trapped

My cat wouldn't let me get off of the couch tonight. I was stuck; held hostage by ten pounds of blue tortoiseshell fluff. Anchored firmly between my feet, she curled into an adorable -- yet immovable -- ball. I was her captive. Not much accomplished, other than watching "Dreamgirls" and communing with my kitty.

and the winner is...

Not me. Because, of all the movies nominated for anything tonight, I've only seen three. "Up," "Star Trek," and "Sherlock Holmes." Time to break down and get a Netflix subscription?

flashback

This is me in 1983.


And my date, Bob. Cute, weren't we? Senior corn roast at my high school (that's a can of soda pop being lifted). It was a fun night. After the corn roast, we went to the movies to see Mr. Mom. But it was sold out, so instead we saw Jaws 3-D. That epic was so bad, we laughed our way through it. When it was over, we drove an hour to the ocean to look for Jaws in person. It was a late night getting home, but it was a blast.

I just found Bob again thanks to a certain social networking site. He commented on the status of a mutual friend from our home town, so I sent him a note. By the next day, we were reminiscing about life a quarter century ago. Ain't technology grand?

lasagna and the movies

On this chilly January day, the blast furnace whirred almost constantly, keeping The Warehouse toasty (if moreso in some spots than others). Family visited, and we watched movies on the 10' "screen," ate homemade lasagna, chatted, and played with the cats. Now, everyone has headed home, Ted is sleeping, the blast furnace is off (for now), and I still with chilly calves at the desk -- bemoaning the eventual loss of the Christmas tree which we have still not dismantled, and which occupies a fantastic gap in the room. Tomorrow, I go back to chores. I may wait until the last minute (Tuesday night) to pack up ornaments and twinkle lights, though.

day 2: don't count on it

Why am I back here? Nothing to report but snowfall and a raging case of the sniffles. Three very snuggly cats and one who refused to join the warmth. A wheat bagel and orange juice for breakfast. The twinkle of Christmas lights, as I refuse to dismantle the tree just yet. Chores and errands to be done, though at the moment, more interest in random online rambling and a 12:50pm showing of "Sherlock Holmes" (we all know how I feel about Robert Downey, Jr.). Until then, I must resist the urge to watch the last two episodes of The Vicar of Dibley, and be minimally productive before brushing off the car and driving to the theater.

what to do on a hot day

superheroes and caponiers

It has been a lovely weekend, though weekends are a construct for which I currently have no reference point (i.e. I'm unemployed). Interestingly, despite having worked a minimum of seven hours on each of the last two days, Ted still feels like he's had a "good weekend." That speaks to the quality of leisure activities, I guess, when they effectively make a full-time workday disappear.

Saturday, we went to the open house of a home for sale in Dover. We don't particularly want to live in Dover and we're not currently in a position to buy anything (see above mention of unemployment), but still, we look. This one in particular was interesting because it's listed at a price where smaller houses in Portsmouth are just starting to come down to. But because it's in Dover, it's a larger house with a number of desirable features that aren't typically found in Portsmouth for this price range.

That said, if we're going to consider Dover, I would far prefer this house for a mere $25,000 more because it's brand new, way prettier, with a 2-car garage, and geothermal heating/cooling. All moot points: we're not buying today.

So, we walked through the 60-year old house, and it was nice. It's easy to point out the things we liked (huge mudroom, first floor laundry room, great porch, quiet neighborhood), and the things we didn't like (weirdly sloped plot with driveway at bottom of hill and uneven granite steps up to house, narrow stairs both up to second floor and down to basement, original kitchen cabinets). Even though we're not seriously considering this house, this process helps us create the list of things we really want and -- as importantly -- don't want in our future home.

We then went to a movie. Desperately trying to make amends for my last movie choice (the only- marginally- funny- in- spots- and- disappointing- for- the- Judd- Apatow- machine "Forgetting Sarah Marshall," which Ted now describes as two hours of his life he'll never get back), I picked "Iron Man," which I've been eager to see since first hearing about it a year ago. Luckily, I redeemed myself. We both loved it. I seriously super loved it. I'm already thinking about going back to the theater to see it again, which I do rarely (I'm more inclined to overwatch a movie once it's in my possession, rather than repeatedly going to the theater).

I would like to restate for the record that I think Robert Downey, Jr. is truly a great actor. And I'm thrilled to pieces that he's the lead in a blockbuster movie, which will not only give him the opportunity for at least one I.M. sequel, but also the opportunity for more of any movie he wants.

After the movie, we went across the parking lot to Longhorn for dinner. Despite the fact that we've lived here now for what is approaching one year, we had yet to try this restaurant. It was quite good. I had warm bread with a crisp crust, tangy Caesar salad, and the Big Sky Bleu Filet (steak with melted bleu cheese and red-wine glazed portabella mushrooms). Mmmmm, yummy.

After dinner, we returned home and caught up on a couple episodes of Eureka's second season -- in eager anticipation of Season 3 starting July 29th.

Sunday's docket was slightly different but equally fun and interesting. After his stint at the store, we went to our favorite cafe for brunch (brunch = an excuse to eat breakfast at 1:00 o'clock in the afternoon). I had their always reliable sweet pea omelet, and Ted had the French toast. Then we decided to chart a course to York, Maine. Now, we've been to York a number of times and can easily get there and back without benefit of any sort of map. The difference this time is that we wanted to write specific directions with landmarks that we can hand out to customers who ask how to get there. OK, it was an excuse to wander around a beautiful seacoast town in Maine on a Sunday afternoon. We squeezed through the streets of Short Sands before heading over to Long Sands, eventually wending our way back down Route 1A.

Once back into Kittery, on a whim, we went into to Fort McClary, which was incredible. Even without the fascinating military history, it's a huge spread of grassiness on a rocky cliff overlooking the ocean. On an incredible sunny day with that ocean breeze, it was easy to imagine setting up camp and hanging out for a whole day. In fact, we saw several families who appeared to have done just that with folding chairs, beach toys, and picnic baskets. One couple brought along their pet billy goat. I overheard them telling one group of curious onlookers that he's a great pet and has never chased the mailman. Later, we found the three of them resting on the grass -- the billy goat on his own blanket.

We stopped for dipped cones at Dairy Queen then headed back home, where we did a little more Eureka catch-up and had red grapes and rice crackers for dinner (hearty brunch, ice cream... we weren't in the mood for a full meal). We turned on the ceiling fan to create our own summer breeze, and watched the cats alternately chasing sleep and each other. All in all, a lovely weekend. Did I say that already? Bears repeating.

Before I sign off at this ridiculously late hour, I found these two funny YouTube videos while searching for "Iron Man" stuff online. Rated PG, but funny. Enjoy.

#1


#2

roller skate tuesday

Falling back on the old reliable, YouTube, for blogging purposes.

First, Fred and Ginger.



Then my one true love (sorry honey!), Gene Kelly.

sunday funnies

fluff, fold, weapons, wildlife

Schedules be damned, I went to bed at 8:30pm last night. I fought off the forces of Milo (who usually spends a minimum of two hours knocking things over and walking across Ted to get my attention in the middle of the night), and I slept for eight straight hours. I don't know the last time I did that. In any case, I was up at 4:30am, and it was after sleeping instead of before. I will be seriously screwed up tomorrow. Oh well.

I took Ted to work at 5:00am. I came back home and tried to fix a stubbornly uncooperative application on my computer (still unsuccessful). I watched part of a cool Nova show about Alberto Santos-Dumont. I caught up on news of the presidential debate and other such events. At 7:00am, I went back to the store to pick Ted up. We went to breakfast before delving into chores.

We've discovered this wonderful cafe that makes great breakfasts and lunches. Everything is so fresh! Not to mention delicious! Since initially testing the waters, we've been back probably 8-9 times in the past few weeks. Today, I went mainstream and had French toast, sausage patties, scrambled eggs, and fresh squeezed orange juice (with a ton of pulp, as it should be). Their breakfast specialty seems to be variations of Eggs Benedicts. Thus far, I've tried Basil Feta Bene (tomato slices in lieu of Canadian bacon, and feta cheese and basil on top of the Hollandaise sauce) and Eggs Chartres (a spinach/artichoke heart spread in lieu of Canadian bacon). They occasionally have Salmon Bene on the special menu. I had that once in Chicago, and it was wonderful. I'll try it here eventually. With the exception of twice having the Basil Feta Bene ('cuz it's reeeaallally good), I've not yet duplicated a menu selection, and everything has been delicious and fresh. Did I use those adjectives before? Must mean it's true. Oh, and they have an in-house bakery that makes scrumptious blueberry muffins. Delicious and fresh. (Now, I'm just being silly.) And I haven't even mentioned their lunch menu. Another time, perhaps.

After breakfast, we headed to the laundromat. This is usually a one-person job (and that person is usually Ted). But because I was awake and functioning, I decided to pitch in. This also allowed us to catch up on washing some larger, bulkier things because there were two of us to haul stuff up and down the stairs. We used four regular washers and one big capacity front-loading washer. The best thing about laundromats (other than the warmth and singular aroma of fabric softener) is being able to wash and dry all the loads at once. Makes the process much faster. So, it was 22 minutes in the wash, and we transferred everything into two of the massive dryers. Given the volume of wet items in each, we pumped in 54 minutes worth of quarters, and decided to go on a short adventure.

Without reason or agenda, we ended up quite accidentally at the Great Bay National Wildlife Refuge. Now, I knew this place existed, but we didn't know anything about it and hadn't made our way there before now. Turns out it, too, was part of the old air force base. We wended our way around the far end of the incredibly long runway (11,321 feet or 2.14 miles if you're counting), we found the entrance to the park. The first thing we noticed was a large chain link fence with old, rusty barbed wire and a series of gates. The sign read "Former Weapons Storage Area." Nice! Then we found an information board with the title "Weapons to Wildlife." I didn't get a true idea of how big this former weapons storage area was until I came home and Google-mapped it. See above aerial photo. The end of the runway is on the right. The weapons storage area is at the bottom left (shaped kind of like a Christmas stocking!). We made it as far as the parking lot, which appears to be a small, white block at the top right edge of the stocking.

As interested as I might be to wander around a lush green wildlife refuge right on a big bay (a bit of which is seen in the upper left corner), it's difficult not to wonder if there might be any sort of contamination there. This is what happens when I hang out with conspiracy theorists. One of the people in my office thinks that the mysterious pipe tops in the field next to our building are caps to underground nuclear waste tanks. And Ted suspects that everything in the vicinity contains nerve gas.

Anyway, we zipped back to the laundromat to retrieve our stuff and headed back home. Some more chores ensued, a nap, a telephone conversation with a friend, and then we decided to go to a movie. But first, we headed to Kittery, where Ted exchanged a pair of jeans I gave him for three shirts and two belts. But the true purpose of the trip was to stop at Yummies to get some treats to sneak into the theater. Said surreptitious snacks were procured, but our master plan was foiled when we were unable to find a single parking space anywhere near the theater.

Subsequently, we abandoned "National Treasure: Book of Secrets" (or any of the movies that we might have seen today) and headed back home to view one of the DVDs we'd received for Christmas. After fiddling with the DVD player (it's been powered up but not connected to the TV since we moved in August), we settled in and watched "Meet the Robinsons." We hadn't seen it in the theater but had heard good things about it, so Santa was nice enough to provide us with a copy. I really enjoyed it, and look forward to future viewings, during which I'll undoubtedly pick up more of the details that zoomed by so quickly! I was proud of myself for correctly identifying Jamie Cullum as the voice of Frankie the Signing Frog. I haven't completely lost my music touch.

All in all, a productive-yet-simultaneously-fun day. How often does one get to say that in life? Tomorrow won't be as fun. I may blog the specifics on Tuesday. Or you may just never know.

Good night.

tick tick tick tick

mmm... donuts!

When I first heard that there was going to be a "Simpsons" movie, I was fairly indifferent about it. I'd watched the show once in a while in its early days and would occasionally run across it thereafter, but I never made it a point to watch it regularly. Oddly enough, one of my favorite quotes is from the show (whenever I'm impatient with slow technology, I conjure up Homer heating up a hot dog in a microwave and loudly bemoaning, "Isn't there anything faster than a microwave?").

In the last couple weeks, I've seen several trailers for the movie, and I admit, I really want to see it now! I'm looking forward to "Spider Pig." This morning, I discovered this website, and now I'm really excited. I created my own Simpsons avatar (see left). Pretty good resemblance, don't you think? Well, except that I only ever wear skirts (there was only one option for pants).

There's a definite trend in my avatars. First, my blog profile picture. Then my Meez character. And now Kelly Cox Simpson. Although I must say, this is the first time I've been able to endow my avatar with Rubenesque proportions -- something I've been frustratingly unable to do before now.

By the way, did I mention that I'm going to have Nick Arrojo cut my hair again? I must be insane! This will be the last time, really. After this, I would have to travel 250 miles to get to Arrojo Studio. Too far!

All right, I have a boatload of things to do today. Only 34 days until everything in our life is completely different. Details to follow. Someday.

exploring nutmeg

Too frequently, the one day a week we both have off is occupied with a variety of chores. It is rare that we spend that day without a list, a schedule, a project, a visit, or a plan. Yesterday -- although prompted by a chore -- we decided to have such a day.

Our first stop was the Tanger Outlets in Westbrook to buy a couple new pairs of pants for Ted. That chore completed, we wandered around the Borders outlet, procuring four books between the two of us (that's 3 for Ted, 1 for me). From there, we hit the first matinee of Little Miss Sunshine. Were it not for us laughing and Typhoid Mary in the front row coughing violently, the theater would have been silent. Of course, there were only about 12 people there. Irrespective of the surroundings, I really enjoyed the movie. Along with the laugh-out-loud funny parts, there were at least three tears-streaming-down-my-face crying parts, too.

From the theater, we went on a search for a place to have lunch. After escaping Westbrook (where we'd been told there was a muster that day and parts of town were closed off), we headed for Clinton, but didn't stop until Madison where we found Lenny and Joe's Fish Tale. The place was hopping, the fried clams were good, and there was a small carousel. It was fun to watch the kids spinning around on giant frogs and cats while grabbing rings (although the rings were plentiful and not brass, so neither much of a challenge nor particularly special).

We decided to stay off the highway, wandering down Route 1. We made a spontaneous stop at Bishop's Orchards in Guilford, sniffing our way through the fresh produce. They had the biggest basil plants I've ever seen, and so aromatic! We bought apricots and limes, and wandered around looking for the animals. We found a few goats hanging out in a pen in the distance, but nothing else.

Even with the occasional rain shower, it was a nice day -- a cool and pleasant relief from the recent heat wave and perfect for driving with all the windows open. We stayed on Route 1 until we lost it somewhere in New Haven. Yes, we lost a road while we were driving on it. Go figure. Anyway, an opportunity to rejoin the highway presented itself, and so we abandoned the search for Route 1 and took the speedy way home. There, we caught up on some TiVo, napped, enjoyed a simple dinner of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and called it a day.

We've complained a lot about living in Connecticut. Too expensive. Too stressful. Too everything. But it was nice to roam through the towns along the shore and enjoy the scenery.

art imitating real life

To make an incredibly long story as short as possible, my family drove some 13,000 miles on a 'cross country vacation in 1973. Our Volkswagen bus was filled above the brim. Mom and Dad alternated driver's seat and shotgun. Eldest brother, Gerry, had the most space in the 2/3 middle seat. Brothers, Chris and Sean, shared the back seat. And my sister, Cathy, and I made a little fortress out of the "wayfarback." All of our clothes, food, and sleeping bags were packed in two massive, silver fiberglass cubes secured to the full-size roof rack. We must have been a sight to behold.

Despite the fact that I was only seven years old at the time, I remember a good deal of this trip. Some things stand out -- riding a cable car in San Francisco and better still driving the bus down Lombard Street, fog and chipmunks (but no giant stone presidents) at Mt. Rushmore, red mud flooding into our tent at the Badlands, the "four knuckle knocker" scaring the pants off Sean who was sleeping in the bus, waking up with the bus parked inches from a cliff at the Pacific Ocean in California, eating a very late dinner at a place I'd never seen before called "Taco Bell" and not understanding why I couldn't get a hot dog. I remember a lot of games played in the car. I remember every minute of a whole day at Disneyland.

One memory is partial but permanent. It goes like this. We were in the desert Southwest somewhere (give me a break, I was 7). We'd stopped at a gas station for refueling and a bathroom break, and then headed back out on the road.

This is the part I don't remember, so I have to retell it as my Mom tells it. We were about half an hour past the gas station when a little voice in the back (that would be me) said, "Where's Cathy?"

Oops. We'd left one behind.

This is the part I do remember. My father drove faster than I'd ever seen him drive to get back to the gas station. And when we arrived, Cathy was standing in front of the huge plate glass window -- her long, brown hair braided, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her face twisted in anger, and her foot tapping impatiently. She scolded us, hopped back on the bus, and off we went. Again. With all present and accounted for.

Now, I can't speak for Cathy. I can't imagine how she must have felt. We had a plan in case anyone got lost on the trip (everyone was to call my father's secretary, and she would coordinate a location to reunite). My sister had followed the rules and called Diane. But there hadn't been any phones in the half hour trip past the gas station for us to use, as well. Remember, 1973. So, my poor sister had to wait almost an hour for us to come back.

In hindsight and for me (the one who didn't have to go through this), it's kinda' humorous. You know, one of those stories she can tell her grandchildren. She doesn't need to tell her children, because our mother's been doing that for years.

So when I saw the trailer for the new movie, Little Miss Sunshine, I laughed more loudly than I have in a long time, and with such force that I cried. I immediately called Cathy. I hope the past 33 years have created enough of a buffer for her that she might be able to laugh at it, too.

I think Fox Searchlight should pay my sister a royalty.



Cool to catch a Sufjan Stevens song in there, too.

untitled

Last night, I watched the director's cut of Almost Famous after attempting to view a horribly hacked version on network television last weekend. Amazing, the stuff they edited. Like William's mother telling the man painting a store window that "Xmas" is not a word in the English language.

"It's either 'Merry Christmas' or 'Happy Holidays.'"

Although the removal of some R-rated segments was appropriate, given the medium, I suspect they edited so many non-offensive bits simply to reduce overall playing time. Obviously, these editors were not emotionally invested in this movie, and therefore didn't understand that each component is critical to the story.

It is a love letter to rock 'n roll. It speaks to me in a way few others have done. Cameron Crowe is a genius. I recognize myself all over this movie. Not so much in the sequence of events (obviously -- although I did write record reviews and articles for an indie magazine called FACE), but in the overwhelming love of music.

I've only met one semi-famous rock band, and it was an unfortunate encounter with Slaughter during a record signing when I managed a record store in 1990. And I never hung out by the back door a la Penny Lane and her Band-Aids, hoping to meet (and perhaps do unsavory things with) the any of the bands I saw in concert.

Crowe perfectly captures the essence of teenage absorption, not just into music, into everything. The melodrama that is being 15 years old. The big difference is that our protagonist gets the joy ride of a lifetime while waging the battle between teen innocence and angst.

Though it may be obvious to say, the soundtrack is stunning. Crowe uses a brilliant combination of easily recognizable hits and deep tracks from seminal if not popular albums. And there are dozens of songs. Some are featured like Tiny Dancer, and some mere snippets. My favorite is My Cherie Amour playing while William is watching Penny Lane get her stomach pumped.

I would recommend this movie for everyone. I realize that art is made meaningful only by the context in which the audience views it. Not everyone will like this movie, and fewer still will feel as connected to it as I do. That said, give it a try. You might be surprised what you get out of it.

"So Russell, what do you love about music?"

"To begin with... everything."

A note. Elaine (William's mother) encourages Russell to do his job well by saying, "Be bold, and mighty forces will come to your aid." She attributes the quote to Goethe, although by all accounts, it was Basil King who uttered the words.

confession

I'd heard a lot about it. It sounded interesting, but it wasn't until a couple weeks ago that we decided to TiVo it and see what all the fuss was about.

Troy

Ted thought it was silly. I really liked it. And now, it won't get out of my head.

Gabriella

Catchy songs. Fun dancing. Sweet story. Cute kids.

Getcha Head in the Game

It combines some of my favorite cinematic elements -- musicals, Disney, Grease.

We're All in This Together

I restored it from the TiVo "recently deleted" file and watched it again when Ted wasn't home. Next on my list, buying the soundtrack. I'm just waiting to get my new computer (less data to transfer).

I admit it: I'm a fan of High School Musical. The cherry on top? I just read this Newsweek article, and Zac Efron has given hope to the unskinny teenage girls of the world (check out the peanut butter question).

blogging, gyrating, procrastinating

Blogger's still having woes. So, I'm using that as an excuse to delay continuation of my vacation stories (although it's certainly valid that I still can't upload pictures). Meanwhile, check out the Evolution of Dance. Apparently, this has been all the rage on the internet the last couple weeks, but I'm just now finding it. Although I find the whole thing very amusing (and am astonished at this man's energy), my favorite is the Brady clip. You'll definitely need sound for this one.

Going to try and go to sleep now. Despite an apparent midnight bedtime last night, I couldn't sleep and so stayed up until 2:15am watching movies (bits and pieces, and most of Hitch). Speaking of which, we decided on MI:III today. It was pretty good in an action movie kind of way. Certainly better than MI:2.

Interesting observation. Although it can be partly attributed to the first weekend for Cars (and the theater we went to had Cars on three screens), I wonder if the Tom Cruise flap is the reason behind a mere eight people attending today's 4:05pm showing. Hmmm. Good night.

seattle, part i

Evidence of my post-travel vacation is indicated by a tendency toward general lollygagging. The most constructive tasks I've accomplished since returning on Sunday are as follows:

• Writing a to-do list (such ambition and optimism!)
• Talking with my husband (a lot; not on the to-do list at all)
• Making dinner (twice; also not on the list)
• Showering (more than twice; nope, not listed either)
• Emailing my siblings
• Catching up with a friend on the phone (200 minutes)
• Hanging up coats (it took three days before I moved them from the railing to the coat rack)
• Folding laundry (Ted did the hard part of actually washing and drying it)
• Uploading pictures from digital camera to computer (wouldn't have taken long except for my looking at every one of the 300+ photos I took on vacation)
• Uploading pictures from computer to Costco (each picture 2MB... took a long time)
• Sending online order for prints to Costco (at 1:30am... because it took so long to upload the pictures in the first place)
• Shopping at Costco (to pick up prints... and groceries)
• Filling the car with gas ($3.149 per gallon)
• Putting away groceries
• Starting to organize vacation gifts (on the list!)
• Watching a movie about quantum physics (this required more work than anticipated)
• Actually doing laundry (it's been so long since I started this entry that more laundry accumulated)

One may question how constructive some of these tasks really were. That same person might also wonder why more pressing tasks (especially those on the aforementioned to-do list) have not been completed.

What can I say? I'm on vacation.

So, to get started on the travel recap, this entry is about our brief first stop in Seattle, from whence the cruise originated. This is the first time I've been back since my friend, Anna's wedding in September 2002. Ted has not been there since moving away in January 2000.

We arrived in Seattle on Wednesday, May 24th around 12:00 noon. We procured a stretch limo to get us to the hotel because it was less expensive than getting all four of us and our eleven bags onto a shuttle. We walked to the Steel Pig for lunch, wandered around the Seattle Center vicinity, relaxed a bit, and headed over to Lake Union for dinner at Chandler's Crabhouse (where, although the whole dinner was amazing, the Northwest Seafood Chowder -- with crab, shrimp, clams, and smoked salmon -- was amazingly amazing).

Thursday morning, we enjoyed the complimentary hotel breakfast (which was actually quite good), and headed off to Pike Place Market. We walked a bit through the park by Cutter's, showing to our friends, Sam & Donna, points of interest in Elliott Bay and taking a few pictures like this one of a ferry (that's West Seattle in the background).

* * * IMPORTANT NOTE * * *

You may notice that I nonchalantly referenced a photograph in the previous sentence, but oddly there doesn't appear to be a picture. Blogger continues to disallow me the ability to upload pictures, and frankly I don't want to wait to post all this fascinating vacation information. You'll just have to come back for the slide show later. Future photo references will merely contain an unobtrusive placemarker, instead of a Blogger rant such as this.

Thank you for your time and attention.
* * *

We wandered over to the Market and proceeded to spend approximately six hours there. A very easy thing to do, considering the vast number of merchants there. I've been to the Market more times than I can count. In the nine years I lived in Seattle, I not only took every visitor there (great souvenirs, views, and touristy experiences), I regularly went on my own (great veggies, fruit, and flowers, all fresh and at amazing prices). It felt very much like home to me, but it was fun to see Sam and Donna taking it all in for the first time.

*** PHOTO PLACEHOLDER #2 - Sam & Donna at Pike Place Market piggy bank ***


*** PHOTO PLACEHOLDER #3 - Pike Place Fish Co., a.k.a. "Flying Fish" ***


We each found a different place to get lunch and rejoined in a central location to partake of it. We wandered Post Alley for a while. After spending ample money and wearing out ample shoe leather (who are we kidding, they were all rubber soles), we made our way back to the hotel to tally the goods and find room in the suitcases. We walked to the closest Pagliacci's to pick up pizza for dinner that we brought back to the hotel and ate in the common area, before retiring for the evening.

That's one of the nice things about vacation: you can do things like retire for the evening.

Friday morning, we were hoping to walk to Seattle Center, hop the Monorail to Westlake Center for a tad more shopping, and then take the Monorail back to go through Experience Music Project before boarding the shuttle van to head for Pier 66. However, our plans were modified by two factors. First, the Monorail is currently not running. Oops! Second, the plan was pretty ambitious considering the time contraints.

So instead, we cabbed to Westlake Center. While chatting with the nice folks at Made in Washington, we learned that there were two stores a couple blocks away that carry a good deal of Seahawks merchandise. Sam headed in that direction while I introduced Donna to one of my favorite stores of all times, Fireworks. I exercised extreme restraint and only spent $90. I have said for years that this will be the first store I visit when I win the lottery. I could easily have spent $10,000 there (and that's no exaggeration).

I also stopped at Rochester to pick up three ties for Ted who, despite months of preparation for the cruise's formal nights, neglected to actually pack his ties (he did pack his new suit). And we went to Bartell's to get motion sickness wristbands and Bonine. I didn't believe that Ted or I would need them, but better to have them and not need them than to need them and pay cruise ship gift shop prices to get them.

Sam came back to Westlake a happy camper with bags full of Seahawks booty. We made our way back to the hotel, quickly reorganized, and hopped the shuttle to get to the ship. It was relatively painless to get through baggage, security, check-in, etc., and before we knew it, the ship was "setting sail."

*** PHOTO PLACEHOLDER #4 - Seattle skyline from deck 14 of the M/V Mercury ***


And thus ends the first Seattle leg of the trip. Will I have time to recap all the Alaska stops and the second Seattle stop over the weekend? I don't know. But eventually, I'll get it all here. I was bad about posting information on my other big trips (Brisbane in late 2004, Honolulu in early 2005). I must get better about such things.

Plans for the weekend (which Ted reminds me is now just an ordinary weekend, not part of vacation) include going to see a movie. Our current options are A Prairie Home Companion, An Inconvenient Truth, Cars, or Mission Impossible 3. I think if we see all four of them, we'll be fairly well-rounded. Other plans for the weekend? Organizing the stuff we bought on vacation (the Christmas storage boxes are ready!). I actually started that today. And relaxing. OK, maybe I can blog the rest this weekend. Depends on how cooperative Blogger is.

For the first time in two weeks, I'm going to bed before 2:00am Eastern time. That gives me three nights to get into the habit of waking up in time to actually, you know, get to work on time. 'night.

frustrated fat chick

I was wrong. It's only August 4th. OK, so the date above this post says it's August 5th, but I started writing this thing on the 4th and because I haven't gone to bed since then, for all intents and purposes, it's the 4th. Do I sound cranky? Sorry.

WARNING: What follows is a rant about fat. If you are in any way offended by this topic, or if you don't want to read my crankiness about it, please stop here. Thanks, and have a lovely day.

SECOND WARNING: When engaged in emotional typing (as I have been since I started this post), I revert to my tried-and-true writing style using copious parenthetical phrases. Some have found this technique distracting (you know who you are). I find it brings my writing closer to feeling like spoken words. In any event, consider yourself forewarned (that is, if you are brave enough to continue beyond this point even after two warnings).

THIRD WARNING: (Uh oh, make that three.) Several of the links in this post go to sites with potentially offensive content. Please be mindful of that when you click. You can't say I didn't warn you (repeatedly).

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I allude to size acceptance in dribs and drabs, inconsistently in this online journal. And as I’ve mentioned in those mini-rants, I believe that the only way I can do justice to my take on the subject will be to write an extensive and well thought-out essay. Said piece would require me to spend large, dedicated amounts of time doing nothing but wordsmithing my sentiments and opinions. The last time I mentioned this, I all but swore off writing about it again until which time I can get around to requesting a sabbatical and moving to the mountains of Montana (temporarily) to concentrate on the craft.

But there’s a new controversy swirling on the heels of a revelation, and the lure is too strong to resist. (Not that I don't empathize with the people who will lose their jobs or be otherwise negatively affected by the latter turn of events, but this made me chuckle.)

Quick! What is the first thing you think of when you see this picture?



Be honest.

OK, here's the evolution of my unspoken thoughts when I first saw it:

Wow, those women look more like real women than most anyone else I've ever seen in any ad. Especially in their underwear. That's kinda' cool. And how brave of them to pose so exposed. Of course, they're still far slimmer and shapelier than I, and they still adhere pretty closely to the emperical standards of beauty. But, hey, good effort.

I'm not brave enough to show my face zits and all (unlike Rosie O'Donnell, who regularly posts pictures of herself sans make-up and coif), much less my entire body covered only partially by my Skivvies. These women have the confidence to show us their not-size-0 bodies. Personally, I think it makes a tremendous stride toward creating an atmosphere where people can be comfortable with themselves, and other people are comfortable (and polite) enough not to sling barbs at them. It will be an immensely long journey -- especially in the current 'obesity epidemic' mania -- but this is a step in the right direction.

Now of course, there are a great many people who don't want porkers like me getting the crazy notion in our heads that we're OK and can (that is, are allowed to) be happy with ourselves. So, they're jumping up and down all over the place screaming, "FREAKS! FAT FREAKS!"

Take Richard Roeper of the Chicago Sun-Times. He fired a shot, and the ensuing barrage has been deafening (although it really started several months ago in England, where the Campaign For Real Beauty began). In this short article, he jams home his belief that these women are "chunky" and should be replaced with "fantasy babes" so as not to offend his delicate sensibilities any more. I now take a giant personal risk as a writer and dive head-first into a very old cliché. Beauty, my dear Mr. Roeper, is in the eye of the beholder. Just because you prefer women whose physicality differs from those represented in these ads, rest assured that there is a healthy contingent of men (and women) who are salivating (and more) at these women on a regular basis.

Then, there's Slate’s Seth Stevenson. His invective runs deeper and meaner than that of Mr. Roeper. I initially gave him leeway for his use of the word Brobdingnagian, because despite its dictionary definition of “marked by tremendous size,” I could see where he might be relating the tallness of the billboard ads to the giants in Gulliver's Travels (although I doubt that he would have called them Lilliputian had it been a small magazine ad). However, I could no longer give him the benefit of the doubt when he ripped through "husky," "big-boned," "ample," "round," and "hefty." He goes on to speak of paunches, asses, and cottage cheese thighs, and finally delivers his zinger, "bedonkadonk,"which he even misspelled (if a definitive spelling can be had when using urban slang).

He says, and I quote,

Dove says these ladies range from size 4 to size 12 (it's not tough to tell which is which), and were discovered all over the country.

It's not tough to tell? Are you serious? Do you have so little to do with your life that you have mastered the skill of being able to visually determine a woman's dress size by simply scanning her photo? Do you not live in the same country I do, where the average size of an adult woman is a 14 (which, by the way, means that all the "husky" women in this campaign are still smaller than average)? Do you really not interact with any women bigger than a size 4?

He goes on,

... in the end, you simply can't sell a beauty product without somehow playing on women's insecurities. If women thought they looked perfect — just the way they are — why would they buy anything?

Well, now I think you've missed the point that the supporters of this ad campaign are touting. It's not about the fact that Unilever wants to sell stuff. We know that. We're not complete morons. The point is that they were bright enough to realize that featuring women of various shapes and sizes would speak to tens of millions of women who can't relate to Kate Moss (and thereby potentially sell more products). The fact that it causes debate further drawing attention to their products (and thus, bringing even more sales) is a bonus.

There's also the very important point that it is possible for a woman to be comfortable with herself and still want to take care of (and pride in) her appearance. Not everyone who teems with self-assurance denounces all personal care products because their egos are intact.

At one point, he almost comes close to getting it:

When I first saw one of these smiley, husky gals on the side of a building, my brain hiccupped. Something seemed out of place. Here I was, staring at a "big-boned" woman in her underwear, but this wasn't an Adam Sandler movie, and I wasn't supposed to laugh at her. It felt almost revolutionary.

He tries to redeem himself:

Short-Term Grade: A. These ads are real attention getters—everyone's talking about them. On that level, they're a smashing success. Also, Dove now owns the "friend of the everywoman" angle. Smart move on their part to spot this open niche and grab it. Finally, if I can get sappy for a moment, it is sort of nice to see the unperfect have their day in the sun.

I'm supposed to believe that he's sentimental about these women whom he has just repeatedly disparaged, and thus gets "sappy?" The proximity to the word "unperfect" negates his flimsy attempt at supporting the poor fat chicks. I'm not buying it, Seth. Then, he backslides,

Overall Grade: D. Sadly, this is not a winning play for the long haul. If Dove keeps running ads like this, women will get bored with the feel-good, politically correct message. Eventually (though perhaps only subconsciously), they'll come to think of Dove as the brand for fat girls. Talk about "real beauty" all you want—once you're the brand for fat girls, you're toast.

"The brand for fat girls?" Please provide an example where a product became "the brand for fat girls" and then subsequently plunged into oblivion (i.e. became "toast"). If you're really paying attention to the numbers (you know, the ones we hear all the time about 60% of the population being overweight or obese), you might realize that 100 million not-thin women in the U.S. need products of all types (clothes, jewelry, furniture, cars, etc.). If only a portion of that group finds a brand that caters to them specifically and meets their needs appropriately, I guarantee you that their billions of dollars will be gladly spent to keep the maker of that brand (for fat girls) afloat.

And do you really think people will tire of "feel good" messages?

Eh, phooey! I've had it up to here with being treated like a human being. Bring back the ads that make me feel like crap! I'm more accustomed to being treatedly badly (and alternately being completely ignored) anyway.

I'd also like to know when it became politically correct to be a size 12 woman, or more importantly, to address size 12 women as a protected class.

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All right, so I've been working on this for hours. It's far too late for me to be here, and I'm not done. My husband has already had about half his night's sleep, and I haven't even brushed my teeth. So, the rest of this might be sloppy, and I won't get another edit in on the first part, so be kind. I'll come back and clean it up later.

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Huzzah, a nice counterpoint to the two previous writers mentioned. Wendy McClure wrote this piece, also in the the Chicago Sun-Times.

A book I recently discovered and only just started to skim is The Fat Girl's Guide to Life by Wendy Shanker . This is the first I've heard of Ms. Shanker, but so far, so good. I haven’t read the entire book (and therefore can’t account for the entirety of its content), but what I’ve read thus far is spot-on to my life. It is a more mature version of the connection I earlier felt reading Marilyn Wann’s Fat?So! and Camryn Manheim’s Wake Up, I’m Fat!

An aside. Why all the exclamation points?

In any regard, what I’ve seen of Ms. Shanker’s book bears a striking resemblance to what I would like to convey in my future essay; partly because the details ring familiar, and partly because I find her writing style to be engaging (perhaps it's that comedic training). The book also introduced me to the first website I've found that comes close to addressing size acceptance in the manner I find most intelligent (although, like previous disclaimers, I have only read portions of it and can't attest to all its content). That site is Big Fat Blog.

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On an indirectly related topic...

There’s this movie that I love, mostly because I believe that -- had I seen it when I was 14 years old and been capable to take its message to heart -- I might have better handled the struggle I had growing up big. It’s no Citizen Kane, but it’s required viewing for my 12-year old nieces and nephews when they come to visit. It’s called Angus.

In a nutshell, Angus is “the fat kid who’s good at science and fair at football” – and therefore the subject of much verbal abuse, ridicule, and humiliation from his peers. (Here’s one tepid review, but at least it’s not the dreck found on those horrible movie review sites.)

To me, the crux of this movie is simply learning to accept oneself. It culminates in his monologue at the Freshman Winter Ball. He’s decked his nemesis, Rick, and sets about defending his Bethune Theory that “there is no normal.” After observing that there is a room full of people who each have their own individual idiosyncrasies, he asks, “so what is it, Rick? Are you normal, or are you just one of us?” Rick –- obviously thick-headed and overly convinced of the power of his good looks and popularity –- replies, “whatever I am, it’s something you’ll never be.” Angus responds confidently, “Thank God,” turns on his heel, and walks out to the thunderous applause of his approving classmates.

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Last vignette for today/tonight/this morning.

Stephanie Klein keeps a blog called Greek Tragedy. The weak thread between my above rant and this often-brilliant site is her claim to be a fat girl. But the real reason I mention her here is because of her intermittent ability to write the hell out of a thought. Today’s entry is riveting.

I just recently learned about her blog (reading an article in the New York Times about how she turned her blog into a book contract), and so I’ve read very few of her numerous entries. I feel like I’m veering into that standard disclaimer again: “Any references made to Stephanie Klein, her blog, and any/all of her writings is in no way an endorsement of her opinions… .” Well, like I said, I haven’t read the vast majority of it, so it’s difficult to make a fully formed observation. But after tonight’s post, I had to mention her.

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Good stinkin' night. Ack, snorfff, zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....

graduations of all sorts

If the last posting was a bit vague, apologies for the confusion. Ethel Merman couldn't possibly have killed a television: her spirit is far too benevolent a force (she's been dead for more than 20 years, which would also make it difficult for her even to wound an appliance). It just happened that the last thing I'd watched on my husband's 54" monster TV was "There's No Business Like Show Business." Later that evening, the sound no longer worked. Ted attributed the death to La Merman's iron lungs.

Through a bizarre series of events (which I shall omit for the sake of brevity), the sound has since returned. See? Ethel only encouraged the TV to take a nice long rest. Nonetheless, the money we earmarked to buy a new TV this weekend is now in an account where it will rest and grow until which time the Big Guy actually kicks the bucket.

While the TV vacation took place, Andrew was being graduated* from high school. The rain -- which drenched Friday and returned Saturday evening -- managed to staunch itself long enough for a dry ceremony. The only real waterworks were from me (and, I suspect, numerous other sentimental relatives). I didn't cry too much, although it was hard to watch three of his classmates stand up to be recognized for going into the military. Especially after the principal spoke of how the class bonded on September 11, 2001 -- mere weeks after starting as Freshmen.

Andrew completed his high school career as a National Honor Society student. He sang the national anthem with a small choir during the ceremony, and he earned two scholarships. He was also a state champion shotputter. He'll spend the summer working like a madman at Sears to make more money for college. He's a good egg, and I'm proud of him (as if I had anything to do with his upbringing).


Andrew (center, with light blue collar) processing to his graduation

In other news of progress with the young ones in my life, Woodle is adapting well. There are still occasional, well, let's call them misunderstandings. But the volume is slowly coming down on those confrontations. He is no longer hiding all day long and just coming out in the evening. He's with us in the morning while we get ready. He's right at the door when we get home. He's even made himself comfortable on our bed -- which has been slightly challenging, given that Milo, Sadie, and Schmoo all have appointed spots there. Is there anything bigger than a king size bed?

My last picture of the night. I was working from home this evening, and Woodle decided to help me. Milo does this on a regular basis, although he's good about spending most of the time on his desktop afghan. Woodle is much more persistent. He sits between me and the keyboard, climbs up my shoulder and stays there for long periods of time, and circles all the equipment (printer, CPU, etc.) to get attention.

I was forced to remove a box of tissues and a stack of mail to make room for him to sit to the left of the keyboard while I worked. Before I did that, I managed to get a picture of him with my make-up mirror. I couldn't capture him actually looking at himself in the magnified side (which he did several times), but this is still a funny picture.


Woodle preens

It's so time for bed. As Tigger says, "ta ta for now!"

* Grammar lesson of the day: "Graduate" is a transitive verb, which means it must have a direct object. Therefore, a person does not graduate; he is graduated (i.e. the school performs the action of the verb upon him).