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June 30, 2006
Is Ginormous a Real Word?
Eh, what the hell? Let's just run with it anyway.
Good morning, lovely Chicklets! It's Lani, and I'm here to say, welcome to July! A month of fireworks and unbelievable humidity. The month in which both our nation, and Pamela Anderson, were born. A month perfect for backyard cookouts, mid-day tanning sessions and...
... oh, dare I say?
Beach reads.
Well, as the unofficial, uncrowned and unverified Queens of Beach Reads, the Literary Chicks are here this month to do something very special for you. In July, we're very busy little writers. We're on deadline, we have kids home for the summer and husbands who will go out and purchase golf carts if we don't watch them verrrrry carefully. Also, we have a big conference at the end of the month in Atlanta to which five of the six of us will be going. :::sniff, sniff, y'all keep Whitney company here at the end of the month::: So, it's just too busy a month for us to properly host a guest, and probably once or twice one or two of us (or five, during the last week) might miss our blogging day, which makes it a big, fat loser month on our end for keeping you, our sweet little Chicklets, properly entertained.
So, we decided to create a mass diversion via The Ginormous Giveaway! Why? Because we love you. So, to show that love, at the end of this month, we will pull the names of six lucky chicklets to receive one of the following:
The Whitney Gaskell Prize Pack: A signed copy of She, Myself & I and True Love (And Other LIes).
The Alesia Holliday Prize Pack: Signed copies of American Idle, Nice Girls Finish First, Blondes Have More Felons, Shop Till Yule Drop and The Naked Truth.
The Beth Kendrick/Killian Prize Pack: Signed copies of My Favorite Mistake, Fashionably Late, and the first book from her young adult 310 series (writing as Beth Killian), Life As a Poser.
The Eileen Rendahl Prize Pack: Signed copies of Do Me, Do My Roots, Balancing in High Heels, and Un-Bridaled.
The Michelle Cunnah Prize Pack: Signed copies of 32AA, Call Waiting and Confessions of a Serial Dater.
The Lani Diane Rich Prize Pack: Signed copies of Time Off for Good Behavior, Ex and the Single Girl, Maybe Baby and The Comeback Kiss.
So, darling Chicklets, you're probably wondering who you have to email to get in on this action? Well, that's easy. Just e-mail us with your name and mailing address (don't forget the mailing address; all entries without one are immediately disqualified) with the subject line "Ginormous is absolutely a real word" and you'll be entered to win! We'll be drawing the names on July 22nd, so be sure to get those entries in before the 21st! Good luck all!
Posted by Lani at 8:57 PM | Comments (16)
June 28, 2006
Confessions of a Country Music Addict
by a good-looking rebel who plays by her own rules…
Hi, y'all. I’m Beth and I like country music. There, I said it; I’m not ashamed.
Some of you (i.e., my fellow country music enthusiasts) are probably going, “What? But why would you be ashamed?” Well, if you grew up in WASP-y New England and spent the majority of your twenties toiling in the upper echelons of academia, you too might feel a bit rebellious about cranking up that honky tonk loud and proud. The Ivory Tower is tolerant of many forms of music—jazz, blues, and classical chief among them—but country isn’t typically one of them. Yeah, you can slip by if you like the classics—Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, Hank Williams—but the new, pop-flavored stuff is taboo.
Last summer, one of my college advisors, who is now a friend, came out to Arizona to visit and caught me listening to one of the local country stations on the ride from the airport. She gasped. “You actually enjoy country music?”
I hung my head. “Yeah.”
“Me, too! Don’t tell anyone.”
It’s too bad about the whole intellectual snobbery thing, because people who dismiss country out of hand don’t know what they’re missing. It’s not all rednecks and moonshine. I started secretly becoming a fan in college, when my friend Jose from Montana used to pump up Brooks & Dunn and Martina McBride to ear-bleeding decibels. The thumping bass and twangy guitar would creep in under my dorm room door while I was trying to read King Lear, and eventually, I found myself humming along.
Things I love about country music: the songs tell stories, they’re clever and often hilarious (download Brad Paisley’s “Alcohol” or “Celebrity”—you’ll die laughing), and they go beyond the scope of making up and breaking up with your flavor of the month. There are songs about family (“Somebody’s Hero” by Jamie O’Neal), and still loving one’s wife after many years of marriage (Phil Vassar’s “Just Another Day in Paradise”), and how women should kick a no-good, cheating SOB to the curb (check out “Men Don’t Change” by Amy Dalley or “Bye Bye” by Jo Dee Messina). They capture the human spirit at its highest points (Keith Urban’s “Who Wouldn’t Want to Be Me”) and its lowest (“Break Down Here” by Julie Roberts), the purest romantic yearning (“Run”, George Strait), and the craving for adventure (“Wide Open Spaces” by the Dixie Chicks, “Born to Fly” by Sara Evans). They urge us to be thankful what we have and to appreciate the simple beauty all around us.
There are also a lot of songs about divorce and drinking, of course, most of which are also laugh-out-loud funny. Like Trent Tomlinson singing, “I can’t be with a woman who gets drunker than me” or the venerated classic, “I’m Gonna Hire a Wino to Decorate Our Home”. (Seriously.) There are even country music songs about NOT liking country music (Ray Scott's "My Kind of Music"--again, hilarious.)
My personal favorites right now include Reba McEntire’s rendition of “Fancy” (how can you NOT love a song that includes the lyrics: “I might have been born just plain white trash, but Fancy was my name”?), Loretta Lynn’s “Fist City” (the lyrics come in handy during marital spats--me to Mr. Tall: “I’d lay off the sarcasm if you don’t wanna go to fist city”), Wynonna Judd’s “Girls With Guitars”, and Mary Chapin Carpenter’s “I Feel Lucky”. And I would recommend Sugarland’s “Baby Girl” (about a fledgling bar singer trying to make it big) to anyone struggling to keep the faith on the road to finishing a book and/or finding a publisher.
In the immortal words of Everclear, I like pop, I like soul, I like rock…but when I’m really high or really low, I’ll always turn to the country music station. Go download a few songs and see for yourself. In return, I will…um…try sushi again and this time, I promise to really keep an open mind. Deal?
This blog was brought to you by Adiós to My Old Life, Caridad's rockin' young adult debut about a Latina girl who gets everything she's ever wanted... and then has to figure out what she needs.
Posted by Beth at 12:05 AM | Comments (17)
June 27, 2006
Video Killed the Radio Star
Which has nothing to do with this weeks blog . . . I just like the song . . .
Time for complete and total honesty . . . I’m just not that into music.
I’ve never been one of those soulful people who can lie around, listening to music all day, while contemplating the unbearable lightness of being. Maybe it’s my Type A personality, but bo-ring.
I like my music to be of the background variety – something playing while I’m working or reading, that doesn’t intrude on whatever I’m doing. Jazz (the sort that makes you want to drink a martini and smoke a cigarette, even if you don’t do either). Classical. And, very occasionally, when I feel like dancing, 80’s New Wave.
But that doesn’t stop the people around me from trying to indoctrinate me into their music. Boyfriends used to do this back in high school and college (one guy was so intent on making me like Bryan Adams, that he played that stupid theme song from Robin Hood over and over and over . . . looking back, I now know I should have read the signs and dumped him immediately).
Even today, my friends and family won’t let me be. Not too long ago, George and I had a conversation that went like this:
GEORGE: [turning up the radio] I love this song!
ME: [turning down the radio] I don’t.
GEORGE: How can you not like this song? It’s a classic!
ME: I don’t like guitar music.
GEORGE: [stunned silence]
ME: What?
GEORGE: What do you mean you don’t like guitar music? Everyone likes guitar music.
ME: I don’t.
GEORGE: But . . . but . . . what about [insert some band] or [insert some song]?
ME: [shrugging] It just doesn’t do it for me.
GEORGE: It just doesn’t DO IT FOR YOU?
ME: Why are you yelling?
GEORGE: Because I find it inconceivable that a smart, open-minded woman like you could just blanketly dismiss an entire genre of music like that!
ME: I’m not that open-minded. I don’t care for the Indian Citar, either.
GEORGE: What about classical guitar? Huh? What about that?
ME: Nope. Don’t like that either.
GEORGE: [Returns to his stunned silence]
And then for weeks after, he’d insist on playing me bits of guitar music, and ask me if I liked it. As though he were going to trick me into saying yes. As though suddenly, after years of disliking guitar music, I’d suddenly say, “Eureka! You’re right! I LOVE this!”
Guess what . . . it didn’t happen.
My mom did this to me, too. A few years ago, when I was staying with her for a week, she was going on and on about how much she loved her newest find: Celtic music.
ME: Yeah, you know, I don’t really care for Celtic music.
MOM: You’ll like this.
ME: No, I won’t.
MOM: [turns on Celtic CD at an ear-shattering volume] Isn’t it wonderful?
ME: What? I can’t hear you over that racket!
MOM: ISN’T IT WONDERFUL?
ME: NO! IT SOUNDS LIKE CATS IN HEAT! CAN YOU PLEASE TURN IT DOWN A LITTLE?
MOM: [turns music up even louder] JUST GIVE IT A TRY! YOU’LL LOVE IT!
ME: [retreats to guest room, and stuffs ear plugs in ears]
So give me a little Dave Brubeck, or Diana Krall, or Miles Davis, or turn on some nice soothing classical that I can work to. But, please, please, please, don’t make me suffer through teen-bopper pop, ten minute guitar solos or that godawful Celtic wailing . . . Really. I’m not going to change my mind. As Popeye likes to say, I yam what I yam.
This blog was brought to you by Adiós to My Old Life, Caridad's rockin' young adult debut about a Latina girl who gets everything she's ever wanted... and then has to figure out what she needs.
Posted by Whitney at 7:48 AM | Comments (20)
June 26, 2006
Dorkmeier Alert!
Incoming! Dive! Dive!
Once again, I'm just going to get it out in the open. I am taking autoharp lessons.
Yes. Autoharp. That instrument with the strings that your third grade music teacher hauled from classroom to classroom. I am learning to play it. I know. You just push the key with the chord you want and then strum. Hence, the whole dorkmeier alert thing. Seriously, though there can be much more to it.
It all started when I saw the move A Mighty Wind.
See, Cowboy and I are Mitch and Mickey from A Mighty Wind. Except for the fact that I can't sing or play autoharp and that part where we split up and Cowboy goes insane and I marry somebody who sells incontinence supplies.
I started cruising ebay looking for a used autoharp because, believe it or not, those suckers aren't cheap. I'd look at them and then chicken out and not bid on them, but Cowboy was taking note of my obsession. He talked to my mother about it who remembered how much I wanted to learn to play the real harp in high school and how she told me no and has apparently been feeling guilty about it for twenty-five years. Sometimes being Jewish can work in your favor and the two of them went together and bought me an autoharp for my birthday. Last year.
Three books, two instructional CDs and one DVD later, I managed to figure out how to play "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" and "Amazing Grace."
Clearly, I needed help.
So now every Wednesday at three thirty, everyone is required to clear the living room so my autoharp isntructor and I can pick our way through "Simple Gifts." He is patient. Very, very patient. He also doesn't really read music. He does it all by ear. The only thing I've ever been able to do by ear is to discern whether Things One and Two were crying because they were hungry or because they had dirty diapers.
To put it bluntly, I suck.
Am I giving up? Absolutely not! I'm having a blast. I may never be able to play "A Kiss at the End of the Rainbow" as a duet with Cowboy, but I can figure out "Michael Row the Boat Ashore" and "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" and amuse myself for hours. My instructor assures me that my ear will become more discerning the more I try to use it to discern and every week, I hear a little progress.
And one more of my dark and dirty secrets is out in the open.
This blog was brought to you by Adiós to My Old Life, Caridad's rockin' young adult debut about a Latina girl who gets everything she's ever wanted... and then has to figure out what she needs.
Posted by Eileen at 7:44 AM | Comments (8)
June 25, 2006
They're creepy and they're kooky
On a three-hour tour
I can't help it -- I 'm a pop culture junkie. I ADORE TV and movies and a whole heap of commercial fiction in my novels. (Yeah, yeah, I read that other stuff, too, tons of it, but we're talking about pop culture now, y'all.)
But today is a bleak and barren landscape of musical wasteland compared to the cultural icons of my childhood.
Here's the great sadness of my life as a mother: the enormous cultural black hole in which my poor, deprived children are living their childhoods. Yes, I'm talking about TV SHOW THEME MUSIC.
Where are today's great classics of modern music, such as:
Da da da dum.
Snap Snap
Da da da dum.
Snap Snap
Da da da dum, Da da da dum, Da da da dum.
Snap Snap.
Yep, it was definitely creepy and kooky, and I loved it.
Or, still to this day, does anybody want to go on a boat ride of ANY SORT for a THREE-HOUR TOUR???
Navy Guy, who even in his childhood, had a thing for blondes, reminds me of I DREAM OF JEANIE. And now he's downstairs playing this on his computer:
Darling, I love you but give me Park Avenue . . . .
Fresh Air
Times Square
(Yes, we have a Green Acres kind of marriage, too, but that's a subject for a whole 'nuther blog . . .) He's playing the BEVERLY HILLBILLIES theme song now but I refuse to write the lyrics of that one.
Or how about:
Sunday, Monday, Happy Days . . .
These days are our-our-our-ours, Happy Days
It's a generational thing, definitely. We had a brief but HORRIFYING period when Science Boy was INFATUATED with the giant purple dinosaur. This rang through our skulls with brain-splitting frequency:
I love you, you love me, we're a happy FAMILY,
With a great big hug and a kiss from me to you,
Your parents' brains are going to explode
Princess, luckily, skipped the Barney phase, but she's a huge fan of KIM POSSIBLE, which is at least girl-powerish:
I'm a teenaged average girl, and I'm here to save the world.
On the other end of the spectrum, I polled my mother, and she immediately listed her favorites:
Here's the story of a lovely lady who was bringing up three very lovely girls
All of them had hair of gold, like their mother, the youngest one in curls
The theme songs from BONANZA and HAWAII 5-0, even though they didn't have words, got whistled a lot when she was cleaning house.
And she called back to remind me of THE LOVE BOAT:
Love, exciting and new
Come aboard, We're expecting you
Oh, and this reminds me of my secret crush on Davy Jones:
Hey, hey, we're the MONKEES!!
And today, or at least fairly recently, there was CHEERS and FRIENDS and . . . Okay, I have to stop now - this could go on for DAYS!!!! But instead, why don't you tell me your faves?? Or the ones that make your brain hurt???
hugs,
Alesia
ps And Caridad's book is IN STORES NOW!!! It rocks!!! In a totally non-creepy and kooky way. :)
This blog was brought to you by Adiós to My Old Life, Caridad's rockin' young adult debut about a Latina girl who gets everything she's ever wanted... and then has to figure out what she needs.
Posted by Alesia at 12:25 PM | Comments (18)
June 23, 2006
Hold Music
Yes. I'm actually going to talk about hold music. It's Fish's fault.
So. I wake up this morning and snuggle in bed with Fish.
"I have to go to work," he says.
"I have to blog for Literary Chicks," I say, then think, Damn. I also have to feed the kids, watch the kids, keep the kids from killing each other, feed them again, probably play with them or read to them or something, do the dishes, do the laundry, and write a book while the kids crawl all over me like monkeys on a jungle gym. I should have said one of those.
Fish, secure in his misconception that his day will require more toil than mine and thus he shall retain his title as Da Man, says, "What do you have to write about?"
"Music," I say. "Only I'm not really a music person. I mean, I like music. But I'm not obsessive about it or anything. I'm tone deaf and don't know a bass guitar from a regular guitar." Silence. "So, what's the difference between a bass guitar and a regular guitar?"
Fish drones on about the difference but I'm thinking about what I'm going to have for breakfast. At first I think maybe whole wheat toast, but I really want to start upping my protein, so I decide on yogurt.
"And that's basically the difference."
"Mmmm." I sigh. "So, I don't know what to write about."
He chuckles, still steeping in his security. Crap. I really should have mentioned the jungle gym thing.
"Write about hold music," he says.
I roll my eyes and kick him out of bed. Then I get up, feed the children, get them dressed, get them occupied doing... something (hmmm... it's been quiet for a while... that's never a good sign) and sit down at the computer to write about... music.
Maybe it's that I'm still brain dead from the move. Maybe it's that all my creativity has suddenly left me. (That's always the number one fear, even though I always say it second.) Maybe it's that Caridad took the good idea of those magical musical moments. (How cool was it having Caridad here this month, by the way? Isn't she awesome? I love her. And congrats winners! I'm sorry, what? I'm digressing? Whoops. Sorry.)
So. Anyway. I battled with it for a while, trying to think of something more interesting, but it's early morning and I've got a full day ahead of me and my creativity has left me forever and ever and I'm morphing into a big drama queen. All not good things. So... hold music.
Here's what I have to say about hold music.
...
...
...
I think that my original reaction, which was that blogging about hold music is stupid, was correct. I stand by this assertion, and apologize for any inconvenience this might have caused. Your patronage is important to me, and I appreciate your patience while you wait for a real Literary Chick to take up the slack and be actually entertaining. Your estimated wait time is approximately 24 hours. Thank you for coming by, and have a great day!
:::insert hold music here, preferably something by Madonna, during the reign of the pointy-breasted personality. I mean, come on. Who doesn't love pointy breasts? Right? Right.:::
This blog was brought to you by Adiós to My Old Life, Caridad's rockin' young adult debut about a Latina girl who gets everything she's ever wanted... and then has to figure out what she needs.
Posted by Lani at 7:08 AM | Comments (12)
June 22, 2006
Those Magical Musical Moments
Don't you forget about me--
Don't, don't, don't, don't
So it's my THEME WEEK this week on the Literary Chicks-- it's also my last week, but shh... we won't talk about that or I'll start crying and bust my tough image out of the water. Anyhow, you had to guess, if I was going to do a theme week, it was going to be about music, right? But there are so many ways to take this, I actually had a hard time narrowing it down. Finally, I settled on those magical, musical moments. You know the ones I mean, right? Not necessarily your wedding song, although, obviously, it could be. No, I'm talking more about the songs that are so indelibly wrapped up with a particular memory in your mind, that no matter where you are when you hear that song, you're immediately transported back to a certain moment in time.
*warbles* "This magic moment..."
I've got a couple that stand out. (Well, more than a couple, but I'll only torture you with a couple.) The first one is Styx's Renegade. That was the song that always played on the Super Himalaya at the Dade County Youth Fair. All I have to hear is the first few notes, the soft throb of the bass drum... those tight harmonies... and whammo. I'm there in the car as it slowly starts moving, the smells of fried dough and powdered sugar and corndogs and soft serve ice cream, wafting along the midway on a March night. Hearing the bells and gongs of the midway games accompanying Tommy Shaw's vocals and our shrieks as we picked up speed. Then halfway through the song, reversing direction and hoping (praying, really) that the fried dough and powdered sugar and corndogs and soft serve ice cream that you unwisely had before you decided to ride the Super Himalaya didn't decide to reverse direction at the same time.
I can be standing in the middle of the frozen foods aisle of Publix, but I hear Renegade and it takes an almost conscious effort not to raise my arms above my head and wait for the wind to blow my hair back. I also get these unholy cravings for corn dogs. I'm like Pavlov's dog, I swear.
The other song epitomizes a time period, more than one single moment. Simple Minds' Don't You Forget About Me, the theme from John Hughes' immortal, The Breakfast Club. If you were in high school in 1985, that was your song. Heck, that was your movie. And actually, it would've been our class song if North Miami Senior High hadn't had the world's lamest Student Goverment who thought that The Carpenter's We've Only Just *gag* Begun was a more appropriate and meaningful choice. Right. A song that, to this day, still scores high on the Cheese-O-Meter, and that at the time was already about ten years old made perfect sense.
I say again, and with feeling, *gag*. Totally should have been Don't You Forget About Me.
I hear that song and I'm in a darkened movie theatre, watching Judd Nelson walking across the football field, fist thrust in the air. I'm in first period Algebra, and hanging at the bowling alley and taking a break during band rehearsal. I'm in pretty much any moment that comprised the spring of my senior year.
Like I said, I've got a bunch of these moments-- a ton of songs that bring me back to those moments. And of course, I give them to my characters-- in ADIOS, Ali considers Jason Mraz's Bella Luna to be her lucky song. Pretty song. And every time I hear it, I'm back at my desk, working on ADIOS. Lookee there. Another moment.
So tell me about yours, Chicks and fans. What are your magical, musical moments? What songs just take you away like a Calgon Bubble Bath?
Anyhow, a couple final things before I wrap it up here with the Chicks-- first off, the winners of the SING ME SOME ADIOS giveaway are:
Alexis Jacobs, Decatur, IL
Sheryl Davis, Thorold, Ontario
Shana Norris, Kinston, NC
You'll each be receiving a signed copy of ADIOS as soon as I can trot my butt to the Post Office. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it.
And finally, thank you again to Alesia, Lani, Michelle, Eileen, Beth, and Whitney for hosting me this month. It's been an exciting, fun ride (almost as good as the Super Himalaya!) and I can't wait to see as many of you as I can in Atlanta! Until then, adiós!
This blog was brought to you by Adiós to My Old Life, Caridad's rockin' young adult debut about a Latina girl who gets everything she's ever wanted... and then has to figure out what she needs.
Posted by at 7:00 AM | Comments (15)
June 21, 2006
What’s in a name?
Okay, you guys, I’m not even gonna lie: I’m on deadline right now and I barely have two brain cells to rub together. So this will be a short post. But fun. Short and fun, that’s our motto here at the L.C. Uh-huh. What’s that? Well, yes, I probably could use a nap and some non-chocolate sustenance. Why do you ask?
So I was in Target with my friend Karin and her son the other day (my life is SO glam) and we ran into a woman who had a daughter named Kensington. Karin loved the name, but Kensington is a big New York publisher, and I can't hear it without thinking about editors and literary agents. Maybe it’s a writer thing. Or maybe it's just an "I'm-crazy" thing. (Smart's money on that one.)
Anyway, when I mentioned this to a friend who lives in London, she had a few things to say about recent British baby naming trends. “What is up with people naming their children after tube stops?" she wanted to know. "Why not just name the kid Hampstead Heath? Or Piccadilly?”
We agreed that Piccadilly is probably better suited for a very cute cat. But you know some poor tyke out there is named that.
The whole discussion inspired me to name one of the characters in an upcoming book “Pemberley”, which, as all Pride and Prejudice devotees know, is the name of Mr. Darcy’s country estate. In my book, Pemberley is a very WASP-y and refined prep school grad, and I grin every time I type her name.
I got off easy, name-wise—Beth is easy to spell, easy to pronounce, and it easily fits in the allotted space on those little bubbles you have to fill out on standardized test forms. Thank God for my dad—my mom wanted to name me Maude, and he intervened. I don’t know what Mom was thinking. I am not Maude material at all. My whole life would have turned out differently if I’d been a Maude…or a Gertrude, which was her runner-up favorite girl name. (I love you, Dad!)
I shouldn’t be so judgmental, though; I really like the name Josephine, which I know is hopelessly outré. Still, Maude? That ain’t right.
For a hilarious and horrifying list of true and bizarre baby names, click here. (Warning: do not drink while reading this site or you WILL douse your computer screen.) They put Shiloh, Apple and Suri to shame.
So spill: what’s the most unusual baby name you’ve heard in real life? Do you have a name that you always have to spell and/or explain? Or do you find your name boring and wish your parents had gone with something more exotic? And what do you think of “Maude”? My mom can’t be the only one who likes it.
Posted by Beth at 3:56 AM | Comments (19)
June 19, 2006
School's Out for Summer
School's Out Forever
Okay, it's not out forever, but it's out until some time in late August and that's pretty darn good. I do realize that school has been out forever for me for quite a while, but it's still a thrill every year when summer starts.
I love summer. I love the long lazy days with nothing to do. I love the barbecues and the fireworks and the trips to the pool. I love the heat.
Except
There aren't long lazy days with nothing to do. I have a book to write and a somewhat shorter time span to write it in than I'm used to having. On the ther hand, it's going well (thank you, thank you, thank you, Alesia, Beverly and Cindy) and, gosh darn it, I love my job. I don't think I would want to take three months away from it. It's fun and I feel lucky to do it.
Then there's the house. No way do I get three months off taking care of it and housekeeping is not one of my better skills. Things One and Two have their chores and Cowboy pitches in, but keeping it clean enough that the health department doesn't come in and evict us is definitely mainly my job. On the other hand, the new paint job makes it look so darn cute, that I smile every time I come home. Plus, every time the bank account starts to look a little thin, I remember that I stil have the house and all the financial security it can bestow. Yep. I feel lucky to have a house that I have to keep.
Let's not forget how time-consuming the kids can be, especially in the summer. They're underfoot all the time and making messes that either have to be cleaned or that they have to be nagged to clean and there are the endless carpools to summer camps and music lessons and sports practices. Yet, they're so much fun right now. We played one of Thing Two's new board games from his birthday last night and completely cracked ourselves up. Yep. I totally feel lucky that they're here for me to enjoy.
Then there are the million other things that pack my day. I try to exercise every day (I'm lucky to be healthy enough to do that!). I spend time with my Mom (I'm lucky she's still here and that she's such a sweetie). I hang out with my sister (I'm so lucky to have such a fantastic big sister who is also such a fantastic friend) and my friends (where would I be without them?).
Summer officially starts Wednesday. June 21 is the longest day of the year and -- you guessed it -- I feel lucky to have the time to pack it all in.
Posted by Eileen at 11:05 AM | Comments (7)
June 18, 2006
Happy Father's Day!!!
To all the fathers out there - today is YOUR DAY!!!
Today, I hope you:
Took a break from lawn mowing duties, and pretended not to notice if your wife tried to mow the lawn for you but she didn't actually realize that LAWN MOWERS take GASOLINE. [Which, if you ask me, is a dirty trick.]
Reigned over the remote controls to the TV, DVD player, stereo, and electrified LazyBoy recliner complete with built-in beer chest and mini-pizza oven, UNDISTURBED.
Looked at your kids and thought, I DID THAT, with overwhelming pride and satisfaction: Hey. I had a big part in making those lives happen. I did good.
Smiled and pretended that the bottle of Old Spice, or the hideous tie, or the knickknacky book on what happens to Old Golfers when their putters go limp was EXACTLY THE GIFT YOU'D ALWAYS HOPED FOR (remembering that one day these are the people who will have to change your Depends. mwah ha ha. "Old Spice THAT, Junior!!!)
And, all day long, felt appreciated. Because you are. And we love you.
Hugs and huge appreciation to my own Darling Navy Guy, who is clearly the best Dad in the ENTIRE UNIVERSE, and to ALL the Dads out there, from the Literary Chicks,
hugs,
Alesia, who knows her own dad is beating several angels at pool at this very moment
Posted by Alesia at 8:45 PM | Comments (3)
June 17, 2006
Wish You Were Here...
So, I'm on vacation at the moment and...
Something I've always wanted to be able to say is this:
"Of course I've partaken of the waters in Bath, darlink." You know, like the characters out of a Jane Austen book.
And now, because I did partake of the waters in Bath today, I can :-) I really did. And let me tell you that the waters are an acquired taste on account of being hot and sulphurous and mineral-ish (photos to follow of me tasting them, once I fgure out the how to). But I also got to eat delicious things in the Pump Room, and eat more delicous things in the Jane Austen Centre.
Yes, for the last two weeks I have been meandering around the English countryside on vacation.
On the downside...
Remember the trouble we had to make sure that our international cell phone would work while we were away? Well, the Vale of Avalon in Somerset (where we were based), is a historical, land line kind of place, and guess what? The cell phone signals (international or not) don't always work (it's very spooky in a good kind of way).
However, when I climbed Glastonbory Tor the cell phone worked just fine :-)
Michelle, currently somewhere in London
Posted by Michelle at 6:45 PM | Comments (5)
June 16, 2006
A Public Service Announcement
We're just thrilled to PIECES to announce that our own lovely Eileen has just WON FIRST PLACE in the 2006 Beacon contest for Published Authors in the WOMEN'S FICTION, CHICK LIT AND MAINSTREAM ROMANCE category for her amazing book, BALANCING IN HIGH HEELS!!!! The competition was FIERCE, but we're talking MAJOR TALENT HERE!!! So please join us in congratulating the lovely Eileen, formerly of light-up heels fame!!
smoochies, Chicklets!
Jazz
Posted by Alesia at 10:49 PM | Comments (6)
In the past week, I have signed my name 1,823 times
Ah, mortgage, sweet mortgage, how I have yearned for thee...
Forgive me, chicklets. I missed last week because I was on my way to give a workshop in Toronto, and this week's blog is going to take lame to a new place because we closed on our house on Monday, and I have spent every day this week working morning to night to get it ready for the big move - which is today - and do you know that not a single woodland creature made me a gown for the ball while I slaved away? Personally, I think they could have at least fixed up a nice cheese plate. Lazy bastards. Anyway, I'm exhausted and drained (yet happy! Always happy! Homeowners are happy, happy people. Right? That's what the Mephistopheles to whom I signed away my life and soul told me. He wouldn't have lied... would he????)
Okay. Where was I?
Oh, yes. Exhausted and drained. Exactly. Which makes it very hard to be amusing, and that's pretty much my only job here. Be amusing. But I'm just too tired to pull it off. I mean, you don't really want to hear about the snake in my shed that was easily 1/2000th my size and yet sent me screaming through the yard like a Victorian virgin with a bee up her petticoat, do you?
Well. Actually. That was kinda funny. But those flickering tongues are freaky.
(Okay, the phrase "flickering tongue" is just too neighborly with "Victorian virgin" here to not create certain associations in your head, isn't it? Oh, stop it. Stop pretending like you weren't thinking it. You know you were. You dirty, dirty Chicklets. Shame on you.)
But back to my dramatic overreaction to the snake, which I don't think is really an overreaction, because no one likes snakes. Except for my father-in-law who is one of the country's leading herpetologists (i.e., snake... studier... guys) and keeps them in a special room in his house and really seems to like them quite a lot, actually.
Love you, Cecil. But snakes? Are creepy.
So. Oh. Where was I? Oh, yes. Exhausted and drained and unable to be funny. Right.
Oh, hey. Did I mention I'm moving to the country? Yes, the name of my road is County Route 11. Seriously. County Route 11. Yes. I live on a road so remote that nobody bothered naming it. The town planners were probably like, "Well, who lives there? Like, two people? And one of them is that farmer guy with the crazy eye, so hell, let's just call it 11 and hit the driving range, whaddaya say?"
So, yes. Um. Where was I? Oh, yes. Exhausted and drained. And unable to be funny. There you have it.
But I'm a homeowner. So far, it's fun, if you forget about the work and the fact that I installed my own washer and dryer this week and promptly flooded my utility room and kitchen. On the first day. I didn't have a mop, so I used six bath towels and two rolls of Viva. I am woman. Hear me curse like a sailor with a bad case of the clap.
So. Um. Where was I? Oh, yes.
Yes. So I'm way too tired to write anything even remotely amusing this week. So sorry. And yes, I did come all the way down here to blog about how there will be no blog. So, that's kind of funny, right? A little? Maybe? Oh, hell.
But I'm a homeowner.
And I have paint in my hair.
Posted by Lani at 6:00 AM | Comments (11)
June 15, 2006
The Virtual Casting Couch
I'm ready for my closeup, Mr. DeMille
Bet that title got your attention, huh? Let's talk about casting our books. For the writers among us, I know that many of us tend to get an image fixed in our head of what our characters look like and that often, they tend to be famous, because, let's face it, they're convenient. But as readers, I'll lay money we all do our own share of casting our favorite books, getting to play Spielberg (or for the more twisted among us, Fellini). Let's face it, it's a pretty popular pastime.
Author Diana Gabaldon (Outlander) even feeds her fans' jonesin' by hosting a section within her site devoted to casting the charaters. Erm... some of the choices are interesting, to say the least. I mean, Ray Liotta or Jude Law as Frank/Black Jack Randall? I think not. My personal choice is actually Alexis Denisof who I'm sure some people would scoff at. A lot. But seriously, he could so do the scholar thing as Frank and totally pull off the ruthless Black Jack British Army Officer gig as well.
Regardless, we can cast our favorite stories as perfectly as our little mind's eye sees it. The problem, as illustrated in the above example, is when other people come in and totally miss the boat. (In our own less-than-humble opinions *g*) Even worse, is when they're a director, casting a film that will be preserved unto eternity and totally miss the boat. Now, of course, there are times it's perfect. Like Scarlett O'Hara. I mean, I think every young actress of the time coveted the part. Tallulah Bankhead, Susan Hayward, Paulette Goddard, Lana Turner, Bette Davis, Katharine Hepburn, were all mentioned as possibilities. But can you really see anyone other than Vivian Leigh in that role? She was Scarlett-- she epitomized Scarlett from appearance to attitude.
Then there are the weird ones, that on paper sound totally wrong, but work, nevertheless. Michael Keaton as Batman? Shyeah, right. But it worked. With respect to that character, so did Christian Bale (oh, mama, did it ever).
And then there are the ones that are just too painful to mention. But we'll mention them anyway. We'll purge ourselves and be free of the horrifying spectre or some such twaddle. For me, it has to do with one of my favorite books ever, Anne Rivers Siddons' Heartbreak Hotel. Oh my, is this a wonderful book. I first discovered it on the shelves of my high school's library, looking pristine, like no one had ever opened it (probably not) even though by that point, it had been out several years. I've never amassed late fees like I did with that book, until I finally found a copy at a used bookstore. To date, I've gone through three paperbacks of that novel and I completely refuse to lend it out. I have bought people copies rather than loan it out.
Then, when it was announced that a film was going to be made, I sent up a "Hallelujah" and "Testify, brother." (The book's set in the Deep South of the 1950s, it seemed apropos.) As you can tell, I was naive then. I had no clue what was about to happen. I just thought it was wonderful that this beautiful, very visual novel, was finally going to be brought to life.
Uh, no.
Let's start with Maggie-- the lead character, a Flower of the South of the breed that existed in the 1950s. I knew this character, because I knew so many of these Flowers. When I was at college, they were the doyennes who existed as the alumni of my sorority, showing up for rush and other official functions. (Yes-- you heard me right. I only lasted a year, so hush.)
So who was cast as Maggie?
Ally Sheedy. Brat Pack, white bread, slightly beatnik Ally Sheedy as a Southern Flower. Phoebe Cates of Fast Times at Ridgemont High fame as her beatnik friend. Treat Williams as the potential love interest, who was supposed to be from Mississippi. Honestly, the only character who was decently cast was Viginia Madsen as Delia-- a blonde bimbo. Yeah, that worked. And to add insult to injury, they retitled the film the scintillating Heart of Dixie.
I still went to see it. It was every bit as bad as I expected. Worse, even, since they totally mangled the script as well.
It's not the only time I've felt this sort of disappointment. I still haven't seen In Her Shoes. Toni Collette, yes. Shirley MacLaine, yes. Cameron Diaz... NSM.
At any rate, I know I can't be the only one. So for those of you playing along with the Home Game--
Which favorite character do you have perfectly cast in your head or that you thought was perfectly cast onscreen, and which character did a director just totally miss the boat on?
Come on, you know you wanna tell...
Posted by at 7:00 AM | Comments (9)
June 13, 2006
Mr. Tall and the dog salve
Because a penny saved is a penny earned. Damnit.
I should preface this story by admitting that I am cheap. Really cheap. I love bargains and coupons, I abhor paying retail. I re-use plastic sandwich bags and run the dishwasher at midnight to avoid paying peak-rate charges on our electric bill. I refuse to buy any food of any kind in a movie theater or airport. You would think I lived through the Great Depression.
Having said that, I must also admit that I like nice things. So websites like bluefly.com, overstock.com, and smartbargains.com are a godsend. One thing I will splurge on is healthful foods; I try to buy organic for me and Mr. Tall, and our dogs enjoy high-grade, premium kibble. I also am starting to be a big believer in holistic healing and natural remedies. So it came to pass that when Murphy got an itchy, red insect bite between his toes, I purchased a little tub of “Derma Dream Natural healing Salve”.
Murphy was not a fan. He insisted on nibbling the ointment right off every time I slathered it on his paw, and since he is a terrier and can out-stubborn me any day of the week, I gave up and threw the salve in the medicine cabinet. A few months later, I had to give up running outside in the Arizona heat and moved my fitness routine to the Y for the summer. Now, I don’t know if this is just because I’m flabby or what, but I have a certain pair of running shorts, the wearing of which always—always!—results in chafed inner thighs. It’s incredibly painful, and the visual ain’t pretty. And yet I haven’t gotten around to replacing the offending shorts. (See: I’m cheap.)
So last week, after returning from the treadmill, I looked for something to soothe the irritated skin, only to find that we were fresh out of Neosporin. But you know what we weren’t out of? That’s right—Derma Dream. And I’m here to tell you, that stuff rocks! It cooled the skin and starting working right away and that chafing was gone, baby, gone…well, until the next time I wore those shorts to the Y.
I’m sure you have guessed where this story is going. Sunday night, Mr. Tall started complaining of a nasty, dry patch of heat rash on his neck. (Guess who didn’t listen to me about sunscreen.) He, being macho and manly, wanted to let it fester and forgo treatment of any kind. I, on the other hand, wanted him to stop complaining. So I raced to the medicine cabinet, found the miracle salve, and bullied him into letting me smear some on him.
He didn’t notice the label until after he’d already admitted that his neck felt better.
Mr. Tall: Hey, what the…this stuff is for DOGS?
Me (pointing out fine print): No, it says “for dogs, cats, and other friends.” We’re the “other friends.”
Mr. Tall: This is for animals!
Me: Humans are animals.
Mr. Tall: This is what you think of me? You think I deserve the same medicine as you give the dogs?
Me: Hey, I use it, too! When I get that nasty rash from wearing those black shorts—
Mr. Tall: Oh my God. WHY are you still wearing those shorts?!?
Me: I’m waiting to see if they stop chafing if I lose weight.
Mr. Tall: How many times have I told you to get rid of those stupid shorts? That’s it--I’m throwing them out right now. Where are they?
(Scuffle ensues)
But at least the salve didn’t go to waste. It totally works, you guys. And the ingredients are all-natural. And now I can put the five bucks I saved on Neosporin toward a new pair of shorts.
Posted by Beth at 11:43 PM | Comments (9)
Must See TV
Or, rather, Must Rent TV . . .
I don’t like the summer.
Sure, when you’re a kid, the summer means freedom – days spent at the beach or pool, playing with friends, biking around.
But now – and yes, I’m aware of how sad this is, but hey, I don’t have a house in the Hamptons – the summer is just a very long, very hot hiatus from good television.
I don’t even understand it. Those Hollywood people make the big bucks . . . why should their responsibility to entertain me come to an abrupt halt in May? I want new programming! I want Must See TV!
At least these days we have Netflix, so I can catch up on all the shows I didn’t watch the first time.
I’m gun shy about committing to a new series when it’s first aired. In fact, I’m choosier about the shows I start to watch then I was about the men I used to date back when I was single. One slice of bad pizza and a conversation about What Was Your Favorite Star Wars Action Figure is only an hour out of your life . . . watching a series week after week, becoming more and more engrossed in the character’s lives, only to have the series yanked away by the hard-hearted network executives . . . Now that’s heartbreak.
And, yes, I’m still bitter that Cupid was cancelled. I won’t be burned like that again.
So here’s what I have on my Netflix queue for the summer:
(1) Entourage, Season Two. I love this show about a stupid movie star and his three worthless friends, even though watching all of that silicone not bouncing around always makes me paranoid that my breasts are waaaay too small. Plus, it has Jeremy Piven in it (see Cupid, above).
(2) Grey’s Anatomy, Season One. I’m now a religious Grey’s watcher, but I missed the first few episodes, and I have to find out how MerDer began.
(3) House. I know nothing about this show, but I like Hugh Laurie, so what the hell.
(4) Wonderfalls. Recommended by our own Lani!
(5) Alias. Maybe. So far, George keeps sliding it further and further down the Netflix queue in a very passive-aggressive way.
(6) Coupling. Apparently a “Friends” based British show . . . and since it’s European, you just know there’s lots of nudity in it.
(7) The Office. The American version that is. I watched the first episode when it originally aired, and thought it sucked compared to the brilliant BBC version, but I’ve heard it’s gotten better, so I thought I’d give it another try.
(And for everyone who was worried about George being deprived of his boring old Classics, I put both High Noon and Treasures of the Sierra Madre at the top of our Netflix Queue. Okay, so I only did it because Sam and I are jetting off tomorrow to spend a week with the grandparents in Syracuse, so I won't be stuck watching them. But still. It’s the thought that counts, right?)
Any recommendations for other series I might have missed?
Posted by Whitney at 8:52 AM | Comments (17)
June 12, 2006
A Cry for Help
Stop Me Before I Kill Again
I am a plant killer. There. I've said it. It's out in the open now. It's no longer a dirty, nasty, little secret eating away at my very soul. It's embarrassing, maybe even shameful, but it's true. I kill plants.
Not on purpose! I'm not sadistic. I just can't seem to make them enough of a priority to water them on a regular basis for an extended period of time. Fertilize them? Give them special food? Trim them, weed them, talk to them? Puh-leeze.
I am pretty much the only plant killer in the family. My grandfather was a farmer and my mother, sisters, cousins, uncles and aunts all pride themselves on their green thumbs.
I, on the other hand, once killed an aloe plant.
For years, I have tried not to kill plants. Nearly every spring, I buy plants and put them in pots around my house and set up little drip watering systems that should make the whole watering thing easy and painless for me and the plants. I've even kept many of the plants alive for months.
Inevitably, however, something comes up. I go on a trip. Someone gets sick. I get distracted. One day, as I'm walking into the house, I notice that the geranium is brown and crispy, instead of red, green and luscious.
We had the house painted this past week (yellow with white trim and a red door, in case you're interested) and as I pulled all the pots with their half-dead, three-quarter dead and all the way dead plants (I like variety) in them away from the house so the painters could do their painting thing, I felt terrible. Not only is it a waste of money and time, it's cruel. I have water. It's right next to the poor plants. The pathetic little things can even see the spigot I have to turn to hydrate them. It's like torture.
I made a decision.
I am embracing my true self. I am not going to put any more plants out there. I dumped out the dirt and set the pots out by the sidewalk with a big "FREE" sign on them. I put the little wrought iron table back along with the sculpture my sister made for me as a housewarming present, my metal Kokopelli and the ceramic sun and moon Cowboy bought for me in Mexico.
I will not kill again and I am feeling better already.
Posted by Eileen at 10:57 PM | Comments (14)
June 11, 2006
Comfort food
gross things we eat, courtesy of childhood
First: the winners!! My mini-contest in honor of the new anthology, WELCOME TO WISTERIA LANE, which includes several essays written by the Literary Chicks, provided many wonderful ideas for making life at home easier. The winners, who will each receive a copy of the book, are: Kim W. – for the Clorox bleach pen and for the courage to go first!! Lauren J. Harwood, for being brave enough to admit to scary singing, and Terri, for the ziploc’d outfits for camp idea. Brilliant!! (Not that they weren’t all brilliant, but I had to pick 3 somehow and I made Navy Guy and the kids vote.
Now, on to the meat and potatoes of today’s blog (get it? a food blog? Meat and potatoes? Gee, I crack myself up
Okay, you all know what I’m talking about, right? Something weird that you ate as a kid that still equals comfort food in your mind. Something so odd that you never, EVER let anybody know you eat it still. Not often, and maybe only when life is really piling on the suckitude, but there it is, you’re stressed, upset, angry, laid off, facing a felony rap for embezzlement, or whatever, and what do you want?
Well, if you’re me, it’s TUNA FISH CASSEROLE. Yep. Not weird enough for you? Riiiiiight. Except, it’s the kind made with POTATOES AND GREEN PEA SOUP.
I am SO not kidding. [Pause for collective EUUWWWWW]. My mother (and let me explain about my Midwestern mother – to her, salt is a spice. There was a lot of Wonder Bread in my childhood. Meatloaf baked with ketchup on top was GOURMET. Yeah, THAT kind of Midwestern) -- my mother made this UTTERLY BIZARRE tuna fish casserole with tuna fish (had to be the kind packed in oil), diced potatoes, and canned green pea soup.
THEN STIR.
That’s it. I was married at least four years before I let Navy Guy even know that – yes, how gross is this? - sometimes I STILL EAT IT.
What about you? Here’s your chance to ‘fess up. What’s your weirdest comfort food?
Hugs,
Alesia
Posted by Alesia at 11:33 AM | Comments (21)
June 10, 2006
DVD Times Three?
The curse of the electronic gadgetry strikes again!
Our DVD machine died a few weeks ago, so you know what that meant, don't you? Yes, Les Cunnahs were obliged once more to visit the electronics store.But how hard could it be to purchase a new DVD machine? Oh Patient One and I asked each other.
Yet we stepped forth trepidatiously because, after all, we recently had to contend with The Keyboard Disaster. And The Cell Phone Thing. Surely this time it would be third time lucky?
Of course not, because that would just be too easy.
We needed a multifrequency DVD machine that would allow us to play not only the DVDs we've purchased since moving to the Netherlands (Region 2), but also the ones we purchased during our years in America (Region 1). No problem, we reasoned, because our recently deceased DVD machine was also purchased in the Netherlands, and we never had any problems with it. Until it died, of course.
So we arrived at the store, checked out the walls of DVD machines, and selected a mid-range one that promised to do all of these things. We paid for it, took it home, and then we read the instruction leaflet and...
"This machine has been permanently set to Region 2," we read in black and white. Obviously, the store lied to us.
Off we trudged, back to the electronics store, and explained the situation to Customer Services.
"The leaflet is incorrect," Unhelpful Assistant told us. "This machine is region free. You just have to program it with the remote control. Press Menu and 9 and it will work."
So we went home, set it up, pressed Menu...and nothing happened. Then we pressed Menu again, and still nothing happened. Then we did it a few more times, just to make sure.
Off we trudged, back to the electronics store, and explained the situation to Customer Services. Again.
"I told you yesterday that this machine is region free," Unhelpful Assistant reiterated. "Press Menu and 9 and it will work. I told you this yesterday." The he shook his head in the manner of one who cannot believe the stupidity of people in general.
When we stressed that we had, indeed, been clicking the bloody Menu button repeatedly, and nothing had happened, and there certainly wasn't even a number 1 option on the nonexistent menu, never mind a number 9 option, Unhelpful Assistant immediately fell on the floor laughing.
"No, you press menu AND 9. At the same time," he told us once he'd picked himself up off the floor.
Grrrr.
We went home, hooked up the machine, clicked Menu and 9 simultaneously and...there was the option to set the machine to be region free.
Why is something simple so complicated? Does anyone else have these problems, or is it just me?
Michelle, perplexed
Posted by Michelle at 5:00 PM | Comments (6)
June 8, 2006
More About Me
Because, you know, it's all about me
You know, I was rather proud of my entry last week. Until the Husband (AKA, the Hub) read it. Looking over my shoulder, he read, muttered, "huh," read some more, said in a distracted tone, "okay," finished reading, and said, "It's cute."
Cute? He knows I don't do cute. To quote the great Annie Savoy, "Cute? Baby ducks are cute, I HATE cute! I want to be exotic, and mysterious!" Of course, I could do a whole post alone on the beauty that is the dialogue from Bull Durham but that would be veering off-course from my intended topic.
Which is me.
You see, because after he said, "It's cute," and I did my outraged, "What's wrong with it?" and he backed off from what was no doubt the murderous gleam in my eye, he finally said, "Well, it's a great post, honey, but you didn't really tell them anything about yourself."
Me: "I did. I told them all about how much I love the Literary Chicks and the history I have with so many of them and..." It's about this point he's crossed his arms and is giving me That Look.
Him: "Yes, you told them about your history with the chicks, you just didn't tell them much about yourself."
Me: "But... I'm not really all that interesting."
Him: (Giving me That Look again.) "Look at all you do."
Me: "Lots of people do things that are far more interesting than me. Alesia leg-presses entire cars and Michelle deals with Dutch bureaucracy and Eileen plans parties with her sisters without killing them."
Him: "All of which is very impressive, but you're pretty interesting too.
Me: "This is like that Mom thing, right? Where you're supposed to say stuff like that?
Him: (Delivering That Look again. You'd think it would get exhausting.) "You're a pain in the ass, you know that?"
(Well, yes. Not a big surprise here.)
Me: "Okay, fine. I'll make the next post All About Me."
Him: "No you won't. You'll probably natter on about music or Cute Shoes or a dress you're dying to have."
Damn, but he knows me. I was going to post about the buying binge I went on, on iCrack (erm, iTunes) and about the seriously cute dress I'm currently lusting after. After all, need something new and fabulous for my first signing, right and it's soooo adorable. It's this sundress with a hot pink bodice and white circle skirt and... oh, man, I'm drifting again, aren't I?
Okay, okay. Here goes. Me. The basics, you know-- the Cuban-American part, the brought up in Miami, etc. I'm thirty-mmmph, in July, I'm going to have been married to the Hub for fourteen years, despite frequent opportunity (and reason) to kill him in his sleep. We have two, two-legged children: Drummer Boy who is going to be *gasp* ten in July, and The Diva, who is eight, going on thirty-five. We have two four-legged children of the eighty-five pound lap dog variety. This is our Elder Statesman, Jake who is the most patient, wonderful dog on the planet. And this is Mooshu being Very Fierce. This is a shot of him just being his usual furry self.
Let's see... what else? I'm pretty much as Virgo as Virgo gets, which can be Very Scary, according to the nearest and dearest. And no, to clear up a popular misconception, being Virgo doesn't mean I'm a neat freak. It means I have certain standards of organization. Totally different from being a neat freak. Just ask the dust bunnies I have arranged by date of appearance.
Now, see, this is where I get stuck-- what could y'all possibly want to know about me? I was a competitive figure skater for years. Yay. Um, let's see-- outside of music, one of my other passions is collecting cookbooks, with a particular emphasis on American Regional cooking, including product and Junior League cookbooks. (And yes, I actually cook from them, which is one reason I gained a humongous amount of weight at one time-- that's been curbed, somewhat.) Anyhow, the collection is up over seven hundred and among some of my gems: a 1944 edition of The Joy of Cooking with exchanges to account for wartime rationing; a 1950s-era General Foods Kitchen cookbook with absolutely hilarious entries such as how to throw an authentic Hawaiian Luau, complete with recipes using canned pineapple, and my absolute favorite, Memories of a Cuban Kitchen by Mary Urrutia Randelman. Okay, so not an antique and on first glance, maybe not American Regional cooking, but for me, it is. See, this book is chock full of the foods I grew up on, and as an added bonus, is a remarkable look at life in Cuba before 1960-- the kind of life my family had, since the author's family was very similar to mine.
Reading the anecdotes and seeing the pictures makes me long for the ability to call up the Way Back Machine and take a spin back to the Cuban of the thirties or the fifties, when it was a world-reknowned playground and vacation destination. To go the Tropicana and have a rum drink and dance a son or a merengue before going for a stroll on the beach. You know, the stuff that those old travel posters are made of. Another passion of mine-- vintage advertising art.
And music. And movies. And cute clothes and tell me, is this not one of the cutest dresses, EVER?!?
Sorry.
Couldn't help myself.
Posted by at 7:00 AM | Comments (17)
June 6, 2006
“You’re the one that I want…”
(ooh, ooh, ooh!)
Things I Can’t Wait For This Summer:
1. Nectarines. Best fruit ever. Sweet, juicy, and devoid of that peach fuzz that gives me the willies. (It’s a texture thing. I’m the world’s pickiest eater. But that’s another post for another day.)
2. Mike’s Hard Cranberry Lemonade. Yes, I’ll admit, the fact that I’d take a Mike’s over a chilled glass of Chardonnay any day DOES make me a bit, shall we say, déclassé. But I like my booze to taste like Kool-Aid, damnit! Sadly, each bottle contains about a trillion calories and enough sugar to get me through to Halloween, so I usually only indulge on the Fourth of July weekend and my birthday (I have a semi-scary birthday coming up, but again, that is another post for another day.) Oh, Mike’s! How I’ve missed you!
3. Fireworks in the pool. Well, not literally IN the pool, obviously. Our house is a few blocks away from a country club/resort that goes all out on a pyrotechnics extravaganza for the Fourth of July. Mr. Tall and I have adopted the tradition of inviting people over to our house, where we sit in our backyard pool (with Mike’s Hard Cranberry Lemonade in hand, naturally) and watch the fireworks in comfort and sloth.
4. Two words: Grease party. This was Mr. Tall’s idea (I married him in large part because he comes up with ideas like this). We are planning a hootenanny for which all guests must dress up as a character from everyone’s favorite teen movie. There have already been several fistfights over who gets to be Sandy and Danny. This party will feature copious amounts of alcohol and an all-night Grease marathon (which, coincidentally, was filmed at Venice High School, where my friend Sara went. She is responsible for my love of Grease. When I lived in Los Angeles, every time she drove us anywhere, she had the soundtrack blasting on her car stereo and finally, I gave in and learned every word.) Yes, you are all invited. I’m hoping I can train Murphy to do this in the next few weeks. Oh come on, click the link! I promise you'll be glad you did!
5. RWA. It’s a conference. It’s a party. It’s an excuse to buy cute outfits because “I need them for work.” (When you work at home, style and sophistication often fall by the wayside. Not that I am complaining. God bless my battered old denim shorts!) If you’ve never been, you need to go. TRUST me. All the cool kids will be there. (And the Literary Chicks, too.)
Posted by Beth at 11:26 PM | Comments (6)
Scary Movie
It's Sign of the Beast Day at the L.C.!
So, apparently they’ve remade The Omen, and have released it today in honor of the date: 6/6/06.
I actually never saw the original Omen. In fact, I make it a point not to watch scary movies. When I was young, I saw the original Halloween -- the one where Jamie Curtis keeps dropping her knife, thinking she's safe, when it's so obvious that Michael Myers still isn't dead and is going to get her at any minute -- and it nearly made me pee my pants. I had to sleep with the lights on for a week.
Unsurprisingly, my small DVD collection runs more to chick flicks -- When Harry Met Sally, Notting Hill, Emma, Pride & Prejudice (I own both the Colin Firth and the Keira Knightly versions).
So a few years ago, when George made a dueling banjos joke, I didn’t get it.
“You know, like in Deliverance,” he explained.
“I never saw that movie,” I said, with a shrug.
“You’ve never seen Deliverance?” George asked, appalled.
“Nope. You know I don’t like scary movies.”
“It’s not scary. It’s more of a thriller,” George said.
“Really? What’s it about?”
“It’s about four friends who go on a canoeing trip, and are chased down by some locals,” he said.
I kid you not: that was his description of the movie.
So imagine my surprise when we're watching the movie, and all of a sudden Burt Reynolds and his friends are suddenly intercepted by a pair of toothless mountain men . . . one of whom instructs Ned Beatty to drop trou . . .
“Why is he telling him to take off his . . . OH MY GOD!” I shrieked, as Ned Beatty began to squeal like a pig.
I didn’t talk to George for several days, unless it was to mutter, “Huh. A movie about a canoe trip.”
And now George wonders why I don't let him have any input on our Netflix list.
So in honor of the Sign of the Beast, what movie scared the bejesus out of you?
Posted by Whitney at 11:07 AM | Comments (19)
June 5, 2006
The Birthday Gauntlet
I have survived!
At first, I was afraid. I was petrified.
No. Not of 70s disco (although there are some scary moments there!) or even of ironic covers of 70s disco. I tremble with fear at having a streak of four birthdays in my family in the space seventeen short days.
It starts with Thing Two on May 15. Then there's my birthday on May 24, followed by my mother's birthday on May 27. We cap things off with Thing One on June 1. By then, I am seriously sick of cake and it takes a lot to make me sick of cake.
In any year, this all requries a delicate balancing act. It's important that everyone feels that their particular day is special, that they have been lauded by the family in similar, if not identical, ways and that gifting has been fair and aboveboard. This year, however, my mother turned 80, an impressive accomplishment all by itself. To turn 80 and be so beloved and respected by friend and family is even more stellar and completely eclipses piddly numbers like twelve, fourteen and forty-four.
Back in March when we were discussing this, Sissy #1 and I decided we should throw her some kind of special party. We informed Sissy #2 of our decision and she agreed. What else could she do? She was already outvoted?
Then the fun really began.
There is nothing like watching three grown women who are used to running their own households and entertaining in their own way wrestle over throwing a party that each one wants to be an incredibly special evening that will speak to someone of the love, respect and adoration they hold for them. To say that there were moments that weren't pretty, is to put it mildly.
Venue, menu, guest list. Everything was a series of negotiations requiring hours of phone conversations and then several more hours of conversation after the decision was finally made to re-hash the decision behind the back of whatever Sissy got her way. Which meant basically that Sissy #2 and I spent a lot of time on the phone because Sissy #1 does have a knack for getting her way.
Whining aside now, the party was on Saturday (we waited until my niece was back from her semester abroad in France -- an easy decision for us all to agree on). It was fantastic. Yeah, it was a little hot outside. Yeah, my brother-in-law didn't start the grill until Sissy #1 stood up in front of all the assembled guests and threatened him with bodily harm. Yeah, some guests invited other people to come with them and left us scrambling for chairs at the last minute.
But at the end of the night as I was loading my mother into the car, she looked at me and said, "I have never had such a birthday. Thank you."
Posted by Eileen at 10:52 AM | Comments (12)
June 4, 2006
Desperate Housewives
and the things that make life easier
In honor of the new anthology, WELCOME TO WISTERIA LANE, which includes several essays written by the Literary Chicks, and also because – hey! – it’s Sunday and I’m heading to the pool with the kids, so, lazy here, I’m running a mini-contest.
Doing your job, taking care of your family, and just living your life is tough enough, but then we have to add in the dreaded and Sisyphean task of upkeep on the house/condo/apartment/love shack. Who has the time??
Yeah, sure, if you have a few extra Benjamins you can hire a housekeeper to come in and make order out of chaos a few times a month. But that doesn’t do anything for the daily clutter and mess, right? What does? Well, I have a few things that help out a LOT and I’m pleased to share them with you:
The Swiffer. I love this thing. Princess actually thinks it’s fun to use it, so she dustmops the entire house on a regular basis (granted, there is some chasing of Science Boy while yelling En Guarde, but it’s a small price to pay).
Zip-loc storage bags. Nah, not the ones you stick in the lunch bags or the freezer – the ones YOU CAN PACK YOUR ENTIRE SUITCASE WITH. Yes, even an inveterate and incurable over-packer like me can fit half the contents of her closet in two suitcases. If only they had them for shoes . . .
The Intuition razor. Okay, so technically this isn’t a housework kind of thing, but holy cow my legs have never been so smooth. I mean, when you’re a strong breath shy of six feet tall, you’ve got a lot of leg to shave. And to not have to do the shaving cream/razor wrangle while propping a leg up in the shower? Priceless!! Excellent for traveling, too.
Okay, you’re up. Tell me your best tips for making house stuff less DESPERATE. I’ll choose three winners to receive an autographed copy of WELCOME TO WISTERIA LANE. Have fun! We’ll be at the pool.
hugs,
Alesia
ps Check out the ROCKING cover copy for the launch book of my new paranormal romance series!!
Posted by Alesia at 11:02 AM | Comments (22)
June 3, 2006
Cell Phones: The Sequel
...and the ensuing red tape (because there's always red tape)!
It has taken approximately twenty long months for me to acquire a fully functioning cell phone that works wherever I happen to be in the world. Yes, you read that right. Twenty. Long. Months.
But why has it taken so long? I hear you all cry. Even you can't be that disorganized, Michelle. Plus, how have you survived without a cell phone for that long?
Well, when we first moved here I attempted to purchase an international cell phone with a plan. But the very unhelpful Cell Phone People told me that in order to qualify, I had to promise them my first and second born (Teenagers #1 and #2 weren't too impressed). I also had to swear Blood Fealty to The Cell Phone People by secret blood ritual. I had to endure fire and flood and famine, and...
Okay, what I really had to do was provide (a) proof of my residency, (b) my latest Dutch bank account statement, and (c) they would need to check my Dutch credit rating.
Grrr! I didn't have a Dutch credit rating (I hadn't been in the country long enough to build one), and they were not interested in my American credit rating. I couldn't fulfill the other requirements, either, at that point in time, because of this little red tape story.
So I gave up and purchased a pre-paid phone which, The Cell Phone People assured me, would even work in America. But I would have to remember to pre-purchase at least five gazillion minutes in advance.
So I bought the cell phone, which worked fine here in the Netherlands, apart from on this occasion, and prior to my trip to America I remembered to pre-purchase five gazillion minutes in advance. And when I got to America...
It didn't work.
At that point in time I was so inundated with all of the other red tape going on in my life, so I put the idea of getting a real cell phone with a real plan to the back of my mind. Until the other day when Oh Patient One said...
"You know, Michelle, you're going to America at least twice more this year. We really need to get you a proper international cell phone with a plan so that you're not incommunicado while you're away. Plus, it will be handy for coordinating with your friends/editor/agent while you're there."
Me (not very enthusiastically because I am still resistant to the idea of having to fight any more red tape battles): "Okay. But it's going to be a huge problem, you just wait and see."
Oh Patient One (patiently, but with a firm glint in his eye): "We'll go to the cell phone store tomorrow and get one. I mean, it can't be that hard."
Me (highly suspiciously, because I just know there is going to be a problem): "Can't it?" And then I fell on the floor in a hysterical bout of cynical laughter.
Oh Patient One (in the manner of a Man With A Mission): "Really. It can't be that hard."
Anyway, in the end Oh Patient One went off by himself the following day bright and early on his crusade to procure for me, The Love Of His Life, a Cell Phone With A Plan, because I couldn't face it (I had better things to do than spend my entire life trying to persuade The Cell Phone People that I was deserving). Plus, I was still rolling on the floor laughing at his "it can't be that hard" comment.
So he arrived home (many hours later, it has to be said) triumphantly waving my new international cell phone. He had promised The Cell Phone People his firstborn (Teenager #1 wasn't too impressed), he had sworn Blood Fealty to The Cell Phone People by secret blood ritual. He had endured fire and flood and famine, and...
But he had procured the international cell phone with a monthly plan. Oh, plus a bag of stupendous free goodies (more on them later).
Me (in the manner of Fair Damsel praising her Champion): "You are a genius. I love you. You are the best."
Oh Patient One (smiling beatifically): "Well, you really need this phone."
Anyway, not be cynical or anything, I called a friend in America on my fabulous new cell phone just to see if it worked. And it did! Yay. Finally, I am totally a real person! But the little nagging voice in the back of my mind refused to believe that it could be this easy.
So I called Alesia, and implored her to call me on my new cell phone, just to see if it worked. I promised not to pick up (international cell phone calls are expensive), but I just needed reassurance that the phone would ring when she called me. Anyway, Alesia being a good friend, she immediately agreed. A few seconds later, the new cell phone beeped at me and flashed a complicated message in Dutch. So I called Alesia back.
Alesia: "Sweetie, I got switched straight away to some pre-recorded Dutch woman."
Me (sighing): "I should have known there would be a problem. Thanks for trying, anyway, hon."
So I could call America, but America couldn't call me. I mean, how is that supposed to help me?
The next day Oh Patiant One and I trudged back to the store and explained our plight to The Cell Phone People. And after we'd promised them our second born (Teenager #2 was not impressed with that), and we'd sworn Blood Fealty to The Cell Phone People by secret blood ritual, and after we'd endured fire and flood and famine, and...
Anyway, I am happy to report that the cell phone NOW WORKS! So I can call anyone, anytime, anyplace in the world.
And that bag of freebie goodies that Oh Patient One extricated from The Cell Phone People? Well, it included a pack of yellow, green and orange condoms called Skins, I kid you not.
No, they are not for us. They are for the new cell phone. Just in case I feel like taking it for a swim...
Michelle, still on the floor laughing hysterically at the idea of taking my cell phone for a swim
Posted by Michelle at 11:41 AM | Comments (5)
June 2, 2006
My Imagination is on the Fritz
I'll bet Sears has a warranty for that, right?
I know you might find this hard to believe, considering how much time I spend here waxing poetic about CWaPs and Smoothaise and husbands who dress like pimps... Oh, by the way, that was the secret word to which I was referring last week - Christina is the big winner - be sure to e-mail me for your signed copy of The Comeback Kiss, girl!
Oh. Where was I?
Yes. That, given the wide variety of things I discuss on the site, you might find it hard to believe that sometimes I have trouble coming up with things to blog about. (Um, okay, so maybe given the number of times I come on here and just ramble away about nothing, it might not be that hard to believe. But give a girl her delusions, okay?) Making interesting blogging even more difficult than usual is the fact that I've been shoulder-deep in house stuff (t-minus two weeks to moving day!) and have been obsessing about lawn mowers and washing machines and wallpaper removal which, while completely fascinating to me at the moment (do you know that Lawnboy makes the cutest green mowers? The Home Depot people kept trying to talk to me about features, but pfffft. The green is adorable), this may not be the stuff of which great blogs are born.
So, this morning, I turned to The Imagination Prompt Generator, because even though I tend to think of these things as total and complete horse dookey, well... desperate times, etcetera. So, I've decided that I'm going to blog on the first five things the Almighty Generator gives me, no matter how lame they might be. Wish me luck.
1. Does God care? Um...
Well...
Actually, I think.........
Oh, for crying out loud. Seriously? I'm expected to tell you what God thinks? Don't better people than me get struck by lightning for that sort of shit? I mean, I would feel arrogant enough speaking for my husband - not that this stops me - but God? Seriously?
Next.
2. Did you have a favorite TV show as a child or youth? Or radio show? Okay. Now this is more like it. Yes, as a child and/or youth, I used to love Moonlighting. Still do, as a matter of fact. Everytime a new DVD comes out, I snap it up and have a lost weekend. Of course, I used to tape the episodes and had them all on VHS until the DVDs came out - and that's a looooonnnnnng time - so I already know all the shows by heart. As a matter of fact, let me see if I can recall a random scene purely from memory...
DAVE: We're looking for a man with a mole on his nose.
BOUNCER: What kind of clothes?
DAVE: What kind of clothes?
BOUNCER: What kind of clothes do you suppose?
DAVE: What kind of clothes do I suppose would be worn by a man with a mole on his nose? Who knows?
BOUNCER: Who knows?
DAVE: I don't know what kind of clothes, or anything else, except that he's Chinese... a big clue by itself.
MADDIE: How do you do that?
DAVE: Gotta read a lot of Dr. Seuss.
Totally from memory. I'll look it up and see how close I was, but I'm betting pretty close.
Um... should I be proud of that? Hmmm....
3. Brainstorm 10 titles to your dream book. Oh. Stake. In. Heart. I so suck at titles. I mean... really suck. My original title for TIME OFF FOR GOOD BEHAVIOR was BOOM. Which, actually, I prefer. MAYBE BABY was FLIPPING THE BIRD, which I loved but which wasn't a big hit with the conservative Walmart types. EX AND THE SINGLE GIRL was originally THE MIZ FALLONS, which I also preferred. THE COMEBACK KISS was originally ALL SHOOK UP, but I actually prefer THE COMEBACK KISS, although I hated that title when I first heard it. So, in the world of literary title marketing, I'm hardly a whiz kid. And there's no way I'm going to come up with ten, but I'll play until I run out of gas.
Messy, Brave, and Weirdly Lovable. Someone once described one of Anne Lamott's books this way, and to this day, it's something I would love for a reviewer to say about me. I think it would make a great title, too.
The Girl Behind The Curtain. I had a lot of Oz references in THE FORTUNE QUILT (coming from NAL in February '07) and kinda wanted this title. Although it wouldn't have really made sense, since my heroine was hardly running the show of her life. But I like references like that.
The Lady Doth Protest. I actually have a book under this title - it's unpublished and will likely stay that way. I love it, but it needs a major rewrite and right now I've got enough on my plate. It's basically Stephanie Plum in Alaska, and I really want to get to it someday. However, I'm 100% certain that if I do, this title will be the first to go...
Okay. That's enough. I'm tapped. Told you - I suck at titles.
4. The perfect personality is... Well. Um. I basically have issues with the pursuit of perfection, because I find it ill-founded and destined for failure, so this question at its essence goes against everything I believe in. But, that said, I'd have to say the perfect personality is one that accepts its own imperfections with grace, humility and humor.
What? I can be sincere.
5. Describe a perfect spring day and activities on that day. Oh, man. I just used up my sincerity for the day, so I would say that the perfect spring day is one in which my Fairy Godmother descends upon the house, waves her wand, and cleans my house while I go to the movies with Fish and the kids. Only, we can all sit in the movies together, but while the kids are watching the latest treacly kids movie, Fish gets to watch his horrible violent movie, and I get to see something dreamy with Colin Firth. Then we all leave the theater happy.
Is it sad that my perfect spring day means going to the theater?
Sigh. That sounds really good. I'm off to buy a lawnmower. Have a great one!
Posted by Lani at 8:10 AM | Comments (10)
June 1, 2006
Good friends are as valuable as a good bra
Because it's all about the support
Now that I'm mostly recovered from that glowing (and somewhat falsified) intro that Alesia gave, can I just say how unbelievably jazzed (yes, I've already started with the music references. It's a thing). Anyhow, as I was saying, how unbelievably jazzed I am to be the Guest Chick this month. For one thing, it means it's that much closer to Release Day! (That sound you heard was my head exploding.) Secondly, and far more important, it's a tremendous honor-- no, no... that sounds way too smarmy, right? Um, it's great, thrilling, happy-making fun-- urgh, no. That's just... ooky-sounding.
Okay, I've got it. You know what it is? It's serendipitous that this is my first "official" publicity thing as a published author. And I'ma gonna tell you why...
You see, several of these ladies have been my friends almost since the beginning of this writing thing. Michelle and I "met" when she was piteously begging on a loop for someone to transcribe an RT review that she hadn't yet seen, since apparently, she had the same distributer I do for the magazine. She was so grateful, she sent me a copy of 32AA and thus, a beautiful friendship was born, because in my world? Great books are a fantastic ice breaker. Especially when attached to hysterically funny writers.
Lani decided I needed to be a Cherry (long story) and do NaNoWriMo ("C'mon Barb, it'll be fun!"). Alesia moved to Jacksonville about the same time I did, and after deciding that I wasn't a crazed axe-murderer, felt it was safe to meet me at Barnes and Noble and thus our tradition of being Pretentious Coffeehouse Writers was born. A tradition regretfully suspended after she moved away from Jacksonville. Not only that, but she was there when I got The Call on the casino floor in Reno-- the same conference where Lani was my roommate. She won some award too, if memory serves...
You'll note-- not one mention of armadillos thus far... Anyhow, continuing on.
Eileen and I were both National Virgins in Dallas, surviving parties and the Great Mary Kay Invasion of '04 and if that's not a bonding experience, I don't know what is. We bonded even more at RT this year. Those fishnets are somethin' else, lemme tell ya. Beth and Whitney I regretfully don't know very well, but we'll have to rectify that-- stay up late and do each others' hair and raid our fathers' liquor cabinets and talk about boys and become BFF. Oh God, that was ooky again, wasn't it?
Anyhow, the thing is, these ladies-- these fabulously talented authors-- haven't simply been friends. They've been mentors, cheerleaders, unwavering and totally unselfish support (there's the bra analogy). They were there through the lows, ("Another rejection? Oh, sweetie, it's okay, that agent/editor is a pinhead. Let's go get a drink.") to the highs, ("Oh my God, you SOLD!! Let's go get a drink!") and basically all points in between.
In other words, they helped me keep believing in my dream. Not that I was ever in any danger of giving it up because I'm just way too cranky and stubborn, but I can't deny that having their support sure helped. Which brings me to Adiós and what it's about. You see, it's not just about music-- it's about following your dreams and how that's made so much easier when you have good friends watching your back and on occasion, propping you up.
Okay, now that the high schmaltz entry has been taken care of, I can get to the other fun stuff. Like boys and music and clothes. Or my theme week, which will begin June 22 and will have to do with-- wait for it-- music. More on that later...
Or there's how I'll be giving away three signed copies of Adios to My Old Life to three Literary Chicks readers! All you have to do is send an email with a) "Sing Me Some Adios" in your subject line and b) your name and address (please don't forget your mailing address, you can't win without it) to the Literary Chicks between now and June 21st, and you'll be entered to win! Then check back for my final blog on June 22nd to find out if you're a winner!
Until then, keep your feet on the ground and keep reaching for the stars. (Ducking now as things get thrown at me.)
Posted by at 8:00 AM | Comments (16)
