Wednesday, March 31, 2004

BIRTHDAYS 101

Strap on the little paper cone hat and sing a chorus or two...







Happy Birthday Today to Copssister from all your HamsterTime friends. May you enjoy each and every episode of Alias, may Camille get the boot on American Idol just for you, and may your lovely state (home of Cedar Point, the best amusement park ever) spend a few dollars and buy some hills for us poor traveling tourons.



Happy Belated Birthday to Little Brother Tuna and DadTuna. You know I'm good for a present...Eventually.



Happy Belated Birthday to my pal, The Rev. Even though there hasn't been a West Coast natural disaster in awhile (not counting Ahhhnuld), I may surprise you and give you a call, like I'm always threatening to do!



Happy Upcoming Birthday to *gulp* TinyTuna. There must be a law somewhere about your kids turning double digits. Please remember as you impatiently wait for your birthday, that if you had arrived ON TIME you'd already be basking in the glow of your presents. Ha!

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BIRTHDAYS 101
Strap on the little paper cone hat and sing a chorus or two...



Happy Birthday Today to Copssister from all your HamsterTime friends. May you enjoy each and every episode of Alias, may Camille get the boot on American Idol just for you, and may your lovely state (home of Cedar Point, the best amusement park ever) spend a few dollars and buy some hills for us poor traveling tourons.

Happy Belated Birthday to Little Brother Tuna and DadTuna. You know I'm good for a present...Eventually.

Happy Belated Birthday to my pal, The Rev. Even though there hasn't been a West Coast natural disaster in awhile (not counting Ahhhnuld), I may surprise you and give you a call, like I'm always threatening to do!

Happy Upcoming Birthday to *gulp* TinyTuna. There must be a law somewhere about your kids turning double digits. Please remember as you impatiently wait for your birthday, that if you had arrived ON TIME you'd already be basking in the glow of your presents. Ha!
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CIVICS 101

As the 2004 Presidential campaign heats up much earlier than most of us would prefer, the humor, thank goodness, is seeping out as well. The first round was completely unintentional, which I think is the best kind. The GOP encouraged its faithful to print custom-made Bush/Cheney campaign signs. Too bad they forgot that the Democrats INVENTED the Internet (thanks, Al!), and took the poster-idea and ran with it; on Bush/Cheney's nickel. But all good things must come to an end, and the Sloganator got yanked faster than you can say "wardrobe malfunction." Here, though, is a salute to the few, the proud, the funny --- The Memorial Sloganators



Once you have gotten yourself all revved up (politically speaking), head on over to Slate for a little Pledge Allegiance review. These days, you'd better be sure you're doing it right.

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CIVICS 101
As the 2004 Presidential campaign heats up much earlier than most of us would prefer, the humor, thank goodness, is seeping out as well. The first round was completely unintentional, which I think is the best kind. The GOP encouraged its faithful to print custom-made Bush/Cheney campaign signs. Too bad they forgot that the Democrats INVENTED the Internet (thanks, Al!), and took the poster-idea and ran with it; on Bush/Cheney's nickel. But all good things must come to an end, and the Sloganator got yanked faster than you can say "wardrobe malfunction." Here, though, is a salute to the few, the proud, the funny --- The Memorial Sloganators

Once you have gotten yourself all revved up (politically speaking), head on over to Slate for a little Pledge Allegiance review. These days, you'd better be sure you're doing it right.
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Tuesday, March 30, 2004

MEANWHILE

I think the dumbest thing you can do with five minutes in between classes is take a quick walk outside. Now all I want to do is place a pox on all the rest of my students so I can grab a chair and a book and sit outside for awhile and enjoy the sunshine. Doh!

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MEANWHILE
I think the dumbest thing you can do with five minutes in between classes is take a quick walk outside. Now all I want to do is place a pox on all the rest of my students so I can grab a chair and a book and sit outside for awhile and enjoy the sunshine. Doh!
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TWO WEEK WARNING

Yessirree. Two weeks to go until we face the final finals for Academic year 2003-2004. Students are approaching their last two weeks of lessons in various ways. The few who have had their recitals are either choosing to not come in at all, or come in and yak, or come in and sing whatever they feel like for awhile and then leave. More power to 'em, I say. They worked hard, sang their gig, and now they are reaping the rewards. Plus I get two seconds to hop online, which isn't all bad, either.



Other students are coming in with caveats ablazin'. They try to bombard me with the "good news" part before they hit me with the bad news. Unfortunately for them, the good news generally isn't good enough for me (once again, there is no such thing as "almost memorized" -- it's an either/or proposition), and the bad news is worse than they'd led me to believe. With time running short, the best I can do is show them measure-for-measure the errors of their way, and tell them that I'm here to fix and polish, but they need to bring me some semblance of a song TO fix and polish.



Others still are in decent shape, making adequate weekly progress to make me happy. These students have learned that you can't "cram" music like you cram for a test, because if you do, the song drips out the ears, leaving the unfortunate performer with LURCH written all over their face.



My opera/musical theatre class only has seven days to go until performance. Today was the first chance to run it start to finish. Things were as I expected them to be: a little on the rough side. OK. A lot on the rough side. I told them that if they wanted to follow the philosophy of Bad dress, good performance, that was one thing...but unfortunately they hadn't yet reached the level of "bad dress". We're rehearsing again tonight. If I leave the college by 9:00pm, I'll consider myself lucky.

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TWO WEEK WARNING
Yessirree. Two weeks to go until we face the final finals for Academic year 2003-2004. Students are approaching their last two weeks of lessons in various ways. The few who have had their recitals are either choosing to not come in at all, or come in and yak, or come in and sing whatever they feel like for awhile and then leave. More power to 'em, I say. They worked hard, sang their gig, and now they are reaping the rewards. Plus I get two seconds to hop online, which isn't all bad, either.

Other students are coming in with caveats ablazin'. They try to bombard me with the "good news" part before they hit me with the bad news. Unfortunately for them, the good news generally isn't good enough for me (once again, there is no such thing as "almost memorized" -- it's an either/or proposition), and the bad news is worse than they'd led me to believe. With time running short, the best I can do is show them measure-for-measure the errors of their way, and tell them that I'm here to fix and polish, but they need to bring me some semblance of a song TO fix and polish.

Others still are in decent shape, making adequate weekly progress to make me happy. These students have learned that you can't "cram" music like you cram for a test, because if you do, the song drips out the ears, leaving the unfortunate performer with LURCH written all over their face.

My opera/musical theatre class only has seven days to go until performance. Today was the first chance to run it start to finish. Things were as I expected them to be: a little on the rough side. OK. A lot on the rough side. I told them that if they wanted to follow the philosophy of Bad dress, good performance, that was one thing...but unfortunately they hadn't yet reached the level of "bad dress". We're rehearsing again tonight. If I leave the college by 9:00pm, I'll consider myself lucky.
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Monday, March 29, 2004

OKE DOKE

Karaoke -- the art of releasing your inner Frank Sinatra in the midst of a bar full of hostages -- now has a sibling. Say hello to the newest spawn of Satan, Movieoke. Now even if you cannot sing, you can still unleash your inner actor on others. Do you feel the need to reenact the diner scene from When Harry Met Sally, the audition scene from Flashdance, or the trial scene from a A Few Good Men? Well, now you're in luck.



Meanwhile, the rest of us have to make the gut-wrenching decision about what we love more: Our sanity or our beverage.



Although Karaoke ranks low on the list of my preferences for evening entertainment, I have sat through many an evening with friends listening to the parade of familiar sing-a-longs standbys. There are the obligatory country western Tunes, with "All My Ex's Live in Texas" leading the charge. There is the salute to Frank Sinatra; "New York, New York" is always popular, and at least one drunken atonal version of "Mack The Knife". There are of course, many, many more. The tough female rock tune (cue Pat Benatar), the pop ballad, the throwback to the 60s (Puff the Magic Dragon, anyone?) and the show tune you hoped you'd never hear again. They're all there, like a bad dream.



The kind, understanding half of me is glad there is this creative outlet for people to express themselves. The nasty, soprano-esque half of me would like to muzzle most of the participants, and stuff a sock in the kindly bar-patron sitting nearby who keeps asking me if I "wouldn't like to give it a try, because it's not so bad once you get started." They don't understand that for me to sing Karaoke is like asking a doctor to recreate a scene from ER after spending twelve hours in surgery. The thrill for me...she is gone.



As for Movieoke, I'm hoping this fad fizzles before we're subjected to great cinematic reenactments from Dumb and Dumber and Scooby Doo and the Mystery of Why They Keep Making Movies. If there are any silver screen reenactments, they had better include toast, rice, newspapers, squirtguns, toilet paper and a rousing chorus of The Time Warp.



I might even join in.

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OKE DOKE
Karaoke -- the art of releasing your inner Frank Sinatra in the midst of a bar full of hostages -- now has a sibling. Say hello to the newest spawn of Satan, Movieoke. Now even if you cannot sing, you can still unleash your inner actor on others. Do you feel the need to reenact the diner scene from When Harry Met Sally, the audition scene from Flashdance, or the trial scene from a A Few Good Men? Well, now you're in luck.

Meanwhile, the rest of us have to make the gut-wrenching decision about what we love more: Our sanity or our beverage.

Although Karaoke ranks low on the list of my preferences for evening entertainment, I have sat through many an evening with friends listening to the parade of familiar sing-a-longs standbys. There are the obligatory country western Tunes, with "All My Ex's Live in Texas" leading the charge. There is the salute to Frank Sinatra; "New York, New York" is always popular, and at least one drunken atonal version of "Mack The Knife". There are of course, many, many more. The tough female rock tune (cue Pat Benatar), the pop ballad, the throwback to the 60s (Puff the Magic Dragon, anyone?) and the show tune you hoped you'd never hear again. They're all there, like a bad dream.

The kind, understanding half of me is glad there is this creative outlet for people to express themselves. The nasty, soprano-esque half of me would like to muzzle most of the participants, and stuff a sock in the kindly bar-patron sitting nearby who keeps asking me if I "wouldn't like to give it a try, because it's not so bad once you get started." They don't understand that for me to sing Karaoke is like asking a doctor to recreate a scene from ER after spending twelve hours in surgery. The thrill for me...she is gone.

As for Movieoke, I'm hoping this fad fizzles before we're subjected to great cinematic reenactments from Dumb and Dumber and Scooby Doo and the Mystery of Why They Keep Making Movies. If there are any silver screen reenactments, they had better include toast, rice, newspapers, squirtguns, toilet paper and a rousing chorus of The Time Warp.

I might even join in.
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SHHH!

A report from the front -- Still sleeping. And I don't mean hamsters, I mean bloggers.

**pathetic sigh**

I'm going to lunch.

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SHHH!
A report from the front -- Still sleeping. And I don't mean hamsters, I mean bloggers.
**pathetic sigh**
I'm going to lunch.
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Sunday, March 28, 2004

ROW BY ROW

Today it was a lot closer to popsicle weather, even though it shouldn't have been (according to Mr. Weatherman). It was a beautiful afternoon, and we spent some time clearing out the leaves and uncovering new plants. The daffodils were pasing out cigars as a couple of them decided to open up just for us. In addition to the Crocus, we have Tulips, Peonies, Delphinium, Sedum, Lilies, Black-eyed Susans, Shasta daisies, Forget-me-not, Coneflowers, Chrysanthemum, Foxglove, Thrift, Coreopsis and Roses, to name a few.



Although we were popsicle-free, TinyTuna went into full Martha mode and brought out a tray of snacks. I have no idea where she gets this from -- because it sure isn't from me. But she loves nothing more than to rifle through the refrigerator and in various nooks and crannies and present a wonderful, if not highly unusual assortment of snacks. Today we each had a can of pop, and there were boxes of raisins, a container of jello, fig-bars and some mini Chips Ahoy cookies which were left over from a roadtrip. I helped myself to a box of raisins and called it good.



While we raked and pruned and discovered new nubbins, TinyTuna helped in the yard, provided running commentary on nothing in particular, and took breaks to draw on the sidewalk and blow bubbles across the yard. It may not sound terribly exciting, but it was just a really nice afternoon.

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ROW BY ROW
Today it was a lot closer to popsicle weather, even though it shouldn't have been (according to Mr. Weatherman). It was a beautiful afternoon, and we spent some time clearing out the leaves and uncovering new plants. The daffodils were pasing out cigars as a couple of them decided to open up just for us. In addition to the Crocus, we have Tulips, Peonies, Delphinium, Sedum, Lilies, Black-eyed Susans, Shasta daisies, Forget-me-not, Coneflowers, Chrysanthemum, Foxglove, Thrift, Coreopsis and Roses, to name a few.

Although we were popsicle-free, TinyTuna went into full Martha mode and brought out a tray of snacks. I have no idea where she gets this from -- because it sure isn't from me. But she loves nothing more than to rifle through the refrigerator and in various nooks and crannies and present a wonderful, if not highly unusual assortment of snacks. Today we each had a can of pop, and there were boxes of raisins, a container of jello, fig-bars and some mini Chips Ahoy cookies which were left over from a roadtrip. I helped myself to a box of raisins and called it good.

While we raked and pruned and discovered new nubbins, TinyTuna helped in the yard, provided running commentary on nothing in particular, and took breaks to draw on the sidewalk and blow bubbles across the yard. It may not sound terribly exciting, but it was just a really nice afternoon.
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Saturday, March 27, 2004

INCH BY INCH

The theme for today was progress. Progress inside. Progress outside. The rain held off today (so far, anyway), so TinyTuna and I spent about an hour outside uncovering the early flowers in the front yard. Yellow, white and purple crocuses were the winners. The daffodils are close, but so far, no cigars. After we worked outside, we sat on the front porch for awhile and watched the traffic go by. We agreed it wasn't quite popsicle weather yet, but it was still nice to be outside.



Unfortunately, I put away the snow shovels today, so when we get 3-6 inches sometime during the next week, you'll know who is to blame.

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INCH BY INCH
The theme for today was progress. Progress inside. Progress outside. The rain held off today (so far, anyway), so TinyTuna and I spent about an hour outside uncovering the early flowers in the front yard. Yellow, white and purple crocuses were the winners. The daffodils are close, but so far, no cigars. After we worked outside, we sat on the front porch for awhile and watched the traffic go by. We agreed it wasn't quite popsicle weather yet, but it was still nice to be outside.

Unfortunately, I put away the snow shovels today, so when we get 3-6 inches sometime during the next week, you'll know who is to blame.
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Friday, March 26, 2004

REALITY CHECK

According to my good friends, Merriam-Webster:



Reality (noun)

1 the quality or state of being real

2 a (1) : a real event, entity, or state of affairs (2) : the totality of real things and events b : something that is neither derivative nor dependent but exists necessarily



I'm not sure how necessary the existence of the following might be. CBS has lost it's reality-loving mind, and has ordered up two new series. The first, according to Variety Magazine, will be a reality program to search for the next "Diva of Domesticity." Poor Martha! She doesn't even have her hat, and the door is already hitting her ass on the way out (see Schick Quattro, below). I think this series could be mildly amusing, especially if you get some good personalities in there. Plotting and intrigue amongst the fitted sheets. It has potential.



CBS is also seeking casting for a show called The Will. It's currently seeking a rich idiot to be the benefactor in a program where family members will compete to be named heir of the fortune. Said contestant is asked to have a sizeable sense of humor, because, I don't know, nothing says funny like the wacky hijinks of blood relatives trying to charm and swindle money out of Uncle Geezer while they serve him arsenic laden Earl Grey Tea.



Next week on The Will

Is Uncle Geezer dumb enough to sign a piece of paper without reading it first?

Will he find himself at Gummy Acres Retirement Center?

Tune in and find out!




And what will be the catch phrase for this show?

1. You're out of the will!!

2. You will, but I Won't!!

3. Where there's my will, there's no way!



Mmmmm. Pass.

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REALITY CHECK
According to my good friends, Merriam-Webster:

Reality (noun)
1 the quality or state of being real
2 a (1) : a real event, entity, or state of affairs (2) : the totality of real things and events b : something that is neither derivative nor dependent but exists necessarily

I'm not sure how necessary the existence of the following might be. CBS has lost it's reality-loving mind, and has ordered up two new series. The first, according to Variety Magazine, will be a reality program to search for the next "Diva of Domesticity." Poor Martha! She doesn't even have her hat, and the door is already hitting her ass on the way out (see Schick Quattro, below). I think this series could be mildly amusing, especially if you get some good personalities in there. Plotting and intrigue amongst the fitted sheets. It has potential.

CBS is also seeking casting for a show called The Will. It's currently seeking a rich idiot to be the benefactor in a program where family members will compete to be named heir of the fortune. Said contestant is asked to have a sizeable sense of humor, because, I don't know, nothing says funny like the wacky hijinks of blood relatives trying to charm and swindle money out of Uncle Geezer while they serve him arsenic laden Earl Grey Tea.

Next week on The Will
Is Uncle Geezer dumb enough to sign a piece of paper without reading it first?
Will he find himself at Gummy Acres Retirement Center?
Tune in and find out!


And what will be the catch phrase for this show?
1. You're out of the will!!
2. You will, but I Won't!!
3. Where there's my will, there's no way!

Mmmmm. Pass.
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CAR TALK (Chapter Two : Last Night)

This isn't so much car talk as car think since I was by myself at the time. As I finished up my teaching last night, I danced with Beelzebub's iMac for a last check of mail and blog witticisms before I left. I ran across Copssister's dead-on comments regarding the beloved sport of figure skating. She wrote:



It appears that even though he FELL ON HIS ASS during the free skate, he still picked up a few 6.0 scores for presentation. Only in Figure Skating can you be given perfect scores while your ass has ice shavings all over it...and people wonder why they say this isn't a sport.



As an unwilling yet frequent performer in the winter sport known as The Art of the Human Zamboni I laughed myself silly over that for quite some time. As I was driving home, the answer suddenly came to me. The one jump that would ensure a smooth, clean landing each and every time:



The Schick Quattro.

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CAR TALK (Chapter Two : Last Night)
This isn't so much car talk as car think since I was by myself at the time. As I finished up my teaching last night, I danced with Beelzebub's iMac for a last check of mail and blog witticisms before I left. I ran across Copssister's dead-on comments regarding the beloved sport of figure skating. She wrote:

It appears that even though he FELL ON HIS ASS during the free skate, he still picked up a few 6.0 scores for presentation. Only in Figure Skating can you be given perfect scores while your ass has ice shavings all over it...and people wonder why they say this isn't a sport.

As an unwilling yet frequent performer in the winter sport known as The Art of the Human Zamboni I laughed myself silly over that for quite some time. As I was driving home, the answer suddenly came to me. The one jump that would ensure a smooth, clean landing each and every time:

The Schick Quattro.
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WAKE ME UP BEFORE BRISCOE GO

One Word:

NOOOOOOOOOOO!



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WAKE ME UP BEFORE BRISCOE GO
One Word:
NOOOOOOOOOOO!

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CAR TALK (Chapter One : This Morning)

The scene opens on the Tuna family's transportation vehicle. All passengers are buckled up safely. TinyTuna sits in the back seat, reading aloud the nature article from Wednesday's newspaper that she plans to use for a current event (snails -- there are some).



TinyTuna ....Blah blah blah snails blah blah depends on the weather

blah blah maybe April blah gastropod blah blah

GreenTuna (turning onto the main street in front of the house)

That's a really interesting arti..... HEY, A FLOWER!

TinyTuna What?

GreenTuna A FLOWER! RIGHT THERE UNDER OUR....WOAH!

TinyTuna What?

GreenTuna Hey, Traffic. Whoops.

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CAR TALK (Chapter One : This Morning)
The scene opens on the Tuna family's transportation vehicle. All passengers are buckled up safely. TinyTuna sits in the back seat, reading aloud the nature article from Wednesday's newspaper that she plans to use for a current event (snails -- there are some).

TinyTuna ....Blah blah blah snails blah blah depends on the weather
blah blah maybe April blah gastropod blah blah
GreenTuna (turning onto the main street in front of the house)
That's a really interesting arti..... HEY, A FLOWER!
TinyTuna What?
GreenTuna A FLOWER! RIGHT THERE UNDER OUR....WOAH!
TinyTuna What?
GreenTuna Hey, Traffic. Whoops.
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Thursday, March 25, 2004

IMPRESSIONISTS

Over the years the explosion of electronic communication devices has made the world a little smaller and my circle of acquaintances much larger. In addition my family, I am connected to friends, coworkers, colleagues, music people, church people, library people, HamsterTime people, blogging people, spinning people, spamming people (who could go away, thank you very much), bunny people and sewing people. Each group represents a separate segment in my caterpillaresque life. If Big Brother is on TV, I know the HamsterTime people will be in full gear. If I need information, help or advice on Fabio the Fahbulous, I can turn to the bunny people who will have lots of advice. Library people talk library things, church people talk church things, music people talk music things. It's a very orderly "a place for everything and everything in its place" kind of existence.



But within this four-square life are people who have left lasting impressions. Through them, the extraordinary not only exists, it shines brightly. The light can be a little bothersome at first until your eyes get used to the glow. But eventually, the extraordinary becomes a revitalizing element of change. Now there are new ways to think. New people to know. New possibilities I never imagined...



I never imagined.



I've come to realize that the extraordinary surrounds me every day, and I am the one who does not or cannot recognize its presence. I smother it, ignore it or strip it down until I can compartmentalize it into an easily definable, single faceted role in my life.



College students? Yes, you stand over there. Politicians? Over there please. Mass emailers and telemarketers? Yes. Right over there. No, keep going. Keep going. Yes, you're almost there. At that cliff there. Yes. Now a little to the left......



But there are those in my life who are impressionists. They have managed to waken me from the slumber of my day-to-day existence, and it is through their life that I see extraordinary lived in a way which moves me greatly. It inspires me to leave my sheltered, ordinary, catapillared life and grow and change into something better. Something extraordinary.



Often times I don't recognize these impressionists. Perhaps it is because I'm too busy. Perhaps I am not self-aware. Perhaps the change is so slow and gradual, that it takes years before I look at myself and realize I'm no longer the same. When I finally shed my old skin and recognize the extraordinary that was present, I am so grateful for the gift and the lasting impressions it has made on my life. The extraordinary enables me to change. It encourages me to fly.



To my friend, SticksTuna, on her special day, I say thank you for the extraordinary of your life.

You are a true impressionist.

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IMPRESSIONISTS
Over the years the explosion of electronic communication devices has made the world a little smaller and my circle of acquaintances much larger. In addition my family, I am connected to friends, coworkers, colleagues, music people, church people, library people, HamsterTime people, blogging people, spinning people, spamming people (who could go away, thank you very much), bunny people and sewing people. Each group represents a separate segment in my caterpillaresque life. If Big Brother is on TV, I know the HamsterTime people will be in full gear. If I need information, help or advice on Fabio the Fahbulous, I can turn to the bunny people who will have lots of advice. Library people talk library things, church people talk church things, music people talk music things. It's a very orderly "a place for everything and everything in its place" kind of existence.

But within this four-square life are people who have left lasting impressions. Through them, the extraordinary not only exists, it shines brightly. The light can be a little bothersome at first until your eyes get used to the glow. But eventually, the extraordinary becomes a revitalizing element of change. Now there are new ways to think. New people to know. New possibilities I never imagined...

I never imagined.

I've come to realize that the extraordinary surrounds me every day, and I am the one who does not or cannot recognize its presence. I smother it, ignore it or strip it down until I can compartmentalize it into an easily definable, single faceted role in my life.

College students? Yes, you stand over there. Politicians? Over there please. Mass emailers and telemarketers? Yes. Right over there. No, keep going. Keep going. Yes, you're almost there. At that cliff there. Yes. Now a little to the left......

But there are those in my life who are impressionists. They have managed to waken me from the slumber of my day-to-day existence, and it is through their life that I see extraordinary lived in a way which moves me greatly. It inspires me to leave my sheltered, ordinary, catapillared life and grow and change into something better. Something extraordinary.

Often times I don't recognize these impressionists. Perhaps it is because I'm too busy. Perhaps I am not self-aware. Perhaps the change is so slow and gradual, that it takes years before I look at myself and realize I'm no longer the same. When I finally shed my old skin and recognize the extraordinary that was present, I am so grateful for the gift and the lasting impressions it has made on my life. The extraordinary enables me to change. It encourages me to fly.

To my friend, SticksTuna, on her special day, I say thank you for the extraordinary of your life.
You are a true impressionist.
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Wednesday, March 24, 2004

LO-CARB CRAFTING

Well, isn't this interesting. You can knit the Atkins way. Why you'd want to, is anybodies guess.







Then again, I'd pay good money to see somebody walk through airport security with this getup.

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LO-CARB CRAFTING
Well, isn't this interesting. You can knit the Atkins way. Why you'd want to, is anybodies guess.



Then again, I'd pay good money to see somebody walk through airport security with this getup.
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Tuesday, March 23, 2004

NADA

It's Tuesday and I'm in between students and I have nothing of value to share except to say that the weather is nice and I'm a bit tired and sick to death of coughing everywhere so sick in fact that I think I might be the first inside-out person if I cough any harder but no I won't go to the doctor because it isn't bad enough to waste her time on a little cough-cold as TinyTuna would say and now she has the cold too which is too bad since she is student of the week and got to bring a bunch of pictures and her acting trophy and show it off to the class which only has two more weeks of school before they get yet another week off in the name of spring break which used to be called Easter vacation in the olden days when I went to school but that isn't PC anymore so it's spring break at which time I hope the weather is warm enough to justify the somewhat optimistic title of spring which I hope I just survive on principal and speaking of Survivor does anybody know what's up with the Fantasy Teams this week since it appears to be a clip week will we still pick teams and place bets or does everybody have the week off as if it were vacation like spring vacation or even Easter vacation if you prefer and I must admit that I prefer Halls Honey Lemon cough drops to anything else to get rid of this horrible cold that I have that doesn't seem to want to go away which makes me lose my voice which means I can't share anything because I have nothing to say which is to say nada.

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NADA
It's Tuesday and I'm in between students and I have nothing of value to share except to say that the weather is nice and I'm a bit tired and sick to death of coughing everywhere so sick in fact that I think I might be the first inside-out person if I cough any harder but no I won't go to the doctor because it isn't bad enough to waste her time on a little cough-cold as TinyTuna would say and now she has the cold too which is too bad since she is student of the week and got to bring a bunch of pictures and her acting trophy and show it off to the class which only has two more weeks of school before they get yet another week off in the name of spring break which used to be called Easter vacation in the olden days when I went to school but that isn't PC anymore so it's spring break at which time I hope the weather is warm enough to justify the somewhat optimistic title of spring which I hope I just survive on principal and speaking of Survivor does anybody know what's up with the Fantasy Teams this week since it appears to be a clip week will we still pick teams and place bets or does everybody have the week off as if it were vacation like spring vacation or even Easter vacation if you prefer and I must admit that I prefer Halls Honey Lemon cough drops to anything else to get rid of this horrible cold that I have that doesn't seem to want to go away which makes me lose my voice which means I can't share anything because I have nothing to say which is to say nada.
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Monday, March 22, 2004

WHEEL WATCHER

As I'm flipping channels I run across this excitement on Wheel of Fortune:

The Answer Read:

Vikings

Twin Cities

North Star State

The Clue (for an extra $3,000) was: Where are We?

The response given by the puzzle solver: "Uh....Iowa?"

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WHEEL WATCHER
As I'm flipping channels I run across this excitement on Wheel of Fortune:
The Answer Read:
Vikings
Twin Cities
North Star State
The Clue (for an extra $3,000) was: Where are We?
The response given by the puzzle solver: "Uh....Iowa?"
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HOLIDAY ROAD

Today is (drumroll, please) National Goof-Off Day. (Check). For those who like to plan in advance, tomorrow is a double header: National Organize Your Home Office Day AND National Chip and Dip Day. This will be followed by Wednesday's most sacred observance: National Chocolate Covered Raisins Day.



Thou shalt not disrespect the Raisinettes.

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HOLIDAY ROAD
Today is (drumroll, please) National Goof-Off Day. (Check). For those who like to plan in advance, tomorrow is a double header: National Organize Your Home Office Day AND National Chip and Dip Day. This will be followed by Wednesday's most sacred observance: National Chocolate Covered Raisins Day.

Thou shalt not disrespect the Raisinettes.
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BEDTIME FOR BONZO

While doing in-depth research on the correct spelling of Solla Sollew I ran across a website that performs a valuable public service: It gets to the point.



Book-A-Minute Bedtime, along with Book-A-Minute Science Fiction/Fantasy, Book-A-Minute Classics and Movie-A-Minute are ultra-condensed versions that strip out trivialities and timewasters like supporting characters, meaningless subplots and endless descriptions that only serve to waste your precious time. Forget the Cliff-Notes...everything you need is right here.



I suppose it is only fair to note that in essence these are spoilers. If you do NOT want to discover the ending to "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" I suggest you turn back NOW!



Book-a-minute. Bedtime

The Very Hungry Caterpillar

Once there was a caterpillar who ate holes in stuff and turned into a butterfly.

The End.



Book-a-minute. Bedtime

If You Give A Mouse a Cookie

Don't give anything to anyone.

The End.



Book-a-minute. Bedtime

Green Eggs and Ham

Some Creature: I won't eat green eggs and ham anywhere, anytime, under any circumstances.

Sam-I-Am: Try It.

Some Creature: Yum.

The End.



Book-a-minute. Classic

The Old Man and the Sea

An old man catches a fish that's too big for his boat. The fish gets eaten by sharks. Then he goes home and DIES.

The End.



Films

Die Hard

Alan Rickman: Har Har Har

Bruce Willis: Grunt sigh moan grunt holler yell sigh wince groan cringe grunt. (A chair BLOWS UP. Then the elevator BLOWS UP. Then a room BLOWS UP. Then the building BLOWS UP. Then the entire universe BLOWS UP. But the badguy STILL ISN'T DEAD YET. Then the badguy dies.)

The End.



Films

Sleepless in Seattle

Meg Ryan: I shall find out all I can about Tom Hanks and stalk him.

Tom Hanks: Your plan worked. I love you.

The End.



This has real possibilities. Think we could rewrite BB4?

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BEDTIME FOR BONZO
While doing in-depth research on the correct spelling of Solla Sollew I ran across a website that performs a valuable public service: It gets to the point.

Book-A-Minute Bedtime, along with Book-A-Minute Science Fiction/Fantasy, Book-A-Minute Classics and Movie-A-Minute are ultra-condensed versions that strip out trivialities and timewasters like supporting characters, meaningless subplots and endless descriptions that only serve to waste your precious time. Forget the Cliff-Notes...everything you need is right here.

I suppose it is only fair to note that in essence these are spoilers. If you do NOT want to discover the ending to "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" I suggest you turn back NOW!

Book-a-minute. Bedtime
The Very Hungry Caterpillar
Once there was a caterpillar who ate holes in stuff and turned into a butterfly.
The End.

Book-a-minute. Bedtime
If You Give A Mouse a Cookie
Don't give anything to anyone.
The End.

Book-a-minute. Bedtime
Green Eggs and Ham
Some Creature: I won't eat green eggs and ham anywhere, anytime, under any circumstances.
Sam-I-Am: Try It.
Some Creature: Yum.
The End.

Book-a-minute. Classic
The Old Man and the Sea
An old man catches a fish that's too big for his boat. The fish gets eaten by sharks. Then he goes home and DIES.
The End.

Films
Die Hard
Alan Rickman: Har Har Har
Bruce Willis: Grunt sigh moan grunt holler yell sigh wince groan cringe grunt. (A chair BLOWS UP. Then the elevator BLOWS UP. Then a room BLOWS UP. Then the building BLOWS UP. Then the entire universe BLOWS UP. But the badguy STILL ISN'T DEAD YET. Then the badguy dies.)
The End.

Films
Sleepless in Seattle
Meg Ryan: I shall find out all I can about Tom Hanks and stalk him.
Tom Hanks: Your plan worked. I love you.
The End.

This has real possibilities. Think we could rewrite BB4?
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BANNER DAY

I've been amused over the past week or so at one of my newer banner ads for Ventoozler Web Hosting. I have no idea what this is, because I'm thinking if I actually click-through this ad, I'll be stuck with it forever. Still in all, I love the word Ventoozler -- it sounds like something you'd say to Yertle the Turtle on the Way to Solla Sollew with your 500 hats as you rested under a Truffula Tree with a Fox-in-Socks eating Green Eggs and Ham with a Tweedle Beetle.



I'm just saying.

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BANNER DAY
I've been amused over the past week or so at one of my newer banner ads for Ventoozler Web Hosting. I have no idea what this is, because I'm thinking if I actually click-through this ad, I'll be stuck with it forever. Still in all, I love the word Ventoozler -- it sounds like something you'd say to Yertle the Turtle on the Way to Solla Sollew with your 500 hats as you rested under a Truffula Tree with a Fox-in-Socks eating Green Eggs and Ham with a Tweedle Beetle.

I'm just saying.
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Saturday, March 20, 2004

EMERGENCY WEATHER ALERT

It will be windy tonight. Do not leave small toys or children unattended, as you will find them several counties away. Do not attempt to light a campfire in your back yard as you will discover your Bic will not flick correctly. Do not choose this evening to exhibit precious glass artifacts in your driveway. Citizens, it will be CAPS-LOCK, leaned over WINDY! You have been warned. That is all.



That warning again: windy.

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EMERGENCY WEATHER ALERT
It will be windy tonight. Do not leave small toys or children unattended, as you will find them several counties away. Do not attempt to light a campfire in your back yard as you will discover your Bic will not flick correctly. Do not choose this evening to exhibit precious glass artifacts in your driveway. Citizens, it will be CAPS-LOCK, leaned over WINDY! You have been warned. That is all.

That warning again: windy.
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SOLSTICE WITH THE MOLSTICE

Happy first day of spring. The spring equinox happened this morning at 1:49am EST. Shortly thereafter we got a thunderstorm, which means that somewhere there are a lot of soggy druids. So, hug a tree or dance in a fairy ring, or whatever else you might like to do to celebrate the end of winter.



I'll be rejoicing by doing laundry and cleaning the basement. Woot!

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SOLSTICE WITH THE MOLSTICE
Happy first day of spring. The spring equinox happened this morning at 1:49am EST. Shortly thereafter we got a thunderstorm, which means that somewhere there are a lot of soggy druids. So, hug a tree or dance in a fairy ring, or whatever else you might like to do to celebrate the end of winter.

I'll be rejoicing by doing laundry and cleaning the basement. Woot!
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Friday, March 19, 2004

WALK TOWARDS THE LIGHT

It would hardly seem to be a food L is for Light Friday without a quick mention of Graham Kerr, whom you may remember as The Galloping Gourmet. Back in the day, Kerr was well known as a charming television personality, an excellent cook, and a bit of a drunk, as he would get routinely soused throughout the course of his show. Each television break was introduced by Kerr saying it was "time for a short slurp." Slurping and stumbling aside, he was funny, hip and very good looking -- in a polyester brown checked 1970s kind of way -- and his show was wildly popular.



Now Kerr and his wife Treena are proponents of healthy living and eating. Their website contains information, links and healthy recipes. I was particularly interested in their philosophy of "Double Benefit" which they define as Converting habits that harm, into resources that heal.



Food for thought.

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WALK TOWARDS THE LIGHT
It would hardly seem to be a food L is for Light Friday without a quick mention of Graham Kerr, whom you may remember as The Galloping Gourmet. Back in the day, Kerr was well known as a charming television personality, an excellent cook, and a bit of a drunk, as he would get routinely soused throughout the course of his show. Each television break was introduced by Kerr saying it was "time for a short slurp." Slurping and stumbling aside, he was funny, hip and very good looking -- in a polyester brown checked 1970s kind of way -- and his show was wildly popular.

Now Kerr and his wife Treena are proponents of healthy living and eating. Their website contains information, links and healthy recipes. I was particularly interested in their philosophy of "Double Benefit" which they define as Converting habits that harm, into resources that heal.

Food for thought.
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SIGN OF THE TIMES

We have made it to the end of another work week. I cannot properly express my joy, but that is due in a large part to the fact that I've managed to cough myself into a raspy mess. I've sucked down so many cough drops in the past two days, my eyes are on a permanent burn and I feel like Pig-Pen, surrounded by a honey lemon mentholated cloud.



Friday means food, and ChefGrace has designated this week as L is for Light. Always happy to contribute, yet never willing to follow the rules, I bring you Variations on a theme of Light. This bit of Friday fun is brought to you courtesy of the Custom Motel Sign page. Type in what you want to see, and presto -- you're very own message, up in lights. This, of course, would be mine:







So, what's your sign?

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SIGN OF THE TIMES
We have made it to the end of another work week. I cannot properly express my joy, but that is due in a large part to the fact that I've managed to cough myself into a raspy mess. I've sucked down so many cough drops in the past two days, my eyes are on a permanent burn and I feel like Pig-Pen, surrounded by a honey lemon mentholated cloud.

Friday means food, and ChefGrace has designated this week as L is for Light. Always happy to contribute, yet never willing to follow the rules, I bring you Variations on a theme of Light. This bit of Friday fun is brought to you courtesy of the Custom Motel Sign page. Type in what you want to see, and presto -- you're very own message, up in lights. This, of course, would be mine:



So, what's your sign?
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Thursday, March 18, 2004

SLOW POKE

How weird. I wrote my other Thursday entrance this morning and swore I posted it before 7:00 am. I hopped online today and eeeeped loudly because I thought it had been eaten by the aBLOGinable snowman. Thank goodness it was safe and sound, waiting me to hit "publish" again.



The day is nearly done. Two more students to go, and then I'm outta here.

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SLOW POKE
How weird. I wrote my other Thursday entrance this morning and swore I posted it before 7:00 am. I hopped online today and eeeeped loudly because I thought it had been eaten by the aBLOGinable snowman. Thank goodness it was safe and sound, waiting me to hit "publish" again.

The day is nearly done. Two more students to go, and then I'm outta here.
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BOTTOM FEEDER

I have finally, finally crawled out of the Survivor Fantasy League Basement. Thanks to Rupert catching a boatload of bonus-point fish, I catapulted myself to the glorious position of next-to-last-place, by a whopping one point. I still haven't surpassed my culinary arch nemesis, but just you wait...maybe by the end of the show I'll achieve the bragging rights to the next-to-next-to-last place. At least I'm hoping.

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BOTTOM FEEDER
I have finally, finally crawled out of the Survivor Fantasy League Basement. Thanks to Rupert catching a boatload of bonus-point fish, I catapulted myself to the glorious position of next-to-last-place, by a whopping one point. I still haven't surpassed my culinary arch nemesis, but just you wait...maybe by the end of the show I'll achieve the bragging rights to the next-to-next-to-last place. At least I'm hoping.
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Wednesday, March 17, 2004

A WEE IRISH TALE

I reminded TinyTuna to wear green to school for St. Patrick's day. Wow. Was she ever wearing green. Green shirt, Green sweatshirt, green pants, green socks (and no, I didn't check the underwear). She was a mean, green Tuna machine! Never mind that each item of clothing was a different shade of green. She's got the clothing covered and should survive relatively pinch-free.



Being a run-of-the-mill European mutt, I'm sure I probably have Irish in me somewhere, but I don't have any particularly fanciful stories to tell about potato famines or the Emerald Isle. The best I have to offer is TinyTuna, who is usually as good of an excuse as any. Ever since she was old enough to stand, TinyTuna has always loved to dance. Location or reason never mattered, but one of her favorite venues was in the living room (any living room) smack-dab in front of the television (any television) that was playing music (any music) or showing dancing (any dancing). This behavior first got her in trouble way back in preschool number one, where her creative demonstrations were rewarded by banishment to a back bedroom.



One of TinyTuna's early dance favorites was The original mid 1990s PBS Broadcast of Riverdance. You know, the one with Michael "Although the shoelace around the forehead isn't in quite yet I still think I'm hot stuff" Flatley and Jean "The waif with the beautiful red hair" Butler. TinyTuna loved this tape. I would get the VCR all set while she changed into her usual bedtime dance ensemble -- a heavy winter one-piece pair of footy pajamas -- and then she would prepare to dance the opening number as only a three-year old could.



You might think it would be difficult to do Irish step dancing (similar to tap dancing) in footy pajamas on a carpeted floor, but it never seemed to deter TinyTuna from the performance at hand. The opening step: a triplet pickup to a downbeat sounded less crisp and more like elephant ballet: thump-puh-dee-THUMP. On and on it would go as more dancers entered the stage.



thump-puh-dee-THUMP, thump-puh-dee-THUMP, thump-puh-dee-THUMP, thump-pah-dee-THUMP...



Finally, when the dancers had all made their entrance they began a series of more complicated steps. Of course, this was a bit much for a three-year old to figure out, but that didn't stop her. She'd jump and stomp and hop and kick as best she could. Occasionally she would stop to display dramatic exhaustion by huffing and puffing as if she had blown down the houses of sticks, straw AND bricks. But then she'd wind back up again and keep going. As the dancers danced in a large circle, TinyTuna galloped around the living room table. Woe to all those who forgot to pull their knees up under their chin, for surely their shins would have suffered greatly for TinyTuna's art.



As the chorus of dancers made their first exit, so did TinyTuna. If this happened to be your first viewing of her performance, it would seem quite odd, because she would circle the table several times and then run around the corner into her bedroom. For those of us familiar with the presentation, we'd start laughing ahead of time, because we knew what was coming.



The music got louder, the drummers banged away, spotlights focused on an upstage doorway, and POW! There was Michael Flatley, making a grand running entrance across the entire length of the stage. And there was TinyTuna, making her grand entrance across the entire length of the first floor. He would run. She would run. He would hop, dance and heel click, she would thump, bump and karate kick.



After awhile she'd tire out and flop next to me on the couch. Breathing and gasping dramatically for effect, she'd say, "All this dancing is really hard work!" I agreed with her and told her she did a nice job. Without missing a beat, she'd add, "Since I did such a good job and worked so hard and I'm soo sweaty, can I have three scoops of ice cream tonight as a special treat?"



She may not be 100% Irish, but her blarney count has always been off the charts.

Michael Flatley, eat your heart out.

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A WEE IRISH TALE
I reminded TinyTuna to wear green to school for St. Patrick's day. Wow. Was she ever wearing green. Green shirt, Green sweatshirt, green pants, green socks (and no, I didn't check the underwear). She was a mean, green Tuna machine! Never mind that each item of clothing was a different shade of green. She's got the clothing covered and should survive relatively pinch-free.

Being a run-of-the-mill European mutt, I'm sure I probably have Irish in me somewhere, but I don't have any particularly fanciful stories to tell about potato famines or the Emerald Isle. The best I have to offer is TinyTuna, who is usually as good of an excuse as any. Ever since she was old enough to stand, TinyTuna has always loved to dance. Location or reason never mattered, but one of her favorite venues was in the living room (any living room) smack-dab in front of the television (any television) that was playing music (any music) or showing dancing (any dancing). This behavior first got her in trouble way back in preschool number one, where her creative demonstrations were rewarded by banishment to a back bedroom.

One of TinyTuna's early dance favorites was The original mid 1990s PBS Broadcast of Riverdance. You know, the one with Michael "Although the shoelace around the forehead isn't in quite yet I still think I'm hot stuff" Flatley and Jean "The waif with the beautiful red hair" Butler. TinyTuna loved this tape. I would get the VCR all set while she changed into her usual bedtime dance ensemble -- a heavy winter one-piece pair of footy pajamas -- and then she would prepare to dance the opening number as only a three-year old could.

You might think it would be difficult to do Irish step dancing (similar to tap dancing) in footy pajamas on a carpeted floor, but it never seemed to deter TinyTuna from the performance at hand. The opening step: a triplet pickup to a downbeat sounded less crisp and more like elephant ballet: thump-puh-dee-THUMP. On and on it would go as more dancers entered the stage.

thump-puh-dee-THUMP, thump-puh-dee-THUMP, thump-puh-dee-THUMP, thump-pah-dee-THUMP...

Finally, when the dancers had all made their entrance they began a series of more complicated steps. Of course, this was a bit much for a three-year old to figure out, but that didn't stop her. She'd jump and stomp and hop and kick as best she could. Occasionally she would stop to display dramatic exhaustion by huffing and puffing as if she had blown down the houses of sticks, straw AND bricks. But then she'd wind back up again and keep going. As the dancers danced in a large circle, TinyTuna galloped around the living room table. Woe to all those who forgot to pull their knees up under their chin, for surely their shins would have suffered greatly for TinyTuna's art.

As the chorus of dancers made their first exit, so did TinyTuna. If this happened to be your first viewing of her performance, it would seem quite odd, because she would circle the table several times and then run around the corner into her bedroom. For those of us familiar with the presentation, we'd start laughing ahead of time, because we knew what was coming.

The music got louder, the drummers banged away, spotlights focused on an upstage doorway, and POW! There was Michael Flatley, making a grand running entrance across the entire length of the stage. And there was TinyTuna, making her grand entrance across the entire length of the first floor. He would run. She would run. He would hop, dance and heel click, she would thump, bump and karate kick.

After awhile she'd tire out and flop next to me on the couch. Breathing and gasping dramatically for effect, she'd say, "All this dancing is really hard work!" I agreed with her and told her she did a nice job. Without missing a beat, she'd add, "Since I did such a good job and worked so hard and I'm soo sweaty, can I have three scoops of ice cream tonight as a special treat?"

She may not be 100% Irish, but her blarney count has always been off the charts.
Michael Flatley, eat your heart out.
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OH DANNY BOY

So, maybe The Ides of March was a tough holiday. Can you guess what today might be?

My Boyfriend will give you the first hint







and I will give you the next







Happy Saint Patrick's Day. Now go out and kill some snakes.

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OH DANNY BOY
So, maybe The Ides of March was a tough holiday. Can you guess what today might be?
My Boyfriend will give you the first hint



and I will give you the next



Happy Saint Patrick's Day. Now go out and kill some snakes.
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Tuesday, March 16, 2004

SILVERWARE POISED

Stick a fork in me. I'm done. It's 10:12 PM. No sick students. Plus a studio class. Plus two dress rehearsals for recitals this weekend. Monteverdi (an old dead composer) said it best when he wrote Lasciatemi Morire! which is a little handy Italian phrase meaning "Let me die."



Except I have to drive home first. If I see any snow, I'm taking someone out. And I don't mean in a date kind of way.

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SILVERWARE POISED
Stick a fork in me. I'm done. It's 10:12 PM. No sick students. Plus a studio class. Plus two dress rehearsals for recitals this weekend. Monteverdi (an old dead composer) said it best when he wrote Lasciatemi Morire! which is a little handy Italian phrase meaning "Let me die."

Except I have to drive home first. If I see any snow, I'm taking someone out. And I don't mean in a date kind of way.
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THE LONGEST DAY

Today will be the longest teaching day ever. I got here a little after 8:00 AM and hope to leave by 10:00 PM tonight. Lessons, Class, Studio Class and Two Dress Rehearsals for weekend recitals. I have armed myself with a new box of Kleenex, extra-strength Tylenol, Sudafed, Leftovers (yummy!) and decidedly un-professional clothes: sweatpants and a casual shirt. If I have to work a fourteen hour day (plus two hours of driving) I'm going to be comfortable, dagnabit!



Mostly I am going to do my very best to arm myself with a positive attitude. I feel like crud, but that won't help. So I'm going to try to think healthy, happy thoughts, hope for sick students (but not expect them) and tick down each hour as a personal victory. Afterall, there are a lot worse things than being surrounded by music all day.



Wish me luck.

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THE LONGEST DAY
Today will be the longest teaching day ever. I got here a little after 8:00 AM and hope to leave by 10:00 PM tonight. Lessons, Class, Studio Class and Two Dress Rehearsals for weekend recitals. I have armed myself with a new box of Kleenex, extra-strength Tylenol, Sudafed, Leftovers (yummy!) and decidedly un-professional clothes: sweatpants and a casual shirt. If I have to work a fourteen hour day (plus two hours of driving) I'm going to be comfortable, dagnabit!

Mostly I am going to do my very best to arm myself with a positive attitude. I feel like crud, but that won't help. So I'm going to try to think healthy, happy thoughts, hope for sick students (but not expect them) and tick down each hour as a personal victory. Afterall, there are a lot worse things than being surrounded by music all day.

Wish me luck.
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Monday, March 15, 2004

AND ANOTHER THING

I forgot. It's the Ides of March. You're supposed to beware of them, and bedsheets, and Ginsu knives. On the plus side, if a Caesar Salad sees its shadow, it means six more weeks of winter. Had I not been in such a Sudafedish haze, I would have remembered and sent TinyTuna to school with this as her current event. It beats Big Ball of Paint Day. I guess.



Spellchecker says:

Ides = id's; bedsheets = Buddhists; Ginsu = gins; Spellchecker = splices; Guestbook = Gustavo's



I think this must be Beelzebub's spell checker. Then again, Buddhists wear bedsheets. Hmmmm.....

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AND ANOTHER THING
I forgot. It's the Ides of March. You're supposed to beware of them, and bedsheets, and Ginsu knives. On the plus side, if a Caesar Salad sees its shadow, it means six more weeks of winter. Had I not been in such a Sudafedish haze, I would have remembered and sent TinyTuna to school with this as her current event. It beats Big Ball of Paint Day. I guess.

Spellchecker says:
Ides = id's; bedsheets = Buddhists; Ginsu = gins; Spellchecker = splices; Guestbook = Gustavo's

I think this must be Beelzebub's spell checker. Then again, Buddhists wear bedsheets. Hmmmm.....
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BIG BALL OF PAINT DAY

Saturday was Big Ball of Paint Day in Alexandria, Indiana. I'm not sure I can add anymore to this story other than acknowledge the enormous elephant in the room and ask, "Why?"



Rumor has it, after multiple failed efforts with the side of a barn, The Detroit Tigers will travel to Alexandria, Indiana to complete their spring training.

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BIG BALL OF PAINT DAY
Saturday was Big Ball of Paint Day in Alexandria, Indiana. I'm not sure I can add anymore to this story other than acknowledge the enormous elephant in the room and ask, "Why?"

Rumor has it, after multiple failed efforts with the side of a barn, The Detroit Tigers will travel to Alexandria, Indiana to complete their spring training.
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MIND GAMES

I'm sick. Not so sick that I can't be at work at least for part of the morning while I get some things accomplished, but sick enough that my brain isn't firing on all cylinders. I've already apologized to my coworkers about my perfume du jour -- Vics VapoRub -- which is currently burning the nose off my face. Heck, I'd bathe in this stuff and I'd make earrings out of Halls Cough drops if I thought it would help. Mostly I'd like to saw off my head for the next day or so.



Not surprisingly, TinyTuna cheerfully volunteered to stay home from school to "take care of me". Nice try, says I.



The students are back in town, with all that entails. My first clue was listening to my free dinosaur dial-up connection to the University drop about seventy-nine times last night. Tired of listening to the melodic automatic re-dial function (bah-bah-boo-bee-bee-bah-bah ..... wait .... wait..... schhhhhhhhhhhhhh......tweeeeee uhhhhhhhhh..... *beep*!) I turned the whole thing off and went to bed at an ungoldly respectable hour. My reward? I was wide awake at 4:30. AM. MPF.



I tell you all these things in advance, so when you read sentences dripping with confusion, know that I might not be in my right mind. Or in my regular mind. Whatever that may be.



Added Note: The spell checker just changed "Perfume du jour -- Vics VapoRub" into "Perfume du jury -- Vice Paperboy". Methinks the spell checker is mocking my already incapacitated brain this morning. And what the freak is a "vice paperboy"??

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MIND GAMES
I'm sick. Not so sick that I can't be at work at least for part of the morning while I get some things accomplished, but sick enough that my brain isn't firing on all cylinders. I've already apologized to my coworkers about my perfume du jour -- Vics VapoRub -- which is currently burning the nose off my face. Heck, I'd bathe in this stuff and I'd make earrings out of Halls Cough drops if I thought it would help. Mostly I'd like to saw off my head for the next day or so.

Not surprisingly, TinyTuna cheerfully volunteered to stay home from school to "take care of me". Nice try, says I.

The students are back in town, with all that entails. My first clue was listening to my free dinosaur dial-up connection to the University drop about seventy-nine times last night. Tired of listening to the melodic automatic re-dial function (bah-bah-boo-bee-bee-bah-bah ..... wait .... wait..... schhhhhhhhhhhhhh......tweeeeee uhhhhhhhhh..... *beep*!) I turned the whole thing off and went to bed at an ungoldly respectable hour. My reward? I was wide awake at 4:30. AM. MPF.

I tell you all these things in advance, so when you read sentences dripping with confusion, know that I might not be in my right mind. Or in my regular mind. Whatever that may be.

Added Note: The spell checker just changed "Perfume du jour -- Vics VapoRub" into "Perfume du jury -- Vice Paperboy". Methinks the spell checker is mocking my already incapacitated brain this morning. And what the freak is a "vice paperboy"??
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Saturday, March 13, 2004

SERF AND TURF

For those keeping score, I am the serf -- a member of a servile feudal class bound to the soil and subject to the will of his lord. Fabio the Faaaahbulous increased the size of his turf ten-fold, which in turn resulted in a massive basement overhaul. Which meant moving, arranging, rearranging, re-rearranging, deciding the first way was better, lugging the ten trillion ton Reagan-era television set all over creation (and it's little VCR too!). I don't know anymore if it's better or worse, but I'm done for the day, and so is my company: One Idiot and her Truckload of Junk, Junk, Junk, Junk, Junk.



Fabio needed a new home. BS-the Enabler-Tuna had graciously loaned us a cage. But Fabio was already complaining of being cramped. It was time for a real home. It was time for a WABBITAT. This sucker is pretty much a bunny Taj Mahal, and now Fabio is living large and in charge. He can hop, he can stretch, he could probably do Yoga in there if he could manage to stop stuffing his face long enough to strike a pose.



Aside from Fabio movin' on up (movin' on up!) it was a Grill Dog Morning and a Johnny Rocket Evening. The Grill Dogs were kept busy playing a very loud game of "Guess the pet" (DOG! CAT! BIRD! RABBIT?? WHY A RABBIT? WHAT'S IT'S NAME? WHAT?? WHY NOT PETER?? HAR HAR HAR DE HAR!). Tonight we had a hat trick at the Rocket: sitting at the counter, doing the Love Shack Dance and seeing the "Rocket Man" -- our regular favorite waiter whom we hadn't seen in awhile.



All in all a good day, but holy cats, I'm beat. This serf is going to surf for a bit and then hit the turf.

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SERF AND TURF
For those keeping score, I am the serf -- a member of a servile feudal class bound to the soil and subject to the will of his lord. Fabio the Faaaahbulous increased the size of his turf ten-fold, which in turn resulted in a massive basement overhaul. Which meant moving, arranging, rearranging, re-rearranging, deciding the first way was better, lugging the ten trillion ton Reagan-era television set all over creation (and it's little VCR too!). I don't know anymore if it's better or worse, but I'm done for the day, and so is my company: One Idiot and her Truckload of Junk, Junk, Junk, Junk, Junk.

Fabio needed a new home. BS-the Enabler-Tuna had graciously loaned us a cage. But Fabio was already complaining of being cramped. It was time for a real home. It was time for a WABBITAT. This sucker is pretty much a bunny Taj Mahal, and now Fabio is living large and in charge. He can hop, he can stretch, he could probably do Yoga in there if he could manage to stop stuffing his face long enough to strike a pose.

Aside from Fabio movin' on up (movin' on up!) it was a Grill Dog Morning and a Johnny Rocket Evening. The Grill Dogs were kept busy playing a very loud game of "Guess the pet" (DOG! CAT! BIRD! RABBIT?? WHY A RABBIT? WHAT'S IT'S NAME? WHAT?? WHY NOT PETER?? HAR HAR HAR DE HAR!). Tonight we had a hat trick at the Rocket: sitting at the counter, doing the Love Shack Dance and seeing the "Rocket Man" -- our regular favorite waiter whom we hadn't seen in awhile.

All in all a good day, but holy cats, I'm beat. This serf is going to surf for a bit and then hit the turf.
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Friday, March 12, 2004

CARDINAL RULES

Oh the inhumanity. Oh the suffering.



Just ask Boston Red Sox fans. Baseball's opening day has happened to fall on Good Friday, which means there will be no hot dogs, sausages or pepperoni pizza for the faithful. Since the Catholic conflict of interest was discovered, the archdiocese has fielded several requests to waive the infield Fri rule. After all, the ban was lifted for Saint Patrick's Day 1995 and 2000, because who could possibly wash down green beer with a slab of tofu? Unfortunately, the Cardinals are balking, and thus far, the baseball argument has struck out.



There's no crying in baseball. For many, there's no hot dogs, either.

Lent is one rough, penitential season.

Pass the Cracker Jack.

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CARDINAL RULES
Oh the inhumanity. Oh the suffering.

Just ask Boston Red Sox fans. Baseball's opening day has happened to fall on Good Friday, which means there will be no hot dogs, sausages or pepperoni pizza for the faithful. Since the Catholic conflict of interest was discovered, the archdiocese has fielded several requests to waive the infield Fri rule. After all, the ban was lifted for Saint Patrick's Day 1995 and 2000, because who could possibly wash down green beer with a slab of tofu? Unfortunately, the Cardinals are balking, and thus far, the baseball argument has struck out.

There's no crying in baseball. For many, there's no hot dogs, either.
Lent is one rough, penitential season.
Pass the Cracker Jack.
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RECIPE FOR DISASTER

As I was checking the blogs this morning, I was excited to run across TVJ's recipe for Butternut Squash Kugel. Knowing how much I like butternut squash, I quickly scanned the ingredients and proceeded to make a Supersize MPF at the ingredient coffee.



Ugh. What a way to wreck a vegetable. I know TVJ likes her half-caf, de-caffeinated half-caf...with a twist of lemon, but this was going too far. I asked ChefGrace about the coffee-squash combo that seemed to be of the Devil. She informed me that "Coffee Rich" isn't a "rich coffee". It's a non-dairy creamer.



Doh. Good thing I asked. I'm still trying to live down the culinary disaster of my youth, when I learned the hard way that Tartar Sauce is not an appropriate substitute for Cream of Tartar.

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RECIPE FOR DISASTER
As I was checking the blogs this morning, I was excited to run across TVJ's recipe for Butternut Squash Kugel. Knowing how much I like butternut squash, I quickly scanned the ingredients and proceeded to make a Supersize MPF at the ingredient coffee.

Ugh. What a way to wreck a vegetable. I know TVJ likes her half-caf, de-caffeinated half-caf...with a twist of lemon, but this was going too far. I asked ChefGrace about the coffee-squash combo that seemed to be of the Devil. She informed me that "Coffee Rich" isn't a "rich coffee". It's a non-dairy creamer.

Doh. Good thing I asked. I'm still trying to live down the culinary disaster of my youth, when I learned the hard way that Tartar Sauce is not an appropriate substitute for Cream of Tartar.
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K IS FOR PLAGUES

It's Friday, so you know what that means! ChefGrace says this week's Food Friday is K is for Kosher. This should bring out some tasty recipes. In the spirit of "my dog ate my Kosher Recipes" I bring to you a poor but humble substitute. GreenTuna and her boyfriend are proud yet somewhat embarrassed to bring you (fanfare please)



Bag of Plagues!







I'm here to tell you, the number of things I never knew existed in this world just astound me. So here we have our bag of plagues to inspire and instruct children. I'm glad they included a picture, but without whipping out my Bible, the best I can do is try to channel Charleton Heston and Yul Brenner. Ok, there was a plague of plastic jumpy frogs. I remember that one. Probably locusts -- they showed up a lot in the Old Testament. Then, well, I'm stumped. Was there a plague of green plastic hands? A Plague of Halloween Masks? I know the sunglasses are for the plague of bad John Belushi movies, but I haven't the slightest idea about the ball of string. I'm guessing the cow is for the plague of farm animals that came to earth to eat the last puzzle piece.



I think I need more church. Luckily, I think I've found some help right here. It's



Another Bag of Plagues!







This is much more helpful, because the Other Bag of Plagues website tells me what the heck these are. My favorite in this set? Using bubble wrap to represent the plague of boils. It's a good thing that I'm not Pharaoh and it wasn't a Plague of bubble-wrap, because I'd be the happiest Pharaoh in all of Pharaohdom. I love me some bubble wrap. According to list on this other bag of plagues, the puzzle represents the death of the first born. Maybe it's a puzzle of Cecil B. DeMille's green fog?

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K IS FOR PLAGUES
It's Friday, so you know what that means! ChefGrace says this week's Food Friday is K is for Kosher. This should bring out some tasty recipes. In the spirit of "my dog ate my Kosher Recipes" I bring to you a poor but humble substitute. GreenTuna and her boyfriend are proud yet somewhat embarrassed to bring you (fanfare please)

Bag of Plagues!



I'm here to tell you, the number of things I never knew existed in this world just astound me. So here we have our bag of plagues to inspire and instruct children. I'm glad they included a picture, but without whipping out my Bible, the best I can do is try to channel Charleton Heston and Yul Brenner. Ok, there was a plague of plastic jumpy frogs. I remember that one. Probably locusts -- they showed up a lot in the Old Testament. Then, well, I'm stumped. Was there a plague of green plastic hands? A Plague of Halloween Masks? I know the sunglasses are for the plague of bad John Belushi movies, but I haven't the slightest idea about the ball of string. I'm guessing the cow is for the plague of farm animals that came to earth to eat the last puzzle piece.

I think I need more church. Luckily, I think I've found some help right here. It's

Another Bag of Plagues!



This is much more helpful, because the Other Bag of Plagues website tells me what the heck these are. My favorite in this set? Using bubble wrap to represent the plague of boils. It's a good thing that I'm not Pharaoh and it wasn't a Plague of bubble-wrap, because I'd be the happiest Pharaoh in all of Pharaohdom. I love me some bubble wrap. According to list on this other bag of plagues, the puzzle represents the death of the first born. Maybe it's a puzzle of Cecil B. DeMille's green fog?
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Wednesday, March 10, 2004

BODY DOUBLE

It's a bad time to be dead.



Let me clarify. It's a bad time to be a cadaver with a noble wish to become a useful and contributing member of society post-mortem. Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be cadavers, because donating a body to science just isn't going so well these days.



First there was the UCLA incident with the donated bodies being sold as "parts" to a body broker. Not surprisingly, once the family members discovered that their dearly departed were being sold like a package of mixed chicken parts, they were more than a little upset. I cannot wait to the Law and Order "ripped from the headlines" about this one. Or maybe I can.



Now, in a stunning twist of coincidences, it has been revealed that the Army has been a frequent shopper at the corpse surplus shop and has been blowing up cadavers to test land mines. How exactly are they testing them? To see if they work? To measure the exact carnage? I don't understand the how, but my imagination is good enough that I'm sure I don't want to know.



Just this morning I read that a Canadian farmer in Vancouver, British Columbia may have been very busy reenacting a scene out of the classic film "Motel Hell" (It takes all kinds of critters to make Farmer Vincent's fritters!). I'm hoping that a certain someone does NOT bring me back any presents from her trip.



The news, however, is not all bad. The saving grace comes from (you'll never believe it) France, of all places, where it is legal to wed a corpse. Fortunately for the invited guests, the corpse is not required to attend the ceremony.



France and corpses -- I know there has to be a punchline in there somewhere.

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BODY DOUBLE
It's a bad time to be dead.

Let me clarify. It's a bad time to be a cadaver with a noble wish to become a useful and contributing member of society post-mortem. Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be cadavers, because donating a body to science just isn't going so well these days.

First there was the UCLA incident with the donated bodies being sold as "parts" to a body broker. Not surprisingly, once the family members discovered that their dearly departed were being sold like a package of mixed chicken parts, they were more than a little upset. I cannot wait to the Law and Order "ripped from the headlines" about this one. Or maybe I can.

Now, in a stunning twist of coincidences, it has been revealed that the Army has been a frequent shopper at the corpse surplus shop and has been blowing up cadavers to test land mines. How exactly are they testing them? To see if they work? To measure the exact carnage? I don't understand the how, but my imagination is good enough that I'm sure I don't want to know.

Just this morning I read that a Canadian farmer in Vancouver, British Columbia may have been very busy reenacting a scene out of the classic film "Motel Hell" (It takes all kinds of critters to make Farmer Vincent's fritters!). I'm hoping that a certain someone does NOT bring me back any presents from her trip.

The news, however, is not all bad. The saving grace comes from (you'll never believe it) France, of all places, where it is legal to wed a corpse. Fortunately for the invited guests, the corpse is not required to attend the ceremony.

France and corpses -- I know there has to be a punchline in there somewhere.
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HUNG UP

I am so sorry to say, I'm exiting the William Hung love train.



Hung, as you may remember is the humble but lovable American Idol wannabe. His audition was equal parts rudimentary singing skills and fifth-grade choreography. What won the hearts of America were his comments (despite the tongue lashing from Simon about his lack of talent) about having no regrets because he tried his best. This kind of positive attitude is practically unheard of among American Idol personnel -- contestants or judges.



He became an overnight sensation and is in big demand right now on the talk show circuit. He was the final singer in American Idol's special "losers" show, where some of the most notable losing contestants got a chance to be on television yet again and regale us with exactly what they didn't have the first time around. Although Hung sang his "signature" version of Ricky Martin's "She Bang", gone was the Goodwill era, short-sleeved, buttoned up to the neck, patterned cotton shirt. Gone was the goofy fifth-grade choreography. He just stood still, while a quartet of scantily-clad cheerleader types did a bunch of high maintenance scantily clad cheerleader type suggestive choreography. The whole performance was a slick packaged deal, but with the same Introduction to Singing vocal style and none of the cute, quirky mannerisms. It wasn't humble and lovable anymore.



Now, he has a record deal. Is this good news? For William Hung, it certainly is. He'll make a bucket of money. So will the record companies, the agents and the American Idol franchise, which will undoubtedly get a substantial cut from the proposition. It's certainly the "American way." Do what you want, and make a lot of money doing it.



But is it the right thing to do? I think not. Despite his refreshingly positive and optimistic attitude, William Hung is an untrained, unskilled singer. Just because I can put on a pair of ice skates doesn't mean I should be given a contract to Stars on Ice so I can skate my butt-bruising signature program, Ode to a Human Zamboni. If William should be making money at something he is truly good at, have him be a motivational speaker, for heaven's sake. That's what we liked about him to begin with, and he's got a decent message to share.



A recording contract will only serve to highlight the one skill he lacks the most: Singing. His album may be bought by millions, but ultimately it will end up on the shelf next to William Shatner and Florence Foster Jenkins, as yet another example of good intentions gone terribly wrong. Sure, it's good for a few late-night guffaws, but that's it.



I don't think this is what William has in mind. I think, despite his fame, he is still humble and lovable. Now it seems I need to add "gullible" to the list. In the short run, the benefits will be easily measured by dollars and cents. In the long run, it will serve as a lightning rod to an enormous number of performing hopefuls who will point to this record contract as proof that hard work, study, and any measurable talent whatsoever aren't necessary.



I'm sorry William, I don't buy that argument for one second. And I won't be buying your CD.

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HUNG UP
I am so sorry to say, I'm exiting the William Hung love train.

Hung, as you may remember is the humble but lovable American Idol wannabe. His audition was equal parts rudimentary singing skills and fifth-grade choreography. What won the hearts of America were his comments (despite the tongue lashing from Simon about his lack of talent) about having no regrets because he tried his best. This kind of positive attitude is practically unheard of among American Idol personnel -- contestants or judges.

He became an overnight sensation and is in big demand right now on the talk show circuit. He was the final singer in American Idol's special "losers" show, where some of the most notable losing contestants got a chance to be on television yet again and regale us with exactly what they didn't have the first time around. Although Hung sang his "signature" version of Ricky Martin's "She Bang", gone was the Goodwill era, short-sleeved, buttoned up to the neck, patterned cotton shirt. Gone was the goofy fifth-grade choreography. He just stood still, while a quartet of scantily-clad cheerleader types did a bunch of high maintenance scantily clad cheerleader type suggestive choreography. The whole performance was a slick packaged deal, but with the same Introduction to Singing vocal style and none of the cute, quirky mannerisms. It wasn't humble and lovable anymore.

Now, he has a record deal. Is this good news? For William Hung, it certainly is. He'll make a bucket of money. So will the record companies, the agents and the American Idol franchise, which will undoubtedly get a substantial cut from the proposition. It's certainly the "American way." Do what you want, and make a lot of money doing it.

But is it the right thing to do? I think not. Despite his refreshingly positive and optimistic attitude, William Hung is an untrained, unskilled singer. Just because I can put on a pair of ice skates doesn't mean I should be given a contract to Stars on Ice so I can skate my butt-bruising signature program, Ode to a Human Zamboni. If William should be making money at something he is truly good at, have him be a motivational speaker, for heaven's sake. That's what we liked about him to begin with, and he's got a decent message to share.

A recording contract will only serve to highlight the one skill he lacks the most: Singing. His album may be bought by millions, but ultimately it will end up on the shelf next to William Shatner and Florence Foster Jenkins, as yet another example of good intentions gone terribly wrong. Sure, it's good for a few late-night guffaws, but that's it.

I don't think this is what William has in mind. I think, despite his fame, he is still humble and lovable. Now it seems I need to add "gullible" to the list. In the short run, the benefits will be easily measured by dollars and cents. In the long run, it will serve as a lightning rod to an enormous number of performing hopefuls who will point to this record contract as proof that hard work, study, and any measurable talent whatsoever aren't necessary.

I'm sorry William, I don't buy that argument for one second. And I won't be buying your CD.
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