ZigKvetch

Munch-a-lah.

2008-01-10T00:38:00.000-05:00

Our cat is a nutbag. Munchie is seriously the oddest kitteh I've ever met. I adore her and love the heck out of her and a day doesn't go by that she doesn't crack us up.

She constantly tries to sniff and taste you. It's like she's just making 100% sure you haven't turned into cheese since the last time she sniffed your elbow, hand, knee, foot, leg, whatever. It never hurts and she doesn't really bite- even my mom with basically no animal/pet experience to speak of (she has wicked bad allergies) has let Munchie take a nip without batting an eye.

I found Miss Munchie driving home from teaching one night, about 6 months after my sweet Persephone died. (Here's a picture of Persey --> and then I'll stop talking about her for a bit because I'm seriously PMSing and on the verge of tears thinking about her. Aw. Hm. Scratch that- I'm crying. Sigh.) I had been telling Mr. Zigkvetch in no uncertain terms for months that I was not nearly ready for another kitty. But there she was, darting out of the woods on a road that I never usually take home but did for some reason that night. I stopped the car and clicked and cooed at her and up this little black and white munchkin came to me. I scooped her up and she cuddled in, I told her she was the cutest little munchie thing (?!) and that was that. (Ok, there's more to the story- how I took her to the animal shelter the next day, but they were full and basically said they'd pay for her first vet visit, shots and Advantage if I'd just take her and I was thrilled because I was already in love with her and knew she'd wound her way into Mr. Z's heart as well, BUT I DIGRESS...)

Anyway, other weird Munchieness...

She was just a few months old when I found her and never really learned some basic cat stuff. Like when to hiss. The first few times she did it, I was really kind of miffed and hurt. Until I figured out that she had no idea what a hiss means in the cat world and that she uses it to say she's annoyed or sleepy or in need of a stretch. It's so funny.

We can only hold her one way. She absolutely, positively will not be held in any other way. We have no idea why. And when she's done relaxing on you? She'll hiss and walk away.

I can always get her to jump up on the couch with me. It never fails. If I make my eyes as big as I can and stare at her, it triggers something in her that she can't resist. Her little butt wiggles as she gets ready to pounce but then up she jumps and sits or lays down. Such a huntress is she.

She loves to sit said butt on our feet. If you're just sitting down, say writing on your blog, and your foot happens to be on the floor? There's a furry butt on it.

She cannot resist tunnels. Sometimes Mr. Z and I will lean over and make "tunnels" just by putting our hands on the floor. She'll go through one and then the other, over and over. Did I mention she's not the sharpest cheese in the fromagerie? (She'd be offended, but hey, at least I used a cheese reference.)

She snores and moans and groans. I was so worried when we first got her. There's nothing wrong though, other than her being, shall we say, a little rough around the edges (as I type, she's wide awake and just moaning away.

She seems to like it when I pet her nose and forehead with my thumb, but it always makes her yawn a giant yawn.

This cat loves cheese like nothing I've ever seen. If she hears the mere rustle of plastic coming from the kitchen, she runs in and demands her fair share of any cheese that might be being utilized. Actually, any food that falls on the floor is MUNCHIE'S PROPERTY by default and the look of utter disgusted disbelief on her face if you try to pick it up is truly a thing of beauty. Tonight she got away with (?) snarfing up a small piece of broccoli. (Yes, we're very careful about onions.)

The other night, she really topped herself in the weird department. She jumped up on the bed and seeing that her preferred resting spot is where my head and pillow goes was taken, she settled down between us. We Mr. Z and I were reading and apparently not living up to Munchie's expected entertainment schedule. I suddenly felt a paw and a few not-drawn claws clap me on the back. "MUNCHIE." Nothing. Then a second, firmer paw and slightly drawn claws smacked me. "MUNCHIE!!! NO!!!!" And up she jumps and, inexplicably, runs under the blanket and throws herself into a ball next to my leg where she proceeded to sleep comfortably for the next few hours. She's never done this before and has never, ever wanted to go under the blankets, but there she was- snug as a bug in a rug. Or snug as a snoring cat in my bed in this case.

Happy New Year! It's 2008!

2008-01-06T00:32:00.000-05:00

First of all, I'm horribly delinquent in thanking my dear, talented, beautiful friend Suzanne for her awesome work on redesigning my blog! Thank you, thank you, thank you! And I love being called a badass flute mfer!

Ok, so it's 2008. 8 is my favorite number and has been since I was a little kid. Why "8?" Well, I loved collecting rocks when I was a kid. I was fascinated with them. My dad used to bring them home from business trips (sometimes real rocks, sometimes those little chocolate candies that are made to look like rocks. How do they do that, anyway? But I digress...) and even bought me a rock polisher one year! He also bought me a little guide book on rocks and minerals that I loved so much. It was in that tiny book that I learned about moonstones.

I loved the idea of moonstones even before I ever saw one in real life. I looked at the moonstone page so much that the little book eventually opened right to it... page 88.

I loved the round, soft, smoothness of the moonstone and I loved the round, soft, smoothness of those little 8s. I actually remember that 7 was the "cool" lucky number to have as a gradeschooler, but I couldn't be swayed. I could relate to those round 8s.

I still can.

I don't mind being round and soft, but I need to be less so. I'm hoping this year will bring me the strength to finally get healthy. I'm hoping for change... lots of positive change. I need a healthier, happier work environment. I need to feel better about myself and my life.

I feel like this could be a great year if I put my mind to it. I feel like it's full of potential. Don't get me wrong- I know that it's really hokey to put a bunch of faith in a year just because your lucky number is in it, but heck, it can't hurt.

So here's to 2008. I hope it's a great, round, soft, smooth moonstone of a year for everyone.

Virginia Tech Tragedy

2007-04-19T19:43:00.000-05:00

We owe respect to the living; to the dead we owe only truth. ----Voltaire. Oeuvres Vol. I, p. 15n

Unfortunately, all we have are a few answers and an increasing amount of questions.

What a horrible, unthinkable tragedy. My heart breaks for the families and friends of everyone involved- the victims, the killer's parents, the school officials and police who must be feeling terrible guilt even though they seemingly did all they could. Nightmare.

I don't really have a point here, but I've been struck by the things I've been hearing and reading, some good/some bad, on race, culture, mental health and political agendas.

I've heard thoughtful discussion on the role that culture (Asian and American) might have played in this tragedy and continues to play in the aftermath.

Korean students are fearful of backlash simply because the killer also happened to be Korean.
Asian students in general are fearful because they feel that the way they look, whether they're Korean or not, might incite backlash.
Was this the result of a person holding in years of pent-up emotional reaction because of his cultural norms?
Was this the result of growing up in a struggling, emigrant family vs. a rich, white one?

I've read or listened to the stories told by roommates, classmates and teachers. Cho was a loner. He said his name was "?". He took pictures of other students under his desk with a cell phone. People tried to reach out to him, to no avail. He was depressed, he had an undiagnosed mental illness, he just snapped. Which brings up even more questions:

Why did he only spend short stints in psychiatric institutions when he was clearly ill?
Did his parents know he was ill?
Was he truly just "mean" as his former poetry teacher described him, vs. "troubled" which the same teacher described as "crap?"
Was this the end result of years of cruelty and teasing by "kids just being kids?"
If so many students, upon hearing of the massacre, immediately thought of Cho, why didn't anyone do anything earlier?

I've read Cho's 2 plays on http://www.thesmokinggun.com/, which in many's opinion were just bad, not "troubling." Interestingly, several friends of mine are writing professors and they've all mentioned that these plays are, content-wise, pretty normal in a college-level writing class (although much worse grammatically and creatively). One even went as far as to reminisce about a former student's plays about aliens graphically mutilating humans and holding orgies in Starbucks shops. As another friend put it, "haven't these people ever read a Bret Easton Ellis novel?"

Then there were the political opportunists. If we had prayer in school, this kind of thing wouldn't happen. If immigrants weren't allowed to buy guns, this kind of thing wouldn't happen. If we would just kick all the foreigners out, this kind of thing wouldn't happen. If we had greater gun control, this kind of thing wouldn't happen.

In the press secretary's initial release to the world, it was noted that the President's that he was "shocked and saddened" and in the very next breath:

"The president believes that there is a right for people to bear arms, but that all laws must be followed. Certainly, bringing a gun into a school domitory and shooting … is against the law and something someone should be held accountable for."

In so much tragedy and confusion, there is some cold comfort. Virginia Tech students, family, and the surrounding community have come together and are leaning on each other for comfort and strength. Professor/lecturer Liviu Librescu, a 76-year old Holocaust survivor barricaded himself in a classroom doorway and gave his life so that his students could escape through a window at his behest. And then I read this in an article a friend gave me:

From the AP:

In Seoul, more than 1,000 people sang hymns and prayed for Cho's victims at a special service at Myeongdong Cathedral, some fighting back tears. White flowers, candles and a U.S. flag adorned a small table in the center of the chapel.

"As a mother myself, my heart really aches as if it happened to my own children," said Bang Myung-lan, a 48-year-old housewife, holding back tears. "As a Korean, I am deeply sorry for the deceased."

Cardinal Nicolas Cheong Jin-suk urged parishioners to work together to prevent a recurrence of "such an unfortunate event."

"Among the 32 killed were bright students who could have contributed greatly to society, and it's a big loss for all of us," the cardinal said. "As a South Korean, I can't help feeling apologetic about how a Korean man caused such a shocking incident. It is beyond my understanding how such a thing can occur- especially to think a Korean is responsible for this," said 68-year-old Lee Chun-ja after the service. "It really tears my heart. Something like this should never happen again."

I can't tell you how much it moves me that these people, halfway around the world, are praying, mourning, apologizing and expressing guilt. Simply because the killer also happened to be Korean. It's really kind of humbling.

Random Blatherings.

2007-04-09T16:25:00.000-05:00

I have "If I Were a Rich Man" from "Fiddler on the Roof" in my head. Earlier, I had Kiss' "Beth." I am odd.
I have a broken baby toe. I call it "Steve." Did I mention that I'm odd?
My feet are killing me because I signed up to be part of a team of co-workers in a "Spring Step Challenge." I've taken over 3000 steps today and I have to admit I'm impressed with myself. (Shut up. I know it's lame, ok?)
My company sponsored a "Spring Egg Hunt" for the children of its employees. Because G-d forbid anyone finds out it's actually an EASTER EGG hunt!!! (Dunh-dunh-DUNHHHH!) Lame. If we're going to be sly like that, then I'm holding a "Spring Gefilte Fish Cookoff!"
I am sadly addicted to Guitar Hero and became ridiculously excited upon "unlocking" Ziggy Stardust last night. In related news, I can't seem to relax when I play it and am going to wind up either breaking the little fauxguitars or developing serious carpal tunnel syndrome. Pffftht.
I really, really like Amy Winehouse. I'm rather tickled by her music. (And I'm rather tickled that Paul loves her as well!)
I believe I might finally break down and consider buying myself a wee IPod if this walking thing sticks. I want to wander around outside, listening to music.
I am making earrings again and loving it. I want to learn how to make necklaces as well and will be calling on my dear friends Leanne and Art to train me in all things necklace-y.
I am addicted to Stephenie Meyer's books. Yes, they're YA and yes, they're about vampires. So sue me. (I thought "bite me" might be over the top)
Life feels kind of weird right now. Not bad-weird, just weird.

And there you have it. Random blatherings.

You Say It's Your Birthday! Well, it is, but it's also...

2007-03-14T17:11:00.000-05:00

Today... I am a woman! (Mazel Tov!)
Ok, it's more like, "today, I am officially into my LATE 30s!" (Oy!)

I've come to find out that not only is today my birthday, but it's also:

Pi Day: Get it? 3.14? GET IT? Math teachers around the world gather their students in celebration! (Holly, I'm looking at you and your paper chain!)
National Children's Crafts Day: I guess you'd pretty much *have* to make your own card to celebrate this one if you're a kid, huh? That's kind of a lot of pressure.
Moth-er Day: A day for honoring moth collectors and their collections. Many libraries and museums around the country take part by showcasing moth collections. Mothra is having a potluck at his (her?) place at 7.
International Ask A Question Day: Go ahead and celebrate! Ask me anything! In any language! (Then, wait for my answers on Intergalactic Get An Answer Day!)
National Steak & A BJ Day: Klassy! With a K! I wish I was kidding, but seriously, there's a group out there promoting this. (If you have to ask, you probably don't want to look it up. Also, if you are going to be celebrating this one, please be sure to keep it to yourself.)

Plus, it's the anniversary of my friend's beau's wedding anniversary (boo!) and consequent divorce (yay!). Now there's a reason to Mazel Tov it up!

It's also Albert Einstein's birthday. I'd hate to point out the obvious connection, so I'll leave it to you.

Dear Anonymous,

2007-03-10T12:37:00.000-05:00

I agree, it did go beyond good old fashioned venting, although it really, truly was angry, frustrated, hyper-venting and once it was out, it was over. And that's one of the things I feel terrible about. Something that exploded out of a bunch of frustrated people on a temporary, private board after a heated argument should've disappeared into private oblivion forever.

Although not a justification, I do think that what started out as regular venting went farther because people felt safe because it was a private place. Unfortunately, it mistakenly didn't remain that way. Don't get me wrong, it's not getting caught that I'm sorry for (although I do feel awful that anyone would have to read what was written), I feel personally mortified that I wrote a lot of what I wrote in the first place.

If I'd just been honest with one of the people up front, it still would've sucked but it would've been a hell of a lot better than what happened. The real thing about it is that I think the people I, and others wrote about are actually nice, good people. And they didn't deserve to have to read the comments they did.

I wish so much that we'd been able to find a way to destroy the stuff that was posted (and once it was discovered that it had turned public via cache and people were being hurt by it, we tried everything we could to kill it so more people wouldn't be hurt).

I wish I hadn't posted what I posted.

I wish no one had been curious enough to search.

I wish that it had never been found.

I wish that when it was found, it wasn't shared.

I wish it was possible to go back in time and I wish it could be erased.

I wish that it wouldn't hurt people.

I wish that the people who were hurt by my words would also know the good things I think about them (not that it matters now). Unfortunately, no one really vents about the good stuff.

I wish I'd been careful not to just open up and say whatever came through my mind in the moment instead of thinking before speaking.

I wish all of these things so that the fewest possible people would've been hurt.

Unfortunately, that's not what happened, and now some very good, nice people have been hurt. And some very good, nice people feel terrible about being the cause.

Do Unto Others...

2007-02-16T23:17:00.000-05:00

So, I've always made a big thing about trying to live my life by the Golden Rule.

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

Treat people as you'd like to be treated.

Love thy brother as thyself.

From B'hai to Buddhism, just about every world religion and culture has their own version of it. Makes you think it's a basic human law, doesn't it?

"Basic" being the key word here. It's kind of a basic instinct and doesn't seem that hard to do, either, making it the perfect law for which I could base the way I live my life. Easy to remember, easy to do, easy to commit to, easy to teach.

So exactly how did I manage to FUBAR it up so badly?

I hate that I let my guard down. I hate when I hurt anyone's feelings. I didn't mean to do it.

Like I say constantly in my day job, it's not the intent, it's the effect it has on people.

So, my only excuse is that I'm human with apparently latent inhuman tendencies and I fucked up. That discovery doesn't change a damned thing, of course. Except that maybe now I won't take something so important for granted.

Once a Delicate Flower, Always a Delicate Flower (aka: Hi, I've Got Issues)

2006-12-19T15:49:00.000-05:00

I'm a 36 year old woman. I have a good job (shut up, you know what I mean), am a proud teacher, pay a mortgage for a house, and am smart, considerate (at least I try) and independent.
So why, when people snap or yell at me, do I regress into a stammering, terrified, ultra-sensitive, wounded 8 year old?

I just interrupted a manager from a meeting and he bit my head off and hung up on me, telling me I really used poor judgment in interrupting him. My reason was a good one even if he didn't see it the same way. I was polite and very quick with my questions. I obviously did not mean any harm. He obviously was having a bad day (he's usually a really great guy).

So why do I feel like shit and why did I have to immediately close my door to quickly burst into tears? Where's my anger or indignation at his behavior? Why can't I just blow stuff like this off? I'm so quick to accept blame, it's amazing. Especially if someone is angry over something I've done or haven't done. I take things like this so strongly to heart.

In the summer before kindergarten, mom enrolled me in a cooking class. Mrs. Tanaka was the teacher. That's right, it's 30+ years later and I still remember the name of the teacher from a 1-week summer cooking class. We were all busy doing our newly-learned jobs in the kitchen. Mine was peeling potatoes. I wanted to make sure I did it correctly and got all the peel off. I was very carefully, proudly peeling away when Mrs. Tanaka came to look at my progress. When she saw I was still on my first potato, she yanked it out of my hand, grabbed the peeler and told me I was going far too slow and to just go sit down. I felt cut to the quick and burst into ignored tears.

In first grade, my teacher told my parents I was extremely over-sensitive. I will never forget the time we voted on our school mascot. There's little 6-year old me, thinking the catepillar mascot design was the cutest thing ever. So that's what I voted. But then I found out that everyone else really wanted the jaguar to win. I flipped out. What if my vote was the deciding vote and we got the catepillar because of me? I would ruin it for everyone! I immediately went to my teacher, crying and pleading for her to let me change my vote so that everyone would be happy. (The jaguar won in a landslide victory, by the by.)

And here I sit, a 36 year old woman, crying in her office because she's been cut to the quick by someone else's quick words of frustration, and feeling like she's let the world down.

What a dorkass.

Holiday Light Peer Pressure

2006-12-17T19:27:00.000-05:00

I'm feeling like I'm letting the team down. If by team I mean "neighborhood." Our street is a sparkly holiday wonderland complete with bushy wreaths, candy canes, giant blow-up Santas and snowmen, glittery trees and reindeer and spotlights on houses looking like giant wrapped gifts.

And then there's us.

We live in a side-by-side duplex and the other side takes this decorating very seriously, hence my nearly being blinded when leaving the house other night as the result of the glorious spotlight aimed directly at our house (or my irises, take your pick). So, I feel like I should try.

First, I put up a festive wind sock with a happy snowman on it.

Pathetic.

I plugged in the multi-colored "grid" lights which have been on the same bush, year-round, for about 3 years. It worked! Huzzah!

Yeah, still pathetic.

So I went to 4 different stores today to see what I could find. Alas, there are definitely no giant blow-up menorahs or dreidels to be had. After searching high and low, I bought some lights to surround the door,fake candles to put in the windows so that we match the other side of our dwelling (hi, OCD, I hate when things are unbalanced. I mean, other than me), and a 3-pack of tiny white light trees.

No clue how to put them up, but I'll try.

After I get back from yet another store. Who knew you needed extension cords for all this festivity? Maybe I'll stop and get some brandy and egg nog to fight off the case of bah humbugs I fear are festering just below the surface.

The Perfect Day Job

2006-11-29T23:51:00.000-05:00

I'd like to have it, as the one I have is not quite perfect. Or even close.

So, if I can't (at least for now) do what I dream of (full-time musician and teacher), here's what I'd like in the perfect day job:

To be paid at market for the position I'm in and the work I'm doing (I'm not looking for a million bucks here, people)
To work with people I love (I've got this now and it's what helps me get out of bed in the morning) (well, that and the cat's snoring)
To have a short commute
To have flexible work hours
To be able to telecommute from home when I need/want to
To be doing something that actually helps people
To be in a blissfully non-"matrixed" organization
To be in a positive, happy environment and when that's not possible, to at least see a light at the end of the tunnel
To not have to work in an environment that's processed to death (I swear sometimes that it's worse than American cheese product)
To just have one main job to focus on, not a million zillion main jobs to focus on
To have an accessible manager
To be included on important decisions
To feel appreciated and valued
To receive training and coaching
To have sufficient staff
To work in a team-based environment
To not be micro-managed
To work in a nice building (I've got that too, and it really does make a difference)
To have free parking (ditto!)

There's more, I know, but I have to get back to work now!

P.S. My husband, Mr. Zigkvetch, is the awesomest guy in the world. He cooked dinner for my friend and me and brought it to us here in prison, er, the office. He even made ROLLS! And wrapped them up so they'd stay warm! Rules.

HI!

2006-11-29T02:15:00.000-05:00

It's 2 am and I'm still at work!

Isn't that fabulous?

I'm getting loopier by the minute, so I think I'll go home now.

Wheee!

Ha!

2006-11-27T14:27:00.000-05:00

(Like I could resist posting this one)

There once was a powerful Japanese emperor who needed a new chief samurai. So he sent out a declaration throughout the entire known world that he was searching for a chief. A year passed, and only three people applied for the very demanding position: a Japanese samurai, a Chinese samurai, and a Jewish samurai.

The emperor asked the Japanese samurai to come in and demonstrate why he should be the chief samurai. The Japanese samurai opened a matchbox, and out popped a bumblebee. Whoosh! went his sword. The bumblebee dropped dead, chopped in half. The emperor exclaimed, "That is very impressive!"

The emperor then issued the same challenge to the Chinese samurai, to come in and demonstrate why he should be chosen. The Chinese samurai also opened a matchbox and out buzzed a fly. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh! The fly dropped dead, chopped into four small pieces.The emperor exclaimed, "That is very impressive!"

Now the emperor turned to the Jewish samurai, and asked him to demonstrate why he should be the chief samurai. The Jewish Samurai opened a matchbox, and out flew a gnat. His flashing sword went Whoosh! But the gnat was still alive and flying around.The emperor, obviously disappointed, said, "Very ambitious, but why is that gnat not dead?"The Jewish Samurai just smiled and said, "Circumcision is not meant to kill".

It's been a long time, my friends!

2006-11-27T01:00:00.000-05:00

Who I'm speaking to at this point, I have no idea.

I've been AWOL for quite some time and I've been itching to get back into my sweet polka-dotted blog.

I'm watching the Food Network, as usual, and Sandra Lee is driving me right up a wall. Who gave this woman a job? Speaking of food...

Thanksgiving was a huge success. I base our success on the following:

We don't even enter the realm of the possibility of running out of food and drink. check!
People pass out from the sheer volume of intake. check!
There are at least 3 different kinds of cheese making an appearance. check!
Somebody burps or snores. check!
You are able to give each guest enough food for another 3 meals to take home with them and are still left with a ridiculous amount of leftovers. check!

And so there you have it- a happy Thanksgiving was had by all.

Feh.

2006-04-18T20:35:00.000-05:00

So I woke up this morning feeling like I'd swallowed glass (like that husband in "I Know This Much is True!"). I had the same stupid 24-hour, curl-in-a-ball-and-moan flu that my dad, Marianne and Heather have all had. I haven't had a stomachache like that since I was a kid, and reacted in kind. I actually moaned and groaned and curled into the fetal position and cried. Poor me.

I'm feeling better now, but have limited my intake to only comforting, starchy foods. Mr. Zigkvetch offered leftover beef, grilled hamburgers and buffalo chicken tenders he was making for the game tonight. Sweet. Totally misguided, but sweet. I'm on the all-noodle diet for the time being: chicken noodle soup, ramen, and soon, mac & cheese.

For my head, I followed the prescription of trashy magazines, and playing around on the Internet when I felt up to it. I am truly obsessed with MySpace now. I've found Paul to my delighted surprise, especially because we haven't talked in forever. I've found a friend from high school, a friend from undergrad, and a friend from grad school who was also one of my bridesmaids! I'd love to find more people, but alas, I'm definitely on the older side of this trend, and I'm afraid many of my old friends are just not as hip as I am. As a former student who is now a college junior put it, "you're the hippest old fogie around!" Brat.

Yeah, So, I Suck.

2006-04-17T17:42:00.000-05:00

I can't believe I haven't posted on here since February. I suck. So I'm probably just typing empty echoes into a black hole (I'm so damn poetic), but whatever. I'm egotistical enough to be satisfied with that.

So we just finished with Passover and Easter. I ate enough holiday food to last me well into the summer. Gefilte fish here, Cadbury Creme Egg there... you know how it goes.

I had an uneventful birthday, although my mom-ah-lah, dad-ah-lah, Mr. Zigkvetch, and a few friends made it bearable.

Work has been extremely eventful and completely unbearable, but I'm holding onto "This, too, shall pass" for all it's worth.

Today's events included drinking a new Coca-Cola Blak (cola/coffee fusion. Yes, sir.), training to become a building fire warden for our company (I couldn't make this shit up if I tried), and working on my MySpace page, to which I've finally succumbed thanks to my co-worker and friend, Melissa.

This weekend's events included slicing the top of my ear open, eating garlic bread with feta, dying my hair with a silly wash-out (in 8 shampoos) dye, watching the Red Sox, playing an Easter vigil while under the influence of Judaism, finding a long, lost friend via MySpace and buying a small rubber duckie that lights up when you touch the two sensors underneath it.

Does it get any more intriguing than this?

No, probably not.

Thank G-d it's Spring Break for the kiddies this week-- I need a break something serious. I brought 2 bags of Tootsie Pops to the flute choir rehearsal last week as a holiday/spring break treat. I had a few left over that I was trying to give away to the stragglers waiting for their parents to pick them up. No lie-- one of them says no and then says, with a look of disgust and disdain, "they're not even Easter colors! I threw out the one you already gave me." I was dumbfounded and so, so hurt. I told her that wasn't very nice and walked away.

I don't know why things like this still surprise me-- this generation of kids seems to be all about entitlement. Many of them are rude and manipulative and whiny. Their parents don't bother to meet me or ever talk to me. Their parents also don't hold them accountable for anything. I have one kid whose mom actually e-mails me, IMPERSONATING HER DAUGHTER to cancel lessons. It's kind of depressing, but hope springs eternal that things will right themselves. Either that, or I'm going to have to start kicking asses. Parents, students... whatever. (Yes, I'm kidding. I couldn't kick an ass if I tried.)

FOUR Score and Seven Years Ago... I was tagged.

2006-02-15T11:46:00.000-05:00

Four jobs I have had:
1. Voice of the School for the Arts Concert Line (I was the only one who could pronounce the composers' and performers' names)
2. Conservatory of Music Box Office Manager
3. Gap lackey (Hiyeee, and welcome to the Gap! Can I help you?)
4. Temporary Mystery Shopper (Don't ask. Really.)

Four movies I can watch over and over
1. Point of No Return (yeah, I don’t know why, either)
2. Grease (I know- I'm a walking cliche.)
3. West Side Story (Especially when I need a good, cleansing cry)
4. The Breakfast Club (WHO am I? Who AM I? Who am I? Oh, and when Claire gives Bender that diamond stud!)

Four places I have lived
1. San Francisco, CA
2. North Attleboro, MA
3. Walnut Creek, CA
4. Where I live now

Four TV shows I love
1. Beverly Hills 90210 (What can I say? I live for cheesy sideburns, proms, and Dylan & Brenda's lurrrve.)
2. M*A*S*H* (Hey look, it's MASH!)
3. Project Runway (Go Santino, you madly entertaining egoist!)
4. Made (My name is ZigKvetch and I'm an MTV junkie. Hi Zigkvetch!)

Four places I've vacationed
1. NYC (Honeymoon.)
2. Lucerne, Switzerland (actually, I was there to play, but it was still kind of a vacation)
3. Washington, DC (In 8th grade, but it still counts)
4. Monterrey, CA (With my Parental Units when I was a little kid)
Guess I should go on a vacation someday, huh?

Four of my favorite dishes
1. Anything with one of Mr. ZKvetch’s homemade sauces on it
2. Soup
3. Baked chicken with butter, herbs, lemon, etc.
4. Ensalata Caprese (tomato/mozz/fresh basil salad)

Four sites I visit daily
1. Gmail
2. Camp (group of friends)
3. JBC (group of friends)
4. Woot.com

Four places I would rather be right now
1. At home.
2. A beautiful, quiet beach- tropical or cold and craggy.
3. Not at work.
4. At Sephora.

Four people I am tagging
1. Suzanne
2. Bunnyrock
3. LE
4. Cilee

Happy VD, Y'all!

2006-02-14T16:45:00.000-05:00

Happy Valentine's Day to one and all!

I get a little too excited about this day, I think. I am wearing a top that is pink and white and looks frighteningly like a pink construction paper and paper doily Valentine today. I am also wearing little red heart earrings.

I gave nifty Valentines out to all of my co-workers. "Retro 3-D Valentines!" screamed the box. Inside were "3-D" (you know, like those plastic bookmarks that you can move back and forth to make the character move or open and shut their eyes?) valentines imprinted with peace signs, hands giving the peace sign, flowers, yin-yangs, and happy faces, all in psychadelic rainbow colors. That's right, I'm just a dirty Valentine hippie.

I bought each of the 3 people on my team a pink-frosted sugar cookie.

I left a furry red monster heart thingie that says "boiiinnnngg!" in Mr. ZKvetch's car this morning.

I will give the students who actually show up for their lessons on Valentine's Day a Valentine and some chocolate.

I did a "Secret Cupid" trade with a group of girlfriends and got my package last night! It had a beautiful red leather frame in it, a matching coin purse key chain in the shape of a red leather pump and filled with chocolates, bath stuff, comfy socks, and adorable R. Nichols notecards! SCORE!!

The Parental Units will undoubtedly take 2 weeks to finally open the e-card I sent them.

Mr. ZKvetch and I will have a quiet dinner at home after we get done teaching. And then, when the mood is right? We're going to turn the lights down low, slip into something a little more comfortable (wink, wink) annnnddd....

...watch some Food Network and some M*A*S*H* reruns, feed the cat and go to sleep! RROWRR! We are on FIRE (pronounce: FI-YAH), I tell you!

Big Valentine kisses and hugs go out to you all! Especially to sweet Paul Joseph, Keri and the Doodle (Pete too, but he's probably too busy watching Olympic curling for the love of all that is holy), Skeezy, Flipsy, OJ, MeganCookie, The Mexican Wrestlers, AC (you don't need no stinkin' heart-shaped donut, damn it!), Molly, LE (hope you like your Secret Cupid stuff! HEE!), Leanne & Artster, Chanvre, Cilee, Mizzie, Trying (thank you my dear Secret Cupid!), Bunnyrock, Campers, JBCers, Parental Units, Uncle Larry & Aunt Noreen, and, um, anyone else that happens to come by this blog.

Happy Valentine's to all, and to all, a good night.

Monday-Shmunday

2006-02-13T17:44:00.000-05:00

I had a lovely weekend with Mr. Zigkvetch and some friends. We drove up to New Hampshire and all played in a private recital. We played in the most beautiful home I've ever seen- everything was designed to their specifications, and they had it built so that they could hold concerts in the house. They just had a bitchin' pipe organ installed last year! Out of control. It was amazing though, because as incredible as the home was, it still felt cozy and inviting.

The concert itself was a blast. The entire program was works by a Massachusetts composer, who we are all friends with. The guy is a freaking genius, and totally nice, to boot! I played his Sonata for Flute & Piano with him. The piece is a monster, and it's the first piece I've performed in recital in years! I was a mix of terrified/tense and exhilarated/grooving. It came off pretty well. I played a short piece on the second half, as well. It was lovely. We all (8 musicians!) stayed over at the house, and then drove up to hear Mr. Zigkvetch's quintet play the next day.

The drive home was a little terrifying because of the ice and snow, but it was kind of fun too- Mr. ZKvetch and I haven't exactly had a lot of time to chat lately, and we chatted, listened to my goofy mix-cds and laughed at a Dane Cook cd all the way home.

OH! And I almost forgot! I tried poutine this weekend, and people, it is food of the gods. Holy crap. When my Canadian friends first described the french fries in gravy and melted cheese dish, I was pretty skeptical. How wrong I was. It is the most comforting, delciously horrible for you comfort food ever. And I'm damn happy it's up north and far away from me, lest I become a 500-lb. poutine-eating monster.

I'm stressed and a little sad today. In the last 2 weeks, I've had 3 people tell me (directly or indirectly) that I'm "too nice." And not in a complimentary way- more like a "geez, you're annoying" way. I think I actually come off as a freak an awful lot of the time. I'm trying to figure out how to change this a little. I mean, I'm not going to become a raging bitch or anything, but maybe I need to hold back a little. Sometimes I want to slap myself, I'm such a goody-goody. Mr. ZKvetch just laughs when I tell him about this "too nice" criticism and says, "you're definitely not 'too nice' to me!" I don't know what the big jerkwad means. (Ha!)

Has anyone seen a flying pig lately?

2006-02-01T00:40:00.000-05:00

Who would've thunk it? I have a cool boss. Me. I can hardly believe it myself.

Today was sort of a mini-review and in the short time we talked, the woman actually told me that she wanted to make sure I knew that she valued me and my contributions to the team. And that she especially valued how I keep our team upbeat-- she actually laughingly called me the ringleader!

In a time of tripling workload, no bonuses, and a constant state of flux, this went a long way with me. No boss has ever told me that they valued me just for being goofy old me. I was floored. Maybe I'm just naive, easily-amused, or just a chump, but it really made me feel good. Of course, finding out that we're getting 6.3% profit sharing didn't hurt, either, but I digress...

And... I sure am glad we had this conversation prior to my royally fucking something up today. Yeah, I totally set 7 people up to attend a career fair on Thursday. Except that it's actually on Friday. They can't rescind profit sharing, can they?

Guest Blogger

2006-01-30T16:55:00.000-05:00

Hello, my name is Munchie. I used to be a tiny, sweet, scrawny little stray cat whose head was too big for her body. Zigkvetch, or as I like to call her, High-Pitched-Food-Giver found me on the side of the road one night.

She brought me home and showed me to Low-Pitched-Food-Giver, and I knew I had a good thing, so I played it up with perfection (I always knew those years of doing Shakespeare in the Park would come in handy). I cuddled and purred and nuzzled in as close to their necks as I could; a veritable vessel of love:

Of course, it worked like a charm; these Food-Givers are really quite dull. Soon I had completely infiltrated their house, lives and hearts. MUAHAHAHAHA! Yes, it was all part of my evil plan. (You can see a foreshadowing of evil in that last picture, can't you? CAN'T YOU?!)

Slowly, I began to train them to uphold my expectations and cater to my every whim. Soon I had them in my pink little paw. I was eating bits of cheese and the occasional edamame; I was allowing them to hold me only upon my convenience and consent; I captured and occupied the couch by the window, and of course, took to lounging and lolling about wherever I damn well pleased...

But still, they have far to go. When they pick me up prior to getting my express permission, I must hiss and lash my tail in utter outrage. Of course I still just lay there and cuddle in a little because, it truly is cozy, but not without voicing my wrath!

And what do the Food-Givers do? They laugh at me and cuddle me more! Insolent fools! How dare they!?

So, I've devised a fiendish new plan. Now that I have tripled in size, I shall lie upon my back in front of them and purr. No Food-Giver can resist the power of the fur belly! So furry and round- most excellent to behold! How can they not touch it in awe?

And therein lies the trap. With one touch, I shall spring into action and shred them within inches of their lives and gnash my teeth into their flesh. Of course, I won't actually use my claws or actually bite them- that would just be uncouth. Beneath me, even. Probably unsanitary. Nay, I am quite sure that my show of sheer ferocity shall scare them into being far more docile pets, er, Food-Givers. They'll know who's boss.

BEHOLD!

How dare you take pictures, madam!?

Hey! Stop it! Stop it, I say!

Why are they continuing to try to oodle my belly? They should be shaking in terror! Stop it! (oh my, that tickles!) HALT! (Damnation! I just let out a little purr.) Must...thwart...enemy...

Damn you! DAMN YOU!

Curses! Foiled again. This is not over, Food-Givers. Oh no, this is not over...

Could I Be More Boring? My Current Addictions

2006-01-30T00:19:00.000-05:00

Ok, so I'm not living life on the edge. Here are my current addictions:

Tomato juice (I've begun referring to it as liquid crack. What does it mean that tomato juice actually seems to have the power to lift my spirits?)
Project: Runway (I can't help it. I love the Santino. And the adorable Klum.)
My friend, Mrs. Canada's new food blog (The Unemployed Cook - check it out!)
Roasted chicken (with Brummel & Brown, garlic and fresh sage and thyme under the skin, and stuffed with lemons and onions)
"Wings of Desire" (amazing movie- highly recommended)
Sibelius' second symphony (I had such a negative connotation with this piece after having to play it in college next to the bitchiest flutist ever. After yesterday's concert however, I've fallen deeply, passionately in love with it.)
Ginger and Jameson's (no mom, I'm not an alcoholic)
Dunkin' Donuts iced coffee, black or with milk and Equal (this is less an addiction as it is a way of life)
Keen jewelry (Feel free to buy me presents! Really. I want those green stone earrings with the silver circles.)
Living vicariously through Rachael's pregnancy and Leanne's wedding planning! (Yay for both, and your partners in crime!)
The new Food Network shows, "Ham on the Street," and "Restaurant Makeover" and all the new food competitions.

And that's all I've got for tonight. Like I said, I'm boring. But cute. And really, that's the most important thing.

I Should Have Stayed in Bed Today

2006-01-23T19:10:00.000-05:00

I should’ve stayed in bed today.

I woke up late and it was snowing ridiculously this morning. So I figured that maybe I’d just work from home. But my computer wouldn’t work right, so I had to reboot, and by the time it came back up and told me that I had a 9:00 interview, I was frantic.

I rushed to get ready, brushed off the car, and started driving to work. Twice, I lost control of the car and drove into a snowbank, even though I was going at a snail's pace. But did I turn around and go home? Oh no. Onward I went, now 20 minutes late for my interview.

I figured I’d just park my car illegally near the side entrance, run in, do the interview, and run back out. I got in, and the kid had only just arrived himself, and my co-worker was just getting him through the application. So, I go in to my office, get my computer going, and after I learned that I wouldn’t have time to interview him after all, I went back outside to my car. My car that won’t start. At all.

I believe the maniacal laughing/crying started at that point.

So I traipse back in and call AAA. The idiot on the phone asks me what the problem is. I tell her that the car won’t start and that I’m not sure if it’s the battery or gas or what. She asks me what I want. I think about telling her that I want to go back to bed or world peace and a hamburger, but I digress. I tell her I want someone to come out and look at it and either bring me a little gas, jump my car or tow me to a garage. She very annoyed-ly tells me that I can only have 2 things done- either gas & jump, gas & tow, or jump & tow. Again, she asks me what I want. I tell her that I don’t know. She asks me what I think is wrong with the car. Really. She really asks me this. So I tell her that that’s actually why I’m calling her. She tells me again that she can only put 2 things down or else it will be too long and they’re all too busy. For this “service” I pay HOW MUCH per year? Anyway, I say gas and tow and figure I’ll sweet talk the guy when he gets here, if it needs a jump. It did need a jump and apparently needs a new battery, and I have no idea whether it’s actually going to start up when I go out there in a few minutes. If all else fails, I guess I could just sleep in my office and roll around in the snow in the morning to get clean.

I also screwed up on something for my boss, got yelled at by one of the people who reports to me and had a million and 3 meetings today.

Happy New Year!!!

(Ahh, the first kvetch of the new year. It brings a gentle tear to one's eye, doesn't it?)

Shout out to my homegirls Flipsycab and Suzanne! And also to darling Paul and Angel who keep bugging me to finally get my butt to see Brokeback Mountain (I want to see this SO badly!).

Oh, and another thing...

2005-12-22T00:09:00.000-05:00

Et tu, Damon?

Johnny Damon, you rat bastard traitor. Yeah, because you need that extra money. Because obviously you aren't making enough to live on, what with the book, Dunkin Donuts commercials, oh, and the buttload of money you make every year for PLAYING BASEBALL.

Choke on it.

Not that I'm bitter...

It's gOOd, I think!

2005-12-21T23:59:00.000-05:00

Sorry, it's midnight and I'm working with Iron Chef on, and if one more damn woman judge says, "it's gOOd, I think" one more damn time, I may scream.

How about some new snowflakes? (Shut UP. I know that creating and then downloading snowflakes is pathetic and sad, but it's my blog, and I'll pathetic and sad if I want to.)

Monday, Monday (Nah, naaaah, nah, na-nah nah...)

2005-12-19T18:13:00.000-05:00

It's Monday. It was a little shaky today. One of my team found her new workspace so awful she cried almost all day- even after I assured her we'd move her and give her plenty of room. The other groused and growled and was generally miserable. I've tried to stay very low-key and not exacerbate the situation. I always seem to exacerbate the situation no matter what, though- sometimes just by breathing.

Anyway. I had a co-worker come over and hug me twice today, so proud she was of my miraculous turn into the owner of a neat office. She also made me promise to keep it this way twice today. Normally, I'd slap someone upside the head and tell them to mind their own beeswax, but she's a sweet person and means no harm (Anne, you'll know who I'm talking about!). The funniest part is that she isn't exactly known for her unclutter either.

I'm a little woozy from paint fumes and the toxic fumes eminating from my new mouse pad. The mousepad came from a competitor and I'm starting to wonder if it's some kind of slow-acting nerve gas, used to take the competition down, one employee at a time.

I walked around the new building today. I still love it. The cafeteria was supposed to be open, but it's been delayed, so instead, they sprung for free bagels/pastries/muffins and fresh coffee in all the break areas today and tomorrow. A nice gesture to say the least-- and the coffee was damn good!

I took a 5 minute break this afternoon to make snowflakes. I may be addicted. Is there a 12-step program for cyber-snowflake makers yet? There should be.

I found the best little note while I was cleaning out all my crap from the old office, and it's one of the few things I saved. It's from the little Doodle herself (although she's not exactly little anymore)- my friend Keri's daughter, from probably 5 years or so ago. It's scribbled on lavender paper and says the following:

Dear Lori,
I was here last night. I stole one of your thumbtacks to hang up my snowman picture if you go into mom's office you will see it! You can't miss it!! The tack's orange.

Love Your Friend,
D. Doodle
(various happy faces with tongues sticking out and a 4-petalled flower)

P.S. I had a sip of your water!

Make Your Own Snowflake!

2005-12-18T19:31:00.000-05:00

Who couldn't use some addictive fun on a Sunday afternoon?

Thanks for finding this, Melissa!

http://snowflakes.lookandfeel.com/

Here's my favorite of the ones I made (please notice the bear, the monster, and the cat):

Oy, I Hate Moving

2005-12-17T18:45:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I packed up my entire office. I can't even begin to describe the mountain of garbage I threw out and recycled. I weep for the trees felled in my relentless pursuit of mediocrity over the years. Jesus. Fuckload o' paper. Anyway, the guys came to pick up the orange crates with which we'd stuffed everything to go to the new offices. I, of course, was the last one still packing, and it was brutal. I bribed the guys with a bag of my beloved cherry cordial kisses, and a hat I had left over from recruiting. Thankfully, it worked.

I hadn't yet even visited the new building when I arrived this morning. When they were giving tours, I was so depressed about my job, I couldn't bring myself to go look at the shiny new building that I was positive I'd never be moving to. In a way, it was probably better that I hadn't seen it, because I was in love as soon as I stepped through the doors.

I have been hearing nothing but complaints for the last week. The walls are paper thin. They didn't set up the offices the way we'd requested. It's too cold. It's too hot. Thankfully, I had the common sense (who knew I had any?!) to keep an open mind. I love the building, soft peach and lavender walls and all. I love the new building smell. I love that I work in a behemoth of a building. And oh, do I love my office.

It's smaller than my old office, but the ceiling is a bit higher, and the top 1/3 is glass, so I actually have a little natural light coming through! When I step out of my office, I turn right and look out the floor-to-ceiling windows that make up the big office's back wall. The few of us who were in today actually got together for an impromptu meeting in front of those windows, and sat on the floor! I'm telling you, it's a whole new world. (Don't sing. Really.) The windows look out on a little landscaping and some woods beyond. It's so pretty. The site ops manager came by and I told him I was thinking about raising some chickens out back. He told me he thought the cafeteria might not approve. Damn.

My office has such a cozy feel to it. A girl could improve her attitude in a setting like this, I tell you! What? Stranger things have happened. Oh, hush.

So yeah, the walls are paper thin, they haven't installed one of my flip cabinets and a shelf, and I've been both hot and cold today. Whatever. It's a good change of scenery and I'm (are you sititng down?) happy.

Random Sweet (and Salty!) Nothings for Friday

2005-12-16T13:03:00.000-05:00

If you haven't tried these two wonderfully tasty treats yet, get thee to a market and get yourself some!

Rold Gold (Jeez, would it really have killed them to add the extra L and E? But I digress...) Butter *Checkers* pretzels made with Land O Lakes butter. Hot damn these are yummy and filled with buttery goodness.
Hershey's Limited Edition Cherry Cordial Kisses! Really chocolate-covered cherry goodness without the scary disintegrating cherry. That's right- just chocolate and cherry flavored goo.

Have you seen that commercial where 2 squirrels are playing a new handheld videogame player and discussing it in terms of nuts and other squirrelly things? One of the squirrels says something that the other squirrel finds completely preposterous, so he says in disgust, "Squirrel, PLEASE." It cracks me up every single time. And now I'm saying it. And I may or may not have shared this with my kids at flute choir last night, so they may or may not be driving their parents crazy with the phrase at this very moment.

I also love the petulant Stormtrooper Burger King commercial. Don't judge.

I'm supposed to move offices today, and I'm nowhere near ready and have yet another meeting to go to. Gah!

It's rainy/slushy/icy out and that, my friends, is pure ugly. I'd rather have snow. Which reminds me- one of my students made me promise to say "Snowbunny" right before I went to bed last night. Apparently, the mere utterance of this word magically makes it a school's-cancelled-snow day. Or maybe you have to really believe as well, which in this case, means those poor kids are screwed today and have to go to school.

When is my sushi going to get here?!

Ooh, I must've asked that with strong belief because IT'S HERE!

Magic!

How Could I Forget? Or: Hey, I Happen to LOVE Chopped Liver!

2005-12-15T16:08:00.000-05:00

When I recapped below, I totally forgot to mention that I met someone I've known for years, but had never met before! (I know, it sounds like a riddle a troll who lives under a bridge would ask a billy goat, but stick with me.)

You see, I have been a member of a group of Internet friends (Stop fucking laughing. Clearly you're jealous.) for years and years. We started off together as a crazy bunch of girls on a message board for a now-sucky magazine and through the years we've relocated, splintered, added new friends, and somehow all kept in touch. With the splintering, after a very dramatic message board war (I said to stop fucking laughing. Don't make me turn this blog around!), I now consider myself an extremely lucky member of two wonderful, private online communities. Some of my friends hang out in both places, and some are only at one or the other. I love them all.

So anyway, there is this one woman, we'll call her BUNNYROCK, who I've begun to get to know better over the last few years, but have been posting with since day one. She's funny, adorable, has her finger on the pulse of all things celebrity gossipish, is an artist, an interesting person and has a penchant for monkeys, perfect dye jobs and peanut butter. What's not to love? (This obviously explains why she is also the target for a myriad of love letters from Nigerian men who want to marry her on MySpace.)

Well, she was in town a month or so ago, and I finally got to meet her face to face! She was lovely and sweet and we got on like the old friends we were. I was late (what else is new?) but I insisted on driving into Cambridge to come see her anyway, because I just refused to miss my one opportunity to finally meet her. After getting completely lost on my way to her hotel, I finally found her and she was even more adorable and nice in person. I gave her the cheap and dirty car tour of Boston while we chatted away about everything from love and jobs to Trader Joe's, must-have coats, and her bohemian life when she followed a band around (seriously, how cool is that?). We could've gone on and on for hours. I wish we had!

When she got back home, she made me a beautiful pair of earrings (I'll have to take a picture and post it) with little lavender crystals and freshwater pearls and sent them off to me, much to my pleasant surprise.

And what do I do, nebbish that I am?

I recap the last few months without even so much as a mention. What a jerkwad.

So, dear Bunnyrock, you are not chopped liver at all my friend, but even if I thought you were, it would be a compliment coming from me, because I happen to love me some chopped liver.

Cleaning Out

2005-12-13T15:37:00.000-05:00

I'm sorry mama, I never meant to hurt you, I never meant to make you cry, but tonight i'm cleanin' out my closet, {one more time}, I said i'm sorry mama, I never meant to hurt you, I never meant to make you cry, but tonight i'm cleanin' out my closet...

Who am I kidding? My mother will be thrilled to hear that I actually cleaned something. Cry? Tears of joy and disbelief, maybe.

Ok, I'm not cleaning out my closet, but I am cleaning out my office in order to move into the new building. It's amazing the amount of crap one can aquire through the years. So, since I'm in a brutal TRASH IT! mode, I thought I'd say goodbye to some of the most random things that won't be accompanying me to the new office.

Goodbye Tactile-Kinesthetic learning aid. It was fun to take all the brightly colored wooden shapes and form them into other geometric shapes as a break from eye-melting spreadsheets and irritating people. I found you in a donated box of school supplies from a retired teacher, amongst hundreds of dried out pens and some broken chalk (it's the thought that counts).

Goodbye giant yellow Japanese cartoon character water bottle from a sushi chain. You were a good water bottle, but I was a bad owner who never took you home and rinsed you out. And now, alas, it is too late. I believe the 3 years of dust you've accumulated would be toxic even after my best cleaning efforts.

Goodbye M&M collectors' tin decorated like a carousel. Yeah, I have no idea why I kept you for so long once the M&Ms were gone. See ya.

Goodbye sad little birdhouse that a former co-worker made for all of us one year. Complete with fake bird. Dust to dust, my friend.

Goodbye unopened cans of soup I found in my drawer. A pity that I'm not brave enough to risk ptomaine poisoning by eating you, 3 years later.

Goodbye mugs with advertising on them. You're going to that great kiln in the sky, friends.

Goodbye little wooden decorative bucket and the 4,000,000 ketchup, mustard, salt, and Equal packets you miraculously stored. If Jesus had been giving out condiments instead of loaves and fishes, I feel certain that he'd have used you.

Goodbye old straws I found wedged between the table and the wall. Your elegant crust of dust foozles was a hard thing to let go of, but mostly just because it was kind of sticky.

Goodbye useless candle shaped into an ugly birthday cake that someone thoughtfully gave me a few birthdays ago. Nothing says, "Hey! Happy birthday, dear friend!" like a useless and ugly birthday cake candle.

Goodbye binders full of hard work that is completely outdated and useless now. Oh, the hours we've spent together. Kind of makes me wonder why I bother, but I digress...

Goodbye training manuals and materials from crappy trainings past. Intro to Management; Frontpage; Interviewing Skills for Dolts. You gave me so much knowledge during the 3 days I used each of you. Please don't take it personally that I forgot everything by the next week and shoved you onto a shelf and am now callously ripping your guts out into the recycle bin.

I give you all up in sacrificial offering to the gods of recycling and uncluttered offices! I SING THE TRASH BIN ELECTRIC!

(Obviously the copious amounts of dust I've been inhaling have proven hallucinogenic.)

Testing 1, 2, 3, testing! Is this thing on?

2005-12-12T14:15:00.000-05:00

Um, hello?

Yeah, I'm still alive and kicking. Ok, maybe not kicking so much as feebly nudging the world with my foot.

Things have been crazy for the last few months, but I'm ok and Mr. ZigKvetch is ok.

I will now provide you with a list of things that we've done/experienced/etc. for the last few months:

Went all over the damn place recruiting.
On my way back from Cornell, I saw a kid riding his bike while spraying something onto the spokes of his wheels which would then ignite into orange flame. Not much to do in Ithaca.
Played a lot of flute.
Sighed a lot over the Red Sox.
Fretted over Mr. Kvetch who was in a serious car accident and escaped with only a few bruises! (Who else do you know that gets rear-ended on a clear highway, going 65?)
Missed my friends who I've/we've had no time for because of work.
Worried about my job and the rumors swirling about.
Hated my arch nemesis aforementioned in the post below.
Had a lovely Thanksgiving with the best turkey ever.
Missed my parents.
Had a date with Paul to a fabulous drag show. He was a wonderful date, evevn though the two times he left me alone I was picked on by the evening's emcee, Miss Kitty Litter.
Went to Philly and met up with 4 of the world's coolest people, Sarah, Michael, Meg and Lauren. I love them all, but oh, that Lauren and Meg. Oh, and BillyChuck! I could just eat him up!
Had an Anthropologie bag named after me. (No, really! How cool is that?)
Had our bread machine commit suicide by flinging itself off the counter, mid-pizza dough making.
Bought a new bread machine.
Taught a lot of flute.
Starting teaching a special needs student whom I believe is teaching me more than I'm teaching him!
Conducted a public holiday flute choir concert. The students were magnificent!
Had a student go through a really tough patch that ended up being rather soul-crushing for me. I'm better now, and I think she is too, although we've parted ways.
Missed Erin terribly and then, miraculously, started hearing from her again, much to my incredible joy!
Learned the joy of cranberry mojitos.
Prepared to move offices from our old building to the new one.
Learned that my dear friend Rachael is pregnant!!!
Had a few lunches with my beloved friend Keri, who probably hates me right now.
Tried to be eating buddies with Suzanne, who is doing a great job while I continue to eat like a moo cow. (I'm trying mom- I am!)
And a billion other things that I'm not thinking of right now.

I am going to try to gently ease myself back into this blogging business because I think it might just be the cheapest therapy around. I am now off to see if Miss Flipsycab is still around and if she's even still "talking" to me! I hope everyone's winters are going smoothly and that the holiday season isn't driving anyone too bonkers!

Big Ass Job Rant

2005-10-17T09:39:00.000-05:00

(Please, if you know where I work, do not mention anything by name in the comments, as I would like for my anger, resentment, and frustration to be anonymous while it slowly kills me! Thanks!)

Why is everybody at work a complete and utter BASTARD today? Why do supposedly grown-up, supposedly professional people feel the need to have temper tantrums when they don't get their way? Why do these same imbeciles act like the 3-year-old across the street and do their own version of covering their ears, stomping their feet and yelling

"I'mnotlisteningI'mnotlisteningI'mnotlistening"

when you try to reason with them?

I am sick of being asked to do things that are somewhat unethical (nothing huge like money or anything, but not the best, "rightest" thing we could do).
I am sick of being told "well, we've done things like this in the past."
I am sick of having to spend my whole job trying to please a few overgrown spoiled brats.

I understand you're technically brilliant. I understand that management loves you. I understand that a lot of people kiss your ass.

You need to understand that I'm just trying to do my job. You need to understand that it's not your butt on the line if something is found as even slightly unethical. You need to understand that I am not your old crony who would do anything you asked and finagle things without a care in the world. You also need to understand that was 4 years ago, and times have changed.

I am sick of a specific manager who thinks she rules the universe thinking I'm trying to get away with something. I'm pissed as hell that she sent a message, copying 2 other managers basically admonishing me as if I were a 2 year old, when I've been nothing but nice and respectful of her. I especially hate that when I answered back in a professional manner, I got no response.

I am sick of being asked to do more and more even as our future looks less and less steady. I am sick of having to coach managers on how to let their employees know that they're valued and respected and needed when I, and the other managers in my office, get NOTHING of the kind.

I'm tired of being the bearer of bad news, the "axe man," and the person who everyone thinks knows more, but just isn't telling. I'm tired of taking the brunt of people's anger while the top managers make these decisions behind closed doors.

I'm tired of not being listened to. I'm tired of feeling so detached. I'm tired of feeling angry and hurt and unsure all the time. I'm tired of my chest and head feeling tight (first person who mentions heart attack or stroke gets a boot to their head) with stress and frustration. I'm tired of feeling like I'm going to cry.

I'm sick of watching my friends in this office (and myself) turn into bitter, jaded nervous wrecks because of this environment.

I'm sick of talking about and trying to convince people about what a fantastic place this is to work, when I personally, don't really agree.

I hate learning major developments about where I work from the media instead of my own managers.

And I fucking hate that I have to depend on this job so desperately so that they don't foreclose on our house, take our cars away, or take away our medical insurance.

I hate that it's getting harder and harder to let go of this resentment on weekends and evenings. I hate that my husband is equally worried about how miserable I am and what would happen if I didn't have this job.

I hate hating, I hate resenting, I hate having the life sucked out of me.

I know that this place isn't worth risking my health over, but I also know that if I wasn't here, it would be a whole new set of bad for me.

I'm not looking for sympathy or suggestions for new jobs or advice that says I should just leave. I couldn't bear it if even one more person says that I should do something about it instead of just suffering. I can't right now. I just can't. There are a ton of things that would fall apart if I just left, or even found a new job. Besides, who would want me in this state of mind? I just need to let some of this out, or I'm going to burst.

Keri Should Be President

2005-10-05T15:30:00.000-05:00

And here's why:
We were talking about doctor's appointments and our aches, pains, and ailments like the little old ladies we've become, and later, she e-mails me this:

"You know how they give you these discounts if you get an Old Navy charge card, or if you are a frequent flier? Why don't they do that with Dr.'s? For every inch of your body that has been scoped, xray'd, MRI'd or flushed with dye, you should get points."

BRILLIANT!

This Just In:

2005-10-02T16:54:00.000-05:00

Sign at Fenway, home of the 2005 Wildcard Champs, the Boston Red Sox:

Ortizzle is the Shizzle!!

Want more control over the president?

2005-10-02T16:28:00.000-05:00

Have at it!

Bush Bounce

I'm the suckiest blogger ever, I know. It's been such a busy couple of weeks. Not to mention stressful. I feel better now that we have CLINCHED THE WILDCARD (Big Papi, I love you so! NYY, I hate you with the passionate anger of a thousand sunburned ninjas!). I will try to write a real post tomorrow. In the meantime, have fun with Bush and the bubbles. I could play with that for hours. Oh, and if he gets stuck, you can pick him up and move him with your mouse.

Munchie Moment

2005-09-27T00:45:00.000-05:00

Sorry- things have been crazy! I will update soon! Here's a quick goofy Munchie face to tide you over:

P.S. I'm glad you're all healed-up, Paul! Hope you liked the peanut butter cookies (no mayo).

Admissions Essay

2005-09-14T20:23:00.000-05:00

Yes, I had to write an admissions essay in order to become a full-fledged member of the coolest foodie boards on earth: http://forums.egullet.org/ (thank you so much for the tip, Megan!). So, because I'm the wonderful and giving person that I am, I've decided to share my essay. I'm sure none of you would even momentarily entertain the thought that I'm just being lazy by copying and pasting this magnificent essay out of sheer laziness so that I didn't actually have to think up a whole new blog entry. That would just be gauche, wouldn't you agree? (SHUT IT.)

Here it is in all its splendor, including the previously published mayo peanut butter cookie story (oh pipe down- it's a cute story and it won't kill you to read a shortened version of it one more time within the context of this rambling mess of an essay.)

******************************************
I am a big, fat foodie. I have loved the smell, taste, look, sound, feel and creation of food, probably since I was born. The distended belly and contented look on my face in all of my baby pictures seem to back this up.

I'm a Jewish only child, and grew up with matzoballs, gefilte fish (oh how I love those gray masses of fish and meal in gelatinous goo!), mamalega (Romanian for: cornmeal mush with ricotta and lots of paprika), mom and dad's chicken noodle soup, Grandma Zelda's chocolate chip cookies, and Grandma Sylvia's Hamentaschen. There was never a chance that I'd turn out thin.

I wanted to cook from the beginning. That damn EZBake oven still goes down as one of the biggest disappointments of my life. Dad taught me how to make a cheese omelet and even bought me my own little red frying pan (which I still have to this day!). Mom taught me how to make crepes (!) when my girl scout troop unanimously decided that crepes were the obvious choice for breakfast on our camping trip. As soon as I could write, I was appointed Thanksgiving Dinner scribe, and took careful, copious notes of how many cans of broth and mushrooms went into the stuffing, the brand of yams and marshmallows used, and of course, how big the bird was each year.

As I grew older, I decided to take cooking into my own hands, perfecting two signature dishes: peanut butter cookies and ambrosia. I would use any excuse to make up a batch of either one. And then came the fateful day when I started out to make peanut butter cookies for my dad on father's day. Halfway through (I didn't understand mise en place at 8 years old) I discovered, to my horror, that we had no eggs. I would not be deterred from my mission. "Eggs, eggs... what else has eggs in it? A-HA! Mayonaise has eggs in it!" And so was born the first ever peanut butter/mayo cookie. (They actually tasted pretty good, although they were very crumbly.)

Then there were all the celebrity chefs I remember watching: Julia Child, Galloping and Frugal Gourmets, and, being from the San Francisco Bay Area, good old Yan. The food network, travel network, PBS (I almost typed PMS. Freudian?), and various food, wine and cooking expos have become part of my husband's and my daily life. My husband is a tuba player and I am a flutist. By the time we get home at night, we found the only thing worth watching was the Food Network. The first time we scrambled to set the VCR to tape an episode of Tony Bourdain's "A Cook's Tour," we knew we were hooked.

People may knock Emeril, but that man single-handedly inspired my husband (a total guy's guy like E) to become a terrific cook. He's taken that inspiration and has become a pro at making the finest sauces for everything from pasta to meat to eggs to vegetables. I have followed in my parental units' footsteps and become a pretty accomplished soup and stew woman, myself. From there, we've developed an insatiable love for all things Mario, Tony Bourdain, Alton Brown, and just making and trying and eating food in general. Being a member of egullet is just the next step in our foodie evolution, and I can't wait to dive right in, get and share some great tips and stories and recipes, and watch how it changes the way I cook and eat.

By the way, the mayo cookies wouldn't be my last odd substitution, nor would it be even close to the strangest thing I've tried eating. From tripe to pig's feet to the unrecognizable thing on the Dim Sum cart that I can't quite figure out, I'll try it. I love food. The distended belly and contented look on my face in all my recent pictures seem to back this up. Alas, there really is no way I'm ever going to be thin.

Zen Judaism

2005-09-10T00:06:00.000-05:00

I didn't think there was an e-mail forward left in this world that would actually make me crack a smile. My dear friend Hilary, my hat's off to you!

(It's my blog and I'll comment if I want to, comment if I want to, comment if I want to. You would comment too, if this blog belonged to you!)

Zen Judaism

If there is no self, whose arthritis is this?
Be here now. Be someplace else later. Is that so complicated?
Drink tea and nourish life. With the first sip... joy. With the second... satisfaction. With the third, peace. With the fourth, a danish. (Preferably prune or poppy seed!)
Wherever you go, there you are. Your luggage is another story.
Accept misfortune as a blessing. Do not wish for perfect health or a life without problems. What would you talk about?
The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single "oy." (HA! Don't I know it!?)
There is no escaping karma. In a previous life, you never called, you never wrote, you never visited... And whose fault was that?
Zen is not easy. It takes effort to attain nothingness. And then what do you have? Bupkes.
The Tao does not speak. The Tao does not blame. The Tao does not take sides. The Tao has no expectations. The Tao demands nothing of others. The Tao is not Jewish. (Rumor has it that the Tao's matzo balls are hard as rocks, too. I'm just saying...)
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Forget this, and attaining Enlightenment will be the least of your problems.
Be patient and achieve all things. Be impatient and achieve all things faster.
To Find the Buddha, look within. Deep inside you are ten thousand flowers. Each flower blossoms ten thousand times. Each blossom has ten thousand petals. You might want to see a specialist.
To practice Zen and the art of Jewish motorcycle maintenance, do the following: get rid of the motorcycle. What were you thinking?
Be aware of your body. Be aware of your perceptions. Keep in mind that not every physical sensation is a symptom of terminal illness. (Hi, MOM!)
The Torah says, "Love thy neighbor as thyself." The Buddha says there is no "self." So maybe you are off the hook?
The Buddha taught that one should practice loving kindness to all sentient beings. Still, would it kill you to find a nice sentient being who happens to be Jewish? (Sorry Mom & Dad, I just had to marry the goy next door.)

Not My Strong Suit

2005-09-07T18:32:00.000-05:00

Patience is a virtue, doncha know. Yeah, well it sure as heck isn't my strong suit. I still haven't heard back about the audition and it's killing me. I had dreams about it all night, and even today (I took part of the day off) while napping. I know I didn't get the gig, but until I've actually heard that, my creepy head just keeps going, "what if?" Stupid creepy head.

I'm dying to e-mail the personnel manager, but Mr. Zigkvetch told me not to, and he has a ton more experience. But I freaking hate being patient. HATE.

Will-power is also not my strong suit, so eventually, I betcha I write the e-mail anyway. And then eat my weight in hummous and veggie chips. (Just kidding.)

Standing up to people is not my strong suit either. I tend to get used a lot. I'll fight to the death just about, if I think someone else is getting the shaft, but I really need to stand up for myself more. I'm tired of being various peoples' bitch. Stupid golden child bigshot engineer at work, I'm looking at you.

Taking risks isn't my strong suit. I know I need to get my resume together and start looking for a new job. Or get my official state teaching certification. But I'm terrified of leaving a good job (even if I don't like it) at a good company with good benefits and compensation. I'm starting to think that staying is slowly killing me, however, so something needs to change. I'm trying to change my attitude first- give it one more go. We'll see.

Throwing others under a bus (not literally of course, although I can't imagine I'd be any good at doing that either) is not my strong suit. I see others doing it, almost with glee, and wonder how they can live with themselves.

Ooh- my e-mail just dinged-- maybe it's about the audition! Hold on!

BAH. More work crap. Everything is a matter of life or death with these people. And let me assure you that I don't work for FEMA, Red Cross, a hospital, or any life or death-dealing entity.

Now where was I? Oh yes... I'm also not good at math, keeping things tidy and uncluttered, and not being scared to death by spiders. Which reminds me of a close encounter with the eight-legged kind I had a few weeks ago.

I ran in from work, having to well, um, powder my nose rather urgently. I ran straight to the bathroom and while I was...er, powdering my nose, I looked down, and next to the cat box was a big ass spider. A really, really big ass spider. A really, really effing huge big ass spider. I blanched. I also knew there was no way in heck that I was going to be able to squish this thing without passing out. And, brave warrior that I am, I wanted to protect my new kitten, and yelled at her to stay back as if we were precariously between a pissed off mama bear and her cub. Which of course, only made her want to come on in that much more. "Look at that! The funny human thing is yelling at me, and she's all white! She must want to play! Whoo-hoo! Here I come funny human thing!"

So, I quickly finished powdering my nose and, gulping down the glass-shattering scream that was begging to escape my lungs, leapt over the beast, and into the kitchen for the super duper bug spray. I came back to the bathroom and from the doorway, with the girliest of girly squeals of terror, sprayed the behemoth, which of course, ran for the hills. I sprayed and sprayed. It finally curled up into a ball against the wall. I stopped spraying, and the sneaky bastard leapt up and kept running. I screamed and sprayed again and slammed the door shut.

I shook and shook. I scooped up the cat (sweet little thing- she has no idea how valiantly I saved her little furry life) and she laid down on me, purring back at my ridiculously beating heart.

Veronica called and I talked to her for awhile and she calmed me down a bit. At least until she started telling me about effing cave spiders, or what she likes to call "sprickets" half spider/half cricket. I'm not gonna lie- the description of them made me die a little inside. At least we don't have those. A more suspicious person would deduce that she shared this fact with me as part of a diabolical plan to ensure that I'd never visit her. Of course, I know V isn't diabolical. Either way though, it worked. I told her that I would not be visiting her anytime soon (if by that I mean, EVER), but not to take it personally.

So, Mr. Zigkvetch got home while I was still on the phone with V, and while she giggled at me on her end of the phone line, and without my even saying hello, I immediately told him to get his butt in there to see if the spider was still kicking around. He went in and came thisclose to doing a Fred-Flinstone-stepping-on-a-banana-peel slip because of all the bug spray on the floor. The gargantua was dead, but even Mr. Z had to admit it was gosh darn big. (Mr. Z claims that I may, at times, possibly overstate, slightly, the size of spiders who invade our home. Lies, I tell you!) We figure the poor thing died of drowning before the poison could even take effect.

It took me an hour to clean the bathroom up. The fumes were delightful. Whee!

And yes, I'm a little terrified to go back into the bathroom. I don't want any ghost of a pissed off spider to come jumping out at me growling. Or any of his minions to attack me when I least expect it, seeking swift revenge.

Restraint from rambling on and on in blog entries? Also, not one of my strong suits.

Who knew? Everything you ever wanted to know about Jewish exorcisms!

2005-09-06T23:49:00.000-05:00

(Read post below this one, first. Please and thank you.)

I guess Jews have exorcisms too. (Whew! I mean, just in case... G-d forbid, pphth, ppthth...)

Here is some of the stuff I found:

One of the best known Judaic ritual, cited in Judaism rabbinical literature dating from the first century AD, concerns the dybbuk, an evil or doomed spirit which possesses a victim and causes mental illness and a personality change. The dybbuk is expelled through the victim's small toe, and then is either redeemed or sent to hell.
****************************************

From: http://www.ghostvillage.com/legends/2003/legends32_11292003.shtml:

Rabbi Gershon Winkler has been studying Jewish folklore, spirituality, and its shamanic roots for more than 25 years. He has written books covering the Jewish perspective on ghosts, apparitions, magic, and reincarnation, including a book titled Dybbuk. Rabbi Winkler said, "[Jews] don't believe in demonic possession. We believe that, on very rare occasions, there can be a possession of a living person by the soul of one who has left the body, but not the world, and they're seeking a body to possess to finish whatever they need to finish."

A true possession does have specific signs. Rabbi Winkler explained, "You can tell it is real if the person is capable of speaking things that they would not otherwise be capable of knowing. Because the soul that's in them is not integrated with them enough to be subject to time, space, and matter, they would be able to tell you things they would ordinarily not know -- like what you dreamed last night, what's happening across the street, maybe they can even speak a separate language that they've never known before."

If this kind of bad possession takes hold, the solution is exorcism. The Jewish exorcism ritual is performed by a rabbi who has mastered practical Kabbalah (Important Blogger's note: THIS REFERS TO THE REAL STUDY OF JUDAIC MYSTICISM, NOT THE CRAPFEST MONEY-GRUBBING CULT THAT MORONS LIKE MADONNA/BRITNEY ET AL LIKE TO PROCLAIM AS THEIR "RELIGION!!!"). The ceremony involves a quorum of 10 people who gather in a circle around the possessed person. The group recites Psalm 91 three times, and the rabbi blows the shofar -- a ram's horn.

Rabbi Winkler has performed four exorcisms in his life so far. He said, "We blow the ram's horn in a certain way, with certain notes, in effect to shatter the body, so to speak. So that the soul who is possessing will be shaken loose. After it has been shaken loose, we can begin to communicate with it and ask it what it is here for. We can pray for it and do a ceremony for it to enable it to feel safe and finished so that it can leave the person's body."

The point of the exorcism is to heal the person being possessed and the spirit doing the possessing. This is a stark contrast to the Catholic exorcism that is intended to drive away the offending spirit or demon. Winkler said, "We don't drive anything out of anybody. What we want to do is to heal the soul that's possessing and heal the person. It's all about healing -- we do the ceremony on behalf of both people."

Who knew?

Those Poor People

2005-09-06T21:36:00.000-05:00

I just can't believe this has happened. I've read so many horrifying things and they've shocked me and made me cry. G-d only knows what these people are feeling. There's not much I can say that hasn't been said.

I feel guilty writing about life just going on, but I will I guess.

I had an audition today, and it went well although I don't know who won yet. I'm trying hard not to get my hopes up, but it's not really working that well. I had a huge adrenaline rush when I got there and thought I was going to pass out. So I did jumping jacks. I must've looked like such a dork. I hope the church where the auditions were held doesn't have a security camera.

We had a friend come stay with us for the weekend. It was nice to hang out and see another friend that I don't get to see much. And we went to Zaftig's in Brookline and I had wonderful cold borscht. I could eat a vat of it if given the chance. I played at a wedding in Boston for a couple that seemed oddly detached from each other. And the bridesmaids weren't even giggly.

I'm worried about Paul's upcoming surgery. I'm Jewish. It's what I do.

I'm proud of my parents and their awesome weightloss via Weight Watchers. They rule.

I tried the new Edy's/Dreyer's (east coast/west coast) whipped light ice cream. It's frigging delicious. And the sugar free Jell-O pudding rules too.

Our garden has bloomed forth about 5 million spicier than hell peppers, and some delicious tomatoes.

I think Lance Armstrong needs to not go back and "mess with France" by not retiring. Dude, go out on a high note, how about?

Big Papi did it again tonight. He's just the coolest.

And I have an odd celeb-crush on 50 Cent. No, I'm not even kidding. Yes, Mr. Zigkvetch knows. He just shakes his head and laughs at me.

Speaking of crushes, Mr. Z has always had a crush on Kirstie Alley. Girlfriend is looking pretty fab in those Jenny Craig commercials, I've got to admit.

I am dying to see "The Exorcism of Emily Rose." That's right. I'll give you time to stop laughing at me. Ok, ok, enough already. I've read about the real story about the German girl on whom this is based, and find the whole medicine vs. religion argument facinating. I may or may not also be trying like heck to catch the A&E special on "real" exorcisms as well. And I'm wondering what the Jewish faith has to say about demonic possession and if there is a Jewish equivalent of an exorcism.

All of these things skim along the top of my brain, but underneath my head and my heart are still thinking about all the gulf coast people, the ineptitude of our government and rescue agencies, and the racism that I naively assumed wasn't as strong as it obviously still is. Ok, I'll put away the soapbox now, and try to shut the heck up.

Hurricane Blog

2005-08-31T15:01:00.000-05:00

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/9076525/

Blatant Racism Rearing its Ugly Head in the Media

2005-08-31T12:57:00.000-05:00

Because what we need now is some good old fashioned racism to tack on to an already horrific tragedy (thanks again to Heather):

http://www.boingboing.net/2005/08/30/black_people_loot_wh.html

So Eerie.

2005-08-31T12:47:00.000-05:00

If you want some goosebumps, read the National Geographic article below. It was written last year and describes, with frightening accuracy, what would happen if a tornado hit New Orleans.

http://magma.nationalgeographic.com/ngm/0410/feature5/

Also, for the record, I am completely offended and angry as a U.S. citizen that the only actions our president seems to have taken thus far are to open up oil reserves so gas prices won't go too high, called for at-the-moment completely impotent (due to the conditions) martial law, and cut his vacation short by a couple of days. He hasn't even made a full prime-time address. I'm utterly frustrated and agog.

Hurricane Devastation

2005-08-30T16:03:00.000-05:00

I just can't believe this is happening. I breathed such a sigh of relief yesterday when the levees held and the Superdome was just leaking. Where are these people going to go, and how in the world are they going to get out? This is a bad Ben Affleck movie- it can't be reality.

Here'a an excellent sampling of the news (thanks Heather):

From Sploid: 30,000 In Superdome; Man Jumps To Death
Conditions in the Superdome have rapidly deteriorated. The severely damaged Dome is now packed with nearly 30,000 survivors — up from about 10,000 when Katrina struck Monday morning. Toilets have long quit working. A man jumped to his death from the Superdome’s nosebleed seats.

The Coast Guard and National Guard and volunteer search & rescue groups continue to pluck people from rooftops throughout New Orleans. Flooding continues in the center and business district of New Orleans, as well as the Lakeshore areas. Flood water has reportedly receded a few inches in the 9th Ward, but is still at rooftop levels. The water is filthy. Broken natural gas lines continue to leak toxic gas. Hundreds of electrical lines are still live, snapping in the water.

Abandoned, lost and feral dogs have claimed the high ground in many neighborhoods, chasing off humans. Rats, alligators and poisonous snakes are also a problem for those stranded on rooftops. Oil, sewage and chemicals continue to pour into the city with salt water from Lake Pontchartrain and silty river water from the canals and Mississippi.

Many bodies and body parts have been sighted floating throughout New Orleans. It is unknown how many are victims of the storm or were recent burials. In New Orleans, corpses are buried above ground in crypts or low tombs.

Attempts to block the growing hole in a break on a levee along a canal leading to Lake Pontchartrain have not yet stopped the flooding. The Coast Guard had planned to drop 3,000-lb. sandbags over the 500-foot-long collapsed levee wall. The lake was at about 5 feet above sea level this morning, due to the storm surge pushed into the lake from the Gulf of Mexico by Hurricane Katrina. The city of New Orleans is 6 feet below sea level, on average. New Orleans will likely continue to fill until the water reaches lake level. All hospitals have flooded and patients & staff have been evacuated.

Reports from CNN and WWL say more levee breaks have been identified. Flood waters are now coming from several breaks on different canals and seawalls.

City officials say hundreds may be dead in the floodwaters and in submerged houses. Aaron Broussard, the president of Jefferson Parish — the suburban area directly west of New Orleans, including Metarie — tells WWL TV that “residents will probably be allowed back in town in a week, with identification only, but only to get essentials and clothing. You will then be asked to leave and not come back for one month.” Broussard also says “there is no plumbing and the sanitary situation is getting nasty. He told WAFB-TV that he is carrying around a bag for his own human waste."

A huge fire is burning east of downtown. Yesterday, a yacht club burned down on the Lake Ponchertrain shore. Fire crews can’t reach the blazes, so they just burn. Oil and gasoline are floating on top of the flood waters. Fires are jumping from buildings to the oil and gas pooled atop the rising flood waters.

6,000 National Guard troops are moving in, AP reports. Another 6,000 Louisiana and Mississippi guard troops are unable to respond, as they were sent to Iraq. Looting continues along Canal Street, which is heavily flooded. Martial Law has been declared, but most of the city is not accessible to police or troops.

Many parts of Interstate 10 over the eastern edge of Lake Pontchartrain have been washed away. The Causeway that runs north-south over the lake has structural damage, the Coast Guard reports. There are “whitecaps on Canal Street.”

Mosquitos are breeding wildly in the standing water and health experts fear epidemics caused by the insects as well as the human waste and toxins in the water covering the entire city.

The Superdome’s remaining primary generator is “showing signs of stress,” according to Fox News. Water is rising around the Superdome, which is on the highest ground in town. WWL radio describes the city as a “dark, eerie, lonely, depressing and dangerous place.” There is no food supply, no electricty, little drinking water. There is no direct road connection east of New Orleans. Bridges and roads linking Louisiana to Mississippi and the rest of the southeast have washed away.

Stolen Listy Thing

2005-08-29T17:15:00.000-05:00

I stole this from Amy (who stole it from Megan who stole it from someone else, and so on and so on and so on...) because it looked like fun.

1. Nervous habits? "Clicking" (see partial neuroses list below), eating, leg bouncing.
2. Are you double jointed? No, but I am quite flexible!
3. Can you roll your tongue? Yes, and I can also do that cool wave thing with it!
4. Can you raise one eyebrow at a time? No, but I always think I can. I'm disappointed everytime I try it and then look in the mirror. Woe.
5. Can you blow spit bubbles? No, and that kind of makes me gag, so it's probably for the best.
6. Can you cross your eyes? Yes, and am in fact, typing this while crosseyed! Also? I'm sitting too close to the TV and running with scissors!
7. Tattoos? None. Did you know that it was against the Jewish religion? It is! It's also against Zigkvetch's Docrtine of Hating Pain!
8. Piercings? 3 in each... ear. (Really had you on the edge of your seat with that one, didn't I?)
9. Do you make your bed daily? Usually. I mean, one of us does. I can't very well make the bed with Mr. Zigkvetch's lazy ass still in it, now can I? HAHAHA! I keed, I keed...

CLOTHES
10. Which shoe goes on first? Yeah, I have no idea. The shoe that I find first?
11. Speaking of shoes, have you ever thrown one at anyone? Possibly. But I prefer to throw melons.
12. On the average, how much money do you carry? Not much, and it's usually floating all over my damn purse. I have one of those exploding wallets like George from Seinfeld (that Seinfeld reference was just for you, Dad!)
13. What jewelry do you wear 24/7? My engagement ring and wedding ring, a Cape Cod bracelet, and a silver butterfly ring Mom sent me.
14. Favorite piece of clothing? Um, I guess my underwear that has hamburgers, shakes and fries all over them. Either that or one of my giant old v-neck tee-shirts. Ooh, or my sex-ay, dusty-rose colored MOCK TURTLENECK (tres chic, no?) cotton top.

FOOD
15. Do you twirl your spaghetti or cut it? Twirl, but please, no spoon. You're just insulting me at that point. Also, cut spaghetti? Feh.
16. Have you ever eaten Spam? Yes, but I've apparently blocked it out of my mind.
17. Do you use extra salt on your food? Sometimes. I love me some salt. Oh, and while we're on the topic? Sea salt (especially Fleur de Sel) on grilled asparagus with olive oil is the best thing ever.
18. How many cereals in your cabinet? I think we just have some instant plain oatmeal.
19. What's your favorite beverage? Soda water or a perfect margarita on the rocks with salt.
20. What's your favorite fast food restaurant? Probably Taco Bell. Yes, my head is hung low. Just call me Tom Dooley.
21. Do you cook? Yes, but I usually leave it up to Mr. Zigkvetch because he's waaay better at it than me.

GROOMING
22. How often do you brush your teeth? Twice a day. And yes mom, I floss.
23. Hair drying method? Either regular towel/air dry, or sometimes I stick my head out the window on the way to work.
24. Have you ever colored/highlighted your hair? I've had it highlighted a few times, and had pink hair and red hair in high school and college. Rather shockingly, I have only about 5 gray hairs!

MANNERS
25. Do you swear? Never. (Those of you who know me are laughing yourselves sick right about now)
26. Do you ever spit? No- it grosses me out. Especially people who really hock lougies. Gagging...

FAVORITE
27. Animal? All, except for hyenas because on Animal Planet I learned that they secrete nasty, smelly goo on things. Double feh.
28. Food? Asian noodles. Soup. Especially Asian noodles in soup.
29. Month? Any month in which I'm not broke and haven't had anything bad happen.
30. Day of the week? Friday.
31. Cartoon? The Tick. I also love Family Guy and Aquateen Hunger Force. If you're talking old school, then Bugs Bunny all the way, man.
32. Shoe brand? Payless Shoesource, baby! Don't hate! Although, if I'm actually buying decent shoes, I love Zappos.
33. Subject in school? Quantum physics. No, that's just silly. All together now: BAND!
34. Color? Pink, purple, red, black (yeah, yeah, yeah, black isn't a color, blah, blah, blah)
35. Sport? Baseball. Especially RED SOX Baseball. Especially when we win.
36. TV shows? Food Network, MASH repeats (shut it), and Buffy the Vampire Slayer (shut it again), Anthony Bourdain's new show on the Travel Channel
37. Thing to do in the spring? Shop for new, springy clothes.
38. Thing to do in the summer? Stay in air conditioning.
39. Thing to do in the autumn? Buy wonderful, cozy fall clothes and cook soups and stews.
40. Thing to do in the winter? Wear wonderful, cozy fall clothes and eat soups and stews.

IN AND AROUND
41. In the CD player? Uh, Howard Jones' Greatest Hits. No one is to blame, people.
42. Person you talk most on the phone with? My mom and dad. Jesus, I need therapy.
43. Reading? I just finished Harry Potter, and haven't started a new one yet. It'll probably be that Earthquakes book by Jennifer Weiner or Marquez's "One Hundred Years of Solitude." How's that for ecclectic tastes?
44. Do you regularly check yourself out in store windows/mirrors? To be honest, no, because sadly, I'm afraid to look. (I'm *so* getting a phone call from my mom about this answer)
45. What color is your bedroom? White, with dark purple curtains and an icky beige carpet.
46. Do you use an alarm clock? Yes, and even then I have a rough time getting up.
47. Window seat or aisle? Always window. I like sleeping.

DUMB
48. What's your sleeping position? On my stomach or on my side. Or against an airplane window.
49. Even in hot weather do you use a blanket? Yes, because the AC is on full blast.
50. Do you snore? Yes, which is why I don't sleep on my back.
51. Do you sleepwalk? Nope.
52. Do you talk in your sleep? Sometimes.
53. Do you sleep with stuffed animals? Is Mr. Zigkvetch considered a stuffed animal? How about Munchie? And yes, my childhood Pooh bear sleeps at the top of our bed. Be forewarned that I will beat up anyone who gives me shit about Pooh.
54. How about with the light on? Not unless I fall asleep reading. Or if I have to get up really, really early in the morning.
55. Do you fall asleep with the TV or radio on? Radio, classical station. Unless they're playing yet another G-dawful trumpet or clarinet concerto.
56. Last interesting person you met? I can't think of the last interesting person I've met, but I did talk to someone today that I didn't know very well, and found her very interesting because she's very sensitive, deep, and incredibly sincere.

Ok, hi, I'm back.

2005-08-29T11:13:00.000-05:00

I haven't really felt like posting. I'll be honest. Any kvetch I had in me sort of fizzled out for awhile. But, I'm going to try to go back to posting a little more regularly again.

So, Beauty and the Beast has wrapped. It was so freaking fun. The music was fun, the people I played it with were fun, the cast was fun, the audience was fun. And I opened up this month's Jane magazine (I know, I know. And I agree that it's super-wicked lame now, as well. But I still kept hoping. We'll see how the new editor does.), and lo and behold, there's the BEAST, in a Toyota Corolla ad! I knew that he was going to be in an upcoming Toyota commercial, but I had no idea about the print ad. Mazel tov to him. He was outstanding in the production, and a sweet kid. I only wish I could've introduced him to my friend Paul (matchmaker, matchmaker make me a match... G-d, I'm so annoying).

I've been practicing into the wee hours of the night getting ready for an upcoming symphony audition. I'm actually more excited than nervous this time. For whatever reason, I'm not letting myself get ridiculously worked up over it. I do hope I do well, but I actually know and like the majority of the people I'm up "against," and I'd be thrilled if any of us won the gig. It would be nice though.

The job is still stressful, and I really need to find a way to shake the apathy I feel here sometimes. It's like I just shut down. Not good. It helped to have a long talk and belly-wrenching laugh after work on Friday with B and Mel. It's good to have friends. It helped that I introduced them to the wonder that is the Bikerfox.

I still have that damn shimmery spot in my right eye's vision. I'm going to wait until after the long weekend, and if it's still not gone, I'll call the doctor again. The ophthalmologist (I've become an expert at spelling this) found nothing and has assured me I don't have a brain tumor or anything. I dread going to see a neurologist. Eh, it's got to be my body's latest physical manifestation of stress. It joins the long line of weird, stress-induced body malfunctions I've had through the years. What's that? You want specific highlights? Why, sure!

There were the little head bumps I'd get and then compulsively scratch.
The "clicking," which I still get from time to time. I basically make a soft "t" or "p" sound with my mouth, compulsively. Hooray for embarrassing tics!
The butt ache. (Let's just leave it at that, shall we?)
The faux ulcerative colitis.
The hyper-OCD. Thank you, makers of Celexa. Bite me, Tom Cruise.
The anxiety attacks.

Ok, who wants to date me?! It's amazing I'm actually married, no?

Munchie is doing well. She is a freaking riot and cracks us up constantly. She's doubled in size since we've had her (eat, eat... you're too thin!), and has learned to use her litterboxes (one upstairs, one down) like the little furry champ that she is. She meeps at us constantly and loves to play with the 2 mice we bought her, who also meep. We know she is finally feeling totally at home because she now does the obligatory "YESSS! I POOPED! I FEEL SO FREE, I'M GOING TO ZOOM BACK AND FORTH LIKE A MANIAC" run, is playing much more, is getting less and less needy of us (sniff), and is showing more signs of her independence via a very teenager-like, "I will not be cuddled right now, GOSH!" attitude.

Speaking of independence, my seniors from last year have all left for college. Huzzah! I can't wait to start teaching more again.

I also can't wait to be visited by my dear friends Melissa (she's currently re-doing her blog) and Megan this coming weekend.

Other randomness:

I finally read Harry Potter this weekend.
I am really worried about all those people in the Superdome in LA. I'm worried about all the people affected by the hurricane.
The VMAs stunk and "Diddy" is a loser.

All right, this is the lamest post ever, but I had to re-begin somewhere.

Raise Your Hand...

2005-08-18T09:30:00.000-05:00

...if you think I should close my door and take a much-needed short nap!

Beauty and the Beast

2005-08-12T12:57:00.000-05:00

It's opening night tonight. We've had dress rehearsals for the last 2 nights that have gone from 7 until after midnight. I'm loopier than Belle's ringlets. Proof, you ask? Your wish is my command (damn, wrong Disney show):

I go to sleep singing "Be Our Guest" and wake up with "Gaston" pounding in my head.
This morning I got a call from a telemarketer. I was super nice to her on the phone. Why? She sounded like Mrs. Potts.
I may or may not have a crush on the Beast. Not the actor playing Beast, mind you, but the Beast character himself. I guess I like my men big, cranky and hairy?
The AC keeps shutting down in the theater at 10:00. I've taken to compulsively singing "Good to be Human" as "Good to be Humid" under my breath by 11:15 or so each night.
I'm still getting creeped out by the human chandelier. Yes, I know she's no different than Lumiere the candlestick or Babette the duster, but when she comes down from the ceiling on those wires, she reminds me of something straight out of the Exorcist. Ok, maybe the Exorcist as interpreted by Isaac Mizrahi in a festive mood, but still.
I keep giggling at the body mics they have attached to each cast member. Many of them snake down the performers' foreheads looking like a lovely bindi. Let's hear it for Beauty and the Beast Bollywood style! Thankfully, I think the audience is far enough away not to notice.
I have formulated a solid conspiracy theory that Alan Menken, the composer, obviously got dumped by a piccolo player at least once in his past. Why else would he put that same hellish double-tonguing lick in the show several times, and in the frigging ever-repeating "bow" music at the end?

I'm not sure which would be more effective for me at this point- serious therapy or just a good, long nap.

The show should be terrific, and I'm having a ball, sleep-deprivation notwithstanding. Break a leg!

PSA: When Someone You Know is Dealing with a Tragic Loss of a Loved One

2005-08-10T11:24:00.000-05:00

This is my public service announcement to the world, with a giant thank you to Lauren's mom who provided a lot of the content.

If someone you know or care about is dealing with a tragic loss of someone they love...

DO:

Offer your condolences. Just say that you're so sorry.
Offer to help if they need anything.
Talk to a family member about possibly making and delivering a dinner.
Pray, meditate, light candles, send good vibes or wishes, or whatever it is that you feel comfortable doing.
Cry if you're feeling horrible too. No, it didn't happen to you, but you care about the person and feel grief too, if to a lesser degree.
Think before you speak. It only takes a second, and it can make a huge difference.
Keep the Golden Rule close at hand- make every effort to treat the person suffering how you would want to be treated in the same (G-d forbid) situation.
Understand that the people directly involved with the tragedy are not going to be themselves for a good long while. The event may even change them for good.
Keep in mind that it might be difficult for the person or people involved to reach out to anyone. There's a good chance you'll need to be the one who makes the first move as far as communication goes. Go slow and don't overwhelm, but don't give up either.
When you do talk to them, don't be afraid to express your grief. Use the name of the person or pet who has died. They existed and were loved and that needs to be validated.
Understand that the person (or even you) might be very angry, even at G-d. If it helps you to look at this from a religious perspective, it helps to think of G-d not as the cause or nonchalant bystander of suffering, but as the source of hope and comfort.
Understand that as an act of self-preservation, a person dealing with extreme grief may retreat into themself, and not respond to you or their surroundings. This is normal.
Listen.
Be patient.

DO NOT:

Drop by unexpectedly. Either call the person, or whoever is trying to help the person through this rough time, to see if it's ok.
Avoid talking about the subject at hand/act like it never happened.
Send flowers if the family has expressly made it clear that they do not want flowers.
Say any of the following: "it's G-d's will;" "everything happens for a reason;" "at least they're not suffering anymore;" "it's probably better off this way;"
Try to "snap them out" of their grief or try to use "tough love."
Make it all about you. An example is a friend or acquaintance who goes on and on about how hard they're taking the loss, to the point of looking for pity for themselves instead of the person at hand.
Disappear. If you care for this person, be there for them, don't retreat. It's hard, and you may not know what to say or how to act, but be there anyway.
Try to come up with answers for the "whys."
Question your friend or family member's decisions about funeral arrangements, memorial services, etc. It is a personal decision, and none of your business.
Cheapen the tragedy by using it as fodder for gossip or titillation.
Forget to offer your help and support to those who are directly helping and supporting the person dealing with the tragedy.
Try to find someone or something to take the blame for the tragedy.

If anyone has anything to add, please post a comment, and I'll edit the post.

We've been adopted by a cat.

2005-08-07T23:11:00.000-05:00

I don't know why I went home from flute choir a different way on Thursday. I always go the same way. I chose, at the last minute to go past my turn and take the other road back. Around a sharp curve, I almost hit a tiny black and white thing in the middle of the road. I slammed on the brakes and pulled over. There, a wee cat looked up at me. A kitten. I figured I'd try to see if I could approach her, see if she was wearing a collar and license so I could bring her back to her house. I knew full-well that she'd probably just run off as soon as I came within 10 feet of her, but I had to try. I called to her, and she'd stop, and then keep walking. So I walked faster to catch up to her. She let me. Then she stopped and let me pick her up. She immediately cuddled into me and started purring.

No collar. No license.

Lots of fleas. And she'd obviously been outside for quite some time. However, a feral cat, she was not. I called Mr. Zigkvetch. He was less than thrilled, which I expected. I explained (and at the time was 100% convinced) that I'd give her to the shelter first thing in the morning. I brought her in and tried to clean her up a bit, and then we played a little- she was so affectionate and just the sweetest little thing. She mowed through a can of tuna, and I ran off to the convenience store for some real food and a little bit of litter. (Keep in mind that I completely intended to give the remainder of the litter and food to either the shelter, or the owner, who I was sure I would find.) So, we set her up in the bathroom with some comfy bedding, food, water, and litter.

Also? From the minute I picked her up, I inexplicably began calling her "Munchie." I have no idea where this came from. It was 9:30 at night and I was hungry, so I suppose that could be it.

By morning's light and a discussion with the most awesome animal control/animal shelter officer ever, it was obvious from her condition and the shelter's lack of lost pet reports that she'd been outside, wandering for quite some time, and was indeed a stray- someone most likely dumped her. She'd also been pregnant a month or two prior and the kittens would've already become independent (I've looked just to make sure, but to no avail), and her milk has long since dried up. So she wasn't as young a kitten as I'd thought, but still young.

The shelter officer cut me a deal. I won't go into the details, but it basically ended up that he offered to pay for the kitty's exam, tests, and shots through the local animal hospital, if I would consider keeping her. He was also quite taken by both her sweet, purring disposition, and her horrible fleas. (Yes, we've vaccuumed and sprayed and done everything to hopefully not have a flea problem ourselves- knock on wood, we're ok so far). Angel that he is, he applied the freaking MIRACLE POTION Frontline, and gave me the rest of the box (2 more months worth) and arranged the vet appointment for 3:45 that afternoon.

Ok, so let's just say Frontline really, REALLY works well. It was disgusting, but there are no live fleas within probably a 5-mile radius at this point. Oy vey, it really was icky, and the worst part was when I had to take her to the vet. It didn't help that the vet was a complete and utter moron and JERKASS. Seriously, I'd like to go back there and bitchslap him if I could. I will never go back there again, and thankfully, won't have to because I'll be taking Munchie to my old cat hospital with the kind and knowledgable people. Anyway, they refused to clean her up because the Frontline had been applied only 8 hours prior. Even though the box says all over it that, as long as the stuff is dry, it's ok to wash the pet. I pleaded and one of the techs combed her a little, but that was it. Jerks. Jerkwads. JERKASSES.

But, it was free. And she's ok. All the tests came back negative. She's fine. And I gave her a bath yesterday. I'm so proud of the both of us. She was a champ, and I think I did a really good job. She's all soft and shiny and pretty now. And miraculously, she started acting much more like a cat once she was clean- playful and even more loving. I think she was just feeling miserable, poor thing.

So at this point, we have a new cat. Which is a great thing (you can't imagine how comforting she is for me), but this isn't a great time, and it's really a little scary. Don't get me wrong- she's the sweetest little thing, loves cuddling, is beautiful and funny and both Mr. Zigkvetch and I are smitten with her. But, my beautiful cat Persephone died at 15 years old in March. She was a 4 year survivor of cancer, that we decided to treat (ok I demanded we treat), and it cost a ton of money. Now, the cancer she has was caused by the way vaccinations used to be made, and where they were given. They've since changed it, and kitties don't often get cancer.

But still. We are going through a rough spot as far as finances go (send your donations directly to our bank account- I'll have the "Save the Zigkvetches" site up in no time). And while kitties are relatively inexpensive as far as pets go, that goes right out the window if something horrible comes up (G-d forbid, knock wood, etc.). I'm looking into pet insurance, although I remember my vet saying a few years ago that it's better to just set up a savings account and put in money yourself. Which we'll have to do. We're already starting to re-budget. This, on top of us trying to replenish our ravaged savings account (it's been a rough year $-wise) and of course, our plans for the future.

We've never been big gamblers, but it just seems like she belongs with us, and has been so loving and adorable, we're going to give it a chance. Here goes nothin'.

Miss Munchie:

And here's my sweet Persy, just because:

Dear Sweet Otter,

2005-08-03T17:31:00.000-05:00

I am so sorry for your unimaginable loss.

I want so badly to fly to your side and hold you, my sweet friend. We're all so sad and heartbroken and just devastated. Or as Marianne put it so fittingly- decimated. We all ache for you and T, and can't even begin to imagine the ache you are feeling. And we all love you so, so much. Charlotte was the most beautiful, special little baby, and there isn't one of us who will ever forget her or stop loving her.

I know that you won't be reading this, but the sentiment remains.

We are grieving with you and for you. We are praying and sending you all of our strength and all of our love. Veronica, Meg, Lauren, Marianne, Holly and I would do anything for you. Your friends Karen and Mike too (such amazing friends). All the board girls would, really. I hope and pray so hard (we all do) that you come back to us. We understand that it may be a long, long time until you do, but we will be here when you do and we will always, always love you.

I know asking for prayers in a blog is probably the height of tacky, but I don't care. Please, even if you don't know Otter, say a prayer for her and her family. If you don't pray, please wish them strength. You'll have to take my word on what incredible, warm, loving, wonderful people they are. No one should ever have to suffer the way they are suffering. Thanks.

This is SO mind-blowingly cool!

2005-07-31T21:43:00.000-05:00

Optical illusions rule. Check it out:

The mind is a crazy little bugger, ain't it?

Welcome to the World, Charlotte Claire! (And Misc.)

2005-07-27T14:25:00.000-05:00

Sweet Charlotte Claire came into the world this morning, via her stunningly beautiful mama, Miss Otter. Congratulations! I am so happy and overjoyed and crying every three seconds. They both look wonderful (I don't know how Miss Otter managed to have a baby, do it without drugs, and still look like a cover model right after Lottie was born), and daddy is obviously the proudest guy in the world. He wrote the sweetest, awestruck note about the event. Did I mention I cried?

In more baby follies, B & E brought Avery by work today. I love her and could hold her little snuggly self forever. She's such a pretty little peanut. Between the Avery visit and the Charlotte birth, my hormones are slam dancing. I've burst into happy tears like, 11 times today! Someone pass the Kleenex. And a Xanax if you've got one.

In other news...
How much am I loving that AmyCorinne is up and blogging again? I had Portuguese steak and eggs for lunch today and thought of her, because it was what she ordered the first time I met her!

My dad shipped me 4 boxes of my old records today. Thanks Dad! I'm actually kind of excited about getting them. I miss listening to good old vinyl. Our dusty turntable won't even know what hit it!

I'm feeling very stressed out because although we got it on day one, neither Mr. Zigkvetch nor I have started Harry Potter yet. I'm so afraid I'm going to accidentally read/see/hear a spoiler. I'll be so pissed.

I think I'm getting a migraine. I haven't had a migraine in years, but this is exactly what it was like, back when I used to get them every so often. Feh. Part of my vision goes-- like a little blotch. It kind of looks like the monster from Predator, when it was "invisible." All wavy-like. Double feh. Actually, let's make that a triple feh, since Ahnold, of Predator fame is now the frakking GOVERNOR of CA.

It is so freaking hot outside. We played our concert last night, and I swear it was like playing in a vat of soup. Thick soup- like pea or cream of tomato. But, we cooled off at the C's house afterward and had lots of good conversation and laughs. And a couple of episodes of Family Guy.

I love Family Guy. I don't know if it's because I live in the very area the show is set in, the perfectly-aligned-to-my-age nostalgic references or what, but it never fails to crack me up. "OH YEAH! KOOL-AID!!!"

I have two huge projects due tomorrow. I can't concentrate as it is right now. I don't have the slightest clue if my break-time blog entry even makes sense. What to do, what to do...

Random Fandom Bo-Bandom, Banana-Fana-Lo Fandom...

2005-07-26T14:45:00.000-05:00

...eh, whatever.

I'm really tired, even though I've been trying to get more sleep. Bah.

I really want to see Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. I love the first one and loved the book as a kid (glad to see we're back to squirrels. Silly gooses, chocolate factories are for squirrels!). My long-lost-recently-found friend Anne recommends it, and I trust her taste.
I am on the edge of my seat waiting for baby Charlotte to come into the world. If I'm this hyper about it, imagine what her mom-to-be, Miss Otter must be feeling!
I am so sad for dear Leanne upon the loss of her wonderful grandmother. I love you Leanne- please let me know if there's anything I can do for you or your family.
I'm also sad to hear about those boy scout leaders who died in a freak accident while setting up the big camping Jamboree.
But I'm annoyed that someone I know, who, granted, is heavily involved with the Boy Scouts council in our area is making the accident all about her. She doesn't know any of the people and wasn't there. And while I totally understand her feeling awful about the whole thing, I guess I just don't get why she's actually going around and directly trying to elicit sympathy for herself from people. I found myself almost saying I was so sorry for her loss. She does this kind of thing with a lot of stuff.
I really hate when people make tragedies all about them. It's a pet peeve of mine. From Star Jones (shudder) going on and on about how "blessed by G-d" she was because she had been vacationing in some of the areas worst hit by the tsunami only a MONTH beforehand to those who immediately, upon hearing about a tragedy, try to "one-up" with their own tragedy. Bah.
Lance Armstrong has announced that he's keeping his options open for a possible run for political office someday. File under: Hmmm. And also: Give me a break.
Playing a concert tonight. Should be hot but fun, nonetheless. And then over to the C's place for cocktails and munchies. Of course, as the designated driver, cocktails = juice or soda. Don't drink and drive, kids!
Oh, the Tony Bourdain show rocked my socks off. How can you not love a food show that comes with a viewer discretion warning and a Mature Audiences rating?! Absinthe tripping, sick jokes about dead Santa's helpers, headcheese, wine at 7 AM? Check! This is foodie entertainment nirvana, people.
Go Discovery! I do not have a lump in my throat and a slight moistening of the eye. Shut up.
Finally got to see sweet Paul on Saturday. The visit was short, but fun.
Went to a giant friend reunion (way better than a high school reunion!!!) with a group of friends who used to be thicker than thieves but who've all moved out across the U.S. with their growing families and haven't seen each other in years. It was so fun to see everyone, and weird how, even though we'd been apart for so long, we fell into the same groove the minute we saw each other as if the years hadn't gone by.
While on this reunion, I found my OFFICIAL HAPPY PLACE. Wait- don't run off thinking I'm about to share some scary TMI story that will scar you emotionally for life! I'm talking about swimming in a beautiful lake on a perfect day under a granite mountain in New Hampshire. From now on, every time someone tells me to take a deep breath and think of a happy place, (giving blood, at work when I'm in the fetal position, rocking back and forth under my desk, etc.) that's what I'm picturing. I swam almost all the way across in pure solitude (people could still see me- I'm not an idiot, I promise) and the most exhilerating feeling of freedom. And I'll admit I thought it was awfully sweet when J and F came canoeing over to me under the guise of telling me we were all packing up soon, when in reality, they just wanted to make sure I wasn't having a heart attack or needed assistance. Silly boys, don't you know that fat girls got serious float action going on?
Ooh- I just found a perfect picture of exactly where we were! Enjoy:

Cookbook Meme- I've done been tagged

2005-07-21T07:25:00.000-05:00

Oh sweet Megan, you were so right- I love this meme.

1. Total number of cookbooks I own: No idea. A million?

2. Last cookbook(s) I've bought: For Mr. Zigkvetch: The Complete Book Of Sauces by Sallie Y. Williams. Hands down the best sauce cookbook ever. For Daddy Zigkvetch: Soup! Soup! Soup!: Chinese Style by Mu-Ts'un Li and Mu-Tsun Lee. Dad and I love ourselves some Asian soups!

3. Last (food) book(s) I read: I'm not sure what the last food book I read was, but here are three I've received recently but haven't gotten to yet: Comfort Me with Apples: More Adventures at the Table by Ruth Reichl, The Saucier's Apprentice by Raymond Sokolov, and the ubiquitous French Women Don't Get Fat: The Secret of Eating For Pleasure by Mireille Guiliano.

4. Five cookbooks that mean a lot to me:

The Pillsbury Cookbook: This binder-style cookbook came out in the late 80s, I believe, and provided me with an easy guide to cooking wonderful cookies and meals while I was in college. Two of my favorite (and most requested, ahem) cookie recipes of all time came from this cookbook- Lemon Kiss cookies and Starlight Mint cookies. It's been out of print for awhile, and my original binder was in shreds. I was able to get a pristine new copy from an affiliate off of Amazon, and a tiny used (and abridged) paperback version off of Ebay. This cookbook is always the first place I look and is the cookbook equivalent to comfort food for me.
The New Settlement Cookbook: This one is a family tradition. I've linked you to the newest edition, but I have an old edition from my Grandma Sylvia. When I opened it for the first time, I sat on the floor laughing and crying-- there's a long-forgotten, wonderful, sweet note from my Grandpa Julius to Grandma Sylvia just inside the cover. I tell you, it was like finding buried treasure. The recipes inside are hysterical-- everything from the old countries with "modern" twists. More gellatin and borscht recipes than you can shake a stick at. My mom received a copy when she married my dad, (Side story: My funny dad proposed to my mom over the phone by asking her if she could cook!) and used her copy a bunch when I was little. It's packed with old magazine clippings and lists of Thanksgivings gone by.
A 5-ingredients (or less!) cookbook I got as a kid. It had 2 silver rings binding it together, and was printed on index-card-sized colored paper, and typewritten. This little "book" held the world's most perfect and simple peanut butter cookie recipe, which I made for any and every occasion in my youth. I especially loved to make these for my dad for his birthdays and Fathers' Day. Once, I made a GIANT peanut butter cookie, in the shape of a giant peanut, and I wrote on it with icing. And then there's the time when I went to make a batch for dad, and, to my dismay, found no eggs in the fridge. Not one to take failure as an option, I decided that since mayonaise had eggs in it as a main ingredient, I'd just use that in place of the egg. They were crumbly as heck, but surprisingly tasty!
Two old Scholastic (you know, the books you ordered every month at school?) cookbooks that first taught me to love cooking-- even when I wasn't yet allowed to use the stove. I became an expert Ambrosia Fruit Salad maker. And learned that if you make cuts in a hotdog and toothpick the ends together, it will cook and stay in a circle and enable you to eat it in a hamburger bun (ker-azy, I tell you!).
The Moosewood Cookbook by Mollie Katzen. I learned about the world of vegetarian cooking while in college. The cookbook had me at the spinach and bechamel lasagna recipe. Then there were the Buddah Balls, and so much more. Makes me think of living in our rented house; all 4 (*cough*psycho*cough*) roommates attempting to get together for dinner at least one night a week. Memories... like the corners of my mind... Misty watercolor memories... of the way we were... Scattered pictures... Ok, I'll stop now. Sorry.

5. Which 3, er, 4 people would you most like to see fill this out in their blog?

Flipsy because she's a foodie too, and a vegetarian, so she'll have good stuff, no doubt.
Suzanne because she's a foodie and always has a lovely way of describing things. (Besides, it's fun to force her to post non-boob reduction posts on her blog about boob reduction.)
AmyCorinne because she's also a foodie and because this will (hopefully) force her to finally update her blog!
Molly because she's good at doing memes and is a book hound who loves good food, as well.

It's Over!

2005-07-14T00:36:00.000-05:00

My withdrawal symptoms from lack of chef Anthony Bourdain on TV are over!

OVER, I SAY!

The Thin White Cook (apologies to Mr. Bowie for the bad pun) has a new show on the Travel Channel called No Reservations and it starts a week from Monday at 10:00!

More dry wit, exotic locales, amazing, wonderful and creepy foods!

HUZZAH, I SAY!

You have a little over a week, folks. More than enough time to go out and get Kitchen Confidential and read it, cover to cover, leaving no lurid detail undigested (yes, "undigested" - a cheap-shot food referential, so sue me). Or, if you'd rather, the book A Cook's Tour about Mr. Bourdain's Food Network-documented trips around the world, in search of the perfect meal.

I'm giddy with excitement. I love this guy. So does Mr. ZigKvetch. We even went to Les Halles when we visited NYC once, our obsession with the man (who has eaten everything from a still beating cobra's heart to a deep-fried Mars bar) is so great.

So, take it from Tony (Yeah, we're pretty much on a first name/nickname basis. We're likethis, doncha know...) and:

Don't eat fish on Sundays or Mondays.
Don't eat seafood at Sunday brunches.
Do order the "special" the next time you go out to eat (unless it's a Sunday or Monday).
Eat without fear, close to the ground. Food should be an adventure.
And watch the new show so we can discuss.

WHEE, I SAY! (Was that too much? I think it was too much. Um, sorry. Heh.)

2005-07-12T19:14:00.000-05:00

Where have all the happy bubbles of joy gone?
Long time passing.
Where have all the happy bubbles of joy gone?
Long time ago.
Where have all the happy bubbles of joy gone?
Suzanne might have picked them, every one.
When will I ever learn?
When will I ever learn?

Alas, I am not sure where my happy bubbles of joy have gone. But I am sure that I have been far more surly and depressed since they suddenly disappeared. And I am hoping my dear friend Suzanne can figure it out and bring my happy bubbles of joy back. (I'm nothing, if not subtle).

Unless they haven't disappeared, and everyone can see them except for me.
Hmm.
What does one do when the problem is that you're not seeing spots?

Now Back to Your Regularly Scheduled Kvetching

2005-07-12T17:06:00.000-05:00

Work is hell.
Or at least frustrating as hell, anyway.

Click on the Matt Groening cartoon to the left (unless you have crazy Superman eyes that can read tiny scrawl in a single bound). Which work scenario are you living? You don't want to know how much of that pertains to me. Oy gevalt!

And while we're on the subject, be sure to check out the finest in ironic cubicle humor here. Ok, yeah, the have a lot of office-joke-oldies-but-goodies but they also do this funny 13 Word thing that is adorable.

Case in point:

Definition #4 from last Wednesday-

Oyster - a person who sprinkles his/her conversation with Yiddish.

Besides, they seem like a couple of nice kids.

Peace. Oyster out.

Babybabybabybabybaby!!

2005-07-11T00:09:00.000-05:00

I had the supreme delight of meeting Miss Avery Noelle on Saturday! Of course, this happy meeting happened only after the complete hysterical chaos that is my life reared its wild and silly head. Behold, the pre-baby-meeting gauntlet of doom:

Debating all day whether or not to just show up at the hospital because Dad wasn't able to call me back (no cell phones allowed). What if they were expecting me? What if they just wanted to be left alone? Ack!
Hearing from a mutual fun who called me, exclaiming, "why haven't you gone yet?!"
Getting ready in a flash to get my butt over there asap.
Proudly grabbing the directions to the hospital that I'd had the foresight to print out the night before.
Excitedly running out the door, directions in hand.
Slamming the door behind me...and quickly realizing that my keys were safely locked INSIDE THE HOUSE.
Calling Mr. Zigkvetch to see if he, by chance, was on his way home from his far-away gig. No answer = still in the middle of gig.
Calling a friend to see if she would come with me (she knows the dad too) and drive, if I took her out to dinner afterward. She answered the phone and told me she'd already been drinking. For awhile. Quite awhile. (hic)
Going next door and asking my neighbors for help.
Waking said neighbors from a nice, perfect Saturday afternoon nap.
Watching the neighbors on both sides of our house come together to figure out what to do.
Watching one of them un-jam a long jammed, unlocked, downstairs bathroom window.
Watching the great kid/boy scout next door as he shimmied, head-first through the bathroom window (and if not for the steady hands on his ankles, probably into the toilet) and then unlocked the back door. (Any ideas for a couple of nice gifts for both sets of adult neighbors and one 13 year old will be greatly appreciated)
Realizing that I was slowly being eaten alive by mosquitoes. (I must be immune to West Nile at this point.)
Meeting my neighbors at my front door as they all yelled to make sure I had my keys in my hand this time, before I slammed the door.
Driving along on my way to the hospital (now an hour before closing) in pouring rain.
Realizing my car is sputtering because there's almost no gas left. (Good thing I stopped- I never would've made it. Besides, it gave me a moment to appreciate the rainbow that came out.)
Getting totally lost in Providence's hospital central. There are like 4 hospitals in 10 square blocks.
Parking at the wrong hospital.
Going in to the wrong hospital.
Calling information from inside the wrong hospital, and being spoken to slowly and kindly by the information phone person, like she was dealing with someone with limited capacity for comprehension. (Shut up.)
Walking a million miles (ok, a few blocks, but I was in sandals!) to the correct hospital.
Getting lost inside the correct hospital. (Shut up.)
Knocking on the hospital room door about 15 minutes before visiting hours were over. (Thankfully, my sweet friends and the kind nurse on duty let me stay a little later.)

And it was all worth it.

I walked into the room and saw the most perfect little pink thing, all swaddled up. She's beautiful. A perfect, tiny, pink, peanut of a little girl. I almost couldn't believe she was real, that's how perfect she looked. Delivery was quick, and Avery came into the world totally un-squished-looking!

Mom looked beautiful. Dad looked a little harried, but so happy. After washing my hands, Dad handed Avery over, and I would've happily held her all night.

And after a dark day comes a ray of light...

2005-07-08T18:35:00.000-05:00

Welcome to the world, baby Avery Noelle!!

Mazel tov to my dear friends B & E!!

You have two wonderful, caring, fun, brilliant, lovable parents, you lucky little girl! They're going to take such good care of you and teach you so much. You will always be loved and cared for and you will always be the apple of their eyes.

I know these two people pretty well, so let me give you a little background on your new parents and their immediate family and friends:

Dad:

Kind of goofy, but sweet.
Pretty smart- he can do anything from computer and business stuff to finishing a basement with his bare hands, and on schedule! Not to mention, he had enough sense to fall head over heels in love with your mom!
Loves Fruit-2-0, and may try to wrestle it from you when you're older.
Plays a mean drum-set and guitar.
You will be able to wrap him around your little finger in no time, but don't tell him I told you that.
He's actually really funny, but don't tell him I said that either, or he'll be impossible to deal with.
Loves your mom and you more than life itself.
Loves pizza and lasagna and General Gau's chicken.
Dances like a monkey.
Likes writing novels in birthday, Christmas, etc. cards. Just laugh and tell him you think he's funny, and you'll be fine.
Will try to teach you the fine art of spreadsheet-making.
Loves Christmas.
His friends are also goofy but loyal, and will all love you and do anything to protect you.
His parents (Grandma & Grandpa) will love to make you laugh and are gentle, sweet, lovable people. (Note: You will be spoiled.)
His brothers will crack you up and will be wonderful uncles to you!

Mom:

One of the sweetest people I have ever known.
Beautiful. You'll probably grow up to look just like her. She's even prettier when she's happy-- she almost glows a little. With you around, I'm going to guess that she'll be glowing all the time.
Loves to be silly and have fun.
She's really smart, too. And clever and funny.
Loves your dad and you more than life itself.
Loves dessert.
Moves with grace. (She's not at all monkey-like.)
She's an amazing artist with huge bunches (yes, huge bunches) of creativity and talent.
Loves Christmas.
She's tougher than she looks. And probably tougher than she even knows. (You're a fine example of that!)
Her friends are kind and loyal and and will all love you and do anything to protect you.
She will make sure you never, ever miss a Disney movie, because she loves them herself. A lot.
She's never met a board game she didn't like.
Her parents (Grandma & Grandpa) will love to hold you tight and are lovely, kind, warm people. (Note: You will be spoiled)
Her brother and sister-in-law will adore you and spoil you rotten.

Together, they will:

Sing to you.
Hold you.
Tickle you.
Comfort you.
Teach you.
Share with you everything they know about G-d and faith and miracles (like you!).
Take you to Disneyworld as often as they possibly can.
Love the HECK outta you.

I, your "Auntie" Zigkvetch, will be around to spoil you rotten and will ask to hold you constantly, so you'd better just resign yourself to that fact. Don't worry, I'm well padded and I know how to hold a baby. I will also teach you the flute when you're old enough, if you'd like.

Your "Uncle" Mr. Zigkvetch will think you are beautiful and fragile, play with you when you are older (I hope you like "catch" and have a pretty good pitching arm) and try to teach you about the Red Sox from day one. Don't be offended if he doesn't hold you right off the bat (baseball pun already!), as he gets a little nervous around you baby-folk. He'll teach you the tuba when you're old enough, if you'd like, but come on, why choose tuba when you can play the flute, y'know?

We all love you so much already little Avery! Welcome!

Dark Day

2005-07-07T08:59:00.000-05:00

It's all I can do not to delete yesterday's stupid bitchfest.

My thoughts and prayers are with the people in London.

Kvetch-a-palooza

2005-07-06T14:22:00.000-05:00

So I'm towel-drying my hair this morning, and I feel a twang between my shoulders and my neck. My neck is out. Hurts like a mo-fo. I'm hoping it'll feel better tomorrow, because I really, really don't want to shell out $40 for a co-pay to the chiropractor.
My AIM keeps going down. And then it takes forever to come back up. And even my MSN IM is acting funky. I have important chatting to do, people!
It is so freaking hot and humid in my office that the 2 marshmallow Peep chicks I've had on my monitor since before Easter have gone from hard as rocks to squishy "fresh" again. My dear friend ALG says that they've resurrected and that it's particularly fitting seeing as they are, in fact, Easter candy.
(I would insert a picture here, but Blogger is being a bastard today too and won't let me upload any pictures)
I don't know what I'm doing in my day job.
We haven't seen Paul in weeks, and I miss him terribly. And I feel guilty because I still have his NIN cd.
I played like ass at last night's concert. No, actually, I think playing out of my ass would have sounded better than how I played last night.
I have cramps. (The first person who nods while smirking knowingly, and says, A-HA! gets a resurrected Peep in the eye.)
The day is dragging like a caveman's knuckles. (Sorry Geico cavemen. I know I'm being condescending.)
I still miss my kitty terribly. I am still not even close to being ready to have another cat.
We almost got a bunny, but then we talked a bunch and decided our schedules just wouldn't be fair to the bunny. This is the longest I've gone without a pet. And no, a fish just won't do it.
I have "Rock 'n' Roll Party Queen" from the Grease soundtrack in my head on full loop. It. Won't. Stop. And the creepiest part is that I haven't watched or listened to Grease in ages. (Although I did start a new grease can for our indoor grill last night. Maybe that triggered something?)
I am full of self-loathing at what a big whiny babyhead I'm being.
Gah.

Dream On

2005-07-04T12:52:00.000-05:00

Such a dream I had last night!

I had a dream that my friends announced that they were pregnant with twins. This blew my mind because they already have 2 kids, and my girlfriend has said repeatedly that there was no way in heck she'd ever get pregnant again. I was astounded. By both the news and the, um, view. They announced this to a group of friends in the back room of their house which overlooked a gorgeous, dark, sparkling ocean. I wondered out loud (Nice. Apparently I have no tact whatsoever in dreamland) how they could afford 2 more kids and this incredible house overlooking the ocean, especially when they were already concerned about money. They just sort of shrugged. I would've kicked my ass, personally.

Next thing I knew, it was morning. I couldn't believe we'd all fallen asleep there. I ran home to Mr. ZigKvetch and woke him up to tell him the news. He shook his head, and we got ready to go to the beach behind our friends' house. This is where things get weird.

So, we're sitting there on the beach, and all of a sudden these dolphin-like creatures start jumping out of the water, all around us. Someone exclaims, "ooh! Air dolphins!" and as if on cue, the dolphins jump out of the water and sail over us, circling the beach before diving back into the water. Each wave brings more of them, and we're all oohing and ahhing. And then we see the biggest wave coming, and it's filled with the shadows of hundreds of creatures, but different from the dolphins. The wave crashes and...

...it's hundreds of former tv sitcom stars. The Bradys are there. The creepy girl who played that robot-daughter thing was there, all grown up. Ally Sheedy was there, but wasn't a sitcom star, but hey, let's go with it anyway. It was as if TVLand and Nick at Night had come alive. They all set up exhibits in a beach hotel conference area, and we could go through and meet them all. They even brought their own backdrops with photos and information.

And then I woke up. That'll teach me to eat a veggie burger with the works right before bed. Anyone who'd like to take a shot at analyzing that dream beyond veggie burger-inducement, will have my eternal gratitude.

Happy 4th of July, everyone!

Salty, Sweet, Savory, Spicy

2005-06-29T15:41:00.000-05:00

Ok, so I'm not hungry anymore, and will no longer be speaking in 3rd person caveman. I'll wait while you finish cheering.

All right, then.

I e-mailed that salad recipe posted below in "Food Addendum" to a co-worker friend, and lo and behold, she came in with it for the office today! She made a few changes, which I'll post below, and kept the jalapenos separate for those who wanted them.

Let me tell you, this stuff is food of the gods. Unbelievably good.

Drop everything right now, go to the store and buy the ingredients and then, in your car or on the bus on your way home, MAKE IT. I suppose you could wait until you got home to make it, but that's just lazy and uncommitted and I expect more from you, honestly.

Ok, here's the version she made:

Sweet, Spicy, Salty and Savory Salad

Dried organic figs
Dried organic apricots
Kalamata olives
Feta cheese
Capers
Mint
Orange zest
Jalapenos (she put these on the side for those who wanted them)
Toasted pistachios (she used toasted pine nuts instead)
Mesclun greens (the mix she bought had just a bit of cilantro in it, which just added to my euphoria)

Toss all ingredients in a vinaigrette of:
Honey
Sherry vinegar (she used red wine vinegar)
Extra virgin olive oil (first person who giggles, tosses their hair and says, "EVOO" gets a fork stuffed up their nose)
Dijon mustard
Lemon juice

That's it folks! Make it and bring it to your 4th of July parties and picnics, or enjoy it at home in the cool, cool air conditioning with a smile and a fork.

P.S. I tried that Walden Farms fat/sugar/calorie free chocolate sauce and marshmallow sauce. While I agree with my dearest Otter that it does indeed taste a little like poison, it's good enough (especially when you're desperate) and the chocolate stuff is actually pretty tasty on a banana.

Wow.

2005-06-29T11:41:00.000-05:00

Zigkvetch so hungry she posted the same entry twice!

ZigKvetch Hungry

2005-06-29T11:40:00.001-05:00

ZigKvetch Hungry

2005-06-29T11:40:00.000-05:00

Zigkvetch no eat breakfast. Zigkvetch hungry. Zigkvetch very hungry. RARR!

CNN Breaking News & CNN Breaking News 2, Electric Boogaloo

2005-06-27T11:56:00.000-05:00

Breaking News #1: U.S. Supreme Court rules Ten Commandments displays are not allowed at courthouses.

Me: Hurrah! Separation of church and state does exist!

Breaking News #2: Following ruling barring Ten Commandments displays in courthouses, Supreme Court rules such displays are allowed at state capitols.

Me: The hell? Constitution what?

Here's the thing. I'm a big fan of the Ten Commandments. I don't mind seeing, reading or hearing the Ten Commandments. This is because I think they make sense, they're clear and concise, and they're a strong part of my belief system and born-religion. But what about those who do not share my belief system, born-religion, or even a religion based in Judeo-Christian beliefs or liturgy?

See, I'm also a big fan of religious freedom. And I thought the U.S.'s big claim to fame was religious freedom. And I thought that the Constitution spelled things out so that things made sense and were pretty clear and concise about the whole separation of church and state thing.

Religious freedom means more to me than just being able to safely practice your chosen religion without persecution. It means living in an environment where your beliefs are free from public displays of another religion being forced down your throat (even passively, i.e. a monument in front of a capitol building) in government or educational venues.

These two reports look like a compromise was made. I don't think religious freedom in any form should be compromised. I'm frustrated and trying to understand, as I am with so many things in this confusing world...

Random, Random, Who's Got the Random?

2005-06-25T00:45:00.000-05:00

I just tasted the strongest Mai Tai I've ever had. Mr. ZigKvetch had to drink it.
Fanta commercials make me die a little inside.
During the opera I just performed, one of the characters angrily calls another character a "cockalorum." I don't know what it means, but I love it and plan to call my enemies that from now on.
I love people who are all crusty and cranky on the outside with a heart of gold on the inside, and we got to know someone fitting that exact description, tonight. Funny as hell, too.
I am the turtle-whisperer. I recently stopped traffic in both directions on a street near my house twice in the same week to ensure the safe crossing of a couple of turtleacular (word of the day!) friends. The first one was rather wee, and I just picked him up and moved him over to a grassy knoll (no book depository folks- not to worry). The other one was freaking huge. Basketball-sized. I clapped my hands and stomped my feet behind him. The little buggers can actually move surprisingly fast when there's a big, goonie person behind them, holding up traffic and acting like a loon.
I love it when you're watching a movie or tv series and the bad guy makes that "Curses, foiled again!" fist of rage.
Dear Leanne, a sweet, wonderful friend of mine has a sweet, wonderful grandma who is very, very sick. I am keeping them both in my strongest prayers.
I am thrilled that my friend Pamela just had her baby and that after months and months of "knowing" that it was a girl, the baby showed his, um, assets at the 13th hour and, surprise, she now has a beautiful little boy! Mazel tov, and if anyone can appreciate the humor of this situation, it's Pamela and her husband. What a lucky little boy!
I would do just about anything for an It's-It ice cream cookie sandwich right now.
Nope, not pregnant, just overly-tired and emotional, and the food cravings are just as much a part of my day-to-day life as, say, my right arm.
Ben, I would be honored if you would use "waaaahmbulance."
The ZigKvetches might get a visit from MizzMozz and family, and Miss Sugarcookie over Labor Day weekend, and we couldn't be more excited! Huzzah!
One of the sweetest things I've heard in ages is that my tough, firefighter friend's little boy calls him "honey." And that it just melts dad's heart. I guess the little guy kept hearing mom refer to dad as "honey," and he decided that's what he'd call dad too.
One of the funniest things I've heard in ages is that my tough, firefighter friend's little boy accidentally hit dad in the groin with his first T-Ball swing (atta boy, Slugger!) and then went over to him and worriedly asked in his little voice, "Honey, are your balls ok?"
I really dig this blog-writing stuff.
Online communities are never drama-free.
I will sign off with this really cool picture of a Costa Rican volcano that my uncle, Larry sent me. His wife, my aunt, Noreen went to Costa Rica last year:

Huh.

2005-06-22T22:31:00.000-05:00

So, for no reason at all, I burst into tears last night right before bed. Mr. Zigkvetch let me soggify his arm. And then he said, "you don't even know why you're crying right now, do you?" And you know what? I didn't. It was nothing and everything. But I found it comforting that he knows me so well. And then he started snoring. But I love him anyway.

Food Addendum

2005-06-20T11:37:00.000-05:00

I found this recipe on Leenkblog, an interesting blog by an interesting someone named Andrea who posts interesting links. Anyway, I'm not sure how I stumbled across it, but when I saw this recipe, I wept tears of joy. Sweet, spicy, salty savory in one dish? I'm in!

Dried organic figs and apricots, Kalamata olives, French feta cheese, capers, mint, orange zest, jalapenos, toasted pistachios and mesclun greens, tossed in a vinaigrette of honey, sherry vinegar, extra virgin olive oil, Dijon mustard and lemon juice.

Food, Glorious Food! (apologies to Oliver! fans)

2005-06-20T00:54:00.000-05:00

So, we've been watching the Next Food Network Star challenge to find a new cooking show host. I hate the chick who cut her finger (Suzannah). I hate her with the ampage of a thousand souped-up blenders. If they pick her I'm going to sue the Food Network for creating a hostile work environment or something. A hostile tv-viewing environment? Anyway...

I love Dan & Steve, a gay couple with mad cooking skills and tons of charm and wit.

Dear Eric, they already have an Al Roker.

Hans is adorable and he's been such a good boy, taking everything the judges have given him as feedback and improving more and more each week. Bravo.

The rest can pretty much kiss my ass. (I'm such a lovely, sweet girl, aren't I?)

So I went a-trolling through Blogland tonight and found some wonderful food blogs:

Alton Brown, although he needs to get on the ball and post more. He writes just like he talks, which for me, is bliss.

Foodage, because who wouldn't love a gal who posts a recipe called "Crazy-Ass Salad?"

Jamie Oliver, again, he writes like talks, minus the charming/obnoxious (depending on your tastes) lispy-wet-lips thing he has going on.

And you know I dig Esurientes, whose current picture of a fruit tart makes me cry out with longing. And, like a good neighbor, she shares her excellent foodblog finds with a humongous list of foodblogs of every kind, including Is My Blog Burning, a recipe-ical (made up word of the day!) library of congress, if you will!

So, there you have it. Some food rambling from ZigKvetch. In blog form. Which is a lot neater than in person, because I tend to drool.

Poor Bigfoot (Dedicated to the Big Man/Ape himself and also Nataliedee who obviously understands him like I do.)

2005-06-18T00:49:00.000-05:00

Poor Bigfoot. What did he ever do to the people of Oklahoma? You never hear about Bigfoot eating people or dogs or menacing small children, or even TP-ing houses. Every encounter you hear about, he's running away or trying to frigging hide. He is obviously neat, tidy and private, as he seems to clean up after himself rather fastidiously (they never seem to find anything belonging to him-- no poo, stray hair, dirty dishes- nothing.).

So why are people so mean, going into the lake beds deep in the woods of Oklahoma? These Bigfoot hunters go out in the middle of the night to where poor Bigfoot was last seen, and shine their laser lights, tromp through what is probably his living room, and fire shots (I think they were tranquilizers or blanks, but STILL!). How would those Bigfootologists like it if Bigfoot came into their house in the middle of the night, making noise and shooting guns off and beaming laser beam lights at them? They'd probably do the human equivalent of what poor Bigfoot did in the TravelChannel special I saw tonight did: throw rocks at the intruders. Bigfoot is such a gentle guy, he didn't even hurt them with the rocks; he just tried to scare the big jerks off by throwing rocks in their general direction.

One guy was all, "until someone drags a body in, I won't believe it." Here's an idea... if you want to meet Bigfoot and you know he's shy, why not go into his alleged habitat and talk softly to him? Perhaps sing some soothing, comforting songs or play some inviting acoustic guitar? Maybe bring some fresh baked cookies, a casserole, a pie? Why go in all hostile and mean? I'd hide from you too, even if I was 9-feet tall, covered in wild hair and strong as 10 men. Seems we humans do this type of thing a lot.

Bigfoot is obviously a sensitive soul, and just wants to be left alone in Bigfootville doing his Bigfoot tasks in Bigfoot peace. I say we leave him alone. Poor Bigfoot.

Tired Like They Talk About

2005-06-15T15:28:00.000-05:00

I am so tired. Work, teach, rehearse until 11/11:30. Lather, rinse, repeat.

It wouldn't be so bad if the opera was going well. But it's not. Of course it's going better than one would imagine if one takes into consideration that it's led by a hostile, egotistical, 88 year old crazy woman (more about her later).

Each rehearsal my good humor and mild manner (ok, I may be pushing it a little far with that) are sucked out of me by the petulant diva tantrums, the cast continually forgetting the lines they've had for months, the revolving door of pianists who take their own tempos and step all over the nice, supposed-to-be-solo wind lines, and the endless shouting, shrieking by the blame-throwing (not to be confused with flame-throwing) conductor. It's like a variation on a theme of "Waiting for Guffman."

I try not to let it bother me, but it does. It, in turn, frustrates, amuses to the point of giddiness, and angers me. I try to not care, but it's impossible. I don't want to see the group die, and I hate watching it be run into the ground. You know that saying, if you love something, set it free, yadda, yadda, yadda, free, free, set them free? How do you get that general concept across to an octogenarian whose life has been dedicated to this little opera company, who I am convinced doesn't see herself as a day over 40, and whose stubborness and unwillingness to listen to reason (probably the very things that got her through life so successfully) are pushing the group she loves closer and closer to ruin?

Why do I do it? Why not just leave? Why put up with the verbal abuse, headaches, stress, and exhaustion? Why put myself out there, going above and beyond the call of duty to help organize things, recruit musicians, even work on the program and create a master list of performers?

I don't know. I just don't know. And *yawns like a baby hippo* I'm too tired to think about it right now.

Oh, bullshit. I do know. I admire the woman. I admire her tenacity, her energy, cherry-brown hair dyed within inches of its life, and all of her other meshiggas. I admire that she's taken this on (no matter how ill-advisedly) while her husband is in the hospital sick. I love that there's such an old-fashioned little musical company out here in the sticks doing real opera. I love the music. I love the strange little group of "regulars": professional musicians (with far bigger fish to perform with) choosing to be in the same boat as me, continually showing up year after insane year to put up with the endless rehearsals (both in number and in length), crappy pay, and stress. And if we don't do it, who will? Honestly? No one. When she asks us to jump, as much as we'd like to answer with a hearty "go fuck yourself!" we can't. We say "how high?" and go on to the next act.

I Want a Divorce

2005-06-10T09:13:00.001-05:00

Not from my dear Mr. Zigkvetch, though. (Perish the thought!)

No, I wish to divorce my fat.

I wish then to sue it for alimony, as I have been supporting its lazy ass for years by supplying free room and board in my belly. I figure it owes me, big time. Not to mention that even if this works and I get it to leave for good, the place is going to be a shambles and need some serious redecorating which isn't cheap, my friends!

I want it to gather its things and leave peacefully and end this stupid fighting. I'm tired of arguing with it, pleading with it, trying to just put up and live with it, accommodating it, and making sacrifices for it.

My fat has been an abusive cad, damaging my self-esteem and it even crossed the line and hurt me physically. Which is why I want to cut it out of my life for good. There will be no visitations, no reconciliation, no couple's therapy.

Fat, if you read this, I'm kicking you to the curb, you lowlife. Hit the road, Jack, and don't you come back no more.

Scenes from a Day at Jury Duty

2005-06-10T09:13:00.000-05:00

In my tiny golf ball of a car, speeding to New Bedford's Superior Courthouse. Mr. Zigkvetch's strange mix cd blasting away: Wagner's Ride of the Valkyires, James Taylor, Eminem, Frank Zappa, Benny Goodman, Schumann played on a tuba, Cool & the Gang, Tower of Power and Elton John. The window is open because the AC barely works. Life is good.

In my tiny golf ball of a car, stuck in traffic, eyes terrified, staring at the minutes ticking away toward 8:30 am. Life is stressful.

In my tiny golf ball of a car, looking desperately for non-existent parking. There's a spot the size of a hot dog cart between two SUV behemoths- perfect! Life is good.

Into the courthouse I go, bemusedly looking at what others consider dressing appropriately for court: cutoffs, hoochie-mama tops and shorts, flip flops, stained, holey jeans. Through the metal detector, down the hall, up the stairs.

A surly woman tosses a form in my direction and mumbles that I need to fill it out. I don't blame her for being surly- like most New England courthouses, this one is old and there is no air-conditioning, not to mention the poor thing doesn't even have a real office- just a desk and some file cabinets at the end of a hallway.

Upon returning the form, I'm told to go wait in any room down the hall. I pass room after room, all filled with bleary-eyed jurors-to-be and take a seat on a bench in front of the last room. I open my Marie Claire and start to thumb through it. This is short-lived because there is one hyperactive moronic woman who decides to verbally throw herself at the poor woman next to her.

"And I had to get up early this morning to drop of the kids at school and my ex-husband once served on a jury and was on it for a week and hated it but it was interesting, but my current husband blah, blah, blah, snort, giggle, blah, blahity, blah blah, blah..."

The chorus of thought in that hallway was nearly deafening:

"Jesus lady, shut the hell up."

Next, we're herded downstairs and into the courtroom for a chat with Her Honor who seems really cool and like someone I'd enjoy working with. This is followed by a lame video explanation of jury duty presented by a judge, a female lawyer and a male lawyer who thinks he's Perry freaking Mason. And, back we're herded upstairs. Moo.

This time I get a seat at the table in the last room. The seat is padded and far more comfortable than the bench. The table has a variety of magazines for our reading pleasure, and I'm actually pretty impressed to see up-to-date editions of USWeekly, Star, People, Sports Illustrated, and that perennial favorite, Field and Stream. People lunge at the mags while I take out my book, "Hypocrite in a White Pouffy Dress." Susan Gilman is a riot, and I have to stifle my laughter several times so as not to scare the other jurors, as the only sound in this room full of people is the breeze rattling the blinds on the windows. Actually, that's not true. There was also the occasional sound of the attached bathroom door slamming (it was inevitable the way it was built), and the constant sound of people within and outside the room powering their cell phones up and then off again. Doodle-oodle-oo! Doodle-oodle-daaah. Over and over again.

Oh, and there was also some occasional snoring, which grew in number as people dropped off to slumber in the silence of the hours we were waiting. Finally, even Susie Gilman couldn't save me, and I plopped my head down on my purse and snoozed along with the crowd. When I awoke, people were chatting a little. I sat up and smiled at the people around me and told them that I hoped I hadn't snored, and if I had, that I was sorry. They laughed. Christ, I hope I didn't snore. Oh man, what if I accidentally pooted a little poot while I was sleeping? GAH! Oh well, nothing I could do about it now. I offered my Marie Claire to a thankful woman who had finished off all the tabloids and was looking fearfully at the ignored Field and Stream on the table. Hey, is it chauvanistic of me to be surprised that so many men went grabbing at the tabloids?

JURORS, FOLLOW ME. We were being bellowed at again. Back down the stairs again. Moo, I say!

This time, there was a young assistant DA, a fishy-looking (ok, I'll even say he looked like a shyster) lawyer in a typically ill-fitting suit, a maybe 20 year old kid in a suit, tattoo peaking out over his collar, looking nervous as hell, and an impeccably dressed stenographer, along with security. The judge introduced the players and the lawyers introduced themselves- DA-guy short, to-the-point, professional, and the other lawyer slimy and weaselly. A slimeweasel (there's a new word for you Paul!), if you will. The kid had allegedly been caught with a controlled substance (Oxy-codeine? I've heard of oxy-contin and I know what codeine is, but I'm clueless as to what oxy-codeine is all about.) with intent to sell. He was pleading not-guilty.

And then began the excrutiating process to pick the jury.

First came the group questions. If your answer was yes to any of the questions, you had to raise your little card and one of the security people (bailffs?) would read your number off. Do you know this defendant or his family? Did you work at the convenience store where this took place? Do you know either of these lawyers? Would you take anything a police officer says as the truth, no matter what? A few hands would go up here and there until, have you, an immediate family member or a close friend ever been addicted to a controlled substance that was either legal or illegal? It seemed as though half the room raised their hands.

Then came the calling of people's numbers, in order, from 1-1 on up. Some people were given a seat in the jury box, and some were conferred with by the judge and lawyers and then either sent to the jury box or dismissed. It went on and on. People of every color, size, shape and dress code marched by me. I would've liked to have been on a jury, except that this one wasn't going to finish in a day-- they would be doing this through at least next Monday. No thanks. Hyperactive-moron-woman from earlier was selected, and no lie, acted as if Bob Barker had just yelled for her to come on down on The Price is Right. Her hands clasped over her mouth, giggling and giddy. Did I say no thanks before? Really, REALLY no thanks now. After selecting, dismissing, selecting, dismissing, they finally had their jury and the judge asked the remaining 14 (12 + 2 alternates) if there was anything else they could think of that would prohibit their service. And one jerk raised his hand.

Everyone had to convene back on the other side of the desk to listen to him whine about hotel reservations and family coming in to town. The judge was annoyed and kept saying, hey, you'll be out of here by 4:30 each day and this really isn't relevant. Prior to the selection process, the judge had given us a spiel about the history of jury duty and how this was one of the only ways to affect democracy directly. And then she laid the guilt on extra thick and chunky, talking about 9/11 and our soldiers fighting in Iraq. Basically telling us they were asking for a few days in a courthouse from us while others had given or were risking their lives. I rolled my eyes at this. Surely people understood that this was their basic civic duty, and although a pain, nothing too impacting! Surely we didn't need to be guilted into participation! The one jerk changed my mind- obviously the judge knew what she was doing with that spiel.

In the end, he was set free, with a disgusted look and a dissmissive wave of the judge's hand. The process had to reconvene, and they finally had a jury when the guy 8-1 was called to the juror box. I was 10-1 and relieved.

Back in my tiny golf ball of a car, speeding down the highway with the window open, on my way home again. Life is good.

Why my dad is the coolest dad ever.

2005-06-08T15:35:00.000-05:00

With Father's Day coming up, and since I kvetch, er, talk about my mom so much in here, I thought I'd tell you why my dad is the coolest dad ever.

He used to drive me to and from flute lessons in Oakland, CA, wicked early (that's right, wicked), every Saturday morning. He would put his CB (children of the 70s, you'll know what I'm talking about) in the car, and we would talk to each other and to big rig truckers all over the place. My handle was "SuperZiggy" (imagine!) and Dad's was "Big Bear." We used to have the best conversations on those drives. I used to call him my buddy.

He and I were in the Indian Princesses program through the YMCA (ok, it wasn't the most PC thing in the world, but it meant well at the time). It was so cool- it was a father/daughter organization, and we had our own "tribe." We were the Blackfoot tribe, and we'd meet once a month at a different father/daughter house to work on art/nature projects and learn about Native American culture, and especially that of our tribe. And then we'd eat those pink and white frosted circus animal cookies with the round sprinkles, and drink juice. Sometimes we'd go camping. We would sing "On Top of Spaghetti" until our lungs hurt. Once we caught a whole bunch of frogs and tried to smuggle them home in dixie cups. 15 minutes into the ride home, the dads found out and pulled over next to a lake so we could release them (well, the ones we could find). Poor Lisa's dad was picking dead frogs out of their station wagon for years. We went to real pow-wows and performed skits. I was always the start of a little play called, "I Threw Peanuts in the Mud Puddle." The punchline was that I was a kid... named "Peanuts."

My dad built me a doll house. I "helped," but let's be honest. I bitched and whined and wondered when I could go watch TV. What a dorky kid- I would spank myself if I could. Or at the very least send myself to my room with no dessert. I don't know if my dad knows how much I appreciated that doll house. And how much I ache with regret when I think about how I let it fall apart. Even now, at 35, my throat closes to think about it.

We built or made lots of things. Our first project was a red bird house when I was about 2. I thought it was really cool that the shiny little can of red paint bounced a little when you threw it down on the linoleum at Gemco. Imagine my amazement when it didn't bounce, but instead opened and splashed everywhere. I have a picture of the bath that came after that one- oy. We made model cars, a crystal radio, and landscaping for those cool electric trains that weren't quite mine. We polished rocks and always thought they were way too cool to put in the crappy vermeil jewelry settings the rock polisher came with. I helped him (and mom) put in the cement borders in our backyard (he even let me write my name in the cement!!), and we had a vegetable garden every year- everything from beans to corn to tons of tomatoes and zucchini.

My poor dad struggled like crazy to teach me math. The man is an electrical engineer and was given a daughter who still occasionally counts on her fingers. I don't know where he found the patience. I wanted so badly to be good at it for him. He always helped me with school work. Even while yelling at me, like the time I left a muy grande Spanish project until the last night of Winter vacation. The damn thing needed a 3-d cover, and I didn't have a clue what to do. Off dad went to the store. He came back with a bag of Skittles and some cotton. I made a map of whichever South American country I hurriedly had done the report on, and he and mom helped me (while admonishing me with wilting glares) glue on different colored Skittles for different exports. The cotton stood in for textiles. My dad taught me lots of stuff without actually sitting down and teaching me, too. Through his day to day actions I learned: ethics, morals, supportiveness, kindness, compassion, humor, work ethic, and generosity. Then there was the practical stuff like, how to drive a car, ride a bike, use tools, mow a lawn, balance my checkbook... ok, so I didn't pay enough attention to that last one.

Several years ago, my dad was travelling back and forth to Switzerland for work. We had a blast e-mailing each other, keeping each other company (Mr. ZigKvetch was often on tour) and cracking each other up. I have all the e-mails saved (I don't think he knows this), and want to put them together in a book for us someday.

In junior high, I got it into my head one February 13th, that I simply *HAD* to have a bunch of jaw breakers for each of my Valentine friends. And then my OCD kicked in and I started having a meltdown-- what if someone gave me a Valentine, and I didn't have something for them?! I'd need extra! And if I give one to all these people, I'm going to have to give one to so-and-so too or they'll feel left out. I cried out of sheer panic (I swear this wasn't a spoiled brat thing-- I was/am such a freakazoid). The man bought $30 worth of watermelon jaw breakers and helped me wrap each one in a little baggie with ribbon. He also let me cry on his shoulder when no one gave me a darned thing the next day. (Ok, that was a spoiled brat thing, but I was young and foolish.) This guy deserves some kind of award. A major award, even.

Dad was the one who accompanied me to NYC to audition for music schools. He was the lucky one who got to catch me when I burst into angry tears after the sham of an audition they put me through at one of the schools. He was also the one to take me out to dinner and then a concert at the 92nd Street Y that night so I could see a friend who was already attending that very school. On the plane coming home, I made my dad a friendship bracelet (huge in the mid-late 80s). I think he still carries it in his wallet.

If I may brag a little, I have to say that I take after him in a lot of ways. We both love Chinese food and could eat it everyday for every meal, without balking. We'll both try anything, food-wise. (Pigs feet? Check. Tripe? Check. Strange looking fungus thing we found at an Asian market? Check.) We both yell at stupid drivers inside our cars, although we know not to act on anything. We're both expert soup makers. Soup whisperers, if you will. We tend to walk the same way, and I notice that the older I get, the more I watch my temper suddenly flare up when I see an injustice. The nut doesn't fall far from the tree, I guess, but, I also have his compassion and his goofy sense of humor.

I could go on and on, but alas, I have to leave to go teach.

Let me just end by saying that my dad has always been bigger than life to me. Tall, broad shouldered, large build, deep laugh, twinkles in both eyes, strong like an ox, and the man knows at least a little something about everything in the universe. Health issues are inevitable the older you get, but no matter, my dad is exactly the same Daddy (actually I used to call him "Datty") on the inside as he always has been. Mushy? Yeah, I know. But it's my dad! And he's the coolest ever.

Strange Day

2005-06-06T23:08:00.000-05:00

What an odd day. Yesterday I (and I'm really, really proud of this, so work with me here) planted a tiny vegetable and herb garden. And I did it all by myself, although Mr. ZigKvetch checked on me every few minutes, offering water and help. I planted a ton of tomatoes, bell peppers, hot peppers, cilantro, thyme, oregano and basil. It was quite an effort, but totally worth it, even if it only ends up being bunny food. And, no mosquito bites! I bought the an Off mosquito-be-gone-lantern and it worked like a charm. Who would've guessed that I had to go to an opera rehearsal to get re-eaten alive by the buzzing, blood-sucking little fuckers?

But that wasn't the weird day.

Even though rehearsal sucked and the 87-year-old conductor (you read me right) was even kookier than our last rehearsal. I came home frustrated and wired. I fell asleep around 2:30.

And so begins the weird day.

I awoke at 5:30, alert and ready to get up. For those of you who don't know me, this is an act of G-d. A miracle. Cue the singing glory of the angels. So of course, I tried to roll over and go back to sleep. No go. I got up and went downstairs and worked for awhile. Then, I went upstairs and crawled back into bed to read. I took a quick nap and I was up again and out of the house by 7:40.

Into work I go, with a spring in my step. I was in a good mood. On a Monday morning. On 3.5 hours of sleep. After a brutal rehearsal the night before. On the first day strictly back on my eating plan. On the first day of, well, a segment of the month when I'm not normally so chipper (reporting to you live from TMI Fest 2005).

And the first thing I did when I got in was clean my office. A co-worker checked on me several times to make sure I was ok. She was worried, as this was about as unlike me as it gets. Are you hearing the seraphim yet? They're yodeling.

And I stayed in a pretty good mood all day. With no caffeine in my system, just love in my heart, a clear mind (a clear mind, I say!) and plenty of energy. Seriously, what the hell is up with this? Did I mention the no caffeine thing? No. Caffeine.

At about 10 tonight I got home after teaching, brought in all the groceries and, although tired, was still in a good mood... until I listened to the answering machine and the crazed octogenarian conductor's infuriating message which filled my every pore with rage. But even then, I ate dinner, and Mr. ZigKvetch was especially understanding and kind, and here I am back in this... this... good mood.

Will wonders never cease? Hallelujah and amen. (yodel-ay-ee-hoo!)

Oh goody! A meme from MeganMegan!

2005-06-01T20:22:00.000-05:00

Megan the wise and wonderful tagged me, so here goes nothing... more layers of Zig than you ever thought possible or wanted:

LAYER ONE: ON THE OUTSIDE
Name: Zig
Birth date: March 14, 1970
Current Location: My couch, under an olive and gold afghan (the blanket, not the hound)
Eye Color: Hazel with speckles. Please refrain from singing Kelly Clarkson.
Hair Color: Dark brown with remnants of blond highlights that are taking forever to grow out
Righty or Lefty: Righty although I "mouse" with my left hand.
Zodiac Sign: Pisces

LAYER TWO: ON THE INSIDE
Your heritage: German, Russian, Romanian, and according to my parents, Martian
Shoes you wore today: Black slide-on sandals
3 things I did today: Went to the dentist to get my new night guard, bought a ton of candy for my office, taught an awesome lesson on leadership.
Your fears: Spiders, losing people I love
Your perfect pizza: pepperoni and mushroom or pesto with roma tomatoes

LAYER THREE: YESTERDAY, TODAY, TOMORROW
Your most overused phrase: "Freaking____," and "you're a zoo."
Your thoughts first waking up: No! Shh!! No! Please! More sleep! Please! So tired!
Your best physical feature: My smile
Your best time: Nighttime
Your most missed memory: Being in better shape.

LAYER FOUR: YOUR PICK
Pepsi or Coke: Can I pick Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper aka "Nectar of the Gods?" If not, either will do.
McDonald's or Burger King: McDonald's fries, and Burger King's burgers, oh heck, let's just go to Taco Bell.
Single or group dates: Date? What is this "date" you speak of?
Adidas or Nike: Nike, I guess, but to be honest, I was thinking Payless Shoe Source
Silver or Gold: Silver.
Lipton Tea or Nestea: I'd prefer a bag, thanks. (No teabagging jokes, please)
Chocolate or vanilla: Vanilla topped with cold fudge (right, Mom?)

LAYER FIVE: DO YOU?
Smoke: No freaking way. It's hard to play the flute when you can't breathe.
Take showers: Yes.
Have a crush(es): Yes. And his name is Mr. ZigKvetch, although Jason Varitek ain't bad.
Think you've been in love: See question above. Stop before "although."
Like(d) high school?: Yep. It was stressful and awful and painful, but I wouldn't trade it for the world.
Want to get married: Again? No, never. I'm all set with the husband I've got. I was DYING to get married before I married Mr. ZigKvetch though.
Get motion sickness: Yes. I discovered this on a deep-sea fishing trip forever dubbed "Puke Fest '99." I remember trying to figure out a way to get a helicopter to come out and pick me up.
Think you're a health freak: AHAHAHAHA! I'm sorry, I mean, um, no. I'm trying to be healthier though.
Get along with your parents: Yes. They drive me to drink (ok, so it's tomato juice), but I love them and am extremely close to them.
Like thunderstorms: I did until lightning hit the house next door to mine in the early, early morning. I seriously believed we were under a nuclear attack. No lie- my period stopped for 3 months due to the trauma.
Play an instrument: Here's a shocker-- yes! Flute, piccolo, penny whistle. Yes, please, ask me about band camp.

LAYER SIX: IN THE PAST MONTH
Drank alcohol: Yes. You know what's really embarrassing but good? A Mike's Hard Lemonade with grenadine! Shh!
Gone on a date: Date? What is this "date" you speak of?
Gone to the mall: Yes, to get Mr. Zigkvetch and I new duds to wear to the drag show we went to with Paul.
Been on stage: Constantly.
Eaten an entire box of Oreos: No, but in the past I've held my own when challenged. (And by "challenged" I clearly mean that the oreos were just sitting on the counter.)
Eaten sushi: Yes, I live on sushi.
Gone skating: No. I'd love to go roller skating though.
Had a tan: Surely you jest. I go from pink to red to purple to peel. SPF 45 is my best friend.
Dyed your hair: Nope.

LAYER SEVEN: HAVE YOU EVER
Been trashed or extremely intoxicated: Um, no never. Hey Mom, could you cover your eyes for a minute? Thanks. Yes I have. Both trashed and extremely intoxicated.
Changed who you were to fit in: Yes. I do it just about every day at work.
Thought about what age you hope to get married: Yes. I was going to be married by 25, and have a kid by 28. Isn't that cute?
Had children? Not yet.
Describe your dream wedding: Basically exactly the one we had. My students played our processional. My Dad walked me down the aisle and danced with me. Mom and friends read cool readings. Colleen (and her wee daughter at the time, Meghan) sang us all to tears. Our friends stood at our sides under the chuppah. The rabbi was really funny and fun. We did what we wanted to do, not what was the correct or expected thing to do. For example, we played a duet on our flute and tuba in place of writing our own vows. The rabbi taught people Jewish customs as we went along. I married my best friend (barf now if you must) and the love of my life. We had good food, drink and a kickass swing band. We danced the hora to Hava Nagila, and I've never had so much fun.
How do you want to die?: In my sleep at a grand old age and with a smile on my face.
What do you want to be when you grow up?: A full time musician and flute teacher along with being a kick-ass mom and partner.

LAYER NINE: IN A GUY
Best eye color?: Blue
Best hair color?: Dirty blond.
Short or long hair: Short.
Height: Taller than me in heels.
Best first date location: Symphony concert.
Articles of clothing: Tight pleather pants with the cheek-holes cut out, spikes, cheetah-patterned, flowy, button-down silk shirts, unbuttoned to navel, tube socks and a festive chapeau. Um, either that or just clothes that fit and aren't stained.

LAYER TEN: IN THE NUMBERS
Number of sexual partners: About 40. AHAHAHAHA! I totally couldn't even type that with a straight face. (Mom? Why aren't you laughing? Mom? MOM?)
Number of pairs of shoes: A million. And almost all of them are black.
Number of bags: A million. And almost all of them are black.
Number of CD's I own: Two million.
Number of piercings: 3 in each ear, but I only use one in each.
Number of tattoos: None.

Whew!

I tag Tish, Meg and Skeezix! Edit: I COMPLETELY AND WHOLEHEARTEDLY TAG THE CHARMING AND DELIGHTFUL FLIPSYCAB AS WELL!

Eh, Getting Ahead is Overrated Anyway

2005-05-31T15:31:00.000-05:00

I have to laugh. Because at a certain point it just gets funny.

Mr. ZigKvetch just called. That funny sound the car started making this weekend turned out to be nearly $1K worth of work. Frozen brake calipers, fried brakes, excellence all around. And we're way overdue to replace the timing belt (another $400). And this is our "good" car. And then there are our regular bills, the dentist, union dues, excise taxes, real estate taxes, the new computer we ended up having to buy (it's a necessity for us), etc., etc., etc.

Every time we start building up a little savings, it gets blown. Isn't that grand? Get it? Grand? A-HAHAHAHAHAHA! (Insert continuation of mad cackling here.)

I have an old Monty Python song in my head:

Here comes another one
Here it comes again
Here comes another one
When will it ever end?

Itchy, Itchy, Scratchy, Scratchy

2005-05-30T01:28:00.000-05:00

Flea (flea!), Flea fly (flea fly!), Flea fly mosquito (flea fly mosquito!)
Calamine, calamine calamine lotion (Calamine, calamine calamine lotion)
Oh, no more calamine lotion (Oh no more calamine lotion)
Itchy itchy scratchy scratchy, ooh I got one down my backy (itchy itchy scratchy scratchy, ooh I got one down my backy)
Get the bad bug with the bad bug spray (tschhh)
Get the bad bug with the bad bug spray (tschhh)

I might as well just be honest and say that I think it was extremely opportunistic for the bugs in my yard to take an hour-long visit with my next door neighbor and her awesome dog as a free, all-you-can-eat buffet extravaganza on my legs and arms. One even had the audacity, ok I'll say it, CHUTZPAH, to bite not only the top of my "ring finger" toe on my right foot, but also between it and the "middle finger" toe. I mean, who does that?!

Tool of Satan: Spyware

2005-05-28T17:43:00.000-05:00

All I wanted to do was check out some new and exciting blogs. Silly me, I clicked on "next blog" a few times and next thing I know, my poor Explorer window is overcome with a brand new navigation bar-- the "Elite Bar." Elite apparently means a Satan-powered navigation bar filled with cute little icons you can click on to take you right to the pages you use most: gambling (little dice), finding a "lover" (pulsing heart), and "drugs on the Internet!" (such sweet little pills!)

And in case those little minions-of-hell buttons don't get you there fast enough, this demonic little spyware program provides me, the thrilled (drugged, sexed up, broke from gambling) consumer with pop-ups! And I didn't even have to ask! Hey, fantastic! Thanks!

Feeling unworthy of all this sudden attention and e-z accessibility to HELL, I immediately set off on a journey through my programs folder to uninstall this motherfucker. After a few searches, I gave up. They hide their programs under different names and deep down in the bowels of the system. Jerkwads. I finally figured out how to uninstall it, and went back online to check in on two online communities I'm a part of. Much to my dismay, I notice that all the posters seem to have gone link crazy. Or wait, maybe it's the freaking spyware ghouls again! Yep. Apparently "Elite Bar" left another present-- a wonderful search program called "Search Miracle" (I'm actually nervous to put these names in here, as if just mentioning might incur a summoning of their evil powers again). I managed to find the uninstall and the odious little crapweasels tried to download yet another program! Crapweasels, I say!

I think I have most of it off my system, but not everything, as my homepage is still messed up. So I breathe a sigh of guarded relief, and walk into the other room to look at the mail. Ooh- a listing of concerts coming up on the Cape! Fun! Uh-oh. Holy crap. Satan *is* trying to take over, one insidious step at a time... "Hall & Oats in concert with Tears for Fears!"

If anyone's looking for me, I'll be hiding in a small matzo hut adorned with 4 or 5 mezzuzzahs, calmly reciting every prayer and song I ever learned in Hebrew school.

Crap. I Should've Known Better.

2005-05-27T20:36:00.000-05:00

How could I make such a rookie mistake?

I've obviously jinxed my beloved Red Sox, and for that, I am truly sorry.

One inning later and we're down 3-6.

I hang my head in shame and accept full responsibility.

Also? I freaking HATE the Yankees! Bastards.

Friday Wrap Up & Zig Learns to Meme!

2005-05-27T19:44:00.000-05:00

On Tuesday, I had my first ever breakdown in front of students. I got to flute choir rehearsal and it was awful. I laid the guilt on pretty thick between tears, I guess, because they somehow got their shit together and played brilliantly last night. I was so happy, and so exhausted. I only hope that this whole event has taught them something and that they'll walk away with a greater understanding of responsibility, teamwork and respect, and not just the idea that: no practice = teacher crying and pissed; practice = happy teacher, less bitching. I guess either way it's a win-win though, in the long run.

I slept pretty well last night, for the first time in 3 days. Ok, passed out is more like it. And today, my day job was on shutdown status for the holiday weekend, so I slept in. Then I got up and taught, and then slept some more! Oh! And after I taught, I started to drive out of the high school and saw a wee little puppy rolling around on the grass above a drainage ditch and pipe. As I got nearer to the puppy, I realized it was actually a wee baby fox!! It was the cutest, fuzziest thing ever!

I slowly got out of the car and went closer, holding my camera phone out, and trying to snap a decent shot. He was wary of me, but let me get pretty close (by pretty close, I mean I was on the top of the knoll, and he was next to the pipe, ready for a fast get away). He seemed to "trust" me after a little bit, and laid down to relax. I was very respectful of his space, understanding that he was a wild animal and also understanding that Mama Fox probably wasn't too far off, and eager to bite my hand off if I got too damn close! I stood there for a half hour, just watching the cute little bugger. And I would've stayed even longer until some of the kids from the baseball team clomped over in their cleats, and scared the poor thing back into the pipe. Foxy did come out in time to make a short appearance for Mr. Zigkvetch too, when he left the high school (we just happened to be teaching there at the same time today) and got my emergent voicemail telling him to look!

So even though all you can really see is a small orange ball of fluff, here is my new little foxy friend for your enjoyments and audible "AWWWWs!":

And lastly, the lovely and brilliant Megan explained to me what the heck a "meme" was (after I'd already posted one, of course, heh), and in return, to thank her, I'd like to officially partake in her most recent meme request- to post a picture of your eyes! So here are mis ojos, bloodshot as heck, but all mine:

Please consider yourself "meme'd" and have a lovely weekend.

P.S. Top of the 6th, 3 to 1 Boston-- GO SOX! Suck it, Yankees!

Alas and alack! I've been tagged!

2005-05-25T23:33:00.000-05:00

Miss Meg has tagged me with this ongoing little blog project. It started here, and although I think this guy's political views are completely fucked, a lot of people I really like somehow got tagged and participated. And I like the subject, so, eh, what the hell? (Please tell me if I am somehow inadvertantly supporting the conservative facist right by participating, and I shall shamefully turn in my Democratic Party membership card.)

You're only required to complete 5 of these, so here goes:

If I could be a scientist... I'd work as hard as I possibly could to help come up with a cure to something.
If I could be a farmer...
If I could be a musician... (HA! I think I've got this one covered!)
If I could be a doctor...
If I could be a painter...I'd paint on canvases and use tons of bright colors and would paint free-form and I wouldn't care if people thought they were stupid or couldn't "see" the giant dancing rhinoceros in all the swirls.
If I could be a gardener...I'd grow tomatoes, sweet corn, avocadoes, onions, herbs, cucumbers, squash, green beans, asparagus, kale and spinach, and I'd give anything we couldn't use to a local soup kitchen.
If I could be a missionary...
If I could be a chef...
If I could be an architect...
If I could be a linguist...
If I could be a psychologist...I'd work with kids in crisis and try to help them as much as I could, and I'd charge on a sliding scale.
If I could be a librarian...
If I could be an athlete...
If I could be a lawyer...
If I could be an innkeeper...
If I could be a professor...
If I could be a writer...
If I could be a llama-rider... I'd take pity on the poor llama and just walk beside him/her, feeding him/her grapes and apple slices, and petting its nose.

So, that's it from me. I don't know if there are 5 people left to tag who haven't already done this, but I hearby tag: Flipsycab, Skeezix, Cilee, Lauren, and PSUMommy, if she happens to pass through again.

DSL Addiction: It happened to me.

2005-05-25T09:58:00.000-05:00

A bouncing baby wireless DSL connection is the newest addition to the ZigKvetch household. (We're registered at Addictions 'R' US, in case you'd like to send us anything, er, share in our joy.) We were instantly addicted. To the point of the ridiculous.

I have a work laptop, and we had an ancient behemoth of a computer upstairs in the den. Dial-up sucked big time and it took forever to do anything, not to mention you'd be tying up the phone line forever. When we finally decided to replace said behemoth with a laptop, it was just so shiny and pretty and new, that we just couldn't let her...um... it suffer through sucktastic dial-up. So we took the plunge into the 21st century and ma & pa got ourselves some new-fangled DSL, and hell, we might as well make it wireless, right?

Well, I'm happy to say we're spending more time together, Mr. ZigKvetch and I. We both settle in down in the family room, all cozy with our laptops humming and beeping and dinging, and stay that way, cuddled up with our technology (me on the couch, Mr. ZigKvetch in the comfy chair) for hours into the night. We've even IMd each other, 3 feet away.

Yes folks, it's that bad. It's just that it's so easy and fast. We're addicted to the speed at which we can zip around the Internet, download stuff, and send messages. We're addicted to the gadgetiness (there it is-- my new word of the day!) and the bright lights. We're addicted to the fact that WE DON'T NEED NO STINKING WIRES to hold us back. It's Spring, and we're in love.

Quick Shout-Outs

2005-05-24T12:12:00.000-05:00

Paul, I love you and hope you have a terrific week. Try to do something nice for yourself, will ya?

Keri, I'm so sorry I flaked on lunch Friday. I was home, sick, again. Ugh.

Meg, I must firmly request that you post even more pictures of BillyChuck and write some more fun stuff in your blog.

Everyone: you must try these potato chips. They are the potato chips of the GODS! Totally natural and unspeakably delicious. I tried these at the Black Sheep Deli (scroll down to see me raving about it), and brought some home for my husband who also flipped.

Kids These Days - A Rant.

2005-05-24T11:29:00.000-05:00

So, for the second time in less than a week, I ended up in tears at school yesterday. I've had it. I am so burned out. I have never, ever had students like these before. All of a sudden, I have a group of kids, the majority of whom have no desire to put any work into anything, and are lazy, disrespectful, and rude.

Now, anyone who knows me knows I love teaching with all my heart and soul, and have never shed a tear over it, other than of joy. Until now. I've always prided myself on being myself and being a "cool" teacher. I mean, still a total dork, but a lovable one, who is always there to help, gives extra long lessons, has energy, tries to be creative and fun, and treats students like adults for the most part. I've done this for years, and have had successful, wonderful teaching relationships with my students, and highly successful, wonderful students. Last year I started noticing a change.

It started with two of my "stronger-personalitied" (hey! New word of the day!) students who were constantly obsessing over who got what solo and who was better than the other. I watched with horror as their increasingly negative attitudes started infecting other students. I watched them, as almost-leaders, setting an example of disdain for authority, uneccesary drama, and negativity for the younger kids. I did everything I could to both get these two and the younger students on the right track, as did my students who were in the leadership positions within the section. Things smoothed out. And then this year, they became the leaders and everything went straight to hell.

It's almost like a new generation of students has begun. This new generation seems to be about entitlement, doing the least amount of work possible, and in it only for themselves. And they have no reverence for authority whatsoever, no matter how dorky-cool the teacher. Eye-rolling is in abundance. Nasty whispering about other students, shouting arguments, and ridiculous competitive drama abounds. No one supports anyone else. I actually had a best friend "tattle" on the other this year when they cut a lesson. The hell?

Now, don't get me wrong. I do have a few good kids who seem to value others, get their work done, and avoid drama at all costs. They're frustrated as hell, too. So, I'm starting to look for the differences in these kids vs. the kids from hell, and here is what I've noticed:

Their parents take an active role and interest in their kids' lives.
Their parents hold them accountable for their actions and behavior. These parents don't raise "victims."
Their parents don't just give them everything they want. These kids often have to earn what they get either by saving their own money or via their actions.
Their parents establish and instill a clear values system with these kids; one that the kids take out into their lives.
Their parents treat them with respect and expect respect in return. (How circumspect!)
These kids are educated in what's going on in the world- they are able to see beyond themselves.
These kids have been taught to develop their own goals and have been given some guidance as to how to achieve them.
Many have not been completely sheltered from adversity at home, be it family health issues, money issues, etc.
These kids help out around the house and school- both the chores expected of them, and just to help out because they live there too.
These kids have learned how to take the initiative and how to voice their opinions in a clear, respectful manner.
These kids don't whine nearly as much! (Sweet G-d Almighty I HATE whining.)

I could go on, but in the interest of time and space, I'll stop here.

So, why am I writing this down you may ask? I guess it's because we're thinking, increasingly, about having a kid someday, and I want to make sure I keep these things in mind. And also, to vent, so that I don't end up in tears after tonight's final rehearsal before our concert on Thursday.

C'mon, everybody: "Don't cry for me, ZigKvetchtina... the truth is your mind has left you...."

Updateius Boringus

2005-05-19T16:20:00.000-05:00

I still feel like crapsticks. My throat feels like it has a weasel in it today.

But...

I finally went in to have the permanent crown put on my cracked tooth! It's real purty. It didn't hurt a bit, and it looks exactly like a tooth. I mean, I wasn't expecting it to look like a Frigidaire or anything, but I figured it would look like a filling would look. Nope. Apparently they even took some kind of digital photo of my real tooth when they put the temp in, and then matched the crown to the exact color of the tooth. Dad told me that in the olden days dentists used a cement that BURNED. Can I get a big "hell yeah" for cutting edge denticular technology? Hell yeah.

In other news, I'm praying that I don't have to be a raving lunatic bitch at flute choir rehearsal tonight. But damn, they had better have finally learned their parts. Have I mentioned that my amazingly wonderful husband took an hour of his time to program in a whole bass flute part so that the kids playing that part don't have to read off their crappy score copies? I didn't? Well, my amazingly wonderful husband did just that.

In additional news, I had to go recruiting up at UMASS Amherst earlier this week and got to experience the joy that is the Black Sheep Deli. Go for the unbelievably incredible food, stay for the liberalism! Be sure to check out their "Electile Dysfunction" menu!

Lastly, we finally got DSL last night! Whoo-hoo, no more waiting 12 years for things to load over a measly phone line! And it's wireless to boot. I could cry!

All right, me and the fucking throat weasel are making like priests and getting the hell outta here! (hahaha-- I'm such a card.)

I'm Back in the Proverbial Saddle Again

2005-05-16T09:26:00.000-05:00

Oy, what a week! (I'll warn you now that I'm on heavy cold medicine, and this entry is going to babble on and on, so feel free to skip to the easy-to-digest recap lists at the end)

Last Friday I embarked on a top-secret mission (cue: Mission Impossible theme) to surprise my mom-ah-lah for her 65th (65 going on about 30, I'd say) birthday and Mother's Day. My only co-conspiritors were my husband and my fiendishly sneaky dad (cue: "muah-ha-ha-haaah"-type laugh).

I took off from Boston on my first-ever JetBlue excursion and landed in Oakland, CA by noon PST. Dad picked me up and we had some meaningful father/daughter time for the first time in forever. See, even when I call my parental units and Dad answers, Mom usually wrestles the phone away from him within a minute or so. So, Dad and I made a bee-line to his favorite soup place, a small Chinese restaurant near his old office. We talked about everything under the sun while happily slurping an incredibly rich "pho"-like soup. And then it was back to the scheming. Dad called Mom and said he was on his way home from errands and meeting up with his old work cronies for lunch. Halfway home, I called her and told her I was on my way home from work in MA. Cell phones are a wonderful thing. She fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

When we got home, she was in their bedroom at the back of the house. I, craftily wanting to sound like my dad, stomped through the house. My mom called out for my dad, and I said nothing, she turned around, and, TA-DAAH! there I was. Her jaw dropped and for a minute I thought she was going to faint. Next thing I knew, I was being hugged and kissed nearly to death. It ruled.

Thus began a terrific weekend hanging with the 'rents. Friday night was dinner and jazz at Yoshi's, followed by a trip to Fenton's (home of the drippiest, stickiest most wonderful homemade ice cream sundaes ever). On Saturday, Dad dropped Mom off to have her nails done and we hit a new Asian market, where I promptly stocked up on necessities. Apparently "necessities" include nearly my weight in Pocky, but I digress. Next, we were off to Dim Sum. Real Dim Sum, not like the kind you just order off the menu here. Oh, the delight of scallion dumplings, shao mai, and dear G-d, mango pudding with cream. The tiny, sweet waitress marveled out loud at how much we could put away. I took it as a compliment.

Then came Shop-a-palooza '05, as my mom and I hit Sephora and a couple other stores downtown. I even had a makeover, and picked the prettiest Sephora employee in the place to do so. He was wearing more eye makeup than I'll ever dare to wear at one time, and looked fantastic- like a young David Bowie. I believe that my mom and I may have inhaled more perfume scents than any one person should inhale in a day. We had a blast, and even though I protested sincerely and what I'd like to think was a little menacingly, Mom-ah-lah (and Dad-ah-lah via cell phone) bought me a few gifts. After dinner that night, we just hung out at home and talked.

Sunday morning was Mother's Day, and I woke up sick with a cold. We should have taken that as an omen and just stayed home, but we had reservations for a Mother's Day brunch at a hotel. I won't go into the horrific details, but suffice it to say that any hotel brunch that results in a normally pacifist ZigKvetch yelling at a biker chick and cronies who cut in line, and a ZigKvetch's-Father-led mob revolt against the ridiculous management is a disaster. Ahem. I will also mention that nearly-instant karma was granted on our way out as we witnessed the biker chick being busted by the waitstaff for trying to steal all the carnations off the table centerpieces.

Sunday night we went out to dinner at a local coffee shop where our waitress confided in us that her husband was off in Iraq, and that she was so worried. He's been gone longer than they've been married. She showed us pictures and lit up when I told her that I thought he looked like a far more handsome Tom Cruise. Obviously, this put the morning's theatrics in painful perspective.

As we drove home, Dad surprised us with audiotapes he'd unearthed of my second birthday party. My young, mischevious dad laughing easily on the noisy tape, interviewing my Grandma Zelda, Grandpa Harry, Grandma Sylvia, and Aunt Bea. I babbled happily in the background. They talked about the airplane hijackings of the early 70s, what my parents were like as kids, a trip that my Aunt and Grandma Sylvia had taken to the "Orient." It was like stepping into a time machine and we laughed and cried at everything we heard. And then my Grandpa Harry started singing Yiddish and Hebrew songs in his deep, booming voice, and there wasn't an unchoked throat in the car. Dad has promised me he'll have them transferred to cd and will send me a set asap. I can't wait to hear more.

The night ended with my mom and I laughing our heads off in her new office- the artist formerly known as MY BEDROOM. It's adorable, don't get me wrong- from the picture of her as (the cutest!) little girl to all of her books and tchotchkes, but it is a weird feeling that MY BEDROOM is gone. I know: get over it, spoiled brat.

Monday was breakfast, followed by a visit to my Aunt Bea who is now in assisted-living. We surprised her, too, and we had fun chatting. Then, there were a couple of errands, and back home to hang out, nap, and chat. Then we packed up the car (why is it that no matter what, I always leave with at least one extra bag than what I came with), grabbed dinner, and were off to the airport. Man, even typing it makes my insides churn. My parents even came in with me to sit and gab for a few minutes before I had to go back to the gate. I cried. I always cry.

And then I was back in Boston after my redeye, with my wonderful, sweet husband waiting for me. As my mom always says after a visit, it's so weird how we can be together one minute, and on opposite coasts in a matter of hours. I miss my parents so much, I ache. I keep telling them how nice Connecticut is, how it doesn't snow as much there (in parts), and how they should move to New England immediately. And Mom begs us to consider moving back, which would mean starting completely over on our music careers, something that's taken all 13 years of our being here to finally establish with some regularity. Obviously, the answer is that one of us needs to become independently wealthy immediately. When's the next PowerBall?

So anyway, here is the breakdown:

Things that rule:

My husband and parents
JetBlue
Dim Sum
Pocky
Pho-like soup
Father/daughter time
Mother/daughter time
Birthday surprises
Cell phones
Being hugged/kissed to death by your mom and dad
Audio tapes of your relatives from the 70s
Grandpas singing
Sephora
Rude biker chicks getting busted for stealing centerpieces.
Wonderful husbands who get up at the crack of dawn to pick up their sickly wives

Things that suck:

Saying goodbye.
Being an only-child and living on the opposite side of the country from the parents you're really close to.
That my husband couldn't go with me for this visit.
Hotel Mother's Day brunches
Biker chicks who think it's ok and even funny, to cut in line in front of several nice families who've been waiting in line for an hour.
That sweet waitress-wives need to be worried sick about their husbands who are off fighting in Iraq.
Colds that turn into vicious double-ear infections/sinus infections that last for days and knock you on your ass so bad you can't get out of bed/off the couch.
Not winning the lottery.

Yeah, so anyway, hi! I'm back!

TMI?

2005-05-04T16:30:00.000-05:00

Too much information? Yeah, probably, as it's rather [insert polite euphemism for bathroom/poop]-related.

Restaurant salads are the devil. Every freaking time I've ordered one lately, I happily chow down only to be visited by enormous and rather terrifying rumblings in the stomach region a few short hours later.

Is it that they're not washing the lettuce well enough (or, gads!, at all)?

Perhaps it's that my delicate constitution disagrees with whatever Agent Orange they use to clean the lettuce.

Or maybe (get ready to gag) people aren't washing their hands well! (Gag! I just gagged myself!)

Hell, maybe I've developed an allergy to iceberg "lettuce" (that's another thing- get some real lettuce, people. Jesus.). Whatever it is, it's pissing me off. It's hard enough to eat healthfully in the land of chain restaurants, and cutting salads off the miniscule list of things I can eat depresses me. I suppose it's the price I'll pay however, in order to ensure that I no longer have to leave my office with a super-determined look on my face and commence a fast power walk to the bathroom every 10 minutes.

"Can't talk- be right back. Important business," I try to express, wordlessly, with every fiber of my being. (Er, perhaps we should leave fiber out of this?)

Meanwhile, I'm simultaneously praying that no one is in the restroom, swearing a blue streak while cursing the restaurant, and clenching like there's no tomorrow.

What? Too much information? Hey, I warned you! Now if you'll excuse me, I have some important business to attend to.

Didja Think I Died?

2005-05-02T13:51:00.000-05:00

I did survive the dentist. The procedure itself (apparently I needed a crown in order to fix the tooth) didn't hurt at all, except I freaking HATE getting novocaine, but am, of course, completely indebted to it. It hurt afterward though, and Advil was my best friend for a day or two.

I also survived the CEO meeting. Who knew that a CEO could be so charming and funny? He kind of had the Anderson Cooper thing going on.

So, given that I ended the week with a fabulous drag show benefit with my fabulous husband, my fabulous friend Paul, and his fabulous sister, niece, and friends, I'll give the whole darn week a thumbs up. The "girls" were stupendously gorgeous. Bitches.
****************************************************

So how about that bug-eyed-bride-on-the-run who caused panic, chaos and fuss for family, friends and her fiancee? Not to mention an awful lot of law enforcement officials. (I couldn't put that in the first sentence and ruin my little alliterative run, now could I?) And what is all this business about her being befriended by the police, and being gifted with FBI shirts, hats, pants, and a teddy bear? When I caused major panic and chaos in my home growing up, I sure as heckfire didn't get a spiffy new outfit and a teddy bear.

She looks scared as hell in every single picture they have of her. Well, except for the one where she's under a festive blanket, flanked by sympathetic looking police. Ms. Wilbanks was apparently overwhelmed by her imminent 600-guest wedding festivities. I would be too. Which is why I can't even conceive of holding a wedding with 600-guests. I mean, unless you're royalty. Even then.

And, while I don't think that jail time is the answer for Ms. Wilbanks, I do think some community service and repayment of at least some of the costs associated with the search to find her are in order. Someone who can afford to invite 600 guests (600 GUESTS!!! ) is someone, in my opinion, who can afford to pay back at least some of the cost to the law enforcement organizations. Even as a token mea culpa.

I also think some therapy is in order. What pushes a person to choose faking her own kidnapping over just cancelling the damn wedding and writing a note and/or phone call saying she'd be gone for a few days to sort things out? How does one get to a point where they see faking their own kidnapping as the easy way out? I'll admit it kind of makes me wonder if maybe her husband is/was abusing her, even though nothing of the sort has come to light. I just can't get my head around why else she'd do what she did.

So anyway, if I go missing again after a dentist appointment or CEO visit, I expect you all ("All?" Clearly, I have delusions of grandeur) to worry, and then send me new outfits and teddy bears. Or just kick my ass. One of the two.

Randomania!

2005-04-27T09:35:00.000-05:00

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.
*******************************************
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.
*******************************************
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!

*******************************************
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.
*******************************************
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

2005-04-26T11:41:00.000-05:00

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?

2005-04-22T10:44:00.000-05:00

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!

2005-04-21T15:17:00.000-05:00

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

2005-04-20T17:15:00.000-05:00

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

2005-04-20T12:57:00.000-05:00

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!

2005-04-20T11:46:00.000-05:00

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!