Monthly Archives: February 2007

jolly good show old bean!

Well, I say!  Thirty-seven days till one leaves for dear old Blighty!  One can’t believe its bin four yeaaars since one’s last vacatiohn or foray into exotic culture.  ‘Ello, Guvnah!   (What does that mean?)  No smackberry, no cell phone, no crap online dating.  I might not ever return.

Hm – I put the next sentence into a Scottie translator and got this:

“Some brammer friends Ah gart ower th’ summer hae invited me tae come visit an’ will be hostin’ me in Leeds.”  How fun is that!  My funny and fabulous friends teach at Leeds University.  They can drink like nobody’s business so I’m a little afraid about being so out of practice.  I tried having two glasses of wine last night but it made concentrating at work today a terrible struggle.  I know I can’t expect to keep up with them – I just don’t want to make a complete jackass of myself.  Well, maybe just a bit.  I have dreams of having many wee drams and doing something tragic like shouting, “Mr. Rochester!” or “Heathcliff!!” over the moors.  So far, my friends have not tried to dissuade me of this, but one of them is an English professor.  For all I know he sees this sort of insanity all the time. 

I’ll be takin a coople days/nights tae visit Auld Reekie tay.  It will be mah first real trip oan mah ain., which is excitin’ an’ intimidatin’ aw at ance.  I have hopes of finding a Scot who will show me how to roll my r’s, like real up close and personal.  Any hints on hitting on Scots are welcome. 

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i’m no hero

Nine years of piano, five years of violin, another four of viola and one year of acoustic guitar lessons.  Let’s not count the two years of voice as they only made my voice slightly less intolerable.  All those music lessons never prepared me for this insanely addictive PS2 game called Guitar Hero.

I spent parts of my weekend watching my seven-year-old nephew literally rocking out to this game.  He knows the words to some serious classic rock at the moment, but Shout at the Devil is the running fave.  At one point he, my niece and me were rocking to it – the two of them shirtless (like my nephew, my niece finds clothing morally repugnant), jumping up and down while he played it on the expert level setting.  Hearing a 23.5 month old sing out “shout!” at all the right places was surreal. 

When my turn came, I kept it on the quickplay option (less embarrassing) and on the easy level.  And I was not very good.  All those music classes for naught. 

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lack of comments

Nobody comments anymore.  Why is that?

Like many of you, I am praying to the snow gods to grant us a day off tomorrow.  The karma I’m sending to that nice weather guy on channel four is paying off.  Evidently the icing situation is going to be worse than previously anticipated.  Huzzah!  Come on “dangerous/treacherous conditions”!  Mama needs her beauty sleep.  At a minimum, give me a two-hour delay.  Everybody knows that DC drivers are completely worthless even under the best driving conditions – it would be irresponsible on the part of Federal, State and local government not to cancel or delay. 

Since we’re t-minus 32 minutes from the hallmark holiday of Valentines Day, I’d like to take the opportunity to say that, no matter what, I will never be one of those cat-owning spinsters.  I don’t care for cats and hate cat boxes.  I’m the anti-spinster.

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the children’s books that stuck

The Silver Fox has tagged me with a good book meme – this one required some reflection and research as it has been over two decades since I was a kid.  The goal:  to list five books that played an important role in your childhood, and explain why.  Then you tag five other people.  This will be difficult since the other people I know, who would do this, have already been tagged.

A Wrinkle in Time – Madeleine L’Engle

Good lord, did I love her books.  Fantasy/sci-fi that resonated with adolescent and pre-adolescent girls.  It stretched your imagination, made you want to understand physics, and made you feel good about yourself.  How wonderful.

A Little House on the Prairie – Laura Ingalls Wilder

You cannot have lived in the 70’s and 80’s without having been acutely aware of the tv show, but the books were Newbery Medal winners/honorees for a reason.  Actualy, Little House didn’t win an award, but On the Banks of Plum Creek, By the Shores of Silver Lake, and Little Town on the Prairie did.  I read and re-read them.  All of them.  Half-Pint was “everygirl” and those books were pure escape.

The Great Brain – John Fitzgerald

My fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Poger, read this to the class.  I could not wait for reading period every day.  We would all hunker down in a corner of our class, sitting cross-legged (we called it “Indian style” back then – political correctness has since taken over) around the teacher.  All I can tell you is that this book made us all laugh out loud and I hope to share it with my nephew and niece.

Where the Sidewalk Ends – Shel Silverstein

The only poem I’ve ever successfully memorized for life is from this book.  It is called “My Beard”.   Who knew that poetry could be so funny and enlightening all at once?  Thank god for Silverstein.

James and The Giant Peach – Roald Dahl

His books were scary, funny and twisted.  He made up words and creatures.  Most adults were evil.  Even his books for adults are like this – well, even darker.  I’ve enjoyed and sought out many Dahl books, but I liked this book better than Charlie and the Chocolate Factory or Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator. 

I read pretty voraciously as a kid, so it was hard to pick five.  Here are others that have stayed with me:

The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe – CS Lewis.  Strawberry Girl – Lois Lenski.  Blubber and Are You There God? Its Me Margaret – Judy Blume.  Ballet Shoes – Noel Streatfield (actually, read a bunch of the ‘shoes’ series – Skating, Theater, & Dancing).  The Borrowers (another series of books that I devoured) – Mary Norton.  The Secret Garden – Frances Hodgson Burnett (kind of a young girl’s Jane Eyre – and I also read A Little Princess and Little Lord Fauntleroy).

I’ve been picking out books for my nephew (age seven) for a while, now.  Since I’m headed out to see them next weekend, I asked him if he’d like anything from DC.  He told me, “No more books.”  I’ve threatened (teased) him with only books.  Really thick ones with no pictures.  He knows I’m kidding, but I hope he’ll start to enjoy reading soon.

I have no one to tag (if Chewy was blogging I would ask her).  Meh.  I’m okay with that.

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support the arts, or (to steal the Bunny’s line) i will cut you

What a tough week.  Performance review = on target (yet nothing really positive from the bosses).  Love outlook = gloomy.  Meaningless sex outlook = overwhelming. 

I came very close to cancelling my plans tonight and just going home and wallowing.  I had a ticket to see Vigils at Woolly Mammoth Theatre and had just joined their Club Woolly as a part of my resolution to do something with my life other than working and dating.  Generally I prefer to see plays with a friend so I can discuss it afterwards; I think this was the first time I had ever seen a play on my own.  Anyway, Club Woolly was meeting beforehand for drinks, so I dabbed a little concealer on the bags under my eyes and walked the three short blocks to the theatre. 

 I’m so glad that I went.  First, if you’ve never been, the theatre space is fantastic.  It is huge, open, airy and austerely elegant.  Second, the people who work for Woolly are interesting and dedicated and don’t look like all the other DC worker bees.  They provided a lovely little spread for the club members and were so attentive to me.  (As a person who had a rough week, a little attentiveness meant so much.) 

The play is the thing.  Woolly’s plays are always a little twisted; a little disturbed.  Even the heart-warmers are dark and twisty.  Those of you who know me are all “yepyepyep.”  But I cannot recall the last time I left a theatre and had to choke back the tears on the cab ride home.  Certainly, I’ve gotten misty at the end of some plays but not this.  The play far exceeded expectations.  Every other line is either disturbed, funny or touching.  Actually, “touching” is hardly adequate.  The arts feed the soul, and being moved to tears by fringey theatre is worth far more than the $100 contributing membership. 

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done with casual sex

I didn’t realize it till tonight, but I think I’m finished with casual sex.  Or, at least I’m done with casual sex with most men.  I want love.  I want to be, at least, slightly swept off my feet.  I want someone to like me more than just for the pretty.  I want someone to “get me”.  I want to be worth the wait (all three dates).  I think I may be asking for too much.  I think I might rather be alone than accept anything less.

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