sleep.
For the scoop on Singular Saturdays,
check out Jen in Holland's fab blog.
check out Jen in Holland's fab blog.
5.29.2008
Young Hillary Clinton
My very good friend Sprezzatura shared this with me -- it's too good not to pass along:
And yes, that is Jerry O'Connell. Your eyes -- not deceiving you.
And yes, that is Jerry O'Connell. Your eyes -- not deceiving you.
A Word from the English Major
Yep. Another word. Literally.A delicious, melodic, nuanced word. One I love to use, but often can't remember how to spell. Dammit.
Schadenfreude (SHOD-n-froy-duh)
noun: a malicious satisfaction obtained from the misfortunes of others
Fun Fact: Schadenfreude comes from the German, from Schaden, "damage" + Freude, "joy." It is often capitalized, as it is in German.
Isn't this more elegant and eloquent than "Karma's a bitch. HAHAHAH!"
Well, I think so anyway.
And now I'm going to go around looking for opportunities to use this.
You've been warned.
5.28.2008
Sighting Redux
My faith in education has been restored.
Remember this?
Driving to get Will today, I noticed that someone had taken the giant red editing pen to the marquee and straightened some things out:
It's the little things in life that make me happy. This is one of them.
Remember this?
Driving to get Will today, I noticed that someone had taken the giant red editing pen to the marquee and straightened some things out:
It's the little things in life that make me happy. This is one of them.
Gym-boree
Fat Ass Update:
New jeans. Another size smaller. Making a total of four sizes down in jeans.
Am not quite physically up to my usual cardio workout *hack* so I'm setting for doing some upper body and abdominal work here at home. Have my hand weights right by the computer so when I'm waiting for something to load or reading an article (thank goodness for the verbosity of the Huffington Post), I can do a couple of sets of bicep/tricep/pec lifts. And I'm following the example of Dwight Shrute (how scary is that, I ask you) and using a balance ball as my office chair.
So far, so good. No injuries or mishaps. In other words, I haven't fallen off the damn thing. *knock on wood*
I've got our annual family holiday to the beach coming up in a month, plus a solo stint with pals in Vegas at the beginning of August. Total motivation.
Perhaps by then these little missives will be Not-Quite-As-Fat Ass updates. Cross your fingers. And help me count those sit ups while you're at it.
one. exhale. two. exhale...
New jeans. Another size smaller. Making a total of four sizes down in jeans.
Am not quite physically up to my usual cardio workout *hack* so I'm setting for doing some upper body and abdominal work here at home. Have my hand weights right by the computer so when I'm waiting for something to load or reading an article (thank goodness for the verbosity of the Huffington Post), I can do a couple of sets of bicep/tricep/pec lifts. And I'm following the example of Dwight Shrute (how scary is that, I ask you) and using a balance ball as my office chair.
So far, so good. No injuries or mishaps. In other words, I haven't fallen off the damn thing. *knock on wood*
I've got our annual family holiday to the beach coming up in a month, plus a solo stint with pals in Vegas at the beginning of August. Total motivation.
Perhaps by then these little missives will be Not-Quite-As-Fat Ass updates. Cross your fingers. And help me count those sit ups while you're at it.
one. exhale. two. exhale...
5.27.2008
Beach Near Me... Beach Near
Hear that?
That cheering sound, muffled slightly with a hint of congestion, is coming from the House of jane.
The plague has left us.
Final-frickin-ly.
Four days of rest and sleep and America's Next Top Model marathons and Chinese take out (mmmm... pan fried dumplings) are totally good for what ails you. Or me, actually.
Back to normal.
And how did we celebrate the end of the plague that temporarily felled Casa de jane?
With our first trip to the beach of the summer.
It's here, baby. The season of sand and surf and trashy novels and lazzzzzzzzzziness.
We like to go in time for sunset. Not too hot, a beautiful view and the crowds of the day have dispersed.
Or so I thought.
Man, was our usual little corner of the sand crowded last night. Holiday hours brought everyone out. And they were everywhere. Wearing everything. And some things they shouldn't have been.
Let's just say the monokini should totally be Paris Hilton's domain. Just because it's a one-piece doesn't mean it's for everyone. And lest you think I'm being harsh, I'm a girl who is fully aware of her body flaws and features and makes sure her swimwear accommodates them. My thighs -- so not on display. My boobs -- highlight, highlight, highlight.
And you're crazier than Britney before the intervention if you think I'm going to ever have a photographic example of my immediate previous statement. Just take my word for it. Thank yew.
Then there were the shellers. Walking head down, tuchus often aloft, looking at the ground in front of them, waiting to see if the tide brings in any of mother nature's jewelry worth keeping. It was so bad last night that I had a showdown with some guy in a Lou's Tavern t-shirt from someplace in Kansas over a shell.
Kid you not.
I was futzing right at the water's edge; he was on the move with his tight-permed wife. The tide turned up what seemed to be a fairly in-tact shell. And like two policemen reaching for the last glazed, we both went for it at the same time. I conceded, caving in thanks to my chamber of commerce conscience. Only to have him chuck it away into the water as he continued his stroll.
Tourists. (make sure you read that with a hint of disdain, as that's how it was written...)
Will loves our little jaunts. Walking in the water and playing CRASH! into the waves as they hit the beach. And making sandballs and throwing them. Have no idea who taught him that.
No pictures this time, as the mister forgot to tell me that the camera needed batteries. (The one I used here -- from last summer. Better than nothing.)
Don't get me started on that one. Grrrrrrr. He's got two hands and knows where the batteries are located. Why do I have to be the one...
Wait. Serenity Now. Ah, better. Sigh.
Anyhoo.
So the season of frozen drinks and sand in my car and flip-flops (and Mad Men starting in July!) is here, y'all.
Check your SPF, make sure it's high enough to do some good, and let's go!
(my apologies to the band ABC -- who I'm going to see in VEGAS, BABY! later this summer -- for the very bad pun in the header.
Hey! It's dark o'clock in the morning. You try being witty at this hour. Not so easy, eh?)
That cheering sound, muffled slightly with a hint of congestion, is coming from the House of jane.
The plague has left us.
Final-frickin-ly.
Four days of rest and sleep and America's Next Top Model marathons and Chinese take out (mmmm... pan fried dumplings) are totally good for what ails you. Or me, actually.
Back to normal.
And how did we celebrate the end of the plague that temporarily felled Casa de jane?
With our first trip to the beach of the summer.
It's here, baby. The season of sand and surf and trashy novels and lazzzzzzzzzziness.We like to go in time for sunset. Not too hot, a beautiful view and the crowds of the day have dispersed.
Or so I thought.
Man, was our usual little corner of the sand crowded last night. Holiday hours brought everyone out. And they were everywhere. Wearing everything. And some things they shouldn't have been.
Let's just say the monokini should totally be Paris Hilton's domain. Just because it's a one-piece doesn't mean it's for everyone. And lest you think I'm being harsh, I'm a girl who is fully aware of her body flaws and features and makes sure her swimwear accommodates them. My thighs -- so not on display. My boobs -- highlight, highlight, highlight.
And you're crazier than Britney before the intervention if you think I'm going to ever have a photographic example of my immediate previous statement. Just take my word for it. Thank yew.
Then there were the shellers. Walking head down, tuchus often aloft, looking at the ground in front of them, waiting to see if the tide brings in any of mother nature's jewelry worth keeping. It was so bad last night that I had a showdown with some guy in a Lou's Tavern t-shirt from someplace in Kansas over a shell.
Kid you not.
I was futzing right at the water's edge; he was on the move with his tight-permed wife. The tide turned up what seemed to be a fairly in-tact shell. And like two policemen reaching for the last glazed, we both went for it at the same time. I conceded, caving in thanks to my chamber of commerce conscience. Only to have him chuck it away into the water as he continued his stroll.
Tourists. (make sure you read that with a hint of disdain, as that's how it was written...)
Will loves our little jaunts. Walking in the water and playing CRASH! into the waves as they hit the beach. And making sandballs and throwing them. Have no idea who taught him that.
No pictures this time, as the mister forgot to tell me that the camera needed batteries. (The one I used here -- from last summer. Better than nothing.)
Don't get me started on that one. Grrrrrrr. He's got two hands and knows where the batteries are located. Why do I have to be the one...
Wait. Serenity Now. Ah, better. Sigh.
Anyhoo.
So the season of frozen drinks and sand in my car and flip-flops (and Mad Men starting in July!) is here, y'all.
Check your SPF, make sure it's high enough to do some good, and let's go!
(my apologies to the band ABC -- who I'm going to see in VEGAS, BABY! later this summer -- for the very bad pun in the header.
Hey! It's dark o'clock in the morning. You try being witty at this hour. Not so easy, eh?)
5.22.2008
To sleep, perchance to dream...
This damn illness is wrecking havoc in all areas of my life. Canceled plans; kleenex boxes all over the house; a voice that is kindly described as being a hot-tranny-mess (you think it registers low when I'm well -- when I'm sick, it ventures into total drag queen territory.)
And my subconscious is feeling the effects as well. After I dropped Will off at school, I came home and immediately crawled back into bed. Drifting off to sleep under my ceiling fan and blankee. Ahhhh. Bliss.
However... when the REM sleep set in, things got odd.
In jane's dreamland, Scientology and Mormonism have apparently merged. How do I know this? Because Tom Cruise was looking to expand his insanity into the realm of polygamy and wanted to take another wife in addition to Katie.
The winning candidate: Lindsay Lohan.
And I dreamed about their threesome wedding.
What the eff was that about, I ask you? I can't stand two of the three stahs of this nightmare (and am lukewarm about Katie at best, although I love her fashion style and that Suri is the cutest child this side of Will...) so what the hell were they doing in my under-the-weather subconscious?
And to think that the craziest dream I'd had prior to this involved me, a bubble bath in a black marble bathroom and Howard "Dr. Johnny Fever" Hesseman...
Apparently I need to stop reading People and Us Weekly while under the influence of sinus meds. Dangerous combination.
And my subconscious is feeling the effects as well. After I dropped Will off at school, I came home and immediately crawled back into bed. Drifting off to sleep under my ceiling fan and blankee. Ahhhh. Bliss.
However... when the REM sleep set in, things got odd.
In jane's dreamland, Scientology and Mormonism have apparently merged. How do I know this? Because Tom Cruise was looking to expand his insanity into the realm of polygamy and wanted to take another wife in addition to Katie.
The winning candidate: Lindsay Lohan.
And I dreamed about their threesome wedding.
What the eff was that about, I ask you? I can't stand two of the three stahs of this nightmare (and am lukewarm about Katie at best, although I love her fashion style and that Suri is the cutest child this side of Will...) so what the hell were they doing in my under-the-weather subconscious?
And to think that the craziest dream I'd had prior to this involved me, a bubble bath in a black marble bathroom and Howard "Dr. Johnny Fever" Hesseman...
Apparently I need to stop reading People and Us Weekly while under the influence of sinus meds. Dangerous combination.
Indulgence
My favortie crazy-charming-campy moment from the American Idol finale last night.
I totally want to talk to the guy who had to write the band arrangement of this little ditty. I hope he was properly compensated...
I totally want to talk to the guy who had to write the band arrangement of this little ditty. I hope he was properly compensated...
5.20.2008
Head of Darkness...
The strange saga of the Germs that Invaded Chez Jane continues. Today, I have been visited by a sinus headache so severe that Dumbo would be rendered helpless if he had it.
If Mr. Kurtz wasn't already dead, this headache might have killed him. Seriously.
Ugh.
Enough already.
The fact that the barometric pressure is whack, thanks to some funky weather -- maybe rain, maybe not, make up your damn mind Mother Nature -- isn't helping any.
So now I'm dosing on some medication and trying to follow the instructions I unearthed here on what the hell to do for a sinus headache. The warm compress thing sounds particularly appealing, actually. Perhaps I'll make one up and go hang out in bed and listen to The Golden Girls while I convalesce.
The compress has got to help, as my eyes are so puffy that a case of Preparation H wouldn't solve my issues.
Every head has its own headache.
~ Arab Proverb
Anyhoo. This song, from an artist I need to discover more about called Adrianne, has been the bright spot in my day. It's making me happy, despite the thousand pounds of pressure in my face. That and my chicken sandwich from Chick-Fil-A. Somehow, my NutriLunch didn't seem in the least appealing today. I only have so much willpower on days like this.
So, give Adrianne's "Shooting Star" a listen. Throw on a warm compress if you feel like it. They're both good for what ails you.
You shine in my eyes
Frozen still, open wide
Come down, fill my heart
With a fire you flaunt
And I can't say a word
They would only sound absurd
Maybe you're my shooting star
Blindly falling through the dark
Burning a hole in my sky so fierce, so bright
Maybe it's all I need, so baby come shoot through me
Wishes won't survive on you tonight
If you stay for good
On the ground, think you could
It's not a life that you lead
Just a path following
Everybody else has you aiming at yourself
Maybe you re my shooting star
Blindly falling through the dark
Burning a hole in my sky so fierce, so bright
Maybe it's all I need, so baby come shoot through me
Wishes won't survive on you tonight
Silver tear, fall for me and forever
You belong her, my love can fly you higher
Higher, higher
Maybe you re my shooting star
Blindly falling through the dark
Burning a hole in my sky so fierce, so bright
Maybe it's all I need, so baby come shoot through me
Wishes won't survive on you tonight
Maybe you're my shooting star
Blindly falling through the dark
Burning a hole in my sky so fierce, so bright
Maybe it's all I need, so baby come shoot through me
Wishes won't survive on you tonight
If Mr. Kurtz wasn't already dead, this headache might have killed him. Seriously.
Ugh.
Enough already.
The fact that the barometric pressure is whack, thanks to some funky weather -- maybe rain, maybe not, make up your damn mind Mother Nature -- isn't helping any.
So now I'm dosing on some medication and trying to follow the instructions I unearthed here on what the hell to do for a sinus headache. The warm compress thing sounds particularly appealing, actually. Perhaps I'll make one up and go hang out in bed and listen to The Golden Girls while I convalesce.
The compress has got to help, as my eyes are so puffy that a case of Preparation H wouldn't solve my issues.
Every head has its own headache.
~ Arab Proverb
Anyhoo. This song, from an artist I need to discover more about called Adrianne, has been the bright spot in my day. It's making me happy, despite the thousand pounds of pressure in my face. That and my chicken sandwich from Chick-Fil-A. Somehow, my NutriLunch didn't seem in the least appealing today. I only have so much willpower on days like this.
So, give Adrianne's "Shooting Star" a listen. Throw on a warm compress if you feel like it. They're both good for what ails you.
You shine in my eyes
Frozen still, open wide
Come down, fill my heart
With a fire you flaunt
And I can't say a word
They would only sound absurd
Maybe you're my shooting star
Blindly falling through the dark
Burning a hole in my sky so fierce, so bright
Maybe it's all I need, so baby come shoot through me
Wishes won't survive on you tonight
If you stay for good
On the ground, think you could
It's not a life that you lead
Just a path following
Everybody else has you aiming at yourself
Maybe you re my shooting star
Blindly falling through the dark
Burning a hole in my sky so fierce, so bright
Maybe it's all I need, so baby come shoot through me
Wishes won't survive on you tonight
Silver tear, fall for me and forever
You belong her, my love can fly you higher
Higher, higher
Maybe you re my shooting star
Blindly falling through the dark
Burning a hole in my sky so fierce, so bright
Maybe it's all I need, so baby come shoot through me
Wishes won't survive on you tonight
Maybe you're my shooting star
Blindly falling through the dark
Burning a hole in my sky so fierce, so bright
Maybe it's all I need, so baby come shoot through me
Wishes won't survive on you tonight
5.19.2008
Here's to the Ladies Who Lunch on Music Mondays
We'll always be bosom buddies... friends, sisters and pals!(Pssst... for more musical musings, check out Soccer Mom in Denial.
You'll be glad you did!)
Whew. That was one whirlwind trip to D.C. Regardless of your political leanings, there's something really inspiring about being in the heart of our country's government and seeing the tangible symbols of the founding principles of this nation.
However, that was not the best part of my trip -- not by a long shot. The best part, hands down, was the afternoon I spent in Georgetown drinking bloody marys with my galpal. Who, in an amazing piece of serendipity, was brought into my life by this crazy thing called the internet and who is now one of the most important people in my world.
Chemistry just ain't for romantic relationships. And it's amazing to me that there's another person in this world who pretty much gets me, quirks and all.
So this one's for you, my friend. A toast to female friendships and all their glorious nuances -- and the underlying love and affection that holds them up.
Now raise that bloody mary glass and here's to us!
Bonus!
5.17.2008
5.16.2008
Flashback Friday: Hail to the Cheers!
(Hey! For more flashback fun, check out Cable Girl's 42. Totally worth the trip!)Hey! Guess what? Exactly right now, as you're reading this, I'm more than likely hanging with my very good friend -- my sistah from another mistah who lives in D.C.
Mister: in meetings.
Me: drinking bloody marys with my darling galpal.
Tell me: who's having the better time?
In honor of this grand occasion, I excavated a photo from my first trip to my nation's capital. 1972. Too bad we didn't stay at the Watergate. Man, even then I would have been all over that... and you know, that may explain my on-going fascination with the politics of that time. And why I'm a yellow dog Democrat. But more about that later...
Anyhoo.
There we are, hanging out at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW. That's Mama, Nana, my brother and me, stylish in that pantsuit ensemble. With my purse. What I as a seven year old needed to carry a purse for in those days is beyond me. Gum, an extra Archie comic digest, my diary... who the hell knows. I do think that was the last time I was ever able to carry a purse that small in the daytime, though. My propensity for hauling around lots of unnecessary crap manifested itself at a very early age.
Again, anyhoo.
So here's to family vacations and trips to see friends and visiting places of historical significance. Small purses.
And bloody marys.
Cheers, y'all!
5.15.2008
Hit the road, jane
Aaaaaand... I'm off like a prom dress. How's that for a timely analogy!
My trip to my nation's capital -- tagging along on the mister's business trip -- is about to commence. *knock on wood*
No weird health behavior from Will. Which is what put the brakes on my trip to Boston. *knock on wood*
No pets critically ill/being put to sleep. Which is what canceled my birthday spa day/night at fancy-pants hotel. *knock on wood*
My cold is subsiding. So no being really really sick on the high seas like I was on our new year's cruise. *knock on wood*
The frantic packing is done. Will is off to school. And our flight leaves early afternoon. Off today, back Sunday afternoon. Just right.
I'll be around and about and stuff. But take notes for me, just in case something happens that I miss. You know how I live for that stuff.
Ciao, y'all!
*knock on wood*
My trip to my nation's capital -- tagging along on the mister's business trip -- is about to commence. *knock on wood*
No weird health behavior from Will. Which is what put the brakes on my trip to Boston. *knock on wood*
No pets critically ill/being put to sleep. Which is what canceled my birthday spa day/night at fancy-pants hotel. *knock on wood*
My cold is subsiding. So no being really really sick on the high seas like I was on our new year's cruise. *knock on wood*
The frantic packing is done. Will is off to school. And our flight leaves early afternoon. Off today, back Sunday afternoon. Just right.
I'll be around and about and stuff. But take notes for me, just in case something happens that I miss. You know how I live for that stuff.
Ciao, y'all!
*knock on wood*
Just Watch
Fantasia on last night's American Idol results show.
Y'all.
This is bat-house insanity at its best. She's a glorious hot mess. Seriously. It's fabulous. And so is she.
PS: Check out Cowell's reaction at about 2:55. Greatest thing I've seen in, well, forever.
Y'all.
This is bat-house insanity at its best. She's a glorious hot mess. Seriously. It's fabulous. And so is she.
PS: Check out Cowell's reaction at about 2:55. Greatest thing I've seen in, well, forever.
5.14.2008
Gotta match three for the win!
Just because... an homage to the greatest game show ever -- Match Game!
Yeah. It’s Late. TMI Tuesday.
Is there a TV show you HAVE to watch? If so, what is it?
A TV show? As in one? Please.
Not counting the shows that if I surf by, I have to at least stop and look to see which episode it is (these shows include, but are not limited to Seinfeld; The Dick Van Dyke Show; King of the Hill; Coach and The Steve Harvey Show. Shut. Up.), I currently HAVE to watch 30 Rock, Mad Men and The Office. With Entourage, Burn Notice and Psych close behind. Seeing as how the seasons of three of these shows -- Mad Men, Burn Notice and Psych -- start in the summer, my HAVE-TO watch time isn’t going to miss a beat. Yay!
What is your favorite drink if you are going to drink more than one?
Non-adult: Daisani water, iced tea.
Adult: Grey Goose & Tonic; ice cold beer
How long do you carry guilt around with you?
Again, please. I feel guilty about shit I technically had nothing to do with. This is why my therapist earns his keep.
Where is or would be your number one romantic get away spot?
Doesn’t matter. As long as I’m with the right person, any place can be romantic. But the ocean and tropical breezes are nice to have.
Have you ever seen a counselor?
Please. See #3.
Bonus: Last summer the Archives of Sexual Behavior listed the 237 reasons people have sex and the Top 50 Reasons Men and Women Have Sex. What are your top 5 reasons?
1. I am attracted to the person.
2. That’s such a good one, it works twice -- attraction, baby. Pure and simple.
3. It’s fun!
4. Very fun!
5. Did I mention fun?
A TV show? As in one? Please.
Not counting the shows that if I surf by, I have to at least stop and look to see which episode it is (these shows include, but are not limited to Seinfeld; The Dick Van Dyke Show; King of the Hill; Coach and The Steve Harvey Show. Shut. Up.), I currently HAVE to watch 30 Rock, Mad Men and The Office. With Entourage, Burn Notice and Psych close behind. Seeing as how the seasons of three of these shows -- Mad Men, Burn Notice and Psych -- start in the summer, my HAVE-TO watch time isn’t going to miss a beat. Yay!
What is your favorite drink if you are going to drink more than one?
Non-adult: Daisani water, iced tea.
Adult: Grey Goose & Tonic; ice cold beer
How long do you carry guilt around with you?
Again, please. I feel guilty about shit I technically had nothing to do with. This is why my therapist earns his keep.
Where is or would be your number one romantic get away spot?
Doesn’t matter. As long as I’m with the right person, any place can be romantic. But the ocean and tropical breezes are nice to have.
Have you ever seen a counselor?
Please. See #3.
Bonus: Last summer the Archives of Sexual Behavior listed the 237 reasons people have sex and the Top 50 Reasons Men and Women Have Sex. What are your top 5 reasons?
1. I am attracted to the person.
2. That’s such a good one, it works twice -- attraction, baby. Pure and simple.
3. It’s fun!
4. Very fun!
5. Did I mention fun?
5.13.2008
And the award for Father of the Year goes to...
this idiot.
An Australian driver who secured a carton of beer in his car with a seat belt but left a 5-year-old child unrestrained was fined 750 Australian dollars ($710; €460), police said Tuesday.
Constable Wayne Burnett said he was "shocked and appalled" when he pulled over the unregistered car on Friday in the central Australian town of Alice Springs.
The 30-can carton was strapped in between the two adults sitting in the back seat of the car. The child was also in back, on the vehicle's floor.
"The child was sitting in the lump in the center, unrestrained," Burnett told reporters Tuesday.
"I haven't ever seen something like this before," he said. "This is the first time that the beer has taken priority over a child."
What. A. Moron. With Moron Friends to boot.
Now I don't feel so bad about my little trips through the drive-thru liquor store with Will singing "Don't You Want Me Baby" in the back seat.
Properly secured in his booster car seat in the back seat. Thankyouverymuch.
*goes off whistling*
An Australian driver who secured a carton of beer in his car with a seat belt but left a 5-year-old child unrestrained was fined 750 Australian dollars ($710; €460), police said Tuesday.
Constable Wayne Burnett said he was "shocked and appalled" when he pulled over the unregistered car on Friday in the central Australian town of Alice Springs.
The 30-can carton was strapped in between the two adults sitting in the back seat of the car. The child was also in back, on the vehicle's floor.
"The child was sitting in the lump in the center, unrestrained," Burnett told reporters Tuesday.
"I haven't ever seen something like this before," he said. "This is the first time that the beer has taken priority over a child."
What. A. Moron. With Moron Friends to boot.
Now I don't feel so bad about my little trips through the drive-thru liquor store with Will singing "Don't You Want Me Baby" in the back seat.
Properly secured in his booster car seat in the back seat. Thankyouverymuch.
*goes off whistling*
5.12.2008
Croon Me a Tune. It's Music Monday.
Guess what. It's Frank's World. We just live in it.(Pssst... for more musical musings, check out Soccer Mom in Denial.
You'll be glad you did!)
Since I've been under the weather, I've been rather glued to the telly, as I haven't felt like doing much else. My channel surfing led me to discover that May is Sinatra Month on TMC, with his films running on Wednesday and Sunday evenings. Cool. Very cool. I staggered out of bed long enough to set the DVR to catch some of my favorites, including "Guys and Dolls" (which is great, despite the fact that Brando. Cannot. Sing.); "On the Town" and one of my all-time favorites, "High Society."
A musical adaptation of "The Philadelphia Story", the film features music by Cole Porter and performances from Sinatra, Grace Kelly, Bing Crosby and Celeste Holm. No wonder I love it.
Here are a couple of my favorite numbers from this gem featuring, natch, Francis Albert.
Enjoy!
"Who Wants to Be a Millionaire", with the charming Celeste Holm
"Did You Evah", with Der Bingle
"Mind If I Make Love to You", with Miss Kelly
5.11.2008
Mama's Day
For mamas and nanas and grandmas and sissies and aunties -- actually all women... this one's for you. (thanks to my dear friend Jeannie for sending this along to me.)
~~~~~
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?' Obviously not; no one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible.
The Invisible Mom.
Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more:
Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this??
Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being.
I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30, please.'
I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied English Lit and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.
She's going, she's going, she's gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating The return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself. I was
feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.'
It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription:
'To Charlotte , with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.'
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:
No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it. The workman replied, ’Because God sees.'
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become."
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.
I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, 'You're gonna love it here.'
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
~~~~~
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?' Obviously not; no one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible.
The Invisible Mom.
Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more:
Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this??
Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being.
I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30, please.'
I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied English Lit and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.
She's going, she's going, she's gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating The return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself. I was
feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.'
It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription:
'To Charlotte , with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.'
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:
No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it. The workman replied, ’Because God sees.'
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become."
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.
I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, 'You're gonna love it here.'
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
5.09.2008
Flashback Friday: Open Arms Under the Sea -- It's Almost Paradise!
(Hey! For more flashback fun, check out Cable Girl's 42. Totally worth the trip!)Picture it... 1982. West central Florida. Girl with no serious beau needs date for senior prom. In steps platonic boy pal, one year older and a freshman at UF, who invites her to go with him.
The following is a dramatic reenactment of part of a phone conversation held approximately two weeks before said event:
Her: So I'm so excited about prom! It's so totally cool because dinner is part of the evening... and then after the dance there's that party at Stacy's* house and she's going to make her famous sangria fruit salad and my mom said I don't have a curfew that night and what do you think about having a cooler in the back of your car so we can sneak out for a drink and...
Him, interrupting: That sounds great. By the way, what color is your dress?
Her: It's powder blue, with little white flowers. It's really pretty. I don't have shoes yet to go with it and I'm not sure what I'm going to do with my hair but...
Cut to Prom Night. Doorbell at Girl's house rings. Girl's younger brother goes to answer the door. Boy is there, flowers in hand. Wearing a powder blue tuxedo.
That's right.
Powder blue. With a ruffled shirt.
Check it out:
Stunning, isn't it.
Please note that Girl's hair is completely natural and she achieved that look without the assistance of any mousse/gel/styling products other than perhaps Final Net. (Although those Mamie Eisenhower bangs are more than a little scary. Yikes.)
Girl and Boy had a wonderful time at the dance. Boy bought some cheap champagne which they drank sitting on the hatchback of his Toyota in the parking lot.
Boy and Girl would remain good friends even through college. Girl often wonders what happened to Boy, as they lost touch too many years ago...
Good times, good times.
And good friends.
5.07.2008
Fanny Matters
Finally. One of those myriad health reports I can get behind...
Scientists find something good about a big bottom.
Ba-DUM ching... Thank you very much. I'll be here all week. Don't forget to tip your waiter.
Here's the gist of the thing: A type of fat that accumulates around the hips and bottom may actually offer some protection against diabetes, U.S. researchers said on Tuesday.
If this is the case, then I am set. Regardless of how many miles I ride on the bike at the gym (up to 15, thankyewverymuch) or how long I NutriToil, I'm still gonna have some tuchus ruckus. Just how I'm constructed. I've long resigned myself to it being part of my charm.
That's why this is my theme song. Sung by my boys (ok -- my boys other than the Police.)
Scientists find something good about a big bottom.
Ba-DUM ching... Thank you very much. I'll be here all week. Don't forget to tip your waiter.
Here's the gist of the thing: A type of fat that accumulates around the hips and bottom may actually offer some protection against diabetes, U.S. researchers said on Tuesday.
If this is the case, then I am set. Regardless of how many miles I ride on the bike at the gym (up to 15, thankyewverymuch) or how long I NutriToil, I'm still gonna have some tuchus ruckus. Just how I'm constructed. I've long resigned myself to it being part of my charm.
That's why this is my theme song. Sung by my boys (ok -- my boys other than the Police.)
Hot l jane
What dreadful hot weather we have! It keeps me in a continual state of inelegance.
~ Jane Austen
There are seven words that put fear and, yes, loathing into the heart of any Floridian. Especially this Florida chica.
You may ask yourself -- what are those words?
"Wow -- look how close that hurricane is!"
Nope.
"Jeb Bush is running for governor again."
Nyet.
"The Gators aren't playing football anymore. Seriously."
Not even close.
Try "My air conditioning is on the fritz."
Now thems some scary words.
And unfortunatly, here at Chez jane, they're applicable. From what I can tell.
I'm no engineering expert by any means -- I've shared the shortcomings of the logical left side of my brain before. But when something as critical to the state of my being as air conditioning isn't working properly -- that I immediately recognize.
Now you may also be asking yourself -- what's the big deal about the air not working.
There are two things in this world that send me into Bitch Mode faster than Posh and Becks turning on their surly charm at the first glint of a flashbulb. (Sidebar: Becks. So hot. Meeeow.)
Being hungry.
Being hot.
And watch out world if the two are some how intertwined. That's the recipe for a cataclysmic disaster of Irwin Allen proportions.
Anyhoo.
I mentioned this sad state of affairs to a buddy of mine -- his immediate comment was "All it would take would be 30 seconds of that and I'd be checking into a hotel. I don't do hot."
Truer words have never been spoken.
You'd think that as a native Floridian, I'd be used to this sort of thing. Honey, let me tell you -- one never gets used to this. I can remember our air going out mid-summer when I was a wee lass and it taking forever to get fixed. My dad used to go sit in his car in the driveway with the motor on, air blasting, and read the morning paper/read the evening paper/have a beer. I think he would have moved into the car if he could have -- although that was also the summer, if I remember correctly, of outrageous gas prices. And the Watergate hearings -- which I watched like visual crack.
But I digress.
I'm waiting until the mister comes home Friday to really deal with this. It's not reached awful proportions. Yet. But the air flow from the vents isn't really what you'd call cool enough. But, thankfully, here in the office, there's a window air unit. Which I deployed immediately at the first sign of malfunction. It's blowing on medium blast right now (ie: somewhere between Minnesota winter and Arctic Circle.) Not bad. For right now.
Although I've got the Hilton on speed dial. Just in case.
~ Jane Austen
There are seven words that put fear and, yes, loathing into the heart of any Floridian. Especially this Florida chica.
You may ask yourself -- what are those words?
"Wow -- look how close that hurricane is!"
Nope.
"Jeb Bush is running for governor again."
Nyet.
"The Gators aren't playing football anymore. Seriously."
Not even close.
Try "My air conditioning is on the fritz."
Now thems some scary words.
And unfortunatly, here at Chez jane, they're applicable. From what I can tell.
I'm no engineering expert by any means -- I've shared the shortcomings of the logical left side of my brain before. But when something as critical to the state of my being as air conditioning isn't working properly -- that I immediately recognize.
Now you may also be asking yourself -- what's the big deal about the air not working.
There are two things in this world that send me into Bitch Mode faster than Posh and Becks turning on their surly charm at the first glint of a flashbulb. (Sidebar: Becks. So hot. Meeeow.)
Being hungry.
Being hot.
And watch out world if the two are some how intertwined. That's the recipe for a cataclysmic disaster of Irwin Allen proportions.
Anyhoo.
I mentioned this sad state of affairs to a buddy of mine -- his immediate comment was "All it would take would be 30 seconds of that and I'd be checking into a hotel. I don't do hot."
Truer words have never been spoken.
You'd think that as a native Floridian, I'd be used to this sort of thing. Honey, let me tell you -- one never gets used to this. I can remember our air going out mid-summer when I was a wee lass and it taking forever to get fixed. My dad used to go sit in his car in the driveway with the motor on, air blasting, and read the morning paper/read the evening paper/have a beer. I think he would have moved into the car if he could have -- although that was also the summer, if I remember correctly, of outrageous gas prices. And the Watergate hearings -- which I watched like visual crack.
But I digress.
I'm waiting until the mister comes home Friday to really deal with this. It's not reached awful proportions. Yet. But the air flow from the vents isn't really what you'd call cool enough. But, thankfully, here in the office, there's a window air unit. Which I deployed immediately at the first sign of malfunction. It's blowing on medium blast right now (ie: somewhere between Minnesota winter and Arctic Circle.) Not bad. For right now.
Although I've got the Hilton on speed dial. Just in case.
5.06.2008
Sock It To Me, Baby -- It's TMI Tuesday!
1. Who did you think you would marry in elementary school?
Jimmy Lonquist. Or Donny Osmond. Duh.
2. Which Muppet is your favorite? Why?
I’ve always been partial to Grover, for some reason. He’s charming, a little goofy but so endearing.
However, this little test tells another, not-so-surprising story...
3. With which politician would you most like to have a daliance?
I’m going to go with Thomas Jefferson, believe it or not. He was whip-smart, open-minded, a free-thinker -- and had a totally cool house. Plus, there’s the red hair. Which intrigues me...
However, my subconscious has other ideas, as evidenced by the naughty dreams (yes, there have been more than one) about me and... Al Gore. Mind you, I haven’t had one of these dreams in years, but back in the early-mid ‘90s, they were on recurring status during my REM sleep.
Shut. Up.
4. How did you first find the g-spot?
When I finally do, I’ll let you know. Or maybe not.
5. What is the best costume you've ever worn?
On stage: This great slinky dress i donned to sing a medley of Fats Waller songs in a variety show many moons ago. It just fit right. My hair was long and crazy curly and I felt like a million bucks.
Halloween: Carmen Miranda. Complete with fruit turban and cha-cha skirt. And lots of heavy eyeliner. Good times.
Jimmy Lonquist. Or Donny Osmond. Duh.
2. Which Muppet is your favorite? Why?
I’ve always been partial to Grover, for some reason. He’s charming, a little goofy but so endearing.
However, this little test tells another, not-so-surprising story...
You Are Miss Piggy |
 A total princess and diva, you're totally in charge - even if people don't know it. You want to be loved, adored, and worshiped. And you won't settle for anything less. You're going to be a total star, and you won't let any of the "little people" get in your way. Just remember, piggy, never eat more than you can lift! |
3. With which politician would you most like to have a daliance?
I’m going to go with Thomas Jefferson, believe it or not. He was whip-smart, open-minded, a free-thinker -- and had a totally cool house. Plus, there’s the red hair. Which intrigues me...
However, my subconscious has other ideas, as evidenced by the naughty dreams (yes, there have been more than one) about me and... Al Gore. Mind you, I haven’t had one of these dreams in years, but back in the early-mid ‘90s, they were on recurring status during my REM sleep.
Shut. Up.
4. How did you first find the g-spot?
When I finally do, I’ll let you know. Or maybe not.
5. What is the best costume you've ever worn?
On stage: This great slinky dress i donned to sing a medley of Fats Waller songs in a variety show many moons ago. It just fit right. My hair was long and crazy curly and I felt like a million bucks.
Halloween: Carmen Miranda. Complete with fruit turban and cha-cha skirt. And lots of heavy eyeliner. Good times.
5.05.2008
¡Hola y bienvenidos a la Música Lunes, y'all!
Here's to Cinco de Mayo!(Pssst... for more musical musings, check out Soccer Mom in Denial.
You'll be glad you did!)
In keeping with my ongoing festive Latin-inspired mood, which has been fueled by copious amounts of tequila, today's Music Monday offering is a celebration of Cinco de Mayo. However, it being on a Monday, this list, a jar of Chi-Chi's salsa and some flour tortilla chips might be the closest I get to a fiesta. But it's better than nothing.
Oh, who am I kidding... once I get some limes back in the house, I'll celebrate properly. At least for one drink.
Enjoy!
5.04.2008
A Song for Youse
Or at least a bit of a song... courtesy of Mr. Will (with a bit of prompting from mama...)
He's available for birthday parties, bar/bat mitzvahs and anniverary celebrations...
Just call me Mama Rose.
He's available for birthday parties, bar/bat mitzvahs and anniverary celebrations...
Just call me Mama Rose.
5.03.2008
A Word from the Domestic Goddess
The Drinkin' Chick in me is happy that it's margarita season. Actually, for me, it's always margarita season...
The Domestic Goddess in me would be remiss if I didn't share one of my go-to 'rita recipes:
Killer Margaritas
1 can (6 oz) Minute Maid frozen limeade
4 ounces Jose Cuervo tequila
½ can Grand Marnier
3 limeade cans water
little bit of ice
Mix in blender. Serve in salted glasses. Prepare to have fun.
Plus: A great little nosh that complements the tasty tequila tipple...
Pepitas
2 cups pepitas (green hulled pumpkin seeds)
1/3 cup sugar
1 large egg white, beaten until frothy
1 tablespoon chili powder
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4-1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
Preheat oven to 350°F and spray baking sheet with nonstick spray (or line with parchment paper or nonstick foil).
Mix all ingredients and spread in single layer on baking sheet.
Bake until pepitas are golden and dry, stirring occasionally, about 15 minutes (I baked for around 20 minutes, stirring about every 5.)
Remove from oven and separate pepitas with fork while still warm; cool completely.
5.01.2008
Earwig
"Been a Long Day" from How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying
It's been one of those days -- and this song popped into my head tonight while making my NutriDinner. At 10:00 pm.
It's charming and evocative of that 1960s technicolor era I'm so crazy about.
I can think of worse things (that damn "Tom's Diner": doo doo doo doo doo da-doo doo) to have stuck in one's head.
Enjoy.
It's been one of those days -- and this song popped into my head tonight while making my NutriDinner. At 10:00 pm.
It's charming and evocative of that 1960s technicolor era I'm so crazy about.
I can think of worse things (that damn "Tom's Diner": doo doo doo doo doo da-doo doo) to have stuck in one's head.
Enjoy.
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