Randomania!

Who wants to go to my hour and a half long dentist appointment for me today?

No one? Really?

Ok, well, does anyone want to pay the ridiculous $417 it's going to cost to get my cracked tooth repaired?

Still no one? You're all bastards. The lot of ya.
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I'm so excited for the symphony concert on Saturday. Man, I love me some alto flute. And I love me some alto flute big-honking-exposed-solo-cadenza too! I don't think I'll ever understand those who play and think of it as work.
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Some of you have already seen this, but it just cracks me up to no end.

So right before Saturday's wedding gig, I go down to the restroom inside the Boston cathedral I play for. I click on the light expecting to see the usual pink tile walls, tiny stained glass window, and the rickety changing table. And suddenly... Jurassic Bathroom!!! Rar!


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Freaking Baltimore Orioles. Another heavy-hearted sigh in the general direction of the Red Sox dugout. David Wells, if you're reading this, get well soon! No, really. GET. WELL. SOON. More of a command or order than a general well-wishing. And was it me, or did the pitcher kid up from the Paw Sox look like he was going to throw up he was so nervous? And flailing. Lots of flailing.
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That's all, folks. I'll try to be less erratic tomorrow. Assuming I survive both the dentist and the visit our CEO (day job) is making to our site tomorrow.

Ode to an Obnoxious Crap E-mail Forward

I found this in my inbox this morning. Is there something wrong with me that I find crap like this completely unfunny? And damn, what a double standard. If this went out with the opposite genders, there would be such a call to arms.

****Start of obnoxious e-mail****

FUNERAL PROCESSION: (DON'T SKIP THE PRAYER AT THE END...ITS PRICELESS!)

A woman was leaving a convenience store with her morning coffee when she noticed a most unusual funeral procession approaching the nearby cemetery. A long black hearse was followed by a second long black hearse about 50 feet behind the first one. Behind the second hearse was a solitary woman walking a pit bull on a leash. Behind her, a short distance back, were about 200 women walking single file.

The woman couldn't stand her curiosity. She respectfully approached the woman walking the dog and said, "I am so sorry for your loss", I know now is a bad time to disturb you, but I've never seen a funeral like this. Whose funeral is it?"
"My husband's."
"What happened to him?"
The woman replied, "My dog attacked and killed him."
She inquired further, "Well, who is in the second hearse?"
The woman answered, "My mother-in-law. She was trying to help my husband when the dog turned on her."
A poignant and thoughtful moment of silence passed between the two women.
"Can I borrow the dog?"
"Get in line."
__________________________________
A Woman's Prayer:
Dear Lord,I pray for:
Wisdom, To understand a man.
Love, To forgive him and;
Patience, For his moods.
Because, Lord, if I pray for Strength
I'll just beat him to death.

****End of obnoxious e-mail****

Ok, so instead of just letting sleeping dogs lie, I had to go poke Fido and Muffin with a stick. I started really thinking about that "call to arms" thing I mentioned. The sender is a former student of mine who I love dearly, but doesn't always think things through or beyond herself. So, to prove a point, I went back through the e-mail and changed the gender throughout, and asked her if she still thought it was forward-worthy-funny. Woman gets attacked by dog, another woman gets attacked by dog, a line of men hoping to off their wives and mother-in-laws, a "prayer" about wanting to beat your wife. No one with half a brain would send that version out (heh, hi, except me, apparently) let alone expect laughs.

To me, it shows an inexcusable laziness to just go for the lameass "ha-ha" at men's expense instead of taking the chance to show some respect for the opposite sex by deleting the crap. It shouldn't be anymore ok to talk about beating a man than it is a woman. And to just laugh it off, bugs. Or at least, bugs me. I respect my husband, dad, uncle, guy friends, etc. more than that.

Now, as my brilliant friend Jenny pointed out, male abuse of women is, of course, a much more serious social problem than the other way around. But as my brilliant friend Jenny went on to say, "It'd be nice if we could think of something a little more intelligent and less appalling to make jokes about. Spousal abuse-HAHAHA. Wow, gets me every time." (Poor Jenny had to put up with my pre-blog rant. Jenny deserves some nice wine.)

I also think e-mail forwarders should take a minute to think a little before hitting that send button. Maybe reflecting on: "how am I portrying myself by mindlessly forwarding crap like this under my name?" or "could this be offensive to anyone?" or even just a simple, "is this even the least bit funny?"

I don't know- maybe I just have a bee in my bonnet today. I think of myself as one who enjoys and appreciates all sorts of humor, can take a joke, and although liberal, not necessarily PC, but for some reason, this got me going.

Ok. I'll breathe now. Perhaps lying under my desk in the fetal position and rocking back and forth for a bit would be just what the doctor ordered.

Bug Battle Royale - Not for the Squeamish. Or is it?

Ok, here's a new tidbit about me: I am deathly afraid of little spiders. I've held tarantulas, and am fine with them (ok, I wouldn't want to wake up with one humping my face or anything, but I can deal with them in general), but smaller, scary looking spiders terrify me. Friends and family have witnessed my reactions to surprise spider encounters (they seem to know I'm a big fraidy cat and hunt me down) with everything from screams and trembling to wildly erratic evasive maneuvers and once, fainting.

But, this my friends, is too funny not to check out. My adorable friend Molly and her adorable husband Ben held an insect Battle Royale in their new home yesterday, and took pictures to document the action as it unfolds. It made me laugh, it made me cry, it was better than Cats. (Did I mention that their two gorgeous cats make guest appearances?)

So, even if you are terrified of spiders or bugs in general, I highly recommend you take a quick trip over to Molly's blog to check out the heart-thundering drama of...BATTLE ROYALE!

Hi Mom!

The Mothership has landed... at my blogspot.

I'm on the phone with her now. She's never read a blog before, and prior to 2 nights ago, had never heard of one. She thinks I'm the funniest, smartest woman ever, or in her words, "you are a superior blog!" I think she meant "blogger." She thinks I should take over the void left when Candace Bushnell quit writing "Sex in the City" columns. "You should be a columnist," she says with decisive glee. Then her voice gets serious. "It says you're confused-- what are you confused about? Is everything ok?" Typical Jewish mother.

Now she's reading me articles over the phone on fertility and yo-yo dieting. This is a favorite pastime of Mom-ah-lah's. She reads articles like these to me all the time. Take vitamin E! Don't take vitamin E! Eat more fruit! Flossing combats heart disease! And the ones she doesn't read to me over the phone, I get in the mail. The last envelope had an article about a 14-lb. lovesick bunny, clipped right from the evening paper.

Have I mentioned that I'm an only-child? There are no siblings to help shoulder the burden of my mother's constant concern, nagging and attention. No brothers to be lectured about the importance of getting enough sleep at night. No sisters to withstand the constant nagging to floss. "You don't want your teeth to fall out, do you?!"

But it's hard for us, living so far apart. How else do you expect a sweet Jewish mama to show her "only egg" (my parental nickname has been Egg for years and years) how much she loves her when she's on the other side of the continent? A little nagging here, a little (ok, a lot) worrying there.

"Mom, I'm 35 years old. I'll make a dentist appointment when I get a chance. Stop worrying!"

"I will never stop worrying about you, so tough."

Sounds suffocating, doesn't it? And at times, I admit, I get frustrated and annoyed and feel nagged to my wit's end. But after a deep breath, I realize how much she loves me and that she's just trying to show it long distance. The tirades are like giant interstate hugs and homemade matzoball soup in the form of persistent badgering. Besides, when I can get her to stop harassing me about all things health-related, she's wise, spiritual, supportive, gives good advice, dishes about make-up and celeb gossip with the best of 'em, laughs at my lame jokes, and cracks me up. Ok, so I admit it. She's one of my best friends.

Lately, she and my dad have become addicted to, of all things, "Sex in the City" reruns on TBS. No, I'm not kidding. (And for those of you who have met my dad, I'll say it again, "no, I'm not kidding.") So now, in addition to the ubiquitous kvetching, I am bombarded with her new-found knowledge of cheesy sex slang.

"Do you know what a 'happy ending' is?"
"Have you ever heard the term 'teabags' (sic)?"

Did I mention I'm an only-child?

Tidbits

Tidbits at the end of a long day:

I'm going to stop fighting the urge, and go buy a few Springy (and cheap-ass) items of clothes on my way home. So sue me.

I'm going to start "Angels and Demons" tonight because the timing just couldn't be better- I mean, unless St. Malachy's predictions are true and PopeBen16 gets offed (PopeBen16 should totally be the Pope's AIM handle).

Highlights of the day: a quick surprise visit from Keri (even if it was just because she was looking for her glasses), posting here and on other blogs, and being called "buena gente" by one of my friends on the janitorial staff, after I gave him a handful of lollipops.

Lowlights (just added): the crappy e-mail (copying the entire universe) I just got from a kid we hired last year who is feeling wronged or ignored. I'm trying to help the situation, but he just keeps getting angrier. I hate it when my face feels like it's burning. Why oh why didn't I leave on the high of "buena gente?!"

Books People Love and the People Who Hate Them

I finally finished "The Dive from Claussen's Pier" last night. The book that so many people I know, love. It annoyed me. I didn't like any of the characters (except for sweet Lane). I thought they were all big wusses and obnoxious. I didn't like a few peccadilloes of the writer's style. At most, I felt it was a vaguely interesting character sketch.

I recently finished Douglas Copland's "Girlfriend in a Coma" (are you sensing a creepy coma theme here?) and was annoyed by it as well.

I keep trying to get into Augusten Burroughs' "Running With Scissors." Everyone has told me what a riotous book it is. I want to like it, but I'm having a tough time getting past the sadness I feel for the little guy growing up in such fecked up surroundings.

It takes a lot for me to admit that I don't like these books because people, whose opinions I trust, loved them. I wonder, "Is it me? Is it them?" Am I just an uncouth, dullard wildebeast with no taste whatsoever for literature?

I've come to the conclusion that it's all and none of the above. A lot goes into reading a book (or reading/watching anything, really) when you think about it.

• What's my mood?
• How well do I personally know the type of situation(s) the characters are facing?
• Do I like the writer's style?
• What's going on in my life?
• Do any of the characters resemble real people in my life? (and am I projecting my feelings for those real people onto the poor, innocent characters?)
• Etc.

So I guess I should take the pressure off myself to love what others have loved. The sum of reasons for why I don't like something is equal in importance to the sum of reasons for why someone else loves it. It doesn't necessarily mean I'm the uncouth wildebeast referenced above if I have no interest in reading "A Prayer for Owen Meany" because it sounds treacly and precious to me, even though a multitude of fair souls go insta-fahrklempt when the very title is mentioned. It's just a reflection of who I am and my experiences.

That said, if you don't find the movie "Xanadu" absolutely brilliant, you're dead to me. Ppuhhth.

Watch out world, here I blog!

I am going to have permanent marks on the back of my right shoulder from all the patting that's going on. That sounds vaguely (albeit oddly) dirty, doesn't it? Let me explain. Suzanne knows html like it's the freaking alphabet. I know the alphabet and little more. She started a couple of things for me (links, etc.) and I have taken that and run with it while she's at lunch. I'm so proud! Yeah, ok, it was mostly cutting and pasting, but I did it all by myself.

I'm here!
I'm making simple blog changes all by myself!
Get used to it!

It's a darn good thing I'm never overly dramatic.

So anyway, thank you Suzanne for all your patience and help! Thank you also to Flipsycab for being my first new blog friend (aww) and for bestowing upon me the honor of being linked off your blog!

Suzanne is the Freaking BEST!

Suzanne, thank you for the fantabulous new background! I'm so in love with my happy bubbles of joy, I'm downright giddy! Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!

Song Lyrics in Blogs

Day 2 of my new blog, and I'm already learning so much. There is a war going on in blogland my friends, and I believe I have the words to heal the pain. Some people feel that posting song lyrics is on the ubiquitous, cheesy side of blogging, even cruelly referred to as "blog filler." Others feel their blogging souls are best expressed through others' lyrics. To close this gap and bring everyone together in harmony, I'm going to post some lyrics. But not ordinary lyrics- lyrics that, with deep thought and sensitivity, I've changed to reflect my innermost feelings. Peace to you all.

To be sung to the tune of "I Like Big Butts":

I like hot dogs and I cannot lie
You other brothers can't deny
That when a hot dog is placed in an itty bitty bun
And it goes right to your face
You get sprung.
Wanna pull up tough
'Cause you notice that dog with cheese was stuffed
Deep in the bun it’s wearing
I'm hooked and I can't stop staring
Oh hot dog, I wanna just eat'cha
And in my meal make you the feat’cha

You're the inspiration...

Jesus. I can't believe that although all my friends have blogs, my real inspiration was... Rosie O'Donnell.

Yeah. I know.

But see, here's how it happened:

I was on Defamer looking for some good dirt. Finding only lame Christening pictures of Courteney Cox's kid Coco (alliteration, I am your slave...do with me what you will), I scrolled down to a tidbit about Rosie's blog. Trembling, I watched in horror as my hand moved my mouse over the link and pressed into it with an air of resignation. Next thing I know, I'm at Rosie's blog.

I don't really like the way she has it set up- it seems like every post is an attempt at free-form poetry. I soon realize that it's just bad grammar and punctuation. I read a couple of posts, and before I could stop myself, boom, I was making myself a blogspot of my very own. Because, I mean, if Rosie can do it, surely I can. Sadly, this has yet to be proven, and I fear the worst.

My first kvetch.

Ok, it's really not my first kvetch ever, but it's my first blog kvetch, and that's really something.

Right.

So anyway, I actually don't have much to kvetch about. I do however, need to get going. I have to stop at the store. What's that you say? You're DYING to know what I'm picking up at Super Stop & Shop next door to work? Well, ok, but only because you begged so nicely:

• basil
• parsley
• garlic
• 14 oz. can sweetened condensed milk (our friend brought back a bottle of key lime juice from Key West)
• pie crust (and my husband is going to pie it up. Bastard. I can't have pie.)
• little pieces of beef (snack food of the rich and famous)
• boneless, skinless chicken thighs (for my thrilling lunches)
• brown rice pasta incl. spaghetti (he wants spaghetti for dinner tonight with the steaks we thawed. Although I'm a little disconcerted eating steak after watching Napoleon Dynamite last night.)
• bag of baby spinach (Dear G-d, I have to eat something else for lunch other than chicken and brown rice or brown rice pasta. So I'll eat chicken with baby spinach. Huzzah.)
• frame (something lame- I printed out a funny cartoon that Joolz sent me, and am going to put it in a frame and hang it in the kitchen.)

And there we have it, folks. My first official blog entry. Huzzah, indeed.