I can't believe the news today

One of Brad's friends found a hilarious little movie clip of Bush singing "Sunday Bloody Sunday" -- made entirely out of snippets from State of the Union addresses. The Web site it's from confuses me (how sad), but you can see the whole thing on here.

Word of the day

Brad has a wonderful tear-off calendar called "Forgotten English." Today's word: tyromancy -- divining by the coagulation of cheese. Yummy.

Welcome to the jungle

Some of you may remember my scenic, swamp-side abode from college. Perfectly decent townhouse, other than the pesky tendancy toward water leakage. Do you also remember our neighbors, the charming fellows with the 5-foot long iguana and beat up old Ranger with Danzig sticker? And the really bad cover band? (as Angela wraps her arms protectively around her unborn child just at the thought) Okay, living next to a band sucked in college. Living next to a band NOW is really not cool. For the past two days, my nice, quiet naptimes have been interrupted by a bass next door. He sounds like a decent musician, but it's a bass. It's repetitive. It's annoying. And it's amped right next to my bedroom. Grrr.

This is why I'm nervous at the idea of buying a townhouse.

Gee, thanks

I love broadcast journalists. They're so amusing. From the local phenomenon of chins that is Bob Pearse right on up to Brian Williams on NBC. Last night, while reporting on Warren Buffet's decision to give away the GDP of a small country -- heck, a mid-sized country, even -- there were some very interesting word choices. Like "beloved Omaha." I'm not sure even hometown boy Buffet would have put that phrase together, unless he followed it up with "steaks." I mean, it's Omaha. I'm sure it's a decent place to live, but it even sounds funny.

Then came the discussion of what impact such philanthropy might have. NBC's number crunchers were obviously having a wonderful time. First came "enough to buy cervical cancer vaccine for every woman in Bangladesh." Hmm, unusual choice of country, but I'm sure Bangladeshis will be delighted not to get that cancer. Then came "enough to buy a computer for every person in the Congo." This statement juxtaposed with pictures of barefoot Congolese in straw huts. Now, call me crazy, but I think the Congolese might like some of those vaccines before a computer. Or mosquito nets to keep their children from dying of malaria. Or even electricity might be nice. But I'm sure until then they could make lovely planters out of their PCs.

Disclaimer: The author is not criticizing philanthropy. It's wonderful. I'm just criticizing NBC's attempt to put that much money into absurd perspective.

Downtime

Ah, the sweetness that is vacation bible school has begun. A whole week of mornings to myself, all while my child has a blast, so no guilt! Hooray! Of course, this means VBS music will become the soundtrack to our lives for a while, but oh well. At least Abigail will have fond memories of silly songs that theoretically translate into faith. I remember one about the devil sitting on a tack and the accompanying hilarity at getting to leap out of my chair and shout "NO!" I don't remember anything else about the song, barely even the tune, but ah, VBS was fun.

Once more with feeling

To return to an evidently popular theme, Abigail's new Ariel bath toy arrived today. She's thrilled, and we're doomed to at least one solid evening of "Part of Your World" over and over again. But, for the sake of Sea Wees fans everywhere (and aparently they are everywhere, I've never had so many comments!), this toy is no where near as cool. Hmm, I may have to play with eBay some more and try to luck out on a deal. Or for those who may be in search of gift ideas, a certain small someone does turn 4 pretty soon ...

If I had a million dollars

Can I be this guy when I grow up? I've always said my dream job would be a travel writer for the New York Times, but this is the ultimate: travel around the world on the cheap, with your articles and pictures published once a week in the Times. Wow.

I know, I know, I have a child and husband that I love and lofty goals of buying a house in a year, so travel isn't high on my agenda (other than mooching off my sister). The mystique of wandering around Europe with a travel guide and a rail pass is still powerful, though. Travel would be no where near as cheap as the good ol' days before hitting 26, but at least I'd have a small scattering of people to stay with for free. Sigh, that old idea of returning to the States, learning Spanish, then cavorting off for another year teaching English abroad is so distant. Damn the reality of growing up!

Oh, and we wouldn't have to eat Kraft dinner -- but we would!

Superficial tourism

Sadly, Madeline in London doesn't quite live up to the standards set by the original and Madeline and the Bad Hat and Madeline's Rescue. Perhaps dear old Ludwig Bemelmans wasn't as familiar with London or was just getting old, but the rhyme and meter aren't nearly as tight, he filches a couple lines from Mother Goose, and the drawings are much less indicative of London. I had hoped to use the book as a mini-travel guide for Abigail, but he doesn't depict many landmarks, and when he does, they are so sketchy they're hard to identify.

The others, especially the original, are full of fabulous little snapshots of Paris. All the major landmarks, the famous parks, even recongnizable markets. The other day, I was watching a few minutes of a France travel show, and Abigail perked up at the sight of the Eiffel Tower. She asked what it was, and after I told her, said, "That's near the old house in Paris that was covered with vines!" Look, my darlings, what bliss, what joy! Azyzair has a little francophile! She then said, "When I'm bigger, I'll get to go to Paris." Damn straight. Hopefully when she's about seven, we'll take off, a few key phrases and "Madeline" in hand, touring around Paris, no doubt at half past nine.

Overthrow the monarchy!

Down with the Disney princesses!

Okay, okay, I don't really have anything against them personally. I was quite the Disney movie watcher as a kid, especially "The Little Mermaid" and "Aladdin." But honestly, if I never have to see/reinact anything with Ariel or Cinderella again, I'll die happy.

Abigail, at not-quite-four, has practically memorized "Cinderella" and the part of "The Little Mermaid" we'll let her watch (through "Under the Sea" -- that movie is a lot scarier and more violent that I remember at 10!). Yesterday, I think we had to play out evil stepsisters ripping up Cinderella's dress, "Bippity Boppity Boo," the ball, the loss of the slipper, and the fitting of said slipper about 10 times consecutively. And you can't deviate from the script. One false word, you get "Noooo! Do it right!" And trips to the pool and baths and playing in her kiddie pool all result in recreating Ariel singing "Part of Your World" -- including the destruction of Eric's ship and his rescue. I've got some truly hilarious home movies of this if anyone knows how to blog those.

I confess, it's fun singing "Bippity Boppity Boo." I've also bought an Ariel bath toy, if only to stop making my child play out the scenes with her washcloth. I shouldn't be that stingy! Plus I adored my Sea Wees when I was little, so I won't begrudge her mermaid bath fun. But really, it's just too much! I learned those movies verbatim as a child, I don't need to prove the fact to myself again!

And my mother-in-law wants to indoctrinate her in ALL the movies in order to take her to Disney World! Lord help me! I'd actually have to WATCH most of them repeatedly to have my lines correct for the later playtime ...

Of course, in my search for a general princess link, I came across this quiz: I'm Pocahontas. Not a bad princess to be, really. Independent, intelligent, in touch with nature, not wearing a big ball gown. I could've handled being Mulan, too, she can kick some butt.

And ladies, follow that Sea Wees link. This woman collects all the main '80s toys, and it was amazing to see some I'd totally forgotten about and feel that strange wave of recognition come over me. Remember Poochie? And I think a Fluppy Pup was my first independent toy purchase. Look at the pictures and enjoy the bizarre trip through associations with childhood memory.

My state is insane

I've always joked about the politics of my adopted state, but recent moves by my Legislature now make me want to cry. They have gotten rid of property taxes for homeowners. Woo-hoo! Great! But wait, 60 percent of that went to public schools. That's okay, they say, we'll make it up with a one-cent increase in state sales tax. All right! That's smart! But wait, I live in a border county. People already flock here from Charlotte for lower property taxes, but they still work and do all their shopping in Charlotte. Think that will change? Whoops, there goes all the revenue for schools! And they were already so stellar! And what if people actually STOP spending on credit and the economy adjusts downward? Do we really need to entrust our education system to consumer apetites?

Now, I'm not great at finding links, and for some reason this issue is being more fickle than it should be, but here's one related story from my local paper. And there was a pretty decent editorial Sunday, but of course the link doesn't work. Oh well, I'm sure the tech savvy can find out more!

At least it wasn't a flag cake

Disclaimer: No actual food was harmed in the making of these desserts.

I've never been an overtly patriotic person. Sure, America's great, but so are lots of other countries -- a few of which we could learn from. This past weekend we didn't do anything special, really, though we pulled out Abigail's kiddie pool for the first time this season, and I made fajitas in a nod to the start of summer. But something in me must have been longing for the cookouts of my childhood, for the hamburgers and potato chips and much-disdained baked beans and especially the desserts. Desserts of the Jell-O and Cool Whip variety. Desserts in all their fruity, cold, gelatinous glory.

Now, yes, I've ranted about the perils of gelatin as cuisine, but even then I included an out for dessert. And something in me really, really wanted a pie. A lime pie, complete with zest, so it wasn't a total cooking cop-out. It was an alarming shade of green and had a tinge-too-artificial flavor, but still good. While I was on a roll, I made Strawberry Delight Squares. I don't know what I grew up calling these, but there's Jell-O and cream cheese and a crushed pretzel crust, which was the ingredient that sounded so appealing. There's just something about sweet and salty together. Sadly, since I was veering from the official recipe, my crust didn't really set right and the squares have to be eaten with a spoon, but again, quite yummy. And I did add orange zest to this one, again to pretend I wasn't completely selling out.

So, even though I wasn't being particularly mindfull of our war dead, at least I was being full-on American this weekend. But fear not, the Fourth of July won't lead to this:

Unappetizing seconds

Sadly, "Pickles to Pittsburgh" is a dissapointing sequel to "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs". It's not a in itself a bad book, just not up to the level of its predecessor. The drawings aren't nearly as meticulous or intricately humorous, and the writting not quite as witty. And it doesn't really mention the 'Burgh at all! Oh well, it's still cute and just on loan from the library. After a couple weeks, we'll just stick to the original.

Pre-emptive strike

I had a gloriously girly experience yesterday while at the local mall. The mall has a fabulous kiddie play area, which was where Abigail and I were headed when a faux-ethnic purse caught my eye. It was in a surfer/skater teenage clothing store, which isn't exactly my normal couture, but I decided to give it a shot. While I didn't get the original purse, I found a cute one with some decorative buttons sewn on the outside. Then the sales-slacker (is associate really fitting when the guy had greasy dyed-black hair, black finernails and numerous tatoos?) informed me that the clearance accessories were buy one, get one free. And the heavens opened and an angel choir broke into song. How exciting! I've been lugging around a rather unattractive canvas tote, whose lining promptly ripped the day after I bought it, and I normally can't find a thing I like since I don't carry around half my home in my purse. But this place had cute stuff! So I am the proud owner of two cute purses, plus the little one my sister gave me a while back that's good for the occasional date.

Of course, one purse just happened to be made by Billabong, and the name happens to be on the outside, though I don't think too obviously. Brad, however, found this hysterical and said the word "bong" so many times over dinner that Abigail eventually piped up and repeated him quite delightedly -- unnerving what she picks up on sometimes! So, to head off the teasing post he threatened, I give you the billabong.

It's f'ntastic

And no, I wasn't trying to swear. I was attempting to imitate the British accent and overuse of large adjectives -- which is hard to do on an American blog -- because I have finished watching 1900 House. What a wonderful show after Texas Ranch House! Now, dear reader, do not despair. I will one day write about things other than PBS programming, but please indulge me one last time.

As the original in this genre of reality show, I had high expectations that this series would be less over-dramatized than the others, and I was pleased to find that true. The first episode was particularly fascinating, all about how they actually refurbished an old London house and the difficulties of that and of finding period clothes, tools, knicknacks, etc. Really much more revealing than just starting with the people being plopped down in the setting. While the rest of the show was quite interesting, and I certainly wouldn't want to be a Victorian woman, this first episode was definitely my favorite, largely because the house was a dead ringer for my sister's pre-David abode (Can't remember the address. Not Kimberly Gardens, the other one off Green Lanes). Amanda's house had exactly the same facade (I remember sleeping on a futon near the bay window, trying to ignore the noise of the lorries outside). Inside, the initial layout seemed the same, just flipped, though of course Amanda and her roommate just lived in the bottom floor as the house had been converted into flats. The "front parlor" still had the fireplace and big rosette at the light fixture, and the double door to the "back parlor" was still there. The rest of the flat was a kind of confusing layout, with I guess the second half of the back parlor being turned into a bedroom and then a mish-mash of bathroom and kitchen where the old kitchen was. Amusingly, I think Amanda's room was the scullery. It was certainly shoved to the back, as befitting my sister the lowly scullery maid :)

Speaking of meine schwester, she and Mr. Dunce will officially become British subjects tomorrow morning. God save the Queen! Didn't my sister do a wonderful job improving my family's gene pool? :) Anyway, congratulations to the new Brits!

I'm feeling much better now

Vindication! The completely ineffective ranch owners were found to be to blame! The cowboys maintain their dignity and walk away with the true loyalty to the project! Hooray, Mrs. Cooke got called out by the assessors! Now, not to say the cowboys weren't jerks to the Cooke daughters, but I can't blame them too much based on the way Mr. Cooke treated them.

And someone seems to insinuate that this brief obsession is no better than watching American Idol. I beg to differ! This is a historical experiment! This is mind-expanding! This is PBS! This isn't Fox and really, really bad, OLD pop music! I am a completely sane, intelligent woman! I am in full control of my mental faculties! I have always been seriously interested in history, espeically this time period as a child! I am not responding emotionally! -- even though, given the option, I would have voted Mrs. Cooke off the island and laughed at her retreating back!

:)

And on the 8th day, Ayzair finished reading

I have read the Pentateuch! That's Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy. And let me tell you, it was a slog. I'm taking an old testament "class" with some friends, and I vowed to myself to actually read the Bible and not just the textbook. I'm sure some day I'll go back through bits of Genesis and Exodus, but really, the other three aren't of much use unless you're an ancient Israelite priest, and that's not me. But at least I've read it and know what's in there for myself. Now, Leviticus did have the priestly blessing, which is lovely, and Numbers had the Shema, but that's about all I took away. My "favorite" passage? Hmm, here's an example: Leviticus 4:5-7 "Then the anointed priest shall take some of the bull's blood and carry it into the Tent of Meeting. He is to dip his finger into the blood and sprinkle some of it seven times before the LORD, in front of the curtain of the sanctuary. The priest shall then put some of the blood on the horns of the altar of fragrant incense that is before the LORD in the Tent of Meeting. The rest of the bull's blood he shall pour out at the base of the altar of burnt offering at the entrance to the Tent of Meeting." Mmmm, blood. That's pleasant. And instructions like this were written out for the various types of sacrifices, as well as who was to make each of such sacrifices, when they were to make them, and then for good measure, it was all repeated at least two more times. Thankfully, Pastor Ray doesn't generally bring sacrificial animals to service anymore, though he did have the kids baaaing during the children's sermon Sunday ...

Somebody get a rope

Would someone puh-leeeze get Mr. Cooke a backbone?! And someone needs to MUZZLE Mrs. Cooke! I wish Brad were here to share my indignation at the idiotic ranch owners on Texas Ranch House, but at least I know Jenny will be online at some point with an "Amen!"

(By the way, this rant as of the end of part 3 of 4, after the mess with the Comanche and Maura.)

Yee-haw!

Hooray for the wonders of PBS! Brad has been on his first big business trip this week (poor baby, golf in Myrtle Beach), and I had been afraid I would be at a loss as to how to fill my evenings -- ie., I would wind up flipping between various forms of drivel on TV and never reading or engaging my mind. Well, I'm still not reading, but at least I've got Texas Ranch House! I realize I'm actually a week behind on this since it debuted last week, but the Charlotte station is either replaying it or didn't show it last week, and I'm grateful.

I love these kind of shows. My favorite has been Frontier House, being the most interesting from a straight survival point of view. Colonial House was certainly a revealing look at the 17th century, but the show itself devolved into lots of people whining. Why were the women surprised they were second-class citizens in the 1600s? Somehow the people always forget they're supposed to accept the rules of the time period. My sister-in-law-in-law (what do you call your sister's husband's sister?) has expounded on this failing, even if I can't read all of her postings since they're spoilers -- though it should surprise no one that none of the casts ever makes the grade for suriving in real life.

From the BBC, the originators of this historical re-enactment concept, came Manor House, which was fascinating in that the "masters" thoroughly bought into the upstairs/downstairs division. Totally normal 21st century people feeling they are above other middle class people simply because they're acting the part of servants. A very interesting social experiment. I haven't seen Regency House Party or 1900 House, though I just bumped the latter up to the top of my Netflix queue and should be enjoying it by Wednesday. That was the first one and will hopefully be the purest and least theatrical.

Ahh, public television. How lovely.

Salaam alaykum

I just finished yet another book, this time "The Kite Runner" by Khaled Hosseini. I had long seen this book on the best-seller list back in my days as book editor, and I have a strange fascination with Central Asia, in particular Iran (especially after "Reading Lolita in Tehran"). I didn't know enough about Afghanistan to even know what to think of it, which of course intrigued me. This novel is a fascinating look at an extremely different culture, from Afghanistan in 1973 to Afghan ex-pats 2002. All I'd ever really known of Afghanistan was burqas, the destruction of the Buddha statues, and the pictures of an unimaginably desolate, bombed-to-hell Kabul. This story tells of a vibrant Kabul covered in trees, full of music and fruit and intricate relationships. The later descriptions of the droughts, the Russians, the Taliban are absolutely heartbreaking. Kabul might not have been cutting edges, but it sounds like it wasn't quite as medieval as we were led to believe. What happens to the characters themselves is equally heartbreaking, though I have the (mis)fortune of being able to predict story lines, and I guessed the book's major twist about 200 pages before it was revealed. I would highly recommend this book to people as engrossed by different cultures as I am.

A Tree Grows in Dorset

Abbey is either napping or quiety on her way to doing so, so I've settled in to blog with a cup of coffee. Raspberry coffee. I'm not quite sure how I feel about this. It smells good, but it's coffee. The combination may not be a winner.

I have lately found myself watching "Masterpiece Theatre" on Sunday nights, inevitably while I iron. Some may say I'm much too young for this, but hey, it's good, and the film is usually a period piece, which is one of those fool-proof genres for me. Well, except "The Count of Monte Cristo", which was a nightmarish disaster.

Anyway, last night was "Under the Greenwood Tree", a Thomas Hardy novel I had never heard of. (Looking at that Hardy site, damn, the man was prolific!) The movie had all the Hardy trappings: set in Wessex; honest, salt-of-the earth villagers; questionably motivated "modern" men; the charming local tradition, here a church choir; the sinister symbol of industrialization, here a harmonium, which of course replaced the choir; and a love affair doomed by class. And when I saw the lovely Dick Dewey (coincidentally, exactly what I would have thought Jude in "Jude the Obscure" looked like), I SO wanted the love affair to work, even if the heroine wasn't the greatest. But it's Hardy, right? Surely, following the model of poor Tess and Jude, there would be death and tragedy? Wait, the evil modern men are going away! The class issue is being forgotten! They're getting MARRIED! Hooray! I guess Hardy was a bit of a sentamentalist in his early years. Of course, I haven't read the actual novel, so maybe it was sanitized for TV. Don't want to upset all those little old ladies watching their evening PBS.