Al v. Dubya

A few nights ago Hubby and I watched Recount from HBO. It is about the litigious aftermath of the 2000 presidential election. Kevin Spacey was as great as he always is and Laura Dern was spot-on for Katherine Harris.

I think I fell in love with politics via Tim Russert's dry erase board during this national debaucle. I was still in pharmacy school, Hubby and I lived in a miniscule apartment, and we watched the whole thing unfold by flipping between CNN and MSNBC. All the news coverage had the opposite effect on us...I couldn't get enough and he was beyond bored.

Anyway, I thought the movie was riveting and even suspenseful despite the fact that it is history (we already know the ending). Hubby also thought it was pretty heavily biased against the Republicans, and that it was an attempt to make the Democrats look like jilted saints. I didn't feel that way-to me, it just depicted the world's greatest jousting match. All the lawyering that occured is still amazing.

But my very favorite, favorite thing about the movie is that it showed possibly the most remarkable quality about these United States. I am talking about the peaceful transfer of power. Even though the winner of the most powerful office in the world was in dispute, there was no bloodshed, no coup, no hostile overtaking of government buildings. All of those things have occurred in other countries for posts far less significant than that of our President.

Thank you founding fathers for our Constitution and for our judicial system. Whether you are a Democrat, Republican, Libertarian, Independent, anarchist, or just plain apathetic...that has to make you feel proud to be an American.

Bring in the Big Guns

For some reason WGN from Chicago is a channel that is carried by our cable company. Thank you Comcast, and special thanks to WGN for today's Rocky marathon. There are Rocky marathons every year, usually on TBS, TNT, ESPNClassic, and sometimes AMC. You see, I have these movies on DVD. I also have them in my mind as well. I don't even really need to view the movie to watch it...every detail is committed to long term memory. Even the Rocky soundtrack is in my car and on my iPod. I am such a dedicated (obsessed) fan that I have my own recruit-JBB. He even has Rocky boxing gloves that play the theme song. Currently we are watching Drago and Rocky duke it out in IV and JBB is dancing around shadow boxing. Lest you think I have overexposed my firstborn to too much pretend violence and rousing theme songs, never fear. He just said, "Mommy, I really, really hope Rocky wins."

Innocence and the Helicopter Brother

Last week...
JBB: Mommy, when I grow up, I am going to marry Pretty Girl.

Mommy: Sweetie, you can't marry her because she is your sister. You will find somebody to love when you grow up and you will get married then.

This week...
JBB: Mommy, when I grow up and get married, will Pretty Girl live with me?

Mommy: No, sweetie. She will have her own house.

JBB: But who will take care of her?

Mommy: Well, she will be grown up too.

JBB: But who will be her daddy?

I think it is so funny that JBB knows that he is getting bigger, but he thinks Pretty Girl will always be a baby.

In related news,
Pretty Girl has started walking this past week. As in really walking. JBB follows her around EVERYWHERE because he is worried that she will fall. Last night he fussed at Hubby and me for letting her within five feet of the kitchen cabinets ("she might open it and choke on something Mommy!"). Hubby has christened JBB as Helicopter Brother.

Thanks for listening, because I do love sharing.

My thoughts regarding AI...in order of appearance

I heart David Cook.

I really the LOVE the celebration of the William Hung-style contestants. Sing it loud and proud, "I am your brother, you're best friend forever..."

Technology has me SO spoiled. I always DVR everything and fast forward through all the commercials. Our DVR is jammed and I am actually watching AI live-which means I have to do things like pee based on Fox's schedule. Feels so very pre-2001.

Why are Ryan Seacrest's suits are always ill-fitting? Why is Randy Jackson dressed like a candy cane?

Damn, that kid Archuleta can really sing.

Poor sweet Jordin is so boring. Her career may go the way of Taylor whats-his-name. Props to her though for prancing around in sky high heels. What I want to know....is that Louboutin-red-sole-on-heels a trademarked thing?

I don't know what the point of the Gladys Knight/Ben Stiller/Jack Black/RD Jr segment is. Liked it anyway...I really think I must be very easy to entertain. Favorite things: making new footage look grainy plus Zoolander really is cute.

Carrie Underwood has a nice voice, so why did she scream? I guess she really is a country artist now. Faith Hill and Martina McBride have nice voices too, but that doesn't stop them from being screamers either.

George Michael looks old. I was SO in love with him in 1984. I typed him a fan letter back then and was really sad about his gay-ness. Looking back, wasn't it really obvious? Most importantly, he still sounds great.

Congrats to my guy David Cook!!! Nothing more fabulous than a sensitive, teary-eyed rocker. Swoon America, swoon.

Yo Adrian!

I am only 16 minutes into American Idol, and already so much to talk about! Let me just say that I think the whole boxing motif is unequivocally the goofiest way ever to begin the show. That notwithstanding, I absolutely adored it. You see, I LOVE Rocky, Rocky II, III, IV, V, and Rocky Balboa.

I saw Rocky II at the tender age of 7 and I have literally seen it at least twice every year for the last 27 years (conservative estimate). You could say I am obsessed....and you'd be right. From the stunning score to the thrilling plot to the utter gorgeousness that is Sylvester Stallone, I am a fan on steroids. I even wanted to name Pretty Girl Adrian. Honest. I admit it. Thank goodness Hubby is very classy and has more than his share of common sense. He insisted on a lovely preppy first name and a family name for her middle name.

This brings me to some explanation of why the phrase "mostly preppy" is in the title. For example, I love pink and green, but when I see Lily stuff all I can think is, "whoah, that is gawdy." Were it not for aforementioned sense of Hubby I am quite certain that I would have several tatooes-at least a tramp stamp. I have no real explanation...I just think ink is cool. Tacky, yes-but also cool. I was educated in private schools from age 5 through age 22 (preppyish), but none of them are listed in the Official Preppy Handbook. I adore the beach, but have never "summered" anywhere. I do have some clothes that are Nantucket red, but, alas they were faded not while I was digging for clams, but by the fine folks at J. Crew. I could go on and on, but I really do need to get back to the American Idol Live from Caesars Palace boxing extravaganza.

Happy Night

Tonight while the casserole was in the oven, I was in the Playzone with JBB and Pretty Girl. We played and laughed and clapped for PG as she took precious tentative steps. JBB captured it perfectly when he said, "it's a happy night tonight, Mommy." Just had to share...

Huh?

(Desperate Housewives spoiler alert)....

The season finale-what?? I don't like Bree in maroon and Gabby all frumpy and Susan without Mike (especially after the feel-good birth of a baby in the same episode). Maybe this will be like the not-dead-anymore Bobby Ewing in the shower. I did love Dallas. Every Friday night we would go out to eat, go to the grocery and Wal-Mart, and then come home and watch Dallas and Falcon Crest. Ah...childhood in a small town. I love to watch those Dallas reruns on the Soap channel, and I think it's really funny that my mother let me watch it when I was, uh...SO young. The fashion is great too-nothing like those giant shoulder pads and power suits. I remember having an electric blue silk blouse (it can only be properly termed "blouse") with shoulder pads that velcroed in place so the shirt could be cleaned with compromising the massiveness of the shoulder pads. So funny and so much trouble too. No wonder Melanie Griffith wore those sneakers everyday.

Hope you all have a good Monday!

Go to work in some high rise, vacation down at the Gulf of Mexico

Presenting some beach photos....

Cougars 4 Cook

I can't help it. All day at work on Tuesdays I look forward to the glittery predictableness that is American Idol. I love it when Paula is ditzy and Simon is grumpy, and I am so tone deaf that I don't care if any of the dawgs are pitchy. I am an unabashed victim of popular culture. I even think it's fun when they pan the audience and you see celebrities, contestant's family members, and average yet well-connected Americans (hey, they scored tickets and we are still on the couch).

I loved the sign that some junior high girl was holding that said, "Simon is my third favorite judge," but shortly thereafter, we the viewers were treated to a sign held by two women who must have been in the throws of a hot flash when they created it. "Cougars 4 Cook." Really? I mean....really? Ugh. I'm not sure what was tackier...the sign or the goofy, omigod-we-are-on-tv looks they had on their faces. Granted, I think David Cook is just the cutest thing and I love that kind of rock growl he has.

But this whole notion of "cougars" is just...gross. To proclaim onself as a cougar as a kind of self-affirmation, sexual-validation, proclamation that you are still in the game just seems ostentacious to me. Or, for a less verbose version...ugh. Its not the age difference that I find distasteful, it is the braggadocio that by definition characterizes the cougar. It reminds me of those 22 year olds who prance around a bar like no one has ever looked sexier drinking shots, yelling "whooo," and hugging all their girlfriends. The cougars are just thirty years older. Not classy.

Of course, this does not deter me from watching-I am already looking forward to tomorrow's results and hoping that the beautiful bore Syesha will be sent home, leaving room for some more David Cook.

Classic Generican Fare

We have made it home from the beach! And despite our rocky beginning, we actually had a great time. It never ceases to amaze me that as I am in the water jumping in the waves, my mind is totally clear...totally free of stress, worry, idle fretting, planning.

We had a nice hour and half drive from the coast back to the interstate. It was slow and quirky, filled with funny little businesses in varying stages of productivity, prosperity, and rot. I was actually somewhat sad when we reached the efficiency of the interstate. Enter the boooooring part of the trip.

We were a couple of hours from home, starving with achy backs, and JBB kept saying, "Mommy, let's eat in a restaurant." So we stopped at Ruby Tuesday. I mean, how bad could it be? We wanted cold drinks, a kids menu....not really high demands. From the "artwork" (non-paintings on canvas with subjects as varied as three chefs and collections of apples) to the pseudo-chic square plates to the most generic menu ever conceived (hamburgers, shrimp, quesadillas, and some concoction called Thai Phoon), it was the embodiment of the generic-ization of everything in America. Have you ever noticed that any town of a certain size has a requisite number of chains (restaurants, gas stations, anything retail) and therefore has an eerie sameness about it? That thought and the food-as-interesting-as-cardboard just made me nauseous. I have to also mention that the bill was $50 (waste), and the place was packed including a couple on their prom date. I don't know what made me more melancholy...the bill or the thought that someone was there on a prom date.

It wasn't a complete failure-Pretty Girl ate really well (further confirmation of the blandness of the food-it was most thoroughly enjoyed by a 14 month old), I immediately felt a desire to be more frugal, and I vowed to avoid the mass markets as much as I could. Of course, I have a feeling this is probaby as feasible as avoiding "made in China." Oh well, at least there are no billboards in the middle of the ocean.

I Am Susan Meyer

Other than the addict husband, a 16 year old daughter, and the small fact that she is, well, not real, I am Susan Meyer (Teri Hatcher's flighty character on Desperate Housewives, for the uninitiated). The disclaimer to the following story is that I truly believe that it was harder to plan this beach vacation than it was to plan my own wedding. Yesterday we left hours-HOURS-later than I had planned. Turns out I had forgotten to renew the DMV registration for my car. Since we didn't want the pleasure of getting a ticket for expired tags in some random town attempting to find ways to generate revenue, Hubby took care of it immediately.

Thinking it would be more efficient, I decided to pack everything in one giant duffle bag that turned out to be so large and unweildly that I had to unpack and repack. Somehow I didn't pack any food for the Pretty Girl so we had to take a detour through a little speed-trap town to find a grocery store. It was so un-updated that I felt like we just walked into a world where Reagan was still president. It would have been semi-charming except that everyone stared. A lot. We weren't from around there, you see.

When we finally arrived at condo, I couldn't find our reservation info. It wasn't my fault really-after all, it was buried in the massive purse that I decided would conveniently double as a diaper bag. Miraculously, Hubby kept his cool all day...amazing consider that he had a four year old constantly asking, "Are we on vacation yet?," an intermittently grouchy 14 month old, and a really spacey wife. This morning while I lay listening to his very charming snore, I felt this complete wave of gratitude for his Biblical proportion of patience.

But in keeping with my general airheadedness, I realized while on the way to the beach that I had forgotten my sunglasses in the car. Then I decided to go back to our room to get one more tent for the kids (you know, the kind that keeps your kids from actually playing in the sun while at the beach). I walked out of the condo so grateful to finally be headed to the beach. Sunglasses...check, UVA/UVB blocking tent thingy...check, car keys...check, room key...ooops. Thanks to a kind security officer I was soon on my way to join Hubby and the kids on the beach. Right now, the kids are bathed and napping, Hubby is watching TV, and I have discovered that for an internet addict, it is beyond relaxing to be online and listen to the crashing of waves. But I am jonesing for some seafood, and I sure do hope it will be easy getting there.

Comically Upscale

So I was completely enticed by the pretty pictures and the whole $1 an issue deal to subscribe to Cookie magazine. Still like the pics, but it is what I would call comically upscale. They are trying way too hard. From the lettuce soup to comments like "bugaboos and mimosas are in equal ratio so you won't feel out of place in Toronto," it is just one big eye roll for me. So as if including travel tips to exotic (ie, expensive) locales every month isn't enough, they feel compelled to include a not-so-subtle reference to a pricey stroller. Come on. That type of name-dropping (er, brand-dropping) is just tacky. I am especially grouchy about this sort of thing since a woman in our church group asked for prayer for a family friend who had given a "sizable donation" to the new symphony building downtown. Oh yeah, back to the prayer request. The lady has cancer. Again. All I could think was, why did you tell us about the donation? Did she think it made her look important by association? I just don't get why people brag inneundo-style. Modesty is much more attractive....and impressive.