Sunday, September 28, 2008

Omnipresence on Ice

I've received some feedback that there's not enough Henry on the blog. And that may be.

But since he's at an age where he can't offer insight on current events, there's not much to say.

Well, until this morning, anyway.






Laura sent me some pictures, and while I'm happy to point out that he's wearing the "I Love My Aunt" bib I bought him (in tandem with the "My Uncle Loves Me bib"), he is, I am sorry to report, consorting with the enemy.




That's right people - Henry has befriended some possums.

The two in question were a pair given to Henry from Dad - I think he likes them. The big one is a hand puppet, and the baby is a finger puppet.

I feel sickened, but Henry is his own person, he can do what he wants.


We went to the Preds game last night, which was awesome. We got to make Fang Fingers - which is cleaner than it sounds. It's the hand gesture made with the index and middle finger and by flicking the wrist when the Preds are ON...THE...POWERPLAY!!!! Preds were on the Powerplay a lot, and they beat the Columbus Blue Jackets 3-1.

The poison ivy seems to be clearing up.

Matt and I have work to do outside today, but I have spent time working on work stuff, too.

Good thing - I have a lot to do in a short timeframe.
I'd give my soul for a nap. Oh well.












Friday, September 26, 2008

Party like it's 5769!

Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, is this coming Monday, and I have to admit, I always tend to think of fall as the start of a new year, too. Maybe it’s because in a month and a day from today, I’ll be 34.

Plus, with no disrespect to Spring Fever, there’s something about Fall that makes me want to lift up my shirt and yell "WOOOO" like a Girl Gone Wild ™. I love the colors of fall, the weather, the sports, the feeling that something exciting is just around the corner.

We’re having friends over tonight, so I made a stop to my favorite bakery in Nashville – Homestyle Bakery on Murfreesboro Rd. They do great things with cake. And icing.

I picked up a dozen coconut macaroons for the party - possibly a mistake - because, awesome as it is, not everyone likes coconut. Ah well – it’s not the end of the world. I may pick up ice cream to go with.

But because it’s Friday, and I’m in a good mood, and the state of the world, despite the fact that the economy is about to “crater” (thanks, David Letterman), is good, I also picked up cookies for my teammates at the office. – Footballs and Helmets – iced sugar cookies. I’ll go back next week and get a little something for Mom and Dad’s visit – they had little cakes shaped and iced like pumpkins. Too cute! And that’s to say nothing of the cupcakes. I’ll put in a stash of those for Laura in a few months.

Anyway, the cookies went over well – who wouldn’t want a sugary sussy on a Friday afternoon?

Speaking of sussies – I talked with Dad on the way to the bakery – today is “The Big Spay” – I remember being a nervous wreck the day they did Lola – I must have called the vet a dozen times. But she did great and so will Maggie. But anyway - Dad got Miss Maggie a new collar, a nylabone and some tennis balls for when she gets to feeling better.

I’d scoff, but I bought Lola a politically themed toy (a red, white and blue elephant) for tonight’s debate. Lola is a dixiecrat, I thought she’d enjoy eviscerating and desqueakifying the pachyderm.

My regards to Thomas Nast!

ae

Thursday, September 25, 2008

OMFG!





An exchange between Katie Couric and Sarah Palin in a CBS News Interview:


Couric: I'm just going to ask you one more time - not to belabor the point. Specific examples in his 26 years of pushing for more regulation.


Palin: I'll try to find you some and I'll bring them to you.



Wait...what?

See, that tactic of "I-don't-know-but-I'll-find-out" - that's a line I used when I was a cashier, aged 17. I encourage my younger colleagues to use it when they're still in training.


But if you're the Republican Candidate for Vice Mammajammin' President, that doesn't cut it. Not on a question that basic - not saying I know the answer, but damn - I'm not running for VP, either.


I mean, what is Sarah going to do - e mail Katie on Monday, then Katie can read the e mail to her viewers? This isn't a book report, or an Algebra test you're going to retake for a higher grade!


The words "Hell" and "Handbasket" keep coming to mind.


Repeatedly.





Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Where is Mark Trail when I need him?

I think I'm being stalked.

After the original dead possum incident on Sunday, I've been a little spooked about the nocturnal goings-on in the backyard. We were driving down the alley Monday night after a futile attempt to get gas for Matt's car, and right at our gate, this possum bounds out of nowhere and starts booking it alongside our car. I felt myself gripping the doorhandle of the car in fear and revulsion.

Last night, me and the dog are taking out the garbage - it's maybe 9:20 PM, and I hear something in the tree at the corner of our fence - I look up to see this large, creepy looking possum skittering up the tree - the damn thing's scent got Lola completely riled up, and I'm starting to question my sanity.

Briefly stated: what's up with all the possums?

In other news, I found out that there's going to be a fundraiser this weekend here in Nashville - Pugs for Obama - held at the Bark-o-Lounge Doggie Daycare. When I told Mom, she wanted to postpone Maggie's spay surgery and drive up this weekend. Cooler heads prevailed. Can you imagine Maggie kicking it old school with the Pugs of Nashville? That would be delightful!

Instead, we're going to hit a Preds game Saturday, watch the debate with friends on Friday - if McCain doesn't weasel out of it - and yes, I know the economy is in the shitter - why don't you use the debate as a forum to tell us how you plan to fix it when you become president? Please!

So far, Fall is going well - my alleged poison ivy doesn't seem to want to become full blown - I have a few splotches of red itchy skin, but it isn't exactly poison ivy.

Still, life is good.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

It'll really do you in, if you let it get under your skin...



So, apparently, I pulled a little poison ivy along with the other weeds this past weekend. In the space between my index and middle finger of my right hand, I'm seeing a little rash that looks sadly familiar.

The last time I got poison ivy was August of 2004, after spending a little time in Dalton with my then boyfriend, soon-to-be fiance and now husband, Matt. That was on my leg, and it was small, and disappeared quickly. Here's hoping.

It just occurred to me that I let a special date pass without noticing. Everyone has their own personal holidays that they celebrate in a special way - for me, September 19th will always be remembered as the day we got engaged. And I completely let it pass this year.



Oh well! I guess I was too busy fighting dead possums and contracting skin rashes.

Not much happening here. We're fighting a gas shortage - I believe because people are panicking about an imagined scarcity. Apparently, more of the same in Atlanta - Dad is contemplating siphoning from his lawnmower to give his Jeep a boost.

We've got lots of things coming up though - this Friday, we're hosting a Debate Viewing party, then next weekend, Mom and Dad come. Dad will have just had a cataract removed - OS (that's ocularis sinestra or left eye for those of you not in the medical field). And sweet Maggie, Hell Pug will have just had her lady parts removed. So, they'll be a little worse for the wear, but I'll be glad to see them - they're bringing furniture, and that's never a bad thing. A cedar chest, a chest of drawers and a rocking chair for the front porch. Yaaay!

Then a few weeks after that, we're working on an Oktoberfest with some friends, and then...it's only a matter of weeks til Thanksgiving.

Where has this year gone? In some ways, it feels like it's lasted forever, because so much has happened, but because so much has happened, it also feels like it's gone by in a flash.

Sunrise, sunset. Sunrise, sunset. Swiftly go the years...

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Sunday Possum Addendum

Point of information - rather than bag it and leave it in the alley, we buried the possum in the back yard. That way, the alley won't be polluted with dead, bagged possum smell.

Mad props to Matt for digging the hole, shoveling up the possum and giving it a proper send-off.

Good night!

Sunday 7AM Wake Up Call

Early this morning, I got up to take the dog out for her morning pee, and I was startled to find a dead possum laying at my back door. I jerked Lola away from the thing and into the backyard to pee, then jerked her back inside to find Matt waiting for us and wondering what I had been screaming about.

He suggested we give the possum a chance to leave of his/her own volition, thinking that perhaps, he/she was just faking, which is to say, playing possum.

It's now 9AM, and the possum is still there. I'm thinking dead. Or else, really dedicated to the possum genetic mandate.

As it turns out, the city has a dead animal collection service - I have to wait til Monday to reach them, so in the interim, we're going to get a heavy duty contractor bag and a shovel, and remove the possum from the doorway and put it at the curb. Oh, what I wouldn't give for a yard-a-pult!

It's not that I have anything against possums, it's just that, like most people, I think a dead animal at the back door is kind of an unpleasant way to start the day.

When my sister was a kid, my parents gave her a stuffed animal - a mother possum with two babies that velcroed to her back. Dad used to make it sing "Dancing in the Moonlight" for us. That's a happy memory.

We have a big day ahead of us - recycling, yardwork, housework, laundry, dead animal removal.

On a positive note - I was able to get a full tank of gas last night - there's a gas shortage/panic here in Nashville, and 70-80% of the gas stations are wiped out.

If only we could get a car to run on deceased marsupials, we'd be set.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Oh how I love to sing!

One of the tough things about living in Nashville is that everyone here is so damn musically talented. At the last company I worked with, two of the chicks in my department had demo CDs - and they were good!

See, I used to sing. I say "used to" because I can't really lay claim to being a singer here in Nashville.

But back in the day, I could belt out a reasonable Second Alto. Well, actually, until 7th Grade, I sang Soprano. Apparently my vocal range shifted down over the summer - probably as a result of my pack a day habit. No, no - it's just biology, folks.

In middle school, I did musicals - Oliver, South Pacific, and this piece of student written crap (I can say that, having been one of the student writers) called Jumpback - a decade-by-decade chronicle of a family that spanned 1940-Present (present being 1988). I also had a few concert solos. I was a pretty big deal at Crabapple Middle School, my friends.

I was in the women's choir in High School - the Chansons (French for "Let's Sing"), though I quit at the end of Sophomore year to pursue 4th and 5th year Honors French - a decision I have never regretted, as it paved the way for my French minor in college. It didn't hurt that I didn't much care for the director and I loved my French teachers.

My first quarter of my Freshman year at UGA, I took English with a TA named Deanna. I liked Deanna. Her enthusiasm, which bordered on dorky, was right up my alley. And to the same extent that I liked Deanna, I had a roommate, who we'll call K, who was a little less up my alley. In fact, I stayed the hell out of the room as much as possible to avoid said roommate. She wasn't a bad person, we just didn't bond.

So one day, Deanna cancelled class, unless you wanted to stick around and talk about a rewrite of a paper for a better grade. I made A's and B's on my stuff, but I didn't want to go back to the dorm room, and I was still too wet behind the ears to realize you there were other places on campus you could loiter if you didn't have a class. Like, I could have gone to a movie at the student center for a buck - but I went to class - it was me and this chick from Africa. Somehow, in the course of talking with Deanna, I found out she was in the UGA Women's Glee Club, and she convinced me to sign up to take the class - it was only a one hour credit, so it didn't bump my tuition, and it was always held late in the day, so it never interfered with my academics. For the rest of my time at UGA, I belted out a competant Second Alto. I auditioned for Noteworthy, the Women's a capella ensemble, but I got beat out by a girl that my sorority had cut during Rush the previous Spring. I had actually stood up for the girl, but I like to think that Karma took care of things ultimately.

I will say that my Freshman year, for the Spring concert, Deanna and I did a duet - "Leavin' on a Jet Plane". She played guitar and I sang. I think that maybe our director, Joan Bingham, sensed that I needed that solo - my boyfriend at the time had just dumped me via e mail (sent on a Friday and received on a Monday - ouch), and I was wounded. Wounded. As only a 19 year old can be. The solo, which I chose because the lyrics reminded me of my relationship with the ex, were a balm, even if only for five minutes.

Some of my happiest memories of college are attached to Glee Club. It was there I met Heather, a fellow Journalism major and friendly face in the crowd. There was also Kris, from South Georgia - she and I wrote parody lyrics to a great many of our songs - hers were superior in every way - her vocabulary was enormous and her ability to find just the right cutting words was inspiring. I got invited to her Halloween party several days after I turned 21. I remember buying alcohol for the first time before heading to her apartment, and not getting carded. I bought a six of PBR tallboys, which everyone made fun of. It was a fun party.

In Spring of my junior year, they brought in Yoel Levi - the conductor for the Atlanta Symphony. He conducted all the UGA choirs and symphony in Beethoven's Ninth. In German. If you were from Atlanta, the name Yoel Levi was a BIG DEAL. I remember walking by his score and seeing the German text, next to which his notes had been written in Hebrew. I remember that I mentioned this endeavor to two of my J-School classmates, who as it turned out, loved Beethoven's Ninth and came to the performance.

I heard a story on NPR about a year ago that said that performing in a choir produces endorphins in your body that make you happy - something about the vibrations of the human voice. I would agree with this wholeheartedly.

I like to sing so much that I will perform karaoke sober.

But living in Nashville, karaoke is more than just a way for the huddled masses such as me to blow off steam. Karaoke is a way for those people with talent to showcase their skills, leaving the rest of us to wonder - why aren't these people signed to a label? And what makes me think I should be getting up there and slogging through my half-assed rendition of 'Sk8r Boi"?

So I've taken to using the Karaoke on Demand that we can get through our cable provider. There's something kind of sad about chilling out on the couch, home alone, and attempting your best Smokey Robinson...therein lies the problem. I'm still (on good days) a Second Alto, and Smokey seems to be a half-octave up the scale from me.

But you know - why judge? Sing if you feel like it. Sleep when you're tired, eat when you're hungry. It's not rocket science.

I don't know - I was just kind of thinking about it and I thought I'd place those thoughts here.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Locust Falter

Two things.

One:

The Sarah Palin Baby Name Generator:

http://politsk.blogspot.com/2008/09/sarah_13.html


I'm Locust Falter Palin, my husband, regrettably, is Buster Taint Palin.


Two:

If I'm in the deli on the first floor, minding my own and picking up the Raisinettes that are going to fuel me through the afternoon, I am not free game to talk business. Even if I am so good, I know the answers off the top of my head.

Floors 2 and 3 are for business, and floor one is where I go to walk away for a few minutes and deal with my sugar jones.

It's enough to make a girl take up smoking. Crack.

I kid.

Seriously, though. Maybe I'll just buy bubbles and go outside for a "blowing break".

Friday, September 12, 2008

I’ll take Potpourri for $800, Alex.

I never took the typical dance lessons that girls of my generation took – there was an ill-fated 10 week clogging class at my local Rec Center when I was in Second Grade – the only things I remember are that the soda machine at the aforementioned center had Red Cream Soda flavored Fanta, and that would be the highlight of the (end of) class – and that the class took place on Wednesdays. Shuf. Fle. Step!

I took one other dance class – in college, for my final PE requirement. Modern Dance. Now, I think I’ve established that while I have a great many attributes, grace isn’t one of them. So here I am chilling in the dance studio in my brand new mandatory leotard and tights (because, God forbid we wear gym clothes to dance), and in walks in a rail thin woman who introduces herself as our instructor, Bala Sarasvati. Um. Yeah – is it too late to get in to Intermediate Badminton? I spent the rest of the quarter flailing around the studio to Enya, and basically looking like an idiot. I really thought I’d get the hang of Modern Dance easily, but apparently, it, like all other dance is an art form.

The frustrating thing is, I love to dance. I would have loved to have been a member of my high school’s SHOW CHOIR - you can’t say it without shouting it, but in order to be in SHOW CHOIR, you had to not only be able to sing (check), you had to also be able to dance (curses, foiled again). If you were a guy and could eke out a box step, you were in, but the ladies had to work it, and I couldn’t. Jazz hands! My freshman year of high school, I told the drama teacher I could roller skate in order to get a part as a chorus girl in the Spring musical - Lucky Dollar Private Eye – a few rehearsals in, they made it my schtick that I couldn’t skate, which later expanded (unintentionally) to couldn’t dance. After that, I stuck to plays.

All of this background is a lead-in to last night, when I went partying on the General Jackson Riverboat with some clients/colleagues from work.

They had a show, and it was a song and dance deal – lots of sequins, kicks, huge grins and adrenaline to spare. Some of it was cheesy and some of it was cringe inducing (the Elvis impersonator singing Dixie/Battle Hymn of the Republic, anyone?), but it made me jealous as hell of the ones who could dance. I’ve flirted with the idea of taking a class since last fall, after I saw The Drowsy Chaperone on Broadway – but how often does a 33 year old woman need to pull out her tap shoes and bust a move (or, in my case, bust her ass)?



When I got home from my dance-envy evening, I saw that bothMatt and I had received our invitations from the Grady College of Journalism and Mass Communications to join them for a pre-Homecoming picnic. The invitation promises a visit from UGA VII (VI sadly went to doggie heaven over the summer).

I didn’t much do the football scene in college, but I went to the J-School picnic my first year out of school, to see if I could scrounge up a better job – I dressed up, took some business cards that I had made for the occasion, because my job didn’t provide me with them, and I cruised around the building's basement on the tour feeling desperate and pitiful. I didn’t go to the game, of course, because – well, I couldn’t afford tickets.

I haven’t been back for Homecoming since then.

It might be fun, some day, for me and Matt to hit the old campus again. Since we met there, in Darrell Roe’s class, and we had our first kiss there under an oak tree on North Campus.

But we didn’t fall in love until we left.

Still, I’d think that as MRS degrees go, UGA might claim me a victory.

I’d also love to take a look at my sorority house – apparently, the house is thriving and the girls there are adorable these days. I like think I was pretty cute, but I’ll bet that these kids look at our old pictures and laugh just like we did with the pix from our sisters circa 1980.

When my Mom cleaned out the garage last week, she mentioned she’d tossed a good bit of sorority stuff – and I felt a momentary twinge, followed by nothing. I kept all my papers and projects – the academic stuff, and as for the social part of college – I’ve kept the finest memories, which is all that matters. I think. I hope.

Happy Friday, one and all.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

The point at which it started to unravel:

I am a product of my upbringing. I say that proudly – as a declaration, not an excuse. My parents weren’t (and aren’t) fans of organized religion – so my religious education was largely of my own making. I joined a local church in my tweens, mostly so that I could sing in the choir. I remember even then thinking I could put up with all the religion as long as I got to sing. Nice.

After a bad experience at a week-long camp at age 14, I left the church. I don’t mean to be cryptic – my “bad experience” wasn't that I was locked in a closed and beaten - it was merely realizing that there was a lot of talk about being a Christian, but the actions didn’t match the words. The last straw is that one night, while I was sleeping, one of my fellow “Christian” campmates dumped ice water on me. Explaining now, it sounds dumb, but it was the culmination of a week of nonsense and hypocrisy, and from that point on, I checked out.


That’s not to say I haven’t been back inside a church since. I’ve visited a handful from Quaker to Four Square Gospel – some better than others, but we haven’t found a good fit for us both – which is going to be tough – Matt grew up Baptist – 2 church services every Sunday. He had some bad experiences, too – but he’s definitely more comfortable with religion – which is to say, unlike his heathen wife, he doesn’t break into a flop sweat as soon as he enters the building. He’d like to find a church for us, but most Sundays, we are happy with our free and easy routine.

Despite our religious differences, Matt and I are in synch on most moral and ethical beliefs – just because Mom and Dad weren’t hitting the pew every week doesn’t mean that they were without principles. And to that end, Matt’s family was actually quite liberal. I was delighted to learn that his Aunt and Uncle went to Jimmy Carter’s inauguration – my parents did as well – of course, Kelly and Flora drove and I imagine that the only substance they indulged in was a beer. My parents took the train, and they may have had something other than beer with them.

At any rate – Matt and I were both raised to be loving and generous, and to do the right thing for the sake of doing the right thing.

I am grateful as a result our upbringing, Matt and I both firmly believe that the Church has no place in Government.

I am pro-choice. I am not pro-abortion. I’m glad it’s a decision I haven’t needed to make, because I don’t know what I would have done. But. BUT! It’s not my business or anyone else’s to make about another woman and her reproductive rights. Let that be between her and her God – hers, not yours!

I have no problem with a gay couple getting married, yes MARRIED. Two consenting adults who love each other and want to make that commitment should be able to do so in any state in the union. Period. Exclamation point. Better yet, let’s do it like they do in France – require EVERYONE (straight, gay) to have a civil ceremony to make it legal, and an optional church gig to be “married in the eyes of the Lord”.

True confession – Matt and I were married by a fairly conservative minister (a friend of my father's), in a Christian ceremony (though, to be honest, I specifically pulled scripture from the Old Testament - Ruth, actually). The minister now lives in Italy and recently sent us an e mail about how fantastic Sarah Palin is. Oh well – we’re legally bound, so that’s all that really matters.

I don’t really have a point to any of this, except that Sarah Palin and John McCain scare me to death. I believe that people should be allowed to live their lives and make personal decisions based on their own system of beliefs. I don’t hate God, I don’t hate Christians - hate isn’t one of my values – but I don’t think we need to base legal decisions in this country based on what Jesus would think. Jesus would probably tell us he has bigger fish to fry – or loaves and fishes to multiply.

I’m angry, and I’m worried. And I’m really angry and worried that more people aren’t angry and worried like me.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Clearing for Takeoff

Matt has ten days vacation left, I have eight - we need to use it or lose it. So we are putting our plans in order so that we can take a long trip to the mountains - I am thinking 4 or 5 days should be a good start to shake off some of the urban grit and kick up a little rural dust.

I would love to avoid deer season, and to be sure, the hunters would prefer it too - when Lola barks, deer flee. But that may not happen.

I think Dad may join us for part of our vacation - we're glad to help Dad with whatever projects he has in mind, so that's always a good thing. But we'll be glad to have some solitude as well - we've been busy as beavers since Spring, with no signs of slowing.

Nothing else from here for now - we're just keeping on keeping on.

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

Fighting Vainly the Old Ennui

I guess I'm having some end-of-Summer doldrums. I feel completely lethargic, but antsy. A thrilling, discordant combo-pak if there ever was one.

Nothing much new to report - my nephew Henry has discovered squealing, and he's quite good at it. I'm looking forward to seeing my favorite Kansans at Thanksgiving!

We have that to look forward to - though not for a good 10 weeks. I'm also planning an Oktoberfest with the gang, as well as one kick-ass Halloween Costume... more on that another day, though - I don't want moles infiltrating my site and stealing my ideas!

Mom and Dad are offering to come up with some furniture and to offer carpentry and domestic assistance some time in October - I'm getting some pushback from the Patriarch - he likes going to the mountains in the Fall, and I get that, but I hope they'll make time to come up and see us.

So for now, I'm checking out the check out stands for good Fall holiday magazines. There's little I enjoy more than sifting through the glossy pages. It's a guilty pleasure.

That's it for now - maybe I'll get some sleep tonight and be a little less boring going forward.

ae

Monday, September 8, 2008

Pectin, Peppers, Persistence Produce Payoff


For Immediate Release
September 7, 2008
Nashville, TN

What a difference a year makes!

The scene at the shelves for Lot 10 - Pepper Jelly at this year's Tennessee State Fair could not have been more different for area resident, and second time competitor, Allison Everett, than they were a year ago.

Spectators may recall that in 2007, Everett finished fourth of four - the only competitor to walk away without a ribbon.

After dropping her jelly off at the Ag Building of the fair grounds on Wednesday, she was cautiously optimistic. With only one other entry on the shelves for Lot 10, and only three hours til the deadline, Everett felt that her chances at placing were not a lock, but certainly promising.

When she came to the shelves Sunday afternoon, she was in for a pleasant surprise. There were in fact, six entries in the category, and her entry had placed a solid third, garnering her a white and gold ribbon.

"Initially, I had thought there were only three entries, and that would have been a hollow victory, though I'd have been glad to get it nonetheless. When my friend pointed out the shelf below mine with three other jars, I'll admit - I could have cried with joy."

A quick scan of the Lot 42 shelves for her second entry [Creative/Unusual Jelly] indicated that her Fiery Pineapple jelly did not place, but nothing could ruin Everett's ebullient mood. After a protracted photo session, Everett and her entourage made their way to the goat pen, where she proceeded to pet the goats benevolently. If the goats knew that they were in the presence of jelly royalty, they never let on.

When a call was placed to her parents, their first reaction was sympathetic laughter, but when they realized that their daughter had legitimately won her ribbon in a competitive fashion, laughter was replaced with congratulations.

One ferris wheel ride, and one trip to the face-painting booth later, Everett sank exhaustedly onto a picnic bench and reflected on her day:

"I couldn't be happier. My jelly won a ribbon - the prize money will recoup the cost of the jars, and you know, it just feels good to win. Plus, the face painter did an awesome job, the dude at the Guessing Booth thought I was born in July [her real birth month is October], so I won a prize, and I even got to try deep fried Oreos, which, by the way, aren't really as good as plain Oreos. Word to the wise. All in all - it was a great day, and I'm glad I didn't give up last year when it would have been easy to quit."

But success has not changed this Nashville resident. "Oh, I'll be heading back to work on Monday, just like the folks whose jelly didn't win. I'll keep on growing peppers, making jelly and spending time with my loved ones. That's just who I am, and the ribbon doesn't change that."



Friday, September 5, 2008

Live from New York...


So, I've been thinking - isn't it a shame that neither Cheri Oteri




nor Tina Fey





Are doing SNL these days? Either one would do a great - and I mean GREAT - Sarah Palin:




It will probably end up being either Kristen Wiig (damn, she's funny) or Amy Poehler (funny, AND married to Will Arnett).

Having spent some time doing both improv and stand-up, I have a large appreciation for funny women. A lot of people - men and women - don't think that those of us with ovaries can be funny. I've had people come up and tell me after shows that they don't usually find women comical, but I did "pretty good". Awesome, because "pretty good" just what I was striving for!

I don't always miss performing, but every now and then, I get an itch to be onstage again. Maybe...

Nah, who are we kidding - there are plenty of pretty good female comedians out there already!

Lorne Michaels - I know you're reading this - give Cheri a call - she's perfect for this. PERFECT!

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Agricultural Anxiety

The jellies have been carefully submitted, and I have to tell you, I'm nervous.

I saw one other entry on the Lot 10 (Pepper Jelly) shelf, and it was...green. Green? That almost definitely means food coloring (and this stuff was preternaturally green). Ick. There were only 3 hours left to submit, and so if we're the only two, that means a ribbon automatically.

I don't want to win that way. I want a ticker tape parade. I want my name in the papers and a Lifetime TV Movie contract.

Oh well, it's just peppers, pectin, vinegar and sugar.

And tears, capsaicin burned fingers, sterilized jars, and a years' worth of angst.

They're not ready for this jelly...

So, big day today, sports fans! I'm taking the jelly over to the Ag building at the fairground and officially entering it for judging.

The Fiery Pineapple turned out great - it jelled, it tastes awesome. Matt thinks it may be too hot for the judges. Oh well, we'll see.

The Pepper Jelly is pretty, it tastes good, and it's set - so... I don't know.

I know I shouldn't get my hopes up - the important thing is that we had a great habanero crop this year, I have two batches of Pepper jelly, plus a few jars of Fiery Pineapple, and I had fun making them. I've been visualizing a ribbon though.

Regardless, I'll get to look at the goats at the fair, and they're just plain nifty.

I'm starting to plan Thanksgiving - I know, it's only the first week of September, but these things take time, especially if I want to create a new tablesetting this year. Which I might.

I also need to start thinking Halloween.

Have I mentioned that I love Fall?

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

I'll get to Scotland before ye!

GOP= Got Ourself Pregnant

I know that Senator Obama has to take the high road about Bristol Palin’s bastard baby (OK, OK love child), but I don’t.

1. Think about the guy you were dating at age 17 – would you want to be married to him now? In my case, he’s actually married to the girl he dated after he dumped me. Also, he wasn't very nice, truth be told. And he had a goofy nose. And he was also kind of a rat-bastard liar. But that was 17 years ago, and I am so over it!


2. I think it’s great that the Evangelicals are proud of her decision to have the kid – but why not give it up for adoption? Why do you have to get married at age 17? And what makes you getting married will make you a good parent? If you and loverboy can't be responsible enough to get some condoms or get the Pill, how on earth are you going get your shit together enough to raise a kid?


3. Why hasn’t anyone blamed Governor Palin for her daughter’s indiscretion? If she had been a good stay at home mother – taking the time to be there for her progeny, her kid wouldn’t have had premarital sex and gotten knocked up? Abstinence only, indeed. Sarah Palin chose a career over her children, and her daughter is paying the price.


Now, I don’t really believe point 3, but seriously, why are they canonizing the daughter and not demonizing the mother? Seems to me like they’re all about family values, but only when it’s convenient.

I am glad that Obama is behaving nicely about it, but personally, I think someone needs to shake some sense into the kid and her mother.