR Knight's sexuality. Since there was press on the set that day, poor "George" was inadvertently outted. Patrick Dempsey objected. He used his star power (and, it sounds like, physical size) to stick up for a friend and coworker. How hot is that?

I swear. A lot. Vulgarity doesn't offend me. But I never, NEVER speak ill of anyone's ethnicity, religion or sexuality and I object to it when those around me do. It's ugly, and it hurts people. Besides, it's ignorant. Is someone lazy or sloppy because of where his or her grandfather was born? Does sexual preference make someone rude or dishonest? It's not only ugly, it's ridiculous. When you think of it, it's almost as insulting to the listener as it is to the target.

And if there's anything I hate more than bigots, it's bullies. And if there's anything I love more than men with thick dark hair, it's men with thick dark hair and clear blue eyes … and a well-defined sense of right and wrong.

Sigh. Dr. McDreamy, you're my he-ro.

P.S. And, Dr., because I love you so I hope you come to your senses and pass on drippy Meredith. She's so boring and whiny. I like Addison more, but I can see why you two crazy kids can no longer make it work.

Guilty pleasures

10 songs I will deny having on my iPod if asked:

Just the Way You Are -- Billy Joel
Julie, Do Ya Love Me? -- Bobby Sherman
Saturday Night -- The Bay City Rollers
The Wedding Bell Blues -- The 5th Dimension
I Woke Up in Love This Morning -- The Partridge Family (featuring, of course, David Cassidy)
Don't Pull Your Love -- Hamilton, Joe Frank and Reynolds
The Main Event -- Barbra Streisand
Crackers -- Barbara Mandrell
Copacabana -- Barry Manilow
Somethin' Stupid -- Frank and Nancy Sinatra (perhaps the creepiest duet ever recorded, when you think about it)

And, God help me, I love them all.

A debt is owed

"Physical exercise can improve both your mental and physical health … Exercise helps alleviate stress and can make you more productive." So states the University of Michigan Health System website. And today, I have proof!

Before lunch, my boss was telling us how he'd enjoyed the rebroadcast of an interview with Katharine Hepburn. Since I simply adore the old girl, as does my boss' wife, we went on a bit about how incredibly cool she was. The art director I've been working with -- the one with the marital problems -- appeared annoyed/distracted. Later she snapped at me because of all the work she has to do before the presentation Tuesday morning (that gives her a full day and a half, not counting evenings and weekends, which I have been known to work). Seems that not only were we canonizing a woman who slept with someone else's husband (that damn Hepburn!), we were insensitive to the fact that no one has as much to do as she does.

So when I left for lunch, and the health club, I was exasperated. Then I did 15 minutes on the treadmill, 15 minutes on the stationery bike, and 16 reps on one of the arm machines. I made myself clean and pretty, touching up my make up and cologne, and returned to work …

… Where now I find the idea of a slutty, licentious old Hepburn pretty damn amusing.

So one of my coworkers owes the good people of Bally's Total Fitness a debt of gratitude. A little aerobic exercise makes her easier to take.

(Again, I am trying not to be an insensitive bitch. But it's hard.)

I will not obsess, I will not obsess, I will not obsess

Today I am fixating on:

The winter storm warning in Denver. My best friend is flying there from LAX this afternoon. According to weather.com, the snow should be done falling by the time he arrives. But he is very precious cargo and I don't trust those Denver runways. If any of you knows any DEN personnel, please ask them to be very particular with their shovels and snowblowers today. Thank you.

The McCartney-Mills divorce. It's dawned on me that if any of Heather's accusations are true, I don't want to know. Yet I will hear it so I will know. And this will make me sad.

My niece's birthday. My kid sister is a useless blob of protoplasm and won't let me know how the family is celebrating until the last minute. This is how my sister gets to exert control. I understand that. I just hope the poor kid doesn't interpret the lack of a formal, planned celebration as any reflection on her.

You know, considering how much energy I expend on situations I cannot possibly control, you would think I'd sleep more soundly at night.

Only 5 months till Spring Training

The Dodgers are interested in re-signing Greg Maddux!

"I think we saw what we looked like the second half of the year with Greg, and I liked the look of it," GM Ned Colletti said. "I have an interest in bringing Greg back, and I have an interest in adding to that." Maddux is expected to either return to the Dodgers or retire, with the former being the most likely scenario.

Look! I'm smiling!

I still love it with all the madness in my soul

She's still in here, somewhere. The girl who first heard, and was transformed by, Born to Run. I may have a mortgage and an office that overlooks Michigan Avenue, I may need bifocals, but I'm still in here. And Bruce can still reach me.

I'm having one of those days. Everything is low energy and a little blah. Part of it is that art director, who is sucking my energy away. Part of it is the mass exodus of coworkers (OK, perhaps two doesn't constitute a mass, but still ...) Part of it is that discomfort that comes from being in a holding pattern, performing in a dress rehearsal every day, waiting for the real show to start.

So I reached for The Boss, because he knows. He knows that I'm scared and thinking that maybe I ain't that young anymore … He knows my tendency to hide beneath my covers and study my pain … He knows I'm lonely for words unspoken … Oh, hell, why didn't my parents just name me "Mary?"

"Wendy" wouldn't be bad either. She's the one who gets to show him that love is wild, that love is real.

I'm so glad I put this CD on. Somehow it's all easier to take now. Thanks, Bruce.

No more tears

I am not an insensitive bitch. I know there are those who will disagree with me out there, but really, I'm not. It's just I work in a deadline-driven environment and we are paid to do good (or good enough) work within a predetermined budget and timeline. And I'm a pro.

The art director I'm paired with most often is going through marital troubles. This results in lots of confiding, much staring into space, and worst of all, many tears. I find this frustrating and embarrassing.

I have never cried in the office. I cannot imagine a circumstance where I would -- short of dropping an Xacto knife blade first onto my sandal-clad foot.

I know she considers me her friend, so that makes my kicking her ass even more difficult. She wants me to sympathize with her, and when we aren't working on deadline I try. But this week I need her to do her job, and her attention fades in and out.

And then there's the just the fact that I am simply repulsed by people who cry in public. I can't handle it. All that vulnerability. (Not to mention the splotchy face and the snots.)

I shall work on honing my empathic skills. I shall try to remember what my boss likes to tell me, which is that no one has ever died from a missed due date. I shall try to lighten up. Really I will.

Because I hate feeling like an insensitive bitch.

Back in the saddle again ...

Here I am at my desk, wishing I was anywhere else. I'm soooo tired. Maybe this is to be expected on my first day back to work after four days off. Or maybe I've simply fallen victim to a particularly virulent strain of ennui.

If I get out of here at a reasonable time this evening, I want to make sure I walk my 10,000 steps. It could just be that I miss exercise. I love this adorable little G4 with all my heart, but it's not like it's doing anything for me physically except bringing me closer to carpal tunnel syndrome.

It's not funny, but ...

... it kinda is.

Over the years I've read story after story about how cheap Sir Paul McCartney is. Ok, he was a slum kid and early poverty obviously left its mark. But still, he must have known the woman he married and had a child with well enough to know that this would happen. As much as all this mud must hurt him, he made a decision. He chose not to give her the multi-million dollar settlement she asked for. He put a price on his privacy and his dignity, and now he's paying it.

So even though I still love Macca, I can't help being amused by the songs that apply to this sad situation:

"You Never Give Me Your Money"
"Can't Buy Me Love"
and, of course, "The Fool on the Hill"