Absolutely NOT recapping Project Runway Season 4, Episode 1

Here I am! Posting! Almost on time.

Unfortunately, this may not continue to be the case for a while. Work is, once again, rearing its ugly head. Again, good for the checkbook; bad for the blog reindeer games. I'm going to do my best to keep up my posting schedule, but I can't make any promises.

Last night, Christa and I stayed up waaay passed our bedtimes (well hers, certainly) to take in Episode One of Project Runway/Season Four. This major event included not only fashion but a fabulously exotic, delicious Indian chicken soup Christa prepared that I, personally, think she should post the recipe to, because it was TO DIE for. Very, very curry and delicious. The perfect antidote to these suddenly chilly fall temperatures.

I'm not going to recap the PR episode here because, one, that would take forever and, two, plenty of others are doing a great job of it, particularly one of my favorite bloggers, The Manolo, not to mention the Official Blog of the show itself, blogs from some of the stars of the show, AND blogs (watch the video on this link, there's noise) by former contestants. I will say that I had, last night, already dubbed the extra large male designer Fred Flintstone, and Christa had already pointed out that that one dress (top row, second from left in the composite at the top of the post; click for a larger image) with the ridiculous train looked like it was pooping fabric before Heidi Klum said it.

Okay, now paragraph three into my non recap, I just have to comment that Christa (I think) and certainly I differed with the judges on who the winner should have been. While Rami's winning design (above) was certainly nice and all, and he did a great job of draping, I just cannot get passed the fact that the thing just screams BLANKET to me. This whole feeling is just reinforced by the color. The thing looks like you could snip a few seams and use it as a saddle blanket. Is it just me? Could he not have gone for at least maybe a dove gray, something silvery perhaps?

Personally, I think the best design (one I can't find an individual photo to post of) is top row center; the B&W (I am almost obsessively in love with the combo, not that it's original or anything) with the turquoise trim. I LOOOOVE that dress!

So, there you have it. Good thing I didn't waste a lot of time recapping the PR.

Otherwise, you may remember my semi-drunken tirade about the tiny purse as essential night-out gear, or vacation/shopping accessory.

However, I'll have to admit to recently buying (yet another) tiny purse at Aphrodite Gallery last weekend, and then finding myself unable to resist the temptation to pare down and carry it on an every day basis.

Not that it's been easy, mind you. I found myself at Kroger this morning without my debit card (accidentally left behind in the Big Purse) and I constantly have the nagging feeling that I'm missing something very important, then can't put my finger on what that might be. It's sort of scary to be that light when you're used to carrying around what amounts to a piece of luggage on your shoulder.

It's all going to take some getting used to.

So, there it is, the latest TP. I threw in the Diet Coke for scale, and then couldn't resist adding my Tiny Stapler.

I love my Tiny Stapler.

Snaps to John and Kate (Now updated with clumsy but interesting edits at the bottom of this post)

At the risk of making this blog all about what I’m watching, which I’m not at all certain I want to do, I have to comment on the Discovery Channel show, John and Kate Plus 8.

First off, most of you know this already, but in case you don’t, I am the mother of a grown son. My boy Chase is placid and laid back today, but believe me when I say that hasn't always been the case.

He learned to climb out of his crib at around eight months of age (he took his first steps at seven months). When he was around ten months old, I was awakened to the sound of the front door of our apartment slamming closed at dawn one morning, and knowing the two of us were alone in the apartment, quickly deduced that my baby had climbed from his crib, undone the front door deadbolt, swung open the door and was now off on an early morning outing.

Without me.

While coming to all these conclusions mentally, my body had kicked into Mommy Overdrive. I had leapt from the bed, tore through the apartment and landed in the hallway, automatically in a full on ninja crouch, in record time. Unfortunately, there was no baby in sight.

I studied the five possible doors he could have gone through: three leading to other apartments and two that lead to (HORRORS) The Stairs.

As I briefly paused to plot my next move, I heard a muffled conversation coming from the next apartment,

“And how are you today,” an indulgent female voice said.

I knocked on the door. It was opened by a young man I had occasionally passed in the parking lot.

“Um, hi, is my baby here by any chance?” (Words, trust me, no mother really ever imagines herself saying.)

He opened the door wider to reveal Chase sitting at their kitchen table, as the man’s wife stood at the stove.

“We didn’t know whether to fix him breakfast or bring him home,” she said, “He just wandered in a minute ago.”

“Ah, thanks, but we’ll be going now,” I said as I retrieved my missing baby from their kitchen table, thanked them, and silently resolved to immediately buy a lock for the OUTSIDE of Chase’s bedroom door, something I had pondered, but felt was slightly inhumane up to that point. I had that day stumbled upon something far worse than locking a baby in his room: missing baby.

And so it is with this story (and many others like it) in mind that I watch “John and Kate Plus 8” a Discovery Channel series about a Pennsylvania couple with twin six-year-old girls AND six three-year-old sextuplets.

I know I should tear myself away, but when they start showing those J&K+8 marathons? I just can’t stop watching. The shock and awe keeps me coming back for more. I can’t stop asking myself: what would I have done with Chase and five other little munchkins just like him? Oh, and a set of older twins.

Dear God.

Still, John and Kate seem to manage remarkably well. Kate comes off as something of a drill sergeant, occasionally, tending to resort to screeching dog commands i.e., “Go!” “Stay!” at poor John on a regular basis, but overall, I have to give them credit for just getting out of bed every morning.

In that situation? I’m not sure I would.

[Edited to add: And, speaking of too much TV watching, all you HGTV fans out there need to check out Suz At Large's expose on Free Style. Turns out, HGTV defines "free" as $1,000. ]

[Edited AGAIN to add: The iList Blog gets the scoop on William Sledd's BRAVO show. The pilot episode is to be filmed IN PADUCAH. Get the details here.]

Leonard Cohen-I'm Your Man

I noticed "Leonard Cohen-I'm Your Man" DVD in the documentary section at the library last night and, remembering I had added the film to my Netflix queue a while back, was thrilled to check it out for free.

I have to say, I was unprepared for how fascinating and uniquely talented a character Cohen is. The movie, lovingly directed by Lian Lunson (who has a blog), tells Cohen's story through a series of interviews with Cohen himself, cut with live performances of his songs by some seriously talented performers of today (some not so much, but this is a small quibble), and interspersed with interviews of his famous disciples, among them Bono and The Edge of U2.

Cohen himself, a monk, songwriter, poet, philosopher and novelist, born in 1934, is still hugely magnetic at seventy-one, the time of the filming (2005). In his youth, his looks were (credit to the S-Man on this) a cross between Al Pacino and Dustin Hoffman. His music is, in a word, dark. This isn't the sort of stuff you toss in the player and bop along cleaning your house to on a Sunday morning. It's more of a rainy post-break up alone with a bottle of wine what's-it-all-about Friday night kind of deal.

Cohen, a Canadian, enjoyed the majority of his commercial success in the 1960's and 70's when he released folk albums. Judy Collins had a hit with his song "Suzanne" (of course, I have to throw that in). Rober Altman used Cohen's music exclusively as the soundtrack for "McCabe and Mrs. Miller". Cohen published two novels, The Favourite Game in 1963, Beautiful Loser in 1966, and a volume of poetry, Flowers for Hitler, in 1964.

Whether you're a Cohen fan, or a completely ignorant goober about him, like I was, "I'm Your Man" is a must-see. The interview footage of Cohen is fascinating and the performances sometimes even transcendent like this one of Rufus Wainwright's.

You abandon your masterpiece and you sink into the real masterpiece.

-Leonard Cohen

The Unbearable Lightness of a Clean Jacuzzi

Well, I did it. It only took half a day, a 24-hr Clarinex, a surgical mask, all manner of chemicals, and the flexibility of a contortionist, but my Jacuzzi? It is now clean. As opposed to how it’s looked for the last…I don’t know how long. Which is like a team of coal miners enjoyed a post-shaft pre-shower happy hour in there.

On the other hand, there is nothing I value more than good, nearly scalding hot soak before bed. During the renovation of the house, I could hardly believe my luck when the S-Man told me I could have my very own Jacuzzi. And I do mean my very own. The S-Man describes bathing as “Reclining in a pool of one’s own filth.” Ahem. (Almost as memorable as his declaration on wall-to-wall carpet: “Nailing your dirty underwear to the floor and walking on it forever.” We haven’t had carpet since.)

Anyway, the S-Man’s dire opinions aside, I could hardly wait to enjoy steamy neck-deep jet-fueled soaks. Our first night in the house I turned on the water adjusting it to the exact near-scalding temperature that I particularly enjoy (one that leaves me a faint shade of lobster red), lit all my vanilla scented candles that I had scattered about, and placed my freshly laundered fluffy white terrycloth robe nearby. The stage was set.

After the tub had been filling for about 15 minutes, I stopped in to check the temperature. It was not hot. Not warm. Not lukewarm. But cold. The tub was barely a third of the way full and the hot water supply was exhausted. Choking back a sob, I went to confer with the S-Man who then spent some time with wrenches and various tools in the water heater closet mumbling and cursing, ala Darren McGavin in A Christmas Story. He emerged after a time saying the whole thing was fixed but would likely have to spend some time re-heating.

I set my bathing sights on the next day when I repeated the candle-lighting-robe-tub-filling process. This time the jets were almost covered when the hot water ran out. Better, but still not workable. Thereafter ensued a more heated (no pun intended) exchange between the S-Man and I that eventually escalated to include phrases like [edited] and [edited].

In short? I had all the hot water I was getting.

Not to be denied my red-hot soaks, I developed a strategy. I began by filling the tub with straight up hot water, not even engaging the cold. This gave me about half the hot water I needed. I resolved to then wait until the water in the tank could heat up again and fill the tub the rest of the way.

In an extremely happy coincidence, it just so happened, at just that time, Wheel of Fortune was on. So, FurGirl and I relaxed with a few puzzles while waiting for the next wave of hot water. Meantime, the S-Man came home from a meeting and disappeared into the bedroom to change clothes. He returned a bit later saying, “You forgot to let the water out of the Jacuzzi.” To which I replied, “I’m not finished filling it,” to which he responded, “I let the water out.” Thereafter followed another of our rapidly escalating exchanges that I ended by screeching, “Unless there is a dead body floating in the Jacuzzi….wait, oh hell no, even if there IS a dead body floating in the Jacuzzi? DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING.”

Once agreed on that point (and we are agreed on that point, I assure you) I set about again employing my strategy on the tub a few nights later. This time I progressed passed phase one and after an hour or so had a fully filled steamy hot tub of vigorously undulating water. All for me. I had my candles. My robe. The stage was set. I shucked off my clothes. I…

I realized? Our Jacuzzi is fairly tall and enclosed by a cold, tile wall. And it doesn’t have one of those built in steps like you often see. Nope. Which meant that I had to, much like mounting a horse, throw a leg over and then sort of…take a little hop to actually get in (I can only imagine the ridiculous sight this is).

But once in? Ohhhh…..heaven. The clouds parted, the angels sang, I soaked, I turned my favorite shade of lobster red. Life was good. Life was very, very filled with hot steamy goodness.

Eventually, I emerged from my reverie and, noticing that the water was beginning to cool, I shut off the jets and prepared to de-Jacuzzi. However, the reverse of the horsey mount into the tub? Proved to be a little more dangerous. Because this time, I was soaking wet and every inch of the bathroom floor is ceramic tile. Meaning I was going to have throw a wet, slippery leg over the side while clutching for dear life on to the tiled surround. Not exactly the ending one would envision for a leisurely soak. Of course, the S-Man was far too important to be at home at the time.

Nevertheless I made it out (barely) and made a mental note to get a rug so I’d at least have a more skid-free landing target. I did discuss the possibility of a step installation later with the S-Man whose reaction to the sad, tragic, horsey-hop story was, “Really?! Can I watch next time?”

Eventually, I would become acclimated to the particular idiosyncrasies of my own particular Jacuzzi and, Lord knows, it’s worth all the staged, timed filling and the horse hopping.

And, while I know one isn’t supposed to use oils and bubbles and salts in the Jacuzzi, as you know, I’m a girl who loves her products. The day of course had to come when I became overcome by temptation and decided I’d add just the TINTIEST drop of Winter Candy Apple Bath and Body Works bubble bath to my second stage filling one night after turning on the jets and wandering off. I returned to the bathroom to find a mound of bubbles worthy of an I Love Lucy episode towering a good three feet above the edge of the tub.

Most recently, I reasoned that bath SALTS shouldn’t be a problem and so I added some innocuous looking but darkly colored, salts. Which the jets then proceeded to pulverize into fine hard to remove sand, and then fling on to the walls resulting in the coal miner’s party I referred to at the top of the post.

Which in turn provoked the latest round in the absolute WORST thing about the Jacuzzi. And that is cleaning the thing. I’ve tried everything. Those cleaner scrubbies mounted on a telescoping arm and brushes with reeeally long handles and every known bathroom spray and cleaner. There just aren’t any two ways about it. I have to climb into the thing and spray and gently scrub and dry. Cleaning the bottom? Eventually means a sort of ridiculous balancing on my stomach on the rim, legs extended, kind of in a flying Superman pose. But way more precarious.

This last round of cleaning was so traumatic (see paragraph one) that I actually managed to stay out of the Jacuzzi for two whole nights unable to do anything but admire that hard won sparkle.

But eventually, I again succumbed to the seductive siren’s song of hot, hot water. In fact I’m so suggestible that way that, midway through writing this, I filled the tub.

I’m off to soak THIS minute.

The Waitress

The big news of today is that, after reading this, (finally!) a post by one of my all-time heroes, Nora Ephron, it made me wonder if I post too often. I mean, is it not better to come off with a really wonderful post, ala Nora, very occasionally than to blather on just about every day?

I certainly have examples in my own life that more occasional, introspective posting might be better.

'Tis a puzzlement.

In other other blogger news (?), Rob Rummel-Hudson continues to chronicle his experiences being a "fancy pants" (his words) published author. Reading posts like this, demystifies the book deal process. It helps to be a really good writer. The book is scheduled to go on sale in February, 2008.




While trolling around my various favorite movie sites recently, I stumbled across the information that "The Waitress" starring Keri Russell (Felicity) will be released on DVD this month. I saw the movie back in the summer with with my friends, Mary and Christa, and we all all three loved it. While searching for a preview I could grab so I could recommend the movie here, I ran across the news that Adrienne Shelly, who wrote, directed, and co-starred in the film, was brutally murdered in her Manhattan office not long after the movie wrapped, just at a year ago.

I'm surprised I didn't catch this news at the time, I fancy myself at least marginally "up" on these things.

[On the other hand, I have just now finished up Season Three of Grey's Anatomy. ]

In any case, I was very saddened to hear of Shelly's death. I remember thinking as I watched The Waitress that whoever was behind such a clever piece was very talented and likely headed for even greater success. Saddest of all, Shelly left behind a three-year-old daughter, Sophie, who had to have at least partially served as inspiration for a story about having a child.

So do add The Waitress to your queues and must-see lists. Unfortunately, it is the last of its kind.

The Official Breakfast of Bizzyville

As I was whipping up my favorite breakfast treat just now, it occurred to me that you guys might want the recipe. For the quickest, simplest, yummiest almost practically diet breakfast food ever.

For some reason, I've always had an early morning sweet tooth and the S-Man's (giving credit where credit is due, please make a note) cinnamon tortillas are just the thing. All you need is:

Satan's Cinnamon Tortillas

A flour tortilla
Real or fake butter
Real or fake sweetener
Cinnamon

Spray pan with some non-stick stuff and lightly brown tortilla on both sides. Remove tortilla from pan. Spritz or spread butter on tortilla. Sprinkle with two envelopes of fake sweetener (or sugar), sprinkle with some cinnamon. If you're spritzing, re spritz the whole thing. Roll it up. Eat. Repeat as necessary.

While this obviously isn't a calorie free breakfast, even Weight Watchers only counts a tortilla as 1 point. If you use fake everything else, it's a fairly responsible treat. For a cinnamon roll hound such as myself, it is one heavenly substitution for the real thing.

Otherwise, have a chuckle from one of my favorite blogs, Go Fug Yourself. The girls were forced to fug the amazing Christie Brinkley (and, by the way, snaps to Christie for immediately kicking her fetus diddling hubby to the curb when the affair came to light) but in the usual fug tradition, did it in the most amusing possible way.

BTW? Our girl Christie there is FIFTY-three. If she's had work, it's damn good work. I saw an interview with her once where she claimed the secret to her beauty longevity is her vegetarianism coupled with a strict regimen of daily scrubbing the living crap out of her face with something abrasive. I can't remember what the abrasive thing was. Christie's reasoning behind what would seem dangerous scrubbing is the fact that men scrape the top layer of skin off their faces every day with a razor, yet seem to have fewer facial wrinkles as a result. Christie figures she'll mimic that on her own million dollar face. Looks like it's working (although, let's not pretend the girl doesn't have an army of estheticians on her team as well).

Okay, where was I? Ah, yes. Sharing a few links.

I know ya'll are probably sick of my love affair with TED, but I can't help it. I want to run away and join TED and save the world and rub up against really smart people. I've also, probably due to a viewing of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" at a too-young age, had a long running aversion/ fascination about electro-shock therapy. I know it still goes on to this day...but how can it be justified (I've wondered)?

Which is why I found this TED talk on the subject by surgeon and author, Dr. Sherwin Nuland, especially interesting. Midway through the lecture he makes a rather startling skirt-lifting revelation. The whole thing is around 20 minutes, but if you have an interest, it is fascinating.

A Kentucky Fried...Omen?

Newsweek's Howard Fineman muses on (SFW) what the election of Not Ernie Fletcher might mean for the nation.

***

In other political news, I received an e-mail from the "California Draft Gore" campaign, a movement to get Gore on February 5th California presidential primary ballot. Activists in the organization have been working to gather signatures toward this goal since October 8th. The effort has been made more difficult by the recent fires in the state and also, as they've gotten to less populated areas, they are having trouble getting adequate coverage.

The e-mail goes on to say:

In an interview with Rolling Stone magazine just after he won the Noble Peace Prize, Al Gore was asked what he had to say to those of us who are working to bring him into the race. Here is a part of his answer: "If I do get back in the political system in the future – well, keep that energy stored up and let's have a go at it then." A few days before, Gore's Chief of Staff, Roy Neel, said that Gore has not ruled out a run in the future and then defined "future" as "after today."

Hmm.

Contributions are being taken here.

I see Reds and smell like Key Lime

Today I had to get up very early (pre-dawn, even) for an early morning appointment. This included a fairly significant drive there and back that gave me time once again to listen to a good chunk of my Warren Beatty book.

I'm toward the end now, finally, and much of that section focuses on the movie "Reds" that Warren produced, co-wrote, directed, and starred in during the early eighties. The film eventually won three Oscars, including an Oscar for Beatty as Best Director.

Thing is, I never saw the movie. At best, I've only seen bits and pieces. So, in a fit of complete hedonism, when I got into town after my appointment, I popped by the library, checked out a copy for free and spent the better part of the afternoon piled up on the couch taking it in. (Don't tell the S-Man. He gets crazy when he thinks I'm lollygagging on the couch eating high quality dark chocolate and watching Warren Beatty movies on a perfectly good work day.)

To give you the basics, the "Reds" plot centers on John Reed (played by Beatty, natch), an American journalist and passionate socialist living and working in NYC during the years leading up to WWI. On a trip somewhere obscure he meets Louise Bryant (played by Diane Keaton), an equally passionate feminist and writer. The two fall in love and Reed persuades Bryant to move to New York. There she is thrown in with Reed's circle of intellectual friends which include liberal thinkers and luminaries of the time like playwright Eugene O'Neil (played by Jack Nicholson), Reed's bestest friend. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Eventually Reed and Bryant marry and together travel to Russia to cover the revolution together. At some point, the passionate Reed, unable to help himself, crosses the line from journalist to revolutionary. Much drama ensues.

My impressions were as follows (because, aren't you dying to know?):

1. At 194 minutes, the movie is just too long. It's good, but it's not that good.
2. The similarities between Reds and Dr. Zhivago are unmistakable. They are both epics involving star crossed lovers set against the backdrop of the Bolshevik revolution (though Reds is a little more centered in America.) Reds does not stand up well to that comparison.
3. Good gosh a'mighty, this is the sexiest role I've ever seen Jack Nicholson play. He is positively sssmokin' as Eugene O'Neil. As far as I'm concerned, his performance is the best in the film.
4. How the crap does Diane Keaton manage to snag all the great roles not to mention all the great guys (she's on Beatty's "list")? I don't get it.
5. I enjoyed seeing a film about people on fire for their work and willing to go all the way for what they believe in. Isn't that what it's all about?

On a different, but no less important note, thanks to a link from my friend, Keena, I have learned that my girl smell is Key Lime. Not surprising since it is also one of my favorite pies. I'd link to Keena, but her vlog is now private. You should know that her girl smell is Lemon. I believe it is of vital importance that you determine your girl smell. It is obviously not wise to go through life unaware of these things.

Your Scent is Key Lime

Sassy, real, and totally smooth You're a total flirt who's always ready for a challenge!

What's Your Girl Smell?

A Kentucky Fried Election

I have to say, Election Day was pretty traumatic for me.

I am a person who believes in voting. Believes it is the least I can do for all those passionate people of yore who died so I could enjoy the privilege. But the state of Kentucky? Well, it is such a den of good-ol’-boy politics and back-room deals that even I, seriously, just considered staying home in my red long handles and ignoring the whole crappy situation.

The Governor’s race between Ernie Fletcher (R) and Steve Beshear (D) has been just sad. Incumbent Fletcher has basically done nothing but campaign by trying to distract from his disastrous first administration. He does this by focusing on the random topic of legalized gambling, an issue that isn’t really even an issue. Unless you ask Ernie Fletcher, that is. Because…Ernie Fletcher is NOT going to allow legalized gambling, nosiree! (What does Ernie Fletcher think?) Ernie think: Gambling: BAD. Ernie think: Not gambling: GOOD! Ernie stand for: truth, justice, and NOT GAMBLING.

This is more understandable when you consider Fletcher’s first administration included nothing but: a) a major hiring scandal and b) that time Fletcher scared the sh!t out of Washington, DC, NORAD, and the defense department, and damn near got his a$$ shot right out of the sky, when his plane buzzed dangerously close to the no fly zone while transporting him to Ronnie Regan’s funeral.

Fletcher’s opponent, Steve Beshear’s major campaign premise is: he’s mostly definitely NOT Ernie Fletcher! Nope! Still not Ernie Fletcher! Steve would like to talk about how bad Ernie Fletcher is and please ask you to please keep in mind that he continues to NOT be Ernie Fletcher!

And THAT, friends, is the Kentucky governor's race! ‘Cmon down, there’s surely a relative of yours around here somewhere we can fix you up with during your stay!

Long story short, I voted. I wasn’t happy about it, but I did it.

***

Congratulations to....Positively NOT Ernie Fletcher!

More Hi-Ho?

Looks like there’s a good chance I may be working again soon.

So, I’m taking this whole looming job thing as the perfect excuse to sit up in Bizzyville HQ in bright red long-handle underwear (from The Gap circa the 1990’s), a pair of oversized insulated hiking socks stolen from the S-Man’s sock drawer, with all this topped off with a cast-off dress shirt of the S-Man’s (which happens to hit me pretty far south of the knees) and read and write and futz with photographs to my heart’s content.

I’d have to call my look a step up from Sunday, though, when I spent the day in my voluminous LL Bean flannel gown and some knee socks. The gown is missing a key button, an issue that I manage to address with a strategically placed binder clip. Pretty! The S-Man had the gall to suggest, as I was applying the binder clip to the gown, that maybe since I’m currently unemployed and all, I might perhaps find the time to possibly sew on a button. Which, I pretty much responded to by saying,

“What? Are you CRAZY,”

just before snapping the clip into place, slipping my feet into a pair of stained antique Birkenstock clogs, hurriedly pulling my unruly hair back with zebra print headband, and heading to my computer to enjoy another day of digital Nirvana.

In hindsight, maybe the knee socks were a little much.

In keeping with my tradition of no professional disclosure, I won’t discuss the impending or any job here either, except to say that it isn’t full-time. Hopefully, this will mean continued opportunity for mostly uninterrupted online reindeer games, but I’m still contemplating throwing another job into the mix. I can’t help myself, I feel compelled to book myself up with paying gigs. The fear of losing my digital cable connection (a bill for which I am responsible) is a hell of a motivator.

The S-Man continues to proclaim his intention of NOT paying the cable bill if I lose the ability to take care of it myself and, although I think there’s a good chance he’s not serious, I’m not really up for finding out. I can hardly bear to contemplate, much less face, a future without Candace Olson or Niecy Nash in it. Just don’t even make me.

[Edited to add: But let's just be honest, is there anything really more important than keeping my homies supplied with fresh, hot content? I don't think so.]

No End in Sight

The S-Man returned from an out-of-town trip last night tired and wishing only for a quiet night with a movie on the couch.

Instead we opted to watch "No End in Sight" a movie so disturbing that we had to actually pause the thing and eat Tums to calm our roiling stomachs before seeing it through to the end.

The film tells the story, from an insider's perspective, of the Bush administration's complete lack of either expertise or a plan in dealing with the process of reconstruction in Iraq. The chaos that resulted from this incompetence is almost unimaginable and, if the film is to be believed, is the direct cause of the insurgency that continues to this day.

Despite voluminous research and predeveloped plans available from the Army, Bush left the decision-making on the massively important issue of Iraqi reconstruction exclusively to the trinity of stupidity and hubris: Rumsfeld-Wolfowitz-Cheney.

The result was a bumbling ham-handed almost non-attempt at bringing order and security to a country that we had purposefully plunged into chaos based only on the flimsiest of rationales (WMD? The "Saddam-Bin-Laden" connection?). The resulting unemployment, death, destruction, abuse, looting, lawlessness, and lack of basic human services (like, I don't know, electricity maybe?), actually managed to overshadow the inhumanity of Saddam Hussein for the Iraqi people.

Aren't we special.

Based on interviews with people like:

Richard Armitage, Deputy Sec'y of State, 2001-2005
Faisal Al-Istrabadi, Iraqi Ambassador to the United Nations
Ambassador Barbara Bodine, In charge of Bagdad during the US occupation
General Jay Garner, Administrator, Office of Reconstruction and Humanitarian Assistance
Paul Hughes, director of strategic policy for the occupation (2003)
Col. Lawrence Wilkerson, former chief of staff to Colin Powell
Robert Hutchings, chairman of the National Intelligence Council (2003-05).

to name a few, "No End in Sight" offers a perspective on the Iraq situation that deserves a look by pretty much everybody.

Just be sure to keep the Tums handy.

Three bloggers (& many others) diverged in a wood and I took lots of pictures...

The annual family hike and bonfire took place yesterday in perfect weather conditions and great light. We figure we traveled about 3.5 miles to Sandy Branch Bottom and back and I, for one, took well over 200 photos, only a few of which (owing to the photographer and not the subjects) turned out acceptably.

Here are a few of my favorites:

(Oh, and P.S.? We're not proud of the fact that it is necessary for us to have a rakish, unidentified armed gunman along, but when there are various famous writers, bloggers, iDates, brilliant minds [legal and otherwise] and such as that completely exposed and vulnerable in the wilderness, you just can't be too careful.):

You can just go ahead on be impressed with this photo. Does it not look like maybe an investment ad or a magazine cover? Although...now that I look at it, I probably should have gotten them full body all the way to the bottom. Damnit! It's always something:

Also necessary on any hike, are our canine friends, who helped lead the way. That's FurGirl in the foreground and her good friend, River, hamming it up in road center further on in the distance:

The siblings present:

Ashton searches the treetops for the elusive red headed woodpecker:

Not sure why I like this one so much but there it is:


Bethany belts out a tune while a pensive matriarch stares into the fire:

[Note to Tony: Here are links to trailers of the movies we discussed: The Secret Life of Words and Away From Her. As it happens, both movies have Julie Christie and Sarah Polley in common.]

Runnin' Down A Dream

While the rest of us have been going on about our business getting old and gray, singer/songwriter/artist Tom Petty has stealthily managed, through sheer dint of will, talent, and perseverance, to conquer the music industry one small step at a time. More interesting still, while in possession of enough ego to make it all happen, Petty, lo these last long three decades, continues to work as a collaborator with his real, authentic (meaning not just hired musicians) bandmates, The Heartbreakers.

Along with their serious musical chops, Tom and the band are known as music video innovators, using the advent of MTV, which happened to coincide with their debut, to their advantage as well. Their videos most always are contributions beyond just the music, they are additional artistic achievements in and of themselves.

This whole amazing epic is chronicled in a movie currently premiering on The Sundance Channel, directed by Peter Bodganovich**, called "Runnin' Down a Dream". The S-Man and I took it in a few nights ago, and were riveted for the full four-hour running time of the film.

I can't recommend the movie highly enough. It is a fitting tribute to and fascinating look at an artist and a band that have earned their legendary status and continue to produce quality original music, not to mention play their asses off while seemingly remaining true to themselves. A rare acccomplishment indeed these days.

For now at least, I don't think the film can be seen anywhere but the Sundance Channel. The next airing is scheduled for November 3rd (today!). Check the schedule here.


**[An aside (because I have no control as you well know by now): Director Bogdanovich, is perhaps best known for his Oscar winning film, The Last Picture Show, but is also known for his affair with Cybill Shephard during the making of the movie and then his engagement, back in the 80's, to Playboy Playmate Dorothy Stratton. Sadly, Sratton was murdered by her crazed ex-husband before Bogdanovich got around to marrying her. After Dorothy's death, The P-Bog blithely moved on to initiating a relationship with Sratton's sister, a teenager at the time--he was in his thirties. I don't make this crap up, but I figure you'd want to know.]

A Winter Obsession

I concluded my temporary job today. It went very well, I must say. It was nice to be around and catch up with old friends, make a new one, and the work was familiar and sort of reassuring.

No idea where I'll end up from here, but I'm beginning to make peace with and even like the feeling of having an open-ended and unpredictable future. I've talked to several people lately about possible opportunities and it's all kind of exciting. Surprisingly so, even in this little town.

As I alluded to in my last post, my temporary assignment made some retail therapy possible. I convinced myself I needed some new clothes (AHEM--I had a coupon, okay?) and promised myself that I wasn't going near the crack cocaine store at the mall which is, for me, Bath and Body Works.

I did very well staying away the first night, but when I realized I had inadvertently been given the wrong shade of foundation at the Clinique counter, I had to go back. Back a second night to make an exchange.

I cracked. Cracked like a dry twig.

Like the junkie I am, I did the old I'm-only-gonna-get-hand-soap-'cause-it's-on-major-sale-and-I'm-down-to-my-last-three-bottles-but-I-need-more-in-case-of-nuclear-holocaust.

As my Mom would say, "Yah, sure."

People. B&BW has once again launched their holiday fragrances. The line again includes a scent that was marketed last year only in candle form that was billed as "Alpine Winter". This year they are just calling it "Winter". Either way? It's the same fragrance and it is, hands down, the most delicious winter Christmas scent ever developed on the planet and I know a thing or two about fragrance.

Thankfully, it is now available in oil form, which is by far the cheapest and most effective way to achieve scent in your home. I can get twice the fragrance from one oil burner I can get from three or four candles. B&BW has some delicious smelling stuff (Sensual Amber), and they have their duds (Midnight Pomegranate), but "Winter" is a home run way out of the park. It smells like balsam, and Christmas tree and snow and..something sparkly and spicy. I predict it won't last, so I encourage you to stock up now. The good news is that the oil burners are on sale, so you can save a little there.

At first I thought it wasn't, but the"Winter" scented oil is available on the website here. They describe the fragrance as "a combination of shimmering pine, crisp bayleaf and red cinnamon".

Of course, I'm not burning my Winter scented oil until after Thanksgiving...wouldn't dream of it! I wouldn't be burning it, for instance, right now or anything.

Otherwise, if you haven't already, check out our press in the Boston Globe.

Lastly, in response to a video my Dad e-mailed me recently, an oldie of the Carol Burnett Show featuring the crack-up antics of Tim Conway and Harvey Korman, I'm posting a video for him (but I think it's one everyone can enjoy):

Sicko on DVD

If you didn't see it in the theaters, don't miss it on DVD. Michael Moore's Sicko will be released on DVD next Tuesday.

As for me? I've been starting, and then not finishing, many really boring posts. I was forced, against my will, to buy new clothes last night. This morning I stepped on my $XXX glasses. I'm pretty sure I'm getting my husband a purse for Christmas.

TTFN.

Halloween Wishes and Excuses

Hi guys! Sorry, AGAIN, I'm off my posting schedule.

But, still, I'm thinking thoughts and things are happening and I'll be back soon.

In the mean time, in honor of the day, shouldn't we all do the time warp again?

One of those daze(s)

I know! I haven’t posted in. Well, in days.

I’m sorry!

It’s just all been too much for me, this going back to work temporarily. It has thrown my life into complete chaos, this not watching Dr. Phil at 3:00 p.m. and this not sitting at my computer until noon in my PJ’s and this waking up unnaturally.

Not only that, I had to get up at FIVE a.m. Monday and travel to some place to take tests that took from 8:00 a.m. in the morning until 1:30 in the afternoon to complete. Which wouldn’t have been all that bad if I hadn’t been seized, right in the middle of the whole thing, with a coughing spasm the likes of which I don’t think I’ve ever experienced before in my whole life.

One minute I’m sitting there minding my own business calmly coloring in footballs with my number two pencil, and the next minute I’m coughing and hacking uncontrollably. I can’t breathe, my eyes are watering, and I can’t stop. Every time I manage to gasp in some breath, I feel like I’m finished and then…dear God, I’m not.

Of course, I couldn’t have been alone in the testing room. No! There were at least five other (unnaturally quiet, I might add) test takers there who where blessedly cough-free. No doubt they were hoping the Center for Disease Control would roar up and a team of Haz-Mat suited professionals spirit me away in some sort of hermetically sealed paddy-wagon. Heck, I was beginning to wish it.

It’s like I was Ash in “Alien” except, thankfully, nothing burst from my chest at the end. And, people, I’m not a pretty cougher (or cryer). I generally turn an alarming shade of blotchy boiled lobster red. It’s scary, I assure you.

After a while, I pulled it together and managed to complete my tests although my face remained horribly spotted and my throat really sore. Then I had to drive many miles in a rainstorm to get home, a particular pet peeve of mine (driving in rainstorms, that is).

The next day, it was, STILL, pouring rain (not that we don’t need it). After hurriedly getting ready for work, FINALLY locating an umbrella, rushing out with an ice cold Diet Coke in hand and jumping into my car, I get to work (two blocks away), leap from my car, unfurl my umbrella, and begin rushing toward the building only to realize, halfway there, that I’ve left my freshly popped elixir of life, Diet Coke, in the cup holder of my now locked car. By now many feet away. In a rainstorm. OH, THE HUMANITY! DAMN IT TO HELL!

As I’m repeating the above-referenced phrases to myself, I reach the first sheltering overhang of the building and retract my umbrella. Which, I did not realize until that moment, has a special surprise when one does this too quickly. And that is that it flings all the rain it has amassed on it’s wet, wet, surface square into one’s face.

THANK YOU, UMBRELLA! HOW CONVENIENT TO HAVE ALL THE RAIN YOU SHELTERED ME FROM SPAT BACK INTO MY FACE IN ONE QUICK EASY STEP! FOR A MINUTE THERE, I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO ESCAPE FROM MY FRESH COLD DIET COKE IN A COMPLETELY DRY STATE WITH MY MAKE-UP ACTUALLY STILL ON MY FACE!

From there, my week went downhill.

I will spare you the details, mainly because they are inappropriate for the blog, but it’s all generally related to the big question of making money to support one’s lifestyle, a subject which always makes me think of a song.

Heck, who am I kidding, damn near everything makes me think of a song.

But, anyway, this particular song, the one I’m reminded of when thinking about questions of money is, guess what, “Money” from Cabaret performed by Joel Gray and Liza Minnelli and choreographed by my hero, Bob Fosse. And so, when I begin to ponder these fiduciary issues, completely involuntarily, I always eventually just end up singing this little ditty to myself and pretty soon I’m picturing this classic number and, before I know it, just like that?

I start to feel better. You should give it a try some time.

Weekending

FurGirl is no longer a half-shorn pooch. As you can see in the photo, the S-Man finished the job and she is now practically fur free. If you click on the photo for an enlargement (and probably even if you don't), you can see her pink skin peeping through what little fur she has left. If I can ever manage to get the old fur drifts up, there won't be more for a good while, praise the lord.

I think FurGirl has finally figured out the whole camera thing. She has begun looking into the lens and holding still with not too much coaxing on my part understanding, at last, that such behavior in that situation will very likely result in praise and treats. She does still have a tail, by the way, albeit one that would look more natural on a rat in its naked and decidedly un-plume-like state. It's just that she's wagging the thing so fast it has disappeared into a blur (You can't expect a FurGirl not to express her enthusiasm somehow.)

Today, with the move-in of our newest tenant, both of our downstairs apartments are officially rented and this, too, is a big relief. Since we undertook the additional renovations necessary for the units in the spring, this is the first time in a good six months that we are completely leased up. Not a minute too soon considering my currently somewhat uncertain prospects. Yay.

The S-Man and I spent last night deep into Season Three of Grey's Anatomy (warning: very outdated spoiler ahead). This show continues to impress me with its ability to make me cry almost every episode. Even when I don't want to. Even when I see it all coming.

While I thought the two-part story about the whole exploding ferry boat was a little much, I was still sucked in by Meredith's experience in afterlife limbo. Death is one of my themes (according to self exploration I undertook while reading The Artist's Way-"All that Jazz", anyone?), and I can't get enough of the dramatization of the experience. I saw the dead dog coming, but still? Loved it.

The moment Meredith broke the news to her briefly lucid mother that she was an insitutionalized Alzheimer's patient? Dear God, seriously good stuff. I felt the episode was a little stretched for content overall, but the bit with her mother dying and meeting her at the edge? Wow. Again, saw it coming, but loved it anyway.

Of course, we have our complaints. And they are named George and Izzy. What the hell is up with this story line? Both the S-Man and I remain traumatized by the sight of these two waking up together naked and hung over.

In fact, I am over George in general. His character this season has none of the endearing redeeming qualities he exhibited in seasons passed. No, George is now the Official Whiner of Gray's Anatomy and someone needs to push him down an elevator shaft or hang him from the space needle or something. There's certainly no use getting Izzy, a character that is still engaging, involved in the quagmire that is George. We'll continue to watch, but expect more bitching if this tragedy of a story line continues. 'Nuff said.

Lastly, you're probably aware of this website, but if not, you need to add it to your favorites. It is the First Chapter section of the New York Times. Here you can read the first chapters of all the great books they review. If you go there, don't expect to want to tear yourself away any time soon. This is waaaay better than browsing in the aisle at your favorite bookstore.

The Gentle Rain, A Tiny Tirade, Some Links

Ahh....how NICE is it to finally experience a night of summer rain? After, seemingly, a whole summer without it. The S-Man and I spent some time on my balcony tonight just reveling in the sound and smell, literally feeling our sinus pressure subside. Sweet relief.

This was after arriving home from a certain Global birthday dinner down the street. My gift to the birthday girl (who turned a youthful 31) was a Tiny Purse. Of course, ya'll know how I love all things tiny. And, if I owe you a gift, you can just figure right now on it being a Tiny Purse.

Well, if you're a girl, that is. And maybe even if you're not, because, I've pretty much decided it's my responsibility to see to it that everyone I know has a Tiny Purse. Something cute and somewhat flat (we don't want to add bulk to our hips, do we ladies?) with a long strap and zipper closure that you can just throw your lipstick, credit card, shine powder and cell phone in when you're on vacation or having a night on the town.

Such a purse enables one to have both hands free (if you're shopping), carry just the right (abbreviated) amount of cash or credit cards (if you're on vacation), or hit the dance floor at your favorite night spot without asking your girlfriend to eyeball your purse while you're gone (she'll forget, you know).

I mean, seriously, God forbid you carry your giant leather satchel on to the dance floor or, worse still, carry your giant leather satchel and your drink onto the dance floor. Because if you're that girl? It's all over, sister. I'm sorry. You might as well go home, put your hair up in a scrunchy, throw on some stirrup pants and nude colored knee-highs and call it a day.

Instead? Tiny Purse. Trust me on this. You can get one here if you're in the neighborhood.

Okay, where did THAT tirade come from? Oh, all right, I'll just be honest, I might have had a few drinks at the party. And it may have been champagne. And it could have possibly been the champagne I myself took to the party and then proceeded to drink damn near all by myself. So much so that my fellow party goers finally began helpfully suggesting that I just dispense with that whole pouring-the-champagne-into-the-champagne-glass step. Because, after all, it's just so TIME CONSUMING, isn't it? It's not really what you'd consider the green way to drink champagne.

Okay, enough already. I don't have time for this. I have a temporary job and various life goals.

I really just logged on to dash off a quick post with a few links.

First, praise the Lord, someone is finally filling the desperate need of the entire world to understand all about the improper use of quotation marks. It's: The "Blog" of "Unnecessary" Quotation Marks. I'm only embarrassed I didn't think of doing it myself since I have spent a lifetime being continually annoyed about the totally random, improper inclusion of quotation marks in every imaginable written communication situation. ARGH! All of you out there who have ever been similarly annoyed will weep with relief to know that somebody else in the galaxy besides yourself and a few of your friends has a working understanding of both irony and punctuation.

Last, go read this great Op-Ed piece on Al Gore by Paul Krugman of the New York Times. It's worth the jump. (Confidential to RAJ: Thanks for this link.)

Keeping Up

All work and no blog makes Suz a dull girl...
All work and no blog makes Suz a dull girl...
All work and no blog makes Suz a dull girl...
All work and no blog makes Suz a dull girl...
All work and no blog makes Suz a dull girl...

Some quick bullet points for you:

-Three out of three fabulous girls agree: sharing a laptop is like wearing someone else's panties. (It just ain't right.)

-I developed a new pie: Key Lime Strawberry. It is declious and somewhat light (will post the recipe when I have more time). I have been told I should come up with an original name for the pie like those of Keri Russell's character in "The Waitress" (i.e., "Bad Baby Pie"). Anyway, the pie has a lovely lattice top and, last night, the S-Man lopped off a piece, tossed it in a bowl, smothered it in whipped topping and ate it with a spoon. This caused another of our many conflicts as I felt he wasn't showing my pretty pie the proper respect, and he responded by promptly threatening to eat the rest of the pie straight from the pie plate with a spatula. Knowing he absolutely meant it, this traumatized me into silence about the bowl and the spoon (as intended). Maybe I'll call it "Please Take my Uncivilized Husband Pie".

-I tried to watch one of my more eagerly anticipated Netflix rentals, "Crazy Love", last night, but was so tired that I fell asleep on the couch before it was over.

-For the second time in as many months, my family room TV switched itself on in the wee hours of this morning. I'm sure there is a logical explanation for this, the set is relatively new, and has many more features than we will ever understand or use. We have likely accidentally hit a button that is causing the phenom, but it is still a little spooky to be startled awake by what sounds, for all the world, like Cary Grant is carrying on a muffled conversation in the next room.

-As I suspected, I am incapable of "quick" bullet points.

Hi-ho, hi-ho...

...it's back to work I go.

Temporarily, at least!

I'm going to try and keep up my every day blogging, but somehow, I think I may not succeed, since my temporary work assignment is full-time for the next three weeks. Good for the checkbook, bad for the on-line musings.

I was going to write a pithy post about the photo at left, but under the circumstances, I'll just say that the S-Man, fed up with the amazing girth and ever increasing number of fur-drifts blowing around every room and staircase in the house, finally broke down and ordered a set of professional doggie shearing clippers.

Shearing a fully coated Golden, however, proved more time consuming than he had anticipated, and his first shearing session yielded only the partially shaven FurGirl you see in the photo. After a full hour's work, he only succeeded in shearing off her back. A tackier blogger might be making all sorts of comparisons between, say, his head and her back. But ya'll know I'm not that blogger.

Yesterday at Aphrodite

I had a fantastic day at Aphrodite Gallery yesterday. Designer Julie Shaw put me to work on "Second Saturday", the biggest shopping day of the month for Lowertown galleries.

It's always a pleasure to be near Julie's yummy one-of-a-kind designs, not to mention the rest of her gallery that is chock full of gorgeous glassware, ceramics, jewelry from designers across the country, scarves, purses, gifts, and, beginning last night, a show of local artist, EJ Abell's, whimsical and unique work.

Check here for a partial listing of the goings-on and, if you didn't join in the fun this month, mark your calendar for Saturday, November 10th when you can hit Lowertown yourself and begin some serious crossing off on your Christmas list. Afterwards, you can self-righteously congratulate yourself that it isn't even Thanksgiving and you've made progress. You'll be so together that you won't be able to stand yourself.

But, really, shopping is only half the fun at Second Saturday, the other half being seeing and being seen. Practically the whole Paducah internet sashayed in and out at one time or another. I met shoppers from as far away as Laguna Beach California and got tips on the best way to wear a scarf, where to find psychic radio, and had my past, present and future foretold, and learned that, yes, Virginia, you can get braces to correct your pet Chiuaua's overbite.



Most exciting of all, however, was unexpectedly meeting Paducah's newest star resident (photo above), Kenn Gray. Tall, blonde, and oozing fabulousness and star power from every pore, a casual murse slung over a shoulder, Kenn told Julie and I that he decided to relocate to Paducah after a visit to the Carson Center to see a friend's performance. Surprised at what he considered a little town with a "whole lot of charm", Kenn made the decision to relocate to Paducah from Boston to be closer to his family in Tennessee.

Gray has purchased a house here and plans to open a gallery there where he will showcase his work. He is a painter as well as a jewelry and interior designer. Otherwise, Gray is the star of 13 episodes of "Travel Spies" on the Travel Channel, and has also appeared in "This Amazing House" and "Chronicle". Folks, this is a guy the Boston Globe dubbed "Boston's Style Guru".

That's right, move over William Sledd! There's a new diva in the hizzy!

But, seriously, Kenn is a heck of a nice guy and really is completely new to this area. If you see him, say hello (he's very easy to talk to), and tell him you learned all about him here. I'm counting on Kenn being understanding about my nabbing that photo from his website. I didn't have my camera with me yesterday, and know my readers that can't follow my links would want to put a face with the fabulousness.

Don't bother...

I'm off to help out at a Lowertown gallery today, so no use hanging around here today. You need to read this.

Gore Watch: The Nobel Prize

He attended Harvard, and wrote his thesis on the impact of television on the presidency. Enlisted in the army and served in Vietnam as an army journalist (despite personal opposition to the war). Played drums in a rock band called "The Wildcats" and included a Beatles medley in his wedding ceremony. Served two terms in the House of Representatives. Authored a bestselling book on the environment, "Earth in the Balance" while serving in the Senate. Was, by Bill Clinton's own admission, the most "powerful Vice President in history" serving the Clinton administration as chief advisor during his two terms as Vice President. Won the 2000 presidential election. Is the subject of an Oscar winning documentary. Won an Emmy. May actually love his wife. Hosted SNL.

And, has now won the Nobel Prize.

Yet, still, he won't run.

Oy.

JLo Bump Watch '07

To be honest, I'm not a JLo fan. But since I'm not feeling like writing today, as a follow-up to a recent post in which I included a link to a JLo fugging, I'm posting this video of what looks, for all the world, like a REEEally pregnant JLo. TMZ is reporting that it's twins.

I can't imagine why they're holding off this long on making an announcement. Maybe she's planning to actually shoot the child(ren) from her womb in a perfectly choreographed dance routine at the VMA awards thus trumping, once and for all, the coverage that damn Affleck baby scored.



Online Videos by Veoh.com

True Grace

You may have noticed in the sidebar that I’m reading the latest biography on Grace Kelly, “True Grace”. It’s not the first book I’ve read about her. I have a lifelong fascination with the actress similar to the one I have for Jackie Kennedy.

“Rear Window” is one of those movies that I’m simply incapable of passing up when channel surfing. Hitchcock, the master of suspense, and one of the great directors of all time, absolutely outdoes himself with this film. It is perfectly constructed and cast, with not a single unnecessary scene, eventually building to almost unbearable suspense.

Hitchcock’s attraction for the “cool blonde” type of woman is legendary and, in my opinion, Grace, more than any other actress he cast (Tippi Hedron or Kim Novak or Janet Leigh or Ingrid Bergman) perfectly embodies the type. “Dial M for Murder” is for me only slightly less fabulous than Rear Window.

I never tire of watching the scene I posted above. It is the famous kiss that introduces Kelly into the “Rear Window” action some twenty minutes into the film. It’s just…magic. And Hitch’s longest running close-up of anyone ever.

The thing about Grace is, beneath her cool persona; beat the heart of a very passionate and remarkably free spirited woman for the time. I wouldn’t have thought this was a gal who could give the all-time boom-boom champ, Marlene Dietrich, a run for her money. But guy for guy? I’m beginning to wonder (though Grace did not share Marlene’s bent toward bi-sexuality which, let's face it, narrows the field by half).

So, of course, I knew you guys would want the condensed version of what I’ve learned so far. Here’s a partial, mind you, first-half list of Grace’s romantic liaisons:

Gary Cooper during the filming of High Noon. I must say, I don’t “get” Gary Cooper. I mean, okay, he was rugged and masculine. Whatever.

JFK. Grace’s father, Jack Kelly, and JFK’s father, Joe, were fast friends and co-womanizers. Both Irish-Catholic, rich, successful, powerful and well-connected, they had much in common. It is perhaps not surprising that their kids, Jack and Grace would get together at some point. After all, we know Jack wasn’t one to pass up quality tail. It didn’t go on for long, but Jackie knew about it and never could stand Grace for that reason. When Grace and Rainier made a state visit to the Kennedy White House, Jackie barely spoke to Grace and downgraded what would have normally been a state dinner to just a luncheon. It is said Jackie could do a dead-on exaggerated imitation of Grace’s Rear Window performance and never hesitated to trot it out for friends just any old time. Later, after Jack’s death, when Grace tried to pay a condolence visit on Jackie, Jackie refused to see her.

Bing Crosby. Grace wanted to marry Bing, but Grace’s rival for the position was Bing’s eventual second wife, Kathryn, who turned out to be more competition than Grace bargained for. The night Grace won the Oscar for her performance in “Country Girl”; she celebrated by giving that year’s Oscar winner for Best Male performance in a leading role a tumble. He was…

Marlon Brando: MEEowww. Bing Crosby was surprised to find Marlon in Grace’s bungalow at Chateau Mar mount on Oscar night. Surprised and pissed. It all ended up with Marlon cleaning Bing’s clock, which, face it, wasn’t much of a challenge for the young Adonis.

Clark Gable: Grace just couldn’t get enough of older men, likely the result of her difficult relationship with her father. She met Clark on the set of Mogambo, which was filmed on location in Africa under extremely difficult circumstances: bugs, heat, only tents to live in, and raging sexual urges. Ava Gardener, the female lead in the film, was at the time busy driving her then husband, Frank Sinatra, bat sh!t by running hot and cold on the marriage, ending a pregnancy with Frank’s baby, and having affairs with matadors. While Grace was immediately smitten with Clark, Clark was finding Ava the far more interesting woman on location. Clark settled for Grace only after the sassy Ava made it clear she wasn’t interested. The affair between Grace and Clark lasted only as long as the shoot after which Clark dropped Grace like a sack of rocks. The friendship that developed between Ava and Grace lasted until Grace’s death.

Other Royal Bedmates: Prince Aly Khan and The Shah of Iran. (I’m getting tired. Are you getting tired? This is, seriously, tiring.). Both Aly Khan and the Shah gifted Grace with outrageously extravagant jewelry. Grace’s mother was appalled and pressed Grace to return the pieces, but Grace refused. Eventually, on the eve of her wedding to Rainier, she would gift the jewelry to her bridesmaids, feeling it was inappropriate to keep such pieces after she became a wife.

Ray Milland. Grace’s co-star in Dial M for Murder 24 years her senior. This little dalliance almost cost Grace her career. Milland’s 30-year marriage to wife, Muriel, was at the time a Hollywood institution—today’s equivalent would be Angelina Jolie moving in on Paul Newman. Once the affair with Milland came to light, all of Hollywood including powerful gossip columnist, Hedda Hopper, rallied around Muriel Milland.

Oleg Cassini: Possibly Grace’s most serious relationship outside Rainier. Cassini, a dashing Italian fashion designer was, incredibly, straight, charming, handsome, and enough older than Grace to satisfy her ‘daddy’ complex. Grace met Cassini toward the end of her relationship with Ray Milland and assured the besotted Oleg that she was in love with Milland and not interested in pursuing another relationship. Undeterred, Cassini began anonymously sending her red roses, confessed after ten days, and charmed her into a date. Eventually, they would become engaged and Grace pregnant with his child. Grace’s father, however, objected strenuously to the marriage and Grace would end both the pregnancy and the relationship largely in response to her parent’s objections. Cassini would go on to become Jackie Kennedy’s favorite designer responsible almost entirely for developing the “Camelot” look.

William Holden. During the filming of “The Bridges of Toko Ri”. William is another guy I don’t “get”. So, yah, she did William Holden. Whatever.

A couple of guys she didn’t sleep with were Howard Hughes, who was infatuated with Grace, but in whom Grace had absolutely no interest. She did not conquer Jimmy Stewart, but unlike Hughes, it wasn’t for lack of trying. Grace flirted with Jimmy shamelessly during the filming of Rear Window and he flirted back, driving Jimmy’s wife, Gloria, absolutely wild. Jimmy remained faithful, however, and the attraction never progressed.

Which brings us, mostly, up to speed, at least with Grace’s more famous conquests, to the time of her first meeting Rainier when she was all of 26 years old.

Whew.

Some Fugs for You (and a video)

I have no time to write today, so I'll just share with you some especially amusing fugs from one of my favorite internet sites Go Fug Yourself. People, if this site is not in your everyday faves, you need to add it this minute.

Anyway, here are a few recent fugs that I really enjoyed: First David Guest. Few people were as disappointed as I when the freak merger of all time that was Liza and David's marriage went south. Although, it was almost worth it when Guest went on Larry King live and claimed he had been spousally abused when Liza beat him about the face and neck. Because, honestly, if anyone needs to be beaten about the face and neck? It's David Guest. If only there was video.

Next, it's JLo. The Fug Girls, while funny most all the time, have a special gift for fugging Jennifer Lopez and her little vampire husband.

Lastly, Christine Ebersole visted not only Paducah, but William Sledd's bedroom. Here's the resulting video on why sweat shorts are okay (in case you are lost in the forrest) (?).

Weekending

We've managed to take in Season one of the Showtime series, Dexter, at warp speed. I can't say I completely in LOVE with this show, but the like is pretty strong. I mean, who can resist a show about your friendly neighborhood serial killer? Especially one as smokin' hot as Michael C. Hall? By the way, am I the only person that is driven crazy by the fact that the actor (Devon Graye) that plays the teenaged Dexter is a dead ringer for Scarlott Johanssen? Look:

Is it just me?

The photo at the top of the post is one I took at the Pennyrile State Forest yesterday (click for a larger version). Those are minnows swimming just below the surface of Lake Brashear. The photo is enhanced only with the standard correction: auto levels, color and contrast. I like the original image, but I love the enhanced version. It looks like a science experiment, doesn't it?

I'm powerless to stop myself from posting this.

George W. Bush imitation

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MORE FUNNY, EXTREME AND STUPID VIDEOS AT STUPIDVIDEOS.US

Two of My Favorite People

First off, you have to check out the iDate of the Week THIS MINUTE (SFW). One of my favorite bloggers and bestest friends, not to mention kinfolk, is featured. Along with being a raging feminist (it runs in the family!), she also finds the time to create Flavor Profiles. Yes, we are a clan of diverse interests and hot, sexy contradictions. We will bring home the chicken, fry it up in a pan and then, if you're very, very lucky, possibly allow you to feed it to us.

Christa and I also share a passion for creative reality shows. Her recent love affair with Top Chef and mine with Design Star are well documented in our blogs. Happily, our interests will converge with Season 4 of Project Runway which, since she has taken pity on me in my Bravo-channel-less state, we will watch together at her place. Yay!! I expect blogging and drinking of adult beverages to ensue.

Otherwise, following my September 19 post encouraging support for Al Gore to make another run at the White House, I myself sent him a letter. And, yesterday, I got my reply (printed on recycled paper, natch):

I have to say, Al is either absolutely not interested in running or is doing the most effective job of playing hard to get ever.

I'm beginning to lean toward the former.

Considering his experience being robbed of the 2004 election, who can blame him? This has got to be a guy, on some level, with some serious doubts about the political process in this county. Still, he took defeat like a man, took some time off, grew a beard, taught school, then shaved the beard, and reemerged as a global crusader.

Well played, Al. Well played.

The Farmer's Wife

I had a great, if long, day yesterday. Lunch with friends, a fantastic dinner with family, job hunting and family visitation in between, and finally, a very naughty all night movie watching session. It all just makes me wonder how in the world I can possibly shoehorn a job into a life already so full.

My checkbook reminds me I'll be finding a way. Heh.

I recently found myself in the unusual position of having mailed back every Netflix movie I had in the house before receiving a single replacement. For a sane person, this would mean...oh, I don't know...maybe NOT watching a movie for a while? Say, a day? For me, however, this just means a quick trip to the library to hunt the non-fiction shelves (primarily) and some no-cost movie viewing. One of my few bad habits that dovetails nicely with my current budget (Dear Ben Franklin: I love you, man!).

I continue to be surprised at the movie availability at our little library, especially the documentary selection. I noticed, for instance, that 51 Birch Street is on the shelf already. Also, I recently breathlessly watched The Staircase courtesy of the library. Somebody knows what they are doing. And, frankly, in this town? I'm surprised they are getting away with it. I make it a habit to tell the library staff how appreciative I am at the check-out desk.

My most recent library selection, and the one that kept me kept me glued to the TV into the wee hours of this morning, was The Farmer's Wife. The film, from PBS Frontline, tells the quiet but desperate story of Darrell and Juanita Buschkoetter, a young Nebraska couple, as they struggle to eek out a living by farming a small, leased plot of land in Nebraska. The film covers three years in the lives of the Buschkoetters (pronounced "Bush-cutter") from 1995-1997.

Perhaps more than any other documentary I've seen, awareness of the camera on the part of the subject family (that includes three elementary school aged girls) just completely fades away.

We see the girls cooking their first batch of mac and cheese for their Mom's birthday dinner, listen as an exhausted Juanita and Darrell talk in bed at the end of long days when the couple has put in an almost super human amount of work only to find themselves, at one point, in a position to qualify for food stamps.

We are there when the couple has to borrow money from the FHA to finance the year's crop and and there when they meet with their creditors to ask for extensions on their loans. We listen as the couple both separately and together try to reconcile the difficult reality of their day-to-day lives with the idealistic dreams of their courtship.

We are there when the doubt creeps in: him about her, her about him. We are there when he understands why she is so tired, we are there when she listens to him vent. Again. We are there when the patience runs out.

While there are segments of the movie that find Darrell and Juanita face-to-face with the camera, there are no questions from the film maker(s). It is the words of the Buschkoetters alone that tell the story. And tell it they do, without a trace of self consciousness or hesitation.

Ultimately, the film is a naked portrait of a relationship. A relationship facing the overwhelming struggle for a way of life that is fast fading away. No special effects, just real life. The biggest drama of all.

You can view the first hour or so of The Farmer's Wife here.

The Road to Grandma's

I've been spending a lot of time lately in southern Illinois. I took the photo above, on a whim, from my car, actually. That is the last stretch of road before my Grandma's house. Just around the bend in the distance is the first outbuilding on the farm.

It occurred to me just now while I was browsing through my pictures that this place, this road and Grandma's house, is the most constant location of my life.

And these days, when everything sort of seems up in the air, it is especially nice to know that one place, at least, hasn't changed.