One of the coolest things I've seen in a LONG TIME

It's 500 years of women in art.... enjoy!!!

Just a couple of dickheads

I have not fallen in... or off... yet

Sorry, no pics or fun stuff this time around. This past weekend was not exactly the holiday weekend I'd had in mind, even if I'd had one in mind. I'm actually so used to having jobs where I work every holiday, it barely sank in that I was really off.

Friday night my dad went into the hospital. Not much info at first. Mysterious "wound" on his back, right over the spot where the cancer first appeared. Danger of septic shock. Septic shock = imminent death. Not good.

Later news said MRI, CAT scan, and bone scan were being scheduled. Saturday I went to visit him at the hospital. He seemed in good spirits, but much more interested in talking about anything but his health. Typical of my dad.

We had a good visit, which ended when his wife showed up and started bitching about the "horrible day" she'd had because her dog got loose - yes, the dog that she mistreats (doesn't give it water so that it can go all day without having to be walked, then wonders why she's paying vet bills for urinary tract infections - the dog's, not hers, sadly...). She starts complaining that she had planned to go upstate to see her father, but now wouldn't be able to since my dad was in the hospital. Nice. I kissed my dad on the forehead and said I'd call soon - then I bounced.

I've actually been looking for an opening to use the word"bounce" the way all the kids do these days, even though when I walk I actually do bounce, whether I'm "bouncing" (leaving) or not.

Called my sister and other faraway family members to let them know about Dad... was completely composed until I got my mom on the phone. The Mom Factor: One cannot talk to one's mom on the phone about family illnesses without weeping. Got over it enough to actually have a conversation after the initial breakdown. The Mom Factor II: Talking to Mom always helps in a crisis, once you can actually form sentences.

Went to see Dad after work yesterday. Wound healing. MRI and CAT scan accomplished, but no results yet. Bone scan as yet to happen. Why taking so long? Don't know.

Dad's nurse assistant is from Transylvania. No, really. A lovely older-middle-aged woman with black hair and a killer accent (pun intended). Told Dad he "didn't have to worry about her until after midnight". HA! She's really cool, and we actually had a pretty in-depth conversation about Vlad Tepes (the real Dracula) - she has been to his castle in person! I'm jealous. Always wanted to go there. I think she was surprised to find that I knew he was actually an historical figure and not just a Bela Lugosi character. She told me that until she came to America, she never even knew about Bram Stoker's take on him... the whole vampire thing, etc. Wild world, this.

Dad is expressing his frustration at being hospitalized by complaining about the wheels on his IV cart not rolling properly. In a loud voice. He yelled, "Can't anyone just go and get a can of WD-40? That would fix everything!" Dad doesn't appreciate the fact that spraying compressed oils into the air might not be just the thing, on an oncology floor where there are signs that say "NO FRESH FLOWERS" because of airborne stuff.

And the size of the pillows are causing him a great deal of stress - he wanted a SMALL PILLOW for his knees. One the same size as the pillow on his bed was just not acceptable. Eva the Transylvanian nurse's assistant brought him a regular sized pillow and told him to deal with it - was it just me or did her eye teeth look a bit longer than usual? He took the pillow quietly, in any case.

He said "I just want to go home"... this, at least, I can relate to. When I am sick, there is no place else I'd rather be. Here's hoping he'll be healthy enough to go home soon.

Drenched in Dench

Well, to my great excitement, BOTH of my recent Dame Judi Dench orders came in! First came the complete series of "As Time Goes By". Bear sat through six episodes (in a row) with me last night - he really is a saint, I believe. We didn't get to bed until after midnight. It was wonderful seeing how the story started, though, as I have never seen those early episodes. Very charming and once or twice brought a tear to me eye...

The second arrival was a book about Judi by Judi.

I came home this afternoon to find this waiting for me. I opened the box, but then set the book aside as though I wasn't dying to dive into it right away. I did the dishes, vacuumed the living room, and lit some incense. I hooked up the hose and sprinkler in the garden to assist the flowers through this lovely, sunny, dry spell. Then, and only then, did I pour a glass of wine and take my new book outside to the patio for a good read.

Except... it really wasn't a "read" at all. I love pictures dearly, more than most people I know, and for that this book is a treasure. Pictures of Judi Dench from her earliest stage performances, all the way through every Shakespearean play she's been in, her TV shows, and etc. But the only writing are these very sparse little blurbs under each photo - most without specific references, as though the reader were just getting little snippets of things running through her head.

I was rather looking forward to a real in-depth description of her life by the lady herself... alas, it was not to be. The only things I learned about her life were through the pictures - her penchant for short haircuts, the way her daughter takes after her but has her husband's eyes, things like that.

I'm not at all sorry that I bought the book - but I find myself wishing that there was another book... maybe one titled "Chapters From My Life"... one with dialogue and description, and just a few pictures.

A day in May - photos by Marcheline

Patchogue, NY - the south shore of Long Island

Pansies at a local nursery

But... mine won't fit!!

Northport, NY - the north shore of Long Island

In town - Northport, NY

Keeping a lookout for Captain Jack Sparrow?

Almost too beautiful to bear

Pink azaleas, purple house

In the park

The empty battlefield

I wonder

I wonder why every time I buy a new boat, or win $250,000 in the lottery, I want to call my friends and family to share the good news, but whenever they do it to me, I roll my eyes and say "showoff" after I hang up.



I wonder why I have these detailed visions of perfect, witty, interesting blog post topics while I'm in line at the grocery store, but when I get home and sit down in front of the computer, all I can come up with is "did I remember to pick up the laundry?".



I wonder why every time I shave my legs I think, "Now that didn't take any time at all, really. I ought to do this more than once a month!"



I wonder why I panic when I can't find my cell phone. I lived without one for more than thirty years, and suddenly what, now it's a kidney?


I wonder why sometimes I can have these long, lovely phone conversations with my mother that leave me feeling warm and fuzzy all day, when there have been times a two-minute call from her had my stomach in knots for a week.



I wonder why it took me so many years to realize that the world is not actually affected in the slightest by whether or not I wear makeup when I leave the house.



I wonder why Liza Minelli has not realized by now that the world is, actually, in mortal danger when she leaves the house without makeup.



I wonder if I will ever really get all my Angelina Jolie pictures scrapbooked.... (as I continue to buy magazines with Angie on the cover... and the pile grows...)



I wonder why I get along better with some of my favorite people in the world when I don't see them more than once a year.



I wonder if actors ever feel substandard after a movie shoot wraps because they have just spent a year of their lives pretending to be someone who is a nuclear physicist, a gifted concert pianist, or a super hero.


I wonder how a cat can eat nothing but stink mush, spend 90 percent of the day lying around in the sunny spot on the floor, and be so completely lithe and muscular. It ain't fair.




I wonder why something that looks so yummy and nutritious at the grocery store ends up sitting uneaten in my refrigerator until it grows moss.




I wonder what Marlon Brando would have said to me if I'd ever met him in person.




I wonder why anyone ever hires a fashion designer or a weatherman.

Two peas in a pod

The other day, I was watching one of my very favorite Britcoms, a show called "As Time Goes By". Dame Judi Dench stars as the wife of the main couple, and honestly - when I watch this show, I feel as though I am watching what Bear and I will be like years in the future, although I don't see us wearing proper pajamas. Ever. I laugh, I cry, I laugh some more - and I just recently ordered the entire series on DVD. I can't wait until it gets here!

Yes, well, so as I was watching, it occurred to me how much Judi Dench reminds me of one of my other very favorite actors of all time, Sir Derek Jacobi. He starred in another of my all-time favorite British television series, "Brother Cadfael". (That's a delicious murder mystery series set in ancient times at the Abbey of Shrewsbury in England, where Brother Cadfael, a former soldier turned monk, uses his prior training to sniff out clues to murders, while only slightly bending the rules of the Order to do so.)


Last night when I got home from working the restaurant, Bear and I were watching an episode of "As Time Goes By". After about ten minutes of the show, he turned and said to me, "Judi Dench is like a female Derek Jacobi, isn't she?". I nearly fell off the couch. I had been pondering this similarity in the back of my brain for days, and he just comes out with it like that.

Then I came across a picture that featured both of them - so here it is.


Now, don't they look like brother and sister, or perhaps cousins at least? Those same apple cheeks, the same hairdo... I know she does wear a bit more lipstick, but that's to be expected I suppose. What you don't get from a picture is the way they both move - their mannerisms, their eye movements... all very similar, if you've watched them in their work.

The above photo was taken at the 2000 Golden Quill Award ceremony, hosted by the Shakespeare Guild. The gentleman just behind Dame Judi is John Andrews, founder of the Guild. Of course, next to him is Kenneth Branagh, that erstwhile king of all things Shakespearian. Sir Derek starred with him in his full-length movie version of "Hamlet" (which was but too heavenly) as the uncle who marries Hamlet's mother. Dead handsome in that role, he was. To tell the truth, though, any man who can perform Shakespeare, movingly, word for word, without a camera break, becomes exponentially more handsome than he started out.


And so, to round out my unvarnished tale, I submit these further photos of the actors I suspect to be biologically linked. Or at least to be two halves of a whole, two peas in a pod. Something like that.

The REAL root of all evil

Is it...

Nah, that's too easy. Is it...

Well, this looks pretty much like I'd imagine it, but no.

Is it...

Wrong again! Read the following foreshortened version of my weekend and decide for yourself:

Because I was lazy, I didn't wash the pot after I'd made myself some popcorn.

Because I didn't wash the pot, I didn't put it away either, but left it on the stove.

Because the pot was on the stove, next time I wanted more popcorn, I just grabbed the pot and figured what the heck, you don't refrigerate oil anyway, so it can't go bad, right?

Because I used an unwashed popcorn pot to make a second batch, the second batch tasted a little funky but I figured it was just overcooked cooking oil.

Because I ate the popcorn anyway, I was treated to the rare joy of getting up every half an hour all night long and going to the bathroom, where my ass did a bang-up job of vaudevillian comedy, with imitations of water faucets and sound effects galore.

Because I got no sleep that night, and because the smoke from my flaming arsehole was causing alarms to go off in neighboring houses, I called in sick to work on Monday, hoping that the worst was over and I'd be able to sleep the day away.

Because I was pathetically wrong about the whole "worst was over" part, I spent the entire day in and out of the crapper, only managing to prolong the time between stage shows somewhat.

By Tuesday morning, the fireworks had ceased and I went back to work, but my digestive system was in such a tender state that I didn't dare have my morning cup of coffee, and settled for a banana and a cup of water instead, which is also what I had for lunch.

Because I didn't have a cup of coffee Monday, Tuesday, or this morning, due to the fact that I still feel like the Mets had batting practise on my stomach, I got a raging headache that started in low at around 11am and grew in size and strength until just now, when I got home from work and threw a couple of extra-strength Tylenol down my throat in a near panic.

So, kiddies, NOW do we know the real root of all evil?

Once upon a time...

... there was a Bear who met a Squirrel. Bear was big and strong and smart, and Squirrel was smart too, but also very, very naughty. They were good friends for a long time. Bear would teach things to Squirrel, and Squirrel would learn them, but she would tease Bear and pull his ears anyway, because she was a Squirrel, and that's what Squirrels do. After about eight years or so, Bear said to Squirrel...

"SQUIRREL, WILL YOU MARRY ME?"

Squirrel said, "Why yes, I'd love to marry you!" But, being a Squirrel, she had to ask Bear, "Bear, will you marry me?" To which Bear replied, "Why yes, I'd love to marry you!" And so they did. They moved into a beautiful little cottage where they met up with three little kittens who decided to move in too.... and they all lived happily ever after.

THE END(s)

P.S. This September will mark Bear and Squirrel's fifth wedding anniversary, and since Squirrel (who also goes by the name of Marcheline) found these funny little resin flowerpot hanger critters in the craft store yesterday, she couldn't resist doing something with the pictures.

Two of my favorite things, times three

Okay, ready? Kurt Browning AND the song "Brick House" by the Commodores.

Ye gods and little fishes, who in the world can dance like that, on ice, while wearing sharpened steel blades strapped to their feet, AND spin faster than a carbide drill bit while leaping high in the air?

Kurt Browning, that's who.



And an even hotter performance...



Finally, how about still being able to do that shit MORE THAN TEN YEARS LATER???



Lordy, chillens!

Marcheline on Music (OR) What I Really Think About All Day at Work

THE ARTIST: CARRIE UNDERWOOD

THE SONG: "BEFORE HE CHEATS"

Up front, I want to say that I realize that this song is one of those "female empowerment songs", taking its place right up there with Alanis Morissette's "You Oughta Know" and Pink's "You and Your Hand". Yes, I get it... bad, bad man, tough female getting hers on her own terms.

But.

I can't help thinking that some of the lyrics to this particular song give more away about the "powerful" female (odor isn't everything!) than she realizes, and perhaps shed some light into why the bad, bad man was doing bad, bad things to begin with.

Lyrics:

"Right now he's probably slow dancing with a bleached-blond tramp, and she's probably getting frisky. Right now, he's probably buying her some fruity little drink cause she can't shoot whiskey..."

Marcheline Says:

She assumes this little scenario down to the last detail because that's exactly how she hooked up with the bad, bad man in the first place, and this other (quite possibly imaginary) girl is a piece of crap because she hasn't perfected the lady-like quality all socialites aspire to - shooting whiskey. For shame!

Lyrics:

"Right now, he's probably dabbing on $3 worth of that bathroom Polo..."

Marcheline Says:

Hmmmm, wonder how she knows what they "probably" have for sale in the men's room of the local watering hole?


Lyrics:

"And he don't know... that I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped-up 4-wheel drive..."

Marcheline Says:

I don't know where this girl lives, but even down in the booneys they have this thing called "The Law". Yes, with capitals. Furthermore, The Law don't look kandly on reveyunge, no matter how weyull deserved or how creatively imagined.

Here in New York, it's called "criminal mischief in the third degree" - when someone damages property of another person in an amount exceeding two hundred fifty dollars. Criminal mischief in the third degree is a class E felony. Hear that, girls? A felony. What bad, bad man is worth going to jail over? Sheeee-it.

Lyrics:

"...carved my name into his leather seats...
I took a Louisville Slugger to both headlights,
slashed a hole in all four tires..."

Marcheline Says:

Oh, that's a great idea. Just in case the cops don't already know who did it. If she was a real pro, she would have torn some of her hair out and left it in the driver's seat, and left handprints on the windows in her own blood. You know, I bet she did all that, but it didn't rhyme, so she just left it out.

Lyrics:

"Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats."

Marcheline Says:

Maybe next time he'll think before he gets involved with an alcoholic Jerry Springer Show reject who trashes his vehicle because she thinks he's "probably" teaching some other bimbo how to play pool.

Maybe next time he won't have to think about anything except how to wave bye-bye and laugh at the same time while her sorry ass gets carted away to jail.

Final Comments:

1. If the bad, bad man is supposedly out at a bar with another woman, then why isn't his car with him? Are we to suppose he left his beautiful vehicle at home and walked to the bar? Are we to think that perhaps this couple lives at the bar? Or are we to assume that Ms. Bright Light is doing all of this paint keying, leather carving, headlight smashing, and tire slashing right in the middle of a public parking lot where any and all of the patrons coming and going can see her? Well, yeah, I guess that's probably it, since common sense doesn't seem to be as high on her priority list as shooting whiskey.

2. I realize that Carrie Underwood is not singing lines out of her diary, and that she would never, ever, EVER do anything remotely like this in real life, uh-uhhhh, no way, nohow. But doesn't she realize that there are loads and loads of women in this country who are poor and down on their luck, living in crappy conditions with men who really do cheat on them, and beat them, who may take this song as their personal anthem and go out and try this shit?

Did the shootings at Virginia Tech not teach her anything? People who are at the end of their ropes often copycat what they see and hear in the media. I'm just waiting for the news stories to start... "woman arrested while defacing boyfriend's car says she got the idea from Carrie Underwood's number one hit song".

See what happens when I hear a song for the 9,789,345th time in a day? My soapbox is going back in the garage.

Well, it would if I had a garage.

Quantum leaps

Egads. I sit here, with the crumbs from a bag of blue corn tortilla chips around the edges of my mouth. The empty bag sits forlornly in the wastebasket. My super-lovely extra-large widey-roundey wine glass is empty, too. Am I sad? Depressed?

HELL NO!

I'm celebrating, actually. After months and months and months of waiting, I received not one, but two exciting things in the mail.

The first is the miraculously correctly spelled version of my passport. This means that at the drop of a hat, I can say, "I'm outta here, bitches." Of course that doesn't mean I can afford tickets, it just means I can SAY that.

The second is that I received the official letter regarding the civil service exam that I took. I don't want to blow my own horn, peeps, but dammit - I got a 95 on the test and I AM IN THE NUMBER ONE SLOT FOR HIRING ELIGIBILITY!!!!

Not only does this make the Virgo Mom Powers happy (See? I told you rewriting your homework and handing it in without blemishes would come in handy one day!) but it also makes the past couple of weeks dealing with my new, improved, "even- more- psychotic- than- the- last- boss" boss actually seem enjoyable! Yes, yes, there's something about the possibility/probability of getting hired for a government job with perks and vacations and health bennies out the wazoo that really makes my socks roll up and down.

In other news, some of my favorite bloggers are quitting. Let me be the first to say that THIS SUCKS. I don't think your personal problems should get in the way of your creating fun and educational blog posts, see? You're there so that I can read you! This is very important! How dare you forget something so essential! So, all of you bloggers that are considering wimping out and quitting due to emotional stress, I say this... DON'T DO IT! Look upon blogging as your venue to emotional well being! Use your blogging friends as sounding boards, or surf boards, only whatever you do, don't ever actually take our advice! Just let it all hang out, write your heart out... but do not under any circumstances (other than your own demise, of course, and even that's cutting it close) QUIT!

I have found it very hard to blog lately, due to the fact that Bear and I have recently gotten cable TV, with recording capabilities, which means that while I am actually watching black and white film noir from the 1940's, I can simultaneously surf ahead to record more film noir for future absorption. Not to mention the military channel, which I am so totally addicted to... last night I watched a special on aircraft carriers that got me completely turned on. No, really - there's something about fighter jets that gets my blood going. RRRRRRRROWWWWWRRRR! And I think R. Lee Ermey is the cutest old person on the planet, next to Sir Anthony Hopkins and Paul Newman.


Happily, that hasn't stopped me from being able to cook. Yesterday, I over-shopped and over-cooked, resulting in TWO ENTIRE PANS of chicken enchiladas, which Bear and I will now be forced at jalapeno-point to consume within the time limits allowed by refrigerated food storage guidelines. We're already 2/3 of the way through the first one, so fear not, dear readers... we may gain fifty pounds, but no enchiladas will be sacrificed during the making of this blog!

Ummmm...

Okay.

I thought I was pretty horrible with my jokey-joke PINK lip-synch video... and I was, I was! Until I found these:


Chickie, are you channeling Stevie Nicks? Fatal flaw: ACTUALLY SINGING... no one ever sounds as good as the real thing. OK, maybe someone does, but not you.



Then there's the inexplicable, completely puzzling combo of two of my favorites: Harry Potter and Pink? What the FACK?????

HOWEVER!

These chicks (the blonde in particular) win the all-time best Pink Lip Synch video award. If you are not in tears laughing at the girl in the background by halfway through this song, you are on 'ludes, man. This is some mega-fun-NEEEEEEE shit!

I would so party with this girl.

Days of wine and roses

L to R: Marcheline's uncle, dad, and nana

I don't know why, but the older I get, the more comparisons my brain makes between different days, different people, and different years. Things seem more compartmentalized to me now than they did when I was a kid. Summer, for example, seemed like a vague, nearly endless miasma of humid pleasures when I was a child. Now, it's a clearly definable three month period which ends much too soon, and much too visibly.

As much as I tried resisting it, people have also fallen into categories in my mind. They are either "actors" or "extras". Actors are people who are aware of what they are doing, and who make choices dependent on how those choices affect the world around them. Extras are mouth-breathers who wander around spending and consuming, mindlessly becoming the infamous "masses" of whom television was said to be the opiate. Actors would rather not speak than say something inane. Upper crust extras will rattle on about how much money they've spent, and their lower-middle-class compatriots will do so about the latest sale on socks at Target, regardless of who their unfortunate audience is.

Days, too, have taken on their own labels. Today, for instance, was a Bull's Eye Day. I was the cosmic "X" onto which everyone, save my darling husband, dropped their crap bombs.

I complied with a direct order from Boss A and removed a customer's credit card charge from the website, after which he decided that Boss B should really talk to the customer "first", to see if he could convince them not to cancel the sale. When he found out that I had already canceled the order, he didn't bother to tell Boss B that he had already told me to cancel it, so I got a tongue lashing via telephone from Boss B.

On the way to work, as well as on the way home, everyone felt welcome to cut sharply in front of my truck without signaling, as if they were completely unaware of my existence, even though I was traveling at the same speed as the vehicle in front of me.

At the end of the work day, the UPS man glared at me because he had to wait four point five seconds for me to print an "end of day" label for him. Yes, I know I should have had it ready for him when he arrived, but ye gods... not even five seconds to print it out! UPS men are generally known for their easy-going, friendly attitudes. Getting the stink-eye from a UPS guy is like being slapped by anyone else.

So, even though today was a beautiful, sunny, otherwise lovely day, I felt kind of like pre-ball Cinderella throughout most of it.

When I got home with the groceries, Bear had already left to go to the zendo, so I fed the cats, put away the groceries, and made some marinade for the pork ribs we're going to have tomorrow night. I've been trying to drop some poundage lately, so I've been having a banana and a bottle of water for lunch. By the time I get home I'm pretty ravenous, so today I ate a cucumber and onion salad with half of a whole-wheat pita pocket. Then I poured a glass of pinot noir and wandered outside to see what kind of trouble I could get into.

As it turns out, I got a fair few things done in the garden. I pruned what needed pruning, replanted three bunches of variegated hostas, and moved my sun-starved Montauk daisies into the very sunny spot from whence I had removed said variegated hostas. Then I went about with a watering can, laced heavily with Miracle Gro, and fed the transplanteds. I like what I did, and I can feel the garden really coming into its own now... it's like having a kid who's going off to college. They're nearly finished adults, but they still need a good trim and a feeding now and again - just a bit of polish.

Bear won't be home for another hour or more, most likely... so I am going to take myself downstairs and watch the TCM documentary on Marlon Brando that I recorded on IO. There's another compartmentalization for ya: Marlon Brando, The Young Hottie... and Marlon Brando AKA Jabba the Hut. Eeeeeyikes.

It ain't easy bein' PINK...

Some weird chick on YouTube made this home video. I guess she wanted to see what it was like to be Pink For A Day. I imagine if she'd known how long it would take to set all those desk lamps up on top of the book case, hang the Nightmare Before Christmas bedsheet from the ceiling, and locate an adequate pair of sunglasses, not to mention spending half an hour looking for extension cords, and another half an hour trying to memorize the words to the song, she'd have thought twice about starting this project!

I mean, I imagine she would. How would I know, really? I spent my whole weekend making doilies for the ladies' church charity sale.