I poached this from a blog template. Well worth the steal.
Be A Kid Again
Do a cartwheel.
Sing into your hairbrush.
Walk barefoot in wet grass.
Play a song you like really loud, over and over.
I do this on a regular basis. And sing along, too.
Dot all your “i”’s with smiley faces.
Read the funnies. Throw the rest of the paper away.
Dunk your cookies.
Play a game where you make up the rules as you go along.
Step carefully over sidewalk cracks.
Change into some play clothes.
Try to get someone to trade you a better sandwich.
Eat ice cream for breakfast.
Kiss a frog, just in case.
Blow the wrapper off a straw.
Have someone read you a story.
Find some pretty stones and save them.
I substitute "shells" for "stones"...
Wear your favorite shirt with you favorite pants even if they don’t match.
Take a running jump over a big puddle.
Get someone to buy you something you really don’t need.
Hee hee hee
Hide your vegetables under your napkin.
Stay up past your bedtime.
Eat dessert first.
Fuss a little, then take a nap.
I try to live by this one a couple of times a week. A nap, underneath a ceiling fan, in the summertime, is one of the world's greatest activities.
Wear red gym shoes.
Put way too much sugar on your cereal.
Make cool screeching noises every time you turn a corner.
Giggle a lot for no reason.
Done. Regularly.
Give yourself a gold star for everything you do today.
7.31.2007
7.30.2007
Just As I Am
So I went to church yesterday. For the first time in a long time.
It was good. I needed it. Although I was anxious as heck while we were en route. People have a funny way of welcoming you back to church -- usually some "glad to see you" cloaked in some "where have you been" with a dose of passive aggressive guilt sprinkled underneath. I was reminded of the words of a very wise person who once told me "Don't let the Christians get in the way of your Christianity." And that helped. But to my pleasant surprise, we were greeting with hugs and handshakes and lots of genuine feelings. I had forgotten how much I missed that.
I had the chance to talk to my wonderful pastor after service and I shared with him a bit of what I'm going through -- this spiritual crisis thingy. I tried not to cry, but that's like asking the president not to be a smarmy self-righteous smart ass. I couldn't help it. I'm going to go and chat with him next week -- I think it will help me tremendously to talk out my feelings and verbalize them with someone who has an idea himself about the complex relationships we humans have with God.
I'm still a bit weepy over this -- it's as if the floodgates of my emotional core have cracked a bit and the tears are seeping out little by little.
But I feel better inside than I have in a while. Which tells me that God's still hanging around me. Thank goodness.
It was good. I needed it. Although I was anxious as heck while we were en route. People have a funny way of welcoming you back to church -- usually some "glad to see you" cloaked in some "where have you been" with a dose of passive aggressive guilt sprinkled underneath. I was reminded of the words of a very wise person who once told me "Don't let the Christians get in the way of your Christianity." And that helped. But to my pleasant surprise, we were greeting with hugs and handshakes and lots of genuine feelings. I had forgotten how much I missed that.
I had the chance to talk to my wonderful pastor after service and I shared with him a bit of what I'm going through -- this spiritual crisis thingy. I tried not to cry, but that's like asking the president not to be a smarmy self-righteous smart ass. I couldn't help it. I'm going to go and chat with him next week -- I think it will help me tremendously to talk out my feelings and verbalize them with someone who has an idea himself about the complex relationships we humans have with God.
I'm still a bit weepy over this -- it's as if the floodgates of my emotional core have cracked a bit and the tears are seeping out little by little.
But I feel better inside than I have in a while. Which tells me that God's still hanging around me. Thank goodness.
7.28.2007
Sing. Sing a Song...
It's maligned.
It's mocked.
It's marvelous.
It's karaoke. And I love it.
While in Toronto for the first of my TWO Police concerts this summer (just got tickets to the Virgin Music Festival in Baltimore for next Saturday night. Headlining act = My Boys. EEEEEEE!) I also was able to spend some groovy time with a bunch of my internet pals, many of whom live in the Toronto area and a few who came up from the NY area for the weekend. We drank, we talked, we drank, we laughed, we drank, we ate, we drank. Get the picture? It was a great time. I even contemplated getting a tatoo or a piercing of some sort. But that never made it past the "discussing it to death" stage. Thank goodness. Maybe next time...
Saturday night, though, was Karaoke Night. We reserved a room at a Korean Karaoke Bar for about three hours and stayed well past that until we were kicked out. What a riot. I'd never participated in this grand event before and it didn't take long for the hambone in me to come out swinging. I was Whitney, I was a Spice Girl, I was Sting/Stewart (I opted to sing the backup part on "Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic" as a matter of principle), I was Diana Ross. The great thing about the karaoke style of this gang of mine is that it's all really a big old group sing, with the microphone getting passed around and around and around. Group participation at its finest. And some songs fit the experience better than other. I won't be doing a Spice Girls number again, as while it seemed like it would be a riot on paper, in reality it wasn't. Not only can those babes not sing well themselves, no one else can sing their songs well either.
I don't think I'm going to be seeking out my local karaoke circuit anytime soon, as those folks are waaaaaaay too serious for my blood. There are even whole websites where people can upload their own karaoke-esque recordings for others to listen to and then rate. This is big business, as I'm discovering. I'm just happen swigging on my Stella Artois and belting out a song or two into the microphone when the ocassion presents itself. And maybe including some choreography. And some harmony if I can figure it out...
A star has been born. At least in my own mind, anyway.
It's mocked.
It's marvelous.
It's karaoke. And I love it.
While in Toronto for the first of my TWO Police concerts this summer (just got tickets to the Virgin Music Festival in Baltimore for next Saturday night. Headlining act = My Boys. EEEEEEE!) I also was able to spend some groovy time with a bunch of my internet pals, many of whom live in the Toronto area and a few who came up from the NY area for the weekend. We drank, we talked, we drank, we laughed, we drank, we ate, we drank. Get the picture? It was a great time. I even contemplated getting a tatoo or a piercing of some sort. But that never made it past the "discussing it to death" stage. Thank goodness. Maybe next time...
Saturday night, though, was Karaoke Night. We reserved a room at a Korean Karaoke Bar for about three hours and stayed well past that until we were kicked out. What a riot. I'd never participated in this grand event before and it didn't take long for the hambone in me to come out swinging. I was Whitney, I was a Spice Girl, I was Sting/Stewart (I opted to sing the backup part on "Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic" as a matter of principle), I was Diana Ross. The great thing about the karaoke style of this gang of mine is that it's all really a big old group sing, with the microphone getting passed around and around and around. Group participation at its finest. And some songs fit the experience better than other. I won't be doing a Spice Girls number again, as while it seemed like it would be a riot on paper, in reality it wasn't. Not only can those babes not sing well themselves, no one else can sing their songs well either.
I don't think I'm going to be seeking out my local karaoke circuit anytime soon, as those folks are waaaaaaay too serious for my blood. There are even whole websites where people can upload their own karaoke-esque recordings for others to listen to and then rate. This is big business, as I'm discovering. I'm just happen swigging on my Stella Artois and belting out a song or two into the microphone when the ocassion presents itself. And maybe including some choreography. And some harmony if I can figure it out...
A star has been born. At least in my own mind, anyway.
7.25.2007
Still In My Police State
Haven't gotten my act together enough yet to chat about the concert. Who knew that one could get jet lag from traveling in the same time zone...zzzzzzzz.
Leave it to YouTube to have the highlights for me. Here's one of my favorites (about suicide, no less!): "Can't Stand Losing You"
And a bonus! The original video, nearly 30 years old.
Leave it to YouTube to have the highlights for me. Here's one of my favorites (about suicide, no less!): "Can't Stand Losing You"
And a bonus! The original video, nearly 30 years old.
7.24.2007
Stewart Copeland Rules My World
Twenty-six hours later and I'm still floating on air after my Police concert. I want to document the experience, but right now, after driving from Toronto to Buffalo and two flights later, I'm too spent to be coherent. Suffice it to say that the band was hot and tight, but Stewart is the glue, the backbone and the MVP of the whole she-bang. And no, I'm not biased.
Here's a snippet of what I got to see and hear and feel:
I'm now on a mission to try and see another show while they're still here in the States...
Here's a snippet of what I got to see and hear and feel:
I'm now on a mission to try and see another show while they're still here in the States...
7.20.2007
Police Siren Activated
The event I've waited nearly 25 years for is here.
I'm going to see The Police, live and in person on Sunday in Toronto.
And I'm so excited I can hardly stand it.
I'll send you a postcard if I end up running off with the band...
I'm going to see The Police, live and in person on Sunday in Toronto.
And I'm so excited I can hardly stand it.
I'll send you a postcard if I end up running off with the band...
7.05.2007
Independence Day Late
I totally flaked out yesterday and forgot to post this. Post-beach holiday hangover and the latest Jackie Collins novel will do that to a girl.
Anyhoo.
In honor of the celebration of my country's birthday, I went hunting for video of perhaps the most amazing and patriotic experience I've ever been a part of. And wouldn't you know that YouTube didn't let me down:
I love this for a lot of reasons.
First and foremost, it's Miss Whitney, at her very best, before BobbyBrown and crack and whatever else made her the caricature that we see today. Her voice, majestic and radient, coupled with the subtle elegance of the backing Florida Orchestra made this rendition of the National Anthem truly iconic. It's my favorite version ever.
Better yet is the fact that was there in person to hear her sing. Super Bowl XXV. Tampa Stadium. 1991. The Buffalo Bills versus the New York Giants. Phil Simms in his heyday. Hell of a game, with a heartbreaking finish for the resiliant Bills fans.
The game was played literally days after the first Gulf War started. MacDill Air Force Base in Tampa was Central Command. And the largest sporting event in the world was held just about five miles away. The images of the movie Black Sunday were evoked by the media frequently in the week preceeding the game. My dad was on the local Super Bowl planning committe, and as a resulting perk, got to purchase tickets. I had nosebleed seats (and a date that crapped out on me at the last minute. Douchebag. Yet another story for another day.)
Security was intense. The air was electric with varying currents of anxiety and anticipation. I was frisked, poked, prodded and explored. But.. when the orchestra played those oh-so-familiar notes and Whitney opened her mouth to sing, you could feel the tension subside and the entire stadium, down to a person, swell with pride and love of country.
This Gulf War was the first taste of combat my generation could fully grasp, as we were too young to completely understand the nuances of Vietnam (although I remember vividly seeing Dan Rather reporting on the war on the CBS evening news while we ate dinner.) And it was vivid -- CNN brought every single action and movement to us, live, 24/7, and in color (remember the green of the night over Baghdad behind Arthur "Scud Stud" Kent?)
We weren't jaded then to all things war-related, as we are now. That first blush of war unearthed patriotism and uncertainty and curiosity, colored by naivete and hopeful expectations for resolution and the obligation of our country as the protector of the world. Little did we know what would lie ahead, fifteen years later, as we struggle to make sense of a war that shouldn't have happened and seemingly has no end for the brave men and women who are simply doing their jobs as military employees.
But that January night, as Whitney let forth with the glory of her voice, dropping over us the words of love for country, we simply embraced the moment for what it was -- one cloaked in pride for who we were and what we stood for as Americans.
It's a good reminder. One I sorely needed.
Anyhoo.
In honor of the celebration of my country's birthday, I went hunting for video of perhaps the most amazing and patriotic experience I've ever been a part of. And wouldn't you know that YouTube didn't let me down:
I love this for a lot of reasons.
First and foremost, it's Miss Whitney, at her very best, before BobbyBrown and crack and whatever else made her the caricature that we see today. Her voice, majestic and radient, coupled with the subtle elegance of the backing Florida Orchestra made this rendition of the National Anthem truly iconic. It's my favorite version ever.
Better yet is the fact that was there in person to hear her sing. Super Bowl XXV. Tampa Stadium. 1991. The Buffalo Bills versus the New York Giants. Phil Simms in his heyday. Hell of a game, with a heartbreaking finish for the resiliant Bills fans.
The game was played literally days after the first Gulf War started. MacDill Air Force Base in Tampa was Central Command. And the largest sporting event in the world was held just about five miles away. The images of the movie Black Sunday were evoked by the media frequently in the week preceeding the game. My dad was on the local Super Bowl planning committe, and as a resulting perk, got to purchase tickets. I had nosebleed seats (and a date that crapped out on me at the last minute. Douchebag. Yet another story for another day.)
Security was intense. The air was electric with varying currents of anxiety and anticipation. I was frisked, poked, prodded and explored. But.. when the orchestra played those oh-so-familiar notes and Whitney opened her mouth to sing, you could feel the tension subside and the entire stadium, down to a person, swell with pride and love of country.
This Gulf War was the first taste of combat my generation could fully grasp, as we were too young to completely understand the nuances of Vietnam (although I remember vividly seeing Dan Rather reporting on the war on the CBS evening news while we ate dinner.) And it was vivid -- CNN brought every single action and movement to us, live, 24/7, and in color (remember the green of the night over Baghdad behind Arthur "Scud Stud" Kent?)
We weren't jaded then to all things war-related, as we are now. That first blush of war unearthed patriotism and uncertainty and curiosity, colored by naivete and hopeful expectations for resolution and the obligation of our country as the protector of the world. Little did we know what would lie ahead, fifteen years later, as we struggle to make sense of a war that shouldn't have happened and seemingly has no end for the brave men and women who are simply doing their jobs as military employees.
But that January night, as Whitney let forth with the glory of her voice, dropping over us the words of love for country, we simply embraced the moment for what it was -- one cloaked in pride for who we were and what we stood for as Americans.
It's a good reminder. One I sorely needed.
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