When you were a kid did you treat your stuffed animals like they had feelings? Not all the time, of course, but every once in a while did you catch a glimpse of some forgotten doll with its head smashed underneath a box of legos or your favorite oversized white tiger carelessly tangled in a set of dress-up beads with one sad little paw poking up above the rim of the toy box, and you swear you heard a faint "help me..." that made you focus on it just a few seconds longer? No? Oh, ahem. Well, how very mentally developed you were as a child then.
I did.
And I know you did too, don't be a twit.
Ha, twit. That's a funny word.
On those occasions when I saw my toys in a state of neglect or distress, particularly and probably exclusively the ones that had faces...I don't think I was so concerned with the emotional well being of my Lincoln Logs, I would TRY to ignore the impulse to soothe their feelings and put them in a more comfortable position, but I just couldn't. Maybe it was the first inclining of a maternal instinct, maybe it was mere delusion, maybe a childlike insistence to hang on to the last vestige of belief that my toys were not just stuffing and fiber, but something real. But really, I think it had more to do with not wanting to ignore something that I had given a piece of myself to.
So, in a round about way, all this is to say, I miss my blog. And I just got a glimpse of it, crumpled in the corner under the weight of work and facebook and wedding planning (oh yeah, did I mention I got engaged?) and this post is an effort to gently pick it up out of the toy bin, pet its head a few times, maybe even whisper an apology if I think no one is looking, and place it gently on the top of the stack, even though that means something else will now be slightly disfigured at the bottom.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Music to My Ears...and, er, Eyes too I guess.
I know it's been a while since last I posted, and that huge gap in time growing ever larger has been like a insurmountable hurdle in getting back into the posting groove. I've opened new posts only to ramble on and on trying to catch up on months of unwritten thoughts, only to delete the whole thing because I sound quite like stream-of-consciousness on crack. So there will be no catching up. I will not tell of all the things that have happened lo these long months. You will not get to hear about my trip to Kentucky or Europe, and just forget about a comprehensive Christmas list or rundown of how many servings of stuffing I was wont to imbibe. New Years came and past, but far be it for me to detail the drinky night. I could have written a thousand posts by now, but I haven't, so I'm getting over it. I'm sure I'm the only one affected by my own laze.
And yes, laze is a word. I looked it up.
I've got the Grammy's on now and I could not be more entertained. I'm not much of a music person myself, but big events like this enthral me and I love seeing the odd matchups they force on the presenters. Like Kesha with her arms crossed tightly across her chest and her weight shifted sassily on her left leg rolling her eyes with self important bitchiness while her much younger and completely unknown (to me) co-presenter fumbled a line. I can just imagine she would much have preferred herself hanging off the arm of...anyone else. Then Mos Def and some Latin Classical singer did the most awkward bit of banter imaginable and Stephen Colbert got one laugh. From his daughter. Who I'm sure was in on the act.
For the most part the performances have been captivating- my favorite so far was the beautiful ballad Pink sang called Glitter in the Air, which has much more soul than the title would imply. Lady Gaga opened with Elton John, which was brilliant and I think I'll be catching that again on YouTube. Beyonce sang "If I Were a Boy," which feels sad and haunting at the same time...but maybe that's me...and then mixed it with, of all things, You Oughta Know by Alanis Morissette. I kept waiting for Alanis to walk on stage to riotous applause, but it never happened. Enter, dismay. Disapointingly Mary J Blige, who I usually like, totally squawked all over Andrea Bocelli, and I think their duet of "Bridge Over Troubled Water" would have been much improved had Andrea just sang both parts himself. No trouble, right? I imagine anyone with Bocelli will somewhat pale in comparison. There were a few others too- Jamie Foxx pretending he knows what hes doing with "Blame it on the Alcohol," which just proves that money will buy you just about anything, to include a singing career, Dave Matthews Band singing the same song that they've been singing since 1994, but with different lyrics, and Taylor Swift's and Stevie Nicks' independently beautiful voices clashing over a medley of both artists songs. Bad flow.
Since I've been writing this there was another performance, which I've already forgotten completely and a tribute song to Les Paul where the camera man(s) focused more on the strikingly interesting looking female singer with her funny hair warbling a 1940's sounding tune and less on the magnificent guitar playing by some guy who is probably famous but whom I've not met. Considering Les Paul was a guitar legend of some importance, it seems quite unfortunate the camera couldn't be bothered to pan over a bit to the twisting and contorting musician sweating riffs mere feet to the left of the warbling singer. Putting in a real honest effort, he was. I think they've missed the point somewhere.
Ah, well, it seems Comcast is having trouble keeping the sound up and running during the GRAMMYS. Le sigh.
And yes, laze is a word. I looked it up.
I've got the Grammy's on now and I could not be more entertained. I'm not much of a music person myself, but big events like this enthral me and I love seeing the odd matchups they force on the presenters. Like Kesha with her arms crossed tightly across her chest and her weight shifted sassily on her left leg rolling her eyes with self important bitchiness while her much younger and completely unknown (to me) co-presenter fumbled a line. I can just imagine she would much have preferred herself hanging off the arm of...anyone else. Then Mos Def and some Latin Classical singer did the most awkward bit of banter imaginable and Stephen Colbert got one laugh. From his daughter. Who I'm sure was in on the act.
For the most part the performances have been captivating- my favorite so far was the beautiful ballad Pink sang called Glitter in the Air, which has much more soul than the title would imply. Lady Gaga opened with Elton John, which was brilliant and I think I'll be catching that again on YouTube. Beyonce sang "If I Were a Boy," which feels sad and haunting at the same time...but maybe that's me...and then mixed it with, of all things, You Oughta Know by Alanis Morissette. I kept waiting for Alanis to walk on stage to riotous applause, but it never happened. Enter, dismay. Disapointingly Mary J Blige, who I usually like, totally squawked all over Andrea Bocelli, and I think their duet of "Bridge Over Troubled Water" would have been much improved had Andrea just sang both parts himself. No trouble, right? I imagine anyone with Bocelli will somewhat pale in comparison. There were a few others too- Jamie Foxx pretending he knows what hes doing with "Blame it on the Alcohol," which just proves that money will buy you just about anything, to include a singing career, Dave Matthews Band singing the same song that they've been singing since 1994, but with different lyrics, and Taylor Swift's and Stevie Nicks' independently beautiful voices clashing over a medley of both artists songs. Bad flow.
Since I've been writing this there was another performance, which I've already forgotten completely and a tribute song to Les Paul where the camera man(s) focused more on the strikingly interesting looking female singer with her funny hair warbling a 1940's sounding tune and less on the magnificent guitar playing by some guy who is probably famous but whom I've not met. Considering Les Paul was a guitar legend of some importance, it seems quite unfortunate the camera couldn't be bothered to pan over a bit to the twisting and contorting musician sweating riffs mere feet to the left of the warbling singer. Putting in a real honest effort, he was. I think they've missed the point somewhere.
Ah, well, it seems Comcast is having trouble keeping the sound up and running during the GRAMMYS. Le sigh.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Don't make me grab your ankles...
Hello, I'm here, don't go away!
Boyfriend and I are prepping for a dual trip to visit my roots in Kentucky with my family before immediately taking off on our 8 day trip to Europe. The KY/Euro combo commences in t-minus 4 days. Stress much? Blogging hasn't been a top priority.
But please check back! I have so much work to do I can't even start writing the posts I want to now, but I will...soon...I promise...maybe. Not that anyone is waiting with baited breath or anything, but I'm just saying I will be back. Sometime. Hopefully.
My confidence in the matter is staggering.
Boyfriend and I are prepping for a dual trip to visit my roots in Kentucky with my family before immediately taking off on our 8 day trip to Europe. The KY/Euro combo commences in t-minus 4 days. Stress much? Blogging hasn't been a top priority.
But please check back! I have so much work to do I can't even start writing the posts I want to now, but I will...soon...I promise...maybe. Not that anyone is waiting with baited breath or anything, but I'm just saying I will be back. Sometime. Hopefully.
My confidence in the matter is staggering.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Ren Festing
Wow. This past weekend boyfriend and I and two of our friends sojourned to the Maryland Renaissance Festival, and it...was...awesome. If I happened to have been a bigger nerd in high school, the Maryland Ren Fest would have been my yearly safe haven. Teaming with bully-fodder of all kinds, it was like this magical hole in the space/time continuum that allowed for the oft sought paradox of "normal" and nerdy. A mingling of present day and past fantasy. An all encompassing exhibition of the conveniences of sturdy footwear and hand sanitizer against the stark backdrop of wool clothing and hand forged arrows. And a really cute guy that spoke Gaelic and taught me a swear about some guy named Cromwell.
Enough of that. But it really was fun. My friend and I immediately set to the task of acquiring the perfect state of tipsy on the real life mead (which was shockingly tasty, especially mixed with hard cider). Being quite practiced in the matter, we were able to meet our goal and then moved on to trying on metal head ware, watching an archery match, cheering for the jousters, and devouring a turkey leg or two. What more could you want out of your renaissance festival?
As a side note, I'm watching a news segment right now where DC Mayor Adrian Fenty just spent 4 MILLION DOLLARS building the biggest bike station in the United States. Thats right, "What is a bike station" is the correct response. This, amidst near violent protests over hundreds of teachers being laid off in the DC public school system due to lack of funding. Way to budget, team America.
So in conclusion, next year we have already decided that we are going to DRESS UP for the Ren Fest (hopefully I'll have forgotten this by next year), and I'm hoping to be an elf...pointy ears and all. Please, no swirlies.
Enough of that. But it really was fun. My friend and I immediately set to the task of acquiring the perfect state of tipsy on the real life mead (which was shockingly tasty, especially mixed with hard cider). Being quite practiced in the matter, we were able to meet our goal and then moved on to trying on metal head ware, watching an archery match, cheering for the jousters, and devouring a turkey leg or two. What more could you want out of your renaissance festival?
As a side note, I'm watching a news segment right now where DC Mayor Adrian Fenty just spent 4 MILLION DOLLARS building the biggest bike station in the United States. Thats right, "What is a bike station" is the correct response. This, amidst near violent protests over hundreds of teachers being laid off in the DC public school system due to lack of funding. Way to budget, team America.
So in conclusion, next year we have already decided that we are going to DRESS UP for the Ren Fest (hopefully I'll have forgotten this by next year), and I'm hoping to be an elf...pointy ears and all. Please, no swirlies.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Crying Over No Milk
I love soups of all kinds. Even the poo-ish looking lentil/bean soup that films over in the cute deli around the corner, because no one wants to eat the poo soup. But its delicious, just like every other soup in the world.
I'm no foodie really, and I'm not ashamed to admit my love of soup extends happily to my grocers canned goods isle, where I stock up on my favorite Campbells delectables. Sorry Progresso, I can't stand your tinny aftertaste. Today is the first real day of Northern Virginia fall, so I decided to pop a Chicken Corn Chowder in the microwave and enjoy the slightly sweetened goodness.
Except there was no goodness! Only squishy bits of chicken fat and a broth so thin and bitter I spit it out immediately. Whats all this??? Campbells, you've failed me. I checked the expiration date, no problems there. I checked my microwave setting, seems to be in working order. I reread the heating instructions and confirmed they were properly followed. What gives?
Determined to have my cozy meal, I go for soup number two. A delightful variety of Campbells Turkey Pot Pie. But again, no delight was to be had! Only a twisted up bad-food taste face and a slight mess in my microwave from all the popping. Ugh. I need soup!
Now I don't know how to proceed. I have my heart set on something rich and (dare I say the word...oh, forgive me) creamy. I thought about making a variety of my own soup/hearty warm fall dish, but alas, I've no milk, and they all require it. And I'm not wearing pants so I can't just run to the store. Clearly an insurmountably obstacle.
Now you may just say, why are you even concerned about lunch food, its only 11:20 am. You've barely just had breakfast, fatty. But you don't understand! I just came from 4 days of visiting my family in Indiana and all we did was eat and talk, as is custom. My stomach became quite used to hourly feedings and now I'm suffering the first twinges of American-style hunger pangs, which, naturally, are nothing like rest-of-the-world hunger pangs. So dissimilar, in fact, I almost feel guilty making light of it, really. Too much trouble to erase now though! Whats done is done.
So I guess I'll go have some peanut butter on crackers, as I also don't have any bread. My palate, it suffers.
I'm no foodie really, and I'm not ashamed to admit my love of soup extends happily to my grocers canned goods isle, where I stock up on my favorite Campbells delectables. Sorry Progresso, I can't stand your tinny aftertaste. Today is the first real day of Northern Virginia fall, so I decided to pop a Chicken Corn Chowder in the microwave and enjoy the slightly sweetened goodness.
Except there was no goodness! Only squishy bits of chicken fat and a broth so thin and bitter I spit it out immediately. Whats all this??? Campbells, you've failed me. I checked the expiration date, no problems there. I checked my microwave setting, seems to be in working order. I reread the heating instructions and confirmed they were properly followed. What gives?
Determined to have my cozy meal, I go for soup number two. A delightful variety of Campbells Turkey Pot Pie. But again, no delight was to be had! Only a twisted up bad-food taste face and a slight mess in my microwave from all the popping. Ugh. I need soup!
Now I don't know how to proceed. I have my heart set on something rich and (dare I say the word...oh, forgive me) creamy. I thought about making a variety of my own soup/hearty warm fall dish, but alas, I've no milk, and they all require it. And I'm not wearing pants so I can't just run to the store. Clearly an insurmountably obstacle.
Now you may just say, why are you even concerned about lunch food, its only 11:20 am. You've barely just had breakfast, fatty. But you don't understand! I just came from 4 days of visiting my family in Indiana and all we did was eat and talk, as is custom. My stomach became quite used to hourly feedings and now I'm suffering the first twinges of American-style hunger pangs, which, naturally, are nothing like rest-of-the-world hunger pangs. So dissimilar, in fact, I almost feel guilty making light of it, really. Too much trouble to erase now though! Whats done is done.
So I guess I'll go have some peanut butter on crackers, as I also don't have any bread. My palate, it suffers.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Cleanliness is next to...uh...
I was always at least mildly interested in school growing up, however one particular subject consistently fascinated and motivated me to continue studying and learning: me. Ah vanity, you are a wiley minx. So, yes, big surprise, the blogger likes to think about herself. I do not believe this will come as a particular shocker to anyone.
My recent academic pursuits on the subject revealed a startling discovery that may change the way I face my mornings. Let it be said that I was never a morning person. Growing up with a twin sister, I was the one most often characterized as lazy, while she was the one my mom would suggest running laps around the outside of the house. While pushing a wheelbarrow of bricks. In knee deep mud. She just had a lot of energy to burn. Naturally then, I always found myself the last to wake up of the pair- a trait I've regrettably inherited from my father who is a class A world champion sleeper. And a great dad, I might add.
The last few days I've been SO TIRED in the morning, much more so than usual, and I've been spending half the morning hours rubbing my eyes, drooling on my shirt and trying in vain to convince my neck muscles to hold my head upright. Yes, its true, I am a newborn.
I realized this morning though that the last few days I have also been showering at night. In my mind this save leagues of time in the morning rush, however, with the new evidence at hand I believe my logic is faulty. I went through the whole age regression song and dance this morning and then at 10 am decided to hop back in the shower to liven up, and wonder of all wonders I am now quite refreshed! And zestfully clean! My day has finally begun!
So now we know, the cure for excessive drooling and lack of motor skills is....water.
My recent academic pursuits on the subject revealed a startling discovery that may change the way I face my mornings. Let it be said that I was never a morning person. Growing up with a twin sister, I was the one most often characterized as lazy, while she was the one my mom would suggest running laps around the outside of the house. While pushing a wheelbarrow of bricks. In knee deep mud. She just had a lot of energy to burn. Naturally then, I always found myself the last to wake up of the pair- a trait I've regrettably inherited from my father who is a class A world champion sleeper. And a great dad, I might add.
The last few days I've been SO TIRED in the morning, much more so than usual, and I've been spending half the morning hours rubbing my eyes, drooling on my shirt and trying in vain to convince my neck muscles to hold my head upright. Yes, its true, I am a newborn.
I realized this morning though that the last few days I have also been showering at night. In my mind this save leagues of time in the morning rush, however, with the new evidence at hand I believe my logic is faulty. I went through the whole age regression song and dance this morning and then at 10 am decided to hop back in the shower to liven up, and wonder of all wonders I am now quite refreshed! And zestfully clean! My day has finally begun!
So now we know, the cure for excessive drooling and lack of motor skills is....water.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Julia Weeps
I've been steadily repeating to myself over the last week my new favorite guilt induced mantra, "I have not abandoned my blog...I have not abandoned my blog...I have not abandoned my blog.....Ooooohmmmm, Ooooooohmmmmm......I have not abandoned my blog...mother earth...I have not abandoned my blog....soy chips and carbon footprints...nuevo hippie jargon. And so forth and so on. I'm really a novice when it comes to mantra chanting.
I wasn't planning on posting today, but I guess my subconscious is tired of the self-induced and completely unnecessary guilt. You would think I was Catholic or something.
Anyway, religion notwithstanding, I just got back from a 3 mile "run" and am still feeling a bit on the jelly side. I'll have you know that the term "run" in my estimation means any activity greater than or equal to a forward motion performed on a treadmill. Take that as you will regarding my fitness level. I'm no Flo Jo.
After said run I decided some dinner was in order, as is customary in the mid-evening hours. I got all Julia Childlike and whipped up my favorite "healthy" dish of plain microwaved frozen chicken breast with a delicate honey dipping sauce on the side. My palate demands only the best. And I love microwaves. And I'm not much of a cook. Clearly.
The microwaving process has never been much of a challenge for me, as I passed 4th grade many years ago and thankfully grew some very handy opposable thumbs, so it is with a heavy heart that tonight, when the final score was tallied, the results were Me: 0, Microwave: 1. The 1 would stand for 1st degree burns. Note to all: do not, under any circumstances, "fiddle" with the plastic wrap covering your frozen chicken at any point after you've started the food cooking process. There's steam in there. Evil, wretched steam. Burney burney steam.
Now, as the blisters are no doubtedly setting in on my pulsing left hand, I must away to tend to my (completely preventable) wounds. And then I will start the paperwork for the Me v. Frozen Chicken lawsuit. How many innocent knuckles must twinge before something is done!?! Justice will be served! Victory will be mine! All you need is love!
Uh...how'd that last one get in there...
I wasn't planning on posting today, but I guess my subconscious is tired of the self-induced and completely unnecessary guilt. You would think I was Catholic or something.
Anyway, religion notwithstanding, I just got back from a 3 mile "run" and am still feeling a bit on the jelly side. I'll have you know that the term "run" in my estimation means any activity greater than or equal to a forward motion performed on a treadmill. Take that as you will regarding my fitness level. I'm no Flo Jo.
After said run I decided some dinner was in order, as is customary in the mid-evening hours. I got all Julia Childlike and whipped up my favorite "healthy" dish of plain microwaved frozen chicken breast with a delicate honey dipping sauce on the side. My palate demands only the best. And I love microwaves. And I'm not much of a cook. Clearly.
The microwaving process has never been much of a challenge for me, as I passed 4th grade many years ago and thankfully grew some very handy opposable thumbs, so it is with a heavy heart that tonight, when the final score was tallied, the results were Me: 0, Microwave: 1. The 1 would stand for 1st degree burns. Note to all: do not, under any circumstances, "fiddle" with the plastic wrap covering your frozen chicken at any point after you've started the food cooking process. There's steam in there. Evil, wretched steam. Burney burney steam.
Now, as the blisters are no doubtedly setting in on my pulsing left hand, I must away to tend to my (completely preventable) wounds. And then I will start the paperwork for the Me v. Frozen Chicken lawsuit. How many innocent knuckles must twinge before something is done!?! Justice will be served! Victory will be mine! All you need is love!
Uh...how'd that last one get in there...
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