The offspring are off from school this week; I don't know how I'll ever get to my writing. I did manage to clean and reorganize the linen closet, though. What a miracle.
I'm already losing sleep over Child Two's Communion party. It's not for a couple of weeks, and usually I'd be in full-on planning mode because there's nothing I love more than a party, but my mother is sick. It's dampened my enthusiasm. When Child One made her First Communion, Mom came to the store with us to help pick out the dress, and she helped me choose the flowers for the tables.
Yesterday we took her to the park in her wheelchair. The nurse's aide slipped out at 11:20 to attend 12:00 Mass two blocks away, so I was left to get Mom dressed. I have absolutely no training in lifting a person who can't help herself, but I managed it.
You couldn't ask for more beautiful weather, but it was tragic sitting on a bench watching my poor mother struggle to eat the stale sandwich my brother-in-law picked up at the supermarket (D'Agostino's on 1st and 53rd, if you'd like to avoid stale sandwiches). Ten months ago, Mom was driving my father and his empties to the bottle return at Stop & Shop.
On the way down to the park, I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror next to my parents' elevator. Even though I exercise regularly, my legs looked strange, narrow on the bottom and wide on top. I looked like a dreidel.
My sister later informed me that the cut of my jeans was passe, and that nobody is wearing them nipped at the ankle anymore. She also said I should wear jeans with a lower waist.
So I took the low-waist jeans I bought last year out of my drawer this morning and put them on. I suppose I do look better, even if I've been fighting carpenter's crack most of the day.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Friday, April 15, 2005
She Wouldn't Commit
So, S and F had been dating for nearly four years, and by all accounts, they were in love. People kept asking when they'd get married. They kept answering, "We're happy as we are."
Of course nobody believed this. They assumed F wouldn't commit because men never want to commit, or at least what the blurbs say on the magazines at the supermarket checkout.
Anyway, S and F blocked out the background noise and went on with life. They booked a trip to Hawaii -- for three weeks.
They were soaking up the sun, sucking up tropical drinks, when ol' F dropped to his knees and presented S with a ring. No thanks, she said (in the kindest way possible).
They went home and continued seeing each other every chance they got, until he appeared at her door one night to go to dinner. S said, "F, we have to talk."
"Okay," said F.
"We need to break up," she said.
He told her he loved her and wanted her to be happy. He sent her on her way. He went home and cried, and then he called his friends and ate dinner at their house. And cried.
This is the second story I've heard in recent weeks about a guy being dumped by a woman who didn't want to commit. Don't believe that men are always the villains, that they're heartless, and have no feelings.
They do.
Of course nobody believed this. They assumed F wouldn't commit because men never want to commit, or at least what the blurbs say on the magazines at the supermarket checkout.
Anyway, S and F blocked out the background noise and went on with life. They booked a trip to Hawaii -- for three weeks.
They were soaking up the sun, sucking up tropical drinks, when ol' F dropped to his knees and presented S with a ring. No thanks, she said (in the kindest way possible).
They went home and continued seeing each other every chance they got, until he appeared at her door one night to go to dinner. S said, "F, we have to talk."
"Okay," said F.
"We need to break up," she said.
He told her he loved her and wanted her to be happy. He sent her on her way. He went home and cried, and then he called his friends and ate dinner at their house. And cried.
This is the second story I've heard in recent weeks about a guy being dumped by a woman who didn't want to commit. Don't believe that men are always the villains, that they're heartless, and have no feelings.
They do.
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
24 Hour Party Person
Rented 24 Hour Party People last night and loved it. I'm stuck in the Eighties musically, so it was right up my alley. I'd never seen Steve Coogan before, although my friend in Manchester, England tried to send me some of his videos a couple of years ago, but they somehow ended up erased in transit. Steve Coogan is highly attractive.
The movie, based on the experiences of New Order manager Tony Wilson, takes place in Manchester. I'm interested in Manchester because my mother's family parked themselves there for a generation or two on their way to New York from Ireland. The New York Times claims it's a great place to visit. Good nightlife, supposedly, and I'm definitely a creature of the night.
24 Hour featured a scene where Tony (named for St. Anthony of Padua) accepts oral activity from a hooker in the back of a van and his wife busts him. She turns around and bangs some guy in a restroom. I suspect that's how Hillary Clinton got through the Lewinsky ordeal, but I'm just speculating.
Speaking of the Clintons, Bill did an interview with Katie Couric the other morning. Man, I miss Bill Clinton.
The movie, based on the experiences of New Order manager Tony Wilson, takes place in Manchester. I'm interested in Manchester because my mother's family parked themselves there for a generation or two on their way to New York from Ireland. The New York Times claims it's a great place to visit. Good nightlife, supposedly, and I'm definitely a creature of the night.
24 Hour featured a scene where Tony (named for St. Anthony of Padua) accepts oral activity from a hooker in the back of a van and his wife busts him. She turns around and bangs some guy in a restroom. I suspect that's how Hillary Clinton got through the Lewinsky ordeal, but I'm just speculating.
Speaking of the Clintons, Bill did an interview with Katie Couric the other morning. Man, I miss Bill Clinton.
Monday, April 11, 2005
Single Guys Destined for Loneliness
My brother and I were walking along First Avenue on Saturday, when along came these two nebbishy-looking guys.
The little guy, swinging his coffee cup, remarked to the other one, "Yeah, but you gotta remember, women are like children."
Poor bastards will never get laid.
The little guy, swinging his coffee cup, remarked to the other one, "Yeah, but you gotta remember, women are like children."
Poor bastards will never get laid.
Friday, April 08, 2005
Single Woman's Nightmare
Last night we watched Bridget Jones and the Edge of Reason. It would be more accurate to say we cringed through it. I don't even know where to begin, it was so horrible. Peter and I enjoyed the first one, so much that we used to stop to watch it whenever we discovered it while flipping around with the remote.
But this thing: Terrible! The first one managed to be funny and clever and made a few good points. It also entertained. This one, The Edge of Reason, was utterly desperate in its attempt to be funny and clever, and it made no good points. The subtext is, Girls, if you're not married, you're a loser. Poor Bridget even envisions her tombstone: "Bridget Jones, Spinster."
Being an unmarried woman in the real world carries a stigma only to the uneducated and ignorant. Renee Zellweger is unmarried, as are Marisa Tomei, Laura Linney, Nicole Kidman, and Angelina Jolie. Some women like being single. But in movies, the single female is a complete loser.
As for the performances, Zellweger, despite the weight she'd put on for the role both times, was more attractive in the first installment. Seemed smarter, too. This time, her Bridget came off cloying and desperate. Peter couldn't stand the pain and left the room. But I couldn't stop watching it, even as I clutched my stomach in revulsion for two hours.
The fetching Colin Firth (who unfetched me as the selfish bastard in Girl with a Pearl Earring) fetched again, although Sir Lawrence Olivier wouldn't convince me that a character like Mark Darcy would stay enamored of this pathetic broad. You'd think he'd want to take a long bath.
Hugh Grant let his face bronzer do the acting for him. I had a strong feeling he appeared on set and told the director, "This'll only take a minute. Make sure somebody's cutting my check."
But this thing: Terrible! The first one managed to be funny and clever and made a few good points. It also entertained. This one, The Edge of Reason, was utterly desperate in its attempt to be funny and clever, and it made no good points. The subtext is, Girls, if you're not married, you're a loser. Poor Bridget even envisions her tombstone: "Bridget Jones, Spinster."
Being an unmarried woman in the real world carries a stigma only to the uneducated and ignorant. Renee Zellweger is unmarried, as are Marisa Tomei, Laura Linney, Nicole Kidman, and Angelina Jolie. Some women like being single. But in movies, the single female is a complete loser.
As for the performances, Zellweger, despite the weight she'd put on for the role both times, was more attractive in the first installment. Seemed smarter, too. This time, her Bridget came off cloying and desperate. Peter couldn't stand the pain and left the room. But I couldn't stop watching it, even as I clutched my stomach in revulsion for two hours.
The fetching Colin Firth (who unfetched me as the selfish bastard in Girl with a Pearl Earring) fetched again, although Sir Lawrence Olivier wouldn't convince me that a character like Mark Darcy would stay enamored of this pathetic broad. You'd think he'd want to take a long bath.
Hugh Grant let his face bronzer do the acting for him. I had a strong feeling he appeared on set and told the director, "This'll only take a minute. Make sure somebody's cutting my check."
Thursday, April 07, 2005
Dating and the Pope
Just sent out the dating tips newsletter. It's always a relief to have that done. Spent the morning with Val, solving the world's problems over coffee at the Huntington Street Cafe. They played a lot of Dead in there this morning, which was a good thing. I can deal with the Dead at 9:30 in the morning.
Didn't get much revision done on the novel today. It's been a slow week for novel revision, actually. Had to do a major virus scan yesterday, which took two hours, and then I had to print the invitations for Child 2's First Communion party. It took forever to find a typeface that conveyed "this is a serious occasion, but let's not take it too seriously." If I used a cursive font, I feared I'd end up with people coming in suits. I'm hoping for collared-shirts and chinos.
So, the Pope has been dead for nearly a week now, and the pilgrims keep coming. I feel sorry for Jimmy Carter that he was shut out of the events. The Pope opposed the War in Iraq, yet the Vatican waved those war-monging Bushes in. The peace-loving Carter, a champion of the poor, was turned away at the gate. I do not get it.
And what is wrong with me that all I can think about is how hot the Pope was as a young guy. What a waste!
I won't cook tonight; I've dispatched the husband to get a pizza.
Didn't get much revision done on the novel today. It's been a slow week for novel revision, actually. Had to do a major virus scan yesterday, which took two hours, and then I had to print the invitations for Child 2's First Communion party. It took forever to find a typeface that conveyed "this is a serious occasion, but let's not take it too seriously." If I used a cursive font, I feared I'd end up with people coming in suits. I'm hoping for collared-shirts and chinos.
So, the Pope has been dead for nearly a week now, and the pilgrims keep coming. I feel sorry for Jimmy Carter that he was shut out of the events. The Pope opposed the War in Iraq, yet the Vatican waved those war-monging Bushes in. The peace-loving Carter, a champion of the poor, was turned away at the gate. I do not get it.
And what is wrong with me that all I can think about is how hot the Pope was as a young guy. What a waste!
I won't cook tonight; I've dispatched the husband to get a pizza.
Monday, April 04, 2005
Et Tu, Girl Scouts of America?
My Boy Scout of a husband bought four boxes of Girl Scout cookies, only to discover upon delivery that they are riddled with partially hydrogenated oil! Are the little green gremlins out to kill us?
Fie on you, Girl Scouts of America! Next year, peddle your confections elsewhere. We'll not open our door to the likes of you!
Fie on you, Girl Scouts of America! Next year, peddle your confections elsewhere. We'll not open our door to the likes of you!
Are Camilla and Charles Jinxed?
According to the late Princess Diana's friend, Andrew Morton, they are. He cites the Queen's refusal to attend the wedding, the mix-up over whether Camilla will be made Princess of Wales, and now the Pope's funeral, which is scheduled to take place on Friday, the same day as the royal wedding.
I don't know whether to feel sorry for Charles or to hate him. He was a 32-year-old man when he allowed himself to be pressed into marrying a girl he didn't love. He made her miserable every day of her short life.
On the other hand, in an age when celebrity couples like Donald and Melania and Catherine and Michael are prevalent, it's heartening to see an old coot like Charles marry an old coot like Camilla.
I don't know whether to feel sorry for Charles or to hate him. He was a 32-year-old man when he allowed himself to be pressed into marrying a girl he didn't love. He made her miserable every day of her short life.
On the other hand, in an age when celebrity couples like Donald and Melania and Catherine and Michael are prevalent, it's heartening to see an old coot like Charles marry an old coot like Camilla.
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Sex and the City: Wrong About Dating
"I don't want to have sex for the sake of having sex. I'm looking for an emotional connection."
Okay, who said it? A lovelorn woman who can't find the right guy?
Nope. It was a guy -- a physically fit, blond, educated, good-looking, well-employed straight guy who happens to own a co-op in Manhattan. He told me this last night and, no, he wasn't hitting on me. I'm married, for one thing, and I've known this man most of my life.
So much for the crap they're selling on Sex and the City, eh?
In recent weeks, I've read reviews of the recent crop of dating manuals, whose authors seem to agree that men and women are different species. Some of the authors purport that men are little more than sex-crazed animals who must be manipulated.
Maureen Dowd (and I usually love Maureen Dowd; she's my favorite thing in The New York Times) published a column about how XYs are a lower life form than XXs and quoted some guy (I don't remember his name) who also claims that we are different species.
Get over it! Men are not from Mars. Women are not from Venus.
You want to succeed at dating? You want to achieve a fun, healthy, angst-free relationship? You want to get married?
Stop treating people of the opposite sex like science experiments. Treat a person as you would have him or her treat you. If the schmuck doesn't treat you as you would treat him or her, hit the highway. Don't try to to force a circle into a square. Move on, Darling.
Dear Abby used to publish a column (or perhaps it was her sister, Ann Landers) that started with "Love is friendship that has caught fire..."
Go for the friendship first. Then worry about the fire.
Okay, who said it? A lovelorn woman who can't find the right guy?
Nope. It was a guy -- a physically fit, blond, educated, good-looking, well-employed straight guy who happens to own a co-op in Manhattan. He told me this last night and, no, he wasn't hitting on me. I'm married, for one thing, and I've known this man most of my life.
So much for the crap they're selling on Sex and the City, eh?
In recent weeks, I've read reviews of the recent crop of dating manuals, whose authors seem to agree that men and women are different species. Some of the authors purport that men are little more than sex-crazed animals who must be manipulated.
Maureen Dowd (and I usually love Maureen Dowd; she's my favorite thing in The New York Times) published a column about how XYs are a lower life form than XXs and quoted some guy (I don't remember his name) who also claims that we are different species.
Get over it! Men are not from Mars. Women are not from Venus.
You want to succeed at dating? You want to achieve a fun, healthy, angst-free relationship? You want to get married?
Stop treating people of the opposite sex like science experiments. Treat a person as you would have him or her treat you. If the schmuck doesn't treat you as you would treat him or her, hit the highway. Don't try to to force a circle into a square. Move on, Darling.
Dear Abby used to publish a column (or perhaps it was her sister, Ann Landers) that started with "Love is friendship that has caught fire..."
Go for the friendship first. Then worry about the fire.
Saturday, April 02, 2005
Online Dating Success!
I get frequently get letters asking me what I think of online dating. People, especially women, wonder if they're going to meet a lot of jokers that way. My feeling is, you can meet a joker anywhere; since online dating deepens your pool of prospective new friends, you're definitely likely to meet more of them.
But that's no reason not to go for it. If you're stuck in an office all day with the same suits walking in and out, you must expand your horizons. Online dating is the way to do it.
Does it work?
Hell, yeah. I hear stories all the time about married couples who met via online dating (and not just in those eHarmony ads, either). Case in point: The engagement announcement in this week's New York Observer of Entertainment Weekly writer Kristen Baldwin to the very fetching Joe Holmgren, a -- wait for it, Girls -- psychiatry resident at The NYU School of Medicine. Kristen and Joe met through match.com.
But you'll never meet the guy or girl of your dreams when you're still smarting over a lost love, so head to marrysmart for my take on what to do when you've been dumped.
But that's no reason not to go for it. If you're stuck in an office all day with the same suits walking in and out, you must expand your horizons. Online dating is the way to do it.
Does it work?
Hell, yeah. I hear stories all the time about married couples who met via online dating (and not just in those eHarmony ads, either). Case in point: The engagement announcement in this week's New York Observer of Entertainment Weekly writer Kristen Baldwin to the very fetching Joe Holmgren, a -- wait for it, Girls -- psychiatry resident at The NYU School of Medicine. Kristen and Joe met through match.com.
But you'll never meet the guy or girl of your dreams when you're still smarting over a lost love, so head to marrysmart for my take on what to do when you've been dumped.
Friday, April 01, 2005
Putting Neighborhood Pigs on Notice
It's time for you to get the ancient metal chairs off your lawn and move the trailer and six minivans from your driveway. You are ruining the freaking neighborhood.
In case you didn't notice, other inhabitants of the area whisk their empty trash cans back into the garage; they don't leave them rolling around the street for the citizenry to dodge whenever a good wind picks up. They resist propping old mattresses along the curb for pick-up on Saturday evening when it isn't scheduled until Thursday.
Did it ever strike you, as you are driving toward your house in one of your numerous beat-up vehicles, how everybody else's yard is cared-for, while yours looks like the county dump? And what the hell is the purpose of those electric blue tarps that have been lying along the side of your house since August?
In case you didn't notice, other inhabitants of the area whisk their empty trash cans back into the garage; they don't leave them rolling around the street for the citizenry to dodge whenever a good wind picks up. They resist propping old mattresses along the curb for pick-up on Saturday evening when it isn't scheduled until Thursday.
Did it ever strike you, as you are driving toward your house in one of your numerous beat-up vehicles, how everybody else's yard is cared-for, while yours looks like the county dump? And what the hell is the purpose of those electric blue tarps that have been lying along the side of your house since August?
Monday, March 28, 2005
Easter Freak-Out
I spent Saturday night at Mom and Dad's, as usual. Mom and I were watching Today yesterday morning while I waited to use the shower, and she asked me if I thought Campbell Brown was pretty. Then she contracted into a ball and launched into a wild seizure.
She'd had seizures before, and the protocol is to just let them run their course. If an episode lasts longer than five minutes, we're to call 911. But Dad had seen her previous seizures. To him, this one looked like a stroke. Her mouth had caved in, her limbs were twisted. She was making noises that would haunt me in my sleep.
I called 911, and the EMTs arrived at the door in, like, four minutes. No kidding. They were both so nice I felt sorry for them having to talk to me and my unbrushed teeth. Since I'd witnessed the seizure, I had to take the ambulance with them to the hospital. I jumped into the clothes I had on the day before and headed off, teeth still unbrushed. Thank goodness for Altoids.
Several hours at the hospital, along with blood work and a CT-Scan, revealed that my mother had indeed had a seizure (the EMTs had also suspected a stroke), and we were able to go back to my parents' for Easter dinner, where my siblings, husband, offspring, niece and nephews gathered.
We managed to have a good time, and the meal we threw together at the last minute worked out well, too (thank God for spiral-cut ham). Had to forgo the potatoes, though.
It was my sister's 40th birthday. She was completely freaked out about the seizure. I lay awake last night staring at my bedroom ceiling for hours. Didn't have the strength to pick up a paperback and read the way I usually do when I'm anxious.
I did make it to Mass yesterday, though. I thought for sure I wouldn't, but while we were hanging around the hospital, an announcement came over the PA system that a Catholic Mass would be held at 11:15 in the chapel. It worked out well because the nurse came to take my mother for her CT-Scan at about the same time.
My favorite part of the day? When Mom came out of the seizure, and the EMT worker said, "Hello, Ellen. How are you?"
My mother smiled at her and replied, "I'm fine, thank you. And how are you?"
She'd had seizures before, and the protocol is to just let them run their course. If an episode lasts longer than five minutes, we're to call 911. But Dad had seen her previous seizures. To him, this one looked like a stroke. Her mouth had caved in, her limbs were twisted. She was making noises that would haunt me in my sleep.
I called 911, and the EMTs arrived at the door in, like, four minutes. No kidding. They were both so nice I felt sorry for them having to talk to me and my unbrushed teeth. Since I'd witnessed the seizure, I had to take the ambulance with them to the hospital. I jumped into the clothes I had on the day before and headed off, teeth still unbrushed. Thank goodness for Altoids.
Several hours at the hospital, along with blood work and a CT-Scan, revealed that my mother had indeed had a seizure (the EMTs had also suspected a stroke), and we were able to go back to my parents' for Easter dinner, where my siblings, husband, offspring, niece and nephews gathered.
We managed to have a good time, and the meal we threw together at the last minute worked out well, too (thank God for spiral-cut ham). Had to forgo the potatoes, though.
It was my sister's 40th birthday. She was completely freaked out about the seizure. I lay awake last night staring at my bedroom ceiling for hours. Didn't have the strength to pick up a paperback and read the way I usually do when I'm anxious.
I did make it to Mass yesterday, though. I thought for sure I wouldn't, but while we were hanging around the hospital, an announcement came over the PA system that a Catholic Mass would be held at 11:15 in the chapel. It worked out well because the nurse came to take my mother for her CT-Scan at about the same time.
My favorite part of the day? When Mom came out of the seizure, and the EMT worker said, "Hello, Ellen. How are you?"
My mother smiled at her and replied, "I'm fine, thank you. And how are you?"
Friday, March 25, 2005
Confessions of a Bad Catholic
The offspring were off today for Good Friday. I took them for piano lessons, and then we went to Blockbuster to rent the SpongeBob movie. Came home, made popcorn, and was subjected to the SpongeBob movie three times. The kiddies just couldn't get enough of the scene with David Hasselhoff.
Went out for dinner to El Torero in Milford, our favorite Mexican restaurant. I don't think we've been there since Mother's Day. Afterwards, we went to Costco, which I found depressing. All those people milling around for good deals on stuff they don't even want.
All I wanted was a can of coffee and dinner rolls, but all the dinner rolls were riddled with partially hydrogenated oils, as were the cookies and dessert. Dragged disappointed offspring over to the optical department, where I found a flattering pair of frames. Will have to go back and buy them when the doctor is in to give me an exam.
Peter found a solar-powered lamppost and wants to give it to me for Easter. I have been pleading for a lamppost for my birthday for two years now but kept getting gift certificates for full-body massages and facials. This year, he seems to have gotten the picture, except my birthday is not on Easter.
After Costco, we went to Trader Joe's, the Talbot's outlet, and the liquor store. I never want to go shopping again.
Tomorrow I'm off to Manhattan. I called Dad today, and he was at church, so I'm not sure what time to show up. I called my sister, and she was at church. We, however, were watching SpongeBob.
I just realized that I had beef in my burrito tonight. I don't ordinarily even eat beef, but I had a craving for it.
I am a miserable Catholic.
Went out for dinner to El Torero in Milford, our favorite Mexican restaurant. I don't think we've been there since Mother's Day. Afterwards, we went to Costco, which I found depressing. All those people milling around for good deals on stuff they don't even want.
All I wanted was a can of coffee and dinner rolls, but all the dinner rolls were riddled with partially hydrogenated oils, as were the cookies and dessert. Dragged disappointed offspring over to the optical department, where I found a flattering pair of frames. Will have to go back and buy them when the doctor is in to give me an exam.
Peter found a solar-powered lamppost and wants to give it to me for Easter. I have been pleading for a lamppost for my birthday for two years now but kept getting gift certificates for full-body massages and facials. This year, he seems to have gotten the picture, except my birthday is not on Easter.
After Costco, we went to Trader Joe's, the Talbot's outlet, and the liquor store. I never want to go shopping again.
Tomorrow I'm off to Manhattan. I called Dad today, and he was at church, so I'm not sure what time to show up. I called my sister, and she was at church. We, however, were watching SpongeBob.
I just realized that I had beef in my burrito tonight. I don't ordinarily even eat beef, but I had a craving for it.
I am a miserable Catholic.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Stop Calling Me
This is for the annoying individual (you know who you are) who persists in phoning me to bitch for lengthy periods about:
-Women at your kid's preschool who throw birthday parties at times you find inconvenient
-your sister-in-law and how she talks behind other people's backs
-how you are not as rich as everyone thinks
-how you do more work, spend more money, and throw more parties than everybody you know, and that nobody appreciates it
-the people next door and their new granite countertops
-that the woman across the street does not take her children out to play enough
-that your husband's sole purpose in life is to smoke pot and watch TV.
My usual method for dealing with you is to check my caller ID and screen your call. Of course, then I'm subjected to the guilt-inducing message you invariably leave on my machine.
Today, however, the offspring were home from school. They picked up the phone, and I got stuck listening to you. This necessitated the use of Plan B: I launched into a filabuster about how evil food manufacturers are killing us by slipping deadly trans fats into so-called "healthy snacks" like Kellogg's Nutri-Grain bars.
Got you off the phone in no time.
-Women at your kid's preschool who throw birthday parties at times you find inconvenient
-your sister-in-law and how she talks behind other people's backs
-how you are not as rich as everyone thinks
-how you do more work, spend more money, and throw more parties than everybody you know, and that nobody appreciates it
-the people next door and their new granite countertops
-that the woman across the street does not take her children out to play enough
-that your husband's sole purpose in life is to smoke pot and watch TV.
My usual method for dealing with you is to check my caller ID and screen your call. Of course, then I'm subjected to the guilt-inducing message you invariably leave on my machine.
Today, however, the offspring were home from school. They picked up the phone, and I got stuck listening to you. This necessitated the use of Plan B: I launched into a filabuster about how evil food manufacturers are killing us by slipping deadly trans fats into so-called "healthy snacks" like Kellogg's Nutri-Grain bars.
Got you off the phone in no time.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Some Days You Want to Scream
Had a reasonably frustrating time revising the novel today, but did manage to write a query I plan to send to a national magazine. Wish me luck on that, will you?
I was just about to watch a rerun of last night's The Daily Show at 10 this morning, but Sibling One called. We were on the phone for over an hour, which pretty much torpedoed my day. Will have to watch the 7PM rerun of TDS, then. Can't miss it because Lewis Black will be on, and the only reason I subscribe to cable is to watch Lewis Black on The Daily Show.
I tried to watch The Shield last night, but I can't stay up past ten o'clock, especially when school is in session. I'm up at 6:30 with the offspring, which is completely contrary to my nature. If I had my way, I wouldn't get up until 10, which is what I do when the children are on vacation. I have no trouble at all staying up until 3 AM then.
The offspring are driving me crazy today. Child Two takes two baths a day, yet always looks like she just rolled out of a trash can. Her piano books are all over the living room floor. I refuse to move them. Child One is forever pushing the smaller one around, resulting in the latter's sudden skull-shattering shrieks.
There are days when I want to send them to bed as soon as they come home from school. This would be one of them.
I was just about to watch a rerun of last night's The Daily Show at 10 this morning, but Sibling One called. We were on the phone for over an hour, which pretty much torpedoed my day. Will have to watch the 7PM rerun of TDS, then. Can't miss it because Lewis Black will be on, and the only reason I subscribe to cable is to watch Lewis Black on The Daily Show.
I tried to watch The Shield last night, but I can't stay up past ten o'clock, especially when school is in session. I'm up at 6:30 with the offspring, which is completely contrary to my nature. If I had my way, I wouldn't get up until 10, which is what I do when the children are on vacation. I have no trouble at all staying up until 3 AM then.
The offspring are driving me crazy today. Child Two takes two baths a day, yet always looks like she just rolled out of a trash can. Her piano books are all over the living room floor. I refuse to move them. Child One is forever pushing the smaller one around, resulting in the latter's sudden skull-shattering shrieks.
There are days when I want to send them to bed as soon as they come home from school. This would be one of them.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Box Tops for Cancer
Yeah, I'm happy today. U2 is spinning in the background. I just love U2, even if they did run on too long at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame thingie. After ten minutes of listening to Bono pontificate, I thought I was at Mass.
I don't understand why Chrissie Hynde was the only woman inducted this year. It took Joni Mitchell a million years to get inducted, but she finally did after years of watching poseurs like Rod Stewart get waved right through the gate.
Got lots of writing done today. Continued revision of novel, sent out newsletter, helped offspring pen essay about the importance of eating healthily and exercising regularly. The kid is freaked out about the prevalence of partially hydrogenated oils in so-called healthy foods (Kellogg's Nutri-Grain Bars) and spelled out their dangers (they contribute to heart disease, cancer, and multiple sclerosis).
But she didn't take down General Mills' Box Tops for Education program, in which schools are offered monetary rewards in exchange for pressing their students' parents to buy tons of junk (like Pillsbury Crescent Rolls and Betty Crocker cake mixes), which are loaded with not only partially hydrogenated oils but also high fructose corn syrup, which has been blamed for the burgeoning obesity problem in this country.
Fie on The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame! Fie on Box Tops for Education!
I don't understand why Chrissie Hynde was the only woman inducted this year. It took Joni Mitchell a million years to get inducted, but she finally did after years of watching poseurs like Rod Stewart get waved right through the gate.
Got lots of writing done today. Continued revision of novel, sent out newsletter, helped offspring pen essay about the importance of eating healthily and exercising regularly. The kid is freaked out about the prevalence of partially hydrogenated oils in so-called healthy foods (Kellogg's Nutri-Grain Bars) and spelled out their dangers (they contribute to heart disease, cancer, and multiple sclerosis).
But she didn't take down General Mills' Box Tops for Education program, in which schools are offered monetary rewards in exchange for pressing their students' parents to buy tons of junk (like Pillsbury Crescent Rolls and Betty Crocker cake mixes), which are loaded with not only partially hydrogenated oils but also high fructose corn syrup, which has been blamed for the burgeoning obesity problem in this country.
Fie on The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame! Fie on Box Tops for Education!
Monday, March 21, 2005
Lifestyles of the Drunk and Stupid
I visited Mom twice since Thursday, which was St. Patrick's Day. On my way to Grand Central Station to get the train home, I dodged weaving drunks all over Second Avenue. And no, they weren't Irish. They were middle-aged idiots of various ethnicities who called in sick from work to drink and paint themselves green.
On the train, a group of well-dressed businessmen hung out by the doors, drinking Coors Light. I really hate to see anyone drink Coors Light, especially a man. Put it this way, I wouldn't date a guy with such weeny taste in beer. Anyway, by the time we hit Greenwich, these lightweights were drunk on the stuff, if that's possible, getting loud and daring each other to do sit-ups. One fool went for it, while the rest of them stood around swinging their Silver Bullets and counting: "28, 29, 30...I can't believe it! Even his bald spot is turning red!"
The hooples got off at Fairfield, I think. When I got off the train at Bridgeport, I discovered they'd left every single beer can on the floor, along with bags of half-eaten bagels from Zaro's.
Trust me, Girls: If a guy litters, he's not for you. You'll be cleaning up after him for the rest of your life. And if he drinks Coors Light, he's a poseur and a lightweight.
Hey, I just got a tip idea for my newsletter! Want it? Go to http:///www.marrysmart.com
On the train, a group of well-dressed businessmen hung out by the doors, drinking Coors Light. I really hate to see anyone drink Coors Light, especially a man. Put it this way, I wouldn't date a guy with such weeny taste in beer. Anyway, by the time we hit Greenwich, these lightweights were drunk on the stuff, if that's possible, getting loud and daring each other to do sit-ups. One fool went for it, while the rest of them stood around swinging their Silver Bullets and counting: "28, 29, 30...I can't believe it! Even his bald spot is turning red!"
The hooples got off at Fairfield, I think. When I got off the train at Bridgeport, I discovered they'd left every single beer can on the floor, along with bags of half-eaten bagels from Zaro's.
Trust me, Girls: If a guy litters, he's not for you. You'll be cleaning up after him for the rest of your life. And if he drinks Coors Light, he's a poseur and a lightweight.
Hey, I just got a tip idea for my newsletter! Want it? Go to http:///www.marrysmart.com
Monday, March 14, 2005
Brushes with Not-Quite Greatness: Matt Lauer and Raoul Felder
I'm not the kind of person who spots celebrities. My sister routinely runs into people like Billy Joel on the streets of Manhattan. She's seen Uma Thurman, and she used to spot John Kennedy Jr. on almost weekly basis when he was alive.
Until Sunday, the only famous people I ever saw in the flesh were Heather Matarazzo (of The Princess Diaries fame) and Conrad Baines from that show with Gary Coleman, Dana Plato and Todd Bridges (that's his name, right?).
But, walking down Third Avenue after my nephew's baptism at St. Vincent Ferrer on Sunday, my brother spotted Matt Lauer and his wife, Annette Roche, pushing a stroller alongside us. I would have walked right past the guy. He looked pleasant enough--but remarkably average.
Later, after the christening party, my cousins and I waited for the elevator of my parents' building to visit my mother. Who stepped out of said elevator as we hopped in but divorce attorney-to the-stars, Raoul Felder, seen recently on Extra or Access Hollywood weighing in on the Denise Richards/Charlie Sheen split. Not quite as pleasant-looking as Matt, the dude resembled a bald bear in what appeared to be (I hate to stare) a giant fur coat. I guess Raoul doesn't like the cold.
Revising this novel is taking longer than I thought it would because I just can't stop tinkering with it. I'm supposed to be just typing changes, but I keep finding things to improve.
Until Sunday, the only famous people I ever saw in the flesh were Heather Matarazzo (of The Princess Diaries fame) and Conrad Baines from that show with Gary Coleman, Dana Plato and Todd Bridges (that's his name, right?).
But, walking down Third Avenue after my nephew's baptism at St. Vincent Ferrer on Sunday, my brother spotted Matt Lauer and his wife, Annette Roche, pushing a stroller alongside us. I would have walked right past the guy. He looked pleasant enough--but remarkably average.
Later, after the christening party, my cousins and I waited for the elevator of my parents' building to visit my mother. Who stepped out of said elevator as we hopped in but divorce attorney-to the-stars, Raoul Felder, seen recently on Extra or Access Hollywood weighing in on the Denise Richards/Charlie Sheen split. Not quite as pleasant-looking as Matt, the dude resembled a bald bear in what appeared to be (I hate to stare) a giant fur coat. I guess Raoul doesn't like the cold.
Revising this novel is taking longer than I thought it would because I just can't stop tinkering with it. I'm supposed to be just typing changes, but I keep finding things to improve.
Friday, March 11, 2005
Nudity and the PTA
Last night, Peter and I went to see Hair at the Bridgeport Cabaret Theater. Seeing the silhouettes of those singing naked people made me feel better about my own body.
The PTA bought up all the tickets for a fundraiser (the president wished to avoid another gift wrap sale), and, at $35 per, it was almost sold out. On the way home, there was speculation that the nudity offended the senior citizens in the crowd. The scene was dimly lit so I couldn't see much, but the old lady seated below the lead character's penis saw considerably more.
The PTA bought up all the tickets for a fundraiser (the president wished to avoid another gift wrap sale), and, at $35 per, it was almost sold out. On the way home, there was speculation that the nudity offended the senior citizens in the crowd. The scene was dimly lit so I couldn't see much, but the old lady seated below the lead character's penis saw considerably more.
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