Friday, March 31, 2006
So, after some early morning adventure involving one runaway black-n-white cat (thanks so much Ben) I drove down to Universal Studios with Miss P. The first thing we did after paying $9 to park was go to where the meeting place for getting in to the taping was. No one was there yet. While we waited Shakira and Wyclf John (or whatever the hell his name is -- I don't care enough to look it up) did some rehearsal on the stage near where we sat. It was LOUD. Very LOUD.
I had a book, therefore I ignored as much of it as I could, the bass booming through my chest cavity from 40 feet away notwithstanding.
After about 2 hours, we were taken to the audience area -- chairs in the sun. Then there was 15-20 minutes of "warm up", which I ignored. Sorry, I do not dance in crowds on grass in the bright spring sunshine. I've been standing up for 2 hours. I'm sitting the hell down.
There was assorted Ellen stuff and then -- THEN -- Brenden Fraser stepped out. OMIGOD! I'm breathing air that might have touched HIM! He went on stage, talked in broad hints that there might be a 3rd Mummy movie in the offing somewhere, did some incredibly cute imitations of his sons, and threw toy footballs and stuff into the audience. I didn't get anything, but oh well. I'd have looked funny with a toy foot ball His hand had touched stuffed between my breasts (for full effect, you see).
I'll just be swooning, thank you.
Anyway, there was more show and more show, and I did a teeny bit of clapping and arm waving and mostly was grateful for the breeze. Miss P is an ardant Ellen fan, so we stayed after the talk show taping while she did some segment interviews with local news channels. Miss P wanted to stay for yet more stuff, but I threatened to leave her to walk home, and she was hot and thirsty, so she let herself be threatened.
So I'm a little sunburned, a little headachy, and tired because sun and fresh air just take it right out ofme. But, hey, free tickets to breath some of Brenden Fraser's potential air -- I'm there!
Thursday, March 30, 2006
(bet that got your attention).
This is not my only expressive venue (although I love you all). The Husband and I have been having great fun on a more literarily oriented forum (no) and getting involved in many a high minded discussion about such things as what we read (no), how we accept and give critique on writing (nope) and who our top ten sexiest people in the world are.
And somehow, through all of this, I was challenged to post evidence of myself in a ripped white t-shirt. (nuh uh) So, I put on, dampened, and ripped a white t-shirt, the Husband staged and took the photo, and I posted it.
It was quite the ego boost, I'll tell you now. No, it didn't bring the house down -- it was really a more PG (well, maybe PG-13) photo, almost tastefully artistic. Still, a few people posted some very, VERY complimentary responses, which was just amazing. You see, I've gotten well entrenched in the "Oh, I'm over 40 now, and I'm fat, and my age is REALLY showing on my face, so I can't even be attractive much less sexy anymore. I'll aim for clean and good smelling" rut. And something like this, done really for a joke, yet getting such a nice response, helps kick that numbing mind set to one side, at least for a while.
And no, I'm not posting the picture here, nor am I telling anyone where it is. I'm not THAT desperate for attention.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
And I just got my first wave of anger/jealousy/screaming indignation/self pity. What a cocktail. No little umbrella and no cherry.
At this point, I've surrendered the whole "child of my own" dream. It isn't going to happen, and most days of the week, I'm fine with it. Hell, for whole months at a time, I'm fine with it. It's only occasionally I think "If I'd just had my shit together when I was 30, or 34, maybe..."
But there's no going back. And I love this life I have. Children, for all the wonder they create and all the magic, aren't the only sources of wonder and magic. In fact, the idea of children is at least part fiction and fantasy. Lots of parents don't love the children they have, and being a parent isn't exactly the life some people are suited for. It ain't easy. I've watched. And there are good, fine, loving parents who, if they could, might have made different choices.
You will want what you have not got, it seems.
So, this wave of "what the hell" will pass, and quickly. I'll take my gift to the shower and see my pregnant best friend and everything will be fine. Besides, I suspect that if I really want to borrow the baby, she'll be MORE than happy to loan her out.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Ok, yesterday, during my visit to my very respected Doctor of Oriental Medicine, I mentioned concerns about my voice. We talked a bit, and then...
"I want you to know this, but I don't want you to over react."
"Have you ever heard of urine therapy? I want you to know it's available to you."
I very calmly and reasonably did NOT jump up, scream, run from the room and go home, icking and shivering all over (I THOUGHT about it). Instead, I nodded and said, "Yes, I've heard of it, but it makes no sense to me."
With a look of a person who has great wisdom, and who seriously believes in something, my doctor said, "Oh, you would if you read the book. I can tell you stories..."
And thus the conversation went on. My answer was a firm and unequivical "no", but I was polite. There are a lot of health ideas out there, and in some ways, the chemical concoctions peddled by medical doctors are no less exotic and bizarre (when you think about it) than this. Most of them have the advantage of not being quite so...um...personal. It sums up thusly -- I shall not drink my own pee unless I am in a dire situation where I need the water output in order to survive. Otherwise, it is a waste product, a method my body uses to remove toxins, following a natural process that is as old as life itself.
I've heard other people rave about this. My doctor is someone who, in general, approaches everything in a logical manner, with a great deal of research and examination. I suspect there is a basic fallacy involved in this particular "treatment" upon which a very logical sequence is constructed. There are a lot of fine, fine ideas in this world that are based on a single assumption that, if poked, causes everything else to tumble into a heap of toothpicks. I'm putting anything involving the consumption of pee into that catagory.
I won't even drink Mountain Dew, ferchrissakes.
In any case, that's how I spent my Monday afternoon. How about you?
Thursday, March 23, 2006
First, our Spring Concert, Don't Touch That Dial, will be April 8-9 (the link takes you to ticket information). You should show up. Why? Let's see.
I'm singing with the Jazz ensemble, Menage, doing a medly of big band hits
I'm singing with the Folk/pop ensemble, Homophonic, doing a medly of folk/cowboy songs
I'm singing with the barbershop quartet I told you about
I'm singing with Miss P in a duet
In other words, I'm going to be on stage A LOT, singing my widdle heart out, and it's no fun singing to empty seats. Besides, think of the blog entries you can make! Honest to goodness blogfodder!
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Ya know, the Christian Right should take a page from this notebook. Yelling about crap in TV gets you no where. Have fun with it instead. Praise the least popular.
Although I wonder how the people called "the worst of the wannabees" feel about it. Then again, I wonder at American Idol for pulling such people out of the pack to be made fun of on national TV. Yes, the mean words and snarkiness, the "I'm so much better than you" attitude is part of the show's popularity, but if you really pull it apart and look at it, except for the blood and death, it's kind of like the Roman gladiatorial contents.
Nobody loves you when you lose. Everyone likes an underdog. Everyone has an opinion but few want to listen to the ones about THEM.
I'm just not gonna watch. Ever Again.
Monday, March 20, 2006
Oh good gravy and a biscuit.
I sat in another room, but there was no escape. I heard 5 young hopefuls sing various Stevie Wonder songs -- songs I know and love -- in the EXACT SAME WAY. All of them are using the current "pop singer" style -- warbly, with lots of vocal gymnastics, tons of ornamentation. If they hadn't sung in different keys, I'd have been hard put to tell them apart. And all but one of them managed to be offkey for at least a note or two. One of them managed to be off key most of the time. It was a painful, horrible experience and I have great sympathy for everyone who has been sucked into the crack cocaine that is this show.
Why can't people want to imitate Annie Lennox instead of Mariah Carey?
After rehearsal, while I waited for The Husband to pick me up, there was some other show -- I assume it was a sitcom, although for me it was more of a sitwince.
My now 13 year hiatus from network television is cemented. I will never go back. NEVER.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
So anyway, that's my day and my weekend. La la la.
Friday, March 17, 2006
Canuck and RWB have returned home once more. It was a fun week -- too much fun for such a short amount of time, really. I understand that it is freezing in Toronto today.
Plans were for me to be singing tonight with Miss P. However, fate has dealt one of those hands -- I have no voice. In fact, the longer the day goes on, the less voice I have. Weee. I shall soon be a void sucking in noise from all those around me.
This bodes ill for the gig tonight. Miss P may have to perform alone. There's no point in going down to stand around and look stupid.
UPDATE: The Glorious Miss P got the venue to reschedule us! The sore throat continues to expand and contrast. Bleh.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
It's a love thing, I swear. The beloved dog of my youth had a real passion for piles of horse shit. I never shared this passion, despite his constant and persistant attempts to persuade me otherwise. It seems to be a canine universal, though. I keep all current dogs away from horses.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Do any of you remember, way back in the 60's and 70's, when you'd stop at a turnpike rest stop and they would have one of those plastic mold machines (the Mold-o-rama Machines and they are in TAMPA! thanks L'le E and Czeltic Girl!)? You'd put in your quarters and, through the plastic hood, you'd see the two metal molds press together, and the plastic (green, blue, yellow, red, or with the really fancy machines, multicolors) would pump into the mold. 50 seconds later, the plasticy smell in the air, the mold would open and the plastic shape -- a deer, a dolphin, an aligator, or any number of other shapes -- would be scraped off with an automatic arm and dropped into the shoot. You'd lift the plastic door and take out the plastic molded toy shape on a base, still warm.
I had so many of those over the years. They were cheap entertainment for the backseat set. They'd get thrown away at home, of course, because Mom was sick to death of the smell and the little chips of plastic coming off from the edge where the two halves came together.
They had two machines like that at Gatorland, but neither worked. I was dissapointed, because just looking at them made me think of being 7 again, and in the backseat of the car with a stack of comic books, driving to my grandmother's house. But you could still smell that melted plastic.
I'll have pictures up later on.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Gotta say I love it. Welcome, Lindsey, and your viciously peeing new puppy. (I've got a cat with the same, um, method of communication, only she's old and cranky).
Since I don't dare mess with MySpace because Ella M has terrified me, I'll just resort to talking here. MySpace wanted to know my first AND last name. That unnerved me. And Ella is scary, ya know. Don't mess with her.
As for comments, in the 3 years I've had comments open on my site, I've gotten perhaps one truly nasty comment (I don't count the loving snark I collect from the usual crew). Then again, my parents aren't around to know about it. I think parents are in the top ten reasons weblogs die. But, you do what you gotta do. Thanks for stopping by and leaving some breadcrumbs in my comments -- and MORE PUPPY PICTURES.
(known to self and others)
observant, reflective, sentimental, sympathetic
(known only to others)
able, accepting, bold, caring, clever, complex, extroverted, friendly, helpful, independent, intelligent, kind, knowledgeable, loving, mature, modest, organised, searching, self-conscious, silly, trustworthy, wise, witty
(known only to self)
(known to nobody)
adaptable, brave, calm, cheerful, confident, dependable, dignified, energetic, happy, idealistic, ingenious, logical, nervous, patient, powerful, proud, quiet, relaxed, religious, responsive, self-assertive, sensible, shy, spontaneous, tense, warm
75% of people think that SherriJ is intelligent
75% of people think that SherriJ is witty
able (12%) accepting (12%) adaptable (0%) bold (12%) brave (0%) calm (0%) caring (25%) cheerful (0%) clever (12%) complex (37%) confident (0%) dependable (0%) dignified (0%) energetic (0%) extroverted (12%) friendly (25%) giving (0%) happy (0%) helpful (12%) idealistic (0%) independent (12%) ingenious (0%) intelligent (75%) introverted (0%) kind (12%) knowledgeable (12%) logical (0%) loving (12%) mature (12%) modest (12%) nervous (0%) observant (12%) organised (12%) patient (0%) powerful (0%) proud (0%) quiet (0%) reflective (37%) relaxed (0%) religious (0%) responsive (0%) searching (25%) self-assertive (0%) self-conscious (12%) sensible (0%) sentimental (25%) shy (0%) silly (25%) spontaneous (0%) sympathetic (12%) tense (0%) trustworthy (12%) warm (0%) wise (12%) witty (75%)
Without a whole lot of song, dance and false modesty, I was surprised more by the "witty" assessment than the "intelligent" one. Yeah, ok, I am pleased to know that I seem like less of an idiot to others (at least on line, although at least three people who responded have met me) than I feel like I am. But witty? I was witty? When was that? How did I miss it?
And I guess the whole "introverted" thing is sort of contradicted by just having a weblog, but one reason I HAVE weblog is that I can talk to people without actually having to "Talk" to people.
Anyway, thanks everyone. It's still up if you want to go screw with the numbers. I think it's a lot of fun, myself, because it's ALL ABOUT ME.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Aside that, the Husband and I spent our weekend indoors, mostly on the computers writing, playing games, talking to people we couldn't see (and occasionally each other, as sometimes I just can't be bothered to actually TALK) and taking turns putting DVDs into the player. I did a fair bit of writing, in that I finally put an edit on a story I've worked on many times before and no longer have much that nags me about it (well, except the uses of dashes and ellipses. Punctuation keeps me awake at night.) I turned my back on another story, fiddled with a third, turned a forth over to a reader for some commentary, and pondered a couple others floating around my hard drive.
Today's grand adventures consist of folding laundry and taking my car in for a yearly checkup. Timing means I shall have to sit at Borders with my laptop while the Husband teaches his yoga class (oh horrors). Who knows? I might get out of the shelves long enough to pretend to write something.
Oh, and I found my lower retainer right where I suspected (with Holmsian precision) it might be, and the dog has managed to behave herself reasonably well as long as the bird doesn't start screeching. I cannot convince the dog that if she doesn't like the screeching she is free to go to another room, but I do not need to accompany her. No, she can't grasp that idea at all.
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Somewhere in the bedroom is my bottom retainer. I haven't found it yet. I know it's there because yesterday morning, during one of those mini-awakenings I have before the need to pee drives me to full consiousness (well, enough consiousness to locate my legs, operate them, and find the toilet) I turned over and heard something go "clink" against the shade of my reading lamp. My hair had flung something away as I turned. I thought it was an earring, and checked for that, then fell asleep again. On the next waking, I realize my bottom teeth weren't aching as usual. The retainer had finally poppped out of my mouth during the night.
That was the one thing I'd worried about with the retainer, especially with a stopped up head. Sleeping with my mouth open because I'm so fond of breathing had resulted in the spring loaded retainer popping out.
I did look for it, a little, but since I really need to clean the bedroom, I didn't look too hard. I have to find it today, though -- one day without the retainer isn't a disaster, but two days would be bad.
It's all spring=like outside -- clear, bright, windy. The roses I trimmed in January are covered in glossy dark green leaves with those reddish edges, and are popping out buds. And that is all the outdoors I've even bothered with.
How are YOU?
Thursday, March 02, 2006
And I'm craving salt. Now, I don't LIKE salt much. I eat unsalted popcorn. I brush the salt off popato chips and wash mixed nuts, for pete's sake. Yet I've been going after the salty food when I eat anything at all. I just did about half a bag of blue corn chips.
And I'm making lists of sick cure recommendations for the hubby when he hits the store tonight. (What, me go out of the house? With GERMS? I don't do that. I'm a good citizen and I keep my germs HOME as much as possible.) The only "cold cure" I can't handle is the zinc drops. We've got a pile of 'em, and I've tried -- oh yes, I've tried -- but they repulse me. Re Pulse Ive.
But I'm liken' me some salt. All weird.
Of course, this bit of information hasn't gotten back to the advertisers.
Anyway, I have a Yahoo mail address. I've had it a long time and I like it just fine. It's always had ads in it. Only lately, the ads have really begun to annoy me because they are SO STUPID. Usually I can tune it out, but the stupid has been leaking through. This particular stupid ad is for a wrinkle treakment. It flashes pictures at me of young women. These pictures have been photoshopped to have wrinkles and baggy eyes. Then --tada!-- the magic dropper passes over their faces and the dark shadows and wrinkles VANISH.
Over and over and over again.
They aren't even trying. The ad is so obviously faked, and so obviously designed to prey on my fears of getting old and ugly, I find myself irritated. I feel indignant and insulted. I mean, I knew they thought I was stupid, but I hadn't expected them to be so blatant about it. The ad should really have a headline saying
"Hey, Stupid Woman, You're Old and Ugly. Give Us Your Money . You'll Still Be Old and Ugly, but You'll Have a Bottle of Our Useless Crap and Maybe We'll Photoshop a Picture For you."
Truth in advertising, ya know?
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
More Americans can name the Simpsons characters than can list the rights in the First Amendment.
Why should anyone be surprised? We aren't inundated with the First Amendment, are we? They aren't used to advertise tires, donuts, or anything else, they don't have a catchphrase, and they don't show up in reruns.
I could only recall three myself -- free speech, freedom of the press, and free assembly. For the record...
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.
- from the First Amendment Center