Delusions of Grandeur

Romantic ramblings

2010-02-14T23:50:00.004-05:00

Another Valentine's Day, come and gone. Once again, again being the 30th year in a row, I have had no reason to celebrate what I have come to refer to as "yet another Hallmark holiday," meant solely to guilt us into keeping the specialty gift industry in the black.

But secretly, I'm always a little sad to spend Valentine's Day without a sweetheart to call my own.

Everyone always tells me that true love will find me when I'm not looking. But truth be told, I rarely search for it. Oh, I've done the eHarmony thing, which has elicited some rather strange exchanges but not a single date (note to self - remember to cancel subscription the next time it's up for renewal), but I'll go months without even checking my matches, the current backlog of which would take me the rest of 2010 to review. Though I'm ever hopeful of finding a true romance - I do write the stuff, after all - I've grown used to not having romance directed at me.

This morning at church, to celebrate the pseudo-holiday, a Marriage Vow Renewal Service was done at the end of our worship. Twenty-five couples stood before their friends and families and rededicated themselves to the love of their spouse. And while several couples had been married a relatively short two years, they were vastly outnumbered by couples rededicating themselves after 20 or 30, even 58 years! Even as I applauded and genuinely congratulated my fellow parishioners, I felt an ache in my heart. I want that to be me, looking into the eyes of the man I love after fifty years and still knowing that he's the one for me.

After the service, I had the chance to talk to an older couple, who reminded me of my grandparents, about their participation. Surprisingly, they'd only been married seven years. A second marriage for two widowed individuals who had never expected to find love again, they met on a dance floor and lightning struck. Three weeks later, they were engaged.

What must it be like to experience that instant connection? That sudden awareness that you've found the missing half of your soul? Or, for others, to have that blossoming awareness over time that you've found the person you're meant to spend the rest of your life with?

I've never even come close to knowing what that must feel like, so I must rely solely on my imagination, spurred by the testimony of friends and scores of romance novels. I'm almost ashamed to admit it, but I've never even felt the strength of affection that could be mistaken for romantic love. Is there something inherently wrong with me?

Even if there is, I haven't given up hope yet. It may be an effort in futility, but I find that I'm still a die hard romantic at heart. And until this heart stops beating, I don't think I'll ever give up hope that I'll find someone to take care of that heart.

Lessons Learned - Month 1

2009-09-05T00:30:00.002-04:00

I had great plans for what home ownership was going to be like. I had ideas for projects and ideas for decorating. I knew what paint colors I wanted and what kind of furniture I planned to get. I had my housewarming party halfway planned, certain that a month was plenty of time to get my ducks in a row and have the house presentable for guests.

Well, let's look at what I've learned in one month of home ownership:

Things never move as quickly as you think they're going to. Ready for a house warming? Heck no! I haven't even painted yet, because I'm still taking down wallpaper.

Wallpaper is the enemy. And I have the scraped knuckles to prove it.

If something can go wrong, it will. And if it can go wrong in a big way, like, say, the transmission on your car dying the same week your first mortgage payment is due, it definitely will.

The key to meeting neighbors is to do yard work. They'll ignore your existence until you're mowing your postage stamp front yard, then come up and want to shake your hand while you're trying to keep your lawn mower from rolling into the street.

Mortgage lenders sell your information to everyone. EVERYONE. Expect to be bombarded by mailings offering mortgage protection plans. Invest in a hefty recycling bin to compensate.

If you think you have enough furniture to fill a whole house, think again. Empty space will abound until further notice.

All that quiet you said you wanted as an excuse to move? It's really quiet. You can tell you miss the sounds of other people in the house when you start conversing with Billy Bush on the radio. Very sad, indeed.

I could go on and on, but you get my drift. Homeownership is a lot harder, and a lot more complicated, than I thought. Do I regret it? Not in the least. Do I want to have another month like the last one?

Hell no.

Times, they are a-changin'

2009-08-11T21:02:00.003-04:00

I know, I know. Three months in this latest absence from my blog. Is anyone still reading this thing?

There have been moments when I've debated the wisdom of even keeping it active. But then I get inspired to write something that won't fit in a novel and usually when it isn't my turn to blog over at RRT. So I think I'll keep it around a while yet.

So ... what's new with y'all? Any news? Updates? Complaints?

Seriously, nothing?

Well, I don't know about you, but I haven't just been resting on my laurels since May. No sir, I have been Doing Stuff. Like driving halfway (okay, not quite, but close) across the country. And buying a house. And attending writing conventions. And joining dating sites.

Oh wait, what was that thing in the middle, you ask? Yeah, I bought a house. My first house. At least that's mine. And the bank's. Right now the bank owns more of it than I do. But still, it's mine. You see that corner of the deck over there? I think that's what belongs to me.

And then I moved into said house. About a week and a half ago. My clothes are still in boxes, my TV is sitting on the floor for lack of a taller flat surface to rest upon, and the wallpaper is mocking me, telling me I can't rip it down and re-paint until I get my crap, er, belongings stowed away.

But it's mine (and the bank's). And despite all of the challenges - the empty spaces where furniture would go if I had some, the lack of internet and cable, the horrific crown molding THAT MUST COME DOWN in the master bedroom, the rain that falls every time I plan to mow the jungle that is my front yard - I'm loving it.

In the Belly of the Beast

2009-05-20T08:08:00.000-04:00

On Monday, I was eaten alive by one of the elevators in my office building. A simple trip down to the Subway on the first floor for a late afternoon jolt of caffeine very nearly turned into a Drama with a capital “D”.

After spending most of the day, including the drive in this morning, trying desperately not to fall asleep, I finally caved and headed downstairs in search of Diet Coke. I’ve been trying to cut back on the amount of caffeine I’ve been consuming – Diet Coke, Frappucinos, hot chocolate – because I desperately need to lose weight before Nationals in two months. I can hardly fit into my work clothes, much less what I’m considering taking with me to the conference.

Nevertheless, desperate times call for desperate measures, and lest I wanted to be seriously reprimanded for sleeping at my desk and have my boss regret bringing me into the company in the first place, some sort of energy boost had become a necessity.

The elevator shot me down to the first floor in no time at all, where I counted out change (what, you thought I’d break a perfectly good fiver when I had the prime opportunity to clean out my change purse?) to the baffled looking cashier. I think he’s fairly new – hence the bafflement.

The elevator was waiting for me when I came back around the corner. I should have taken this as a bad omen – the elevator is never where you need it to be, no matter what time of the day or night you’re trying to use it. I climbed aboard the same car that had delivered me safely not 5 minutes before, scanned my card and pressed the button for my floor. The doors closed …

… and immediately opened again.

Ooookay. No big deal, right? Probably someone hit the button after the doors closed. Except, no one got on. The doors closed again, and we rocketed up to my floor.

Where the doors did NOT open, and the elevator starting making a rapid, whiny dinging which sounded not unlike some kind of robotic goldfinch, and which indicated to me that something was Very Wrong.

Was the elevator stuck between floors? In need of maintenance? The fire department? The jaws of life? Would they have to pry the doors open? Peel my flatten carcass from the crushed remains of the elevator after it plummeted to the ground? Holy cable cars, Batman, this could be bad!

Then the doors finally opened. And by finally, I mean about 10-15 seconds later. Not wasting any time, lest the beast change its fickle mind, I rushed out onto my floor, shaking my Diet Coke to useless foam in my haste.

I’m amazed by the number of dire thoughts that ran through my head in such quick succession. It’s not as though I were trapped for hours and had time to ponder my situation and how little I’ve done with my relatively short life thus far. And it’s not as though I’ve ever had a credible fear of elevators before. Normally, my biggest concern about being trapped in an elevator would be that I didn’t have my purse book handy to pass the time until rescue.

I’m not sure what made me so uneasy today at the prospect of being trapped. But one thing is for sure.

Next time, I’m going to give serious thought to taking the stairs.

Setting Myself Up For Disaster

2009-01-03T19:18:00.004-05:00

It's hardly a secret that I'm not a big fan of making New Year's resolutions. Really, making resolutions just serves as a reminder of how weak willed I can be.

To my way of thinking, resolutions equate to promises to oneself to be something or do something. And while that is, in theory, a noble venture - to vow that one will stop smoking, or start exercising, or give 10 percent of every paycheck to charity - it is easier said than done. And when we break those promises to ourselves, as the overwhelming majority of us will, it does nothing helpful for our self image, and the cycle perpetuates.

Cynical? Perhaps, but I prefer to think of it as a realistic view of human nature.

But, while I'm not one for making resolutions - my will power isn't that strong - I am completely in favor of setting goals for the year. Goals may be reached or missed, but they are a tangible end to work towards. Whether or not we achieve our ends, having goals allows us to make forward progress. With a goal, we get a little further down that long and winding road towards what we want to achieve with our lives.

So here goes, my 2009 goals:

Complete a draft of my Work In Progress. I haven't updated my progress meter in ages. Not because there's been no progress, but because much of it is handwritten, and I just don't have the patience to count out each and every word.

Buy a home - townhouse, condo, farm - it doesn't really matter, as long as it's mine.

Have a social life. I've never been much of a dater, but, as I would prefer not to spend my life alone, it seems logical to get out there and at least meet people.

Travel to Ireland. This one is *going* to happen, if Dad and I can ever get our acts together and plan the trip.

Attend RWA Nationals. Again, this *is* happening this year. With the convention practically in my backyard, it would be silly not to go.

I have many other smaller or more private goals, but those are the big ones. Not too ambitious, but plenty to keep me busy for the next twelve months, don't you think?

And the winner is ...

2009-01-02T16:55:00.004-05:00

... Janet S, who provided the following photo of a prime example of an over-the-top Christmas bonanza:

Just look at all of those lights, figurines, and inflatable lawn decorations! It's madness!

Congratulations, Janet (who will receive the $30 gift certificate from Amazon.com as soon as I wind it up here), and thanks to all who submitted pictures for consideration!

Gaaaahhh!

2008-12-29T22:03:00.004-05:00

Yes, I know. Bad blogger. December is always a busy month for me, what with the myriad of Christmas programs, concerts, performances, and other obligations that seem to sprout up like weeds. This December, in particular, has seemed full past brimming, as I've been in the midst of work turmoil.

For the last six months or so, I've been splitting my time pretty much evenly between my homebase office in Wilmington and our office in Baltimore. When my boss, who is also the man who created my job and hired me, became The Boss of the Baltimore office, The Powers That Be decided that my eventual transfer was a foregone conclusion.

It wasn't. Not exactly.

After more than six months of corporate politicking and basically being a human ping pong ball, arrangments were finally made, and as of Saturday, I officially belong to the Baltimore office.

However, the ping-ponging will continue for the foreseeable future.

Still, it's a step in the right direction. In an effort to not spend half of my life in my car, I'm starting to house hunt. It's a bit frightening, knowing that in buying a home, I'll be committing myself to decades of debt. But it's exhilarating at the same time, because I feel as though I'll finally get to put my stamp on a miniscule corner of the world.

So if you don't see updates here too often, know that it's not that I don't have anyting to tell you. I'm just running back and forth like a chicken with an ax-wielding banker hard on her heels.

***Only 2 more days to get your Christmas Vomit submissions in!!! All entries must be emailed to krardon@yahoo.com by midnight Wednesday in order to be considered. I know some of you out there have promised photos, but haven't delivered yet. It's NOT TOO LATE!!!!***

2nd Annual Christmas Vomit Contest!!!

2008-12-04T08:16:00.008-05:00

Hello, you stalwart few who still check back from time to time to see if I've bothered to update my blog! I've had my reasons for staying away, reasons that I hope I'm free to share with you sometime in the near future.

In the meantime, a couple of notes -

Delusions of Grandeur now has a blog network on Facebook. The more people who join, the closer I can get to having automatic updates on Facebook. (hint, hint!)

The group writing blog I'm also a part of, Romance Roundtable, also has a blog network on Facebook, so visit us in both places. This week on the Rountable, we're celebrating the first publication of one of our members, Anastasia St. James, by The Wild Rose Press.

Finally, now that Thanksgiving weekend is past, I'm starting to see increased numbers of houses with exterior Christmas decorations. You know what that means, don't you?

CHRISTMAS VOMIT!!!!

That's right, ladies and gentlemen. It's time for my 2nd Annual Christmas Vomit Photo competition. For those of you who are new to it, this contest celebrates the gaudiest, most over-the-top display of home-grown Christmas cheer. As in, "Christmas threw up all over that house!" Those houses that you point at when you drive past, then circle back to take another pass to take it all in.

While I may laugh at the overwhelming and often tasteless displays, I also appreciate the effort that the homeowners put into their displays, as well as the love of the holiday season that prompts them to create them.

The rules:

1) Email your photos to krardon@yahoo.com with "Christmas Vomit '08" in the subject line. The winning photos will be published on this blog the week after the contest closes.

2) Photos MUST BE ORIGINAL. No surfing the Internet for crazy examples posted by other people.

3) Video cannot be accepted at this time. Mostly because I can't play it at work due to the firewalls.

4) DEADLINE for submission is midnight, December 31st.

This year's prize is a $30 gift certificate to Amazon.com.

See the photos submitted by last year's winner, Alice, here.

Good luck, and let's see some terrific photos this year!

How dreadful

2008-11-18T09:06:00.002-05:00

November 18th in Maryland, and it's cold. So cold, in fact, that the Weather Channel is calling for the possibility of snow around lunch time today. This would, if it were to actually happen, be our first snow of the year.

Once upon a time, this notion would have excited me. I would have eagerly watched the news, my eyes greedily tracking the churning white images moving across the map of the Mid-Atlantic region. Dreams of waking to a field of unsullied white, the icicles dangling from the roof sparkling like a crystal chandelier in the early morning light, would have ratcheted up my pulse to roller coaster-worthy heights.

Not so much anymore. My reaction has, sadly turned cynical. Though I see the beauty of the snowfall, and appreciate the hush that seems to fall over the world with each frozen flake that falls from the sky, mostly, I just dread it now.

It's no longer the weather that I always felt tied me to my home state (because Montana does have rather the reputation for snowfall). Now it's the bane of my work week, an added hazard on an already perilous commute (damned aggressive Maryland drivers), and just plain cold.

Perhaps my love affair with snow died it's slushy death that first year of law school, when I trekked all the way into Baltimore, just to have my classes cancelled, and then, many hours later when I could finally catch a train home, I fell knee deep into a pothole that was deceptively deeper than it appeared due to the icy cold and filthy runoff from the melted snow that filled it.

Maybe the final death knell was last year, when I slid off the road a mere 1/4 mile from my house, going 2 miles per hour and got my car stuck in a ridiculously shallow ditch for the better part of an hour.

Or maybe it's that regardless of weather, I still have to come in to the office.

Whatever the reason, I'm wishing this little snow storm north to Pennsylvania. Let them deal with it.

Saying goodbye

2008-10-27T21:22:00.002-04:00

This morning, I attended the funeral of a family friend who passed away last week. It was, perhaps, the most soul-wrenching scene I've ever been witness to, even as we celebrated the life of a good man who has surely gone to heaven to find his everlasting peace.

In the card that was handed to my mother at the funeral home was printed the cold, bare facts of the life of this warm and loving man. On the other side was printed Psalm 23:

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:
he leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the
paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the
shadow of death; I will fear no evil: for thou
art with me; thy rod and thy staff they
comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in the
presence of mine enemies: thou anointest
my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all
the days of my life; and I will dwell in the
house of the Lord for ever.

Whether you are a churchgoer or not, I'm sure you'll recognize the words that have become so linked to the funereal service. They seem particularly apt at that moment, when we are grieving and it seems as though our hearts will never be whole again. There is comfort to be found in the idea that no matter what trials life holds for us, in this great big world, we are not alone.

The line that always speaks to me the most deeply is verse 6: Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

It's a reminder to me that no matter how utterly tragic life may seem at times, there is joy, and laughter, and hope, and love there, too, lurking under the surface, waiting for us to recognize it. That underneath the gritty reality of life, there is a love that will never fade, if we will only allow ourselves to trust in it. That gives me hope, both for this life, and the next.

What would you have said?

2008-10-20T09:01:00.000-04:00

This morning on my way in to the office, I stopped by Panera Bread, as I periodically do, to indulge in an Asiago Cheese bagel. Honestly, with the number of accidents on the road between my house and the city, a mere 50 miles of interstate, I was feeling the need for some Monday morning carb-bolstering.

I placed my order and stepped back to wait for the middle-aged woman with leathery skin, no doubt the result of excessive time in the sun, to bag my bread. Despite my aversion to mornings in general and Mondays in particular, I did my utmost to be pleasant – smiling, saying please and thank you, and in general, not being a demanding pain in the neck. This was thankfully easy to accomplish, as the scent of freshly baked bread serves as Kelly-Valium.

But as she tucked my breakfast into its bag and made change, the woman waiting on me was carrying on a conversation with the teenaged employee at the next register as if I wasn’t there.

Normally I’m fine with that. After all, she was still getting the job done, and I hate to talk to anyone, much less a stranger first thing in the morning. Heck, I growl at my mother if she even says Good morning in that chipper sing-song voice (which she inevitably does every single morning.

No, it wasn’t who the woman was speaking with that caught my attention, but rather what she was saying. Apparently she had been instructed to be more personable to customers by another Panera Bread employee. To which she responded to the other cashier, “I don’t have to be nice if I don’t want to be. They don’t have to work with me, so what the hell do they care? I’m not a nice person, they can just get over it or fire me.”

With that, she turned to me with a forced smile, handed me my bag of bagel, and wished me a pleasant morning, the “Go Away” barely disguised in her voice.

Maybe I’ll go to the other Panera next week.

In good company

2008-10-16T08:19:00.004-04:00

Do you know what today is?

It's DICTIONARY DAY!!!!!

A couple of weeks ago, I signed up to receive A Word A Day. Monday's word came with a little dissertation, explaining why this week's word choices would be words ... about words. Imagine my surprise to discover that October 16, a day I've always just known as the anniversary of my birth, is Dictionary Day.

Today when we spell the word "color" instead of "colour" we can thank a crotchety, humorless man for saving wear on our fingers, not to mention savings on paper and those obscenely expensive inkjet printer cartridges. Oct 16 marks the 250th birth anniversary of Noah Webster (1758-1843), lexicographer extraordinaire, who compiled the American Dictionary of the English Language (1828), the first authoritative lexicon of American English.

Webster believed in establishing cultural independence from Britain and as such he emphasized a distinct American spelling and pronunciation. His dictionary listed various unusual and shortened spellings of words. He would hardly have imagined how the tide would turn one day. According to reports, more British children today spell "color" instead of "colour", for example. Webster's suggestion of using "tung" instead of "tongue" didn't stick, though.

Today Webster's name is synonymous with dictionaries, and the date of his birth is observed as Dictionary Day. In his honor, this week we'll present words about words. As Webster said, "the process of a living language is like the motion of a broad river which flows with a slow, silent, irresistible current."

What a fortuitous happenstance that I should share a birthday with Noah Webster, Father of American English. And I find it wonderfully apt that I, a girl who has been called many things in my life - the Human Thesaurus, a Word Jukebox, Grammar Goddess - should have been birthed on Dictionary Day!

Possessed

2008-10-14T17:17:00.003-04:00

Sunday morning when I woke up, the clock on my VCR - yes, I still have a VCR, because I still have VHS movies. Why would I upgrade if I hardly have time to turn on the TV anymore? - matched the time on my alarm clock. 8:15 AM - a rare late morning for me these days.

When I went to bed Sunday just before midnight, my VCR clock read 3:15 AM.

I'll admit, my first thought was that I had forgotten about Daylight Savings Time. It was entirely possible, at least in that moment of not thinking, that my mother had "done me a favor" and reset my alarm clock, while completely forgetting my VCR. But my rational mind kicked in to remind me that not only was it not yet time for "falling back", but we never fall back by three hours and seventeen minutes.

My follow-up conclusion was much more reasonable. My VCR is possessed.

This is not the first time the ridiculous machine has just randomly reset itself. It occasionally just decides that it doesn't like whatever time it is, and, I suppose, picks a time it likes better. What the VCR found particularly appealing about 3:15 AM, assuming that's the time it reset itself to initially, escapes me. After all, I was under the impression that there was little on at that time of night but infomercials and TV shows produced in Slovenia.

I don't know how or why it happened. But if it keeps it up, I may get it together with my parents' DVD player, which likes to try to eat fingers. It could be a match made in mechanical heaven.

Lend a helping hand

2008-10-03T12:10:00.002-04:00

One week from tomorrow, my dear friend and former roommate, Autumn Jennings, will be running in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure in Knoxville, TN.

The purpose of Susan G. Komen for the Cure is to raise both funds for breast cancer research, as well as to raise awareness about the disease across the globe. In the last 26 years, it has grown into the largest grass roots network of breast cancer survivors and activists, raising nearly $1 billion in the fight against breast cancer.

Autumn has pledged to raise $400 by October 11, 2008 toward breast cancer research. Though she has nearly reached her goal, she still needs some help, and it would be terrific if we could help her exceed her goal.

Autumn's Komen Fundraising Page

If you can spare some funds in these difficult economic times, even just a few dollars, you can help Autumn reach her goal. Or, if you are unable to pledge, please pass the link on to others - awareness is half the battle. We all know someone who has battled this disease, some successfully, some tragically. It's never too late to make a difference.

Why is it ...

2008-09-24T14:28:00.002-04:00

... that no matter what part of my body hurts, the end result is a headache? I mean, really. I could drop an anvil on my pinky toe, and I'd end up with a raging pain behind my eyes or lifting like a rocket out of the top of my head.

After our final KMK performance on Saturday night, we had our much anticipated '80s-themed cast party, replete with atrocious outfits (which were awesome, by the way - never let it be said that actors can't come up with the BEST party costumes!), big hair, lots of pizza and booze, and a DJ with a karaoke machine, which was the big draw of the night.

I'd just like to set a moment aside right here to acknowledge Bill Swezey as the King of Karaoke, with Mark Dixon running a close second. Those guys ... priceless.

Sunday was spent in virtual silence, and I didn't even step foot outside the house to bring my theater accoutrements in from the car (actually, the bag is still in my trunk, and it's now Wednesday afternoon.). I felt the need to rest my strained throat after a wild night of singing, screaming, and singing some more before crashing into bed at 4 a.m.

Seriously, I'm too old to be screaming like a 12 year old girl at a boy band concert.

But by Monday, my mildly irritated throat had morphed into a 5-alarm blaze in my esophogas. By yesterday, it was joined by a stopped up nose, a sense of dehydration no matter how many ounces of fluid I consumed, and a general sense of malaise.

And a headache.

Why, I wonder, if my throat is mildly damaged, whether it be from the strain of not acting my age or from some kind of head cold that has taken root, why do I have a throbbing pain 8 inches above the source of the problem? Is it an unwritten rule of nature that all injuries and illnesses must be accompanied by a severe headache? How are the two even related?

So here I am at the office, unable to focus on anything longer than a few minutes, asking questions to which I already should know the answers, and cursing the genious who decided we needed to do our annual fire drill this morning in the chilly early hours of the work day. And I have to ask myself, was it worth it?

You bet your sweet bippy, it was.

The Friday blues

2008-09-19T11:22:00.002-04:00

Whew, just made it in this week by the skin of my teeth. (Where the heck did that expression come from. Skin? On teeth? Bizarre.)

Thanks to those of you who have inquired and sent good thoughts for the opening of Kiss Me, Kate. The first four shows went fairly smoothly. It wouldn't be live theater without a few mishaps, rushed improvisations, and a tiny bit of mayhem. After all, that's why we do it. That, and the adulation from our audience. That's always a bit of a thrill.

We came back last night after four days off. Now there are two more performances, a cast party (complete with a karaoke machine and DJ!), and then we're finished. I think we're all at the point where we'll be sad to wrap it all up and say goodbye to both the show and the cast, but at the same time, we'll be relieved to get back to our regularly scheduled lives. Some of us are already moving on to other productions (auditions and rehearsals in progress). Others of us, including yours truly, are going on theatrical hiatus and looking forward to reclaiming their free time for things like eating a balanced meal and sleeping more than four hours a night.

One of the wonderful things that comes out of nearly any production are the friendships. Some people you will never hear from, or even of, again. Others will be in your lives forever. And now, thanks to the power of Facebook, the chances of me, an admittedly and unabashedly poor correspondent, keeping in touch with my new(er) is greatly increased.

Yes, dear friends, I'm now on Facebook. It's my newest addiction. Some of my fellow Kate-ers were talking about it's marvels, and I let them talk me into signing up last week.

And I LOVE IT! Already, in the past 10 days, I've found friends from law school and college I haven't spoken to in years, theater friends who have moved to other states, my brother (who actually deigned to respond to me right away), and many authors and Fanlitters who are now revelling in the wonder that is the Facebook community. Within minutes of signing up, I found a friend of mine in Baltimore who I've actively been searching for for the last six years. We're getting together for lunch as soon as our schedules calm down.

So if you're tempted, or curious, or merely bored, head on over to Facebook and take a look around. You never know who you might discover. It may just be me!

Like the wind

2008-09-09T07:03:00.004-04:00

Sorry to breeze through, but I just haven't had time to sit down and come up with a snazzy blog topic lately.

Your Media Monday fix is a day late and on another blog, but check out my photo essay on what it takes to put on a production of Kiss Me, Kate over on Romance Roundtable today.

I'll update the word count meter when I have a chance. I have been writing, but most of it is handwritten, so I don't quite know what my word count is yet. And fortunately, there's a lot of time for the chorus backstage to kick back and do other work (although there's not much space to work).

Keep checking my Twitter widget to the left for updates throughout the week. It may be all I have time for, with the show going up this weekend.

One fine day

2008-09-01T16:17:00.005-04:00

Today, I bring you an update, a challenge, and the return of Media Monday!

KMK opens next Thursday. EEP! We're not ready. Nowhere even close to ready. But somehow, as has been done with countless productions and countless casts before, we'll pull together and pull it off. I can't say I'll be sad to see this one close. It has been a chaotic and stressful couple of months, but it's also been challenging and, at times, even fun.

To the left, you'll see a new addition to my widgets bar. My writing goal for the month of September is to write 30,000 words on a single WIP. I have several in progress, and I'm determined to finish one of them by the end of the year. My 30,000 word count is in addition to what already exists in whichever manuscript I decide upon, and does not include revision of existing text. Since September has 30 days, it seemed like a good number. As you can see, I'm not exactly off to an auspicious start, but that will change shortly, never fear!

On to Media Monday! Since the family was out of town this weekend, moving Shawn into his new apartment in Boston, I decided it would be a great time to rent a movie that I wanted to see, without objection or complaint from anyone else. Normally I forsake the 2-day rentals at Blockbuster, but when I saw that Miss Pettigrew Lives For a Day was out, I couldn't restrain myself.

Miss Pettigrew is a down-on-her-luck daughter of a vicar in a London about to be torn apart by war, who really spends the entire film just trying to get something to eat. A quest, I fear, that goes unsatisfied for quite some time. For along the way to quelling her hunger pangs, she, through a bit of uncharacteristic deviousness, becomes the social secretary to would-be-starlet Delysia Lafosse, who is juggling not one, not two, but three handsome fellows to get everything her heart has ever desired.

More than Delysia's hijinks and wondering which man she'll choose; more than discoverer whether Miss Pettigrew's deception will be uncovered and if she'll ever get a morsel past her lips, what captivated me the most about this film was the friendship and dedication that evolved between these two women in the space of a single day. Never were two characters more entirely opposite, and yet, each faces, or has faced, the same challenges and obstacles, and manage to bond in spite of their differences.

Of course, it could just be that I love watching both the charming Amy Adams and the ever-brilliant Francis McDormand, not to mention the talented (and incredibly handsome) Mark Strong (from Stardust, another favorite film of mine) and Lee Pace (from Pushing Daisies, which I've already discussed my love of). Or it might be that I wish I had the gumption of Miss Pettigrew, who stepped out of the conventions she was tied to for the sake of experiencing a different kind of life.

Still the film had me laughing throughout, and still managed to work in some poignant moments, a little song and dance, and a touch of historical drama. I challenge you to live for a day, and check out Miss Pettigrew's adventure. You never know what it might inspire you to try.

TRAUMA!!!!!

2008-08-26T09:25:00.005-04:00

I was all set to post a Media Monday yesterday, for the first time in goodness knows how long.

But I didn't.

I have pictures to post and stories to tell from the last month of "events".

But I didn't.

I have a review to write, stories to complete, work to do, and a play to survive.

All of which, I've put off.

Why? Because I was buried hip deep in personal drama, er, trauma, yesterday.

I woke up yesterday morning, not-so-bright but early, to a searing pain in my left eye. My eye itched, but not in the overwhelming fleas-are-chewing-on-my-retna way that would signal some kind of infection. The half of my eye closest to my nose was bloodshot, but not spotted with pink eye. And every time I blinked, it was like some invisibile demon was jabbing a red hot poker in my eyeball.

Fun, huh?

Needless to say, I had a near impossible time seeing out of my left eye (I even wore my reading glasses to drive to work. Generally they make my long-range sight worse, but they were even an improvement over the rave being held behind my eyelid). I survived Rich and Steve G.'s pirate jokes (they were convinced the eye doctor was going to put me in an eye patch), and went to my new eye doctor for the first time.

Now, my eye-touching issues have been well documented. Even talking about my eye-touching issues makes me squeamish. So imagine my reaction when the doctor, while peering into my searing eye, says, "Hand me the forceps."

FORCEPS? Is that what we're calling tweezers these days? Way to put me at ease, Doc!

Fortunately for me, Dr. Lavenberg has remarkably steady hands and a wonderful sense of humor (as do his technicians, who tried to keep me from hyperventilating in panic and were kind enough to smother their snickers when I squealed like a little piglet any time anyone came within 4 inches of my eye). Before I knew it, the loose eyelash that had lodged itself in my tear duct had been removed, and I was good (almost) as new. There's some residual soreness from where the eyelash, a tiny, innocuous thing, rubbed a raw spot on my eyelid. But it's better than having an ulcer develop on my tear duct, which apparently happened to one of Dr. L.'s patients after letting it go unattended for a week.

Still, to get even with my officemates for their cruel taunting, I requested an eyepatch, which I wore behind my glasses when I got back to the office, only revealing the truth after they were suitably chastened.

Cruel? Maybe. But you've got to play dirty to play in the big leagues.

In and out again

2008-08-14T10:45:00.002-04:00

It's me. *waves wildly*

I'm alive and well (although the latter is a matter of opinion that my co-workers might dispute). So much has happened in the last two weeks, I almost don't know where to start. So I won't. Start, that is. Since I don't have time to go into the detail that the events of August thus far deserve, I'll hold off until next week, when, hopefully, I'll have time to do more than sleep and work.

For now, here are the highlights:

*Staying up for 48 straight hours to catch an early flight.
*Brad and Tina's wedding - holding the Guiness World Record for most babies in a single church ceremony.
*Watching others do the Chicken Dance (I have standards).
*Cousin's friends apparently think I'm hot and fun. Who knew?
*Fun with Loki.
*Golf at the dining room table.
*When did younger cousins become cool?
*Tornadoes and plane evacuations.
*Work.
*KMK director confuses the hell out of everyone.
*KMK director fired.
*More work.
*Joseph in Maryland!!!!
*Joseph leaves Maryland. :(
*Work again.
*Bumbling through Russian with Sasha.
*Work some more.

As you can see, I haven't been slacking off. Except around here, that is.

In an effort to update a little more frequently, I've added a new widget to the left that I discovered through Sherry Thomas' blog. Twitter allows for quickie updates from pretty much anywhere, so I'll no longer have the "oh, I couldn't get to my computer" excuse.

Until next time ...

No Chicken Dance, if you please

2008-07-30T23:48:00.003-04:00

Well, I'm off. Or I will be in approximately three and a half hours. We fly out early. As in, early enough that I've pretty much decided to just stay up instead of going to bed. After all, leaving at 3am to get to BWI doesn't leave much time for restful sleep now, does it?

We'll do the whirlwind family deal, throwing in Brad's wedding just for kicks, and be back in a few days. Part of me is really looking forward to seeing everyone, although we'll miss out on most of Mom's side of the family, since Aunt Suz and Uncle Mike will be at Sturgis for Bike Week, and Don and Shelly moved. Again.

But that still leaves quite a few family members, and not a lot of time. It's the one part of visiting La Familia that I've always dreaded - the rush, rush, RUSH, and the guilt of not spending more time with everyone.

Still, I'm looking forward to the visiting, and to seeing my completely wonderful and deserving cousin get married. But I'm not doing any of the silly DJ-led party dances. No Chicken Dance. No Macarena. No Electric Slide.

Okay, maybe if I have a few glasses of wine. Or just one. Or, you know, if people need some help getting things going ...

Final Update - End Week 8

2008-07-27T15:19:00.003-04:00

Starting weight: 160.6
Weigh-in weight: 159.0
Lbs. lost: 1.6
Books earned: 1
Money owed: $0.00

Total weight lost in 8 weeks: 5.6 lbs

I didn't weigh myself last weekend, and to be honest, I can't remember why. There was a reason, though. I'm pretty proud of getting down below 160 again, even though I had hoped to be down another 5-10 lbs by this time this summer. I don't seem to have much willpower when it comes to food, and the craziness of work has kept me from the gym for the last 5 weeks, so weightloss has only been achieved by decreasing my portions.

Well, that's it for my Summer Weightloss Challenge. I said I'd go until Brad's wedding, which is Saturday. I leave for KC in a few days, and hope to get together with Christina sometime during my visit (so excited!). Obviously, I'm going to continue trying to lose weight, a pound, or a fraction of a pound, at a time, until I hit that target weight of 135. Hopefully, once I find a routine, which is the one thing this summer has deprived me of, I'll be more successful.

Thanks for the support!

Update - End Week 6

2008-07-13T19:38:00.001-04:00

Starting weight: 160.6
Weigh-in weight: 160.6
Lbs. lost: 0.0
Books earned: 0
Money owed: $0.00

No gains, no losses. But I blame that in part on the fact that Dad made cheeseburgers for dinner last night, then followed that up with a trip to Cold Stone. How's a girl supposed to say no?

Gee willikers!

2008-07-12T23:28:00.002-04:00

I've been absent more than usual for the last week or so, but I'm guessing that everyone else has been equally busy with work, moving, vacations, and life, and hasn't even noticed my slacking off here on the blog.

The day before Independence Day, I became a slave to my job.

How's that for irony?

Ted, who is no longer technically my boss, but, well, is, showed up for a day of meetings in the Wilmington office. When I showed up, he was lying in wait outside of my office, wanting to meet later in the day. Not a big deal, usually, but since we'd just delivered one phase of our other big project the morning before, I was on the downward slope of a big stress and really unable to get worked up about a whole lot.

When we finally met, he told me that due to some personnel changes in the Baltimore office, which he now runs, he needed me to come in and take over some tasks on a few current projects. Starting Monday.

He's been threatening to pull me to the Baltimore office ever since, well, before he took the job running that office. But neither of us thought it would happen so soon. Before I agreed to do KMK, I even asked him when he thought he'd need me in Charm City, and he assured me that it would be no time soon. I didn't intend to accept the part if I was going to end up commuting an hour in the opposite direction (thereby making my commute to the theater nearly 2 hours).

Just my luck that the move would happen on the very day rehearsals were scheduled to start.

But I'm not completely through with Wilmington, nor will I be for quite a long time, unless I can find and train someone competent to take over my projects there. And then Jill tossed out on Thursday that she's planning to use me in a major way in another of her pending projects.

While it's good to be in demand - job security, you know - I'm not entirely sure if I'll be able to keep up this schedule. Two days a week in Wilmington, two days a week in Baltimore, and Fridays up for grabs to whoever needs me the most.

Strangely, it's not the commute that got to me this week (although leaving the house Monday before 7am to drive to Baltimore, leaving Baltimore at 5:15pm to drive to Arden - north of North Wilmington - for my 7pm rehearsal, and then back home to crash into bed by 10:30pm was a little rough). It's the having to shift gears between offices, between types of projects, between job roles.

Hopefully I'll get the hang of it before my brains start to leak through my ears. It doesn't leave much time for anything else, though. Sacrifices will have to be made. I have a feeling this blog is going to be one of the long-term victims of my new schedule.

Update - End Week 5

2008-07-06T13:49:00.002-04:00

Starting weight: 159.8
Weigh-in weight: 160.6
Lbs. lost: -0.8
Books earned: 0
Money owed: $4.00

For the first time since I started this, I owe money. I'm a little frustrated, but it happens, especially around holiday weekends. I didn't eat much this week, lacking both the time and inclination to eat with my usual gusto. I even skipped quite a few meals. But when I did eat, it wasn't food that was good for me. And I didn't get to the gym once this week, although that was more the result of an insane schedule than lack of motivation.

Oh well, I'll do better next week.

Update - End Week 4

2008-06-29T22:30:00.002-04:00

Starting weight: 161.4
Weigh-in weight: 159.8
Lbs. lost: 1.6
Books earned: 1
Money owed: $0.00

Okay, so a pound and a half isn't a huge deal, but it is a definite improvement over last week's results. It's also an especially cheering achievement since I didn't get to the gym once this week. Not a single time. Sigh. It's the job again. Working hard and working late doesn't exactly leave one with the energy to go man the treadmill for a while.

The other reason this week has me ridiculously excited? This is the first time I've been below 160 since, well, since I went above 160. Yay me! Let us hope this body never sees 160 again. It wasn't pretty.

When the script needs a little ... boost

2008-06-23T21:27:00.003-04:00

Last week, while the family was away and I was left to my solitude, I paid a visit to our friendly neighborhood Blockbuster in search of entertainment. I love to rent movies while the folks are away, because I can rent what I like without having to take their tastes and interests into consideration. I can choose a movie that I might otherwise be embarassed to watch.

Last week's selection was In the Name of the King. For reasons that elude me still, I love Jason Statham. He's not a particularly great actor. Okay, who are we kidding? He's not a particularly good actor. But he is yummy. And the man can move like no other. I mean, seriously, did you see The Transporter? No one has ever made motor oil look so good.

Anywho, In the Name of the King is a fantasy story based on a series of video games in a medieval-type setting, and is loaded with a lot of familiar actors (Ray Liotta, Burt Reynolds, Leelee Sobieski, Claire Forlani, Ron Perlman and John Rhys-Davies for starters). And it's awful. It's so awful, it's funny.

Even though I watch the DVD the first night I had it checked out, I didn't return it afterwards. Oh no. I hung on to it until tonight, when I knew my family would be home to partake in the joy of heckling such a hilarious spectacle. As an added bonus, Shawn came home tonight, and he's having a ball playing Statler to my Waldorf as I'm typing this. Say hello, Shawn.

Oh yes, Hello! and what's the deal with this movie?

Well, I thought it would be entertaining. I was right, wasn't I?

Uh....

Hey, admit it. You're enjoying seeing Burt Reynolds in a fur cape.

I still think that he needs a cowboy hat and a fast car. even if this is medieval times.

Yeah, I don't think that would fit in with the general idea of the movie. I mean, they're fighting with swords. Can you imagine him wielding a sword from behind the wheel of a Trans Am?

Yes. I can.

That's because you're warped.

No, I just know what makes a good movie.

Come on. You were the one who was obsessed with Attack of the Killer Tomatoes when you were a kid. Somehow, I doubt your judgment.

Man eating tomatoes would make this movie more palatable.

Ha! Pun intended?

Well... no, but I'll claim it anyway.

Sigh. *shakes head* What am I going to do with you? Sad for you - looks like they're going to do away with Burt Reynolds.

oh. darn. what ever will happen to Sally Field?

She'll go on to star in a cheesy soap opera with Kevin Kline and Teri Hatcher, of course.

Thank God.

Would you tune in every day to watch her? Just to make sure she didn't suffer without Burt?

She'll have Robert Downey Jr. Burt who?

That's the drugs talking. Wait, did Ray Liotta just say "scow-ell"?

Well, yes. Once a New Yorker, always a New Yorker.

Even in a fake medieval Europe?

Especially in a fake medieval Europe. Maybe Joe Pesci will show up and we can have a 12th century version of Goodfellas. Bravo.

Well, that does it for the peanut gallery tonight, folks. Tune in next time, when we just might heckle one of your favorite films. Ya know, because some movies would just be better if Shawn and I were involved.

Update - End Week 3

2008-06-22T23:48:00.003-04:00

Starting weight: 161.4
Weigh-in weight: 161.4
Lbs. lost: 0
Books earned: 0
Money owed: $0.00

Well, when I weighed myself yesterday morning, I was down to 160.2. But then I ate dinner. Shame on me. At least I didn't gain. I meant to eat really well and exercise every day that my parents were gone. But I ended up eating out more than was prudent, and even restaurant salads take their toll. And I only made it to the gym on Friday, thanks to craziness at work.

On top of that, there was the stress of making a big muck of my personal life. Even though I baked two cakes for church and a pan of brownie bars for the party Ted and Elizabeth threw for Christopher's graduation today, I was really good and didn't eat any of my baked goodness. But somehow I suspect that just breathing in the scents of chocolate and oatmeal and brown sugar and cake piled on the calories. No nibbling necessary.

I am going to do better next week. I HAVE to do better next week. I'm starting to suffer from library withdrawal.

WWJD?

2008-06-17T21:16:00.002-04:00

On the last leg of my commute in to the office this morning (for which I was actually running on time, thanks to the drastic summertime decrease in traffic on the interstate), something caught my eye that literally had me doing a double take.

A man in a yellow T-shirt was walking down the shoulder of Governor Prinz Boulevard, just like me. Except, you know, I was in a car. And not in the shoulder.

Normally, a man walking down the side of the road, backpack following like a canvas hunchback, would have gone unremarked by me, except to make sure he wasn't going to jump out in front of me. That would have been bad.

This guy, however, was totting a giant white cross over one shoulder. The cross looked pretty hefty, probably made out of two-by-fours painted white to gleam in the early morning sunlight. Yet he seemed to carry his burden without a tremendous amount of physical effort.

And then I looked down, and saw the wheels at the bottom of the cross.

My first thought was, Isn't that cheating? I mean, I respect the statement he was making, but still, wouldn't it have been more meaningful if he had indeed been carrying the cross, not just rolling it behind him like a suitcase?

My second thought was, Wow, those look like training wheels. Which, in and of itself, might have been a statement he was trying to make. Somehow, I doubt it, though.

I waffled for a mile or so, then made a U-turn because I wanted to take a picture to share with you, and because I finally found my digital camera after more than a month of searching (Hallelujah!!!). But when I made it back to the stretch of road where I'd seen Mr. Walk-in-the-Lord's-Footsteps, I found the cross resting in front of the ghetto 7-Eleven. Apparently statement making gave in to the greater temptation of the Slurpee.

Update - End Week Two

2008-06-15T16:46:00.002-04:00

Starting weight: 161.6
Weigh-in weight: 161.4
Lbs. lost: 0.2
Books earned: 0
Money owed: $0.00

I barely broke even this week, but that's still better than I thought I had done before I stepped on the scale. I ate out a lot, only got to the gym once (thanks to long days at the office), and just in general don't feel well. So I'll take my two-tenths of a pound. At least I didn't gain, right?

Hell must be freezing over

2008-06-11T22:59:00.004-04:00

In probably the first statement I have agreed with in the nine years since he became a figure in national politics, President Bush declared today that "The German asparagus are fabulous."

Clearly a critical piece of news for the future of our country.

This time of year, Germans are going wild for Spargel, or asparagus. It's not your traditional bunches of green asparagus that you find at your local market. These are giant stalks of asparagus that are a bleached white, frequently sold from rickety roadside stands. My host mother in Wittenberg used to serve it with a buttery cheese sauce that was absolutely heavenly.

When I say Germans are going wild for Spargel right now, I'm remembering leaving for field trips at 6am, and seeing dozens of people standing in line along the edge of the roadway, waiting for the farmers to arrive with their offerings. And Wittenberg is a small town, so for dozens of people to line up at different stands around the country ... that's some real demand!

The strange thing is, there's really not much difference between traditional green asparagus, and the white Spargel. It's even the same species of the plant. The only thing that makes the Spargel white is that the plants are denied their pigmentation by decreasing the sunlight and increasing the ultraviolet light they are exposed to. Yet somehow, it makes the asparagus (which I love anyway) taste better. Like manna from heaven.

It's a sad (and rare) day when I agree with Mr. George W. Bush, but I have to admit, the man got it right this time.

His destiny calls and he goes

2008-06-09T23:17:00.004-04:00

For the last several years, Mom has gotten season tickets for the local community theater where she and I have performed for years. She always plans for my dad to go with her, but at the last minute, he'll back out and make me take his place. Not for all shows, but usually for the musicals. It's not like I mind. I mean, hey, Mom drives me bonkers, but it's a free show and an excuse to visit with some of my theater friends.

This year's musical was The Man of La Mancha. I'd never seen this staged before, although I grew up with the movie (starring Peter O'Toole and Sophia Loren). I always thought it was an interesting show, but not one I ever had any burning desire to see. Or perform.

My instincts, in this case, would have served me well. The cast was full of extremely talented people ... most of whom did not perform especially well. Don Quixote even forgot the beginning of "The Man of La Mancha" - probably the second most famous song to come out of the show.

Mom raved about the set, which was, admittedly, well suited to the play. Unfortunately, the lighting cast 80% of the stage in deep shadow, to the point where certain moments were completely lost. Probably the most exciting part of the show, for me anyway, was the orchestra. Rather than have a traditional pit orchestra play from the traditional scores, they had a music professor from the community college arrange the accompaniment for 4-5 guitars (plus a flute and drumset). It certainly added to the Spanish feel of the show, even though everyone was pretty much speaking in steady tones of the Eastern Seaboard.

All in all, I was somewhat disappointed. But don't let that fool you into thinking I'm writing MOLM off overall. I believe someday I'll see a performance of it that will really wow me.

But maybe I'm just dreaming the impossible dream.

Update - End Week 1

2008-06-08T21:48:00.003-04:00

Starting weight: 164.6
Weigh-in weight: 161.6
Lbs. lost: 3.0
Books earned: 3
Money owed: $0.00

I probably gained back all of the weight I lost this week while at the church picnic following the choir program this afternoon. But that happened after I weighed myself, so I'm safe. For now, anyway. Time to redouble my efforts. I have healthy dinners on the menu for this week, and it's going to be salads for lunch. With this sudden, vicious heat wave that's hit us here, I really don't think I'd be able to stomach anything else.

For my next trick

2008-06-03T06:35:00.000-04:00

Well, I decided what my next goal will be, and my incentive for getting there. I think it'll work out, as it is tailored to my personal vices and weaknesses.

My goal: weight loss.

I'm not going set a target weight, as I think that's just setting myself up for failure. No, my goal is to lose weight, ANY AMOUNT OF WEIGHT, by August 2nd, which is the day my favorite cousin is getting married in Kansas City. (I know I shouldn't have favorites, and in truth, I like most of my cousins really well. But Brad is the closest in age to me, we spent a lot of time together during summers when I was small, and, well, if you knew him, you'd understand. Everyone loves Brad.)

To get to my ideal weight, I'd have to drop 35 lbs. Quite frankly, that's a little too lofty goal for me to even consider. So any weight loss over the next two months is the goal.

Now, we come to the clever part.

The carrot: From now until August 2nd, I am forbidding myself to buy, check out, or otherwise acquire any new books. For those of you who know me, you know this is akin to asking a cat to ignore a ball of yarn. Difficult indeed. Especially tough, since there are quite a number of books coming out this summer that I have been frothing at the mouth to read.

But wait - there's a catch.

For every pound I lose, I may buy, check out from the library, or otherwise acquire one book. So if I want to pick up the third and fourth in Christina Dodd's Darkness Chosen series, I'll have to lose at least 2 lbs. And with Donna Kauffmann, Suzanne Brockmann, Eloisa James, and many others coming out with new releases this summer, you can imagine, I really, REALLY am going to want to shed some pounds.

Now then, there's got to be a negative incentive as well, doesn't there? Otherwise, I'd just wait out the 2 months, accept that I'm going to be chubby in the wedding pictures, and eat my way into oblivion.

For every pound I gain, I have to put $5 into a "fat jar". That's $5 that cannot be spent on books, lunch, dry cleaning, or anything that goes towards myself. It will be up to my family to decide how the money in the fat jar is spent. Given that my mother and Shawn spend money on ridiculous stuff, this would not please me at all.

So, to sum it up:

Goal: Lose weight (starting weight 164.6)
Deadline: August 2nd
Incentive: 1 book per pound lost
Penalty: $5 in the fat jar per pound gained

Wish me luck!

Who ya gonna call?

2008-06-01T08:03:00.000-04:00

Last night, while watching Ghostbusters:

Me: Hey, isn't that jail guard Carl Winslow?

Shawn: Oh, wow, you're right.

Me: He always plays a cop.

Shawn: That's because he's awesome.

Me: Family Matters.

Shawn: Die Hard.

Me: Sometimes he's a limo driver, I think.

Dad: Yeah, like in that boomerang movie. *waves arms in a strange throwing motion*

Me: Um, you mean Crocodile Dundee?

Dad: That's the one!

Shawn: He's so awesome.

Me: I can't think of any movie where he didn't play a cop.

Dad: Or a limo driver.

Shawn: That's because he's AWESOME.

Dad: How so?

Shawn: If we had more cops like Carl Winslow, we wouldn't need crime.

Wrap up

2008-05-31T16:12:00.002-04:00

I think I shocked people yesterday with my morning-breathed, no-deodorant disclosure. No one has commented. :)

Today is the last day of May, you know. And if you look to the left, you'll notice 31 entries in the month.

That's right - I did it! I posted every single day this month! I guess the incentive worked (and I must be every bit the tightwad my parents claim!). I may have to do this again, although maybe for something other than the blog. It's all about incentive.

Mom's been participating in her work's Biggest Loser contest. It's not run exactly like the show. Rankings are determined by the percent of your starting weight lost. For every pound gained, you have to pay a dollar. Mom is nearly beside herself with excitement since she's now in third place, having finally surpassed the woman who, already unbelievably skinny, is literally starving herself to win the cash prize. She's now happily sitting in third place, and is more committed than ever to shedding the pounds.

Incentives work.

They worked for Tessa, who gave me the idea of using an incentive in the first place.

So I need to come up with a new goal, and a new incentive to motivate me to get there. Perhaps I should apply it to my writing, as I've been rather remiss the last couple of weeks. Or maybe I, too, should go the weight loss route.

One thing I know, though, is that incentives work.

The price of deviation

2008-05-30T20:14:00.002-04:00

The past couple of weeks have been odd, and have left me off-kilter. I've only been in my office 5 1/2 days in the last 2 1/2 weeks, although it seems like I've been bogged down with work lately. It's kind of disorienting to vary from my daily routine, and never more apparent than this morning.

I decided to work from home this morning, due to a meeting with a client later in the morning who is located significantly closer to my house than to the office. Gas prices being what they are, it just made sense for me to hold off driving all the way to the office until after the meeting.

So, I'm typing away, preparing for the meeting, and on the phone with someone at the state, when I realize that it's almost time to leave for the meeting, and I'm not completely put together. I swiped on my makeup while juggling my cell phone in one hand.

But then came the toothbrush dilemma. I couldn't exactly brush my teeth while on a business call, could I? The clock was ticking, and I had to leave. Now.

I'm ashamed to admit, I didn't even take it with me to brush in the bathroom at the office.

I got to the meeting about 30 seconds before the client and my boss were ready for me, so the timing was, to say the least, close. When I got back to my car and took off my suit jacket, I noticed a faint smell.

Had I not cleaned my suit after the last time I wore it?

Then it dawned on me. Brushing my teeth wasn't the only part of my morning routine I had omitted. I'd forgotten to put on deodorant, too.

The seven signs

2008-05-29T22:20:00.002-04:00

Shawn came home last weekend, post-graduation, and promptly made his presence known. I can always tell that he's paid us a visit based on the state of the bathroom he and I share when we're both in residence.

1. There's a damp towel hanging from the shower curtain rod that I have to remove every morning before I can shower.

2. My single bar of bath soap has mysteriously become two much smaller bars of soap.

3. The roll of toilet paper lasts maybe 1/4 of the same amount of time as usual.

4. Shampoo seems to coat the entire outside of the bottle, rather than remaining inside the bottle where it belongs. (This one I really don't get, since the kid has no hair, to speak of.)

5. The bathmat is soaking wet. All the time. But because it's dark green, I usually don't notice until I step on it in sock feet.

6. The bathmat has been moved from it's logical place opposite the bathtub/shower, to the less sensical place in front of the sinks.

7. A washrag of an identical color hangs next to the one I had previously used, thus confusing me as to which belongs to whom.

There's always a catch

2008-05-28T23:48:00.002-04:00

Right. So a few weeks ago, I told you about the Women's Expo in Aberdeen that Mom and I attended. We walked around to a lot of booths, wrote our names and phone numbers down about 80 ba-gillion times to enter drawings for prizes that we did not win.

And now the calls are coming in. "Oh, you expressed interest in the skin imaging machine we had on display..." "How many gourmet meal deliveries did you want to sign up for?" "When would you like to schedule your hour-long consultation for our exclusive skin care products, for our special Expo fee of..."

On one hand, you play the game, and you've got to be willing to deal with the consequences. These people/businesses participated in the Expo to get their names out there and to increase their client base. They're just doing their jobs.

On the other hand, I don't want any of this stuff. I don't need it, or want it, or have the money to waste on it if I did want it.

And I'm still waiting to get a call to pick up one of those baskets with candles and wine and hand lotions I can't use ...

You break it, you bought it

2008-05-27T21:20:00.002-04:00

I stopped by Target on my way home from the Baltimore office tonight, in part because I could, because that's the only time when there's a Target on the way to anywhere related to where I live, and because there was a need for sunglasses.

I have this thing I do - I inadvertently destroy every pair of sunglasses I own. I don't know how it happens. But they all end up lost, or cracked, or in little pieces.

It's a talent.

My latest pair of sunglasses won't hold on to its lenses. Somehow, the metal frame warped, and now the lenses won't even pop back into place. Any maneuvering on my part just seems to make the situation worse.

So those are recycling bound, and I decided that since the weather is turning bright and hot again, I need another pair to abuse. I found a pair I liked, bought them, then headed out to my car, intending to put them on as soon as I got behind the wheel and had the opportunity to peel the stickers off.

As I rounded the car to head for the driver's side, I heard a clattering on the pavement.

There at my feet lay sunglasses that looked remarkably like the ones I just bought.

They were the ones I had just bought.

Somehow, the bag had become twisted in my hand enough to dump its contents onto the ground. And of course, we all know what happens to glass and/or plastic when it meets asphalt.

Not 50 feet out of the store, and I managed to scratch up another pair of sunglasses.

It's a talent, I tell you.

Whatever it takes

2008-05-26T21:31:00.003-04:00

Since today is Memorial Day, I thought it only appropriate to do a Media Monday film that is based on a true story that honors those who served and lost their lives for freedom.

I don't recall the first time I saw The Great Escape. My dad bought the VHS tapes years ago, so I grew up familiar with the story of the German POW camp during WWII, Stalag Luft III, and the downed airmen who risked everything to escape it. Years later, as a teenager, I read the book by Paul Brickhill, which is an autobiographical account of the actual events upon which the movie was based.

Although the differences between the book and the film are clear - British and American soldiers were kept separated, for instance, and both groups had their own elaborate plans for escape - the film does provide a stunning composite of their stories, making for both compelling viewing and heartwrenching drama. The movie is dedicated "To the Fifty" - meaning the fifty men who were selected from the 73 recaptured and summarily executed to set an example for future escape attempts.

While The Great Escape is a wonderful, albeit fictionalized, tribute to those men, and indeed all Allied POWs during WWII, it's also a highly entertaining film. There's the occasional comedic moment mixed in with the high drama and action. It is alternately character-driven and plot-driven, so it's very well rounded as far as the story goes. And you get to watch young Steve McQueen jump a motorcycle over a barbed-wire fence, James Garner fly an airplane, Charles Bronson speak with a really thick accent, and James Coburn snark at everyone.

So if you have a few hours to kill, hunt down The Great Escape, and honor the memory of The Fifty.

What is it about Sundays?

2008-05-25T21:22:00.003-04:00

They always seem so short. Perhaps it's because I don't get home from church until after 1pm (courtesy of the whole treasurer ordeal, followed by choir practice - only 2 weeks until we're off for the summer!!!!). But for some reason, Sundays seem to end before they've even really had a chance to begin.

Today went by even faster than the average Sunday. Again, part of that was due to choir practice, in which we ran our entire Fun Sunday play. And part of it had to do with the fact that Mom and I did the girl's day out (more like "weekend out", since the boys were in Boston interviewing for an apartment for Shawn to live in this fall) and went to see Iron Man in the theater.

By the way, I have to say that Sasha was dead on in her assessment of Iron Man. I had high expectations going into the movie, given her, and others', glowing reviews and my own impression formed from the previews. But my expectations were more than exceeded, and the scene following the credits confirmed Shawn's belief than this movie and the new Incredible Hulk movie are setting up a possible Avengers film in the future.

But, back to the subject at hand, here it is, 9:30 at night, and I'm drinking a lovely red wine with my two best fellas, watching Terminator 3 and wondering where the day went. Thank goodness the office is closed tomorrow. I need it to feel like I had any weekend at all!

I must still be hungry

2008-05-24T18:54:00.002-04:00

Today's Snapple Real Fact comes from the Snapple website, since I haven't had a Snapple all week. I haven't been in the office often enough to want one.

Anyway, today's Snapple Real Fact is #270: "Colors like red, yellow and orange make you hungry."

I've never really thought about what colors make me hungry. What smells, yes. Certain foods are enough to tempt me to hunger. But colors?

Is it because we associate so many foods with those colors? Apples and bananas and canteloupe and strawberries? Peppers and carrots and squash and corn? Cheese and meat and so many other great foods?

Or is there something deeper in our subconscious that recognizes these colors as the trigger to signal meal time? Hmmm. Curious.

Long day

2008-05-23T23:07:00.003-04:00

Whenever I have a day of working in the Baltimore office, it inevitably turns into a ridiculously long day, for one or more (generally more) of the following reasons:

1. My boss insists on carpooling, which is great, but he is a morning person and likes to leave before the crack of dawn, which is not so great.

2. The people I work with in the Baltimore office are workaholics. Seriously.

3. We usually work late. It's just the nature of the beast. See points 1 & 2.

4. A lot of times, my boss will treat on dinner. Tonight it was crabcakes at the amazing G&M Restaurant and Lounge. He's been telling me about these crabcakes for a month, and they definitely lived up to the hype. Yum!

5. It's an hour commute each way. Only a little bit further than my normal drive, and I did make the trip between home and Baltimore for three years, but at the end of a long day, it seems interminable.

6. Carpooling with my boss = returning to my boss's house at the end of the day = sticking around and chatting with him and his wife for another hour or two after we get back (since they are good friends of mine as well).

All of that is just my way of explaining why I have nothing to post today!

A very real dilemma

2008-05-22T14:20:00.005-04:00

And now for the second "event" from yesterday (hey, I told you Wednesday turned out to be big!).

Now, some of you may remember that a few weeks ago, I had an audition. We were told at the end of the dance audition that we'd hear something within a week.

A week passed. No word.

Another week passed, still no word. At this point, I just assumed I didn't get in. It would have been the first time I didn't get offered so much as a role in the chorus, which was unfortunate, but if the level of talent at my audition night was any indication of the rest of the auditions, I couldn't be too disappointed. After all, the company was only accepting 6-7 women for the production - 3 leads, 3-4 female chorus members. Stiff competition, indeed.

And then last night, I pulled up my email for the first time all day, and found an offer to be the Soprano (if you're not a music person, this means the woman who sings the highest part) chorus member. It was a strangely worded, and unusually formal, email, but it was an acceptance, a validation, if you will, that I hadn't sucked all over my audition as much as I had begun to fear.

But now I have a problem. The production starts rehearsals at the end of June, and the performances will be in September. The theater itself is a 5 minute drive from my office.

Yeah, really big problems, right?

EXCEPT, my boss recently became the über-boss of the Baltimore office. And he (and others in this office) have been making noises about me going to Baltimore as well. Not just to work on random reports/projects like I am currently doing. But permanently.

The theater is a 5 minute drive east from my current office. It would be roughly 75 minutes east from the Baltimore office. And if I transfer, I'm set on moving, which would then increase the drive home after rehearsals. Significantly.

So, at that point, it seems like a no-brainer to turn it down. EXCEPT, the transfer is not set in stone. If and/or when it happens, it won't be for a while, but we can't even estimate when that would be. It could be in a month. It could be in a year.

So, do I accept the show, and run the risk of having a freaking long commute and running myself ragged come this fall? Or do I decline, and pass up the opportunity to do a show I love, and make connections with a new part of the theater community, when I might be available after all?

There was no deadline to accept/decline in the email, but it's one of those things I can't really stall in deciding about.

One for the books

2008-05-21T20:38:00.003-04:00

Today has been really amazingly eventful, considering it was a Wednesday. In my experience, Wednesdays are generally border-line dull. But not today.

Today, I took a day of vacation for the first time (for any job). It was nice to sleep in a bit, and take my time getting ready for the day. It felt almost like Saturday, except I got to sleep longer!

Then we packed ourselves into the van, again, and headed to Towson, again. But this time, it was for a very special occasion.

Congratulations on your graduation, Shawn!

The scenic route

2008-05-20T23:53:00.003-04:00

This is the first time I've been home since 7:30 this morning. I no sooner pulled in the driveway after work than I jumped in the van to head to Cockeysville, where the middle schoolers my brother has been teaching for the last few months were having their spring band concert. The turnaround was, quite literally, immediate, as in, door was already locked, van was already running when I climbed out of my car.

We made it there with time to spare, enjoyed a surprisingly good concert (much better than you'd expect from middle schoolers), and then started home again around 9pm.

Then Dad got the brilliant idea to turn right out of the parking lot, instead of left, the way we came, in the hopes of not having to wait in line to turn for 15 minutes.

This would have been a good plan if he was at all familiar with Baltimore County. But other than knowing where to turn off of the beltway to get to Towson, or being able to make the two turns that will take us to Shawn's apartment, we haven't got a clue about this part of the state.

And we found out just how little a clue we had when, well over an hour, several turns (because heaven forbid we backtrack and find the roads we *do* know), and an anxiety attack (okay, not really, but I was starting to panic that we'd end up in PA, and then we'd REALLY be lost) later, we finally saw a sign that we had made it out of Baltimore County.

We still weren't entirely sure where we were, but Harford County sounded more welcoming (and more familiar) to a girl who still hadn't eaten dinner, has hardly slept in 2 days, and had needed the little girls' room for several hours.

Flip, flip, STOP!!!

2008-05-19T21:43:00.000-04:00

Do you ever hear a song on the radio and think, “Wow, I’ll never get tired of that one!”

Although it doesn’t happen often – I’m more likely to switch radio stations the instant I hear “No One” by Alicia Keyes (man, do I loathe that song). But occasionally, I’ll find a song that I absolutely have to stop my station surfing to listen to. It doesn’t matter if it’s the last five bars of the song – I have to hear it, have to sing along.

A few months ago, that song was “Into the Night” by Santana (featuring Nickelback). I’m not normally a rabid Santana fan, or, for that matter, a Nickelback fan (“Rockstar” has gotten waaaaaay too much airtime around here). But something about that song sparked my imagination. So much so, that, along with my 12 Girls Band album, I came up with a whole new story idea in a genre that I read but have never written. Of course, it will have to wait until I get my other eight billion ideas down on paper, and by then I’ll never want to hear the song again. But still, every time the song comes on the radio, I take my finger off the scan button and sing along, picturing a very vivid scene in my mind as Chad Kroeger spins us in circles and loses track of time.

Lately, the song that I can’t seem to do without is “Bleeding Love” by Leona Lewis. Now, let me preface this by reminding you that I am highly critical of other singers, particularly female singers. I just can’t help myself.

Technically, there are a lot of foibles in Leona Lewis’ style that should drive me bananas. But strangely enough, they don’t. Her voice is amazingly powerful and moving in the emotion she’s able to convey through it. Dad and I saw her perform on the Jimmy Kimmel show (courtesy of the TV Guide channel, which subjects you to obnoxious programming when you’re just trying to find something to watch that’s NOT irritating). And “Bleeding Love” was just as compelling performed live as it is in the studio recording – a feat that is tougher than you might imagine. The ballad she followed it with was equally stirring, although I can’t remember the name of the song.

But “Bleeding Love” gets me each and every time. And I can’t even pinpoint the reason why. It just … does.

I’m just going to have to break down and buy her album. That way I can just hit the repeat button over and over on my car stereo, and save myself the trouble of finding it on the radio.

Technology is not for the weak-willed

2008-05-18T18:05:00.004-04:00

I've basically been offline since I left work on Friday. While this isn't all that unusual for the weekends, I admit, this time, it wasn't entirely by choice.

I opened my laptop Friday evening (after a car ordeal, shopping for cookout supplies, and battling that archnemesis of all women, cramps), all set to check my work email and get something accomplished before I went into party mode.

The page you are looking for cannot be displayed.

Okay. No big deal. I'll just restart my computer. Isn't that the first thing you're supposed to try?

The page you are looking for cannot be displayed.

I checked the evil downstairs computer that hates us all, to see if the entire Internet connection was gone, or if it was just my laptop.

The page you are looking for cannot be displayed.

No internet there either. Mom called Comcast, who assured her that it wasn't them, and it must be our Netgear router. This didn't surprise me - it's happened before, but I forgot to write down how to fix the stupid thing. It's not like there's a reset button, or anything. But with guests coming prepared to eat, drink, and make merry, and expecting a call from Meineke about my car at any moment (a whole other ordeal in itself), I didn't have the time to sit on the phone with yet another tech support guy to hash this out.

Finally, today I made the time. After all, I have a couple of FF Challenge 7 entries to get in by tonight. Although the problem is now fixed, obviously, I couldn't get a straight answer from "Ryan" at tech support as to what caused the problem.

Is it really so wrong for me to want to know the root of the problem, so that I can avoid the issue altogether in the future?

Tasty trivia

2008-05-17T22:50:00.001-04:00

A little late today, due to internet problems and hosting a cookout, but I'm in under the wire!

Since I am terrible about remembering to pack a water bottle, or a mug of tea, to take with me to the office every morning, I’ve gotten in the habit of buying a case of Diet Snapple at BJs from time to time, and leaving it in the trunk of my car, with the idea of always having a beverage on hand so that I don’t get dehydrated.

This didn’t work out so well last fall, when the temperature plummeted and my last three bottles of Snapple shattered from the cold. Fortunately everything was still in the cardboard flat the bottles were packaged in, and the liquid itself was frozen solid. Still, despite avoiding a complete mess in my car, I switched to bottled water, which came in plastic bottles that held up better in freezing temperatures.

But now the weather is warmer again, so I’m back to my Diet Snapple. *Kelly does her happy dance, which no one wants to see.*

One of my favorite things about Snapple, aside from the deliciousness, are the Snapple Real Facts on the inside of the cap. Some of the facts, like #181 “The first jukebox was located in San Francisco in 1899,” which I’ve gotten at least a dozen times already, are ones that you kind of shrug and say, Oh, okay.

But then there are some that completely capture my attention and get me thinking. For example, #132 “A crocodile cannot move its tongue.” Why this seems fascinating is beyond me. But it is. And since reading that on the cap of a bottle of Diet Raspberry Iced Tea, I’ve had several conversations on that topic alone. (Yes, I know. Sad.)

But why can’t it move it’s tongue? Is the tongue too big and/or heavy to lift? Does it have weak muscles? Does the placement of its cartilage or tendons or what have you prevent it from being able to move its tongue? And then there’s another question: If it can’t move its tongue, what’s the point of having one? It’s one of those evolutionary quandaries, like the appendix.

Irony ... photo style

2008-05-16T00:31:00.003-04:00

This photo also came from my trip out West last summer. To put it into context, this poster appeared on the wall of a KFC/Long John Silver ...

... in Wyoming. :)

:)

Tag, I'm it

2008-05-15T00:57:00.001-04:00

Darn it! Renee tagged me, by way of Alice. I know resistance is futile, so here goes.

Here are Alice's rules.

We’re playing Telephone again, only this time I’m going to call it “Whisper.”

What you do is make a change in the paragraph below. It can be as little as a single word or almost every word, so long as we can still recognize the paragraph you received. I’m talking about the one in the blog of the person who tagged you, not the original paragraph. Tag three people, and link to them. Also link to the person who tagged you so the chain will not be broken! Now go to the original paragraph at http://aliceaudrey.wordpress.com/2008/05/11/whisper and let Alice know you did it. She will link to you. For extra credit, head over to http://AliceAudrey.wordpress.com around June 9th for the contest based on this meme. You could win a $20 gift certificate.

Here's my paragraph.

He came from Saturn's third moon, stardust in one hand and a bill in the other. His name was Rivo, but she’d always called him Jack. She said she liked his deep, gravelly voice. Instead of kissing her he pinched her bottom and picked her pocket, and ran off with the girl who worked at Target.

Who to tag ... who to tag ... oh, let's tag Tessa, CM, and Ericka!

Cluck cluck

2008-05-14T00:34:00.000-04:00

What is it with the general population's inability to drive within the lines? Every morning when I drive to work, it feels as though I'm playing round after round of Chicken in my car. And it's not by choice. Not on my part, anyway.

Most of the roads between my house and the interstate are narrow and winding, with no shoulder and deep ditches. But they're not so narrow that a person has to work hard to stay in their lane. And yet, I'm constantly hugging that last inch of pavement before the road drops off into dirt and gravel, trying desperately to avoid a collision that the other party seems disinclined to even acknowledge.

Where we used to live in Montana, guys would have a few beers and then try to joust in their pickup trucks using 2x4s. Not awfully bright, if you ask me, but something to do on a Saturday night, I suppose.

But these aren't teenagers goofing off to pass the time. And it isn't just one or two people. Lately it seems as though other drivers are fundamentally incapable of staying on their side of the road.

And my little green Saturn seems to have a big red target painted on the hood.

He came from another planet

2008-05-13T00:10:00.000-04:00

Yesterday should have been a Media Monday, but, well, I forgot. I hadn't posted anything about the Expo, and I remembered right before I crashed into bed early (since I had to be at Ted's house to go to Baltimore at 6:30 yesterday morning) that I was scheduled to post over at Romance Roundtable yesterday.

All that to say that yesterday's Media Monday will appear ... today.

I am a tremendous John Cusack fan. Love him, love his work. He's witty, and talented, and smart, and handsome in an unconventional way. Grosse Pointe Blank holds a prominent place on my Top 10 Movies of All Time list.

So when I saw that Martian Child, his most recent release, was out on DVD, I jumped at the chance to watch it, since I had missed it in theaters.

And I was not disappointed in the least.

It's about a Sci-Fi writer who decides to realize his late wife's dream by adopting a child in need of a loving home. And oh boy, does he get a challenge in Dennis, the foster child who believes he is a Martian put on this planet to complete a mission, after which he must return to his home planet.

This is a strangely moving story that at times made me both laugh and cry. So many times, I just wanted to hug Dennis and tell him that everything would be alright, to urge John Cusack to not give up. Alternately witty and heartbreaking, it's a story that just seemed to have everything, and then a little more. It was one of those rare special films that causes one to reflect on what it is that makes us "normal".

Random acts of kindness

2008-05-12T01:54:00.000-04:00

Mom and I stood in line to buy tickets to the first annual Exclusively for Women Expo on Saturday morning, chatting with the other women antsy to get moving and shivering because of the rain-induced temperature drop. By the time the ticket booth finally opened, the line for people who had already bought their tickets in advance stretched back further than I could see.

There was no way we were getting the free gift bags available to the first 100 admitees, despite the fact that we had showed up almost 40 minutes early and were only about the 5th group in line.

But as the line began inching forward, a woman we'd never seen before walked up to Mom and handed her two coupons for $2 off each ticket, which was supposed to be available only for people who bought tickets before May 1.

While we were still trying to wrap our minds around that completely unexpected gesture of kindness, another lady stepped out of the already-ticketed line and approached Mom. She had bought an extra ticket in March, and didn't need it, so just handed it to Mom, without any kind of warning or conversation.

I tell you, everytime I start getting pessimistic about human nature, someone appears out of the blue with a random act of kindness that surprises me into believing that there are more good people out there than bad.

A Special Mother's Day Treat

2008-05-11T07:28:00.004-04:00

It's Mother's Day. That wonderful time of year when we have to suck up to our Moms and let them be queens for the day. In our family, that usually means that Dad cooks a special dinner (which Mom won't eat because of her Diet of the Month), I buy her a massage that she won't use for a year or two, and Shawn, the favorite child, forgets to do anything at all.

Oh well, that's life. We've found our routine, and we'll probably stick to it.

But on this particular Mother's Day, I'd like to share a little treat with you:

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. You may be nuts, but you're mine, and I wouldn't trade you in on a bet.

Lady Power

2008-05-10T00:33:00.003-04:00

This morning, I'm hauling Mom out for an early Mother's Day breakfast, followed by the Exclusively for Women Expo at Cal Ripken Stadium in Aberdeen.

I've never been to anything like this - i.e. a huge event targeting only women - but I heard about it on the radio and decided that she and I should indulge ourselves for the day. It's our Mother's Day deal a day early, since Sundays are particularly busy for us. And although Mother's Day is largely a Hallmark holiday intended to guilt us into spending more money, I'm not opposed to showing my appreciation for my mother.

The woman drives me bananas, but there's not a soul alive who will fight harder for me when the chips are down. And, well, there is the small fact that she carried me for 10 months. That's got to count for something, right?

So, what are you doing to celebrate Mother's Day? Are you at least going to call your mother?

Photo Friday

2008-05-09T01:05:00.001-04:00

When I got home from work late Wednesday night, Dad was going through our photos from our trip out west last summer. For some reason, my mother had downloaded the pictures from my camera onto their computer, and Dad decided we'd waited long enough to take a look at them.

I've loved to take photos for a long time (compensation, I wonder, for my complete lack of artistic ability?), but I still can't believe that I took this picture myself.

Devil's Tower, Wyoming, July 2007

If I didn't know better, I'd think I'd done something more than just point and click!

Just cut me in two and call me super

2008-05-08T01:45:00.001-04:00

Tuesday night, televisions everywhere were tuned into news channels, eagerly watching election returns for the Democratic Party to decide .... absolutely nothing.

For months, I've been following the major campaigns on both sides of the aisle, fascinated as always by the political process and enjoying the unique twists and turns of this particular election year. Legislation and government have fascinated me since I was a little kid. Despite the moaning and groaning from the general public about Washington and politics, these are the people who make the decisions that affect our lives. And I can't help but be intrigued. I love it, even while parts of it horrify me.

Despite all of that, I don't really understand the processes of the individual parties, since I don't belong to a political party (it's a matter of principle I'm not going to get into right now). So, when I saw in a series of AP news articles about the recent delegate counts for the Democratic nomination, I was baffled to find decimals in the equation.

That's right, I said decimals. Obama was cited as leading Clinton 1,xxx.5 to 1,xxx.5 delegates. That's point five. How does one acquire half a delegate?

This was driving me nuts yesterday, to the point where it was distracting me at work. So I looked it up. There are a handful of these so-called "super-delegates" in the Democratic Party who live overseas. They have a separate caucus, or gathering, or some kind of assembly of that nature. Each one gets half a vote. Ultimately, once all of them are counted, there should not be any half votes. But since the news media is counting all of the "pledged" super-delegates already (which I disagree with, since pledged or no, they can still change their minds before the convention), and not all of the overseas delegates are pledged, we have decimal points in the delegate count.

How would you like to count as only half a person?

Prehistoric Imperative

2008-05-07T01:24:00.000-04:00

Ted R. and I took Jill out to lunch for her birthday yesterday, and somehow we got onto the topic of television advertising. Ted thought it said a great deal for the originators of the Geico "so easy a caveman can do it" commercials that the theme of cavemen engaging in modern activities has become so pervasive throughout television.

Yes, it has spawned a television sitcom (although from what I understand, that was extremely short-lived), and now "cavemen" are appearing in commercials for other products.

But has it truly been a successful campaign? I don't know anyone who has been persuaded to switch car insurance on the basis of those commercials. Not to Geico, anyway. Many people have expressed their downright annoyance with the inanity of the ads. I, for one, have gotten so sick of those, as well as the stupid gecko commercials, that it will be a cold day in hell before I switch to Geico insurance.

So yes, the cavemen commercials are memorable. But is that a good thing if they are remembered in a negative context?

Is there something you've seen advertised in a way so incredibly annoying that you were persuaded not to buy it?

Before you can ask ...

2008-05-06T01:41:00.004-04:00

... it went okay.

Not spectacular. It's not "in the bag". But I was pleased by my performance.

When I got to the Gild Hall where the production is taking place, there seemed to be no one in the auditorium, even though I'd only gotten there about 10 minutes early. Eventually, the music director (I think he was the music director - he seemed to be the only one taking command of the audition) introduced himself and handed me the standard audition form to fill out. There were only two other girls, both about my age, but sadly much thinner, there. A very light crowd, indeed.

Then he told me that the accompianist hadn't been able to come. Crap. But it's okay - I've got my trusty Singer's Musical Theater Anthology in hand, and the director had the accompianment CDs. Then he asks what song I've prepared, and I tell him I'll be singing So In Love, one of the big solos done by the character I'm auditioning for.

Well ... he didn't want anything from the show, and could I sing something from a different show.

Uh, sure, just give me a minute.

So, I ended up singing If I Loved You from Carousel, which I hadn't sung in more than 5 years, but shows off my voice nicely. The directors very kindly supplied me with a music stand so that I could keep my music - something I've never done in an audition. Usually, it's pretty strictly enforced that audition music be memorized. But okay. I do it. There's a nervous tremor in my lower register, as is usual for any audition (though it never happens in live performances), but the high notes are crystal clear and strong and lovely.

Not that it mattered. The first girl who sang had a voice that made me want to weep with gratitude that I'd been privileged to hear her sing The Man I Love. Apparently, her agent thought the audition would be good for her.

The second girl sang Summertime from Porgy and Bess in the bluesy-operatic style I always imagined Gershwin intended when he wrote it. I knew after listening to them both that I was entirely out of my league.

Don't get me wrong - I'm not being falsely modest. I'm a good singer. I have a natural talent that I like to show off.

But I'm also painfully aware that I could be better, and that even at the height of my potential, there will always be singers far more gifted than I. I just happened to be auditioning with two of them.

The acting was hard to gauge. I did what I could, but who knows? We all nailed the dancing, I think. We were told to expect to hear in a week.

There are 3 female leads (2 big leads and one minor leads) and 3-4 female spots in the chorus. That's it. As it stands now, it doesn't look good for me.

But I'm happy. Despite what was thrown at me, I still did reasonably well, especially considering my history of botched auditions. Even if I don't get in, or get a decent part, I'm pleased with how I did. So thank you all from the bottom of my heart for all of your prayers and well-wishes. I really felt you all with me, supporting me, and I think that's why it went well.

Kelly (right) and Suzette in A Little Night Music in 2004

Don't Wish Me Luck!!!!

2008-05-05T01:25:00.003-04:00

So, as I mentioned yesterday, I have an audition tonight. I've never even been to this particular theater, much less performed there, but it's about 3 miles from my office, and they are putting on a production of my all-time favorite musical (for now, anyway), Kiss Me, Kate.

If you're not a dramaturg, or familiar with musical theater/film, allow me to enlighten you.

Kiss Me, Kate is a Cole Porter show that centers around a group of actors putting on a musical production of the Taming of the Shrew. It follows their backstage lives and their onstage performances. The music is brilliant, the script hilarious, and I would be thrilled to play either of the female leads, although I would prefer the part of Lilly/Katherine the shrew. The music shows off my vocal range to its utmost, the script intrigues me, and I really think the show has all the potential to be really fun to do.

Again, if you're not up on your Broadway, you are in luck. There is an excellent film version, starring the amazing Howard Keel and Kathryn Grayson (who you may remember as the leads in Showboat). While the film does take some artistic license - adding scenes and songs, only playing the first song of the show, Another Op'ning, Another Show in the overture - it's actually a great film in its own right.

So, don't wish me luck - I've been performing since I was 3 years old, and I'm Irish, so I've got enough ingrained superstition to make me crazier than ever - but if you must send well wishes for the audition, a "Break a leg" would not go unappreciated!

Frustration

2008-05-04T02:51:00.000-04:00

I am so irritated with myself right now.

I have an audition tomorrow night, and I've been spending the weekend preparing my song. It's a song from the show, one that the character I want to play sings, and one that lays absolutely perfectly for me. Cole Porter could have written this for me. You know, if I had been alive when he was around.

But then, in the middle of the Delaware Saengerbund concert last night, I thought of another song, one that I did years ago in my voice recital, from a different show, but one that demonstrates my vocal range rather nicely, if I do say so myself. Which I do.

As soon as I got home, I rushed to the music room to dig out my music before I forgot, a tendency that I wish I could say was a rarity, but sadly is not. I know the music is kept in the black binder I used during my days of vocal instruction, and I was positive it was with my other music books by the piano.

But it wasn't there. I ransacked my bedroom and the other bedroom, the music room, even my car. But no book.

I know it's around here somewhere. It's been moved several times since the last time I actually used it to sing from, mostly so I could clean. But for the life of me, I can't seem to put my finger on it. It's pretty much too late to prepare the song I had in mind now, but I still want to find the bloody thing. It has more than just sheet music in it. It holds many of the secrets to my singing success.

Definitely not something I can do without.

Scratch. Hiss. Howl.

2008-05-03T08:26:00.000-04:00

May is already shaping up to be a hectic month. With cookouts and concerts and graduations, it seems like free time is at a premium. Renee issued a command to set a writing goal for the month, and in a moment of insanity, I committed myself to getting one of my three active WIPs to the 50,000 word mark. That's half a novel.

Yep, I'm crazy.

One of the things I'm also finding myself doing with greater frequency is pet-sitting. Back in February, I took care of mom's best friend's dog Gema, complete with copious amounts of medication for a systemic yeast infection that had her looking like the in-between photograph of a dog to demon-dog tranformation.

This week, I agreed to, or rather, got suckered into, taking care of the pets for not one, but two families. My neighbor went south to visit her son and grandaughter for a few days, so I had charge of walking her massive pug at the crack of dawn.

This weekend, I've got the care of my boss' dog and parakeet, which, unlike the other two, I've never had charge of before. The dog is great - sweet, calm, obedient.

The bird, well, that remains to be seen. Let's just say, I've been duly warned to move my fingers quickly if the thing makes any sudden movements.

From Baltimore to Beantown

2008-05-02T00:00:00.001-04:00

Shawn, as some of you know, has not made a reappearance here on the blog because he is beyond busy at school, wrapping up the final semester of his undergraduate career. For the past several months, that has meant student teaching, and I hope he'll stop by someday to regale us with some of his more colorful teaching stories, which had me in tears over Easter supper.

He's planning on going to graduate school next year to study percussion performance. He had his auditions this past winter, and has been waiting on tenterhooks for his responses. Indiana's response came almost immediately, as did Maryland's. He knew he was in at Towson before he ever filled out the application.

But Boston? It took months of waiting on pins and needles. He would call, they'd say he should hear within a week.

He'd wait.

He'd call again. They hadn't received his college transcripts. He'd send them and be told he'd know within a week.

He'd wait.

I never realized that he's not any more patient than I am, which truly shocks me, since he's the laid-back child. Mr. Water-Off-A-Duck's-Back himself. But he called home every day, sometimes twice a day, and even Sundays when he knew the mail wasn't delivered, waiting to find out if he was in or, as Heidi Klum says, "out".

Last Wednesday, he got an email. He's in.

So he's moving to Boston at the end of the summer. He's already got a whole network of colleages up there (most he's never met and only knows through his friends and professors down here) who are already advising him on public transportation, instrument storage, and are asking around to see if anyone needs a roommate.

I'm thrilled for him. He'll be studying with renowned musicians in what I understand is one of the coolest cities in the country. He'll be doing what he loves best, and no doubt making a success of it. He'll be living far from home for the first time in his life.

But ... he'll be living far from home for the first time in his life.

I'm a little bummed, because it means I'll see him even less than I do now, and he's only an hour away. Boston is about a six-hour drive, and will be even further if (or should I say when, as it's looking more and more likely) I move. We haven't been so far apart since I went to South Carolina for college.

But I'd be a pretty lousy sister if I didn't feel excited that he has this opportunity, and one that he's so clearly over the moon about. And as selfish as I know myself to be, I'm not so selfish that I'd begrudge him something he's really worked hard to achieve. I guess I'm just going to have to take some long weekends up to Beantown next year.

On Your Knees

2008-05-01T08:33:00.004-04:00

Today is the first Thursday in May. Which means it's the National Day of Prayer.

Too often, I forget to pray unless I'm in church, being directed to pray. Or if something truly horrible has happened and I'm asking God for help. Too many times, I forget to just take a moment and commune with God, and thank Him for all of the wonderful blessings of this world.

So today, try to set aside a few minutes and find that peaceful place inside you, where God resides. If you don't know what to pray for, here are a few suggestions:

For wisdom, to make the right decisions even when the choice is hard.

For kindness, that we may enrich the lives of others by remembering to be considerate of our fellow human beings.

For tolerance, both for the differences of others and for our own shortcomings.

For hope, that we may leave the world a better place than we found it.

For gratitude, that our eyes may be opened to see the beauty of the world - the solid ground beneath our feet, the breeze that stirs the air, the rain that refreshes the earth, the smiles of children that warm our hearts, the love of friends that makes us whole.

Absenteeism

2008-04-30T13:23:00.001-04:00

I have been a bad blogger in 2008. Seriously, I’ve meant to post more. I have things to say. It just hasn’t happened. Nor have I managed to respond to emails (sorry Preety and Jess, I haven’t forgotten you!), comment on friends’ blogs, or spend time on the Fanlit Forever forum.

I suck.

And yet, I don’t. Not entirely, anyway. I’m doing a lot of things. Just not on the Internet. I’m working, obviously. I’m writing, which has been going, if not gangbusters, then pretty darn well for me. I’ve been doing a lot of projects at church, from slicing 22 turkeys in 6 hours for our semi-annual Turkey Dinner to writing choreography for Choir Fun Sunday (the choir’s last hurrah before summer, when we take over the service and sing fun music and act out horribly hokey skits). Strangely enough, I’ve been doing a lot of dog-sitting, as well. Why, I don’t know. People just keep asking, and I keep agreeing.

I miss blogging. I know that putting new material out there is crucial to creating an audience. It just … hasn’t been a priority.

But I’m going to get better, or die trying. Okay, that may be a little dramatic, but the point is, I’m going to try harder to make this more than a sporadic stopping point. Delusions of Grandeur may not be a high priority, but I’m going to at least get it on the darn list!

So I’m resolving (yes, I know I said I don’t make resolutions, but bear with me just this once) to write a post for every single day in May. From May 1 to May 31, regardless of whether or not I have anything to say (and let’s face it, when has that ever happened?), there will be a new blog posted here. If I don’t, I owe everyone who comments on this post five dollars.

What are the odds?

2008-04-13T22:24:00.002-04:00

Back around Easter, our neighbor, Marie, came over to let us know she'd sold her house and a new family would be moving in shortly.

To back up just a bit, Marie has been our next door neighbor since a year after we moved into this house, so, for about 24 years. Her youngest daughter is the same age as I am, and we were best friends all through elementary school, practically living at each others' houses and inseparable until we hit middle school.

When I was in college, Mrs. Dolan, the elderly Irish lady who lived across the street from both of us, died. Since she had no family, and Marie had taken care of her for the last few years of her life, she left her house and belongings to Marie. Suddenly, Marie, a divorced middle-aged woman with three grown children, found herself the owner of not one, but two houses on the same street. She moved into the Dolan's house, which was smaller, and let her kids live in her old house.

Eventually, the kids moved on, as most children do, and Marie decided to sell the bigger house just as the house market started to fold in on itself last summer.

Yet, by some miracle, she sold the house.

Four days after she told us the house had sold, they closed the deal. Two days later, our first new neighbors since my brother was 3 years old moved in.

What did we know about them? They were a young couple with five kids. She's a stay-at-home mom. And they were excited about being in a big house in a kid-friendly neighborhood.

Now that they've been getting settled for the last few weeks, we decided to go welcome them to the neighborhood. We're kind of old-fashioned that way here. I baked a cake (with lots of sprinkles for the little ones) and walked next door after church today. We knocked on the door, and waited for our first glimpse of the "new people."

The door opened, and there stood Jocelyn Jamison, who I graduated high school with.

Yep, the strange new neighbors are a couple I went to high school with. Jocelyn and I weren't exactly friends in high school - she was a cheerleader, and I was a musician and academic, so we largely had different friends. She briefly dated, and attended prom with, the captain of the soccer team, who I thought myself madly in love with through all four years of high school but who never knew I existed. We were on the track team together until I had to drop out because of a severe sprain.

Jocelyn Jamison, who I hadn't seen in years.

I still can't get over the coincidence. I have to admit, I'm a little freaked out. At this point in my life, when my friends are getting married and having babies, when careers and planning for the future seem to be the most important things in our lives, I somehow can't seem to shake free of my past.

Not only that, it's following me home, like a stray cat that wants a saucer of milk.

And baby makes three

2008-03-31T21:38:00.003-04:00

I had at least half a dozen things I was juggling around for my blog tonight. But then I checked my email and had a major SQUEE! moment, so I absolutely had to share this:

Baby Andrew Gray Chester was born March 28, 2008 at 5:05pm, weighed 8lb 11oz and was 20.5 in. tall.

Congratulations Phillip and Jackie! He's such a cutie. And I hope the first thing he learns is how lucky he is to have two such wonderful parents!

Speaking of small ...

2008-03-22T14:04:00.002-04:00

Occasionally, I get the urge to explore the ultra-feminine part of my personality that normally takes a back seat to my more practical, impatient side. But not too often.

However, it's become a tradition over the past several years for my mother and I to go get manicures the day before Easter, in preparation for the finery and photographs that are a part of our family's Easter ritual. So after a brief shopping excursion to take advantage of a Kohl's early bird sale this morning, we headed over to our favorite manicurist, grabbing milkshakes from Jake's on the way.

Here's where it got a little sticky. I'm sitting with my feet in a bubbling tub of hot water, the massage chair undulating behind my back, as the pedicurist came up to start on my toes. The lady next to me was chatting up her pedicurist with a familiarity that indicated she was a regular customer. I looked at the girl sitting at my feet, wanting to be similarly friendly, and my mind went completely blank.

This is a problem every time I get my nails done, or when I go to my hairstylist, or when I'm standing in line at the grocery store. I can't seem to make small talk to save my life.

Even when I try to say the things that other people use to instigate conversations - comments on the weather, how busy the shop is, upcoming holidays, the general state of the world - it usually ends up rapidly descending into extended pauses and awkward silences.

I've never been good at small talk, which is why I'm guessing it's hard for me to meet people. Unless I know I have a common starting point with a person, I generally have difficulty starting a conversation.

I think I get this trait from my dad - Mom can talk to the person next to her in line at the store like they're her long-lost best friend.

How about you? Can you small talk? What subjects generally work for you?

Itsy Bitsy

2008-03-20T22:14:00.005-04:00

Hello blog. Long time no see.

However, what I have seen lately is this:

The world's tiniest car.

No, it wasn't in a commercial, or on the Internet. I actually saw an older woman driving this miniscule blue Smart Car around the Wawa down the street from my office when I stopped to gas up tonight. And I couldn't help but stop and stare.

I mean, geez, I drive a Saturn, which is a lightweight car. A large part of the reason I chose the Saturn was because I'm not a particularly large person, and I wanted a car that fit my size. But this little midget car makes mine look like a beefcake, and me like a giantess.

Yes, I know that they're supposed to be more energy efficient. Yes, I know it's the new trendy little vehicle, kind of in the same way the Mini Cooper was a few years back. It still looked like a clown car to me.

And with the fierce winds buffetting the cars on the highway as I headed to the gym, I couldn't help but wonder ...

... what would it take to launch that sucker off a bridge?

Hunkering down

2008-02-28T21:00:00.002-05:00

I'm about to go offline for the weekend. Though I'm not normally online any more on the weekends than I am during the week, I'm not even going to have the option this time around. I'll be dog/house-sitting for R.W.'s parents while they take a trip to see him ride (If you've never watched equestrian show-jumping, I can tell you that it is a beautiful, elegant, nerve-wracking sport to behold. Fortunately, R.W. is very good, so it's less gut-wrenching than it could be.).

However, without wireless Internet, me and my sturdy laptop are going to be out of touch for a few days. That's not to say it's not going with me - it is, since I still have plenty to do. I have to re-install Office as a result of the massive restore Acer had me do last week to fix my computer. I have to call Acer and tell them their second attempt to show me this is a software and not a hardware issue failed miserably (they are really trying hard to avoid having to do a hardware repair under warranty).

And if that doesn't beat all, I have to bring work home with me this weekend, because I just found out I'm being attached to yet another client.

So while I'm away, feel free to play. Go comment on blogs you might have missed before. Apologies to those who have tried to comment lately. I was spammed, and in my paranoia, turned on the Moderate Comments function. And then, surprise surprise, I forgot about it. It's fixed now.

Have a lovely weekend, and check back Monday for a brand new Media Monday!

Where's the beef?

2008-02-27T22:27:00.004-05:00

Now that we're roughly halfway through Lent, I think it's time I confessed what I've done.

But first, a little bit of backstory...

Way back in 2002, I was hip deep in my first year of law school, which of course meant binge eating fast food, high stress levels, and no time to exercise. Yeah, I know. Excuses, excuses. I began to feel like I was losing control of any ability to structure my life. Life had become messy. Cluttered. Needlessly encumbered with the dead weight of Too Much.

So I decided to take on the Lenten challenge. I chose to fast, hoping it would help me focus on what was truly important to me. From sun-up to sundown, for forty days, I didn't eat. I allowed myself juice during the daylight hours so that I was still getting enough energy to get through my days and didn't completely screw up my metabolism.

And you know what? It worked.

Oh, I still have too much clutter in my life, but Lent helps me regain some clarity about what I really need, and what I really want from my life. For all three years of law school, I fasted within the same parameters. I think it bothered my friends more to see me not eating when we'd get together for lunch than it did for me to be around food during the off-limits period.

This year, I decided to go in a somewhat different direction. Rather than fasting, which I haven't done in a couple of years, I decided to give something up entirely. I wanted to give up meat - become temporarily vegetarian. My cousin and her husband became vegetarians 2 years ago, and lost a lot of weight. I was hoping that getting rid of the heavy calories, cholesterol, and fat that inevitably accompanies even the leanest of meats, I'd start shedding pounds, become healthier, and achieve a more balanced diet that would ultimately lead to a more fulfilling lifestyle.

But then I remembered something - I HATE beans, of all varieties, and I don't eat tofu.

Vegetarians tend to eat a lot of beans and/or tofu to get the protein they need to survive. But I've been unable to eat beans of any kind without gagging since I was about 3 years old. And the one and only time I had tofu, it was horribly chewy and vile. (Granted, that one serving of tofu came from the GiMP - our somewhat affectionate nickname for the Grand Market Place, our main cafeteria at the University of South Carolina - so that could explain the poor quality of the tofu.) I certainly couldn't resort to eating peanut butter sandwiches everyday to get my required protein. After all, nuts make my skin break out in hard, painful bumps.

So then I decided that I would allow myself to eat fish. Fish is good for you, right? And some vegetarians still allow themselves fish, don't they?

As I flipped through my recipe books, I came to another realization. There are only so many ways to prepare fish. I certainly couldn't stand to have Mom's Lemon-butter microwave fish every week.

Again, I revised my Lenten scheme, adding chicken to the list of acceptable proteins. What it came down to was this: I gave up beef and pork for Lent. For forty days and nights, I am not eating mammals. Piece of cake, right?

Not so much. I never quite realized how much hamburger, and pork tenderloin, and beef cutlets, and ham I consumed a week. It's forced me to think more deeply about the types of things I've been putting into my body, and I haven't liked what I've seen. But then, that's part of the reflection we're supposed to go through for Lent.

Last night, though, I dreamed, in great detail, about hamburgers. About being at a restaurant, and ordering a huge, juicy, loaded cheeseburger, and devouring it. About stealing the equally enticing burger from my companion's plate and snarfing it down as quickly as I could. About prowling around the joint, trying to steal the sandwiches of others so that I could sink my teeth into that warm, chewy, greasy heaven again and again.

Deep down, I knew it was wrong, that I was violating my Lenten committment. I tried to tell myself that on Sundays, we didn't have to adhere to Lent, per the official stance of the United Methodist Church. Yet in my dream, I knew that argument wouldn't wash, because in my dream, it was quite clearly Friday. And the Devil-burgers proved too much temptation for me.

When I woke up, I genuinely could not recall if the scenes I had witnessed, my crazed quest for beef on a bun, had been a dream, or reality. And I spent the entire day paranoid that I had slipped up and succumbed to temptation.

As soon as Lent is over, I think I'll have to pay a visit to Red Robin and see how many customers I can filch burgers from.

Now boarding the crazy train

2008-02-21T21:07:00.000-05:00

My mother is nuts.

I realized this morning that I’ve spent very little time here talking about my mother. In fact, I don’t know that she’s even gotten more than a passing mention since I started blogging a little over a year ago. It’s a shame that I haven’t, as she makes for a fascinating character study. I’m constantly watching her, and thinking, “Why does she do that?”

On the other hand, I’m constantly watching her, and thinking, “Why the hell does she do that?”

I think the reason I haven’t discussed her is because I worry that once I start, I won’t be able to stop. And I really didn’t want this blog to become a “Woe is me, my mother is warping my mind”-type of manifesto.

I love my mother, I really, genuinely do. I just don’t understand her. Which means that although I often find her to be frustrating, irritating, and ridiculous, to me she is also endlessly intriguing, unique, and a puzzle I haven’t quite mastered yet.

So I’m breaching that wall, and praying for self-restraint in the future. Because this is a story that just has to be told.

My mother is probably the only person in the world who can arrive at the airport three hours early and still almost miss her flight.

Yesterday, she had arranged to fly to Florida to visit my grandparents. Last year, she and her sister flew down to surprise my grandmother for her 80th birthday (a surprise that was ruined the day before because Grandpa Walt forgot what day of the week it was and thought he had forgotten to pick them up at the airport). Apparently they had such a great time invading my grandparents’ condo in the retirement village that they decided to make it an annual event.

So at 6:45am yesterday, she hollered her goodbye to me, and drove to Baltimore to catch her flight south. The plane wasn’t slated to leave until after 10:30, but my mother seems to suffer from a need to be overly prepared. It’s a certain kind of paranoia that only seems to strike when she’s driving (or riding) somewhere. Vehicular Tardiness Paranoia, or VTP, if you will. She always wants to leave at least half again the time it takes to get to any particular destination. This is normally drives me crazy, but as I was not traveling with her, it worked to my advantage, as it meant I didn’t have to battle with her for the hot water for my shower. Clearly, I have my priorities.

The rest of this came to me secondhand from my father, who she called once she got settled into her room at the condo.

She went through baggage check and security with no problem at all, and settled in to read at the gate since she was several hours early. The gate was deserted, but since she had beat the clock by more than the proscribed two hours, she was unconcerned. You see, the VTP had passed – she was now comfortably ensconced at her intermediate destination - the airport. Or at least, as comfortably as one can be in the hard, inflexible airport seating.

But as the time ticked by, she became increasingly concerned that other passengers hadn’t started assembling. No airline crew making boarding announcements. No whining children wanting to know how soon they can see Mickey and the gang. No workaholic businessmen barking orders into cell phones. No blue-haired old ladies triple and quadruple checking their carryons in the “size appropriate” basket.

Finally, with her watch showing mere minutes from the scheduled departure time and still no sign of anyone preparing to board – no sign, even, of the plane – she decided to double check her ticket, thinking she was at the wrong gate.

She was.

But more than that, she was in the completely wrong terminal. On the wrong side of the airport.

A movie to make you sigh

2008-02-11T12:59:00.000-05:00

If you haven’t caught on by now, I like old movies. Film noir, musicals, kitschy comedies, high drama. Black and white and Technicolor. Obsure little movies and cinema classics. The Golden Age of Hollywood was the era when they knew how to make a good film. The movie industry wasn’t so concerned with controversial and ill-behaving celebrities, bigger and badder special effects, or using the latest and greatest technology.

No, making a movie was about telling a great story. About exploring life. About entertainment.

This was never more apparent than in one of my favorite old movies of all time, Random Harvest (1942). Based on the novel of the same title by James Hilton (who also wrote the brilliant book Goodbye, Mr. Chips – another film that is a must-see oldie), it stars Ronald Colman and Greer Garson (who also starred in the original film version of Goodbye, Mr. Chips) – two outstanding actors of whom I never tire.

The story is hauntingly beautiful. It tells the story of a man, from the moment he escapes from an asylum while the guards celebrate the end of the first World War to the days leading up to World War II. Suffering from the trauma of serving in the army during the war, Colman’s character has no idea who he is or where he’s from. A young showgirl, Paula, takes pity on the gentle soul and takes him in, calling him John Smith, or Smithy. Paula hides Smithy and nurses him back to health, but after several close calls, they decide the only way to keep Smithy safely hidden is to escape into the English countryside.

Once their safety is no longer an issue, they manage to fall in love, marry, and have a son. Smithy heads to Liverpool for a job interview with a newspaper, but in the rain and fog is accidentally hit by a taxi. When he awakes, he has no knowledge of the last two years of his life or Paula, but clearly remembers his prior life, as Charles Rainier, son of a prominent and wealthy English industrial family. Embraced by his family upon his return, his sister’s stepdaughter, Kitty, falls in love with him, and after many years pass, they plan to marry.

What of Paula, you ask? Oh, the film has a great deal more in store for her as well.

What follows is a moving tale of loves and lives lost, then found. This movie really has everything – drama and heartbreak, comic moments and tragic twists, romance and politics and war and industry. No matter how many times you see this movie (and trust me, seeing it once is simply never enough), you’ll still be on pins and needles to find out if Charles will remember Paula, or if they will both have to move on with their lives, apart from one another forever. I don’t tear up easily, but strangely, I always find my cheeks damp by the end of this film.

If you’re looking for the perfect movie for Valentine’s Day, try Random Harvest. I promise it won’t disappoint.

It's what we do

2008-02-01T23:29:00.000-05:00

Hello from sunny South Carolina! Actually, it's not so sunny, as it's the middle of the night and the blinds to my hotel room are closed anyway. But you get my drift.

I left Maryland in the midst of a thunder-, rain-, ice-storm at 6am this morning. Between very nearly dozing off on the Capitol Beltway, which was virtually deserted during morning rush hour in a very Twilight Zone kind of way, squinting my way through the torrential downpour and incessant buffetting of the wind against my featherweight Saturn, and baring my teeth at the horizontal cheese grater South Carolina calls its stretch of I-95, I finally made it.

Tell me why it is that sitting in one place (in my car) for 10 hours gets me almost as grimy as an intensive 2 hour cardio workout at the gym?

I've only been back a few hours, but it has already been an eventful trip. I came for Joseph's ordination (waves to Joseph) tomorrow, but I've already had a bit of a reunion with his family, whom I adore, met some new friends - well, new to me anyway - and reacquainted myself with the most commercial street in all of Columbia. A busy, busy day. And I had the added bonus of finding out that Trudy has been reading this blog (waves to Trudy), which just tickles me pink.

Tomorrow promises to be equally exciting, as I'll get to watch Joseph become a priest - of the Episcopalian variety, which according to Eric means that he's still allowed to have a life - in a ceremony that will be both long and confusing, but moving none the less. We're also going to have to brave the crowd meeting in front of the cathedral for the city's parade to kick off Black History Month - no folks, those men in white robes lining up nearby are priests! Then there will be more celebrating, catching up with friends like Kayce and Phillip - too bad Jackie has to work; I was looking forward to seeing the baby bump! And I hope to take a quick tour through campus to see what's changed since I left six years ago, something I didn't have a chance to do when I was here last May.

Then Sunday, it's 10 hours back to Maryland, hopefully in better weather. I really would like to start the morning in Aiken to see Joseph give his first sermon as a full-fledged priest, but that tacks on a few additional hours to an already long day, so I just don't know. Either way, I'm just thrilled that I'm able to be here for him on this, one of the landmark moments of what promises to be a brilliant career in the ministry.

Hard to believe that by this time tomorrow, he'll be Father Joseph. It's been a long time coming. But to me, he'll always be just Joseph, the best friend I've ever had.

Where's Kelly?

2008-01-23T22:24:00.000-05:00

Darn, I wish there was a good question word that alliterated with Kelly.

So where have I been this last week and a half? (Yeah, like you even noticed I was gone more than usual.)

Have I been:

Working extra hours at work on a project that threatens to take over my entire existence?
Sick with a cough so persistently violent that it has the awesome power to drag me out of even a Nyquil-induced coma every night at 3am?
Trying, and barely succeeding, making some forward progress on my novel, now in its sixth month?
Rushing to the rescue of Shawn, who has developed the unhealthy habit of locking his keys in his truck, then calling me to drive an hour to use the spare set to unlock his door?
Leading a very dull and humdrum life, lacking in moments inspiring enough to write about here?
All of the above?

Do you really need more than one guess?

In other news, Blogger did something in its demon-possessed technical word that caused my password to just go away (which I discovered only after I tried to comment on Ervin's astounding autobiographical blog). After some wrangling, I finally managed to regain access to my blog, only to discover that somehow Blogger decided to declare, in my Profile, that my profession is in the Accounting field.

Um, no. I was lucky to pass Intro to Accounting my sophomore year of college, an experience that scarred me for life. I don't even really balance my checkbook. So that was a mix-up that begged to be corrected.

So, some changes are forthcoming. Be prepared.

Ode to the queen

2008-01-14T06:59:00.000-05:00

This week's Media Monday is going to be short and sweet (I really mean it this week), as I've already written one blog for Romance Roundtable today, I'm still fighting off this nasty cough that's nearly wiped out my voice, and all I want to say is media, shmedia.

Yesterday afternoon, I saw a commercial advertising The Complete Jane Austen, public television's salute to one of the most brilliant authors of the English language. It was billed as airing on MPT (Maryland Public Television, for those of you non-locals), but further investigation uncovered that this is actually Masterpiece Theatre's Sunday night programming for the next 3 1/2 months, so those of you with different PBS access may be in luck as well.

What The Complete Jane Austen consists of is TV movie adaptations of all six of Miss Austen's published novels (there is a seventh completed novel, Lady Susan, but it was not published during her lifetime). Tonight, Persuasion, one of only two of Austen's novels I haven't read, aired as an 86 minute film. It's followed next week by the other novel I haven't read, Northanger Abbey, and Mansfield Park. Then a biography of Miss Austen gives us a break from the period films.

The second half of the tribute features the BBC masterpiece film of Pride and Prejudice, which I have on DVD and never tire of, as it is one of the most brilliant translations of any book to film I've ever seen. Then a version of Emma starring Kate Beckinsale (the Gwyneth Paltrow film showed on TCM this weekend, and I'm curious to note the differences between the two interpretations), and Sense and Sensibility wraps up the marathon.

I could claim that I'm going to watch these as research, as an academic and a writer, and legitimately so. But the truth of the matter is, Jane Austen's stories speak to me, speak to so many of us, because she understood people. It's not just that she wrote love stories, but she wrote of human frailties. Her main characters are never perfect - indeed, we fall in love with them because they are flawed. Her stories give us hope that everyone, no matter how old, how plain, how poor, can find happiness.

Masterpiece Theatre airs Sunday nights at 9pm. Check your local public television listings for a schedule.

A fresh perspective

2008-01-07T06:11:00.000-05:00

When I was in high school, a little album came out called Jagged Little Pill that seemed to take the music world by storm. Every time I turned on the radio, Alanis was bleating out her frustration to old boyfriends and bemoaning the irony of things not really all that ironic.

I hated every minute of it.

In all seriousness, I was so put off by the tone of her voice, I had to immediately change radio stations, or just give up on having music altogether for that particular car ride. All of my friends seemed to love her - talking about her brilliant song writing, her impassioned singing, and her dynamic personality. Even my senior English teacher, who was one of the most elegant, intelligent women I ever knew, loved her, and even let her young daughter dress up as Alanis for Halloween (she put one hand in her jeans pocket).

I did not get the allure. Not. At. All.

Fast forward nine years. We've gotten to know a softer, quirkier side of Alanis in her role as God in the movie Dogma, and the artistic, glamorous side in the video for "So Pure".

I still wasn't enamored of her voice, but now, instead of it being as grating as sandpaper on a raw blister, it was more like a familiar adversary - one you almost look forward to meeting again and again.

And then came The Day. I found out Barenaked Ladies were coming to town. Anyone who knows me knows that I nearly swooned as my blood pressure spiked in excitement. I love BNL, and this would be my first chance to see them live.

But guess who was slated to open for them - you guessed it, it was Alanis her very self.

Nothing would deter me from going to see BNL, though, so I hauled myself halfway across the state one steamy July evening, prepared to endure to get to the main event. Alanis took the stage, and ...

It wasn't bad. In fact, it was kind of enjoyable. I knew the songs from years of being bombarded by them over the radio. I was able to appreciate the appeal of them. So I sang along, swayed in time to the beat, laughed at her antics, and remembered where I was when I first heard those songs.

Like a fine wine, Alanis's songs had grown better with age.

So this week, I invite you to revisit something from your past - whether it be a book, a film, or an album or artist - that you didn't really like before. Sometimes, your original feelings will hold steadfast, and you'll curse me for wasting your time. But maybe, just maybe, time will give you a new perspective and you'll find something old is a new pleasure.

The Vomit Champ and a New Year

2008-01-01T22:47:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year, everyone!

First things first. The winner of the 2007 Christmas Vomit contest, and a $30 gift card from Amazon.com, is Alice! She found the following over-the-top house decorations:

Congratulations, Alice, and thanks for sharing your pictures.

Okay, so one year ago today, I started out on this little blog venture. I wasn't really sure where I was planning to go with this, what I wanted to accomplish or what my focus should be.

To be honest, I'm still not sure.

This is far from being a diary, or a journal of the highlights of my life, which is what my last webjournal kind of amounted to. I'm far too conscious of the impact of what I may say would have on one or both of my careers.

Obviously, this isn't a forum for my political or religious views, although both play a major role in my life. I don't really talk about my writing here, even though I effectively "came out of the closet" as a writer this year (let's face it, when your mother talks about it in her annual Christmas letter, there's no keeping it quiet). There's only so much that can be said about work, or my social life (what little there is of one). Let's face it, the majority of what I talk about here makes it look like I do little else but watch TV and drink. And to be honest, that makes up very little of my life.

What this amounts to, essentially, is me being uncertain in what direction to take Delusions of Grandeur. Or even if I should continue it at all. The amount of time available to me to spend online has decreased at about the same rate as my readership. And above all, I'm wondering if there's any value to be had from what I've had to say.

So that's where the blog stands at the beginning of 2008. In limbo. For the time being, I imagine I'll continue with it, so stay tuned. You never know when something noteworthy might pop up.

Wrapping things up

2007-12-30T22:47:00.000-05:00

Just a quickie reminder tonight -

Tomorrow, Monday, December 31st is your last chance to email me (krardon@yahoo.com) your Christmas Vomit photos. Get them in to me ASAP!!! I'll announce the winner and post the pics on Tuesday.

I hope you and yours had a wonderful Christmas, and wish you the happiest of New Years.

Oh what fun ...

2007-12-18T22:53:00.000-05:00

Tonight I want to mention one of our "newer" Christmas movies. Although it's not exactly new, per se, since it came out in 1994, it has only become part of our holiday movie tradition in the last couple of years.

Mixed Nuts is a funny, neurotic, ironic movie about one crazy Christmas Eve at a crisis hotline in Los Angeles. Based on a French film, it's the story of Phillip (Steve Martin), a man committed to helping people, but only good at it over the phone. He's got real problems in person, and this Christmas Eve is no exception - his fiancee dumps him, his employee Mrs. Munchnik (the brilliant, and much missed Madeline Kahn) hates him, his other, passive-aggressive employee Catherine (Rita Wilson) has complete and utter faith in him, and his evil landlord (Gary Shandling) is evicting him. Not to mention that Catherine's pregnant friend Gracie is about and causing trouble, her ex-con boyfriend is wielding a loaded gun, Phillip has accidentally given his address to a depressed transvestite who's on his/her way over, the elevator is broken, and a serial killer is on the loose.

*gasp for breath*

There's an all-star comedic cast, from the ever brilliant Steve Martin and Madeline Kahn, to Anthony LaPaglia and Juliette Lewis. Rob Reiner makes a brief but memorable appearance. Don't blink, or you'll miss cameos by Jon Stewart and Parker Posey. It was one of Adam Sandler's first films. Oh, and Liev Schreiber looks fantastic in black fishnet stockings and high heels.

It's hokey. It's, at times, witty. It's definitely worth watching, and I'd be surprised if it didn't become one of your holiday favorites. I mean, really, don't we all need a good laugh in the midst of all of the seasonal stress?

The musical fruit

2007-12-17T22:11:00.001-05:00

Tonight's post will be short (yes, I know I always say that!) because my wrist is in a brace, and it's damn hard to type.

I've been thinking a lot lately about Christmas rituals past. Things that we used to do when Shawn and I were just kids, and still had the wide-eyed wonder about the holidays, rather than the busy schedules and stress. Back when we used to get excited about Christmas the second Santa Claus showed up at the end of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade.

One of the things we used to do was watch all of the kids Christmas cartoon movies that were shown every year since the 1960s, and still are. Shows like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and How The Grinch Stole Christmas (the real one, not the live action knock-off). Mom taped all of the Christmas specials so that we could watch them every year without risking missing when the networks had them programmed. Of course, the tape was ancient and worn, and so it was of poor quality, but every year, we persisted.

Probaby our favorite of all of these was A Claymation Christmas Celebration. At the time it premiered, my brother loved the California Raisins. He was positively obsessed with them, to the point that Mom made us matching California Raisins costumes for Christmas that year (keep in mind, I was not enamored of the Raisins, and the Halloween parade of costumes my 4th grade year was a truly humiliating experience).

A Claymation Christmas is hosted by two dinosaurs made of, you guessed it, clay. They take us through a series of vignettes featuring popular Christmas songs performed in a variety of styles and levels of humor, all the while debating the lyrics of "Here We Come A-Wassailing". My favorite number was always the mixed classical and jazz stylings of "We Three Kings" with the bebopping camels, while Shawn naturally gravitated toward his favorite fruit soulfully singing about Rudolph. Dad always got a kick out of the ice skating penguins, while Mom would sing along to each and every number.

It's still a Christmas tradition in my family, although the tape gets a little tougher to see every year, thanks to the wonderful degradation of VHS tapes from the 1980s. It's the best combination of those things we hold dear about Christmas - the music, the fun, the joy of childhood. It's now available on DVD, so if you can find it at Blockbuster in the children's section, check it out. you won't be sorry.

What children's Christmas specials remind you of Christmases past?

Mele Kalikimaka

2007-12-14T22:52:00.000-05:00

Don't forget, there's still 2 weeks left to email me your Christmas Vomit photos for a chance at a gift card from Amazon.com!

Today we continue the theme of unconventional Christmas films!

My mother loves The Duke. Simply loves him. If John Wayne is in a movie, no matter how bad it is, she wants to not only watch it, she wants to own a copy of it. Westerns especially, but she's really not horribly particular.

But did you know that John Wayne starred in a Christmas movie?

Ever since I was a little kid, one of the first movies we'd watch during the Christmas season was Donovan's Reef. It's the story of Michael "Guns" Donovan, a gruff saloon owner with a heart of gold in the South Pacific, who, when he receives word that his pal Doc Dedham's stuffy daughter from Boston is on her way to pay her father a visit, pretends that the Doc's 3 young half-breed (their word, not mine) children are his to spare them the pain of their sister's bias.

Only things don't go quite as expected. Amelia Dedham is indeed stuffy, uptight, and snobbish. But she falls in love with the children and the islands ... and Donovan himself. Until, of course, the truth comes out, and she learns that her father abandoned her in Boston to marry an island princess and start a hospital to take care of the islanders. Naturally, along with that goes the knowledge that Donovan has been lying to her. And as you might expect, hijinks ensue.

Besides John Wayne, the movie stars Cesar Romero as the scheming French governor, Dorothy Lamour as his partner-in-crime, a somewhat young Jack Warden as the Doc, and the incomparable Lee Marvin as Wayne's sometimes enemy, sometimes business partner.

Why is this a Christmas movie? Well, it takes place at Christmas time. They go up into the mountains to chop down a Christmas tree. They hold a rather unconventional Christmas Eve service in a chapel with a leaky roof. There's a Christmas parade, island-style.

One of my favorite things about the movie is that every time someone arrives on the island, the natives all run down to the beach to sing and wave their arms in welcome. Every time. I usually sit and wonder, do they just drop everything when they get word that someone's rowing in to shore? How do they even know someone's coming? Do they sing if the person arriving is someone they don't like?

Anyway, check it out. The plot isn't especially strong, and the script goes off on a few tangents that don't seem relevant, but on the whole, it's a fun little film that gets you in the holiday spirit without making you cold through the power of suggestion.

Scariest movie EVER

2007-12-13T23:30:00.000-05:00

Whew! Just getting this one in under the wire. Three blogs in under 24 hours is just too much!

Yesterday I promised to talk about the only movie that has ever given me nightmares. It just so happens that that film is set at, you guessed it, Christmastime.

When I was really little, I used to spend big chunks of my summers visiting our scads of relatives in Kansas City. At that time, I had only two cousins, the younger of whom was only a year younger than I. Brad was, and still is, a ball of energy with a crazy sense of humor and a penchant for orneriness.

Now, keep in mind, I was a mere five years of age when Gremlins came to cinemas everywhere. A short year later, that pesky videotape was available. Wouldn't you know that the movie became a favorite of my feisty little cousin?

My aunt had responsibility for us one afternoon, and plopped Brad and I in front of the TV to watch the madness and mayhem caused by feeding the cute little Mogwai after midnight one winter night. Although my parents had adamantly insisted that I was not allowed to watch horror movies, my aunt seemed to think that a PG movie couldn't possibly fall into that category, right?

Gremlins gave me nightmares for years after that long ago afternoon. There's a part where the evil Gremlins hide under the bed, then grab a boy (possibly Corey Feldman?) by the ankles and drag him kicking and screaming under the bed. Naturally, I became convinced that Gremlins were living under my bed, and on cold winter nights, I always felt compelled to get a running start into my room so that I could leap into my bed without risking those sinister claws reaching out from under my dust ruffle to drag me into the dark mysteries under the bed.

To exaccerbate the problem, the following Christmas, the same aunt gave me a Gizmo doll. Gizmo was the first of the Mogwai, the "good" not-quite-a-Gremlin if you will. The doll even made sounds when you shook it. The thing freaked me out so much, I had to hide it under the bed one afternoon so that it was out of sight. But of course, that just made the whole Gremlins-under-my-bed paranoia even worse.

One day the fear passed, and I didn't think of the movie ever again ... until one Christmas when I was home from college. I was doing the Christmas wrapping for all of my family - Mom's presents to Dad, Dad's to Mom, Santa's to my brother - and watching a Christmas movie marathon on TV. Gremlins was next up on the schedule, and as I habitually reached for the remote, I thought, This is stupid. I was 20 years old. It was time to face my fears and acknowledge how silly they were.

So I watched Gremlins. And you know what? It was funny. It's a kitschy little Christmas movie in true Spielberg farcical style. It was fun watching Zach Galligan and Phoebe Cates running around, trying to thwart these obviously puppet-like creatures. What had once terrified me as a child now had me laughing. It probably wouldn't have ever bothered me if I had been 10 when I first saw it, rather than only five or six.

So this Christmas, if you're looking for a more offbeat holiday movie, check out Gremlins.

But just remember -
1. Don't let them near bright light.
2. Don't get them wet.
3. And whatever you do - DON'T FEED THEM AFTER MIDNIGHT!

The Big Guy

2007-12-12T22:25:00.001-05:00

How many Christmas stories are there out there about that jolly old elf, whom children await eagerly to appear every December the 24th? Who is forever fixed in our minds as a portly old gentleman with a fluffy white beard and rosy cheeks (thank you Coca Cola)? And what would we do without the holiday films that remind us of that lovely legend of the kindly toymaker who delivers gifts to children around the world every year?

We call him Father Christmas, Kris Kringle, Jolly Old Saint Nick.

When I was a child, a movie came out entitled, Santa Claus: The Movie. Now, for reasons that escape me, I loved this movie when it came out just after my sixth birthday. It's a cute movie, about Dudley Moore as a screw-up elf named Patch, and John Lithgow as a corporate mogul out to make Santa irrelevant. When accompanying children's books were published, wouldn't you know, I got those, too.

Looking back on the film now, I marvel at two things. First, that my parents even let me watch the movie in the first place. And second, that it didn't freak my six year old self out (although, admittedly, I've never scared easily. Only one movie has ever given me nightmares. Ironically, that's the movie I'll be talking about tomorrow.).

You see, the movie starts out by showing us the origins of Santa and Mrs. Claus, toymakers centuries ago who delivered wooden gifts to the little medieval children. How did the movie have them going from kindly Germanic neighbors to immortal legends? They froze to death.

In case you missed that, here it is again: They froze to death.

A heck of a way to kick off a movie about a beloved children's figure, huh?

It goes downhill from there, with bratty children, an over-the-top evil villain, drugged candy canes ... all glued together with the saccharine of bad puns and sappy one-liners.

But, if you're looking for a holiday movie, it'll do in a pinch. Something about it must have struck a chord with the first grade version of me, because I not only loved the movie as a kid, I was obsessed with it. And let's face it, no movie can destroy the love we, whether adults or small children, have for Santa Claus.

The countdown begins

2007-12-11T21:38:00.000-05:00

Today marks two weeks exactly until Christmas Day. Are you ready?

I'm certainly not. Usually, I'm totally in Christmas mode by now. I've helped Mom decorate the house, we've picked out and decorated the tree, I'm knee deep in Christmas movies and Christmas carols, and I have all of my shopping absolutely finished.

This year, I don't know what happened, but I'm not feeling "Christmasy". I'm not feeling "bah-humbuggy" either. Despite having our first snow of the season last week (which is pretty early for us), it just doesn't feel like Christmas yet. Despite being in rehearsals for our church's annual choir christmas program, in which we sing everything from O Come, O Come Emmanuel to Blue Christmas (a la The King himself), I'm not feeling it. Despite even having our office holiday party on Friday and wishing my coworkers a Merry Christmas, it just seems strange.

So I figured I needed to do something to push myself into the mood. And what better way than to share something with y'all that is part of an important family Christmas tradition in our household.

Years ago, Dad and I started a tradition of going to see a goofball Christmas movie just before the big day. The tradition has gotten warped over the years, especially once my mother got involved and totally missed the original point of the exercise, but it's still something we try to do every year. But over the years, we've gathered quite a collection of Christmas, or pseudo-Christmas, movies.

So from now until Christmas Day, I'll post a little bit about some of my favorite Christmas movies that we watch every year. Hopefully, you'll find a new one to add to your own holiday celebration!

Since this post is already getting long, I'll try to make the first blurb short. The very first film that Dad and I went to see as part of our theatrical tradition was Christmas Vacation, starring Chevy Chase. Now, I'm the first to admit that the National Lampoon Vacation movies are stupid silly. I almost feel my IQ lowering as I watch some of those films. And Chevy Chase in any movie makes my dad tense, I believe as a result of having been in a few of the same situations before.

But Christmas Vacation is Christmas slapstick at its finest. There are so many hilarious moments in this movie, I'd be hard pressed to pick my favorite part. Even the cartoon opening credits are a laugh riot, and you really don't stop laughing until the credits roll at the very end. In a nutshell - Santa, Christmas tree, external decorations, cat, Betty Boop, squirrel, sewer. Watch the movie, and you'll understand that, and so much more.

I've been watching this movie every Christmas since it appeared in theaters in 1989. And every year, it brings tears of hysterical laughter to my eyes. Though it's beyond goofy, it also embodies the fun and joyful spirit of the holidays. I mean, really, if there's one time of the year when we should have a silly grin pasted to our faces, isn't it this season?

RIP

2007-12-09T13:45:00.000-05:00

Obituary

Common Sense

Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as knowing when to come in out of the rain, why the early bird gets the worm, life isn't always fair, and maybe it was my fault.

Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you earn) and reliable parenting strategies (adults, not children are in charge).

His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a six-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.

Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job they themselves failed to do in disciplining their unruly children. It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer Aspirin, sun lotion or a sticky plaster to a student, but could not inform the parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.

Common Sense lost the will to live as the Ten Commandments became contraband; churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims. Common Sense took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar can sue you for assault.

Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.

Common Sense was preceded in death by his parents, Truth and Trust; his wife, Discretion; his daughter, Responsibility; and his son, Reason. He is survived by three stepbrothers; I Know my Rights, Someone Else is to Blame, and I'm a Victim.

Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone. If you still remember him, pass this on. If not, join the majority and do nothing.

Author unknown

Oh, it's just too much!

2007-12-03T06:11:00.000-05:00

Well, the holiday season has descended upon us with a vengeance. And in the spirit of the hope, love, peace and joy of the season, all I have to say is -

Blech.

Yes, that's right. I'm Scrooge-ing a bit this Christmas. And I want you to help me.

Don't get me wrong. I love Christmas, and I always have. For so many people, it's a season all about shopping, parties, stress, presents, and excess. I'll admit that I do fall victim to some of that myself. But I always associate the holidays with special traditions, time spent with family, old heartwarming songs, divine smells coming from the baking in the kitchen and the clean scent of the decorated pine tree in the music room.

Now, I try to adhere to the general rule of "simple elegance" for everything I do (a rule that runs entirely contrary to my mother's motto, which seems to be, the more and the flashier, the better). But anymore, our society doesn't seem to place a whole lot of value in elegance, opting instead for gaudy opulence.

This is never more apparent than at Christmas time. Every December, we drive around our county, looking at the yard displays and Christmas lights. And every year, it gets just a little scarier.

At some point, I designated these blindingly painful yard displays "Christmas vomit." As in, yep, Christmas threw up all over that house. And despite the rising costs of oil and everything else, I have no doubt we'll hit an all-time high on the excessively tacky meter this year.

Take, for example, this house, which is by far and away the most insanely involved yard display I've ever seen. There are no words strong enough to describe it, so I'll allow the photos the speak for themselves (apologies for any blurriness - it was raining when I took these photos. From a moving minivan, to boot.).

That's 3, count 'em, 3 giant-size snow globes in the front lawn.

But wait, that's only the front of the house. The garage on the side was left open so that they could have a Santa display lit by overhead lights. Then, as you turned your head past that blinding array of decorations, this is what you would have seen:

I know it's difficult to see, but there's an igloo on the left, across from the above-ground pool. And yes, you're not mistaken - that is a nativity on the deck next to the swimming pool.

Then came the back of the house ...

These pictures barely do the yard justice. It was a 360 degree ode to the commercialism of Christmas. Though I find this kind of excess horrifying, a twisted part of me can't wait to see what they, and others like them in my area, come up with this year. The family of carnies down the road already have their decorations up, though I haven't had the opportunity to see it all lit up.

I challenge you to go out and take a picture of the holiday display that most embodies the principle of "Christmas Vomit".

Email your pictures to me throughout the month of December. I'll choose the entry most deserving of the title "Christmas Vomit" on December 31st, and the winner will receive a $30 Amazon.com gift card - perfect for all of those after-Christmas sales!

The only requirement is that the photo be original and from the 2007 holiday season - any photos not adhering to those criteria will be disqualified.

Good luck, and send those pictures!

Flying home

2007-11-12T19:21:00.000-05:00

Yep, still here. Still busy, but trying to keep my head above water.

I've been inspired to do a couple of different Media Mondays over the last several weeks. I'll hear something on the radio during my morning commute while I'm stuck, inching along in traffic on the interstate, and say, Hey! I should blog about that.

Then, 10 hours later, when I'm finally in front of my laptop again, it's gone.

But today, what inspired me on the radio really stuck with me, and I just had to share it.

I listen to two radio stations on my way to work in the morning. The first is the Top 40 station I've always listened to out of Baltimore. They play decent music most of the time, but in the morning show, they have really fun, non-obnoxious DJs. Then, depending on the weather, I have to switch to the local Top 40 station, because the Baltimore signal fades. I listen to that station for the traffic reports, but try to tune out the rest, as they have the most irritating DJs I've ever heard ... with the exception of their DJ during my evening commute.

This morning, the Baltimore station began a promotional event called "Home for the Holidays", in which they give away 5 pairs of airline tickets to bring a friend or family member ... wait for it ... home for the holidays.

Today's caller wanted to bring home her best friend since the 7th grade. The friend had married a man in the military and moved to California. In the past several years, the husband had shipped out to Iraq, the friend had been diagnosed with a serious illness and had just had surgery, and most recently, she and her husband had been forced to spend the money they had set aside to come home for Christmas on a hotel room, as the San Diego fires forced them to evacuate from their apartment.

While on the air, the DJs called the friend in California to give her the happy news that they and Southwest Airlines were flying her and her husband back to Maryland for Christmas. They connected the two friends on the air to deliver the news.

I almost cried there in my car, cruising down the highway (which was conspicuously traffic-free, thanks to Veteran's Day closings), at the depth of emotion and sheer gratitude and love emoted by these two women, who wanted nothing more than to be reunited with family and friends at a time of year when it seems to mean the most.

So often when listening to the radio I've thought, "Wow, what an easy job it must be to sit in front of a microphone and goof off for a few hours over the air." But on mornings like today, and with special programs like "Home for the Holidays", it made me think how rewarding it must be, too, to have the means by which to bring a little happiness into someone's day.

Have you heard of any special promotions or programs in your area lately that have really moved you with their generosity and goodwill?

Fanlit Forever Turns One!

2007-10-29T06:41:00.000-04:00

Well, the time is here. Fanlit Forever will turn one year old on Nov. 1. Hard to believe, isn't it?

To celebrate, we've put together a celebration, chock-full of writing challenges, prizes, trivia contests, and guest speakers including Eloisa James, Michelle Willingham, Jenna Petersen, Toni Blake, Harris Channing, Anna Campbell, Ericka Scott, Larissa Ione, Sherry Thomas, Tessa Dare, Victoria Alexander, and Sara Dennis.

Some of these authors will be writing guest blogs for our new group blog, Romance Roundtable. Some will be hosting their own threads on FF, and Victoria Alexander is hosting a chatroom free for all on Friday, Nov. 2.

So come check out the fun and games. The gals have worked hard to bring you a great event and to honor FF on it's first birthday. Now it's your turn - go play, and enjoy the celebration!

Shut your Pie Hole

2007-10-22T21:06:00.000-04:00

I thought I'd take this Media Monday to plug a new TV show that many of you may not have seen. There seem to be a lot of new shows on every channel this season. I know my TV routine was disrupted by the end of Gilmore Girls and Veronica Mars (the former of which I will be haunted by for the rest of my natural life, as my mother has each season on DVD, and she watches it in syndication, and she originally recorded each season on VHS cassettes and will ocassionally watch them as well. Seriously, we're inundated with Gilmore Girls here.).

We never really had a Wednesday night routine, but I have to rush home after Bible study to catch most of this show. Because it's too wonderfully unique to bypass for the regular, generic television fare that every channel seems to offer.

The show of which I speak is Pushing Daisies. It's about this pie maker, named Ned, who with the touch of his finger can bring the dead to life. He asks them who killed them, then touches them a second time to send them back into eternal sleep and collects the reward money. Yet, there's a catch. If he doesn't touch them the second time, thereby returning them to their deceased state, within 60 seconds, someone else, seemingly randomly selected by fate, dies in their place. But the first dead person will still die again if he touches them.

This, naturally, provides conflict that underscores the entire show. For you see, in the first episode, he brings his childhood sweetheart back to life, and just can't bring himself to send her back to, well, to death.

There's also an ambitious private detective-slash-business partner, her two reclusive aunts, and a pie shop employee, played by the brilliant Broadway star Kristin Chenoweth who is incredible in whatever she does, who is in love with the pie maker and is suspicious (and jealous) of his mysterious new girlfriend.

It's not just the premise that makes this show so vastly different than anything else on television. The photography is very reminiscent of Tim Burton's more colorful films, like Big Fish. A narrator takes us through each episode with wry dialogue at which you can't help but chuckle. Characters randomly break into song, drive dandelion-powered cars, and kiss through saran wrap.

And there's pie. I've made no secret of how much I love pie.

If you ate a slice of pie while watching the show, you could almost consider it an interactive experience.

Yummmmmmm. Pie.

But, as usual where food is concerned, I digress.

Support creativity in the arts. Support uniqueness. Fight the evil lemming-society we are so in danger of becoming.

Okay, that last one may be a bit of an exaggeration.

If you're tired of seeing the same shows done in the same styles year in and year out, try Pushing Daisies on ABC, Wednesdays at 8:00pm EST. It's a breath of fresh air.

Please, sir, may I have another?

2007-10-16T22:59:00.000-04:00

And once more.

Happy Birthday to me too. Yes, Shawn and I have birthdays on consecutive days. But we're not all that close in age.

We once went to the movies together (I think he was in high school, I was in college), and the ticket seller said to him, "Aww, how sweet, you're taking your little sister to the movies!" Just because he towers over me doesn't make him the older sibling, chica!

Although with me sick, and Shawn going slightly (more) insane from rehearsing for his senior recital next week, I think we're both feeling older than our ages.

A Notable Occasion

2007-10-15T22:06:00.000-04:00

Twenty-two years ago today, I received the best birthday present of my life.

I didn't know it at the time, and it took me years before I learned to appreciate it.

In fact, the first time I laid eyes on this particular gift (twenty-two days tomorrow), I was less than impressed.

It cried.

It drooled.

It pooped.

And it had many, many rolls of fat on its body.

Indeed, one might have called this an inauspicious beginning for us. Doomed from the start by my skepticism, and the gift's bodily functions. But in reality, it was the start of a beautiful relationship. One I wouldn't trade for anything in the world.

Twenty-two years ago today, my life changed forever. Some might say it turned upside down, and there were times I would have agreed with them. But more often than not, you'll hear me say that that day changed my life for the better. For it was on that day twenty-two years ago, the day before my sixth birthday, that I went from being an only child, to being a big sister.

Happy birthday, Shawn. May you be every bit as charmed with life as it is with you.

East meets West

2007-10-08T21:08:00.000-04:00

Last weekend, Mom and I ventured over to that Mecca of all things media.

That's right. Borders.

Now, I love the Borders we have near us. It's across the state line, where there's no sales tax. It has plenty of deep, cushy chairs, unlike some I've been to that only have 3 armchairs in the entire store. It's really big, and almost always has what I'm looking for and about 1000 things I'm not, but wish I had been.

So we headed out after choir practice on Sunday, in order to take advantage of the Educators Savings weekend (I hadn't started my new job yet, so technically, I was still working for the school system). I didn't have my work namebadge with me, but that didn't matter, as I didn't really intend to buy anything.

But then she made the offer. "I'll buy you whatever you want, since your birthday is in a few weeks."

My mother should know better than to make that offer when we're going to a bookstore.

In my defense, I showed admirably restraint. I only drooled over the Compact Oxford English Dictionary for ten minutes - I didn't actually ask her for it.

When we left, she had several CDs and books, and I had this:

You may remember 12 Girls Band from the Live Earth concert in July, which is where I discovered them. (If you missed Live Earth, it was a 24 hour concert conducted on all seven continents - that's right! Including Antarctica! - to promote awareness of global climate issues. Go check out the website and watch videos of the musical acts for free.)

Anyway, they were one of the groups featured on the stage in China, and I completely fell in love with them. They are classically trained musicians who play traditional Chinese instruments, but play an assortment of eastern and western music.

Some of their songs have a distinctly Asian sound, I'll grant you. But those are interspersed with numbers like their rendition of "My Heart Will Go On" (a song that usually makes me gag, but isn't too horrible here), and "Nessun Dorma", a hauntingly beautiful piece in its original form that is positively transcendental on this album. Yet others still have an ethnic flavor to them, yet it's not always an Asian flavor - sometimes it's a vaguely Greek sound, or Western European. And sometimes their music surpasses all classification.

The first piece I heard them perform, which is not on the Shanghai album I have, but is available for download on the Live Earth website, is called New Classicism. It's a medley of famous classical numbers, including Beethoven's Fifth. What makes this particular medley unique is not so much the fact that it's traditional Western music being played on traditional Eastern instruments. No, it's the fact that it's Western music coupled with Eastern instruments on top of a distinctly funk beat. It's familiar, but fresh. Classic, but fun.

Each song has a uniqueness that sets it apart from the others on the album. I spent all day today listening to it while I worked, and it felt like I discovered something new with each listening.

So my Media Monday wisdom for today? Don't fear the foreign. You never know what treasures you may find.

Life taking precedence

2007-10-01T22:14:00.000-04:00

Today's Media Monday is postponed. *sigh* Again.

Except this time it's for good news. I start my new job tomorrow morning! Normally, that wouldn't interfere with my ability to come up with some lighthearted post about the entertainment in my inane life. However, this new job didn't come to my attention until Friday morning. So things have been moving at breakneck speed, and I'm still having a tough time wrapping my mind around it.

Ultimately, I think this is going to be a really good move for me, and I'm excited about it. But beyond that, I'm still trying to bring my mind up to speed.

So, in the spirit of Media Monday, I'll pose a question to you. When was the last time you were caught by surprise by a movie, TV show, or book? Did it leave you reeling for the rest of the story? Did it increase your enjoyment of the story?

Back to the beginning

2007-09-24T14:24:00.001-04:00

My parents read to both my brother and I every single night before bed. While this isn't an uncommon parental activity, it was meaningful to both Shawn and I, and I think is a large part of why he and I are such reading addicts.

The evening book bedtime ritual wasn't just a way for us to develop a love of reading, or to bond with our parents. It was a family activity. I can remember when it was Shawn's turn to be read to, it used to kill me to stay in my room and hear the others in his room, reading and laughing. So I'd throw myself down on his bed and join in the fun, even though my reading level was far beyond the little kid stories he loved.

His favorite books were from the Little Critter series, by Mercer Mayer. The stories are about this little boy hedgehog and his misadventures. His parents and little sister were usually around, and his best friend, who was a bear. I actually think my mother loved the books more than my brother, if the lengths she went to in order to find new books in the series are any indication. He probably had 25 of these books over the course of his early childhood. Birthdays, Christmas, Easter, presents for good behavior - we could always count on a new Little Critter book to read after every special occasion.

The first book Shawn ever read was All By Myself, where the Little Critter is trying to prove what a big boy he is by showing all of the things he can do by himself, like combing his hair and tying his shoes. How well I remember my four year old brother yelling each line at the top of his lungs. 'With gusto', as we say in the music world. We weren't really ever sure if he could read the line, or if Dad had read the story to him so many times that he had memorized it.

Another of the Little Critter books that stands out in my memory is Just For You. In that story, the Little Critter tries to do all of these chores to show his love for his mom, but fails miserably at each task. He tries to wash the kitchen floor, but the soap goes everywhere. He wants to set the table, but gets distracted by the TV, so his mom ends up doing it herself. He picks her an apple, but eats it on the way home.

I must have heard Just For You eighty billion times in my youth, because Mom took each reading of the story as a personal testiment to her precious baby boy's love for her. Still, the repetition, adorable illustrations, and sweet humor of the books speak for themselves. These are great for starting kids out in the wonderful world of literature. And they're fun for the parents and older children to read, too. Just think - it's been almost twenty years since those evenings with the family piled on Shawn's bed, laughing and reading and spending time together.

But each of us remembers. The books, the sharing, the sense of family togetherness. And you can't trade that in for anything.

Nemesis no more

2007-09-22T12:02:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I was all ready to spend the afternoon writing. I had my work space set up exactly the way I wanted it, I was brimming with ideas and words were just about ready to start spilling from my fingertips onto the computer screen. I could hardly wait to get it all out onto "paper".

Just as I pulled my laptop close to get started, there was a knock on my door. I opened it to find, of all people, my neighbor's son, Pete.

Now, you'll need a little background here. This family has lived next door to us almost as long as we've lived here. There were three kids, the youngest of which was my age and my best friend when we were little. Pete, the only brother, was a year older than us, and delighted in tormenting us whenever he found us - riding bikes in the neighborhood, roller skating in the driveway, playing Barbies in the house. It didn't matter. It was almost as if his sole purpose in life was to pick on us. Beyond that, he never spoke to me.

Fast forward to the present. He now lives in the south with his wife and new baby, and I haven't seen him in a couple of years. He wanted to borrow our wheelbarrow to mix some concrete to install the new mailboxes for his mom, who is selling their old house. She now lives in the house across the street, which she inherited for taking care of the elderly Irish lady who used to live there.

Anyway, he asked that I come over and keep him company while he poured concrete. So we chatted, catching up on the news of what had happened to "the old gang" from the neighborhood. I didn't have much to tell him that he didn't already know, since I get most of my neighborhood news from his mother, but he talked.

And talked. And talked. And talked some more.

In the twenty plus years I've known this guy, I don't think he said as much to me as he did yesterday afternoon. Being a husband and father, as well as moving away from the dead end life he would have had in this town, has had a remarkable influence on him. He actually smiled several times yesterday, in a way completely unlike the malicious grins that used to indicate that he was about to unleash some very unpleasant scheme on his sister and I.

So it was an unexpectedly pleasant afternoon. And when I got back to the house, I found that the time I had allotted to writing was gone, and it was time to move on to other fun activities, like cooking dinner and cleaning. I think it was worth the sacrifice of my writing time in the end. There will be other quiet afternoons for writing, and the ideas and words haven't dried up yet. But how many opportunities will there be for me to witness how someone I knew way back when has changed their life for the better and grown into a pleasant, enjoyable person?

Know what I mean?

2007-09-16T19:03:00.000-04:00

I almost dread going to church on Sundays. It has absolutely nothing to do with the service, which flows nicely from fantastic music to a well-thought out sermon, then back to the music. It doesn't have to do with any programs, or lack there of, or with demands made on my time and services. No, I don't mind any of that.

It's the fellowship that follows that nearly sends me running for the exit.

Now, I adore the people in my congregation. I've attended this small country church since I was about five years old, and many of our members have been there even longer. You know the phrase, "the church family"? Well, in our church, it's a lesson that has been realized. We're talking about one of the kindest, quirkiest, most loving groups of people you will ever encounter (or not).

But that closeness is a double-edged sword. If I ask for prayer for something major that's happening in my life, chances are, I will be asked about it by no less than two dozen people the very next week. And then the week after that. And the week after that. And the week ... Well, you get the picture.

It's the same people asking every single week, even when I've already given them an answer that isn't going to change.

That in and of itself isn't so bad. But sometimes, the issue that they're asking about is a sore subject. And their innocent concern is like jabbing a hot poker into the wound.

And just when I think I'm safe, when I think that I've finally managed to convey to everyone, in the nicest way possible and as subtley as politeness dictates, that the subject is closed and one hundred percent off-limits, someone will show up who hasn't been to a service in several months, and the fun and games start all over again.

That's not even the worst of it. After you inform them of the less-than-pleasant answer to their inquiry, they start to offer suggestions. As if I haven't thought of the alternatives, or exhausted all of my options, or at least considered them, before. It's not as though I'm not more aware of the issues at stake than they are. But it doesn't stop a whole recitation of, "Well, have you tried this?Have you tried talking to so-and-so?"

I know it's in bad form for me to complain about it. After all, they mean well, and they're only asking because they care. I should be flattered that they even remember what's going on in my life and care enough to ask about it. They're showing concern. Compassion, even.

But isn't part of compassion knowing when it's better not to speak? Wouldn't it be kinder to wait for me to speak, assuming that if indeed I had good news on the subject, I'd be shouting it from the steeple? Wouldn't it be more caring to notice that the introduction of the subject makes me uncomfortable, and be willing to change the subject?

Sometimes it's hard to keep a pleasant attitude and a happy face when these subjects come up, yet again. There has even been one instance when I finally had to be blunt with a gentleman that I didn't want to discuss a particular subject because it made me uncomfortable. It nearly broke my heart to do it, since this guy is an utter sweetheart that I feel a special bond with, but it was probably the twentieth week in a row he had asked me about the issue, and the answer wasn't going to change at all.

Am I just being touchy? Do I need to suck it up, put on a happy mask, and take the blows like a man, so to speak? I know it's only my pride that's being battered, but that has repercusions on my self-confidence and self-respect, as well. And it's not like I haven't talked about it with these people before. It's just that the answer seems to bounce off of them like a racquetball off a wall.

Which, of course, doesn't bode well for me. The last time I played racquetball, the ball ricocheted and hit me in the face.

Compassion - the double-edged sword. How does one cope?

Sing me a song

2007-09-10T23:00:00.000-04:00

I'm a daydreamer by nature. Frequently, I find myself lost in thought, pondering what it would be like if I had a different career. Not just, what would happen if I focused on intellectual property rather than immigration. No, I go off the deep end with my musings. Wouldn't it be cool to be an Olympic figure skater, even though I've only been ice skating twice in my life? Or to be an Egyptologist, excavating ancient ruins, despite my strong dislike of sandy environments?

One of the most random careers I've always thought must be great fun is being the person who selects the various songs to go on a movie's soundtrack.

I'm not exactly sure how it works, but wouldn't it be fantastic to watch an advance screening of a movie, then get to say, "Oh, I can just imagine Annie Lennox singing something haunting and wistful there?" Or, "Hey, didn't someone do a cover of a Billy Idol song that would be perfect for that moment of the film?"

Some of my favorite CDs in my collection are actually soundtracks. A lot of times, I like the music from a film so much more than the film itself.

But the key to a good soundtrack is the mood it evokes. A truly superb soundtrack will not only compliment the story of the film it accompanies, but it would set a tone all on its own.

Take, for instance, the film Sleepless in Seattle. It's a romantic story about what ifs, star crossed lovers, and finding true love in the small things. Lots of references to An Affair to Remember.

The soundtrack to the film is every bit as romantic as the story itself. More so, even. You have some fun "love" songs, like "Wink and a Smile", which highlight the lighter side of love and all of the absurdities of romantic relationships. You have songs that focus entirely on the physical side of love, such as "Makin' Whoopie". You have songs that were never intended to be linked to love, but, taken out of context, sort of make sense, like Gene Autry singing "Back in the Saddle Again".

But then on the other side of the scale, you have "When I Fall in Love", a song of complete and total devotion, and "Stardust", which I personally feel is one of the sweetest ballads Nat King Cole ever recorded.

It's a great assortment of songs, from artists both new and old. But I only listen to it when I'm in the mood for romance. It puts me in a mellow, sentimental frame of mind, whereas other soundtracks fill me with energy, or put me a playful mood.

The key to finding a good soundtrack is to think back on the movies you've seen. Think about what made them stand out in your mind. If the answer is, oh, that one song from such and such a film, then try out the entire soundtrack. You may discover some great songs that you didn't notice during the film. Sometimes the best music is saved for the closing credits, which many people don't bother to watch. But you never can tell what nugget of musical genious you may stumble upon if you sit through those final few minutes.