Sunday, February 29, 2004

AND THE TUNA GOES TO....

I worked in the movie industry for nearly a decade and during that time I learned a great many secrets from the motion picture trade. Yes, ok, I worked in a movie theatre and not a movie studio, but you tell me which is more valuable: how to make yourself cry on cue, or how to damage out a box of Milk Duds when you're starving and have no money for dinner?



As the years went on, and I joined the ranks of management, The Academy Awards became a big night in the theatre biz. Because we sold the tickets, popped the corn, damaged out an occasional box of Milk Duds and saw the first five and last minutes of every movie shown, we felt as if we had a real IN in the business. You wanted to know who would win? We'd tell you with narrowed eyes and a slight nod that meant we just knew. It was like osmosis or breathing the midnight movie air -- we had the inside track, baby. Just ask us.



For several years we'd receive an information packet from an LA company entitled "Handicapping the Oscars". We'd fight over it and study it like the bible. It had all sorts of statistics as it demonstrated the importance between winning Oscars with winning The Golden Globes, The SAG awards, The Directors Guild awards and the latest PowerBall drawing as it related to the latest phase of the moon.



So today, I share with you, kind readers, the 76th Annual Academy Awards.

Caution -- spoilers ahead. You have been warned.



Actress -- Supporting

Following an opening montage in which we all give thanks to the Popcorn Gods that Billy Crystal is hosting the show and not David Letterman, they always start out with a BIG category, which, coincidentally, will be the only category reported in the print media tomorrow. The one statistic I remember about the Best Supporting Actress Category is that it tends to go to a first-time winner. More often than not it is an unknown who nabs the Oscar and then is sucked into the VH1 "Where are they Now" black hole (see: Anna Pacquin and Marissa Tomei). Obscurity would claim Shohreh Aghdashloo from "House of Sand and Fog" as its Queen, but the Oscar will go to Renee Zellweger, because she is packing a rifle, not to mention twenty extra pounds.



Costume Design

Costume design is important. Without costume design you have costume malfunction, and we all know where that leads, right? Among the losers tonight will be the horse movie (Jockey Silks -- how tough can they be?), The historical Naval Drama (wet uniforms -- not so appealing), Lord Of the Very Long Cloaks, The Last Samurai and Girl with a Pearl Earring. The Oscar will go to "Earring" since pearls go with everything.



Documentary Feature

"The Fog of War" is up against "The Weather Underground". Never trust a weatherman, I always say. Fog wins.



Documentary Short

The choices here are "Asylum", "Chernobyl Heart" and "Ferry Tales". The after-effects of this nuclear disaster is Oscar gold.



Sound Editing

Three nautical tales have their eyes on the prize. Or in this case, their fins on the wins. Ahem. Nemo, Master and Commander or Pirates of the Caribbean. I just can't award an Oscar to a Disney themepark ride. Master and Commander takes all.



Sound Mixing

Samurai, Rings, Master, Pirates and Seabiscuit. Because "Seabiscuit" starts with "Sea" and therefore qualified as a nautical tale (Sea Horses, anyone?), the Biscuit wins by a nose.



Visual Effects

Rings, Master and Pirates again. Flip a three-sided coin and give it to Lord. Tell 'em Frodo sent you.



Short Film -- Animated

Your choices today are:

1. Boundin' (A woolly lamb is sheared and falls into a deep funk, until the mythical Jackalope sets him straight)

2. Destino (Shifting dream-like images convey Salvador Dali's surreal story of love and destiny)

3. Gone Nutty (Scrat crams one final nut into the center of his gigantic stash...and the result is cataclysmic)

4. Harvie Krumpet (Harvie Krumpet is an ordinary man whose lifelong string of bad luck is offset by occasional episodes of joy)

5. Nibbles (A father takes his sons fishing in the forests of Canada...with a few stops along the way)



I'm eliminating Salvador Dali and Harvie Krumpet out of hand. From the insane to the inane, Oscar won't care. But then we have a lamb, a prehistoric squirrel and a fish. Tough one to call here, but the fish will be rewarded later (Sorry Canada!), and a sheared lamb won't cut it. I'm going for the Squirrel -- Scat is the preincarnation of Wile E. Coyote.



Short Film -- Live Action

The winner here is "(A) Torzija" ((A) Torsion) -- It has a choir and a cow, so what's not to love?



Makeup

Pirates of the Caribbean. Because Pirates am cool and eyepatchy and stuff.



Animated Feature

Brother Bear, The Triplets of Belleville or Finding Nemo? Go FISH!



Art Direction

Art Direction should go to a movie about art right? Put a Pearl Earring on that Oscar.



Foreign Language Film

Zelary (Czech Republic). It's a World War II film, which is often means Oscar. Sorry Canada, better luck next year.



Screenplay -- Adapted

Mystic River. (See Aquatic theme above)



Screenplay -- Original

As much as I'd love to give it to Nemo (swimming swimming swimming swimming!), I'm going to reluctantly give the Oscar to Lost in Translation, a movie that cured my insomnia, but was written and directed by the first American female director nominee, Sophia Coppola. She won't win director, but she will be rewarded here.



Original Score

Guess I'll go with Lord of the Rings, since Howard Shore won the Oscar in 2001 for Fellowship of the Rings. How different can the music be this time around? Of course, if Danny Elfman won, I'd be immeasurably happy. The composer of The Simpsons, Batman and Nightmare before Christmas is always Oscar-worthy.



Original Song

"Into the West" from Lord of the Rings. Why? Two Words: Annie Lennox.



Film Editing

Rings. Epics are a pain.



Cinematography

Master and Commander. Shoot a movie and not get seasick? That deserves a statue.



Actor -- Supporting

Tim Robbins for Mystic River. He's got the power of SAG and Golden Globes. History shows that he'll most likely also receive The Michael Moore award for the 76th Annual Academy Award.



Actor -- Leading

I absolutely cannot give this to Johnny Depp. He's a pirate. TinyTuna does a credible pirate too, and she doesn't have any awards (yet). This one is going to Sean Penn for Mystic River.



Actress -- Leading

Something's Gotta Give, and so sorry Diane Keaton, it's going to be you. The Oscar goes to Charlize Theron.



Directing and Best Picture

Give it up to Peter Jackson and The Lord of the Rings. Put the trilogy together, and you have about twenty four hours of butt-numbing fantasy-filled excitement. Let's just hope this trilogy doesn't fall prey to the Star Wars sickness where three good films were rewarded with two horrid prequels.



So, those are the predictions. Feel free to copy them and pass them out to your friends. Or dash over to the Oscar site and fill out your own ballet. Just keep in mind I've seen exactly 3 1/2 of all nominated films: Brother Bear, Finding Nemo and half of Lost in Translation. That might make a teensy bit of difference. Then again, maybe not.

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AND THE TUNA GOES TO....
I worked in the movie industry for nearly a decade and during that time I learned a great many secrets from the motion picture trade. Yes, ok, I worked in a movie theatre and not a movie studio, but you tell me which is more valuable: how to make yourself cry on cue, or how to damage out a box of Milk Duds when you're starving and have no money for dinner?

As the years went on, and I joined the ranks of management, The Academy Awards became a big night in the theatre biz. Because we sold the tickets, popped the corn, damaged out an occasional box of Milk Duds and saw the first five and last minutes of every movie shown, we felt as if we had a real IN in the business. You wanted to know who would win? We'd tell you with narrowed eyes and a slight nod that meant we just knew. It was like osmosis or breathing the midnight movie air -- we had the inside track, baby. Just ask us.

For several years we'd receive an information packet from an LA company entitled "Handicapping the Oscars". We'd fight over it and study it like the bible. It had all sorts of statistics as it demonstrated the importance between winning Oscars with winning The Golden Globes, The SAG awards, The Directors Guild awards and the latest PowerBall drawing as it related to the latest phase of the moon.

So today, I share with you, kind readers, the 76th Annual Academy Awards.
Caution -- spoilers ahead. You have been warned.

Actress -- Supporting
Following an opening montage in which we all give thanks to the Popcorn Gods that Billy Crystal is hosting the show and not David Letterman, they always start out with a BIG category, which, coincidentally, will be the only category reported in the print media tomorrow. The one statistic I remember about the Best Supporting Actress Category is that it tends to go to a first-time winner. More often than not it is an unknown who nabs the Oscar and then is sucked into the VH1 "Where are they Now" black hole (see: Anna Pacquin and Marissa Tomei). Obscurity would claim Shohreh Aghdashloo from "House of Sand and Fog" as its Queen, but the Oscar will go to Renee Zellweger, because she is packing a rifle, not to mention twenty extra pounds.

Costume Design
Costume design is important. Without costume design you have costume malfunction, and we all know where that leads, right? Among the losers tonight will be the horse movie (Jockey Silks -- how tough can they be?), The historical Naval Drama (wet uniforms -- not so appealing), Lord Of the Very Long Cloaks, The Last Samurai and Girl with a Pearl Earring. The Oscar will go to "Earring" since pearls go with everything.

Documentary Feature
"The Fog of War" is up against "The Weather Underground". Never trust a weatherman, I always say. Fog wins.

Documentary Short
The choices here are "Asylum", "Chernobyl Heart" and "Ferry Tales". The after-effects of this nuclear disaster is Oscar gold.

Sound Editing
Three nautical tales have their eyes on the prize. Or in this case, their fins on the wins. Ahem. Nemo, Master and Commander or Pirates of the Caribbean. I just can't award an Oscar to a Disney themepark ride. Master and Commander takes all.

Sound Mixing
Samurai, Rings, Master, Pirates and Seabiscuit. Because "Seabiscuit" starts with "Sea" and therefore qualified as a nautical tale (Sea Horses, anyone?), the Biscuit wins by a nose.

Visual Effects
Rings, Master and Pirates again. Flip a three-sided coin and give it to Lord. Tell 'em Frodo sent you.

Short Film -- Animated
Your choices today are:
1. Boundin' (A woolly lamb is sheared and falls into a deep funk, until the mythical Jackalope sets him straight)
2. Destino (Shifting dream-like images convey Salvador Dali's surreal story of love and destiny)
3. Gone Nutty (Scrat crams one final nut into the center of his gigantic stash...and the result is cataclysmic)
4. Harvie Krumpet (Harvie Krumpet is an ordinary man whose lifelong string of bad luck is offset by occasional episodes of joy)
5. Nibbles (A father takes his sons fishing in the forests of Canada...with a few stops along the way)

I'm eliminating Salvador Dali and Harvie Krumpet out of hand. From the insane to the inane, Oscar won't care. But then we have a lamb, a prehistoric squirrel and a fish. Tough one to call here, but the fish will be rewarded later (Sorry Canada!), and a sheared lamb won't cut it. I'm going for the Squirrel -- Scat is the preincarnation of Wile E. Coyote.

Short Film -- Live Action
The winner here is "(A) Torzija" ((A) Torsion) -- It has a choir and a cow, so what's not to love?

Makeup
Pirates of the Caribbean. Because Pirates am cool and eyepatchy and stuff.

Animated Feature
Brother Bear, The Triplets of Belleville or Finding Nemo? Go FISH!

Art Direction
Art Direction should go to a movie about art right? Put a Pearl Earring on that Oscar.

Foreign Language Film
Zelary (Czech Republic). It's a World War II film, which is often means Oscar. Sorry Canada, better luck next year.

Screenplay -- Adapted
Mystic River. (See Aquatic theme above)

Screenplay -- Original
As much as I'd love to give it to Nemo (swimming swimming swimming swimming!), I'm going to reluctantly give the Oscar to Lost in Translation, a movie that cured my insomnia, but was written and directed by the first American female director nominee, Sophia Coppola. She won't win director, but she will be rewarded here.

Original Score
Guess I'll go with Lord of the Rings, since Howard Shore won the Oscar in 2001 for Fellowship of the Rings. How different can the music be this time around? Of course, if Danny Elfman won, I'd be immeasurably happy. The composer of The Simpsons, Batman and Nightmare before Christmas is always Oscar-worthy.

Original Song
"Into the West" from Lord of the Rings. Why? Two Words: Annie Lennox.

Film Editing
Rings. Epics are a pain.

Cinematography
Master and Commander. Shoot a movie and not get seasick? That deserves a statue.

Actor -- Supporting
Tim Robbins for Mystic River. He's got the power of SAG and Golden Globes. History shows that he'll most likely also receive The Michael Moore award for the 76th Annual Academy Award.

Actor -- Leading
I absolutely cannot give this to Johnny Depp. He's a pirate. TinyTuna does a credible pirate too, and she doesn't have any awards (yet). This one is going to Sean Penn for Mystic River.

Actress -- Leading
Something's Gotta Give, and so sorry Diane Keaton, it's going to be you. The Oscar goes to Charlize Theron.

Directing and Best Picture
Give it up to Peter Jackson and The Lord of the Rings. Put the trilogy together, and you have about twenty four hours of butt-numbing fantasy-filled excitement. Let's just hope this trilogy doesn't fall prey to the Star Wars sickness where three good films were rewarded with two horrid prequels.

So, those are the predictions. Feel free to copy them and pass them out to your friends. Or dash over to the Oscar site and fill out your own ballet. Just keep in mind I've seen exactly 3 1/2 of all nominated films: Brother Bear, Finding Nemo and half of Lost in Translation. That might make a teensy bit of difference. Then again, maybe not.
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WITH A HOP, SKIP AND A JUMP

Ever thoughtful, I woke up this morning to find my boyfriend wishing me a Happy Leap Day. Aren't they cute?







Today, lots of Leap Day babies get to celebrate their "real" birthday. Willard Scott and his jar of Smuckers wishes a Happy Birthday to motivational infomercial king Tony Robbins (44), as well as Barber of Seville Composer Gioacchino Rossini who is 212 years young. Look at that smile!



In a fitting stroke of karma, on this day in Leap Day history (1940), Gone with the Wind won eight Oscars. Fiddle-dee-dee, Today is Oscar day! I'll be posting the inside scoop for all the Academy Awards later this afternoon.

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WITH A HOP, SKIP AND A JUMP
Ever thoughtful, I woke up this morning to find my boyfriend wishing me a Happy Leap Day. Aren't they cute?



Today, lots of Leap Day babies get to celebrate their "real" birthday. Willard Scott and his jar of Smuckers wishes a Happy Birthday to motivational infomercial king Tony Robbins (44), as well as Barber of Seville Composer Gioacchino Rossini who is 212 years young. Look at that smile!

In a fitting stroke of karma, on this day in Leap Day history (1940), Gone with the Wind won eight Oscars. Fiddle-dee-dee, Today is Oscar day! I'll be posting the inside scoop for all the Academy Awards later this afternoon.
Sign My Guestbook!

Saturday, February 28, 2004

PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS

Many people spend Saturdays in leisurely pursuit of, well, leisure, I guess. I wish I could say I was one of those people. But after spending two fabulous weekends in a wooly wonderland, this weekend was back to reality and the normal routine (read: runaround).



Our breakfast date with the Grill Dogs started at an alarm-busting 7:15am. From there it was dash to the mall for a walk with the Church Aunts. TinyTuna amazed us all by walking three complete laps -- no stopping. Her motivation was to be able to "sign the book" where you can record the number of miles walked on a given day. I've always told her she can't sign the book unless she does the whole deal -- three complete laps (approximately 3 miles). She did it with a minimum of verbal complaint but with a maximum of melodramatic huffing and puffing. She wanted to make good sure we knew that she was walking much farther than she usually does. All the world's a stage...



Post book signing, we dashed into one of the department stores to take advantage of a fairly large sale. The Gods of retail were smiling on the Tuna clan today, because I found TinyTuna's new Easter Dress! The hunt for a decent, appropriate yet affordable Easter Dress has begun to rival the annual dreaded Halloween costume safari. Because she has surpassed the age of no matter what you buy it's exceedingly adorable toddler-wear, we have to look high and low for a dress that receives the maternal stamp of approval.



I'm not a picky person, but when it comes to TinyTuna clothes I feel that the article of clothing should

A - Cover her body

B - Not have spaghetti straps or be strapless

C - Made of a fiber that conceivably could be found in nature. I do not want to be responsible for the slaughter of thousands of baby rayons and polyesters.



The winning frock this year is a very pale purple cotton dress with a cropped matching short sleeved jacket. The bodice has a lace overlay in the front and a gathered elasticized back (double bonus fitting points!). The jacket also has some dainty embroidered detailing. It is quite pretty, and didn't break the budget. The worst thing about the whole deal is the "thou shalt not wear thine Easter Dress before Easter" rule, meaning I have six more weeks of whining, as was foretold by the Ash Wednesday Bat. She already fulfilled tonight's quota. Now I have seven days of rest before round two begins.



After banking, lunching and car washing, it was off to the grocery store. I was worried because we hit the store at high noon-thirty on a Saturday. Usually not the best idea. However, the store was fairly tame, and we got in and out in decent time. The big purchase was a Super Saturday sale of a DVD-VCR combo for the basement. As I was explaining this to TinyTuna she said, "Oh, you mean for the playroom?" I could have cried and kissed her. It's the first time the subterranean sludge-heap has been referred to as a functioning room. After my usual What-You-Talkin-About-Willis HUH??, I smiled and said "oh, yeah. Yeah! The play room!" Little victories can mean so much.



Aside from that, not much to report. We watched the end of Fiddler made a Goof, we munched some awesome Shrimp Creole and fresh Asparagus and we waded into the backyard to feed the birds. No tuppence required.



Tomorrow -- My world famous Academy Awards Predictions! Don't miss it!

Sign My Guestbook!
PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS
Many people spend Saturdays in leisurely pursuit of, well, leisure, I guess. I wish I could say I was one of those people. But after spending two fabulous weekends in a wooly wonderland, this weekend was back to reality and the normal routine (read: runaround).

Our breakfast date with the Grill Dogs started at an alarm-busting 7:15am. From there it was dash to the mall for a walk with the Church Aunts. TinyTuna amazed us all by walking three complete laps -- no stopping. Her motivation was to be able to "sign the book" where you can record the number of miles walked on a given day. I've always told her she can't sign the book unless she does the whole deal -- three complete laps (approximately 3 miles). She did it with a minimum of verbal complaint but with a maximum of melodramatic huffing and puffing. She wanted to make good sure we knew that she was walking much farther than she usually does. All the world's a stage...

Post book signing, we dashed into one of the department stores to take advantage of a fairly large sale. The Gods of retail were smiling on the Tuna clan today, because I found TinyTuna's new Easter Dress! The hunt for a decent, appropriate yet affordable Easter Dress has begun to rival the annual dreaded Halloween costume safari. Because she has surpassed the age of no matter what you buy it's exceedingly adorable toddler-wear, we have to look high and low for a dress that receives the maternal stamp of approval.

I'm not a picky person, but when it comes to TinyTuna clothes I feel that the article of clothing should
A - Cover her body
B - Not have spaghetti straps or be strapless
C - Made of a fiber that conceivably could be found in nature. I do not want to be responsible for the slaughter of thousands of baby rayons and polyesters.

The winning frock this year is a very pale purple cotton dress with a cropped matching short sleeved jacket. The bodice has a lace overlay in the front and a gathered elasticized back (double bonus fitting points!). The jacket also has some dainty embroidered detailing. It is quite pretty, and didn't break the budget. The worst thing about the whole deal is the "thou shalt not wear thine Easter Dress before Easter" rule, meaning I have six more weeks of whining, as was foretold by the Ash Wednesday Bat. She already fulfilled tonight's quota. Now I have seven days of rest before round two begins.

After banking, lunching and car washing, it was off to the grocery store. I was worried because we hit the store at high noon-thirty on a Saturday. Usually not the best idea. However, the store was fairly tame, and we got in and out in decent time. The big purchase was a Super Saturday sale of a DVD-VCR combo for the basement. As I was explaining this to TinyTuna she said, "Oh, you mean for the playroom?" I could have cried and kissed her. It's the first time the subterranean sludge-heap has been referred to as a functioning room. After my usual What-You-Talkin-About-Willis HUH??, I smiled and said "oh, yeah. Yeah! The play room!" Little victories can mean so much.

Aside from that, not much to report. We watched the end of Fiddler made a Goof, we munched some awesome Shrimp Creole and fresh Asparagus and we waded into the backyard to feed the birds. No tuppence required.

Tomorrow -- My world famous Academy Awards Predictions! Don't miss it!
Sign My Guestbook!

Friday, February 27, 2004

I IS FOR TRADITION

In honor of ChefGrace's International Food Day, we did Italian dinner tonight. While we were waiting for the customary "green noodles" (Spinach Fettucini Alfredo), TinyTuna turns to me and says, "Are we EVER going to see Fiddler on the Roof again?



What??



First of all, the question was totally out of the blue. Secondly, it was asked in a tone dripping with pathos and self-pity, implying that I had willfully disregarded the articles of the Geneva Convention and had been withholding this film as some sort of cruel and unusual punishment. I half-expected forces from both the U.N. and the International Red Cross to storm the restaurant with a videotape and box of Jr. Mints.



What??



So, she asks again. It makes as little sense the second time as the first time. Oh. But then I wonder, could she possibly be bringing up, yet again, the fact that some four-odd years ago we left a high school production of Fiddler during intermission, causing massive wailing and gnashing of teeth? On the off-chance that this is not the case, I don't bring it up (because I don't want to hear it again), and I return to my pat response of



What??



Finally, totally confused, I add, "but we have Fiddler on the Roof. You can watch it whenever you'd like. You can go home and watch it tonight if you'd like." She shoots, she scores! TinyTuna is happy! Home we go. Pajamas on. Cue the film!



TinyTevye starts in on the routine. Although we haven't watched this movie in quite some time, she is reciting lines as if this is the two-hundredth consecutive viewing. She and Tevye shimmy with outstretched arms and wish to be a "Rich Man". She does a solo interpretive ballet to "Sabbath Prayer". She joins the Russian dancers in "To Life", but somehow consistently massacres the word Lachaim even though I keep repeating it. She sits on the couch wrapped in her blanket and plaintively sings "Sunrise, Sunset" and then hops up to perform the perennial audience favorite: The pajama-clad version of the "Bottle Dance".



As she crawls into bed we discuss the more difficult issues of the movie. Why the Russian soldiers come in and destroy the wedding. Why people are mean to each other. Why the Captain warned Tevye and then turned around and became part of the mob. These are big issues for a little kid. I tuck her in and promise she can watch the rest tomorrow. She rolls over to go to sleep and I start to go, relieved that she hasn't busted me in the chops again for the Kindergarten-era transgression.



"I was really disappointed though, when we had to leave that play early," she mumbles as I reach the door.



Busted again.

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I IS FOR TRADITION
In honor of ChefGrace's International Food Day, we did Italian dinner tonight. While we were waiting for the customary "green noodles" (Spinach Fettucini Alfredo), TinyTuna turns to me and says, "Are we EVER going to see Fiddler on the Roof again?

What??

First of all, the question was totally out of the blue. Secondly, it was asked in a tone dripping with pathos and self-pity, implying that I had willfully disregarded the articles of the Geneva Convention and had been withholding this film as some sort of cruel and unusual punishment. I half-expected forces from both the U.N. and the International Red Cross to storm the restaurant with a videotape and box of Jr. Mints.

What??

So, she asks again. It makes as little sense the second time as the first time. Oh. But then I wonder, could she possibly be bringing up, yet again, the fact that some four-odd years ago we left a high school production of Fiddler during intermission, causing massive wailing and gnashing of teeth? On the off-chance that this is not the case, I don't bring it up (because I don't want to hear it again), and I return to my pat response of

What??

Finally, totally confused, I add, "but we have Fiddler on the Roof. You can watch it whenever you'd like. You can go home and watch it tonight if you'd like." She shoots, she scores! TinyTuna is happy! Home we go. Pajamas on. Cue the film!

TinyTevye starts in on the routine. Although we haven't watched this movie in quite some time, she is reciting lines as if this is the two-hundredth consecutive viewing. She and Tevye shimmy with outstretched arms and wish to be a "Rich Man". She does a solo interpretive ballet to "Sabbath Prayer". She joins the Russian dancers in "To Life", but somehow consistently massacres the word Lachaim even though I keep repeating it. She sits on the couch wrapped in her blanket and plaintively sings "Sunrise, Sunset" and then hops up to perform the perennial audience favorite: The pajama-clad version of the "Bottle Dance".

As she crawls into bed we discuss the more difficult issues of the movie. Why the Russian soldiers come in and destroy the wedding. Why people are mean to each other. Why the Captain warned Tevye and then turned around and became part of the mob. These are big issues for a little kid. I tuck her in and promise she can watch the rest tomorrow. She rolls over to go to sleep and I start to go, relieved that she hasn't busted me in the chops again for the Kindergarten-era transgression.

"I was really disappointed though, when we had to leave that play early," she mumbles as I reach the door.

Busted again.
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COMBO NO. 6

The Fact: A woman gave birth to sextuplets in under a minute.

The Good News: Mom and kids are reported to be just fine.

The Commentary: The husband was quoted as saying, "It was like a popcorn popper."

The Editorial Opinion: Um. No.

The Final Resolution: GreenTuna lays off the Orville Reddenbacher while her brain heals.

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COMBO NO. 6
The Fact: A woman gave birth to sextuplets in under a minute.
The Good News: Mom and kids are reported to be just fine.
The Commentary: The husband was quoted as saying, "It was like a popcorn popper."
The Editorial Opinion: Um. No.
The Final Resolution: GreenTuna lays off the Orville Reddenbacher while her brain heals.
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ONE SMALL VOICE

Today, the Queen of Procrastination (that’s me) is taking some time to transpose a couple of songs for her students. Meaning, they don’t/won’t/can’t like the key in which it is written, and have somehow sweet-talked me into moving it into a range more suited to their own voice. I don’t mind doing this on occasion, especially when the student feels a particular “connection” to the song.



Finding your own voice. In the world of singing, this is a difficult thing to achieve, in part because vocal music is at odds with itself. Choral music requires individuals to conform to the whole. This means a different vocal technique (and more often than not a bucket-full of bad habits), and can very extraordinarily frustrating for singers being pulled like a wishbone between the wishes of the choral director and the wishes of the private teacher. Choral music is not about finding your own voice. Choral music is about the homogenization of vocal sound – turning many into one.



It’s critically important that solo singers find their own voice. I’ve been somewhat amazed recently, that while watching American Idol, I find myself agreeing with the notoriously cranky Simon Cowell. A singer may be a dead-on ringer for Celine Dion, or Sinatra, or Whitney, or whomever – but we already have those. We don’t need two, or three or ten. It’s hard for young singers to grasp this concept. A rare few seem to be born with an innate sense of personal vocal style and interpretation, but more often than not, it needs to grow over time and develop through life experiences.



I help my students find their own voice by asking lots and lots of questions. They don’t enjoy this. It makes them think. It makes them come up with their own ideas and feelings about a song. The joke in my studio is that no song may be described by the following sentences:



“It’s about love.” (So are 95% of songs in one manner or another. Too vague.)

“Well, there’s this guy…” (And thus begins the long, drawn-out saga of “this guy”. Too wordy)



I agree, it’s a difficult exercise, but finding your own voice makes all the difference in the world. It’s the last, big step that allows music to jump off the page and turns it into a personal expression. One can always appreciate the intellectual – the method of music composition and the technical execution of notes – but without the emotional we miss out on so much more. I’m not interested in hearing pages 53-57 in a songbook – I want to hear the story and understand the message. I’m not so interested in hearing my voice, or my interpretations when a student sings. I already know what I think. I want to hear what other people bring to the table, and from that I can grow and become a better musician myself.



Choirs may have powerful messages through sheer numbers and volume, but as for me, it’s the person who has found their own voice that makes me stop, listen, and fall in love with singing all over again.



I am dead to the world's tumult,

And I rest in a quiet realm!

I live alone in my heaven,

In my love and in my song!

(--Excerpt in translation from Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen by Friedrich Rückert)


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ONE SMALL VOICE
Today, the Queen of Procrastination (that’s me) is taking some time to transpose a couple of songs for her students. Meaning, they don’t/won’t/can’t like the key in which it is written, and have somehow sweet-talked me into moving it into a range more suited to their own voice. I don’t mind doing this on occasion, especially when the student feels a particular “connection” to the song.

Finding your own voice. In the world of singing, this is a difficult thing to achieve, in part because vocal music is at odds with itself. Choral music requires individuals to conform to the whole. This means a different vocal technique (and more often than not a bucket-full of bad habits), and can very extraordinarily frustrating for singers being pulled like a wishbone between the wishes of the choral director and the wishes of the private teacher. Choral music is not about finding your own voice. Choral music is about the homogenization of vocal sound – turning many into one.

It’s critically important that solo singers find their own voice. I’ve been somewhat amazed recently, that while watching American Idol, I find myself agreeing with the notoriously cranky Simon Cowell. A singer may be a dead-on ringer for Celine Dion, or Sinatra, or Whitney, or whomever – but we already have those. We don’t need two, or three or ten. It’s hard for young singers to grasp this concept. A rare few seem to be born with an innate sense of personal vocal style and interpretation, but more often than not, it needs to grow over time and develop through life experiences.

I help my students find their own voice by asking lots and lots of questions. They don’t enjoy this. It makes them think. It makes them come up with their own ideas and feelings about a song. The joke in my studio is that no song may be described by the following sentences:

“It’s about love.” (So are 95% of songs in one manner or another. Too vague.)
“Well, there’s this guy…” (And thus begins the long, drawn-out saga of “this guy”. Too wordy)

I agree, it’s a difficult exercise, but finding your own voice makes all the difference in the world. It’s the last, big step that allows music to jump off the page and turns it into a personal expression. One can always appreciate the intellectual – the method of music composition and the technical execution of notes – but without the emotional we miss out on so much more. I’m not interested in hearing pages 53-57 in a songbook – I want to hear the story and understand the message. I’m not so interested in hearing my voice, or my interpretations when a student sings. I already know what I think. I want to hear what other people bring to the table, and from that I can grow and become a better musician myself.

Choirs may have powerful messages through sheer numbers and volume, but as for me, it’s the person who has found their own voice that makes me stop, listen, and fall in love with singing all over again.

I am dead to the world's tumult,
And I rest in a quiet realm!
I live alone in my heaven,
In my love and in my song!
(--Excerpt in translation from Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen by Friedrich Rückert)

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BAMBOOZLED!

Richard was bamboozled, but GreenTuna earned mega points for his pixillated posterior. Although I'm still the bottom feeder of our fantasy league, once again I nearly doubled my score. Watch out tribe, I just may get the hang of this before the season's end!



I promise more in a bit, but right now I have some other things to do. Don't forget, "I" is for International Food on ChefGrace's Food Friday!

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BAMBOOZLED!
Richard was bamboozled, but GreenTuna earned mega points for his pixillated posterior. Although I'm still the bottom feeder of our fantasy league, once again I nearly doubled my score. Watch out tribe, I just may get the hang of this before the season's end!

I promise more in a bit, but right now I have some other things to do. Don't forget, "I" is for International Food on ChefGrace's Food Friday!
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Thursday, February 26, 2004

B.O.R.E.D.

Let this be a warning of what boredom can do to you. Piehalla or The Lake of Cake? I hope I stop laughing soon, because I'm having trouble breathing.

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B.O.R.E.D.
Let this be a warning of what boredom can do to you. Piehalla or The Lake of Cake? I hope I stop laughing soon, because I'm having trouble breathing.
Sign My Guestbook!
BLAMMO!

There’s going to be a hot time in the old town tonight.



Plans are underway to destroy the infamous foul ball that destroyed the dreams of Chicago Cubby fans everywhere this past fall. The thought being, destroy the ball, destroy the curse, and then maybe the Cubs can win something.



The morning news had reported that the plan was to burn the ball. I immediately wondered if there would be enough room on the pyre for the Detroit Lions and Tigers too. I mean, as long as we’re cleaning house. The news article, however, says it is going to be blown up. Not only that, the baseball executioner has been blowing up a dozen baseballs a day, just to be sure then when the time comes, “it will be destroyed in a way that there will be a big mess.”



Personally, I thought the “big mess” was what they wanted to get rid of in the first place. I know that would be my goal. I must admit that I like the idea of a ceremonial purging to make things right. Got a curse? Blow it up or burn it to the ground. I know my personal Viking pyre would be more bloated than a double-stuffed pizza. Memory-filled socks, Piles of papers, Things no longer useful, operational, hip or trendy. All gone the instant match meets lighter fluid. It's very appealing.



But because I know my collecting, saving and storing far outpaces my culling, sorting and tossing, a bonfire wouldn’t really solve my problem. I can’t destroy the curse of clutter with a stick of dynamite and a detonator. I need to roll up my sleeves, dive into the pile and face my demons. Yes, I bought these football helmet shaped finger Jello molds! Oh yeah, and the Easter egg ones too. Yes, it’s my fault that I still have TinyTuna’s tap shoes from first grade! Maternity clothes? Yep, still have them. Why? Lord only knows. But I do know they were stylin’ (as stylin’ could be for maternity clothes) back in the mid 90s. My name is GreenTuna and I'm a packrat. No doubt about it. It would be a lot of work, but hopefully in the end, I would feel as if it was worth the time, trouble and trauma.



Still…that flame-thrower looks awfully good.

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BLAMMO!
There’s going to be a hot time in the old town tonight.

Plans are underway to destroy the infamous foul ball that destroyed the dreams of Chicago Cubby fans everywhere this past fall. The thought being, destroy the ball, destroy the curse, and then maybe the Cubs can win something.

The morning news had reported that the plan was to burn the ball. I immediately wondered if there would be enough room on the pyre for the Detroit Lions and Tigers too. I mean, as long as we’re cleaning house. The news article, however, says it is going to be blown up. Not only that, the baseball executioner has been blowing up a dozen baseballs a day, just to be sure then when the time comes, “it will be destroyed in a way that there will be a big mess.”

Personally, I thought the “big mess” was what they wanted to get rid of in the first place. I know that would be my goal. I must admit that I like the idea of a ceremonial purging to make things right. Got a curse? Blow it up or burn it to the ground. I know my personal Viking pyre would be more bloated than a double-stuffed pizza. Memory-filled socks, Piles of papers, Things no longer useful, operational, hip or trendy. All gone the instant match meets lighter fluid. It's very appealing.

But because I know my collecting, saving and storing far outpaces my culling, sorting and tossing, a bonfire wouldn’t really solve my problem. I can’t destroy the curse of clutter with a stick of dynamite and a detonator. I need to roll up my sleeves, dive into the pile and face my demons. Yes, I bought these football helmet shaped finger Jello molds! Oh yeah, and the Easter egg ones too. Yes, it’s my fault that I still have TinyTuna’s tap shoes from first grade! Maternity clothes? Yep, still have them. Why? Lord only knows. But I do know they were stylin’ (as stylin’ could be for maternity clothes) back in the mid 90s. My name is GreenTuna and I'm a packrat. No doubt about it. It would be a lot of work, but hopefully in the end, I would feel as if it was worth the time, trouble and trauma.

Still…that flame-thrower looks awfully good.
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Wednesday, February 25, 2004

BATS IN THE BELFRY

I can never remember how this goes. Does an Ash-Wednesday bat mean spring is just around the corner or six more weeks of Lent? One thing it does mean is that there shalt be no mind wandering during church. Dodge! Parry!

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BATS IN THE BELFRY
I can never remember how this goes. Does an Ash-Wednesday bat mean spring is just around the corner or six more weeks of Lent? One thing it does mean is that there shalt be no mind wandering during church. Dodge! Parry!
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POLITICS AND STRANGE BEDFELLOWS

Bush. Kerry. Edwards. Now Nader and now Hizzonner Mayor McCheese? Yessirree, you can read all about it in the letter to the Council of of Economic Advisory on Manufacturing (2.20.04)



You have to admit it. There are some days when Michigan rocks.

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POLITICS AND STRANGE BEDFELLOWS
Bush. Kerry. Edwards. Now Nader and now Hizzonner Mayor McCheese? Yessirree, you can read all about it in the letter to the Council of of Economic Advisory on Manufacturing (2.20.04)

You have to admit it. There are some days when Michigan rocks.
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HOW GREAT THOU ART

These are the BEST banner ads ever. On the left wearing two-hundred fifty year old Baroque Boxers: J.S. Bach Recordings. On the right, surpassing all description, Pigs in Heaven Guide. It's painfully obvious that my boyfriend needs to cut back on the crack.

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HOW GREAT THOU ART
These are the BEST banner ads ever. On the left wearing two-hundred fifty year old Baroque Boxers: J.S. Bach Recordings. On the right, surpassing all description, Pigs in Heaven Guide. It's painfully obvious that my boyfriend needs to cut back on the crack.
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WEBBITS

Webbits -- Small, bite-sized nuggets of information one often trips over while cavorting on the web. Not to be confused with Wabbits, Wabbit hunting.or Wabbit Season. Or Hassenpfeffer.



Level 3 Slowdown

Allow me to summarize: On Monday, the web was slow. That is all. Seriously. The web was slow. The culprit appeared to be some sort of problem with hosting giant Level 3. I didn't know there was a hosting giant Level 3. Did you? Not only is there a hosting giant Level 3, there is also a spokesman for hosting giant Level 3 who refused to confirm or deny that it was a hardware problem. My biggest disappointment with this slowdown of newsworthy proportions is the fact that the Emergency Email Organization really dropped the ball when they failed to warn and report of the impending doom of a cranky Internet.



The New "Liberal"

It used to be that one of the worst insults you could hurl during political season was "Liberal." Liberals stole all your money, raided your refrigerator and left the lights on all day. Never mind cowboys, "Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be liberals". Well, just as pork has reinvented itself as the other white meat, there is a new slur in town that makes liberal look tame in comparison. Beware ye, the terrorist! Can't think of something bad to call someone or something you don't like? Call 'em a terrorist and watch the entire country rise up against the oppressor faster than you can say GITMO. None other than Education Secretary Rod Paige plastered the latest Scarlet "T" on the National Education Association. He later apologized (Sort of. Except not) by claiming it was a joke. In airports, you get arrested for "jokes" like that.



Trinkets

Today is the big day at the movies. Not only can you see enough blood and guts to put an episode of ER to shame, but you can also purchase some Passion Souvenirs for yourself or your loved ones. I find the nail necklaces particularly cringe worthy. I cannot imagine being assigned to the marketing division of this film. Somebody should be ashamed.



But in case you're not...

Ashamed, that is...You can always dash over to Sermon Central for some speechifying. Love to hear yourself talk but just don't know what to say? Worry no more. If you've got the Visa, they've got the verbiage. Un-Be-Lievable.

Sign My Guestbook!
WEBBITS
Webbits -- Small, bite-sized nuggets of information one often trips over while cavorting on the web. Not to be confused with Wabbits, Wabbit hunting.or Wabbit Season. Or Hassenpfeffer.

Level 3 Slowdown
Allow me to summarize: On Monday, the web was slow. That is all. Seriously. The web was slow. The culprit appeared to be some sort of problem with hosting giant Level 3. I didn't know there was a hosting giant Level 3. Did you? Not only is there a hosting giant Level 3, there is also a spokesman for hosting giant Level 3 who refused to confirm or deny that it was a hardware problem. My biggest disappointment with this slowdown of newsworthy proportions is the fact that the Emergency Email Organization really dropped the ball when they failed to warn and report of the impending doom of a cranky Internet.

The New "Liberal"
It used to be that one of the worst insults you could hurl during political season was "Liberal." Liberals stole all your money, raided your refrigerator and left the lights on all day. Never mind cowboys, "Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be liberals". Well, just as pork has reinvented itself as the other white meat, there is a new slur in town that makes liberal look tame in comparison. Beware ye, the terrorist! Can't think of something bad to call someone or something you don't like? Call 'em a terrorist and watch the entire country rise up against the oppressor faster than you can say GITMO. None other than Education Secretary Rod Paige plastered the latest Scarlet "T" on the National Education Association. He later apologized (Sort of. Except not) by claiming it was a joke. In airports, you get arrested for "jokes" like that.

Trinkets
Today is the big day at the movies. Not only can you see enough blood and guts to put an episode of ER to shame, but you can also purchase some Passion Souvenirs for yourself or your loved ones. I find the nail necklaces particularly cringe worthy. I cannot imagine being assigned to the marketing division of this film. Somebody should be ashamed.

But in case you're not...
Ashamed, that is...You can always dash over to Sermon Central for some speechifying. Love to hear yourself talk but just don't know what to say? Worry no more. If you've got the Visa, they've got the verbiage. Un-Be-Lievable.
Sign My Guestbook!

Tuesday, February 24, 2004

SHUFFLE HOP-STEP SHUFFLE. DAY TWO

Oh Great Music God RA, what mysteries do you have for me today?



1 - We Belong – Pat Benatar

Now THIS is a Pat Benatar song best played as loud as possible. Except when working in a library. Oops.



2 - Sonata in D major, L. 465 / K. 96 by Scarlatti – Wendy Carlos

Walter-now-Wendy Carlos made a bajillion of dollars with his-her “Switched On Bach” recordings. Electronic classical music at its best.



3 - Two-Part Invention in B-Flat Major by J.S. Bach – Wendy Carlos

Sometimes I don’t think The Music God RA shuffles very well.



4 - One of Us – Joan Osborn

I like this song. And I’m still not going to see Mel Gibson’s Jesus-a-rama.



5 - Pop Til Ya Drop – What??

I’m listening to this wondering what alien took over my computer and downloaded electronic crap. I’m asking by boyfriend about this title, and he doesn’t have any clues either. Then I look at the location of this song on my computer, and it’s from a computer game. Bleah. No wonder it was three minutes of the same eight measures over and over again.



6 - Wounded Heart – Jude Johnstone

I had never heard of this woman until I heard an NPR feature on her sometime ago. It was one of those “I can’t get out of the car until this is over” moments. And then I ran into work and bought the CD. You don’t have to be a trained singer, but you have to be a gut-wrenchingly soul-baring honest performer. She is.



7 - Lux Aeterna (from Requiem) – by John Rutter

So pretty. I have a soft spot for the Rutter Requiem. Sometime I’ll tell you all about it.



8 - If I Could Turn Back Time – Cher

If I had her body, I’d wear strategically placed fishnet and dance on a naval destroyer too.



9 - O Holy Night – Southpark

Heeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Jesus was born and so we get presents….



10 - Streets of Philadelphia – Bruce Springsteen

The Boss. What’s not to love?

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SHUFFLE HOP-STEP SHUFFLE. DAY TWO
Oh Great Music God RA, what mysteries do you have for me today?

1 - We Belong – Pat Benatar
Now THIS is a Pat Benatar song best played as loud as possible. Except when working in a library. Oops.

2 - Sonata in D major, L. 465 / K. 96 by Scarlatti – Wendy Carlos
Walter-now-Wendy Carlos made a bajillion of dollars with his-her “Switched On Bach” recordings. Electronic classical music at its best.

3 - Two-Part Invention in B-Flat Major by J.S. Bach – Wendy Carlos
Sometimes I don’t think The Music God RA shuffles very well.

4 - One of Us – Joan Osborn
I like this song. And I’m still not going to see Mel Gibson’s Jesus-a-rama.

5 - Pop Til Ya Drop – What??
I’m listening to this wondering what alien took over my computer and downloaded electronic crap. I’m asking by boyfriend about this title, and he doesn’t have any clues either. Then I look at the location of this song on my computer, and it’s from a computer game. Bleah. No wonder it was three minutes of the same eight measures over and over again.

6 - Wounded Heart – Jude Johnstone
I had never heard of this woman until I heard an NPR feature on her sometime ago. It was one of those “I can’t get out of the car until this is over” moments. And then I ran into work and bought the CD. You don’t have to be a trained singer, but you have to be a gut-wrenchingly soul-baring honest performer. She is.

7 - Lux Aeterna (from Requiem) – by John Rutter
So pretty. I have a soft spot for the Rutter Requiem. Sometime I’ll tell you all about it.

8 - If I Could Turn Back Time – Cher
If I had her body, I’d wear strategically placed fishnet and dance on a naval destroyer too.

9 - O Holy Night – Southpark
Heeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Jesus was born and so we get presents….

10 - Streets of Philadelphia – Bruce Springsteen
The Boss. What’s not to love?
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INTROSPECTIVE DEBAUCHERY

It’s that time of year again. So put on your party clothes, grab your pancakes and your Paczkis, your beads and your doubloons and head on outside to dance to the sound of Dixieland. Or if you’d prefer, just kick back, crank up the tunes and have yourself a good old-fashioned homemade bacchanal.



Why all the hubbub? Because it’s Mardi Gras. Fat Tuesday. Shrove Tuesday. International Pancake Day.



The next forty-eight hours are tailor-made for the little schizophrenic that lives in all of us. Today we party like it’s 1999 – eating, drinking, carousing – because it all ends tomorrow. Tomorrow is sackcloth and ashes. Tomorrow we’re sorry. Tomorrow we start trudging down the long and winding road of repenting. Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday. Forty days of introspection. Forty days of examining our mistakes.



Pardon me while I call the whole thing a pile of hooey.



Now let me explain. I have nothing against pancakes. Or jelly doughnuts. Or beads or Dixieland bands. And I must admit, a little well placed debauchery is fun, if not entirely necessary on occasion. I also recognize the importance of introspection and shining a laser beam of light into those parts of our personality we’d rather not face. Saying I’m sorry and making improvements in the way we live our lives and treat our neighbors -- these are all very important things.



But like so many things in this world, why is it that we cannot seem to do anything unless it is overdone to the point of grotesqueness? A one-day celebration of Mardi Gras has turned into a week-long eating, drinking, hommage a Janet Jackson flashing binge. Why? Because when the calendar says party, we party hard. And in knowing ahead of time that repentance has already been scheduled in as a part of the deal, it seems to give a tacit permission to be extra unrepentant today.



Yes, tomorrow we’ll be sorry. Extra sorry. Super-sized sorry. We’ll be so sorry that some of us will walk around with smudged foreheads all afternoon. We’ll be so sorry that we’ll give up a host of yummy scrumptious nesses to show how sorry we are. Meat on Friday? Gone. French fries, candy, desserts – you name it, it’s history for the next forty days. Why? Because the calendar says we’re supposed to be sorry, so we’re going to show you just how sorry we can be.



But how did personal introspection get linked to french fries? What does an absence of pie have to do with repentance? How does my choice of fish or beef determine whether or not I am a more sympathetic human being on this earth?



It doesn’t. Or it does. Or it might. See? Schizo.



If receiving ashes, or giving up food or drink or denying oneself various pleasures of life allows a person to get beyond the distractions of daily living in order to meditate on the divine, then I say more power to you. But the bigger question is what happens after the days of personal denial are over? How many people who have given up a host of their favorite tasty morsels perform a giant “phew!” come Easter morning as they dive for the Chocolate Eggs and Peeps? How many are in line at the drive-through the next day ordering their double gut buster burger and wombo-sized fries?



My problem with a scheduled sorry session is just that: it’s scheduled. It’s like forty days of performance art, and some people relish the role of Master Thespian. However, when it’s over – curtain down and strike the set – it’s over. Pack it away next to the Halloween Bucket and rusty Christmas Tree Stand, and it will sit quietly gathering dust until the next penitential season.



I’m all for introspection. I’m all for shining a light into the less-desirable portions of myself and figuring out what I need to do to make myself a better person. Saying “I’m sorry” is important, but those are just words. Being sorry is important, but if it is done only because the calendar tells us so, it loses it’s meaning.



Living is the key. Living a life that is able to be retrospective. Living a life that is open, receptive and willing to change. Living a life guided by love and respect. Living a life of celebration, and not suffocation. Because I'm telling you, that proverbial pile of hooey can be deadly.

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INTROSPECTIVE DEBAUCHERY
It’s that time of year again. So put on your party clothes, grab your pancakes and your Paczkis, your beads and your doubloons and head on outside to dance to the sound of Dixieland. Or if you’d prefer, just kick back, crank up the tunes and have yourself a good old-fashioned homemade bacchanal.

Why all the hubbub? Because it’s Mardi Gras. Fat Tuesday. Shrove Tuesday. International Pancake Day.

The next forty-eight hours are tailor-made for the little schizophrenic that lives in all of us. Today we party like it’s 1999 – eating, drinking, carousing – because it all ends tomorrow. Tomorrow is sackcloth and ashes. Tomorrow we’re sorry. Tomorrow we start trudging down the long and winding road of repenting. Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday. Forty days of introspection. Forty days of examining our mistakes.

Pardon me while I call the whole thing a pile of hooey.

Now let me explain. I have nothing against pancakes. Or jelly doughnuts. Or beads or Dixieland bands. And I must admit, a little well placed debauchery is fun, if not entirely necessary on occasion. I also recognize the importance of introspection and shining a laser beam of light into those parts of our personality we’d rather not face. Saying I’m sorry and making improvements in the way we live our lives and treat our neighbors -- these are all very important things.

But like so many things in this world, why is it that we cannot seem to do anything unless it is overdone to the point of grotesqueness? A one-day celebration of Mardi Gras has turned into a week-long eating, drinking, hommage a Janet Jackson flashing binge. Why? Because when the calendar says party, we party hard. And in knowing ahead of time that repentance has already been scheduled in as a part of the deal, it seems to give a tacit permission to be extra unrepentant today.

Yes, tomorrow we’ll be sorry. Extra sorry. Super-sized sorry. We’ll be so sorry that some of us will walk around with smudged foreheads all afternoon. We’ll be so sorry that we’ll give up a host of yummy scrumptious nesses to show how sorry we are. Meat on Friday? Gone. French fries, candy, desserts – you name it, it’s history for the next forty days. Why? Because the calendar says we’re supposed to be sorry, so we’re going to show you just how sorry we can be.

But how did personal introspection get linked to french fries? What does an absence of pie have to do with repentance? How does my choice of fish or beef determine whether or not I am a more sympathetic human being on this earth?

It doesn’t. Or it does. Or it might. See? Schizo.

If receiving ashes, or giving up food or drink or denying oneself various pleasures of life allows a person to get beyond the distractions of daily living in order to meditate on the divine, then I say more power to you. But the bigger question is what happens after the days of personal denial are over? How many people who have given up a host of their favorite tasty morsels perform a giant “phew!” come Easter morning as they dive for the Chocolate Eggs and Peeps? How many are in line at the drive-through the next day ordering their double gut buster burger and wombo-sized fries?

My problem with a scheduled sorry session is just that: it’s scheduled. It’s like forty days of performance art, and some people relish the role of Master Thespian. However, when it’s over – curtain down and strike the set – it’s over. Pack it away next to the Halloween Bucket and rusty Christmas Tree Stand, and it will sit quietly gathering dust until the next penitential season.

I’m all for introspection. I’m all for shining a light into the less-desirable portions of myself and figuring out what I need to do to make myself a better person. Saying “I’m sorry” is important, but those are just words. Being sorry is important, but if it is done only because the calendar tells us so, it loses it’s meaning.

Living is the key. Living a life that is able to be retrospective. Living a life that is open, receptive and willing to change. Living a life guided by love and respect. Living a life of celebration, and not suffocation. Because I'm telling you, that proverbial pile of hooey can be deadly.
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Monday, February 23, 2004

I'M THAILAND




You're Thailand!


Calmer and more staunchly independent than almost all those around you, you have a long history of rising above adversity. Recent adversity has led to questions about your sexual promiscuity and the threat of disease, but you still manage to attract a number of tourists and admirers. And despite any setbacks, you can really cook a good meal whenever it's called for.  Good enough to make people cry.
Take the Country Quiz at the Blue Pyramid




I have mixed feelings about being Thailand. While I'm all about the cooking good meals and making people cry, the whole disease and promiscuity thing puts a bit of a damper on it, don't you think?

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I'M THAILAND



You're Thailand!

Calmer and more staunchly independent than almost all those around you, you have a long history of rising above adversity. Recent adversity has led to questions about your sexual promiscuity and the threat of disease, but you still manage to attract a number of tourists and admirers. And despite any setbacks, you can really cook a good meal whenever it's called for.  Good enough to make people cry.
Take the Country Quiz at the Blue Pyramid


I have mixed feelings about being Thailand. While I'm all about the cooking good meals and making people cry, the whole disease and promiscuity thing puts a bit of a damper on it, don't you think?
Sign My Guestbook!

SHUFFLE-HOP-STEP-SHUFFLE

Stealing ideas from others, I decided to shuffle up all my computer tunes and see what the music God RA would serve up as its top ten. No playing skipsies, despite how lame or embarassing...this is what I got:



The Art of Letting Go – Pat Benatar

I don’t even know this song, but I remember have a couple cassettes of Pat Benatar in the olden days and playing them really, really loud. My impression of this song on first (and possibly last) listen is decidedly meh. But the fault here lies with the song, not the performer. That’s an important distinction.



I Knew I Loved You (Before I Met You) – Savage Garden

It sure isn’t the chick-a-cherry cola song, now is it? Sounds like a song they’d play on a sitcom during a High School slow-dance scene. This is E-Z listening at its best; complete with the requisite Barry Manilow-esque modulation before the final rehash of the chorus. Savage Garden, where are they now? My guess is at the Copa. Copacabana.



What a Wonderful World – Louis Armstrong

TinyTuna would be pissed to know she missed hearing this song. What a classic. This is a great example of how beautiful singing is in the heart of the performer. I love this song.



The Lord is my Shepherd (from “Requiem”) – John Rutter

Mensch would be pissed to know she missed hearing this song. Just kidding. She hates Rutter with the passion of a thousand suns. This reminds me, I have a Rutter Requiem gig next week. Cha-Ching!!



Stars and the Moon (written by Jason Robert Browne) – Audra McDonald

Jason Robert Browne is one of several young up-and-coming American Broadway and Cabaret song composers. Taken from his Broadway revue “Songs for a New World”, this is a fabulous “beware of what you wish for…you just may get it” kind of songs. And Audra McDonald? Lordy, she’s good.



Taking the Wheel (written by John Bucchino) – Brian Lane Green

Another of the up-and-coming composers, he's a gifted lyricist as well. It’s just mind-numbingly disgusting that he cannot read nor write a note of music. He does it all by ear. I hate those people. (Not really. He's amazing)



Loveshack – The B-52’s

HA! TinyTuna’s anger at having missed “What a Wonderful World” would only be surpassed ten-fold by knowing she missed this one too. Last night we were dining at Johnny Rocket’s -- home of the dancing waiters. Last time we were there, they didn’t do “Loveshack” at all, so the instant it came on she was out there front and center with the rest of the crew. There were three elementary school-aged girls also sitting at the counter near us, and when they saw TinyTuna out there with the big kids, their eyes got as wide as plates and their mouths dropped in amazement. It was really cute. Later, the staff did one of their newer dances to Aretha Franklin’s “Respect”. Despite the fact that she's only seen it done twice, TinyTuna dashed out on the floor again to strut her stuff.



It Feels Like Home (written by John Bucchino) – Daisy Prince

Nice song. Not much to report here.



Respect – Aretha Franklin

HA! (Does the movements at her desk) The absolute funniest part of TinyTuna doing this dance? Watching her (and the rest of the staff) shimmy while they all shout, “Now shake what your mama gave you!” Um, she's not yet ten, so thus far her mama hasn't given her much past freckles, really long legs, blue eyes, perfect pitch and a wicked sense of humor.



Paradise – Sade

I have no opinion on this song. But I’m curious -- how does one get “Shar-DAY” out of “Sade”?

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SHUFFLE-HOP-STEP-SHUFFLE
Stealing ideas from others, I decided to shuffle up all my computer tunes and see what the music God RA would serve up as its top ten. No playing skipsies, despite how lame or embarassing...this is what I got:

The Art of Letting Go – Pat Benatar
I don’t even know this song, but I remember have a couple cassettes of Pat Benatar in the olden days and playing them really, really loud. My impression of this song on first (and possibly last) listen is decidedly meh. But the fault here lies with the song, not the performer. That’s an important distinction.

I Knew I Loved You (Before I Met You) – Savage Garden
It sure isn’t the chick-a-cherry cola song, now is it? Sounds like a song they’d play on a sitcom during a High School slow-dance scene. This is E-Z listening at its best; complete with the requisite Barry Manilow-esque modulation before the final rehash of the chorus. Savage Garden, where are they now? My guess is at the Copa. Copacabana.

What a Wonderful World – Louis Armstrong
TinyTuna would be pissed to know she missed hearing this song. What a classic. This is a great example of how beautiful singing is in the heart of the performer. I love this song.

The Lord is my Shepherd (from “Requiem”) – John Rutter
Mensch would be pissed to know she missed hearing this song. Just kidding. She hates Rutter with the passion of a thousand suns. This reminds me, I have a Rutter Requiem gig next week. Cha-Ching!!

Stars and the Moon (written by Jason Robert Browne) – Audra McDonald
Jason Robert Browne is one of several young up-and-coming American Broadway and Cabaret song composers. Taken from his Broadway revue “Songs for a New World”, this is a fabulous “beware of what you wish for…you just may get it” kind of songs. And Audra McDonald? Lordy, she’s good.

Taking the Wheel (written by John Bucchino) – Brian Lane Green
Another of the up-and-coming composers, he's a gifted lyricist as well. It’s just mind-numbingly disgusting that he cannot read nor write a note of music. He does it all by ear. I hate those people. (Not really. He's amazing)

Loveshack – The B-52’s
HA! TinyTuna’s anger at having missed “What a Wonderful World” would only be surpassed ten-fold by knowing she missed this one too. Last night we were dining at Johnny Rocket’s -- home of the dancing waiters. Last time we were there, they didn’t do “Loveshack” at all, so the instant it came on she was out there front and center with the rest of the crew. There were three elementary school-aged girls also sitting at the counter near us, and when they saw TinyTuna out there with the big kids, their eyes got as wide as plates and their mouths dropped in amazement. It was really cute. Later, the staff did one of their newer dances to Aretha Franklin’s “Respect”. Despite the fact that she's only seen it done twice, TinyTuna dashed out on the floor again to strut her stuff.

It Feels Like Home (written by John Bucchino) – Daisy Prince
Nice song. Not much to report here.

Respect – Aretha Franklin
HA! (Does the movements at her desk) The absolute funniest part of TinyTuna doing this dance? Watching her (and the rest of the staff) shimmy while they all shout, “Now shake what your mama gave you!” Um, she's not yet ten, so thus far her mama hasn't given her much past freckles, really long legs, blue eyes, perfect pitch and a wicked sense of humor.

Paradise – Sade
I have no opinion on this song. But I’m curious -- how does one get “Shar-DAY” out of “Sade”?
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PASS THE SYRUP






You're The Poisonwood Bible!


by Barbara Kingsolver


Deeply rooted in a religious background, you have since become both isolated and schizophrenic. You were naively sure that your actions would help people, but of course they were resistant to your message and ultimately disaster ensued. Since you can see so many sides of the same issue, you are both wise beyond your years and tied to worthless perspectives. If you were a type of waffle, it would be Belgian.



Take the Book Quiz

at the Blue Pyramid.




Now that's a surprise. Although, I'm less interested in the "what book are you?" part, I must confess that I am a bit shocked and yet highly amused to discover that somehow, I am a waffle.

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PASS THE SYRUP




You're The Poisonwood Bible!

by Barbara Kingsolver

Deeply rooted in a religious background, you have since become both isolated and schizophrenic. You were naively sure that your actions would help people, but of course they were resistant to your message and ultimately disaster ensued. Since you can see so many sides of the same issue, you are both wise beyond your years and tied to worthless perspectives. If you were a type of waffle, it would be Belgian.

Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.


Now that's a surprise. Although, I'm less interested in the "what book are you?" part, I must confess that I am a bit shocked and yet highly amused to discover that somehow, I am a waffle.
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ELEPHANTS, YEAH!

Courtsey of none other than the Music Library Association Listserve, I bring you your Monday morning culture fix.



Elephants, Yeah!



We Like the Moon!



I'm going to listen to this CAPS LOCK, LEANED OVER ALL DAY LONG

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ELEPHANTS, YEAH!
Courtsey of none other than the Music Library Association Listserve, I bring you your Monday morning culture fix.

Elephants, Yeah!

We Like the Moon!

I'm going to listen to this CAPS LOCK, LEANED OVER ALL DAY LONG
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Sunday, February 22, 2004

HARBINGERS OF SPRING

Robins? Cardinals? Melting parking lot snow mountains? Potholes disguised as mild-mannered puddles able to suck up a VW Bug in a single sploosh? You might think so, but no. Today, several people commented at different times that they knew spring was coming because they smelled their first skunk. Eh, yeah.



Meanwhile, I couldn't help it. Being warmish and very sunny I ventured forth. I spy tulips! I spy crocus! I spy sedum! I spy hyacinths! Forget the skunks. Forget the birds. Forget the calendar. Forget the Emergency Email I just received threatening snow tomorrow. It doesn't matter. Today I spied tiny green growing things -- the true promise of spring.







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HARBINGERS OF SPRING
Robins? Cardinals? Melting parking lot snow mountains? Potholes disguised as mild-mannered puddles able to suck up a VW Bug in a single sploosh? You might think so, but no. Today, several people commented at different times that they knew spring was coming because they smelled their first skunk. Eh, yeah.

Meanwhile, I couldn't help it. Being warmish and very sunny I ventured forth. I spy tulips! I spy crocus! I spy sedum! I spy hyacinths! Forget the skunks. Forget the birds. Forget the calendar. Forget the Emergency Email I just received threatening snow tomorrow. It doesn't matter. Today I spied tiny green growing things -- the true promise of spring.



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RATING SYSTEM

Lots of little newsy events happening hither and yon. What do you think?



1. W's dog and offspring of previous presidential pooch "Millie" has scampered off to the big Milk Bone in the sky. I don't suppose I can haze anybody on the passing of a pet, but I would like to know two things. First of all, what rocket scientist named this dog "Spot"? I'm thinking there should be a department of naming pets department. Spot. Socks. Buddy. Next thing you know, they'll have a bird and name it Brunch. Secondly, with the current administration's supposed push on literacy, I can only assume this dog could read. BaconBaconBaconBacon Here! What's that say? You can't read?? Go ask Spot. Except now I guess you can't anymore.



2. Nader is running for President in 2004 as an Independent. As much as I'd prefer refrigerator mold to the current administration, I just have to wonder what on earth Nadar is thinking of? I mean, besides himself. I suggest he take all the money he's going to blow on his snowball's-chance campaign and just buy himself a cable channel. Then he satisfy his ego by watching himself on TV, and save the rest of the nation the worry about splitting the vote and wondering whose turn is it to watch Florida.



3. Christina Aguilera on Saturday Night Live was (dare I say it?) really funny last night. She was dead-on perfect as Samantha from Sex and the City. Overall, I have to say it's nice to see celebs able to take a good-natured ribbing about themselves. Then again, if she wore a bit more ribbing there might not be so much ridicule in the first place. But the OCD finger flicking on the microphone was more than a bit distracting. Maybe she was a flutist in a former life?

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RATING SYSTEM
Lots of little newsy events happening hither and yon. What do you think?

1. W's dog and offspring of previous presidential pooch "Millie" has scampered off to the big Milk Bone in the sky. I don't suppose I can haze anybody on the passing of a pet, but I would like to know two things. First of all, what rocket scientist named this dog "Spot"? I'm thinking there should be a department of naming pets department. Spot. Socks. Buddy. Next thing you know, they'll have a bird and name it Brunch. Secondly, with the current administration's supposed push on literacy, I can only assume this dog could read. BaconBaconBaconBacon Here! What's that say? You can't read?? Go ask Spot. Except now I guess you can't anymore.

2. Nader is running for President in 2004 as an Independent. As much as I'd prefer refrigerator mold to the current administration, I just have to wonder what on earth Nadar is thinking of? I mean, besides himself. I suggest he take all the money he's going to blow on his snowball's-chance campaign and just buy himself a cable channel. Then he satisfy his ego by watching himself on TV, and save the rest of the nation the worry about splitting the vote and wondering whose turn is it to watch Florida.

3. Christina Aguilera on Saturday Night Live was (dare I say it?) really funny last night. She was dead-on perfect as Samantha from Sex and the City. Overall, I have to say it's nice to see celebs able to take a good-natured ribbing about themselves. Then again, if she wore a bit more ribbing there might not be so much ridicule in the first place. But the OCD finger flicking on the microphone was more than a bit distracting. Maybe she was a flutist in a former life?
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SPECIAL CLASS

It was the second consecutive fiberrrriffic Saturday! Today Gram, TinyTuna, BSTuna and I ventured to Eagle, Michigan for some fiber classes at the Eagle Convention Center.





One of these is an old brick church. The other is the Eagle Convention Center.

OK, it's not REALLY a Convention Center. But maybe you knew that...




Of course, TinyTuna didn't know she was going to have to spend yet another Saturday as a prisoner of the sheepishly-obsessed. I planned it so I delivered the blow two minutes before a very late bedtime last night, and immediately followed the bad news with "but if we hurry we can have breakfast with Lou and the Grilldogs in the morning." I tell you, it's all in the timing.



So, after a quickie breakfast, we bundled into the car and made our way to Eagle, Michigan. My morning class was a dyeing class, and TinyTuna was enlisted to be my "helper". Well, she had an absolute blast. Between choosing colors, filling syringes, dripping them oh-so-artistically across the fiber and single-handedly running the microwave, she kept herself very busy all morning.



After lunch things were a little different. We moved on to new classes, and this particular class provided little opportunities for my "helper." Fortunately she came armed with a book, two journals, and an activity pad, a miniature Barbie that does double-duty as a pen, several chap sticks, and other doodads. This of course, lasted her about 15 minutes before the shifting and the sighing and the "how much longer?" kicked in.



GramTuna and I took a class in "Locker Hooking", which turns this





into this





Cool eh? It's absolutely amazing how those alpacas can lie so flat. Actually "locker hooking" is a kind of rug hooking that creates a Berber kind of rug and "locks" the wool loops with a length of twine or yarn. But with any new craft or skill, the first attempt is always really awkward as you learn how to manipulate the different tools and fibers to create whatever it is you're creating. My first attempt was no different. The first several rows had stitches that were too tight, then a few rows had stitches that were too loose, and then finally a few Baby Bear rows had stitches that were just right. Well, more or less...



As I'm sitting there fighting with my wool and my locker hooking thingee and my canvas, TinyTuna wanders over, looks over my pathetic attempt, and asks, "Is this the front or the back?" Yowch! Strike One. General hilarity ensues. After a few minutes she left us to return to the "basket people" because, well -- they had M&Ms.



After a bit more struggle on my part, and several more handfuls of M&Ms on her part, she wanders back and remarks loudly, "Gee. You sure have a lot of crevices in your picture." Yowch! Strike Two. Crevices? She was, of course, referring to my earliest too-tight uneven loops that resulted in some canvas being visible. Before I could put her in a loving headlock, she skipped off again.



Several ladies in our group were incorporating pictures and patterns in their masterpieces. I decided that I just needed to get the basics down, so I shot a look at GramTuna and said, "I'm making a trivet." She started laughing. I started laughing. Then I added, "A trivet for all my hot llamas." We both started laughing so hard at something so blatantly not-that-funny that I had to get up and leave the table. As I wander over to BSTuna, she looks at me and says, "I hear you're having crevice trouble." Yowch! Strike Three. It took me about five more minutes to stop laughing.



I returned to the table to finish my project. I looked at GramTuna and said, "It's a prayer rug. It's a Llama prayer rug. That's what it is." She started laughing. I started laughing again. I had to leave again. It was obvious that I had lost what was left of my mind, and that all serious crafting was over. I packed up Joseph the Technicolor Sheep and my sad brown Berber Barbie blankie and waved goodbye to the Eagle Convention Center.



Until the next special class. Baaaaaa.

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SPECIAL CLASS
It was the second consecutive fiberrrriffic Saturday! Today Gram, TinyTuna, BSTuna and I ventured to Eagle, Michigan for some fiber classes at the Eagle Convention Center.


One of these is an old brick church. The other is the Eagle Convention Center.
OK, it's not REALLY a Convention Center. But maybe you knew that...


Of course, TinyTuna didn't know she was going to have to spend yet another Saturday as a prisoner of the sheepishly-obsessed. I planned it so I delivered the blow two minutes before a very late bedtime last night, and immediately followed the bad news with "but if we hurry we can have breakfast with Lou and the Grilldogs in the morning." I tell you, it's all in the timing.

So, after a quickie breakfast, we bundled into the car and made our way to Eagle, Michigan. My morning class was a dyeing class, and TinyTuna was enlisted to be my "helper". Well, she had an absolute blast. Between choosing colors, filling syringes, dripping them oh-so-artistically across the fiber and single-handedly running the microwave, she kept herself very busy all morning.

After lunch things were a little different. We moved on to new classes, and this particular class provided little opportunities for my "helper." Fortunately she came armed with a book, two journals, and an activity pad, a miniature Barbie that does double-duty as a pen, several chap sticks, and other doodads. This of course, lasted her about 15 minutes before the shifting and the sighing and the "how much longer?" kicked in.

GramTuna and I took a class in "Locker Hooking", which turns this


into this


Cool eh? It's absolutely amazing how those alpacas can lie so flat. Actually "locker hooking" is a kind of rug hooking that creates a Berber kind of rug and "locks" the wool loops with a length of twine or yarn. But with any new craft or skill, the first attempt is always really awkward as you learn how to manipulate the different tools and fibers to create whatever it is you're creating. My first attempt was no different. The first several rows had stitches that were too tight, then a few rows had stitches that were too loose, and then finally a few Baby Bear rows had stitches that were just right. Well, more or less...

As I'm sitting there fighting with my wool and my locker hooking thingee and my canvas, TinyTuna wanders over, looks over my pathetic attempt, and asks, "Is this the front or the back?" Yowch! Strike One. General hilarity ensues. After a few minutes she left us to return to the "basket people" because, well -- they had M&Ms.

After a bit more struggle on my part, and several more handfuls of M&Ms on her part, she wanders back and remarks loudly, "Gee. You sure have a lot of crevices in your picture." Yowch! Strike Two. Crevices? She was, of course, referring to my earliest too-tight uneven loops that resulted in some canvas being visible. Before I could put her in a loving headlock, she skipped off again.

Several ladies in our group were incorporating pictures and patterns in their masterpieces. I decided that I just needed to get the basics down, so I shot a look at GramTuna and said, "I'm making a trivet." She started laughing. I started laughing. Then I added, "A trivet for all my hot llamas." We both started laughing so hard at something so blatantly not-that-funny that I had to get up and leave the table. As I wander over to BSTuna, she looks at me and says, "I hear you're having crevice trouble." Yowch! Strike Three. It took me about five more minutes to stop laughing.

I returned to the table to finish my project. I looked at GramTuna and said, "It's a prayer rug. It's a Llama prayer rug. That's what it is." She started laughing. I started laughing again. I had to leave again. It was obvious that I had lost what was left of my mind, and that all serious crafting was over. I packed up Joseph the Technicolor Sheep and my sad brown Berber Barbie blankie and waved goodbye to the Eagle Convention Center.

Until the next special class. Baaaaaa.
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Friday, February 20, 2004

H IS FOR GLOVES

Ok, H isn't for gloves. H is for Hamburger. But in this case Hamburger is for gloves, so I present to you The one and only (dump-da-dee-DAH!)







Hamburger Helper Helping Hand.



This culinary delight was born in 1970. Amazing you say? Amazing, indeed! Along with Hamburger Helper, the '70s brought the following tasty treats and culinary innovations.



1970

Eggo waffles

Hamburger Helper

1971

Canned A&W Root Beer

Jell-O pudding treat

Rolos candy

Smoked Spam

Starbucks

1972

Egg McMuffin

Top Ramen

Tuna Helper

1973

Cuisinart food processor

Honey Maid cinnamon grahams

1976

Jelly Belly

Orange M&M's

1977

McDonald's Happy Meal

Yoplait yogurt

1978

Reese's Pieces



Pretty Incrediburgable, eh?

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