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November 30, 2006
Come Closer, Little Chicklets
Let's play a game
It's the end of the month here at the L.C. To celebrate surviving November, I thought we could all play a little game together. I first learned this game from my friend, J, who I really really didn't want to like because she had briefly dated Cowboy, but she's just so darn much fun I couldn't help but be won over. Anyway, she taught my family this game as we were all sitting around trying to digest a big Thanksgiving dinner a few years ago.
It's called Marry Him, Kill Him or Do Him.
Here's how to play the game. J gave us three names and we had to pick which one we would marry, which one we would kill and with which one we would do the horizontal samba. The really fun part came from hearing people's reasons why they chose the way they did.
To add one more wrinkle to the game, we're going to use Celebrity Birthdays to choose our three people. See, every morning Cowboy reads me the list of celebrity birthdays from the newspaper. For a long time, I'd comment on how interesting it was that people who were so much alike had the same birthday or how interesting it was that people who were so different had the same birthday depending on what the situation called for. After a year or two of that, it got a little stale. So I started playing Marry Him, Kill Him or Do Him with the birthdays and BAM! it got interesting all over again.
So I'm going to share it with you. It's because I'm such a giver. I know. Now wipe that sentimental tear from your eye and choose which one of these three guys with a birthday on today, November 30, you would marry, kill or do.
• Ben Stiller
• David Mamet
• Mandy Patinkin
I'll go first since it's my blog and I get to go first if I want to. A person can only give so much, you know.
I'd marry Ben Stiller because I'd like the idea of having someone around long term who can make me laugh. Plus, I wouldn't want to marry David since he's too intellectually challenging to have around all the time. The stress would age me prematurely, I'm sure. I wouldn't want to marry Mandy because he's too damn neurotic. I need to be the most neurotic person in the house.
I'd kill Mandy. I know. It's a shame to take such a huge talent out of the world like that, but he kind of gets on my nerves some times.
Which leaves me sleeping with David Mamet. Which is okay, because he's actually not bad looking at all.
Your turn, chicklets! Let's hear what you have to say.
Posted by Eileen at 7:00 AM | Comments (15)
November 29, 2006
Book Club shout out!
Exciting news!
Hey, Chicklets! I'm very pleased and honored to announce that my book, BLONDES HAVE MORE FELONS, is the featured December book club read at Jennifer Crusie's Cherry forums! We're planning to have tons of fun all month, and I'll be on the boards answering questions especially during the week of December 1st through 7th! So please stop by and join the discussions and learn what in the HELL I was thinking to even make it LOOK LIKE poor Daisy the dog died in the book . . . [OFFICIAL DECEMBER VAUGHN MYSTERIES DISCLAIMER: NO DOGS DIE IN THE MAKING OF THESE BOOKS!!!]
Stay tuned for very exciting prize news here on December 1st, too!
hugs,
Alesia
Posted by Alesia at 7:57 AM | Comments (2)
November 28, 2006
I *heart* Novocain
Or, Why my post is so short today
I am blogging under the influence, chickies. Stand back!
Last week I told you guys about my family’s time-honored tradition of getting good and sick over the holidays, and this year proved no exception.
I spent the long weekend gulping down a wide array of over-the-counter pain relievers because a recent filling in my back molar decided to mutiny.
It hurt so badly for so long that by the time I finally climbed into the endodontist’s chair tonight, I was actually excited for my root canal. "Bring on the Novocain!" is my new life motto.
Then, when I came home, my mom and I got into a big debate about whether I eat enough protein/amino acids (me: yea, she: nay)
Now I am having a gigantic Ghirardelli brownie for dinner. (Mom, if you’re reading this: brownies contain eggs, which are an excellent source of both protein and amino acids! Plus, I had some organic spinach earlier!)
In the immortal words of Ice Cube: It was a good day…
Posted by Beth at 12:00 AM | Comments (5)
November 27, 2006
We're Back!
Did you miss me?
British Effing Airlines.
That’s actually not what the airline is officially known as in our house, but I didn’t want to start dropping f-bombs so early on a Monday morning.
Remember my bragging about how they upgraded us on our Thanksgiving trip to London? Yeah, well, they didn’t.
Oh, sure, they moved our seats. And, yes, when I looked at the seating plan they had on their website, our new seats were clearly smack dab in the middle of first class bliss. The only problem? The seating arrangement that was actually on the airplane didn’t match the seating plan on the website. And our new seats turned out to be stuck right back in coach class with the rest of the peons.
We were very bitter about this.
As I pointed out, it’s one thing to expect to sit in coach, and then fly in coach. You’re ready for it. You know what’s coming.
It’s an entirely different story when you expect to fly in first class, and then end up stuck in coach. Coach, where they don’t serve champagne. Where the seats don’t turn into beds. Where you have to beg to get more than a thimble-sized cup of water and a stale roll for dinner.
Anyway. Enough about British Effing Airlines.
Once we got to London, we had an amazing time. We gawped at palaces, and admired priceless works of art, and walked until our blisters had blisters. I tried to stop George from speaking in a fake British accent; he tried to prevent me from buying coffee mugs and key chains emblazoned with the Union Jack. Neither of us was successful.
And now we’re back home, and I’m having the post-vacation blues. Ah, England . . . farewell until we meet again . . .
Sigh.
Posted by Whitney at 9:48 AM | Comments (6)
November 26, 2006
Joyous News, Oh Chicklets!
WD-40 Dissolves Silly Putty!
Yes. It's true. WD-40 dissolves silly putty. I discovered this yesterday when I found the sweatshirt that one of my friends' kids left here and realized that it had silly putty mashed into the fabric and into the zipper. A quick cruise of the Internet gave me several ways to get rid of it. For future reference, don't bother with the freezing thing. Go directly to the alternating ice cube and WD-40 option. Of course, despite several washings, the sweatshirt in question still reeks of WD-40, but as my friend pointed out, it will reek of other things soon enough. The child in question is most decidedly all boy and tends to get into things.
This exciting discovery reminds me of when I found out that hydrogen peroxide will remove blood stains. Thing Two used to get so many nosebleeds, we used to refer to them as his hobby. He didn't have many shirts that didn't have blood drips down the front. Then I learned that hydrogen peroxide will take blood stains right out! Yippee!
It also reminds me of when I found out that my iron (that pretty much goes unused elsewise) makes a fabulous grilled cheese sandwich maker!
So how about you chicklets! Have you discovered any magical helpful household hints? Care to share them with the rest of us here in the LC?
Posted by Eileen at 11:03 AM | Comments (6)
November 25, 2006
More Thanksgiving fun
Frankly, I'm all turkeyed out
After the miserable weekend of hospital visits and IVs and big, ugly needles last week, I am thrilled to report that we had a wonderful holiday!
So I thought I'd share a few never-to-be-lived-down moments, like . . . the square pumpkin pie:
It totally wasn't my fault. And I'd just like to point out that it tasted great!!
Princess reached that milestone of girly this week - we went to get her ears pierced. Because don't you know, ALL her friends have had pierced ears SINCE THEY WERE CHILDREN (she's 6) and it's HUMILIATING for her that she is the only one without bits of shiny jewels adorning her tiny ears.
Or, as she put it, in her EARLOAFS.
Me: We need to clean these three times a day, Princess.
Her: I know, Mommy. I listened to EVERYTHING. You put the solution on the cotton ball and clean my EARLOAFS.
Me:
Science Boy had a brief crisis when he broke a piece off his microscope, but it was all made better with the advent of a post-Thanksgiving day movie marathon and computer game extravaganza:
My very favorite pre-Christmas presents came along, too, in the form of two new ornaments. I'll save one for later, but here is a photo of the leg lamp from A CHRISTMAS STORY ("Frah-GEE-lay! Must be Italian!)
Happy holidays, from my family to yours. When we counted our blessings on Thanksgiving Day, one of mine was thanks for wonderful readers like you!
hugs,
Alesia, the queen of square pie
Posted by Alesia at 2:32 PM | Comments (17)
November 24, 2006
Spam Again!
And how I have absolute proof that there IS an afterlife…
Happy Thanksgiving for yesterday to all of our American chicklets! (And a huge thank you for the laughs from Lani and Fish.)
Here in Rotterdam it was, sniffle, a turkey-free zone. Partly because the Dutch don't celebrate Thanksgiving (because of being Dutch), and partly because it is nearly impossible to purchase whole turkeys here. A friend explained this to me today over lunch. Apparently, whole turkeys are a seasonal food item and when we get closer to Christmas they will indeed be available in (most) supermarkets. Yay!
Yes, yes, Michelle, but what does this have to do with Spam and The Afterlife, I hear you all cry? Well...
Not very much except that thinking of turkey made me think of food, and what Christmas food treats I am going to purchase in the UK next week when I visit my family. And then I had cause to think of Spam (not the food variety, the other variety) when I opened my snail mailbox.
How I loathe and detest Spam. Any kind of Spam, whether it be of the e-mail variety, the snail mail variety, or the person-to-person in the high street variety.
But whilst emptying my mailbox and sorting out the real mail (0) and Spam mail (5 billion) my eye caught sight of a cheerful little missive which asked me, "begrafenis of crematie?" and I couldn't help but retrieve it from the trash. I just couldn't resist it. Here's my (undoubtedly) mangled translation.
Burial or Cremation?
From only 3 Euros and 69 cents per month you can be assured of a good, well-cared for departure!
More than 2,700,000 satisfied customers!
And so my question is this: How do they know for sure that the dearly departed were satisfied with their well-cared for departures? All I can think is that it took a lot of mediums to find out...
Michelle, being just a little bit tongue in cheek :-)
Posted by Michelle at 10:25 AM | Comments (17)
November 23, 2006
Casa de Fish Thanksgiving Blog #5
Okay. All done.
Time: 5:13 PM
Things Accomplished: Turkey - done. Potatoes - done. Stuffing, cranberry salad, glazed carrots - done.
Turkey vs. Lani score - well. Let's see. 6 hours of brining, 3 hours of cooking, the little popper button in the turkey popped - and still parts of it were undercooked. Gah.
Lesson Learned: Never trust the fucking popper button.
Turkey wins.
(Although Fish says it was fine. I don't believe it. Freakin' Turkey. I shake my ineffectual fist in your general direction.)
Fights Had Since Last Blog: 1
Total Fights: 4
Random Quote From Fight:
Me: Oh, holy Christ, the $%&%^#$% turkey's undercooked.
Fish: It's fine.
Me: No, it's not.
Fish: There's no point in arguing with you on this, is there?
Me: No. Not really.
Glasses of wine drunk: 4. Yeah, baby.
Grateful for: The kids. The husband. The friends. The family. Love to all, and to all... a tryptophan coma.
Posted by Lani at 4:16 PM | Comments (9)
Casa de Fish Thanksgiving Blog #4
Moment of truth...
Okay. Turkey is on the table. I only have time to post this one picture, and the Light quote that goes with it:
Light: Am I in the picture? Am I in the picture?
Yes. Technically, she was.
Posted by Lani at 2:34 PM | Comments (5)
Casa de Fish Thanksgiving Live Blog #3
Turkey's in the oven. Wine has been uncorked. Yay!
First, I'd like to say what a wonderful holiday treat it is to have you guys with me! Hi, Dee! Hi, Robin! Hi, Beth! Hi, Rebecca! Hi, Sheri! And everyone say hi to Christina, who's stuck in the UK without Thanksgiving!
I didn't think anyone would be with me! Yay, you!
Time: 1:44 pm
Things Accomplished: Potatoes peeled. Turkey in the oven. Some phone calls made. Dancing to Ally McBeal Christmas Album. All good.
Fights Had:
Since last blog: 1
Daily Total: 3
Random Quote Pulled From Fight:
Me: Blog, Fish. Come on. It'll be fun. You can make fun of how much I've drunk.
Fish: No. I can't just turn it on. It's like you with sex. I need to work my way up to it.
Me:
Glasses of wine drunk: 2! (For Lani. Fish is still sober. Poor bastard.)
Grateful for: My husband, who showered, put on a nice sweater, and went out to get me a potato masher.
More to come! Hopefully Fish will actually blog soon. Anyone leaving messages, please implore Fish to blog!
And on a final note, how cute are these babies?
P.S. And to those of you who had the idea of Fish in a french maid's outfit... all I have to say is, I like the way you think!
Posted by Lani at 1:46 PM | Comments (4)
Casa de Fish Thanksgiving Live Blog #2
It ain't cooking if it don't smoke.
Time: 11:58 am
Things Accomplished: Whipped more cream. By hand. Don't believe me?
Turkey is about to come out of the brine and go into the oven, so we're at a steady Turkey 0, Lani 1. Will let you know how the process of washing off the brine (turkey cavities! argh!) goes.
In the meantime, Fish started a fire. The good kind.
Oh. and I got the table cleared.
As you can see, we didn't get exactly to the sweeping yet. Yargh.
Fights Had:
Since last blog: 1
Daily Total: 2
Random Quote Pulled From Fight:
Me: If you're not feeling good, we have some cold medicine.
Fish: I don't take drugs for medicinal purposes.
Me: Take the damn medicine or you're going to make the rest of us miserable, damnit. Stupid man.
Things Forgotten: Possibly the potato masher. Can't find it, but it might be in one of the still unpacked boxes in the garage.
Who's Going to The Store: Um... that's be Fish.
Glasses of wine drunk: Still none. I realize I'm not living up to my reputation. Damn.
Grateful for: Internet sites that tell you exactly how to roast a turkey. I've been kinda fuzzy on the details up to now.
And Dee - thanks for your kind offer of T-Day assistance! Don't be surprised if your phone rings! I'll try to have some wine first though so it's more fun for you. If you get a recording device ready, it might even be blackmail-worthy.
Posted by Lani at 11:00 AM | Comments (6)
Casa De Fish Thanksgiving Live Blog #1
Aaaaaannnnnd.... we're off.
Time: 8:23am
Things Accomplished: Turkey is in the brine. I repeat, Turkey is in the brine. In a big bucket, in my garage, because it wouldn't fit in the refrigerator. The way I see it, it's Turkey-0, Lani-1. Also, I got the cream whipped, the cranberry salad all made, and the cookies baked. Kids don't like pumpkin pie, so I had to add chocolate chip cookies (the Pillsbury kind that is already made and you just break off hunks, don't go thinking I've gone all Martha Stewart on y'all.)
Fights Had: 1
About: Fish promised he'd clean the house if I did all the cooking. After taking care of turkey, cranberry salad, getting the kids' breakfast, making coffee and bringing it to him in bed, I kindly suggested he maybe get started on the house. He whined, I delivered smackdown, he's still in the bed next to me. I'm not sure who won.
Things Forgotten: Cranberry sauce. Stuffing. (I know, I know, DUH) And I think we need more whipped cream.
Who's Going to The Store: So. Totally. Fish.
Glasses of wine drunk: None. Yet.
Grateful for: The wine I know I'll be having later. Oh, and Fish. Because he's so totally going to the store.
More to come!!! Happy Thanksgiving, all!
Posted by Lani at 7:04 AM | Comments (5)
Casa de Fish Live Thanksgiving Day Turkey vs. Lani Blogathon!
You didn't ask for it, but you're getting it anyway. Now that's something to be grateful for.
Well, hello and happy Thanksgiving Day, everyone! Today marks the first, and probably last, Casa de Fish Live Thanksgiving Day Turkey vs. Lani Blogathon!!!
What does that mean? I'm so glad you asked.
As many of you who read my entry two weeks ago know, Turkey and me just don't get along. Holiday meals in my house usually degenerate into something very not pretty. This year, however, I am determined that I will get the day right. As part of the event, there will be live blogging all day from Casa de Fish, and either Fish or I - depending on who's had more wine - will be updating you on my progress throughout the day.
Before we get started, I'm going to address a couple of loose threads from the previous blog...
1. My brother-in-law, E-tan (someday I'll explain the nickname, let's just run with it for now) will not be joining us. We have been, sadly, the house of the plague for the past month and the FCC has officially quarantined us. I did, however, manage to bribe a neighborhood kid into stealing from various neighborhood pantries so we can get all our ingredients. I shall not be stopped, even by the feds!
And that kid was going to turn out badly anyway. Totally not my fault.
2. I have officially decided to go with (drumroll, please) The Brine! Thanks for all the suggestions, especially those of you who suggested I just order the whole damn thing already cooked. I'm basically going with the brine because it sounded the most complicated, and therefore, will be the greatest victory should everything come out okay. In the likely event that it does not come out okay - get your office betting pool ready! - then all of you who said for me to just order will be properly vindicated.
3. The official menu:
Brined Turkey
Honey-Glazed Carrots
Traditional Mashed Potatoes
Gravy
Cranberry Salad (a family tradition and the one thing I'm absolutely sure I can do. Probably.)
Pumpkin Pie (already cooked and ready, a gift from Fish's workplace, not looking a gift pie in the mouth.)
I realize it's not a terribly ambitious menu. Ask poor E-tan about the orange cranberry turkey breasts with orange cranberry stuffing I made last year. Somtimes ambition is a bad, bad thing.
4. The live blogging will start in the morning and continue throughout the day, so if you're bored while rassling with your own turkey (talk about a hurry up and wait game - I have to start the brine today for tomorrow's meal, what's up with that?) please check in for updates. They will include things I am grateful for, such as "Wine" or "Television Specials That Occupy The Children." Mostly, probably, it'll be the wine. Feel free to leave your own comments of gratitude. A good example would be, "I'm grateful Lani isn't cooking for me this Thanksgiving."
5. Many of you have been fascinated by the burned water thing. Okay. Here's how it went down; I was boiling water in a saucepan. The electric burner went up in flames beneath the pot. Quick thinker that I am, I simply turned the pot over and doused the flames. But I'm sure you can see where I'd be wary.
All right! Off to find that neighborhood kid. He told me there's a lady on Floyd road who stocks killer cranberry sauce.
Posted by Lani at 6:00 AM | Comments (3)
November 20, 2006
Giving thanks
for readers, LC, and chocolate cranberry cheesecake
This just in: the Chicago Tribune calls Nearlyweds “exceptionally entertaining…Sharp writing, sharply nuanced characters and a sharp sense of humor all come together superbly…”
Reviews like that make an author feel good. Giddy and aglow. But mostly, relieved. Relieved that the review doesn’t read like this one (taken verbatim from an Amazon reader weighing in on My Favorite Mistake):
“[the hero] ACTS TOO MUCH LIKE A WOMAN…I do recommed this book if your bored, snowed-in, or a close friend of Ms. Kendrick. Otherwise, pass.”
Reviews like that make an author feel kind of like this:
I particularly like the look of defiance in Roxie’s eyes: “What’s all the yelling for? So I didn’t like the book. I’m entitled to my opinion. Back off.” And you know what? My darling dog has a point. We are all entitled to our own opinions about books. Some readers will adore your book, others will throw it against the wall, and as an author, you just have to stop trying to please everyone and get over it. (You also have to resist the impulse to consume an entire chocolate cranberry cheesecake in despair. But one or two pieces are permissible, even encouraged. As is primal scream therapy.)
Anyway, this Thanksgiving, I have to take a minute to say thanks to all of you here on the LC blog. I truly appreciate the fact that you stop by to spend a few minutes of your day with us. Writers are pointless without readers and, even if you hate my books, I am thankful that you took a chance and gave them a try.
I’m thankful for those of you who dare to comment on the blog and let your voice be heard in our little cyber-community. And I’m so, so thankful for those of you who have emailed me to let me know that you enjoyed a book, that it made you laugh or your day a little bit brighter. As for my fellow LC authors...I couldn't ask for a funnier, sweeter, and klassier (Lani, that was for you!) group of girls. God bless us, every one. XOXO.
Oh, and if you happen to be bored and/or snowed in over Thanksgiving weekend, I have just the book for you.
Posted by Beth at 10:43 PM | Comments (7)
Leaving On a Jet Plane
Champagne? Why, yes, I'd love some champagne!
The best thing just happened to me. Better than selling my first book, better than getting married, better than having Sam.
George and I are going to London, and we got upgraded to first class, roundtrip.
FIRST CLASS!!!
And I didn’t even ask for it! I was just checking our reservation, and noticed that our seat assignment had been changed. Intrigued, I investigated, and found out that we’d been moved right out off Cattle Class and into what British Airways calls its Club World cabin.
Get this: the seats? Change into beds.
I’m so excited, I’ve watched the video demonstrating the seat-into-beds about a hundred times. Forget London. The flight is going to be the highlight of the trip. Hell, it might even get me over my intense airplane phobia.
Although I know it isn’t really rational – and, actually, pretty damn narcissistic – I’ve always secretly believed that the plane only stays up in the air because I’m willing it to do so. Which, as you might imagine, pretty much rules out my falling asleep en route.
But turn my seat into a bed??? I may have to take my chances, and actually get some sleep . . .
Have a Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
Posted by Whitney at 6:00 AM | Comments (8)
November 19, 2006
Could Be Worse
Could be raining
Last weekend, Thing Two's first soccer game (at eight in the freaking morning, mind you) took place in the pouring rain. Standing shivering under an umbrella early on a Saturday is not my favorite thing to do, but what are you gonna do? I signed on for this parenting thing and you have to take the bad with the good.
Anyway, I'm walking along this hillside with my friend to stand under some trees while we watch our kids and her foot slips and down she goes. I hustle down to help her up, but notice before I try to haul her to her feet, that her right foot is now pointing in a different direction than the rest of her leg. Like a ninety degree angle different.
Now, I am not a medical professional, but I was pretty sure that if her foot was pointing in a totally different direction than the rest of her leg that it was time to call the ambulance. After that, there really wasn't anything to do except hunker down in the mud with her until the cute paramedics came to pick her up. Although, talk about grace under pressure, through the pain of what turned out to be three broken bones, a dislocation and a bunch of torn ligaments or tendons or something, she looked at me and said, "If I'd known, I would have shaved my legs."
My point, however, is not how lucky I am to have clever, witty friends although I am extremely well-blessed in that department. My point is, it all happened in a flash. One second, my friend's biggest worry was getting her kid's shinguards dry between games. The next, she's trying to figure out how she's going to keep her life running when she can't put weight on her foot for three months.
I guess what I'm wrestling with is how fast things can change -- sometimes for the better, sometimes the worse -- and everything is divided into what came before that lightning bolt moment and everything that came after.
I've had my share of lightning bolts although none of have involved as many broken bones as my friend's did. There's the moment Thing One drew his first breath and I became somebody's Mommy. There's also the trip to the grocery store I took and came back to find a note on the kitchen counter from the friend who took my husband to the emergency room. There's the phone call from my agent that started with her asking me if I was sitting down and progressed quickly to informing me of my first book deal.
What have some of your lightning bolt moments been?
Posted by Eileen at 7:00 AM | Comments (9)
November 18, 2006
I Heart Nurses
They rock!
So I spent the morning in the hospital having IV fluids and various multisyllabic medications pumped into my tired self. This was not a planned excursion, as you might guess. But I have to say, before succumbing to my drug-induced haze, that I HEART NURSES.
Doctors are fine, of course, they diagnosis and prescribe and all that good stuff, but NURSES are THE BEST. They are kind, compassionate, caring, and go the extra mile for patients even though they're often miserably overworked. So hugs and a big shoutout to Mary and Arlene for their kindness today during one of my most miserable days, ever.
Signing off now with this pitiful excuse for a blog to go crawl back in bed, but please take a moment to thank a nurse. They deserve it! Oh, and GO BUCKEYES!!!!!!!
hugs,
Alesia
Posted by Alesia at 7:06 PM | Comments (5)
November 17, 2006
Opposites Attract!
So, science…
Yes, yes, we all know that I am not a genius when it comes to science. But I am hugely interested in it, and try to remember to thank it daily for all the ways it makes my life easier. And today I want to give a big round of appreciation to two particular discoveries.
1. Pain relief. Without which I would still have the headache I got about ten minutes ago (more about which in a moment). Yay, big round of applause for pain relief! BIG THANK YOU pain relief! You're the bestest!
2. Electricity! It powers my computer, and is therefore critical to my employment, because without a computer I would have to handwrite my books (and if you knew how much rewriting I do, you'd understand that the paper and pen alteranative is not an attractive one to me). So yay, another big round of applause for electricity. BIG, HUGE THANK YOU electricity. You're the bestest, too!
But what's going on, Michelle, I hear you all cry? What prompted you to write about pain relief and electricity on today of all days? Well...
About ten minutes ago there I was sitting at my computer, quietly minding my own business when...we had a power outage. My first thoughts were:
(a) Huge relief it hadn't happened earlier in the week, because I handed in my book on Wednesday, and what if the power outage had happened before my deadline, and what if I missed my deadline--or what if I'd lost a vital scene because I hadn't saved it and no way could I ever create that scene again?
(b) Why could I still hear music emanating from Oh Patient One's computer next door in the living room? (The Killers, to be specific).
So I wandered into the living room in search of Oh Patient One, and there he was with a broken lamp in one hand, and a tooth-cleaning implement in the other (the kind with a metal hook scrapey thing on the end). And a "Who me?" look of innocence on his face.
This is the conversation we had:
Me: "All of the power in my office just went out. Does it have something to do with that lamp you are trying to fix with my tooth-cleaning implement? Tell me you didn't poke it into the lamp."
Oh Patient One: "The bit that connects to the lightbulb to make it glow was wonky. I was just trying to straighten it."
Me: "You mean that METAL bit inside the lamp that connects to the lightbulb to make it glow? That LIVE METAL bit?"
Oh Patient One (now with a sheepish look on his face): "Um, yes. that bit."
Me (with sudden headache from what might have befallen him if my tooth-cleaning implement hadn't had a plastic handle): "But. But. But. Why didn't you unplug the lamp first?"
Oh Patient One: "I didn't think."
And this from the man who scored 100% in an intelligence test making the rounds on the Internet last week?
So my question today is this, dear chicklets: do you have reason to thank certain scientific discoveries because of either something daft you have done, or something daft a loved one has done? Tell me I am not alone!
Michelle, relieved in Rotterdam...
Posted by Michelle at 8:21 AM | Comments (9)
November 16, 2006
It's Not Easy Being Techie
But, with due deference to Kermit, it's probably harder being green.
Happy Thursday, Chicklets! As the in-house techie LC, I have to share with you my latest discovery. Of course, this particular thing has been around for a while, and many of you probably already know about it, but it's new to me so I'm gonna pull a Columbus (sans the widespread genocide, simply can't fit that into my schedule) and say I discovered it.
Are you ready?
Podcasts. A very strange word for what is basically amateur radio via internet, but there it is.
Podcasts. It's kinda fun to say, if you block out all the bad sci-fi/horror movie associations. Which takes a while, but I have faith in you. You can do it.
Anyway, I've known about podcasts for at least a year and a half, because I was interviewed for Mom Writer's Talk Radio in the summer of 2005, and again last summer. (My episode is still on there, somewhere.) But one day I was putzing around in iTunes and I saw that they'd devoted an entire section to podcasts and I went in and... it was amazing.
You know how there are blogs on every possible topic imaginable? And even some you'd rather not imagine? Welcome to podcasts, my friend. Any yahoo with an internet connection and a computer able to record audio can put together a podcast... and let me tell you, that's a lot of yahoos. There's one out there, called Keith and The Girl, which I haven't listened to yet because the description at podcast.net is "Keith and his girlfriend talk shit," which sounds realllllllly annoying. The crazy thing? They're one of the most popular podcasts around. I'm resisting listening, because if I wanted to listen to a couple argue I could just record an afternoon with me and Fish, but I have to say... I'm intrigued.
But wait! There's good stuff out there! Like Grammar Girl's Quick and Dirty Grammar Tips. I've listened to all of them and I've received definite illumination. I think every writer of anything should listen. Another favorite podcast is The One Minute How-To, which is basically what the title indicates - one minute segments on how to do something. Anything. Anyone with any expertise in any area can call this guy and get on the air. Included in my list of downloaded material are: How to Stop Severe Bleeding; How to Personalize A Squash; and How To Get Rid of Raccoons.
The secret to that last one, by the way? Coyote urine. That's gonna be stuck in my head for the rest of my life. Listen at your own risk.
Anyway, I've tested all the aggregators (software that goes out and gets the podcasts for you) and while I started with iTunes, it only works with iPods (freakin' Mac and their freakin' proprietary crap) I have to say, my favorite is Happy Fish because it's got a nice interface, and you can easily transfer the podcasts to whatever .mp3 device you choose (although not to my Pocket PC, but whatever.) It's very cool stuff, so I thought I'd share! Let me know if you find any cool podcasts!
Posted by Lani at 7:09 AM | Comments (8)
November 13, 2006
Colds, flus, funky bacterial infections…
…and a partridge in a pear tree
Some people never learn. Like me and Mr. Tall, for example. Every year, we insist on making elaborate, Rockwellian plans for Christmas Eve:
“Let’s go to Midnight Mass with your mother.”
“Let’s host an open house with lots of mulled cider and homebaked delicacies for all the neighbors.”
“Let’s trim the tree and snuggle up in front of the fireplace and pretend it’s snowing outside.”
And we mean it at the time we say it. We truly do. But deep down inside, both of us accept the fact that we are only going to be doing one of two things come December 24:
A. being violently ill
B. taking care of someone else who is violently ill.
Let me be clear: I am not talking about some puny, sniveling, run-of-the-mill stomach virus or stuffy nose. (Although Mr. Tall does come down with those every Christmas. His immune system likes to take the holidays off.) No. We get the weird stuff, like costochondritis (which basically boils down to chest pains—that was the year I was finishing my dissertation and planning the wedding and I quite literally thought I was having a heart attack. Turns out, it was just stress and rebellious cartilage in my ribcage.)
Last year, we had to forgo a performance of the church handbell choir so I could take Roxie to the emergency vet at 11 PM on Christmas Eve with an acute bladder infection. I thought the veterinary ER would be deserted, but the waiting room was packed. (Dogs purposely stave off infection until their regular vets’ offices close. It’s a vast, canine conspiracy. I know it.)
And who can forget the year I was twelve and my mom, despite my protests that I wasn’t feeling well, made me drink a full glass of orange juice before setting off to my grandparents’ house on Christmas morning because “you need the Vitamin C and you shouldn’t skip breakfast.” Well. Suffice it to say that gastrointestinal upset and a propensity for car sickness is a very bad combo, and my sister had to throw out her entire outfit. To this day, the smell of concentrated orange juice makes me queasy. (I think my sister feels the same.)
This year, we’re decking the halls with Ace bandages and stuffing the dogs’ stockings with antibiotics. Just in case.
This blog was brought to you by Nearlyweds, a fun, funny novel about holidays, marriage...and one very exuberant dog.
Posted by Beth at 9:03 PM | Comments (6)
A Dysfunctional Family Christmas
Fa La La La La
I decided to celebrate Christmas Day by locking myself in the bathroom with a bottle of wine and the portable phone.
I’d come home in the middle of my first year of law school to celebrate Christmas with my family. The only problem? My parents were three years into the Ugliest Divorce in History, the house I’d grown up in was on the market and my mother and I, both feeling very Grinch-like, had decamped to my uncle’s house in Philadelphia to wait out the holidays.
And everyone was fighting.
I don’t remember now what exactly everyone was so annoyed about. It was Christmas and it was my family, so it was probably something that would, in hindsight, seem silly. Like someone serving the wrong roast or buying the wrong wine or giving a crap gift. But at the time, no one thought it was silly. Everyone was at war. Everyone, that is, but me.
So I swiped two bottles of wine and the portable phone, and locked myself in the bathroom. Once there, I proceeded to drink right from the bottle while calling my friends to wish them a Merry Christmas. And it took a long time for anyone to realize that I was gone. And by the time they figured it out, I was good and soused.
“Are you coming out of there?” my uncle shouted through the door.
“No!” I hiccupped. “I’m not!”
This prompted a conference on the other side of the door between several family members who previously hadn’t been speaking to one another.
“Whitney’s locked herself in the bathroom.”
“What do you mean she’s not coming out?”
“I don’t know why. She won’t say.”
My mom knocked timidly on the door. “Honey? Why don’t you come out? We’ll be having dinner soon.”
“Not a chance,” I said, taking a swig of wine. “Not until I run out of booze.”
This prompted another hushed conversation.
My mom returned to the door. “If you won’t come out, may I come in?” my mom asked.
But I wasn’t in the mood for company. At least, not familial company. Instead, I picked up the phone and dialed yet another friend.
After that the day became sort of a blur, because by the time I emerged from my self-imposed Time Out, I was good and drunk. And that’s probably, as Martha would say, a good thing.
This blog was brought to you by Nearlyweds, a fun, funny novel about love, marriage...and one very exuberant dog.
Posted by Whitney at 6:00 AM | Comments (13)
November 12, 2006
Confessions of a Grinch
Holiday Horrors Exposed
I am the Holiday Horror in my house. The second the holiday decorations start hitting the store, which I think is August now, I start stomping around, complaining, snapping at people and generally making everyone's life a living hell during The Most Wonderful Time of the Year.
It wasn't always this way. For much of my life, I was blissfully unaware of Christmas. We didn't celebrate it at my house. That whole being Jewish thing seemed to get in the way of celebrating the birth of Jesus. Hanukkah was much more low key. I got one big present the first night. There was always a book night which thrilled me to no end. Then there were the nights we got socks, underwear, toothbrushes, pajamas and other assorted needed items. While some of my Christian friends really raked in the loot on Christmas morning in a way that could have inspired jealousy, some of my Jewish friends scored major booty during the eight day Festival of the Lights, too. So, if it bothered me at all, it was more a socio-economic bracket kind of thing than a religion thing.
My first inkling of how bad the holidays could get occurred in college. One of my friends invited me to go Christmas shopping with her. I told her I didn't need to go. I didn't celebrate Christmas. I was Jewish. She asked me what that had to do with anything. Then she pointed out that she was getting me a Christmas present. Didn't I want to get one for her?
The answer actually was no. I didn't want to, but that seemed rude so off I went with her to go Christmas shopping and spend my measly paycheck from my weekend waitressing job on a bunch of crap that nobody probably wanted anyway.
It only got worse from there. I remember the first Christmas I spent with my first husband's family. Here were these people who the rest of the year were unrelentingly cruel and horrible to each other in ways I still have trouble comprehending, all gathered together to open piles of presents from under a tree that (I kid you not) my husband and his brother had gone out to cut down and steal from National Forest land the night before. There was even a stack of presents for me. My first thought was, "they shouldn't have!"
Then I opened them and I thought, "Wow, they really shouldn't have."
Just thinking about that bag of pantyhose seconds from the outlet store makes me want to pull at my crotch in a decidedly unladylike fashion.
That really sums up the holiday season for me. The whole thing feels like a pair of control top pantyhose with one of the legs sewn on crooked. It doesn't quite fit and I'm never quite comfortable.
This blog was brought to you by Nearlyweds, a fun, funny novel about love, marriage...and one very exuberant dog.
Posted by Eileen at 7:00 AM | Comments (9)
November 11, 2006
The Just Shouldn'ts
Not to be confused with the Woulda Coulda Shouldas. Totally different thing.
You know how there are some people who just shouldn't? Like William Shatner just shouldn't sing, Winona Ryder and Keanu Reeves just shouldn't do period films, and Kevin Federline just shouldn't... well, do anything that extends his stay in the public eye.
Along the same lines, I just shouldn't cook turkey.
Now, because the vast majority of you haven't actually sampled my holiday cooking, you're probably chuckling and shaking your heads and saying, "Oh, no. Stop it. I'm sure it's fine." That's what every woman I know says when I say I can't cook. I don't know why, because were the facts of the case allowed before a jury, I'd be convicted. And yet, even among the friends I have who will allow me to admit to my shortcomings, no one will allow me to say I can't cook. They'll let me go on about how I have no class, how I'm a terrible housekeeper, how I have a mind like a sieve, but the second I say I'm a bad cook, they shake their heads in denial, as though I've just admitted to genocide.
"Oh, no," they say, their eyes lighted in horror, "that's not true!"
Trust me. It's true.
Just ask the Syracuse Fire Department about the time I tried to make spaghetti squash and ended up setting off an alarm that tripped the entire apartment building and brought a truck full of firefighters to my door. They all but officially decreed that I never pick up a spatula again. And I kept to their warning until I had children and started having Mommy Guilt, which kicked in really big the first time I served them Cheerios for dinner. (Yes, I said first time. Don't judge lest ye be forced to eat my Oregon Hash.) So, the guilt sent me straight to Food TV, where I picked up a thing or two and now I have about four dinners I can make regularly, typically without incident.
(Yes. I said typically. You think boiling water can't catch fire? Think again.)
But, through all this, still, Turkey hates me. Not that I blame it. I mean, Turkey really should hate all of us. There we go, most of the year, humans and turkeys maintaining a reasonable cease-fire, and just when they start feeling secure that those poor bastard chickens are the preferred white meat, BOOM. The hammer comes down and we basically annihilate their entire population, leaving just enough to bring the numbers back up for the coming holocaust next November. I'm just saying, I'd be pissed off, too.
It seems, however, that Turkey has an especially dark place in its heart for me. I don't know why. I hear I've got pilgrims in the family, maybe this is some sort of multi-generational karmic retribution, I don't know. Whatever. It just doesn't seem to matter what I do, Turkey always has the final say. There was the year I did everything right. Right temperature, right time, I basted like a bastard, I did everything right... except remember to thaw it ahead of time. Cooked on the outside and frozen on the inside is the thing extended hospital stays are made of, not wonderful holiday memories. Then there was the Thanksgiving, right after Light was born, when my wonderful father-in-law and his wife came to visit in Alaska and were treated to a turkey drier than the Sahara and yams that I swear I cooked for the recommended amount of time but yet, despite all natural law, remained cold. Then my father-in-law had an allergic reaction to my cat and had to go to a bed and breakfast nearby. He insists to this day that it wasn't my cooking that sent them running, but to be honest, who could blame him?
Because some people? Just shouldn't.
All this to say that while I can manage to throw together the occasional yummy dish, me and Turkey as a rule don't mix. Last year, I went at it from another angle and created this orange-cranberry turkey breast meal that was... well. Let's face it. Orange and cranberry were just fine without throwing turkey in the mix. My poor brother-in-law was here last year for that one, and has yet to come up with a good excuse for the Thanksgiving invitation I've extended this year, although I wouldn't blame him in the least if he made his car take one for the team and slashed his own tires on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Poor guy. He's too sweet for his own good.
Despite the fact that I really just shouldn't, I'm still planning to cook this year. First Thanksgiving in the new house and all that. Besides, Turkey and me... we're not done yet. I may be a horrible cook, but I'll be damned if I'm going to be beaten by a bird with its head literally shoved up its ass. So, Chicklets, I'm begging - who has a no-fail Thanksgiving recipe for me? Grandma's Turkey, Aunt Ruth's sweet potatoes - I don't care. Share it with me, I'll prepare a Chicklet Thanksgiving Menu, and will have my long-suffering brother-in-law do a special report from Casa de Fish on the big day. So, for the sake of my sweet BIL... who's got something for me?
This blog was brought to you by Nearlyweds, a fun, funny novel about love, marriage...and one very exuberant dog.
Posted by Lani at 6:00 AM | Comments (26)
November 10, 2006
The Little Girl Who Santa Forgot
Or so I thought...
Way back in the depths of time (and I'm not going to say how far back), when I was four years old, we moved to a new house.
And while my parents were worrying about trivial stuff like whether the mail would be forwarded, and whether the electricity would be connected, and whether anything would get broken during the move, I was worrying about the important things in life...
"How will Santa know where to find me?" I asked my mother, anxiously.
"Sweetheart, you know how Santa's elves are watching all of the time to see who is naughty and who is nice? Well, those same elves will tell Santa where you live now," my mother replied.
That seemed perfectly reasonable to me.
So on Christmas Eve I left a glass of sherry by the fireplace for Santa, and some carrots for the reindeer. And then I placed my empty pillowcase at the end of my bed, and tried to stay awake so that I would actually see Santa while he was putting my presents into the pillowcase. Of course, I fell asleep.
Christmas Day dawned. Well, dawn hadn't actually arrived, but there was a lot of moonlight coming in through my bedroom window. Enough for me to see that there was no bulging pillowcase at the end of my bed.
Santa had obviously forgotten me!
I was distraught, I was inconsolable, what had I done that was so bad? I bawled my little heart out. About five seconds later my anxious parents arrived on the scene. And switched on the light.
"Santa forgot me," I sobbed.
But I hadn't been forgotten at all, it was just that Santa put the pillowcase on the floor instead of back on my bed.
The next year, when I wrote my letter to Santa, my mother suggested that I ask Santa to put all of the presents under the Christmas tree, instead of at the end of my bed...
This blog was brought to you by Nearlyweds, a fun, funny novel about love, marriage...and one very exuberant dog.
Posted by Michelle at 8:41 AM | Comments (5)
November 9, 2006
It's my birthday
But I can't be 29 again
Here I am, on my birthday, all alone and feeling slightly old. Sadly, I can't be 29 again this year, because Science Boy finally caught on:
Princess: How old will you be, Mommy?
Me: 29!
Science Boy: [suspicious face] Hey! You've been 29 for the past . . . FOUR YEARS! You can't be 29! You're THIRTY THREE!
Me: Crap! You caught me! Okay, I'm 33!
(Since I passed the dark side of 33 several years ago, this works for me.)
However, birthdays are a huge deal in our family (Science Boy's half birthday is the same day as my birthday, and yes, we celebrate half birthdays, yes, I'm THAT kind of mother) and I have to tell you . . . my birthday has NOT always worked out as I would have liked it to . . .
When I was in college, there was the birthday present from the slightly older (okay, fifteen years) boyfriend:
Me: I don't want a Porshe. What, am I going to park it in the dorm parking lot? Take it back.
Him: But --
Me: No, I still won't sleep with you.
In grad school, I turned 25 and believed that my life was over, because I was A QUARTER OF A CENTURY OLD and had yet to do anything worthwhile with my life, like cure cancer or prevent the common cold or find a way to predict the next season's hemline, thus earning me a spot on the Today Show as fashion diva. This ended in me driving away from life and the PhD program in Madison, Wisconsin, in the middle of the night with my crockpot precariously perched on top of the last U-Haul available, a very small one that said UTAH OR DIE on the side (I was headed for Ohio).
I've had birthday catastrophes that are not nearly as bad as, say, having an arm amputated, but seemed to come close:
The cake that SPELLED MY NAME WRONG.
The birthday dinner interrupted by one of my darling children coming down with stomach flu. In the restaurant. At the table.
The times I've had to get my own cake, since my darling husband was gone somewhere unreachable.
The birthday where my husband was flying his Navy plane somewhere in a combat zone, and people were shooting at him. (No "confirmed" missile attacks, he always says.)
So today, sitting here alone (Navy Guy had duty yesterday so I haven't seen him since Tuesday) with the pugs doesn't seem all that bad. And I heard a rumor of presents. Although only Jenny Crusie knows what they are, since my evil daughter whispered the news to Jenny Sunday at the booksigning. . . but I can pump Jenny for info. She's soft. She'll break.
And, as a special HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME, I have a wonderful autographed copy of Beth's new book sitting here waiting for me! yippee!! And my lovely friend Cindy sent me a pendant that reminds me of Atlantis. And I'm sure there will be presents this evening from my darling family, especially my adorable children, whose most pressing thoughts these days run to some version of: "How many things can I stuff onto my letter to Santa?"
So here's hoping for a birthday that doesn't involve some sort of catastrophe, on this, my latest 33rd birthday. Although, I must admit, in the interests of full disclosure . . . I should have taken the Porshe.
hugs,
Alesia, older, not wiser
This blog was brought to you by Nearlyweds, a fun, funny novel about love, marriage...and one very exuberant dog.
Posted by Alesia at 8:18 AM | Comments (13)
November 6, 2006
(Singing) “It’s my release day
and I’ll party like a rock star if I want to…”
Well. Assuming your definition of “party like a rock star” includes “get up at a reasonable hour, take one of the dogs to the vet for his heartworm test, wait in line to vote, go for a run, and then eat a massive wedge of chocolate cake in lieu of dinner.” But lots of rock stars do the voting & heartworm thang—Axl Rose was famous for it. I swear. Trashing hotel rooms is SO last century.
Hmm. I seem to have gone off on a bit of a tangent here, but the point is: Nearlyweds hits bookshelves today and I am so thrilled! It’s always amazing to see your book in print—you hand in a pile of marked-up, copyedited manuscript pages that look like a glorified book report, and then your editor puts it into the mysterious process known as “production”, and then, magically, a few months later, an actual book with an actual cover arrives at your doorstep via DHL van. God bless production.
So you have probably noticed that Nearlyweds has a very scrappy and delightful little dog on the cover, but this book is more than just a pretty (furry) face. It’s a funny, fast-paced story about three brides facing their first holiday season with their new spouses and in-laws. If you’ve ever spent Thanksgiving dodging passive-aggressive verbal bullets while drowning your sorrows in wine and mashed potatoes and then accidentally burning the turkey, this is the book for you. (Not that I have ever done any of those things. No. But I’m just saying IF…) It makes a wonderful holiday gift and perfect reading for those long, overcrowded airplane flights. Booklist calls it “a funny, sweet book about the power of female support systems and the ups-and-downs of marriage.” Can’t argue with Booklist! And it’s going to be featured as a Breakout Book at Target, along with Whitney’s Testing Kate. (Literary Chicks: Achieving world domination, one book at a time.)
In honor of the new release, we’ll all be blogging about holiday horrors this week, so kick back with a glass of heavily spiked mulled cider and enjoy. For more information about the book, scheduled book signings, or to read the first chapter, please click over to my website: www.bethkendrick.com. (I just posted some tasty cookie recipes over there, too—enjoy!)
This blog was brought to you by Nearlyweds, a fun, funny novel about love, marriage...and one very exuberant dog.
Posted by Beth at 11:40 PM | Comments (10)
Asshole Bingo
Hey, don’t blame me . . . I’m not the one who invented it.
As anyone who’s seen THE PAPER CHASE knows, law professors use an insidious teaching technique called the Socratic Method. In lieu of preparing a lecture, the professor simply calls on a student and then grills them on some point of law. And when you’re a first year law student, there’s nothing more terrifying than being put on the hot seat.
Not so much when you’re a second or third year student. Then, being called on is really only a minor annoyance. One day, while I was in my Commercial Paper class (and yes, it was just as boring as it sounds), the professor called on me, and I just laughed. He sighed, shook his head, and said, “I should have known better than calling on a third year.”
Classes become much more amusing when you get over your fear of being called on, and are able to fully devote yourself to mocking your classmates. Especially the pompous and self-important ones who just love being called on. Their hands shoot up in the air every the time professor asks a question, and then they yammer on and on and on . . . and on . . . and on . . . usually until the professor cuts them off.
It is because of such verbose classmates, that the traditional law school game of Asshole Bingo was developed.
Asshole Bingo works as follows:
1. Each player gets a grid with 25 boxes, set up as five across and five down;
2. Each player then fills the name of a classmate in each of the boxes; the middle box is reserved as a wild card;
3. Every time one of the classmates on your chart speaks, you get to mark that box;
4. Once you have a row of five marks – horizontal, vertical or diagonal – you have achieved Bingo.
5. In order to announce that you have Bingo, you must raise your hand in class, and, when called upon by the teacher, utter a previously agreed upon key phrase. For example: res ipsa loquitur, or slippery slope, or the floodgates of litigtation. Part of the challenge of the game is to work the phrase into your answer, without the teacher catching on what you’re doing.
Chances are that if you’re not aware that your classmates are playing Asshole Bingo . . . well, your name is probably on someone’s grid. And maybe you should reconsider how often you wave your hand in the air, Hermione Granger-style.
This blog was brought to you by Whitney's new book, Testing Kate, a novel about surviving law school, finding love in unexpected places and turning your luck around.
Posted by Whitney at 1:15 PM | Comments (4)
November 5, 2006
Parent Teacher Conferences
The horror! The horror!
Through the course of my academic career, I have had some truly fabulous teachers and some notorious stinkers. I have had the teachers that tried to squelch every creative impulse that they could sniff out and terrify anyone who might be thinking of attempting something new or special. Of course, I've had the opposite, too. The teacher who inspires and encourages and helps you find things inside yourself you never knew were there (Joan Yen, I think of you often and fondly!).
None of this, however, prepared me for the horror of (da da dum) the Parent Teacher Conference.
There's nothing like cruising into a meeting, happy and content with your lot in the world, just to find out that your little angel is a disruptive influence and can't spell his way out of a paper bag. Or that he hasn't handed in his math homework that you have laboriously watched over him doing for weeks on end. Or that every other child's poster project is hung up on the wall except yours because your child decided to include several obscenities worked into the decorations on the edge of the poster.
I have had way more friends blindsided by Parent Teacher Conferences and Open Houses than by husbands leaving them for twenty-year-old secretaries.
The first step in the humiliation generally comes when they make you sit in the little chairs. You know, the tiny ones that my young skinny child fits in just fine, but barely has room for one of my butt cheeks? So I'm perched, already off balance, when they hit me with the news that my child has supposedly been working on a research project on early hominids for the past three months and should be ready to hand it in next Tuesday when as far as I know the only thing my child has been researching on the internet are funny videos and games.
Next, while I'm still trying to regain balance on my single buttock, I learn that my kid talks too much. Now, they don't say that. Instead, somewhere in the notes, will be the comment that "Little So and So is very social." That is not a compliment. It doesn't mean that my child works and plays well with others. It means, he is unable to shut his mouth for more than a few seconds at a time.
Somewhere in there, the teacher also usually says something nice about my kid, but my brain is still figuring out how to make a quilt square representing the tools of early man or pondering if it would be child abuse to actually duct tape my kid's mouth shut or wondering if I'll ever get circulation back in my right butt cheek that I've missed it.
This blog was brought to you by Whitney's new book, Testing Kate, a novel about surviving law school, finding love in unexpected places and turning your luck around.
Posted by Eileen at 7:00 AM | Comments (10)
November 3, 2006
Teacher Knows Best!
But maybe not all of the time…
Way back when in the not-too-distant mists of time, when I was in high school (and thanks to my completely wonderful grandmother) I discovered the general wonderfullness of…
The Romance Novel.
At the time I was studying Albert Camus and Emile Zola (for French literature), and Gunther Grass and Annette von Droste-Hülshoff (for German literature), and Shakespeare, Chaucer, and many more wonderful writers (for English Literature), but I just wanted something different to read. You know – something romantic that would carry me off to far away places. Something, you know - just different?
Enter my grandmother (Nan) and her Harlequin Mills & Boon romances! I ate them up!
One day our English language teacher set us a homework. It was to write a short story. It could be any genre we wanted, and it could be any subject we wanted. It was then that I wrote my first romance (albeit a short one).
I was excited, I was thrilled, it was the best thing I had ever written. I was so euphoric when I handed it in. During our next English language lesson I received my grade. I got a B. I was gutted.
“Michelle, it was really very well written and entertaining,” my English language teacher told me. And then she followed up with the kicker. “If it hadn’t been a romance for a womens magazine kind of story, I would have given you an A.”
Being a very quietly rebellious kind of gal I decided there and then that one day I would write a romance novel.
Shortly thereafter I was thrilled to discover that my school library had a romance section. Go My School on having a romance section, thought I! I quickly began to eat up all the romance novels there until one day, whilst I was checking out my latest stash, Another English Teacher (who just happened to be administering the desk that day) TOOK MY STASH OF MILLS AND BOONS AWAY FROM ME!
“Michelle,” she said to me in a very caring, concerned way. “Romance books are all well and good, but you really need to expand your range.”
But. But. But. My range of reading at the time also included Sylvia Plath, William Carlos Williams, Arthur Miller, Alexander Solzhenitsyn, Fyodor Dostoevsky and many other authors. Why not expand my range with some romance, too?
Of course, I didn’t say that to her. It just reaffirmed my conviction that one day I would write a romance novel.
In the meantime, here is one of my very favorite poems.
This Is Just to Say, by William Carlos Williams
Michelle
PS. Thank you for my romance plums, Nan.
This blog was brought to you by Whitney's new book, Testing Kate, a novel about surviving law school, finding love in unexpected places and turning your luck around.
Posted by Michelle at 1:44 PM | Comments (4)
November 2, 2006
Not for Teacher...
Ah, the memories...
Good Thursday morning to ya, Chicklets! It's good to see you again! I've been in really deep lurk for the last few days as I finished up the rough draft of the book which may or may not be called CRAZY IN LOVE (waiting on my editor for the final decision) and which will be released from Warner sometime next fall. So, along with surviving yet another 11th hour rush to Wal-Mart for Halloween costumes, I'm feeling pretty celebratory right now. Hell, it's five o'clock somewhere, right?
Just kidding. I'm not blogging drunk. That would be really sad.
But funny.
Anyway, in honor of Whitney's new release, Testing Kate, we're having a "terrible teachers and classroom antics" theme week here and I'm not really sure where to start. There was my trig teacher from high school who used to ask a student a question, and if the student couldn't answer it, he'd wait the entire forty-five minute period, taunting them until they figured it out. Whenever we saw a girl crying in the hallway, the first question anyone would ask was, "Does she have Mr. D. for trig?" Bastard. He did, however, teach me the cure for hiccups. (Hold your breath, swallow three times, works like a charm.) I can only hope that spreading this small bit of good on behalf of Mr. D. will get him a better seat next to the hellfire.
There was also the time that P., a girl from my high school, came in one day with a sawed-off shotgun looking for my English teacher, Mrs. G. See, as it turns out, P. was a little perturbed that Mrs. G. had the nerve to fail P. just because P. didn't show up to class, do the homework, or learn how to properly spell "debris." (Damn that silent s!) Since no one was hurt (scared enough to need new underwear, yes, but hurt, no) and P. was easily one of the people you'd vote Most Likely to Snap Like a Fresh Green Bean, I was tempted to make a joke here about how P. was into school shootings before school shootings were cool, but a) that would date me, b) school shootings AREN'T COOL and isn't it wonderful that I'm here to tell everyone that, how would you know if it weren't for me teaching my morals? and c) I don't want to be stuck next to Mr. D. at the hellfire. I'm hoping for the spot next to the guy who created the Bratz dolls.
Also, I'm hip to the fact that that particular joke would lack taste and sensitivity. Which I have buttloads of.
If I had to choose the hands-down wackiest teacher ever, though, I think I'd choose Mr. F. He was my creative writing teacher in high school, and when I say he was insane, I'm not exaggerating. I truly believe that if someone with the proper qualifications had observed Mr. F. for any period of time, they would have deemed him positively certifiable. For one, on a particular day every year (I can't remember which one, but it was somehow Scottishly significant), he would wear a kilt, set a boombox at the front of his room, and blast bagpipe music through the halls. Halfway through my stint in high school, he changed his name to whatever his clan name was, and wouldn't answer when anyone addressed him as Mr. F. Occasionally, despite the fact that he was born and raised in New Jersey, he would break into a Scottish accent. A few years after I graduated, he married a girl from my class. That still gives me the ighs.
So - who was your craziest high school teacher?
This blog was brought to you by Whitney's new book, Testing Kate, a novel about surviving law school, finding love in unexpected places and turning your luck around.
Posted by Lani at 9:57 AM | Comments (10)
November 1, 2006
November Contest!
This is a big month here at the L.C., because we have not one, but TWO new books coming out!!!
Beth’s new book, Nearlyweds, will be hitting bookstores everywhere on November 7th. It asks the question if you had to do it all over again . . . would you? From the rave reviews already pouring in, this book is sure to be a huge hit.
And my new book, Testing Kate, follows one woman through the toughest year of her life . . . her One-L year of law school.
And here’s the best part . . . to celebrate, we’re going to be giving away signed copies of Nearlyweds AND Testing Kate to five lucky L.C. readers! Be sure to get your e-mails in with "November Contest" in the subject and your name and mailing address (any entries without them will be instantly disqualified) in the body by November 28th, and we’ll announce the winners right here on November 29th.
Good luck! Happy November everyone!
Posted by Whitney at 6:00 AM | Comments (6)
