OCEANSIZE

I have fallen in love.   With a new to me band.  They are called Oceansize and I love them so much I want to have their collective British babies.  I would birth fat little sixteenth notes of passion and bright, swollen with so much angst and joy I would tickle them nonstop to keep the gorgeous noise coming.   Music has such different effects on people.  For me it's like a drawing salve.  Anything that's mushed or clamped down in me gets released when the right musical remedy is applied.  My favorite music, like this stuff, pulls my guts right up against my skin giving me goosebumps and making me feel my heart beat in my ears.   If it doesn't make me want to move or cry, it's not worth listening to.  This song does both, it's not for everyone but is does it for me.

I MAY HAVE BEEN BITTEN

If one is going to spend their life in a state with earthquakes, riots, knife wielding ex-football stars and the Bret Michaels, there must be some perks somewhere.  There is of course the great weather, (although, and trust me on this, 90 degree temperatures in October can start to get to a girl from mountain states who just wants to wear wool and boots already!), lots of good restaurants and the opportunity to go to small intimate events like the one I went to last night.  Recently I joined an organization called Women In Film.  They are all about mentoring, educating and supporting, women in ...film.  Page to Screen is a monthly program they host where a book that has been made into a movie is discussed.  You read the book, see the movie, and talk about it with someone involved in that creative process.  Last night Catherine Hardwicke, the director of Twilight, was the guest of honor.  Maybe Stephenie Meyer wasn't available because they were learning glass etching at Homemaking or was she was swamped with scrap booking her red carpet photos with thousand dollar bills.  Or maybe she just lives in Arizona.  In any case there were about thirty of us in a small room with our copies of Twilght, mine brand new from Costco looking pristine, and some others who had gone with their owners to the tub, the doctors office, math class, and little league practice; dog eared and obsessed over.  And Catherine Hardwicke.   She is the world record holder for the biggest box office weekend opening for a female director, ever.  She is interesting looking, kind of a punk rock cowgirl vibe, and has a voice like silk with a slight Texas twang.  She is extremely creative and I am sure a little coo coo.  Following are some tasty bits from her comments:

- She thought Stephenie was very cool and respectful of her job as a filmmaker.  Stephenie liked most of the changes Catherine made in the script that were different from the book.
- When Catherine would reference some movies to Stephenie in conversation, she hadn't seen them.  She doesn't watch rated R movies!  (I loved this, Catherine actually said "not allowed."  She's "not allowed" to watch R movies).
- The original script for Twilight the movie included Bella as a high school track star, FBI agents, an island and jet skiis.  Jet skiis?  Creative Execs....  Catherine put a stop to that madness and made them start over from scratch keeping truer to the real story (about real girls and real vampires).
- Paramount Pictures sold the script because they didn't think people would want to see girls & vampires, and it wouldn't make any money.  Ouch.
- Catherine was terrified about the "sparkle" scene where Edward reveals to Bella why he cannot be seen in the direct sun.  She was afraid it would look goofy and stupid.  Also FYI, making a boy sparkle like that, very expensive.
- Rob (if you know him, I guess you get to call him Rob) was really feeling the pressure of having to live up to Stephenie's incessant insistence that Edward is sooooo hooootttt, to die for.  It's hard to have to be that pretty ALL the time, right y'all?
-   Rob was invited to the final call backs with three other candidates and Kristen who had already been chosen.  There was no money in the budget, so Rob had to get himself there from England, on his own dime.  Catherine likes to do her casting sessions at her house, not at an office.  (That's a stalker story waiting to happen).  After all was said and done, Kristen insisted that it must be Rob, even though at the time he had bad dark bangs, bad teeth and a belly born in a pub.  There was chemistry.   Catherine agreed, and made him go into training straight away (and take a trip to the dentist).   I think that plane ticket paid off.

If you are truly a Twihard (and you know who you are), you may not be thrilled by these details, but there is something about hearing it straight from the horses mouth.  She went on for a couple of hours and I was never bored.  It's unbelievable how much thought goes into every little thing with some Directors.  You can see for yourself in Catherine's book Twilight:  Director's Notebook:  The Story of How We Made the Movie Based on the Novel by Stephenie Meyer.

If I had more energy I would go a little more into detail of the moderator who asked if the "topic of the sexual behaviour between Bella and Edward wasn't a little too naive, kind of brushed over, and not very typical of today's teen."  I thought, dude.  Let a twelve year old be a twelve year old and allow the rest of us the creative space in our own minds to recall the slow dizzy simmer of our own first seductions (however innocent they were) and how crazy and most probably stupid and clumsy they made us. 

At the end of the night I asked Catherine to sign the mini movie poster that came in my book and told her she had a Denver Colorado Mormon Friends of Twight The Movie contingent, considerably made up of my family members.   She smiled and said awesome, way to support our sister Stephenie.

AVOID THE CROWDS...

and buying the same pair of striped trousers as a bunch of other frenzied & thrifty shoppers... 

Here are some hot online shopping tips from me to you:

Groupon
This is the link for the Denver site (for my Colorado peeps, holla!) you can click on "visit more cities" to find other cities.  Here is the link for Los Angeles.  Anyway, this site harnesses the power of group purchasing.  Every day a new deal is posted from a local company offering a deeply discounted service.  Once enough people have committed to buying, the deal "tips" and it's on!  This is a great way to have a more affordable night out.  I was able to score $40 worth of food for $20 at a favorite yummy restaurant in my neighborhood.  I took a friend to lunch and picked up the tab.  A deal lovers dream fantasy, I got to look rich while actually being thrifty.  Nice.  Thanks Kristy for sharing this with me.  :   )

Rue La La

I can't believe I am even sharing this one, the more people join the more competitive it becomes...but here goes.  I am getting a little dizzy...  Rue La La is the destination for 2-day-only Boutiques, filled with the designers of all kinds of goods we love at private sale prices. It's free, fabulous, and invitation-only. Here's your invitation!  The boutiques range from designer bag makers, to clothes of all price ranges, jewelry, bedding, appliances, luggage and sometimes even spas and vacation destinations.  When they had their Lucky Brand sale earlier this year I snagged several of those puppies for $35 a pair, more than half off.  A girl has to take it where she can get it, those jeans actually fit the booty AND the waist.  Huzzah!  I can be found here every day at 8am when it opens.  Thanks Chelsey for sharing this with me.  :  )

Ebates
This is a shopping portal that offers online coupons and rebates from a wide range of online retailers (1200 of them!).  They even have ebay.  Before I buy anything online I do a search here first to see if I can find a free shipping coupon or a 2% or more rebate from that vendor.  All you do is click through and start shopping as if you had gone directly to the site.  Every quarter they send my rebate in the form of  a "big fat check".  I have been a member since 2007 and been rebated over $86!  And it's free!!!  When we have to buy things for work and can get it online, we use my account and when the big fat check comes I buy a treat for the office.  Look rich - be thrifty!  Thanks Bonnie for sharing this with me.  :  )

I am sure the pattern here is obvious 1) I like to shop  2) I love the thrill of knowing I got a great deal on a great item and am maximizing my dollar  3) I am too lazy to drive all around LA in pursuit of the aforementioned  4)  My friends know me well and are of a similar ilk.  Birds of a feather...   If you have a site you love, help a sister out and leave the link in the comments.

Enjoy!

MOTHER NATURE HAS PMS

If it's not exactly that then something has put her in a hyper moody tail spin this week.  But who can blame her, we are the most annoying children ever.  Constantly climbing all over her, spilling stuff all over the place, breaking all her favorite things, and leaving the fridge door open so everything in there goes bad and the freezer melts.  I'd be cranky too.  And I am.

This week the weather started like this:                                         and ended like this:

A 30 degree swing with record rains and blinding heat looks like rapid cycling manic depression to me.  Somewhere she's sitting on her bed alternating between BOO HOO HOO and HA HA HA!  I know this must be the case, because that's what it's doing to me.  Yesterday I teared up (ok, I cried a little) during the intro to Oprah where she was brokering peace between Evander Holyfield and Mike Tyson.  How touching that she is able to bring these two testosterone saturated pummel champs together to make nice.  I mean he bit his EAR off!   BOO HOO HOO.  I am such a sap.  HA HA HA!  Sometimes it's not such a bad thing that I live alone.

SHE'S NOT HEAVY, SHE'S MY WOMAN

These are people I want to know.  

I got sweaty and exhausted just listening to Mr. Joe Guinness World Record.  I wonder if he would share his calf workout with me...   And I love the reindeer hat on the proud mom.  She's either just a lot of fun or she swigged some of her daughters beer winnings forgetting she just took her prozac.  Either way, what a gal to have raised such a fun (and little) gal!

If I wanted to try this I would have to be married to Andre the Giant.  I think he's dead though, so I guess I'm out.  Too bad, me draped upside down around Andre's neck, with my bodacious buns, he would have looked like Princess Leah.   And that would have been hilarious.

In marriage, is this what "keeping it fresh" means? By the way, that couple is going to the World Champion Wife Carrying competition in Finland.  Check out this wacky video of that event.  This is what happens when husbands who let wives who let husbands drink too much beer.

DUDE LOOKS LIKE A LADY

If you happened to drive on Wilton below Beverly this afternoon you may have caught a glimpse of me doing something pretty unusual in a very awkward fashion.  At one point in the process I had a flashback to the scene in the film All Creatures Great and Small circa sometime in the 90's, where a veterinarian has his entire arm in the hoo-haa of a cow helping her birth a calf.  What exactly was it I was doing?  I was changing my headlight bulbs, one had died.  I had to undo (technical, mechanic term) some screws,  reach my arm up into the wheel well while pulling back the plastic cover and groping around to find the connector that holds the bulb.  After 1/2 hour of struggling and sweating and kneeling on the street all contorted like I decided it might be easier if I took off the big wood bracelets and the giant ring I had on.  In the same way only a chubby girl can call herself chubby, I will say of myself, what a blonde thing to do.  I am sure most guys take off their bracelets and rings and pull their hair back before attempting any surgical type procedure on a car.  It was painful, filthy, sweaty and full of colorful language, but I got the job done.  Unfortunately I managed to take out the right turn signal in the process.  I went directly to the Auto Zone and picked up a new bulb. The guy who the previous day had sold me the headlight bulbs (hey, get these awesome halogen bulbs, they will make your car look like a Benz) laughed when he saw me.  He was ringing me up when I said, "I have to fix it right now, you know, LAPD."  He said "LAPD, that's all they do is pull you over.  That's all they do."  He is all tatted up and Mexican.  He knew.  For a second we just held each others gaze in solidarity.  WE KNOW!  Then he handed me the fuse cover I left on his counter the previous day (I can also call MYSELF a space cadet) and told him if Consumer Reports says those awesome headlights are a joke and not worth the extra money, I am coming after him.

When all was said and done I felt like the coolest chick.  I just did work on my car.   I didn't pay a man to do it and I risked my manicure.  Obviously I know girls can do anything boys can do, vice versa, blah blah.  I can't help how I feel.  I am a fairly "girlie" girl and I will punch you in the throat to defend my right to be so.  I wondered if men ever have those moments when they accomplish something that falls into traditionally female activities, where they feel like they accomplished something great in unfamiliar territory.  Do they say, I just did the hell out of that laundry! if they managed to do it from start to finish with no cotton casualties?  Do they think I am a Rock Star! when they manage to put their daughters hair in ponytails?  Do they blurt I totally have this! when they vacuum, dust or mop a kitchen floor?  I wonder.  Insert obvious joke here.

I needed the ego boost because earlier in the day I walked into the living room and stepped on a shower rack I have been meaning to take to the Good Will, which snapped up and hit me in the face.  Two seconds later I was trying to work some micro hair that was tickling my throat out of my mouth before I started choking on a green apple.  When I flipped the switch in the bathroom to see if the shower rack had drawn any blood, both bulbs popped.  Guess I'll have another chance to feel handy and cool tomorrow.

COLOSSAL GIRL

I have a pinched nerve in the lower right region of my back, and keep having to remind myself to relax my right shoulder.  I will be sitting at my computer or just walking around and find myself holding my right shoulder up.  ?   I don't know where this is coming from, I must be out of alignment.  In the meantime I am walking around Los Angeles looking like Quasi Moto in stiletto heals.  Ohhhh, maybe it's the stiletto heals...  Maybe I should succumb to the favorite shoe trend of LA's fashionista's and wear Ugg boots with every ensemble.  That way I could spare myself the back pain and occasional blister, while keeping my toesies toasty and extend the life of my pedicure.  All I would need is a pair of brown tights and it would complete my new for fall look.

Nah.  I have put up with the discomfort of wearing shoes I love since junior high school, and it will be a sad day indeed when I am forced by necessity into wearing practical shoes (shudder).  The fact that I am already 5'10" before adding 3" to 4" heels does little to dissuade me from doing it.  I have become quite comfortable with being the tallest gal and sometimes tallest person in the room.  I don't care if I look like a giant because I LOVE HEELS!  Nothing makes me feel more girlie glamorous.  I get a perverse thrill out of feeling like the Attack of the 50' woman.  I have a theme song to further that fantasy, its Colossal by Wolfmother.  It's track #3 on the Blog Post Playlist there on your right if you would like to play along with me.

I imagine myself with the wind blowing my hair and the earth quaking beneath me as I march to my car.  If you can image yourself as a giant with a tremendous shaking booty in slow motion, it somehow flips from Oh Nooooo, to Ohhhhhh Wow!  (Of course this being a fantasy I have a Caribbean tan and buns of steel).  At least it does for me. Very empowering.  Everyone should have a theme song.  I asked my friend Lou if I am out of hand with the height and she said no, she thinks it's sexy and that I can pull it off.  Or maybe she was just concerned I would step on her or sneeze and blow her into the wall.  She is beautiful and petite with a colossal spirit.  As a Costume Designer she has dressed and designed for many many glamorous people and would tell me if I was loosing it, so I choose to believe her.  The least sexy thing about being a colossal girl are the colossal feet that come with it.  Size 11.  It has it's advantages and disadvantages in terms of shoe shopping.  The size is not too in demand so  great deals can be found, but then on occasion it's just me and a "girl" with an adam's apple eying the same pair.  Awkward...

If I were 50' tall you know I would be standing over the highway picking off all the obnoxious and distracted drivers.  I have made it pretty clear how I feel about them.  My favorite line from this movie trailer "Incredibly huge with incredible desires for love and vengeance."  Ha!  That pretty much sums me up.

THE UPS AND THE DOWNS

Poor Jen made the mistake of taking my phone call this evening where I fit about 10000 words into the first 2 minutes of our conversation.  When I stopped to take a breath I said (big breath in, long sigh) Can you tell I didn't leave the house yesterday?  I read somewhere that humans speak 16,000 words per day on average.  (How's that for useless trivia Jen!).  There was once upon a time, a theory floating around old-wives-tale-ville that women use twice as many words per day as men.  The husband said to his wife See? You DO talk twice as much as I do.  She said, that's because I have to repeat everything I say to you!  He said,  What?  (I love plagiarizing bad jokes).   Apparently I was suffering from a massive pressure filled verbal surplus.  Thank goodness she answered the phone or I would have choked on it, and thank goodness she was far enough away that it didn't get all over the front of her when it came rushing out.  (Excuse me Jen, I think I got a "can you even believe that!?!" on your collar).

Obviously there was some residual verbage because today I did get out of the house and yet it has taken approximately 214 words to get me to the point.  Life is full of ups and downs.  Literally (and obviously!).  I rediscovered Biorhythms last night.  In the basement in a box in the corner of my mind was the memory of an episode of "Chips" where Ponch uses a biorhythms calculator to figure some gambling odds on John's upcoming handball game.   Don't ask me why I remember this but can't remember who what when why or how re: last month.

The basics of Biorhythem theory from Wikipedia:

The theory of biorhythms claims that one's life is affected by rhythmic biological cycles, and seeks to make predictions regarding these cycles and the personal ease of carrying out tasks related to the cycles. These inherent rhythms are said to control or initiate various biological processes and are classically composed of three cyclic rhythms that are said to govern human behavior and demonstrate innate periodicity in natural physiological change: the physical, the emotional, and the intellectual (or mental) cycles. Others claim there are additional rhythms, some of which may be combinations of the three primary cycles. Some proponents think that biorhythms may be potentially related to bioelectricity and its interactions in the body.

This explains everything!  I am absolutely going to deploy this ofttimes labeled pseudoscience to psych myself up and explain away the unexplainable.  Like yesterday.  For the life of me I could not get interested in anything.  Nothing.  Then some time after the sun went down I had the biorhythm epiphany/memory.  According to my chart my emotional energy was just past the "critical" part of the cycle, where the line passes on or near the 0% grid line.  This is the time to be cautious, one is most vulnerable on the days when transitioning from a - to a + energy force and vice versa.

No wonder I couldn't feel anything and no wonder I felt like and actually did exercise, I was at the top of my Physical cycle and right at the critical point in my Emotional cycle.  I am going to use this kookie theory for the next month or so to help me make choices about my day and the order I get things done in.  If I am at the top of my physical peak, exercise will be the first thing I will get done that day, etc.  Here or here are free online calculators, check it out.

In this clip from the actual episode of "Chips" I remembered (appropriately entitled "Biorhythms")  Ponch and John chase down a sucker who obviously did not consult his biorhythm chart before coking himself up and leading these fine officers on a chase.  And when I say fine I mean Ponch is one hot Mexican.

WHAT?

What is this article suggesting?! 

From Marcus Buckingham

Leading expert in personal strengths and bestselling author

...What we know for certain is that returning women to the role of primary caretaker won't make most women happier. We know this because whenever and wherever the research is done on this subject, the results are always the same: women with no kids are, in general, happier than women with kids. I realize this sounds perverse--who doesn't love their kids--and yet the research has been repeated so many times, in so many countries, there's no escaping it. Kids, it turns out, are a bundle of stress. They may give our lives trajectory, and meaning, and purpose, but their gift to us is not happiness. Of course, this does not apply to all women--some women feel as though they were put here for the sole and express purpose of raising their kids and nothing, no professional dream or accomplishment, can compare to the joy of this. What the data show, though, is that these women are in the minority.

Could this be true?  Did I teeter on the edge of a nervous breakdown for an entire year when I came to the realization that giving birth is probably not going to happen for me... for nothing?  Wow.  Where has this article been all my life?

But do I want to believe that the women I love who have kids are even unhappier than I have been at times without them?  No way.

Isn't "trajectory, and meaning, and purpose" what brings people happiness?  Or is that just my Type A personality talking.  A child may provide all that conveniently bundled up in a onesie, but it's no picnic trying to find meaningful joy in professional dreams or accomplishment either. I look forward to the day when my paycheck or a professional award makes me tear up with happiness.  No really, I do.  I would like to thank the Academy...

Does anyone really think their SOLE purpose is to raise children, and that NOTHING can compare to this joy?  I doubt it, and I know a lot of Mormons. 

For every time I have witnessed the fatigue and mild degree of madness my peeps (nieces and nephews - 15, of 'em) have inspired in their moms (Did my four year old really just say that to me?  What am I supposed to do with that?)  I have been quietly grateful for my full nights of rest and the time to read or go shoe shopping, by myself.  And I'm sure for every time my sisters have heard me sob about not having someone to smell, snuggle, kiss and buy cute bedding for, they run in and kiss that sassy four year old right on her sassy face.  We all probably suffer deeply and experience happiness equally, just over different things.  This is what I am going to tell myself, and promote as fact.  I will be sure to reiterate to my nieces (because I am sure my sisters will tell them) that a reality of life is that motherhood is not for wimps, being single takes a lot of balls, and both will be heaven and hell in equal measure. 

The overall topic of Mark's article is a bummer.  Apparently studies are showing that women are becoming progressively more unhappy as time goes on, and men are becoming more happy.  This is depressing information and even if it is statistically accurate, I refuse to let it stick to me.  My proposal is cheesy and a little Kum ba yah, but we should probably all just stick together.  There's safety and some sanity in numbers.  And if that doesn't work, misery loves company.  The closer we are to each other provides more opportunities for "Hey! You got chocolate in my peanut butter!!  No - you got peanut butter in my chocolate!!  Hey!!!!!  This is delicious together!!!!  I know every day of motherhood is not "Mary Poppins", and in case you are wondering, every day of my life is not "Sex in the City."   Let's keep comparing notes.

Having said all that, I am not going to lie.  I will use Marks theory to soothe myself when I do get blue.  For now I am happy having my time, freedom and access to 15 peeps to fawn over.  Now if I could only find someone to make out with...

Read more at: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/marcus-buckingham/womens-happiness-what-we_b_295876.html

WATCH THE BATTLE OVER HEALTH CARE TONIGHT

Tonight PBS is broadcasting a special report about health care reform.  Click here for a video preview and to check the schedule in your area.

From Abby Kavanaugh, KCET eNews Editor

Although the drama surrounding the current health care debate has made for some entertaining TV, it has also served as a distraction from any real analysis of the proposed reforms and their impact on Americans.

I don’t know about you, but I feel as if there’s way too much at stake for me to take sides on this issue based merely on the opinions of pundits and talk show hosts. Both political parties can make an impassioned case for their position, but only PBS offers the kind of analysis and insight you need to understand the reality behind the rhetoric.

On September 24, KCET will air a 90-minute PBS Special Report on Health Care Reform. An unprecedented collaboration of the hallmark PBS programs NOW on PBS, Tavis Smiley and Nightly Business Report, the special will include late-breaking news and analysis on the debate and will explore the potential cultural, political and economic impact of health care reform on everyday Americans.

This issue is too important to simply have an opinion. It’s essential to have an informed opinion.

I agree Abby!  I hope this non-profit public broadcasting service will give us a truly non partisan viewpoint.  Know what you are talking about at dinner parties with your friends.    It's way more fun for you and your listener when you are ranting and screaming with an informed opinion (a lecture I give to myself... since I tend to rant and scream fairly loudly).   :  )

HUGH JACKMAN - CRIKEY!!

G'Day Mate!  You missed a little soap on your back there Mr. Hugh Jackman, let me get that for you...

I'm 12, I know.   This scene is from Australia which I watched the other day.  It was better than the reviews had led me to believe.  It starts out a little campy and cartooney, but comes around.  It's big and cinematic which makes me wish I would have seen it in the theater.  Then I could have seen Hugh shirtless in large scale... ah, regret.  I have always liked Nicole Kidman and think she is beautiful but her face, particularly her lips, looks different to me.  I'm just sayin'.   The two have great chemistry together and it's nice to see grand glorious romance between grown adults.  I am a sucker for films with women who come into a totally messed up situation and rights it all, even if everything gets blown to bits by the Japanese (ooop, sorry for the spoiler).  It's a long film so make sure you have plenty of popcorn and the remote so you can pause for a potty break (and the shower scene).



NYT Review:  “Australia” is rated PG-13 (Parents strongly cautioned). Some bloody violence, many stampeding hooves.

WHAT KIND OF ANIMAL AM I?

The other night I was out with a friend and I decided I needed a trip to Pinkberry.   Pinkberry is a trendy frozen yogurt shop found all over Los Angeles.  There is one in my neighborhood that I frequent from time to time and recently they have added a new attraction to their store.  A 6'5" tattooed giant of a ... Man.  As I am looking to change old patterns in my life that haven't really served me well, I now know that I am only allowed to look, but not touch the kind of guys I am instantly attracted to.  My friend was observing our interaction and when I came back to the table she says "he was totally checking you out" and I said "tall boys always look at tall girls, besides he's probably 25 years old." (They imagine themselves with NBA or NFL sized sons).  Now that I have crossed the border into 40, I find myself in the land of "is that icky?"  I knew it was icky when the man/boy at Blockbuster kept hitting on me.  Where's you're boyfriend?  Do you have a boyfriend?  Do you think men are intimidated by you?  I told him the beard he had grown out all long and bushy made him look like a terrorist.  Next time I saw him, it was gone.  According to Wikipedia there is a formula to help one figure out what your socially acceptable mating and dating range is.

There is a formula!?  By the way, you only have to add 5 years if he's foreign.  That means I can go as young as 27 1/2 unless he's 25 1/2 and opens with bon jour.  68 is the highest I can go, but that seems unlikely as I already have a father who has always been good to me, whom I quite adore, and he is younger than that.

Being a Cougar and dating one are all the rage these days, but I can't quite check that box on the list of characteristics that might describe me.  When I was in my 20's I was not a Cougar Pup, I was not a Puma in my 30's and I am not an aggressive man chaser now.  Maybe this is why I am single, who knows.  I like what I like and it's pretty rare that that shows up.  On said rare occasion my legs and brain go soft, which renders me a useless hunter and fairly easy prey (not that kind of easy).   Perhaps I am more like the Giant Cuttle fish of Australia.  The males show off to separate the men from the boys (convenient), usually the biggest one wins (I like big) because he can defend the best and biggest spot to lay eggs, also impressing the female that he can be tough (love it).  After all the "bravado" and he has won the females attention, he shows his tender side (we all know that takes a real man).  But not for long, he knows that competitors will never stop trying to get to his brood and his babe, so it's back to being on guard (I love me a man who will be manly).

So I guess if I were to meet a 27 1/2 plus year old nerd (that's what I'm going for these days) who behaves like a Giant Cuttle Fish and thinks cankles are hot, I would have to get over myself and give it a try.

P.S.  Thanks for all the comments Momma!

AN ODE TO HOT ENGLISH CHASTITY

I stole the title of this post completely from the New York Times review of the film "Bright Star".  Hot English chastity, it's just too good.  I went to an advance screening of this film last week and found it quite lush and lovely.  I was apprehensive remembering that Jane Campion's film "The Piano" was a hot un-chaste New Zealand film about passion, infidelity, and frustration.  I remember wanting to sink to the bottom of the ocean along with the piano at the end of that two hours.  This is a film I happily recommend to my 18th century film loving sisters (regular and in laws) and my Momma.  It's a great candidate for a mommies night out.  Take your favorite girls and your mom (no awkward moments here), that way you can sustain the swoon for a little while longer while you discuss your favorite swoonie parts.   It's romantic, beautifully shot, and the pacing is such that just getting to sit there without being hassled by your progeny will be enough to make it thoroughly delicious.  There is a beautiful little red headed actress who you will wish had more screen time because she too, is just too good and thoroughly delicious.  Bright Star is the love story of the poet John Keats and Fanny Brawne.



“Bright Star” is rated PG (parental guidance suggested). It is perfectly chaste and insanely sexy.  (Also stolen from the NYT!).

A CURE FOR WHAT AILS

I have found a temporary cure for my self diagnosed "vehicular turrets syndrome".  I have been in search of one since I succumed to the fact that I have absolutely no control over what comes out of my mouth, gets said in my brain to myself (even about old ladies), and specific but involuntary gestures that have different meanings in foreign countries.  When I am standing at the gates of hell, I will know for certain why I am there.  This troubles me, but what to do.  A friend recently advised me to stop fighting against myself and my natural ways and just figure out how to go with my flow.  Makes sense, putting all that energy into fighting my natural inclination to hate everyone behind a wheel, and then hate myself for hating them (sooo deeply, passionately, and instantaneously), is just causing a massive black thundercloud to form over my head and my Honda.  Don't get me wrong, I am justified in my vitriol towards bad or just plain crazy drivers.  If you are wielding around a 4000 lb piece of metal and glass that can quickly become a death device for me or someone I love (or anyone for that matter), and you don't know what you're doing, are not paying attention, or drive at speeds above the posted limit because you think it's o.k. for YOU, don't YOU call ME anti-social when I tell you where to get off!  Deep Breath.  See?

So, today.  I had to make a 28 mile drive to meet my tax accountant.  In LA 28 miles could mean it will take half an hour, or an hour and a half to get there, depending.  Potential long drive, neck muscles all tied up from a night of preparing for a tax meeting, and a tax meeting.  Recipe for a rage fueled terror ride all the way to Bellflower, CA.   In comes the miracle cure, an album by a band called Phoenix.  It's just happy enough and interesting enough to make me want to crank it loud and dance around in my seat.  If it makes a bit of a spectacle who cares, it's better than the alternative.  I am much cuter doing the bucket seat boogie.

BABY BRAINS ARE BEAUTIFUL

I listened to this very interesting podcast on my walk to the Farmers Market the other day (how green of me you say).  I was walking listening to talking about a man who walks the walk AND talks the talk.  Geoffery Canada is an American who has developed a program designed to lift the poorest children in the US out of poverty, and stop the cycle forever.  He and his program, the Harlem Children's Zone, are on my hot list of things to investigate and get behind. 

The casualties and ghosts of the abandoned war on poverty sit in our classrooms, walk our streets and waste away in our prisons. This is truly the American Nightmare: impoverished, uneducated and unemployable amid a land of plenty. We can continue to ignore them and pay the price or we can call up the national resolve to fight – and through education, win – the country’s abandoned war on poverty.  Geoffrey Canada

Don't be fooled by the first few seconds of this Charlie Rose segment with Geoffrey. It's not about Bill Clinton (a mantra I recommend Bill learn and repeat, repeatedly).

THE SECRET TO STAYING INSIDE

I didn't leave the house today, there was no reason to.  I had everything I needed for this day in the 10' x 10' space I sat in.  All day.  My computer desk sits in front of a window (fresh air) that looks out onto the downtown Los Angeles skyline (view I enjoy).  The street in front of the house is very busy with pretty much non-stop traffic (lots of action, don't feel like I'm alone in the world), and every few minutes I get a sample of what people are listening and singing to (comedy) on the radio (world culture).  Lately there has been a lot of Michael Jackson mixed in with the Mariachi.  I have started wearing maxi dresses around the house.  They are comfortable when it's hot, non-confining, and since I have gone to some length to pick the right ones, I feel sexy when behaving like a sloth.  I have the internet of course, so I spent the day educating myself about retirement planning, P/E ratios and chart analysis (bettered myself).  I read the newest news about the oldest person in the world, watched this promo for a new documentary, and answered a poll about whether I think Penelope Cruz is pregnant or not (entertained myself).  But the very best part of the day came when it was time to feed myself.  Dominoes.com.   I wondered if it was possible to order in pizza online, the answer is YES!  I was able to order it custom, exactly the way I like it, pay for it and see how many calories it would be if (when) I ate the whole thing.  And the best feature of all, I got to watch a meter showing precisely where in the whole process my pizza was.  Pizza $10 and change, Coke $2, tip for adorable man with heavy accent $3.

 

Priceless.

I knew exactly when it was time to put some pants on to greet the driver (thank you Evita, he said).  I won't do this often because it was 1000 calories, but it was the most perfectly hot pizza and cold coke I have ever had.

MY CAT CAN EAT A WHOLE WATERMELON

I stayed in today because I am feeling nauseous and tired. One of the things they don't tell you in the 6th grade sex ed class is that sometimes the whole woman cycle thing can really ring all the fun out of you. Not only do you get the mood swings and weight gain, but you also get exclusive membership in the acne of the month club. This month it's tiny little painful bumps on my chin and arms. Sexy. Or maybe I'm just coming down with something and it has nothing to do with PMS, who knows. In any case I thought my favorite summer treat would help me feel better, a big bowl of ice cold watermelon. Mmmmm.  I use an ice cream scoop to make great giant watermelon balls and keep my fridge stocked for as long as it is in season. 12oz of watermelon is only 102 calories, that's a lot of summer love. I was dishing myself up and from somewhere in the deep crinkles of my brain echoed My cat can eat a whole watermelon! It's a line from a bizarro movie called Ruben & Ed that came out in 1991. The film was made in Salt Lake City by a local director and became a cult classic. I will never not laugh when I see this clip. It's my favorite kind of brilliant stupid.  Ruben is having a heat induced hallucination in the middle of the desert where he has gone to bury his dead cat. I hope that when I am an old old lady this is where my brain goes.

THERE IS FREEDOM WITHIN

I was watching a DVD at home today when this song came on.  Flashback to 1986, the year I graduated from High School.  Sidetrack:   I am having another flashback...of the time a few years ago when a kid working in my office mentioned that he was born that year.  I started laughing hysterically and then threw up a little in my mouth.  That grown man/boy was born the year I graduated.  Sigh.  Back to 1986.   I took my fashion cues from her, and I loved this song.

DON'T DREAM IT'S OVER

by Crowded House

There is freedom within, there is freedom without
Try to catch the deluge in a paper cup
There's a battle ahead, many battles are lost
But you'll never see the end of the road
While you're traveling with me

WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE

Today I took my cankles out for a walk and was nearly plowed over and devoured.  Or at the least the first part.  A woman in a hurry was backing out of her driveway.  I watched to make sure she saw me because she was, after all,  driving a white Mustang (who drives mustangs any more... this is not a muscle car town?!).  I stopped on the sidewalk as she started pulling out.  She stopped.  I started walking again. Just as I was smack dab behind her she hits the gas and I was up to my elbow in Mustang screaming Whoa!  Whoa!  !@#$!!!   She must have heard me or seen me contorted around her trunk because she slammed on her brakes and immediately rolled down her window begging for forgiveness.  She looked both ways!  She's so sorry!  She didn't see me!  She said all this to my back as I was not going to stick around and get in a yelling match with an undoubtedly over caffeinated Mustang driver.

I was of course very shaken by this but continued my walk.  Some survival gene got juiced by the trauma and for the rest of the walk I saw nothing but danger ahead.  There was a small flock of five or so crows on the grass in front of me.  Living in Los Angeles provides them with much to eat (rats, trash, fertilized grass) and they were huge.  As I approached they squawked and flew off but I thought, what if they didn't fly off?  What is they were rabid or as crazed by the heat as I am and decide that between the five of them they could take me?  Their feet are as big as my hands! 

Later I passed a man walking his dog.  Lots of people have dogs in my neighborhood and 8am is when they take them out for their morning constitutional.  One dog was little, but the other was GIANT and hairy, so hairy that you couldn't see his eyes.  Never trust a dog whose eye you can't see.  I imagined what it would be like if he decided he could take me, he's bigger than me AND his owner.  But then I got distracted by the thought that I could never own a pet for whom I had to follow and pick up a HANDFUL of warm poop. I avoided the whole thing by taking an extra wide distance as I passed.

When you are single and not working, you have to ask yourself every once in a while, if I were attacked by killer crows in the middle of the day, who would know?  Sure, eventually someone would notice that I'm not around, but by then it would be too late, the crows would have already told their buddies who would have finished me off.  I would already be calories for crows.

I need to stop listening to Ayn Rand on my lovely walks in my beautiful neighborhood.  In the meantime crows, Mustangs and the people who drive them have been added to my list of notorious outdoor predators (real or imagined).

ART CAN CALM THE SAVAGE BEAST

This morning I woke up and realized that sometime during the night I must have gotten up and taken a double dose of irritable.  When I am awake I don't remember where I keep it, but it must be here somewhere.  It's the only explanation for how I could go to bed feeling fine, get 7 hours of uninterrupted restful sleep, and wake up ready to give birth through my chest (all Sci-Fi like) to the angry alien gestating in there.

It's also 93 degrees, humid, and the air is a freaky color and full of ash from the fires.  And I have PMS.  Luckily for me (and all of mankind really) I had made plans to go to the Getty Center for an architecture and gardens tour with Jen this afternoon.  Art and air conditioning can always calm the savage beast.  Here are some photos I took around the property.

FINANCIAL WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION

Watch CBS Videos Online

ME AND THE LAPD

We got a thing going on.  I have gotten so worked up about it that I am exhausted and must now attempt to find inner peace by turning to a higher level of thinking, or risk losing my relative sanity.  I have moved past denial and into acceptance that there is clearly a vast conspiracy within the LAPD to harass me in an agressive and persistent manner.  I present the facts:

1.  Several weeks after taking a lovely spa weekend trip to Arizona, I received a Notice of Delinquent Parking Violation from the City of Los Angeles Parking Violations Bureau.  It has to do with license plates they say were not there, that ARE there and have never not been there.  I have been fighting it since June 17th, it was "issued" on May 23.  The details of the whole drama are too emotionally difficult for me to relive, but my ranting post I'M MAD AS HELL with all the gory details, is available here.  STATUS:  Still pending while they review the photographic evidence and mildly worded argument I submitted several weeks ago.

2.  On July 30th I was driving home at night when I was pulled over by a Sheriff who on upon laying eyes on me said "you're not Jose Garcia."  I think it was the blond braids and 36C's that gave it away.  Apparently Jose has a warrant out for his arrest.  He took my ID back to his car for a minute, asked me a few creepy questions, stated he had "never seen anything like this before, " and apologized for pulling me over.  STATUS:  No ticket, but that night I slept with the safety disabled on my bedside bear spray can.

3.  On August 22nd I was pulled over for crossing a double yellow line during the process of making a left hand turn.  Any monkey with a tape measure (me) is capable of marking off on the sidewalk (and photographing) where I would have had to veer into heavy oncoming traffic while avoiding (1) crashing into the Starbucks storefront and patrons (2) sideswiping the SUV waiting at the stop sign on the street I was turning onto (3) the small family I waited for as they pushed a stroller across the street I was turning on to.   I know this is Hollywood but if had I actually done what the ticket states, it would have looked like a scene from Starsky and Hutch complete with screeching tires, people diving out of the way and chicken coops flying everywhere.  I WILL NOT PAY THIS TICKET EITHER.  STATUS:  They don't even allow you to follow up on the citation until three weeks after it happened. 
 

4.  And today, August 31.  Expired parking meter, $50.  This one I will pay because it's actually legitimate.  I was over by 10 minutes.  Which they knew.  Because they're watching me.  STATUS:  Will pay tomorrow while murmuring @!#$%*!!

I KNOW HOW YOU FEEL WARD

 

YOU KNOW YOU'RE GETTING OLD WHEN

The first time I heard myself say I can't stand these new haircuts the boys are wearing, they are too poofy or their bangs are so long you can't see their eyes, I knew I had officially left rebelville and moved into appropriateland.  This is why people have mid-life crises.  You wake up one morning spewing forth words and phrases that not too long ago gave you hives.  How did I get here?

Back to the haircuts, but first this disclaimer.  **I HAVE NOT READ ANY OF THE TWILIGHT BOOKS, NOR HAVE I SEEN THE MOVIE.**  So forgive me as I use the following demigod to illustrate a good style idea gone wrong.

EXHIBIT A

See, even he's not that thrilled with it.  It takes a lot of product to get that kind of lift.  I am glad he had it cut recently.  He must have seen a little bit of himself in the same photo I did and decided that wasn't going to flip the switch for tweeners and housewives much longer.  Girls like a head of hair they can run their finger through, not one that snags your sweater or provides refuge for a small flock of sparrows.

Maybe if I saw the movie I would get it.  Maybe I'm really "out of it."  Up until 10 min. ago I thought his name was Robert Patterson.



EXHIBIT B                                  EXHIBIT C
 

BETWEEN THE KNEES AND TOES

My body image recently underwent a change of attitude.  I came home from a trip to my apartment which had undergone some remodeling while I was away.  In addition to getting a new and improved bathroom (which is...awesome) I asked for a mirror I had recently bought to be hung.  This mirror is not the thing, it's the mirror that it replaced that has rocked my world.  That mirror is sitting on the floor of my bedroom propped against my spinner.  For the past few days, the first thing I see when I get out of bed are my calves, warmly referred to by me as my cankles.  I am very happy to have legs that work, but acknowledge that I have no ankles, just calves that connect to feet.  This body part on me is where "sturdy lass" comes from.  One might think I am just exaggerating so I will recite the following true story:

I worked on a TV show called "Jake in Progress."  During season one a character (Wendy Malick) is pregnant, and complains of swollen ankles.  We were discussing that we were going to need a swollen ankle double for a close up (Wendy has incredibly fantastic model legs) when the AD reached down and pulled up my pant leg.

She said, "Eve, you're doing it."
I said, "B**ch."

Ultimately we found a suitable photo double and I eventually learned to like the AD again. 

I am currently on the pudgy end of my personal weight fluctuation continuum, and my new familiarity with my calves is changing my whole approach to diet and exercise.  I now see my cankles as the Susan Boyle of my body.  They are talented and hidden away and just need a haircut, a little time in the sun (or the fake equivalent of such) and a few less biscuits.  They crack me up and carry me around, they deserve a make-over and I am happy to oblige.

MY NYA IS MADE OF PINK FOAM...

My niece Nya turned 4 yesterday. Happy Birthday Nya! She is 4 going on 15, with a bullet.  Recently when I was home visiting, my sister and I were heading to Chuck E Cheese with her kids.  We heard Brynn asking Nya what kind of birthday party she wanted to have. It went like this:

Brynn: What kind of party do you want to have Nya?
Nya: Something that's boyish.
Brynn: Like Spiderman? or Superman? Why do you want it to be boyish?
Nya: Because then the BOYS WILL LIKE IT! (Duh).

Oh Boy. My Nya is made of pink foam. I have said so since she was born. When you pick her up she feels like she weighs nothing even though she's full of trouble, willful determination, and boy crazy.

They continued their discussion about party activities, and I chatted on with my sister until we heard Nya say "Well... I guess they don't have to get punched in the face..."

Happy Birthday Nya, I like your style.