Voodoo needed...

I’m listening to a CD I made about a zillion years ago (okay, “a zillion” is probably a bit of overkill… it was more like two years ago…) when Eric and Faisal were here visiting and we went to Starbucks to hang out and make CDs. Because, if you’ll remember, Starbucks used to have those little music stations, where you could listen to all kinds of different albums and pick and choose the songs you liked. So you could make your own custom CD. My Starbucks CD ended up being rather bizarre and eclectic, with music by Blink 182, Beck, Nellie McKay, Gwen Stefani, Sum 41, Iris Dement (“Our Town” – my fellow Northern Exposure fan Nick will recognize that one…), Rob Thomas, Linkin Park, the Wallflowers and Etta James. I think Eric’s CD ended up being mostly country, possibly with a little rock thrown in for good measure… and Faisal’s CD was composed of mainly 80’s music – including the Cindy Lauper classic “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.” And I may have given him a hard time about choosing that particular song… (Sorry, Faisal. :))

But like I said, Starbucks has removed the music stations from their stores – at least the ones in Austin. (Although I haven’t seen them in any of the other Starbucks stores I’ve been in on various travels across the country.) Maybe too many people have iPods now and just download music from the internet. But I sort of miss the Starbucks music. It was really fun to order a cup of coffee, settle into an overstuffed chair, and wander through thousands of different songs in dozens of different genres. I suppose now I could just order a cup of coffee, settle into an overstuffed chair, and listen to random songs on my iPod. I don’t know… there was just something so satisfying about creating your very own unique CD… even if it turned out to be slightly crazy (which, incidentally, was the title I gave my Starbucks CD…).

Anyway… since Greg wanted more baseball talk – what is wrong with the Yankees??? Six losses in a row??? I have Andy Pettitte on my fantasy team, but I’m afraid to pitch him tonight because the Yankees seem to have fallen into some sort of “we suck” vortex. A black hole of baseball, from which even runs can not escape. Dad actually said he was going to start rooting for the Mets. Which is blasphemy, by the way… we must not give up on the Yankees just because they suck so badly right now…

I have to blame Eric, because Eric and I have a Yankee Voodoo system set up. When it looks like the Yankees are in trouble, I’ll send a text message to Eric asking for more voodoo. Eric, in turn, will gather bat wings and eye of newt and a little pincushion doll that looks like the opposing pitcher and do his best to change the course of the game. Lately, however, I’ve noticed that Eric ignores me a lot when I send text messages (Eric… where aaaaaareeeee you?)… probably because he’s busy moving all his furniture into his new condo (I believe “all his furniture” consists of a couch, a bed, and a coffee table… you’d think he’d be done moving by now…). And, of course, fighting crime on the streets of Chicago by, uh, engaging in detective stuff. You know, detecting and such. With his big magnifying glass and Sherlock Holmes pipe.

So my best chance to catch Eric when he has time for Yankee voodoo is during his daily stopover at the Pancake House. If I can somehow send a message before he’s gotten his plate of French toast with fruit on the side, then he’ll be so bored and hungry that Yankee voodoo will be just the thing to get his mind off the grumbling in his stomach. Unfortunately, even when I DO get a hold of Eric, Yankee voodoo is not always effective. I must also blame Eric for this, as I refuse to take responsibility myself…

Of course, the Yankees COULD just be having a streak of bad luck right now… Nah, I’m gonna go ahead and blame Eric…




That's right -- they CAN hit a ball now and then...

I have the key...

So has anyone seen those new BP gas station commercials? The ones where the cartoon characters are driving around looking for gas, and they drive past these horrible, ugly, dirty gas stations first, until they finally arrive at a sparkling clean BP station? And it’s all flowers and rainbows and happy people and everyone is singing and it’s like the best gas station EVER. I mean, watching the commercial, it would be easy to believe you might even be able to use a BP gas station bathroom without feeling the need for a full-body scrub-down afterwards.

And my first reaction when I saw these ads was, “I hate those stupid BP ads.” They use weird little cartoon-character people, and a song that gets stuck in your head all day (“say hey, say HEY!” Shut up, shut UP!). One of the spots even features a car full of babies, playing with their stuffed teddy bears and driving a car low on gas. What the heck? Why is there a car full of babies? And why are the babies driving? Isn’t it generally considered dangerous to allow an infant to operate a large piece of machinery? Where can they possibly be going? How far have they driven that the car is running dangerously low on gas? Has anyone issued an Amber Alert? That ad is so confusing…

But after seeing these ads a few times, I realized something – the psychedelic haze of cartoon flowers and dancing people and driving babies was actually making me wonder if BP gas stations really ARE better than other gas stations. So much so that I’m actually considering stopping at a BP gas station the next time I see one and my car’s tank happens to be close to empty. Because I’m curious now – will some little dancing guy REALLY come out and clean my windshield? Has the BP gas station conglomerate somehow managed to mask that annoying gasoline smell with the lovely scent of roses? Can I forgo spraying down the entire bathroom with a can of Lysol? Maybe BP really HAS discovered ways to make the whole gas station experience better…

So these annoying ads – as strange and nonsensical that they are – actually DID manage to achieve what they set out to achieve. They somehow coerced me into wanting to visit a BP gas station. Which annoys me even more than the ads themselves. I can’t believe that I hate those commercials so much, yet I still want to visit their gas stations. And it’s just a stupid gas station – how great can it be? Oh, advertising is a very devious medium…

Anyway... moving on to other topics… so last night the weather people were telling us to expect all kinds of crazy storms with hail and tornadoes, so Rick called me from work and asked me to pull the MDX into the one-car garage. The only problem was that as far as I knew, Rick had the one and only key for that garage, and I couldn’t open it. However, a search through the requisite “junk drawer” in my kitchen not only turned up another copy of the garage key (so the MDX was able to spend the night safe and sound in the garage… and we never did get hail… or tornadoes…), but no less than ten OTHER keys that fit absolutely NO locks in or around this house. A couple of them look like they might be from our house back in New Jersey, but the rest of them are anybody’s guess. Five of them are the exact same key… and I’m wondering what was so important that we needed to have FIVE keys made… I guess it must not have been THAT important if I can’t even remember what they’re for…

Rick actually found one key that he thinks was for a car he had about a zillion years ago. A car that probably doesn’t even exist anymore. It’s probably been squished into a cube and is collecting rust in a junkyard. What I find particularly interesting about this completely useless key is that it has been in Rick’s possession from sometime before he met until now – somehow surviving several moves between apartments… a move into our first house… managing to stick with us on our move to New Jersey… and finally making its way back to Texas where it settled comfortably into the kitchen junk drawer. And yet I STILL CAN’T FIND MY CUTTING BOARD.

Maybe it’s locked in a box somewhere… I bet I have the key for it…

Happy birthday Rick!

Today is Rick’s birthday – he took the day off from work… not just because it’s his birthday, but also because he intends to celebrate tonight by taking a final exam in his financial/accounting/business class. (I can’t remember what the class is called, exactly… something that has to do with finance or accounting or business or some other subject that interests me about as much as watching water evaporate…) So he’s studying for his test, which he’s convinced he’ll fail horribly. I don’t see how that will happen, though, seeing as he has an A average. And the professor sounds like a bit of a dimwit, so that should help, too. According to Rick, she tends to ramble off on tangents that have nothing to do with the subject she is paid to teach (although really, I’m not sure I can blame her – if I had to talk about finance for a couple hours, I’m sure I would be tempted to change the subject, too…).

For instance – last week, Rick told me she started talking about environmental issues for some unknown reason (how do you go from finance to the environment?), and made the mistaken assertion that bald eagles are an “endangered” species. In actuality, they’re no longer considered endangered – they haven’t been endangered for over a decade. They’re now “threatened,” which is one step up from endangered. And they may not even be considered “threatened” much longer – the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service is trying to decide whether to remove bald eagles from the threatened/endangered list altogether. Rick’s professor then proceeded to claim that no bald eagles have been born in the wild in thirty years, or some such nonsense. I guess she’s never been to Alaska, where bald eagle’s nests are scattered all over the place. Or Montana, where dad has a bald eagle’s nest on his property. Or probably any of a myriad of other places in the Pacific Northwest where bald eagles are hatching on a regular basis. Honestly, when I hear about college professors who are so uninformed (or perhaps incapable of simple research), it makes me wonder why they’re teaching at all…

Anyway, so like I said, Rick took the day off so he could study before his class tonight. This is one of the reasons why I always loved my birthday when I was a kid – when you have a July birthday, you never have to go to school on your birthday. I knew I would always have the day off, no matter what day of the week my birthday happened to fall on. Of course, it also meant that I was never the kid who got to bring cupcakes for the whole class. Everyone else got to celebrate their birthdays at school with all their classmates, but I never got to hear the whole class sing “happy birthday” to me. I guess there were pros and cons to the summer birthday…

I still remember how my second grade teacher Mrs. Barkow used to bring out a strange, yellow, fake birthday cake every time it was someone’s birthday. I think it must’ve been paper-mache or something… it was yellow and had pink trim and possibly a few little plastic people on top… I can’t remember exactly. But I DO remember thinking it was such a mean thing to do – to always bring out that fake, inedible cake instead of just making a real one. (What, you can’t just bake a real cake? You can’t just buy a Betty Crocker mix and throw it in the oven?) And along with the fake cake, Mrs. Barkow would recite a weird little poem about birthdays in a breathy, happy, animated voice – something about how every day of every year, someone has a birthday, everywhere around the world, blah blah… okay, I obviously don’t remember it exactly. But every time someone in the class had a birthday, it would seem like we were all participants in some kind of secret birthday ceremony. Out came the fake cake, the sacred birthday poem was recited, and, if we were lucky, someone’s mom sent their kid to school with actual birthday-related food. If we WEREN’T lucky, we’d get to stare at the paper-mache cake and think of how good it would taste if that yellow frosting was real. (I used to think that maybe paper-mache wouldn’t taste THAT bad… I mean, maybe if we just asked the cafeteria ladies for some sugar and a stick of butter – we could make it work.)

But, since today is Rick’s birthday and last week was mom’s birthday, I made a birthday key lime pie yesterday. We took it over to mom and dad’s house for dinner last night, and even though it was just the four of us, the pie mysteriously disappeared before the night was over. I think we can blame that on the sad Yankee loss last night. When the Boston Red Sox hit four home runs in a row, you’re entitled to an extra slice of pie… that’s my new rule… :)

Flossing is so confusing...

I just returned from the dentist, where my teeth were sandblasted to polished perfection. Or, you know, as close to perfection as they can get, I guess. My teeth were cleaned by one of those dental hygienists who likes to talk a lot and ask questions. So while she was cleaning each tooth, she kept saying things like, “so how long have you lived in Austin? Where did you move here from? Do you miss New Jersey? What do you like to do for fun?” Which prompted me to wonder, “am I getting my teeth cleaned, or am I on a date? Should I have dressed nicer? Will she be upset if I order the lobster? And when did I start dating girls? Rick is NOT going to like this… wait… actually, maybe he will…”

Of course, the date was over as soon as she told me I was flossing the wrong way. I think dental hygienists are so used to people NOT flossing that when they find someone who DOES, it throws them for a loop. They get themselves all psyched up for a good lecture, and then find out, “oh, you DO floss? Oh, well, uh, I think maybe you’re doing it the wrong way…yeah…” She asked for a flossing demonstration (honestly, how can anyone screw up flossing? Is it really THAT difficult??), and explained that I should be spending five seconds on each tooth. She then proceeded to floss my teeth in the exact same way I always floss my teeth. It’s a pretty standard tooth-flossing kinda motion. It’s not rocket science. It’s not an art. There’s no talent or intelligence needed. It’s a piece of string between your teeth. I think I can figure it out. Really. And, in reality, I am an OBSESSIVE flosser. I floss my teeth all the time. I’m flossing my teeth right now, while I type. So don’t tell ME I don’t know how to floss…

Anyway… on to other topics… I have to admit I was quite sad to see Sanjaya voted off American Idol last night. The quiet-haters finally had their loud, obnoxious say. Sanjaya’s pretty hair just wasn’t enough to save him. And actually, I think he’d been slacking on the hair the last two weeks. Last week he pretty much left it alone, and this week he simply covered it with a bandana. Such a far cry from the rooster-hawk hairdo of several weeks ago. And no, Sanjaya was not the best singer in the competition… but he also rarely deserved the absolute contempt shown to him by the judges and much of the media. But I wouldn’t worry about him – all of this “Sanjaya controversy” has made him the most talked-about singer on American Idol this season. He’s pretty much set if he ever wants some sort of entertainment career – whether it’s singing or something else. He doesn’t even need a last name. The entire country knows who “Sanjaya” is…

And Lost was sort of interesting last night. So now we know that Desmond DOES have a reason for calling everyone “brother” – because he used to be a monk. (And not a very good one…) He’s an ex-monk who now has visions of the future that do not bode well for Charlie. (I have a bad feeling about Charlie… he may not be back next season…) And another new character has literally dropped from the sky onto the island… that was rather weird. I was reading some “spoilers” about the show last night, and they said that hopefully Michael and Walt will be returning next season. Which would be good, because I always forget that those two were ever ON the show… I also tend to forget that Desmond was the guy pushing the button in the hatch for years… and I forget that Rose and Bernard haven’t even been on screen this season… and I’ve already forgotten what happened to Crazy French Lady after she saw Alex – has she been hiding in the bushes this whole time? Why did the Others capture everyone else who had been in that little search party, but Crazy French Lady just disappeared back into the forest? You know, when this show comes to an end, I’d really like one episode that is nothing but a big, giant explanation for everything… just so I’m totally clear on what happened…

So Nick and I were IMing about Sanjaya last night, and he said that he was overdue for a long, rambling comment on the blog. I told him I would look forward to his next comment, and then he said, “be careful what you wish for” in a rather ominous tone. I’m not sure if that was a threat or not. But whenever you feel like commenting, Nick, go for it. Like I said, I’ll be looking forward to it. I think… :)

Happy Birthday, Mom!

Today is mom's birthday! She's really, really young. (I mean, she HAS to be, because I'm still so young...) Aunt Carol is here for a few days, so the three of us met Rick's mom at the Cheesecake Factory for lunch today. I decided to be "good" and just order soup and salad, so I would have plenty of room for the requisite cheesecake. What I didn't realize was that the Cheesecake Factory has a different idea of what a "lunch-sized portion" is than what my own idea would be. The menu described a "cup" of soup and a salad. But the "cup" was most definitely a bowl, and the salad was large enough for three people. Nevertheless, we all ordered dessert (and I ordered a "cup" of cappuccino, which also seemed to be served in a bowl...) and managed to eat most of our respective cheesecakes. Aunt Carol even stealthily mention to our server that today is mom's birthday, so she got a candle and a serenade. (I'm not sure she enjoyed that... :))

I was over at mom and dad's house this morning, and was looking through some of their pictures on the computer. I came across a few bluebonnet pictures -- and since I haven't managed to take any this year, I thought I would steal a couple of mom and dad's and put them on the blog. During the springtime, you can find patches of bluebonnets all over the city -- these were taken out in the country farther, I think, but there are plenty of bluebonnets along the interstate and major highways, too. When you see a field of them like this, it's quite common to see people stopped on the side of the road, herding their kids into the flowers to take pictures of them in the bluebonnets. The "kid in the bluebonnets" picture is quite a frequent Texas cliche... I wonder how many kids have been stung by bees in the bluebonnets...

Delivery or pick-up? (Should've gone with pick-up...)

I’m starving right now… really hungry… not sure I can write coherently, but I’ll try. Okay, I’m not THAT famished. But we did order a pizza about an hour and half ago and it’s still not here. A new pizza place just opened in the neighborhood, and we thought, “hey, it’s so close to our house that it’ll still be hot when they deliver it.” You can order online, so that’s what we did – but I’m thinking we should’ve just called to place the order. After over an hour with no pizza, Rick finally called to ask if they’d even received our order. And of course they said that they “just got” the online order and it would be another half hour. I believe that translates to, “we weren’t paying any attention and just now noticed your order.” Soooo hungry…

Well, speaking of new places in Austin – we decided to check out Austin’s newest shopping center yesterday. A place called “The Domain.” It’s actually a combination of shopping, apartments, office buildings and soon-to-be hotels. It’s sort of like a city-within-a-city. In fact, the main shopping area is set up to look like a pseudo-downtown street, with shops on street level and apartments above. People in Austin have been really excited about this place opening up, especially since it features the first Neiman Marcus department store in the city. Apparently this is a very big deal, although I’m really not sure why. Rick and I decided to walk through the store and see what all the fuss was about. And as near as I can tell, the “fuss” is about pretentious people who feel they have something to prove and who enjoy paying $150 dollars for a t-shirt. Seriously. This was in the Prada section – so I guess the shirt itself was about ten bucks, but I’m supposed to be convinced that the name “Prada” is worth an extra $140. And don’t even get me started about the supposed worth of the name “Manolo Blahnik.” (But if anyone ever feels the need to waste $300 dollars on a pair of flip flops, I can point you in the right direction…)

Needless to say, I did NOT make any purchases at the Neiman Marcus. But there are plenty of more reasonably-priced retail establishments in The Domain as well. So I may have bought one or two little things. Or three or four. (Hey, I spent less than I would’ve spent on those flip flops…) We ate dinner at the California Pizza Kitchen, which is a place I’ve heard about but never had a chance to visit. (This may be the first California Pizza Kitchen in Austin, too, I don’t know…) Mom and dad joined us, and, interestingly enough, none of us had pizza. They have all kinds of things other than pizza. (Although right NOW, I really wish I had a pizza… all this talk about pizza is reminding me about how hungry I am… where IS my pizza???)

Okay, the pizza FINALLY arrived. It only took two and a half hours. And after all that, they didn’t even get our payment correct – Rick paid by credit card online, but the delivery driver had no record of it. So we had to pay in cash (good thing we had some cash lying around…) and now we have to hope they didn’t charge the credit card AND take our cash. I guess this is why you should give new places a few months to work out all their issues before you patronize them…

Well, now that I’ve eaten, I seem to have run out of things to say. Unless anyone wants me to talk about pizza some more – anyone? Anyone want to hear more about pizza? Anyone? Pizza? No? Okay, no more pizza talk…

I have my horseshoe and four leaf clover ready...

There's a note on the Blogger home page about how I am now able to blog in Hindi... which is super, because I didn't even realize I KNEW Hindi... (but hey, how hard could it be? :))

So today was Friday the 13th – how did everyone fare? Any horrible bad luck? I took all the necessary precautions – I allowed a black cat to cross my path… walked under a ladder… opened an umbrella in my house… broke a few mirrors – you know, all the stuff you’re supposed to do to ward off bad luck. Wait – what? What’d you say? That’s supposed to BRING bad luck? Aw, darn…

Actually, the first bad luck of the day is starting right now – a thunderstorm is starting to roll through the city, and the downpour outside has managed to block the signal to my satellite TV. One of the drawbacks of satellite. Although it’s funny, because my satellite TV only cuts out during storms like this, but back when I had cable TV, it would cut out for absolutely no reason whatsoever. It would be clear and sunny and 75 degrees, and suddenly the cable would die. At least there’s always a logical explanation when the satellite signal disappears.

This morning, I had a sort of “Friday the 13th”-type moment when the power went out in my house for about two seconds. It wasn’t stormy yet, so I’m not sure why it happened. But that in itself wasn’t terribly creepy – the power just switched off for a few seconds, and then it came right back on, causing my phone to beep in annoyance and the microwave clock to flash “reset.” But a few minutes later, as I walked back toward my bedroom, I heard the chattering of voices. And when I walked into my bedroom, the television was on. Now, I’m sure this had something to do with the power outage – I guess when it came back on, the TV decided to reset itself or something. But it was still rather disconcerting – it was like a scene from Poltergeist. There was no one in the bedroom to turn on the television, and yet there it was, cheerily broadcasting to no one in particular. I switched it back off, and thankfully, it has managed to stay off…

Well, that storm wasn’t too bad. Certainly not bad enough for Rick to run into the living room and announce his intent to sequester the MDX in the garage. I guess I can’t blame him, though… after all, the first vehicle he ever purchased brand-new – a white Ford pickup truck with red pinstripes that he bought the day before he met me – was pummeled with softball-size hail not a year later. The windshield somehow escaped damage, but the rest of the truck was covered with random pockmarks. And Rick’s attempt to get the truck fixed were less-than-successful. The body shop managed to get rid of all the dents, but sloppily reapplied the red pinstripes (one side was straight, and the other side sloped downward) and stripped out the screws that held the fabric in place inside the truck. Rick would be driving along, and part of the cab’s ceiling would fall on his head. Rick, for those of you who don’t know him well, is not the most patient guy in the world. He’s also a bit of a perfectionist. So obviously the truck was deemed unacceptable, and it wasn’t long before a new truck called out to him…

Anyway, on a totally unrelated subject… my fantasy baseball offense is having its best night of the season so far, thanks to Carlos Lee of the Houston Astros. He hit three home runs tonight (one of them a grand slam), racked up 21 points for me, and I am now madly in love with him. Of course, by tomorrow, I may be gathering up his belongings, throwing them on the lawn, and telling him I never want to speak to him again. Fantasy baseball love is a fickle sort of love…

And since this has been a rather random post, here’s a random question – should I cut my bangs or let them grow out?

Hmmm… I think I’ll cut them…

Lost: orange tabby cat

Okay, Lost is starting to confuse the kumquats outta me. (Yeah, that’s right. Kumquats. Not mangoes, not apples, not strawberries, not even pomegranates. Kumquats.) I mean, it’s always been a bit confusing, but lately it seems even more so. It’s like every time they explain a little bit of what’s going on, they add a few more questions to make sure we keep tuning in every week. Yesterday’s episode was strange, because the flashbacks seemed to be trying to paint Juliet as some kind of innocent victim in the Others’ bizarre little game. And then at the end, we find out she’s STILL working with them. She has Jack completely convinced that she’s trustworthy (or DOES she? Wouldn’t it be great if we eventually discover that JACK is the one playing mind games?) and is apparently trying to gain the trust of everyone else in the camp. In last week’s episode, when Kate and Juliet were handcuffed together and Kate finally snapped, I was SO hoping she would totally kick Juliet’s butt. There’s something about Juliet that has really annoyed me since the first time she started popping up in episodes… I do NOT like her at all…

But at least now we know how the Others seem to know all about the castaways – Crazy Russian Guy had a whole audio-visual setup with links to the outside world, and apparently access to background checks on all the plane passengers. That’s all well and good, but it leaves me with a question – so the plane crash really WAS exactly what it appeared to be? A random plane crash? A plane that fell out of the sky from cruising altitude? And we’re still supposed to believe there were survivors? This whole time, I’ve been assuming there was SOME explanation for the fact that several dozen people survived a plane that fell 30-something thousand feet. I couldn’t really come up with a logical explanation myself, but I figured it was the writers’ job to figure that out. Even a NOT-so-logical explanation would do. I don’t know… maybe they’re saving it for some other time… maybe the island is really, really soft…

And speaking of things that are lost… my mom dropped by with some Seattle’s Best coffee this morning, and while I was standing in the driveway talking to her, a woman in a minivan stopped at the end of my driveway and motioned me over. It was a neighbor from a few houses down (not the one next door who hates my noisy dog…). She asked if I’d seen her orange tabby cat, who’d been missing for a month. And, interestingly enough, I HAVE seen an orange tabby hanging around my house the last few days. In fact, the first time I saw it was the day it was so cold and we were getting rain and sleet – that poor little cat was huddling under some bushes outside the house across the street. And yesterday, my mom and I noticed the same cat lounging around under the bushes in front of my own house. It was wearing a collar, so we tried to get close enough to see if there was a tag with a phone number or something, but the cat ran away before we could get too close. I’m sure it must’ve been my neighbor’s cat, so she gave me her phone number in case I happen to see the tabby hiding in my bushes again. But isn’t it strange, how the cat is so close to its home and can’t seem to find its way back? (I’m sure there’s a metaphor in there somewhere, but I won’t attempt to find it right now…)

When I was twelve we moved from Austin to Georgetown, which is a small town north of here (it’s much larger today than it was when I lived there, but still small by “city” standards). And for some reason, our house seemed to attract stray animals (or perhaps mom just never had the heart to turn them away :)). At one point, we had four dogs and four cats. The dogs pretty much stayed indoors, but the cats liked to be outside when they could. We never thought this was a bad idea, until one of the bratty, horrible little monster-children that lived next-door to us shot an arrow through one of our cats. The poor thing made it back to our garage, the arrow straight through its body, and our vet was kind enough to open his veterinary hospital late at night for an emergency visit. Somehow that arrow missed every major organ in the cat’s body, and after a bit of recovery, she was fine. She lived to a ripe old cat age, hopefully with no scary kitty flashbacks (I don’t think cats have very good memories…). And now, all I can think is that the boy who was cruel enough to shoot an arrow through our cat has grown into the kind of person who chops people up and keeps their body parts in his freezer. Seriously, if I could remember his name, I might call the FBI and provide them with an anonymous tip (um, you might want to check out so-and-so’s freezer… I don’t know, I just have a feeling…).

Hopefully the orange tabby will show up again some time soon, so it can happily return home. At least knowing the lost tabby was home would provide me with more closure than the Lost show has been dishing out lately…

Thanks for playing... now go home...

So last night I was watching this show called “Top Design” on Bravo. It’s like a competition for interior decorators. Each week, they’re given a project (design a child’s bedroom, design a hotel room, design a room using garage sale finds) and then each project is judged and someone is voted off the show. During a commercial break, Bravo ran an ad for their latest “competition” show, “Shear Genius.” This one will consist of a group of hairstylists, who will, no doubt, be given some sort of hairstyling challenge each week before one of them is voted off.

Seeing that ad made me realize that this whole “I wanna be a (fill-in-the-blank) and this show is my chance to get my foot in the door” genre has really gotten out of control. We’ve got American Idol, Project Runway, America’s Next Top Model, Top Chef, Top Design, and now this new Shear Genius show. I even saw part of a show a couple weeks ago where the owner of the Coyote Ugly bar was looking for a new Coyote Ugly girl, and she was having a competition to find one. The requirements pretty much consisted of being able to dance on a bar without falling off, and knowing how to make a vodka tonic (I can’t remember what goes into a vodka tonic! This is sooooo hard…). I could even throw Dancing With the Stars into the mix – which, while not a way for no-names to make names for themselves (although saying all the dancers are “stars” is a bit of a stretch…), is still the old “vote ‘em off” model.

It seems like every time I switch a channel I see one of these shows. We have singers, dancers, models, chefs, interior designers, bartenders and now – hairstylists? I think once you’ve reached the point where a haircut is the focal point of your show, you’ve pretty much run out of ideas. I’ve been to a styling salon… it isn’t exactly a hotbed of captivating excitement. I didn’t even like that movie “Edward Scissorhands” very much…

So I have to wonder what’s next. Who will the next “vote-off” show be voting off? Accountants? Lawyers? New York City pretzel cart vendors? How about “Beverly Hills’ Next Top Plastic Surgeon”? Every week, the wannabe plastic surgeons would be assigned people with big noses and flat chests, and they would transform them and parade them in front of the judges. And each week, someone’s plastic surgeon dreams would be shattered when they were asked to turn in their scalpel and go home.

I want to know when someone will create “America’s Next Top Writer.” Because c’mon – I could totally kick the butts of my competition. I’d be writing my way to the grand prize, and they’d all be writing their way into oblivion. Okay, maybe not. I may be slightly exaggerating my abilities… And anyway, I have to admit that a show about writing would be even less interesting than a show about haircuts. If, for instance, anyone were filming me right now (as Rick insists he does, with hidden cameras all over the house), they would simply see a girl standing at her computer, casually chewing gum and sporadically typing sentences… she occasionally hits “backspace” to delete a word or phrase, and now and then consults dictionary.com to check spelling or look for synonyms (even though she’s not sure she can trust dictionary.com anymore, what with the whole “comfortability” fiasco…). In other words – what I’m doing here does not make for compelling television programming…

But wait… I think I have an idea for a new show – America’s Next Top Chocolate Eater! Each week, contestants have to eat lots of chocolate. And for some reason, most of them get voted off. I’m not sure why. I haven’t worked out all the details yet. But there’s definitely chocolate, and I would definitely get to eat it. And the rest really isn’t all that important. Besides, people will watch ANYTHING if it’s on TV…

Is tomorrow really Easter?

I never should have pointed out the peculiarity of snow during an April Yankee game – apparently karma has decided to retaliate by cursing the normally-warm-in-the-spring south with Arctic air. It was about 37 degrees when I woke up this morning. It’s even been sleeting periodically throughout the day. It has managed to warm up to about 40, but still… 40??? This IS Texas, right? Was I transported to a northern state overnight? Where am I? Eric? Are you here? Is this Chicago? This global warming is just terrible… why oh why am I still driving an SUV? I need to reduce my carbon footprint ASAP, before I fry in the relentless, arid heat…

Anyway… in an effort to keep warm, I am sipping a cup of green Tazo tea that was included in a box of Cranberry Almond Crunch cereal I just finished. Yes, once you start eating “grown-up” cereal, the “prizes” are much less interesting. I could’ve bought a box of Fruit Loops and dug around until I found the super secret decoder ring, but no – I bought Cranberry Almond Crunch and was granted three free tea bags. I figure the next box I buy will have the free lace doilies…

I’m drinking “Zen,” which is “an enlightening blend of the finest green teas and rare herbs available in this world.” (Yes, but what about ANOTHER world? Pluto, perhaps? Are there better herbs available on Pluto?) The package says, “high in the Kunlun Mountains of China, monks spend days chanting and meditating in hopes of reaching complete enlightenment. Periodically they stop for a cup of tea quite like this.” Reading that just makes me really glad I’m not a Chinese monk. So all they do is mediate all day, and then “periodically” stop to drink tea? I’m not sure I could handle that much excitement in my life… I mean, my life is already so exciting, what with my breakfast cereal and my free tea and the ridiculously cold Texas springtime weather…

And Rick woke up this morning not feeling well, and eventually developed a 101 degree fever, which seemed so well-timed. It was like, “freezing cold weather = bout with the flu.” So now, as I once again listen to the clacking sound of sleet hitting the windows, I’m hoping my much-lauded super immunity will protect me from whatever germs are floating around my house. Basically, as far as Saturdays go, this one has been a bit of a let-down.

But it’s not as bad here as it is up near Buffalo in East Aurora, where my dad is visiting my grandfather for his birthday. He sent a bunch of pictures:



Main Street in East Aurora...

Uncle Lee and Aunt Carol in front of a coffee shop in town...

Driveway to Aunt Carol's house...

Aunt Carol's house...

So I guess we don't have it so bad here in Texas. Especially since it's supposed to be 83 degrees by Tuesday. Until then, I'll just keep drinking my Chinese monk tea...

Watch out for that scary bunny...

Well, not even a week into baseball season and I’m already regretting pitching decisions. Sigh… I think I’ll blame the unseasonable cold for Andy Pettitte’s performance last night. Toward the end of the game, I realized all the white stuff floating around in the air was NOT, in fact, left-over confetti from the last Yankee World Series Championship parade – it was SNOW. Now, if I’d been watching a football game, it wouldn’t have fazed me in the least to see icy flakes swirling around the floodlights and players bundled up in ski masks. But seeing as I was watching baseball, it was a bit disconcerting – after all, I tend to associate baseball with warmer weather. Baseball and snow seem to meet each other with a strange discordance that draws out all kinds of uncertainties – is it really April? Do I have the right channel? Is this a movie? Is that guy really on the team, or did he just rob a bank? If it doesn’t stop snowing, will “sliding into second” take on a whole new meaning?

And because of the crazy bad weather (yes, I insist on blaming the weather) Andy Pettitte only managed to scrounge up two points for me. I could’ve pitched and managed to get two points. Oh well. It was the cold. I’m sure it was just the cold. Everyone was thrown for a loop. Next time will be better…

My mom and I drove down to San Marcos yesterday, to meet my friend Mary and her mom – my mom and Mary’s mom are good friends, and Mary and I have been friends since we were twelve. She lives in San Antonio now and has a couple kids, so I don’t see her very often. But sometimes we’ll meet in San Marcos at the outlet mall, since it’s about halfway between Austin and San Antonio. Plus it gives us an excuse to buy stuff. I didn’t buy much yesterday, although I AM expecting a check soon for my proofreading work last month. (Why does it always seem to take them so long to pay me?) We went into a Pottery Barn outlet where they were selling Williams-Sonoma items (I wonder why they don’t have a Williams-Sonoma outlet?) and as I walked by a shelf full of cutting boards, I suddenly remembered that I’ve been looking for my long-lost cutting board since I moved into this house and it’s probably a lost cause by now. So I finally bought a cutting board. At last I have a cutting board! My days of chopping vegetables on paper towels and plates are finally over! Yeah, that’s probably not too exciting to most people…

On the drive home, we were surprised by how much traffic we were running into on I-35. It was only about 3 o’clock, and it wasn’t even Friday. But then we realized that today is Good Friday, and Easter is on Sunday, so maybe a lot of people were clocking out early for a long weekend. Driving through downtown reminded me of all the times I drove home from the law firm through bad traffic like that. And the day before a holiday weekend, everyone would leave early. Everyone except whoever was stuck answering the phones until 5:00. And that would usually be me. Once in a while one of the other girls who worked in office services would stay, but it seemed like I was usually the one chosen to stay late. What REALLY annoyed me was that neither of the two GUYS who worked with me were ever required to answer the phones. Ever. Um, I’m sorry, is it 1947? Because I’m pretty sure we’ve figured out that men are just as capable of answering phones as women. Stupid sexist law firm…

And what’s more, I’m just not GOOD at answering phones. I am so NOT a receptionist. I should never go NEAR a phone at anyone’s place of business. Not to mention the fact that apparently I sound really, uh, “nice” over the phone – because I’ve had more than one (or two or three or four) random strange men come on to me over the phone. Even when I was at work. Curiously, this never happens in person. So I can only assume that I don’t LOOK that great, but I sure do SOUND like I look great.

Easter itself reminds me of when I was a kid, when we’d get baskets on Easter morning filled with jelly beans and chocolate, presumably left for us by the “Easter Bunny.” Now, even as a child, I was able to assess the size and weight of my basket and conclude that a regular bunny – like the ones I saw in the pet store at the mall in little glass terrariums – would be unable to carry such a basket. No, the bunny who carried those Easter baskets would have to be a huge bunny… a freakishly huge bunny… possibly a bunny created by a mad scientist or some sort of nuclear accident. In other words – a very, very scary mutant bunny. I have a vague memory of sleeping in my bed one Easter eve, thinking about that scary mutant bunny who’d be bringing my basket, and suddenly hearing a “click, click, click” noise. I’m not sure when I realized it was the just the sound the heater made when it came on, but until that point, I was certain I was hearing the “hop, hop, hop” of a giant mutant bunny. And I suppose the “click” could’ve been made by, oh, say, tap shoes. (And when you’re talking about a giant mutant bunny, would it really be so weird if he brought tap shoes?) Seriously, the Easter bunny is scary…

But I wish that scary mutant bunny would still bring me chocolate once in a while…

I dream of...

Okay, I have a confession to make. I voted for Sanjaya after last night’s American Idol episode. That’s right. Sanjaya. Sanjaaaaayyyya. His name works best if you say it in a breathy whisper with jazz hands… go ahead. Try it. I’ll wait… Sanjaya! (jazz hands) See? Anyway, yeah, I voted for him… heehee… silly me. Actually, everyone did pretty well last night. And I quite enjoyed Sanjaya’s rendition of “Cheek to Cheek,” although he seemed to be channeling a used car salesman in his white suit with slicked-back hair (I much preferred last week’s “rooster-hawk” hairdo…). But he handled the song better than most 17 year-olds would be able to handle it. And as he cast what COULD be construed as “flirtatious” glances at the camera and danced with Paula Abdul, it became all the more apparent that American Idol is not always about which singer has the biggest lungs. Sometimes it’s just about who can make the crowd happy, and who can entice people to root for their underdog personalities. And I am SO rooting for Sanjaya right now. (Quiet people of the world, unite!)

So fantasy baseball season has begun, and after two days I’ve found myself in second place again. Which means absolutely nothing at this point. I just thought I would mention it. I just spent several minutes debating whether or not to play two of my pitchers – Matt Cain and Andy Pettitte – this afternoon. I finally decided on a no to Cain, and a yes to Pettitte. And now I discover the Yankee game has been postponed due to rain. So now I have NO pitchers playing today. Oh well… looks like that second place standing won’t last too long…

Anyway… moving on to other topics… I just finished a book I’ve been reading called “The Myth of You and Me.” It was, on the surface, about a friendship – not only its beginning, but also its end. Years after the demise of this relationship, our narrator is compelled to seek out her long-lost friend. Throughout her journey, the story of what happened between them is told in flashback. The deeper parts of the book focus on how the world is not always as black and white as we wish it could be. It’s not always about “right” and “wrong” or “good” and “bad.” At first glance, it may be simple to place blame – as it was for the narrator to place the blame for the end of her relationship solely on her ex-friend – but a more thorough understanding may reveal some of the “gray” areas that seem so fuzzy and out-of-focus and vague…

I liked the book, because it seemed to delve into the idea of looking at things from different points of view, and embraced the old adage about putting yourself in someone else’s shoes. If we only see things from OUR point of view, we may not comprehend the whole picture. We don’t always realize how much of an impact our actions have, or how the things we say might affect other people – or even how intertwined our lives are with the lives of so many others. All those little choices we make… each one subtly (or sometimes not-so-subtly) shapes who we are and what our lives are like – but they can also shape OTHER people’s lives, as well.

There was one line in the book that has stayed with me since I read it. Cameron, the main character in the story, is telling her friend that she considers herself a realist and not a romantic. And her friend replies with, “you’re not a realist… you’re a dreamer who doesn’t believe in the dream.” I found that line interesting, because it’s so easy for me to apply it to myself. I can’t say that I’m much of a romantic, and if someone asked, I’m sure I’d insist I was, in fact, a realist. But when I really think about myself, I’d have to say I DO tend to be a bit of a “dreamer” – I’m just a dreamer who doesn’t actually think most dreams come true. So what’s worse? Being a dreamer with a realist’s perspective, or being a dreamer with a romantic’s perspective? Is it better to dream with the assumption that your dreams will never come true (thereby preventing any sort of disappointment when they don’t)… or is it better to hold on to the belief that dreams DO come true, even if it results in heartbreak? (And can I still dream about coming in first in my fantasy baseball league?)

Well, I CAN dream… realistically, of course…

Perusing the produce aisle...

So last night I was trying to fall asleep, and I found myself in that strange in-between sort of consciousness – you know, when you’re not quite asleep, but not quite awake, either. In fact, if I hadn’t realized I was occupying this particular area of awareness, I’m certain I would’ve been well on my way to REM sleep. But last night, as I startled myself back to the cool darkness of my bedroom for no apparent reason whatsoever, I realized my mind had still been churning – still thinking, still forming thoughts… perhaps the beginnings of a dream were balanced on this fragile precipice between wakefulness and slumber. As I briefly opened my eyes and wondered why my mind chose that moment to snap into alertness, I realized there’d been two words passing between my synapses, borne on the surreptitious back of some random neurotransmitter:

Honeydew melon.

What? Honeydew melon?? This is what I’m thinking about as I drift off to sleep? I was so confused by this fact that I couldn’t STOP thinking about honeydew melon once I woke up. I patiently waited to be overcome with sleep once more, wondering if my dreams might be dotted with images of random fruits for the remainder of the night. But no… apparently “honeydew melon” was merely one of many, many thoughts rattling around in my brain. Fruit never even made an appearance in my nocturnal world. Neither did vegetables. But it made me wonder what my brain is doing, exactly, as I’m falling asleep. Why does it choose to wander to certain images? Why would it haphazardly point at a word or phrase that has nothing to do with my everyday life, and latch on to it just as I’m slipping into a state of unconsciousness? It’s as if, right before I fall asleep, my mind spins a giant wheel of unpredictability – whatever it lands on, that’s what I think of. And my mind’s wheel landed on honeydew melon last night…

But, like I said, I didn’t dream about fruit. I did, however, have a dream that I’d been sentenced to death for some sort of minor infraction. (Gee, seems like fruit would’ve been a lot less morose…) And I was quite adamant that my punishment was NOT befitting of whatever crime I had committed, and therefore I was planning on writing a long letter to a judge to explain why my life should be spared. Eventually, my lawyer (who was a curiously overweight yet highly sympathetic man) told me he’d found a loophole that should free me from any punishment. I was strangely calm throughout this entire dream, as if I knew I would eventually be cleared of any wrongdoing – or as if I had faith that someone would realize whatever I’d done wasn’t that bad at all. Someone would understand before it was too late…

It was a strange dream, and certainly miles away from honeydew melon. But I can pretty much pinpoint a reason I may have dreamt such a thing – I mean, just yesterday I was talking about how my dog is studying to be a lawyer. So it’s not so strange that I should have some sort of litigious dream. But it IS strange that I should fall asleep thinking about fruit, and wind up in a dream world where I’m an ill-fated, poorly-sentenced criminal. It’s interesting how seemingly random and nonsensical my brain can be. But it does make for unusual dreams. Never a dull moment inside this crazy cranium…

Does anyone else have a sudden craving for honeydew melon?

Shhh... my dog is trying to bark...

Happy Opening Day of Baseball! Of course, tomorrow is what I’m really looking forward to – the first Yankee game of the season. Baseball brings back memories of living in New Jersey… the trek to Yankee Stadium… the perilous walk pass Boss Tweed’s Pub in the Bronx… sidewalk vendors and ticket scalpers… noise and crowds and crazy energy… giant pretzels and knishes (gosh I miss those knishes)… a vast green field and a cloudless blue sky… and of course, the New York Yankees. Winning games. Always, always winning. (Okay, maybe not always…)

So Rick and I ran a whole bunch of errands today, including stopping by the mall to finally make use of some holiday gift cards we’ve been hoarding. Actually, Rick only had one gift card from this past Christmas, but I managed to find four Dillard’s gift cards lying around the house that I’d never used. Rick’s mom usually gets me one for my birthday and one for Christmas, so I guess that was two years’ worth of gift cards that I’d never used. So I was able to get a whole bunch of stuff that only cost me fifteen bucks total. That was fun…

On the way home, we had to stop by the vet to pick up some food for Echo. We’ve been feeding her this prescription dog food called “Canine j/d.” It’s made with fish oil (so it doesn’t smell too good… at least not to someone who hates fish… but the dog doesn’t seem to mind it…) and it’s supposed to be good for cartilage and joints. So it helps dogs with arthritis, like Echo. But I’m confused about the name – because even when I look at the bag, I can’t seem to find an explanation for what the “j/d” stands for. It just says Canine j/d. The only “jd” I know of is a juris doctor degree. So… is it food for dogs who are hoping to become lawyers? Are there canine crime crusaders out there, ready to fight for the rights of their fellow dogs? How long does a dog have to go to school to earn a canine juris doctor degree? Or, am I totally wrong about this food? Perhaps it’s as Rick suggested – it’s not food for dog lawyers, it’s food made FROM lawyers. It’s recycled lawyers. (Cue Charlton Heston…) It’s people. It’s peeeeeeople!! Canine j/d is peeeeople!! (But wait – that brings up the whole argument of whether or not lawyers are actually people… :))

And speaking of Echo… when we were on our way out this afternoon, we noticed a note taped to our garage door. It was from our next-door neighbor. He was asking if we could stop letting our dog out after 10 pm, because apparently his kids are extremely light sleepers with very thin bedroom walls, and when she barks it wakes them up. He went on to add, “and it takes them hours to get back to sleep.” (It takes your kids HOURS to get back to sleep?? Hmmm… ever heard of children’s Benadryl? Great stuff. Maybe you should look into it.) I was rather annoyed by this note, for several reasons. First, because I have a thirteen-year-old, deaf, arthritic dog who HAS to go outside now and then. And it doesn’t matter if it’s eight in the morning or midnight – if she wants to go out, I have to let her out. You can’t reason with a dog. She’s not going to understand if I explain to her why I’m not listening to her plaintive whining. Second, Echo is an inside dog – she spends very little time outside. When I let her out, she’s out there for five minutes tops – and then she runs right back to the door and wants to come in. It's not like she's out there barking for an hour. Third, she’s not even that loud from inside MY OWN house. She always goes outside and runs right to the corner of our house nearest the bedroom – which is as far away from our neighbor’s house as she can get. I was in the bedroom this afternoon when she was out there, and she barked a couple times and I noticed I could hardly hear her. If I was asleep in my bedroom, and Echo was directly outside the window barking, it wouldn’t wake me up. These houses have pretty decent insulation and double-paned windows. Outside noise usually isn’t that big an issue. (This is why I think our neighbor’s kids must be EXTREMELY light sleepers.) And fourth, our neighbor bought one of the smallest lots in this neighborhood and built the largest possible house on it – he built his house so close to ours that we can practically shake hands if we’re standing on our respective porches. And one of the things we immediately noticed when his house went up was that all the rain runoff from his house collected in OUR yard… after a good rain, we’d have a big puddle of standing water in our backyard for days. We just recently got so sick of it that we spent quite a bit of money to have a drain buried in our backyard to prevent the mosquito breeding ground from popping up again.

So Rick figures we have the perfect solution for this guy – we’ll stop letting our dog out after 10 o’clock as soon as our neighbor moves his house over about ten feet. That’ll work better for everyone – not only will we not get so much rain runoff, but he’ll be at a reasonable distance from our backyard and won’t hear the dog anymore. In the meantime, I think he needs to look into some white noise machines and a few sets of soundproofing drapes for the kids’ bedrooms.

And he’d better watch out, because MY dog is studying to be a lawyer…