Thursday, July 30, 2009
"It's cool..."
The spirit of Mr. T in every spoonful! More proof to Jason that I can recite a large cache of 80's commercial jingles by heart... Who's got the Colgate pump? We've got the Colgate pump...
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Harry Potter: Growing Pains
To critique Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, a septet of Haikus. Spoiler Alert?
More trouble, Harry?
Way to go with Dumbledore.
Call for help next time.
Little Miss Weasley
Potter could do much better.
Where did Cho Chang go?
Dear Hermione,
Do get your act together.
Ron is a hot piece...
More Luna Lovegood!
Coolest wizard at Hogwarts
Harry should hit that.
Trouble is afoot
How did Gollum replicate?
Don't drink my precious...
Yummy half-blood prince
Conflicting, angry wizard
I might love you, Snape.
Next chapter coming
How am I supposed to wait?
Should have read the books.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Leavin' on a jet plane
Quick poll: Armageddon or Deep Impact? Correct answer: Armageddon. A poll almost totally unrelated to the rest of the post, but there we are.
So ANYWAY, yesterday I took Jason and the guys to the airport for their first in a series of business trips to the liberal mecca of the world, San Francisco. Thanks to my careful planning and my rigid adherence to the 'arrive two hours early' rule of navigating airports, we arrived to discover not only were we two and a half hours early, but the flight had been delayed for another hour. Translate: airport party.
DIA has a great-hall full of food and junk shops before you actually go through security, so we swerved into the high-roller short-term parking lot for three hours of airport fun. At first, we tried for the sit-down restaurant. Despite the stale, sticky, beer-laden air of depression the restaurant exuded like a visible haze, the place was packed - so off to the food court with its more appealing blend of stale, sticky, grease-tainted air.
After being accosted three times by a short tsa agent asking what time it was, I raised my clearly watchless arms to him and said it would take ten minutes for me to find the phone in my purse. True to form, I start digging and fumbling awkwardly until the lady in front of me finally gave an exasperated 6:07, leaving me to shrug blankly. Two chicken and cheese ONLY gorditas later, I sat down to unwrap my glorious feast - only to discover it had been doused in some radioactive orange nacho sauce instead of the standard smattering of actual cheese. For someone who gets greatly agitated when two strawberries do not have identical flavorings, this was a near criminal offense.
Later, we toodled about, pointing out various 'Denver'-themed items (dreamcatchers? stuffed yaks wearing jaunty multicolored hats? Painted Horses?) and made our way to the secret porch at the end of the hall to catch the glimmering Colorado sunset. The best times can be had when you least expect them - all depends on the company, I suppose!
So ANYWAY, yesterday I took Jason and the guys to the airport for their first in a series of business trips to the liberal mecca of the world, San Francisco. Thanks to my careful planning and my rigid adherence to the 'arrive two hours early' rule of navigating airports, we arrived to discover not only were we two and a half hours early, but the flight had been delayed for another hour. Translate: airport party.
DIA has a great-hall full of food and junk shops before you actually go through security, so we swerved into the high-roller short-term parking lot for three hours of airport fun. At first, we tried for the sit-down restaurant. Despite the stale, sticky, beer-laden air of depression the restaurant exuded like a visible haze, the place was packed - so off to the food court with its more appealing blend of stale, sticky, grease-tainted air.
After being accosted three times by a short tsa agent asking what time it was, I raised my clearly watchless arms to him and said it would take ten minutes for me to find the phone in my purse. True to form, I start digging and fumbling awkwardly until the lady in front of me finally gave an exasperated 6:07, leaving me to shrug blankly. Two chicken and cheese ONLY gorditas later, I sat down to unwrap my glorious feast - only to discover it had been doused in some radioactive orange nacho sauce instead of the standard smattering of actual cheese. For someone who gets greatly agitated when two strawberries do not have identical flavorings, this was a near criminal offense.
Later, we toodled about, pointing out various 'Denver'-themed items (dreamcatchers? stuffed yaks wearing jaunty multicolored hats? Painted Horses?) and made our way to the secret porch at the end of the hall to catch the glimmering Colorado sunset. The best times can be had when you least expect them - all depends on the company, I suppose!
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
"Bank robber cites economy during bank holdup"
Was the robber's name Obama and the bank called America? I think he used the exact same excuse.
Thanks, Houston Chronicle, you made it easy!
Thanks, Houston Chronicle, you made it easy!
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
I share TOTUS' sentiment
He just couldn't take any more of the lies. After dedicated months of constant service, Obama's dear friend TOTUS is little more than a sorry, demoralized pile of shards.
As Obama referred to the many actions he'd taken since assuming office to preserve* America's status as an economic superpower, TOTUS shook free of his moors, made one final blink, and hurtled himself into nothingness.
At least he has put an end to his part in the propagation of Obama's gilded untruths.
*destroy
As Obama referred to the many actions he'd taken since assuming office to preserve* America's status as an economic superpower, TOTUS shook free of his moors, made one final blink, and hurtled himself into nothingness.
At least he has put an end to his part in the propagation of Obama's gilded untruths.
*destroy
Friday, July 10, 2009
Fawning media, exhibit 3,453,456,765+
If this had been Bush, Liberals would've been demanding assault charges by now!It's nice of the media to make sure we understand that the unflattering Obama photo really ISN'T unflattering. I mean, we wouldn't want to make an American President look bad, gosh! Thanks for clearing things up, ABC.
"On first glance, the snapshot appears to show President Obama caught in a moment of less than lofty analysis. But upon looking at the video, the moment might seem to appear quite innocent -- one of those times when a picture can be misleading. The president was on a higher step and was stepping down -- so he looked down to assure his footing as the woman was walking up the stairs."
An open letter to the dude at the gym
Dear sir: You are very annoying. Please stop yelling conversations to the man TWO MACHINES AWAY. He doesn't know you, and clearly doesn't want to. Also do not talk to me, thanks.
So, excluding the weight lifting tools at the gym who are clearly there only to be looked at, the majority of us are there jiggling, sweating, and being otherwise physically unattractive in midexercise. Admirably working toward MORE attractive, but nonetheless.
I hate going to the gym. Once there, I want to work out under the illusion that no one can see my nostrils flare with exertion or the sheen on my forehead. Get in, get out - no interaction, no one to remark, "hey i saw you *looking ridiculous* at the gym *apparently not losing any weight* the other day. Lets talk about your shame!"
When the man finally stopped braying across the room, all the exercisers breathed a collective sigh of relief. At the card table, under the mistaken impression that I'd made it out of the gym blissfully unacknowledged, out of the shadows came the Offender. He repeated himself twice before he penetrated my "not here" bubble, to which I gave him a near horrified "excuse me?"
He made an inane comment, to which I mostly stared blankly, then muttered an obviously forced chuckle before ducking quickly out of the building.
It probably didn't help that he bore a striking resemblance to much-feared and much-ridiculed All My Children villain, Papel (aka David Rasche.) Would YOU want this man hee-hawing at you during exercise?
I thought not.
-- Sweating uncomfortably, Jenny
So, excluding the weight lifting tools at the gym who are clearly there only to be looked at, the majority of us are there jiggling, sweating, and being otherwise physically unattractive in midexercise. Admirably working toward MORE attractive, but nonetheless.
I hate going to the gym. Once there, I want to work out under the illusion that no one can see my nostrils flare with exertion or the sheen on my forehead. Get in, get out - no interaction, no one to remark, "hey i saw you *looking ridiculous* at the gym *apparently not losing any weight* the other day. Lets talk about your shame!"
When the man finally stopped braying across the room, all the exercisers breathed a collective sigh of relief. At the card table, under the mistaken impression that I'd made it out of the gym blissfully unacknowledged, out of the shadows came the Offender. He repeated himself twice before he penetrated my "not here" bubble, to which I gave him a near horrified "excuse me?"
He made an inane comment, to which I mostly stared blankly, then muttered an obviously forced chuckle before ducking quickly out of the building.
It probably didn't help that he bore a striking resemblance to much-feared and much-ridiculed All My Children villain, Papel (aka David Rasche.) Would YOU want this man hee-hawing at you during exercise?
I thought not.
The Switzerland of America
Nestled sweetly into the Rockies, Ouray was a great stop on a long and curving drive home. As we swirled down the mountainside, I finally glimpsed my first view of the tiny western town, stamped into history and preserved like it was yesterday.
I was soo excited because I knew of Ouray from my long-time friend Amanda, who traveled there with her family pretty regularly as a kid. Jason had also been before, and it sounded like paradise! The dusty main road had plaques all along the way showing the skyline as it was in Western days, and it was virtually unchanged! The quiet, fresh mountain air and the kindly aging storefronts were restorative, and I can see why people go there and never leave again. We did a few short hikes, and ended the excursion with a stop at the Ouray Candy Shop, slurping a pistachio icecream wafflecone and imagining Amanda and Jason the younger, along with thousands of others, treading down mainstreet with the same level of bliss.
I can't wait to go back!
I was soo excited because I knew of Ouray from my long-time friend Amanda, who traveled there with her family pretty regularly as a kid. Jason had also been before, and it sounded like paradise! The dusty main road had plaques all along the way showing the skyline as it was in Western days, and it was virtually unchanged! The quiet, fresh mountain air and the kindly aging storefronts were restorative, and I can see why people go there and never leave again. We did a few short hikes, and ended the excursion with a stop at the Ouray Candy Shop, slurping a pistachio icecream wafflecone and imagining Amanda and Jason the younger, along with thousands of others, treading down mainstreet with the same level of bliss.
I can't wait to go back!
"They're not TRASH BINS"
As promised, Part II - Mesa Verde was one of the neatest archeological sites no one knows anything about. I mean, they know a few, general things about the Anasazi (now referred to in political correctness as the "Ancestral Puebloans," as mispronunciation of Anasazi changes the meaning from "Ancient Ones" to "Ancient Enemy - *lol! *cultural insensitivity) but the obvious questions of 1) why did these non-warfaring people decide to leave the mesa tops and surrounding valleys for the cliffs and 2) why did they leave again in just under a few hundred years (after all that architectural effort?) remain unanswered.
There are, of course, theories, but that's the really frustrating part about archaeology - you really just had to be there. As someone who, in another poorer, dirtier, more difficult life, would've been an archaeologist, I think inability to confirm such critical theory would be the most frustrating part of the job (in addition to the 3rd degree sunburns and daily sandbaths I would surely receive.)
Tickling the archaeologist in me, we took a series of tours that allowed us to access the cliffside dwellings via 40 foot ladders. With ginger steps, we poked in and around the tunnels and doorways of the 800 year old ruins. The kivas and stacked sandstone pueblos were surprisingly cool, shaded from the radiating Colorado sun by the water-carved overhangs of the mesa wall. The lucky ones had filtered water springs on location; the unlucky would have to travel up and down the canyon walls in search of the carefully rationed resource.
After a long day of hiking, climbing, crawling, and speculating, Jason and I indulged in a wholly Mex-American bastardization of an Indian lunch - a Fry Bread beef and bean chili open face taco, with cheese, sour cream, and a smattering of salsa. It doesn't get less authentic than that! But mmm, mmm was it good, despite its cultural offensiveness. I'm pretty sure the Native Americans sitting at the table next to us were shaking their heads in utter disgust.
***Highlight! A small boy in our group keenly asked the park guide what the cliff dwellers did when someone died. Hesitantly, she tried to explain that they were often buried in the middens, or heaps where the day's refuse were tossed. "You mean they threw them in the TRASH?!?!" the boy asked. "Um, no...the middens aren't TRASH BINS.... they're... um... just where the Native Americans... return things to the Earth that they are finished using...."
Like when we throw things in the trash.
The kid nodded sagely, apparently knowing better than to pursue that line of thought.
A good place to end in preparation for Part III...
There are, of course, theories, but that's the really frustrating part about archaeology - you really just had to be there. As someone who, in another poorer, dirtier, more difficult life, would've been an archaeologist, I think inability to confirm such critical theory would be the most frustrating part of the job (in addition to the 3rd degree sunburns and daily sandbaths I would surely receive.)
Tickling the archaeologist in me, we took a series of tours that allowed us to access the cliffside dwellings via 40 foot ladders. With ginger steps, we poked in and around the tunnels and doorways of the 800 year old ruins. The kivas and stacked sandstone pueblos were surprisingly cool, shaded from the radiating Colorado sun by the water-carved overhangs of the mesa wall. The lucky ones had filtered water springs on location; the unlucky would have to travel up and down the canyon walls in search of the carefully rationed resource.
After a long day of hiking, climbing, crawling, and speculating, Jason and I indulged in a wholly Mex-American bastardization of an Indian lunch - a Fry Bread beef and bean chili open face taco, with cheese, sour cream, and a smattering of salsa. It doesn't get less authentic than that! But mmm, mmm was it good, despite its cultural offensiveness. I'm pretty sure the Native Americans sitting at the table next to us were shaking their heads in utter disgust.
***Highlight! A small boy in our group keenly asked the park guide what the cliff dwellers did when someone died. Hesitantly, she tried to explain that they were often buried in the middens, or heaps where the day's refuse were tossed. "You mean they threw them in the TRASH?!?!" the boy asked. "Um, no...the middens aren't TRASH BINS.... they're... um... just where the Native Americans... return things to the Earth that they are finished using...."
Like when we throw things in the trash.
The kid nodded sagely, apparently knowing better than to pursue that line of thought.
A good place to end in preparation for Part III...
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Durango Dogs and Purgatory Pups
After our 900 mile sojourn across the great, square state of Colorado, Jason and I concur: we are very glad we did not travel by wagon.
After a 6-hour drive riddled with remarkable scenery, gut-wrenching mountain curves, and the occasional uprising of my not-so-secret road rage tendencies, we arrived in Durango. I'm a sucker for a historic town, so I was thrilled our hotel on the Animas River was also only a block's walk to the repurposed liveries, saloons, and hotels of yore lining main street. We spent the cool, 70 degree mountain evening strolling arm-in-arm down the promenade and clicking away countless photos of the well-preserved western town. We relaxed while we could - commando tourist that I am, there was little time for lounging in the days to come...
Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, we set out for our mountain 4X4 Ghost Town excursion. Our launch point was Silverton, a handful of a town planted deep within the Rockies. From its dirt roads to the Shady Lady Saloon (notably the last functioning brothel in the area - until 1954!) it was easy to lose yourself in the history of this mining town. With the bright mountian sun blanching the landscape, we climbed into our open-air Pinzgauer Swiss army vehicle.
Popping and grinding our way up a rocky, one-lane trail road, we wove up to the top of a mountain, 40 degrees colder with awe-inspiring peaks and alpine tundra spanning a gaping stretch across the horizon. Though periodically dotted with abandoned mines and boarding homes, the real treat was the Animas Fork ghost town. Combining my love of historic and abandoned structures, this eerily intact town features ten or so homes and buildings so well preserved, you could walk on their original flooring. One home even had remnants of the original wall paper from the late 1800s! I hope we can make it back one day for further exploration - I could spend days in a place like that.
We took the historic Durango Silverton Railroad home, twisting and climbing through the mountains along the gurgling Animas - beautiful, and the soothing chugachug and gentle rocking back and forth had me dozing off and on the whole 3 hour ride! That evening we spent the 4th of July reveling in an appropriate piece of western Americana - legs dangling over a stone wall in front of the century old train tracks in historic Durango, agog at the most impressive fireworks display we've ever seen
Unfortunately, we never encountered the famed Durango Dogs and Purgatory Pups of Jason's childhood - though not for lack of anticipation.
The next day, we explored Mese Verde National Park....which at this point will need to be a second post!
After a 6-hour drive riddled with remarkable scenery, gut-wrenching mountain curves, and the occasional uprising of my not-so-secret road rage tendencies, we arrived in Durango. I'm a sucker for a historic town, so I was thrilled our hotel on the Animas River was also only a block's walk to the repurposed liveries, saloons, and hotels of yore lining main street. We spent the cool, 70 degree mountain evening strolling arm-in-arm down the promenade and clicking away countless photos of the well-preserved western town. We relaxed while we could - commando tourist that I am, there was little time for lounging in the days to come...
Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, we set out for our mountain 4X4 Ghost Town excursion. Our launch point was Silverton, a handful of a town planted deep within the Rockies. From its dirt roads to the Shady Lady Saloon (notably the last functioning brothel in the area - until 1954!) it was easy to lose yourself in the history of this mining town. With the bright mountian sun blanching the landscape, we climbed into our open-air Pinzgauer Swiss army vehicle.
Popping and grinding our way up a rocky, one-lane trail road, we wove up to the top of a mountain, 40 degrees colder with awe-inspiring peaks and alpine tundra spanning a gaping stretch across the horizon. Though periodically dotted with abandoned mines and boarding homes, the real treat was the Animas Fork ghost town. Combining my love of historic and abandoned structures, this eerily intact town features ten or so homes and buildings so well preserved, you could walk on their original flooring. One home even had remnants of the original wall paper from the late 1800s! I hope we can make it back one day for further exploration - I could spend days in a place like that.
We took the historic Durango Silverton Railroad home, twisting and climbing through the mountains along the gurgling Animas - beautiful, and the soothing chugachug and gentle rocking back and forth had me dozing off and on the whole 3 hour ride! That evening we spent the 4th of July reveling in an appropriate piece of western Americana - legs dangling over a stone wall in front of the century old train tracks in historic Durango, agog at the most impressive fireworks display we've ever seen
Unfortunately, we never encountered the famed Durango Dogs and Purgatory Pups of Jason's childhood - though not for lack of anticipation.
The next day, we explored Mese Verde National Park....which at this point will need to be a second post!
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Dúlamán na binne buí, dúlamán Gaelach
I hope Jason can control his urge to jig. Or maybe not...I digress *still thinking about dinosaurs*. So on the one hand, I've always wanted to experience the awesomeness of a Red Rocks concert. On the other, the rocktastic show we are attending is...Celtic Woman.
Jason LOVES Celtic Woman...so i am happy and excited he will get to see them in person, but must admit, they are not really my type of music. In fact, I remember one occasion where Jason and I spent like 30 minutes not speaking to each other on a road trip because he FORCED me to listen to CW for like 2 HOURS. I finally couldn't take the ethereal tra-la-laing and Scarborough Fairing for ONE more second, and frantically mashed the power button on the car like twenty times. Stink-eyes and harsh words were exchanged. I verbally abused Celtic Woman.
I have made amends though - and am secretly a little excited. I'm expecting some fantastic costumey dresses and rousing fiddle episodes. Maybe even jigging. Hopefully the violent rains skip over RR tonight!
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Confessions of a tripaholic
It's almost the weekend! Another exciting trip coming up, this time to Durango. There is so much to do! Of course, I've been in planning mode for about a week - which may SOUND anal, but since I normally have a binder filled with detailed itineraries (general for the trip and individual for the days) months prior, its pretty much the most relaxed I've ever approached a trip.
I even told Jason I didn't know if I WOULD create an itinerary (which was kind of a lie given that I have already memorized my preliminary mental itinerary, along with pertinent details. I'm not THAT relaxed!) There just may not be a physical one this time.
But there had to be a binder. I know, I have a problem! But what if there is some information we NEED!!! The info binder contains all the confirmations/descriptions/contact information - and sometimes backup maps - that make for a seamless trip! I'm just saying. And everyone needs to have contextual information about the places they visit, right? Right?
*Sigh.* Well, there is still much to do before we go. The house is in its perennial state of domicile composting, and with my ever-growing list of "things I want to get done but likely have no chance of achieving," I hope something gets done. A glimpse inside my to-do list for today:
I even told Jason I didn't know if I WOULD create an itinerary (which was kind of a lie given that I have already memorized my preliminary mental itinerary, along with pertinent details. I'm not THAT relaxed!) There just may not be a physical one this time.
But there had to be a binder. I know, I have a problem! But what if there is some information we NEED!!! The info binder contains all the confirmations/descriptions/contact information - and sometimes backup maps - that make for a seamless trip! I'm just saying. And everyone needs to have contextual information about the places they visit, right? Right?
*Sigh.* Well, there is still much to do before we go. The house is in its perennial state of domicile composting, and with my ever-growing list of "things I want to get done but likely have no chance of achieving," I hope something gets done. A glimpse inside my to-do list for today:
- buy books on tape for the road trip (Harry Potter, fingers crossed, to complement our 3 hr Glenn Beck commentary)
- get a haircut (I told Jason I was getting the Gosselin!)
- create a goat cheese/heirloom tomato tart Ina would be proud of
- whip up a batch of cream cheese brownies (part box, part homemade - I'm only human!)
- roll out the dough for/compose lemon curd tartlets with a little berry on top (strawberry? blackberry? raspberry? TBD..)
- slice up cheese, sausages, and bread for the picnic
- assemble Italian BLTs (focaccia, mozzarella, basil, heirloom tomatoes, EVOO, and crispy proscuitto)
- pack Gizzy for camp (food/toys)
- wash at least two sets of clothes (jeans, darks?? Whites and middles may have to suffer...)
- take fermenting dishes we stuffed into the dishwasher so visitors would THINK we are clean out of the dishwasher, give proper bath/scrape, then reload dishwasher
- find bed, collapse into
Pug abuse
What kind of a monster threatens a woman's sick pug?!
The rest of the story.... Is it wrong that I was more concerned about the fate of the pug? In my defense, the comments feel the same!
They took my pug and he told me he was taking him to the pound where he would be "put down." I was taken to the J stop headquarters. I wasn't allowed to call a lawyer and I was put in a cell with handcuffs on with two other women who spit on me and hit me in the head, because they weren't in handcuffs and I was crying so much it bothered them. I was given 3 tickets: failure to produce ID, disorderly conduct, and failure to have dog in a container. I have a court date in August. I asked for a pen to write the badge numbers down before I left and they refused to give me a pen and covered up their badges. My pug was returned. They had him behind their desks and were playing with him."
The rest of the story.... Is it wrong that I was more concerned about the fate of the pug? In my defense, the comments feel the same!
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