In approximately 14 days, The Baroness and the Baron will be traipsing, nay - meandering - through this lovely place:
I.
Can.
Not.
Wait.
What storms leave behind
2 weeks ago
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
A Glowing Light
Whilst stalking, er,
While I'm a sucker for all of these period pieces (even with their lack of shiny), the line that transfixed me was one between Jane Austen and her cousin Cassandra on a story Jane was thinking of.
While I'm a sucker for all of these period pieces (even with their lack of shiny), the line that transfixed me was one between Jane Austen and her cousin Cassandra on a story Jane was thinking of.
Cassandra: Will it be a happy marriage?
Jane: It will be an incadescent marriage.
Jane: It will be an incadescent marriage.
Wow.
Incandescent.
That there be a powerful word - bringing forth both sighs and envy.
For today, put aside both your pride and your prejudice. By whatever means necessary - try to bring that brilliance, that luminosity into your union.
Only happy endings can come of it.
Monday, July 28, 2008
And the Best Actress Oscar Goes to....
...The Baroness, for her outstanding performance in the summer blockbuster, "Le Exchange Francais"!
Last night, at some ungodly hour, we dropped off Julien and our very wired Duke #2 at the airport for their midnight excursion back across the Atlantic for the Duke's 4 week stay.
When Duke 2 hugged me goodbye, I so wanted to embrace him with such a fierce strength, with so much love that I would squeeze the jelly out of him.
But I didn't.
When he gave me a kiss goodbye, I so wanted to smother his man-boy face with kisses, and tell him over and over and over how much I loved him.
But I didn't.
When he asked me, "You're not going to cry, are you Mom?", I activated my armored shell and calmly said of course not - I was so excited for him, and he was going to have the adventure of a lifetime.
But I so wanted to just burst into tears and let him know how much his loving spirit uplifts our home every day, how much I adore who he is, how he is one of the 3 most important things in the world to me, and how his exchange family will swiftly fall under his magical charm, and that he will be on my mind every second until I see him again.
But I didn't.
But - oh, my God - how I wanted to.
And that, my friend, is why I'm holding this little gold statue right now.
Last night, at some ungodly hour, we dropped off Julien and our very wired Duke #2 at the airport for their midnight excursion back across the Atlantic for the Duke's 4 week stay.
When Duke 2 hugged me goodbye, I so wanted to embrace him with such a fierce strength, with so much love that I would squeeze the jelly out of him.
But I didn't.
When he gave me a kiss goodbye, I so wanted to smother his man-boy face with kisses, and tell him over and over and over how much I loved him.
But I didn't.
When he asked me, "You're not going to cry, are you Mom?", I activated my armored shell and calmly said of course not - I was so excited for him, and he was going to have the adventure of a lifetime.
But I so wanted to just burst into tears and let him know how much his loving spirit uplifts our home every day, how much I adore who he is, how he is one of the 3 most important things in the world to me, and how his exchange family will swiftly fall under his magical charm, and that he will be on my mind every second until I see him again.
But I didn't.
But - oh, my God - how I wanted to.
And that, my friend, is why I'm holding this little gold statue right now.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
La Grande Finale
Tonight marks the last evening of our student Julien's stay with us. Tomorrow, he and my wee baby (my wee 16 year old baby...) will be leavin' on a jet plane, back to the Amelie-land. We have tried to explain in our sad, sad Fren-glish the colloquial "Only One More Sleep!", but this is proving to be one of those things lost in translation. Completely.
As a treat to send our travellers off with a bang, we are joining the throng of certifiables who will converge on the shores of our fair city to see the latest competitor in our yearly summer international fireworks contest, "The Celebration of Light". Tonight's crew of pyros is from China, and I'm hoping that they are not being stingy with their fireworks budget to save it all for the Olympics. I'm ready to be shocked and awed (and then be shocked and awed 3 hours later, when the initial buzz wear off).
This event used to be called the "Symphony of Fire". "Symphony" referred to the fact that the displays are set to classical music and broadcast over a local radio station. And the pyrotechnics magically begin with by "Fire". But I guess the whole "Fire" part of the equation proved troublesome, as other spectators felt compelled to return to the cave and provide their own fires.
Oooh, Thag so loaded. Fire in sky. Thag like. Fire pretty. Thag must make own pretty. Thag no like handcuffs.
Thag sad.
So, we will camp out with the drunks, the Grey Poupon crowd, the whiny children, the bats, the bugs, and the absolute spectacle that is all this:
As a treat to send our travellers off with a bang, we are joining the throng of certifiables who will converge on the shores of our fair city to see the latest competitor in our yearly summer international fireworks contest, "The Celebration of Light". Tonight's crew of pyros is from China, and I'm hoping that they are not being stingy with their fireworks budget to save it all for the Olympics. I'm ready to be shocked and awed (and then be shocked and awed 3 hours later, when the initial buzz wear off).
This event used to be called the "Symphony of Fire". "Symphony" referred to the fact that the displays are set to classical music and broadcast over a local radio station. And the pyrotechnics magically begin with by "Fire". But I guess the whole "Fire" part of the equation proved troublesome, as other spectators felt compelled to return to the cave and provide their own fires.
Oooh, Thag so loaded. Fire in sky. Thag like. Fire pretty. Thag must make own pretty. Thag no like handcuffs.
Thag sad.
So, we will camp out with the drunks, the Grey Poupon crowd, the whiny children, the bats, the bugs, and the absolute spectacle that is all this:
(click on picture to enlarge to see it in all its majesty)Ooh, shiny. Check it out, Thag.
And for God's sake, put down that lighter.
And for God's sake, put down that lighter.
Friday, July 25, 2008
I D'noh
Today the Baroness will be practising her mad scrapbooking skillz, as she prepares a travel manifesto of sorts for our cher etudiente d'exchange Julien to take home to his Maman in France. To let her know what he did while he was here for 3.5 weeks, on what day, and include pictures, and maps and all other touristy doo-dad-ery.
Why, may you ask, would I do this? Because, as the mother of any teenaged boy is aware, when one asks what said boy did over a period of an hour, a day, a week - the answer is is universally the same.
The cherished, monosyllabic I D'noh. Usually grunted out with a puff of air.
Like we're being instrusive. Or they've got some viral disease which wipes out their short-term memory. Either way, une grande sucky answer.
They could have spent a week at Rock Camp jamming with Slash, being painting assistants for the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition, playing the Beta version of Jimmy Hendrix Guitar Hero at Activision HQ, getting tips from Hef at the Playboy mansion, golfing with Tiger at his home in Hawaii.
Yet when you ask them what they've done - I D'noh.
God grant me the patience and grace to get through the rest of the summer.
Why, may you ask, would I do this? Because, as the mother of any teenaged boy is aware, when one asks what said boy did over a period of an hour, a day, a week - the answer is is universally the same.
The cherished, monosyllabic I D'noh. Usually grunted out with a puff of air.
Like we're being instrusive. Or they've got some viral disease which wipes out their short-term memory. Either way, une grande sucky answer.
They could have spent a week at Rock Camp jamming with Slash, being painting assistants for the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition, playing the Beta version of Jimmy Hendrix Guitar Hero at Activision HQ, getting tips from Hef at the Playboy mansion, golfing with Tiger at his home in Hawaii.
Yet when you ask them what they've done - I D'noh.
God grant me the patience and grace to get through the rest of the summer.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Thoughtful Thursday
Today's subject: Earthquakes.
Reading my favorite go-to compendium of knowledge, The Intellectual Devotional, there was a post-article footnote that caught my eye, and provides a new spin on the whole Global Warming "theory" (yeah, they're still working on proving that one - they don't seem to have quite enough documented evidence yet to believe it)(because all the documenters have been either drowned, blown away or starved to death):
"The indigenous people of Mozambique believe that the earth is a living creature with the same problems as people. When it gets sick with fever and chills, we feel it shake."
This, to my mind - in its beautiful simplicity - is pure genius.
Perhaps herein lies a theory that government intelligence can get their heads around.
Thag feel ground shake. Earth sick. Get doctor. Fix now. Ugh.
Screw Al Gore and all his scientific proof.
Thag feel ground shake. Earth sick. Get doctor. Fix now. Ugh.
Screw Al Gore and all his scientific proof.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
The S-Word
I suppose, if one is open enough to coincidence, happenstance - and all the other "-ce" words that involve inspiration - one can find something to write about every day.
I would shamefacedly admit that I have not been too open as of late. Much physical and emotional activity swirls around the von Bloggenschtern abode, and in the frenzy of it all, I tend put on both blinders and armor, and do my best to just clunk through every day.
But, sometimes...
Sometimes, when it's first thing in the morning, and when the house is still and I know my little chickies are all sound asleep in their nests, and I can hear the dog snoring away his doggy dreams on the couch, sometimes then I can prise open the plating just a little, and be aware of that which is set in front of me.
So.
As I leafed through an issue of one of my magazines that has sat on the counter, sad and unread for a month, I came across a sidebar in the Health section that made me sit up and take notice. Got my dander up. Stuck in my craw.
Quoted was an excerpt from Kris Carr's book, "Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips". The title of the piece?
Don't know about Kris Carr? She made quite a stir not too long ago with her documentary "Crazy Sexy Cancer", about her diagnosis of a rare and incurable cancer and her subsequent journey back to health through organic nutrition. She has since had a TLC special, and written a book.
She's also one of our blogspot neighbors, and her site is all at once informative, humorous, humble, inspirational and wise.
However.
There is one particular topic on which Ms. Carr and I part ways. Let me first quote the excerpt:
"Until recently, I didn't dare use the S-word. That was a special term reserved for remarkable, strong people. 'Survivors' belonged to a ritzy, dress-code-only country club, a place where the jet-setting cancer-free toasted themselves and hobnobbed. 'Dahhhhhling, I'm a survivor, pass the Grey Poupon.' I wanted so badly to join. But, in my mind, the only way through the emerald gates was remission, or maybe a job as a dishwasher...
Are we not 'surviving' while managing the demands of a busy life? Whether you've made it through the battle or are still in the trenches, pink hats, special ribbons and raised hands for everyone - not just the 'winners'. When I started to call myself a survivor, my whole attitude changed. I put cancer behind me (even though it was still full blown Stage IV) and started living again."
Let it be known, officially, right here and right now, that Shelley Jaffe (a/k/a The Baroness) loathes and despises the word "survivor".
For, as Ms. Carr, points out- it is an exclusive club. But on a much larger scale than anyone cares to think about.
To refer to oneself as a "cancer survivor" means, in my mind, infers that yeah, yeah, yeah - you once had cancer, but you don't anymore. You survived it.
Hence the exclusivity.
What about all of those people who, as Ms. Carr points out, manage to make it through the demands of their busy lives while still in the throes of the disease?
The ones who struggle day after day to put on the brave face for their spouses, their children, their friends - even when all they want to do is to curl into a fetal position and sleep for 3 days straight?
What of the ones who daily, hourly, semi-hourly barf themselves inside out to the point of being a dessicated shell of their former selves?
What about those "survivors"?
The "survivors" that die?
What do we call these brave, courageous, tenacious souls? They tried. Valiantly, with any atom of strength and grace they had left. They faced their mortality, eyeball to eyeball, and they still died.
How on earth can anyone have the audacity to call themselves a "survivor" in the face of all that?
I know that I can't.
At the outset of my diagnosis, I knew right away that I would have a fair bit of work ahead of me, just dealing with the vernacular that goes along with all things cancer-related.
I called my chemotherapy time "sessions" rather than "rounds"; the latter sounded too much like a UFC match with a clear winner and loser.
I said I was "receiving" chemo, rather than "undergoing"; the latter sounded like I was a victim, strapped to the table and writhing in opposition.
And most of all I hated the phrase "battling cancer", for while those of us afflicted try our hardest to deal with it, the whole battle scenario seemed to empower the cancer, making it a worthy and powerful opponent. The whole battlefield allegory was just not my scene.
My good friends Mr. Merriam and Mr. Webster describe the word "Survivor" in one respect as
So maybe I'm a Cancer Withstander.
I like that much better.
I would shamefacedly admit that I have not been too open as of late. Much physical and emotional activity swirls around the von Bloggenschtern abode, and in the frenzy of it all, I tend put on both blinders and armor, and do my best to just clunk through every day.
But, sometimes...
Sometimes, when it's first thing in the morning, and when the house is still and I know my little chickies are all sound asleep in their nests, and I can hear the dog snoring away his doggy dreams on the couch, sometimes then I can prise open the plating just a little, and be aware of that which is set in front of me.
So.
As I leafed through an issue of one of my magazines that has sat on the counter, sad and unread for a month, I came across a sidebar in the Health section that made me sit up and take notice. Got my dander up. Stuck in my craw.
Quoted was an excerpt from Kris Carr's book, "Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips". The title of the piece?
"Tip No. 36 - Replace the word patient with the word survivor"
Don't know about Kris Carr? She made quite a stir not too long ago with her documentary "Crazy Sexy Cancer", about her diagnosis of a rare and incurable cancer and her subsequent journey back to health through organic nutrition. She has since had a TLC special, and written a book.
She's also one of our blogspot neighbors, and her site is all at once informative, humorous, humble, inspirational and wise.
However.
There is one particular topic on which Ms. Carr and I part ways. Let me first quote the excerpt:
"Until recently, I didn't dare use the S-word. That was a special term reserved for remarkable, strong people. 'Survivors' belonged to a ritzy, dress-code-only country club, a place where the jet-setting cancer-free toasted themselves and hobnobbed. 'Dahhhhhling, I'm a survivor, pass the Grey Poupon.' I wanted so badly to join. But, in my mind, the only way through the emerald gates was remission, or maybe a job as a dishwasher...
Are we not 'surviving' while managing the demands of a busy life? Whether you've made it through the battle or are still in the trenches, pink hats, special ribbons and raised hands for everyone - not just the 'winners'. When I started to call myself a survivor, my whole attitude changed. I put cancer behind me (even though it was still full blown Stage IV) and started living again."
Let it be known, officially, right here and right now, that Shelley Jaffe (a/k/a The Baroness) loathes and despises the word "survivor".
For, as Ms. Carr, points out- it is an exclusive club. But on a much larger scale than anyone cares to think about.
To refer to oneself as a "cancer survivor" means, in my mind, infers that yeah, yeah, yeah - you once had cancer, but you don't anymore. You survived it.
Hence the exclusivity.
What about all of those people who, as Ms. Carr points out, manage to make it through the demands of their busy lives while still in the throes of the disease?
The ones who struggle day after day to put on the brave face for their spouses, their children, their friends - even when all they want to do is to curl into a fetal position and sleep for 3 days straight?
What of the ones who daily, hourly, semi-hourly barf themselves inside out to the point of being a dessicated shell of their former selves?
What about those "survivors"?
The "survivors" that die?
What do we call these brave, courageous, tenacious souls? They tried. Valiantly, with any atom of strength and grace they had left. They faced their mortality, eyeball to eyeball, and they still died.
How on earth can anyone have the audacity to call themselves a "survivor" in the face of all that?
I know that I can't.
At the outset of my diagnosis, I knew right away that I would have a fair bit of work ahead of me, just dealing with the vernacular that goes along with all things cancer-related.
I called my chemotherapy time "sessions" rather than "rounds"; the latter sounded too much like a UFC match with a clear winner and loser.
I said I was "receiving" chemo, rather than "undergoing"; the latter sounded like I was a victim, strapped to the table and writhing in opposition.
And most of all I hated the phrase "battling cancer", for while those of us afflicted try our hardest to deal with it, the whole battle scenario seemed to empower the cancer, making it a worthy and powerful opponent. The whole battlefield allegory was just not my scene.
My good friends Mr. Merriam and Mr. Webster describe the word "Survivor" in one respect as
"to continue to function or prosper despite... syn. withstand."
So maybe I'm a Cancer Withstander.
I like that much better.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Diggin' it, Maui-Style
One of the Baroness' favorite places in the whole wild world is Maui. Time seems to stop, and everyone moves in a slow, peaceful rhythm. Love it, LOVE it, LOVE IT!
I would move there tomorrow if I could. I find it one of the most calming places on Earth.
Although, according to the Baron's Quantum Theory (or was it Einstein's?)(Or maybe the Baron is Einstein...) where no space is created or destroyed, equal amounts of Maui residents are as eager to leave the island to come live in Vancouver.
Huh.
I never was really good at Physics. But it sounds like if this is the case, there's gonna be an apartment available up in Kapalua. Cool.
This I understand.
On the von B's last pilgrimage to all that is pineapple, we came across a great local radio station.
Imagine my delight when I found out they have a streaming audio you can play on the laptop.
So, I'm currently in the back yard gardening, and groovin' on KPOA. All I need's a little surf sound lapping in the background, and I'm back to Mellowville.
Alohaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
I would move there tomorrow if I could. I find it one of the most calming places on Earth.
Although, according to the Baron's Quantum Theory (or was it Einstein's?)(Or maybe the Baron is Einstein...) where no space is created or destroyed, equal amounts of Maui residents are as eager to leave the island to come live in Vancouver.
Huh.
I never was really good at Physics. But it sounds like if this is the case, there's gonna be an apartment available up in Kapalua. Cool.
This I understand.
On the von B's last pilgrimage to all that is pineapple, we came across a great local radio station.
Imagine my delight when I found out they have a streaming audio you can play on the laptop.
So, I'm currently in the back yard gardening, and groovin' on KPOA. All I need's a little surf sound lapping in the background, and I'm back to Mellowville.
Alohaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
The Dark Knight - REVEALED!!!
Ah, the Summer Blockbuster.
Here's what I learned:
Ssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!
Batman is really- wait for it................
Bruce.
Frickin'
Wayne.
I so did not see that coming.
A-A-A-A-N-D.....
That Meryl Streep really CAN play anyone, and does an bang-up job of portraying the always- complex Alfred.
Plus all the ABBA songs? Really lightened things up.
Oh.
Wait.
'Tis a ritual in the von Bloggenschtern family to see these on the first day. Why? you may ask.
And I will look you straight in the eye and tell you that we are collectively certifiable.
Mercifully, for the anally retentive vonB's, the box office sells tickets for these cinematic money makers a day early [for the organizationally-challenged, what a darned shame that you can't get it together. Suckahs. You'll learn someday].
So, this is how it goes:
STEP 1. Arise Thursday morning and assure oneself that anal area is indeed retentive. Go to box office 10 minutes before it opens, on the off chance that you'll be first in line.
STEP 2: Stand in line, vouchers in hand, ready to pre-buy tickets when box office opens at 11:45 am
STEP 3: Wait until 12:00 pm while poor cashier tries to find someone with the g.d. keys to open up the cabinet where the extra POS paper is kept
STEP 4: Go up to cashier with 5 movie vouchers to buy IMAX tickets for DARK KNIGHT
STEP 5: Feel a little bit smug that you can still get tickets
STEP 6: Feel a whole lot stupid(and somewhat less retentive) when said cashier tells you that movie vouchers do not include movies in IMAX (as clearly specified on the back of the voucher)
STEP 7: Send messenger for wallet, go to back of line, re-enter process at Step 2
STEP 8: Secure tickets. Hide them in "safety place" to prevent being mugged by roving bands of graphic-novel thugs loitering outside the premises.
STEP 9: On Friday afternoon, send worker bees ahead to stand in line at 1:30 pm for the 3:30 pm show.
STEP 10: Wait in line for approximately one hour (feel smug again because reading material was thought of...)
STEP 11: File like lemmings into theatre and wait for THE most anticipated film of the summer.
Was it worth STEPS 1 through 11? You betcha. And I will look you straight in the eye and tell you that we are collectively certifiable.
Mercifully, for the anally retentive vonB's, the box office sells tickets for these cinematic money makers a day early [for the organizationally-challenged, what a darned shame that you can't get it together. Suckahs. You'll learn someday].
So, this is how it goes:
STEP 1. Arise Thursday morning and assure oneself that anal area is indeed retentive. Go to box office 10 minutes before it opens, on the off chance that you'll be first in line.
STEP 2: Stand in line, vouchers in hand, ready to pre-buy tickets when box office opens at 11:45 am
STEP 3: Wait until 12:00 pm while poor cashier tries to find someone with the g.d. keys to open up the cabinet where the extra POS paper is kept
STEP 4: Go up to cashier with 5 movie vouchers to buy IMAX tickets for DARK KNIGHT
STEP 5: Feel a little bit smug that you can still get tickets
STEP 6: Feel a whole lot stupid(and somewhat less retentive) when said cashier tells you that movie vouchers do not include movies in IMAX (as clearly specified on the back of the voucher)
STEP 7: Send messenger for wallet, go to back of line, re-enter process at Step 2
STEP 8: Secure tickets. Hide them in "safety place" to prevent being mugged by roving bands of graphic-novel thugs loitering outside the premises.
STEP 9: On Friday afternoon, send worker bees ahead to stand in line at 1:30 pm for the 3:30 pm show.
STEP 10: Wait in line for approximately one hour (feel smug again because reading material was thought of...)
STEP 11: File like lemmings into theatre and wait for THE most anticipated film of the summer.
Here's what I learned:
***** SPOILER ALERT *****
Ssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!
Batman is really- wait for it................
Bruce.
Frickin'
Wayne.
I so did not see that coming.
A-A-A-A-N-D.....
That Meryl Streep really CAN play anyone, and does an bang-up job of portraying the always- complex Alfred.
Plus all the ABBA songs? Really lightened things up.
Oh.
Wait.
Friday, July 18, 2008
My Favorite Letter? Definitely not P.
Buckle up, babies.
The Baroness is going on a major rant.
About public bathrooms.
Again.
It's summer. It's hot. In the great chain of honor, I'm honoring my yogi by honoring my body by keeping it hydrated.
Really hydrated.
Since we've been gallivanting all over the province this summer with our tres-French exchange student, I have had to attend to this all over the place.
And I gotta tell you.
Well, you know.
Here's the latest corollary of my on-going obsession.
*Warning: Digusting Factor is at Orange. I repeat, Disgusting Factor is at Orange.
1. Toilet Seat Jiggle
How many of us have unknowingly plopped our behind down, only to have the seat skate across the surface of the rim at lightning speed, nearly slamming us up against the stall wall?
How many of us have almost landed on the sticky, icky floor?
How many of us have almost put our backs out trying to right ourselves before we fall?
How many of us have had this thought racing through our head - "How f@%$#ing long would it take for some lame-ass maintenance person to sweep through the restrooms once a week, and tighten the screws that hold the seat on tight?" or "Damn it - I knew I should have brought that combination screwdriver/crescent wrench in my purse!"
So many questions, so few satisfactory answers.
To those accountable for the public washroom (Women's only - like I could give a rip about the Men's), if you're only going to check these necessary pieces of hardware every quarter century, maybe consider installing bars on either wall of the inner stall; so the Baroness has something to cling on to before my ass starts shimmying around like a Ouija Board with a very urgent message from beyond (A B-R-O-K-E-N H-I-P I-S I-M-M-I-N-E-N-T).
2. Floaters - Genus 1
Same goes for those sad little thong-pads that have lost their glue to fabric quotient. It's yours.
Deal.
I also blame Courtney Love - just because.
Ugh.
3. Floaters - Genus 2
Could you possibly wait to leave the stall until your deposit has, er, cleared? And if it hasn't, whoa! Bully for you - someone is getting enough fibre! Yeah!
But seriously? Keep trying. Take those extra 2 minutes. It's really your civic duty (haha - I said duty...).
4. Mystery Wads of TP Al-l-l-l Over the Floor
Why, why, why?
What's in there that can't possibly be flushed?
Barf.
The Baroness is going on a major rant.
About public bathrooms.
Again.
It's summer. It's hot. In the great chain of honor, I'm honoring my yogi by honoring my body by keeping it hydrated.
Really hydrated.
Like the great Derek Zoolander once said, "Moisture is the essence of wetness, and wetness is the essence of beauty", I tend to be all about the moisture (hence, my great beauty)(which you'll just have to trust me - is there. In spades, baby). As a result of being so moisture-vigilant (because really - have you ever had a dehydration headache? Not so pleasant), there is the subsequent vigilance that must be attended to, say every half an hour or so.
Since we've been gallivanting all over the province this summer with our tres-French exchange student, I have had to attend to this all over the place.
And I gotta tell you.
Well, you know.
Here's the latest corollary of my on-going obsession.
*Warning: Digusting Factor is at Orange. I repeat, Disgusting Factor is at Orange.
1. Toilet Seat Jiggle
How many of us have unknowingly plopped our behind down, only to have the seat skate across the surface of the rim at lightning speed, nearly slamming us up against the stall wall?
How many of us have almost landed on the sticky, icky floor?
How many of us have almost put our backs out trying to right ourselves before we fall?
How many of us have had this thought racing through our head - "How f@%$#ing long would it take for some lame-ass maintenance person to sweep through the restrooms once a week, and tighten the screws that hold the seat on tight?" or "Damn it - I knew I should have brought that combination screwdriver/crescent wrench in my purse!"
So many questions, so few satisfactory answers.
To those accountable for the public washroom (Women's only - like I could give a rip about the Men's), if you're only going to check these necessary pieces of hardware every quarter century, maybe consider installing bars on either wall of the inner stall; so the Baroness has something to cling on to before my ass starts shimmying around like a Ouija Board with a very urgent message from beyond (A B-R-O-K-E-N H-I-P I-S I-M-M-I-N-E-N-T).
2. Floaters - Genus 1
I'm not talking about your usual waste here - I'm talking about hygiene products (oh, the irony) that have suddenly become performance art.
Ladies (and young girls - as you may be new at this kind of thing) - for the love of all that is holy and hygienic - if your tampon magically propels itself out of you into the bowl, GO GET IT!!!
It was yours, and it is your garbage. Don't think that just because the kayak is no longer in the Thule, it's no longer yours to worry about. Take some responsibility, and stop expecting someone else to fish it out because it's icky. Get used to icky - it will happen often in your lifetime.
Ladies (and young girls - as you may be new at this kind of thing) - for the love of all that is holy and hygienic - if your tampon magically propels itself out of you into the bowl, GO GET IT!!!
It was yours, and it is your garbage. Don't think that just because the kayak is no longer in the Thule, it's no longer yours to worry about. Take some responsibility, and stop expecting someone else to fish it out because it's icky. Get used to icky - it will happen often in your lifetime.
Same goes for those sad little thong-pads that have lost their glue to fabric quotient. It's yours.
Deal.
I swear to God - when did women start to feel entitled enough to leave this mess for others to take care of? I'm an old-school public washroom user, and this disgusting trend is relatively new.
I blame you, Paris Hilton. You skanky socialite. You, my dear, are ruining the public washroom experience for all of us non-heirs. And it's so not hawt.
I blame you, Paris Hilton. You skanky socialite. You, my dear, are ruining the public washroom experience for all of us non-heirs. And it's so not hawt.
I also blame Courtney Love - just because.
Ugh.
3. Floaters - Genus 2
Could you possibly wait to leave the stall until your deposit has, er, cleared? And if it hasn't, whoa! Bully for you - someone is getting enough fibre! Yeah!
But seriously? Keep trying. Take those extra 2 minutes. It's really your civic duty (haha - I said duty...).
4. Mystery Wads of TP Al-l-l-l Over the Floor
Why, why, why?
What's in there that can't possibly be flushed?
Barf.
5. The Sticky Seat
Do YOU like sitting down on a sticky seat? I know that I don't like being ambushed by a sticky seat.
But maybe you're one of those bizarro ex-circus performers who squat on the seat and pee from staggering heights (which also loosens the toilet seat screws - you suck on so many levels - no wonder you're an ex-circus performer).
Reality check - if one were to look at a pristine, functioning washroom (who the f knows where you find such a specimen) (haha - I said specimen) - one could observe that great thought, structural engineering, and history has gone into the design.
You know the one? Where the seat is clean and dry, the screws are in tight, and the act of flushing actually carries whatever nastiness that just occurred away forever.
Sigh.
I'm beginning to re-think the whole Depends thing. And when I'm done, maybe I'll just cavalierly push open the door, and toss it into the nearest public toilet. Right. In. The. Middle. Of. The. Frickin'. Floor.
Because I'm special, and I don't have to do anything for anyone but myself. Screw y'all.
Now get me my chihuahua and a Red Bull.
There. I'm done (haha- I said done).
We're now back at Digusting Level Yellow. Repeat, Yellow.
Do YOU like sitting down on a sticky seat? I know that I don't like being ambushed by a sticky seat.
But maybe you're one of those bizarro ex-circus performers who squat on the seat and pee from staggering heights (which also loosens the toilet seat screws - you suck on so many levels - no wonder you're an ex-circus performer).
Reality check - if one were to look at a pristine, functioning washroom (who the f knows where you find such a specimen) (haha - I said specimen) - one could observe that great thought, structural engineering, and history has gone into the design.
You know the one? Where the seat is clean and dry, the screws are in tight, and the act of flushing actually carries whatever nastiness that just occurred away forever.
Sigh.
I'm beginning to re-think the whole Depends thing. And when I'm done, maybe I'll just cavalierly push open the door, and toss it into the nearest public toilet. Right. In. The. Middle. Of. The. Frickin'. Floor.
Because I'm special, and I don't have to do anything for anyone but myself. Screw y'all.
Now get me my chihuahua and a Red Bull.
There. I'm done (haha- I said done).
We're now back at Digusting Level Yellow. Repeat, Yellow.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Thoughtful Thursday
Not too long ago, mentally exhausted and virtually brain dead to think of anything original, I threw myself on the mercy of my readers to provide some inspiration.
And, thanks to the brain trust in my small slice of the blogosphere, I received some very good ideas.
Lest you think that I am ignoring these, today I will multi-task, and not only answer one question from the ever-lovely RiverPoet over at Poetic License, but I will - in usual Baroness fashion - embellish. Ever so slightly.
I was asked to talk about my summer reading list. While I kind of sketched out here what I had devoured and what was on deck, yet once again I have gone off-page. Such a rebel.
As I was grabbing the next book from the pile to take with us on a little 4th of July jaunt to Les Etat Unis avec le French exchange student Julien, I found Marlena De Blasi's "A Thousand Days in Tuscany" .
And feeling hungry as always, I was mesmerized by the title of the first chapter, "The Gorgeous Things They're Cooking Are Zucchini Blossoms". From that point onward, I was hooked (and grumbly in the tumbly) by this succulent account of the author's stopover in San Casciano dei Bagni.
When she's not talking about food (something she does very, very well), De Blasi's talking of the rhythm of life as a supplanted Tuscan, or about the relationship between her and her husband.
One of the most exquisite paragraphs I have ever read talks about getting into bed on the first night in their new home. Does this seem odd to you? Does it seem odd that I wanted to groan with pleasure at the description, weep for the beauty of the sentiment, and immediately read it to my husband, who would completely agree?
Read it for yourself:
"...How delicious it is to rest after such a day. To lay down blood and bones in a place, almost any place, where someone waits to hold what's young of you and what's old of you. What's just happened to you and that which has happened so long ago to you. All of you."And, thanks to the brain trust in my small slice of the blogosphere, I received some very good ideas.
Lest you think that I am ignoring these, today I will multi-task, and not only answer one question from the ever-lovely RiverPoet over at Poetic License, but I will - in usual Baroness fashion - embellish. Ever so slightly.
I was asked to talk about my summer reading list. While I kind of sketched out here what I had devoured and what was on deck, yet once again I have gone off-page. Such a rebel.
As I was grabbing the next book from the pile to take with us on a little 4th of July jaunt to Les Etat Unis avec le French exchange student Julien, I found Marlena De Blasi's "A Thousand Days in Tuscany" .
And feeling hungry as always, I was mesmerized by the title of the first chapter, "The Gorgeous Things They're Cooking Are Zucchini Blossoms". From that point onward, I was hooked (and grumbly in the tumbly) by this succulent account of the author's stopover in San Casciano dei Bagni.
When she's not talking about food (something she does very, very well), De Blasi's talking of the rhythm of life as a supplanted Tuscan, or about the relationship between her and her husband.
One of the most exquisite paragraphs I have ever read talks about getting into bed on the first night in their new home. Does this seem odd to you? Does it seem odd that I wanted to groan with pleasure at the description, weep for the beauty of the sentiment, and immediately read it to my husband, who would completely agree?
Read it for yourself:
Ahh. How delicious, indeed.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
For Once In My Life...
... I'm being practical.
Please note here that I had to spell-check this word, as it does not come up in everyday vernacular for me. In fact, for the most part, it runs contrary to everything about me.
I actally shuddered a little bit writing it down.
I'm being practical (brrr) about, of all things, shoes.
This is a very humbling day for me.
For those readers who have been visiting here a while, you all know that The Baroness is a bit of a shoe whore.
If it's shiny, or has some lovely architecture to it, or seems a veritable piece of art - I am SO there.
Comfort seems to run a very distant second.
But here's the deal. In the next couple of weeks, the von B's are off on a jaunt where a LOT of walking will be involved. And while I'm hoping, miracle of miracles, that there is a shoe out there that marries comfort and style - eh, I'm not too hopeful.
All I know is that if my feet get sore, hell will be paid for, big time, in some shape or form. I will become extremely cranky, and (unintentionally) put a huge buzz kill on all the beauty that promises to surround us.
But I am in panic mode. The time is nigh.
So I'm asking you to share - what are the best walking shoes you've ever had? Men in the crowd - please feel free to contribute - The Baron is looking for something to replace the dread white sneakers I refuse to let him bring (can anything scream "tourista" more??).
I and my bitchin' bunion thank you.
**A BIG P.S.:
Not an option.
I may be desperate, but honeys. I still have some standards.
Please note here that I had to spell-check this word, as it does not come up in everyday vernacular for me. In fact, for the most part, it runs contrary to everything about me.
I actally shuddered a little bit writing it down.
I'm being practical (brrr) about, of all things, shoes.
This is a very humbling day for me.
For those readers who have been visiting here a while, you all know that The Baroness is a bit of a shoe whore.
If it's shiny, or has some lovely architecture to it, or seems a veritable piece of art - I am SO there.
Comfort seems to run a very distant second.
But here's the deal. In the next couple of weeks, the von B's are off on a jaunt where a LOT of walking will be involved. And while I'm hoping, miracle of miracles, that there is a shoe out there that marries comfort and style - eh, I'm not too hopeful.
All I know is that if my feet get sore, hell will be paid for, big time, in some shape or form. I will become extremely cranky, and (unintentionally) put a huge buzz kill on all the beauty that promises to surround us.
But I am in panic mode. The time is nigh.
So I'm asking you to share - what are the best walking shoes you've ever had? Men in the crowd - please feel free to contribute - The Baron is looking for something to replace the dread white sneakers I refuse to let him bring (can anything scream "tourista" more??).
I and my bitchin' bunion thank you.
**A BIG P.S.:
These?
Not an option. I may be desperate, but honeys. I still have some standards.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Take 3.25 Every Hour for 24 Hours. Forever. Do Not Operate Heavy Machinery.
How many blogs do you read on a regular basis?
I just did a count, because I keep getting surprised when I go to a site and I seem so behind and out of the loop. The Baroness loathes being out of the loop.
And just as I am a fast talker, y'all - I am an even speedier reader.
So, I read 78 on a regular basis. I try to do this daily. I'm nothing if not thorough.
Yup, 78. Seventy-freakin'-eight. You read it right.
Granted, 2 are no longer active (for them, I wear something stylishly black while I have my solemn minute of pouting), but I still go there, dancing my eyes across their final posts, reading between the lines, the words, the letters; selfish hoping they'll change their mind or that there's some code that will redirect me to another secret site. But, alas, no. (or I suck at decoding. That could be a strong possibility...)
This is crazy. How do I get anything done? But I can't help myself.
These are such compelling, amusing, eloquent, thought-provoking citizens of the the blogosphere - how can I miss even one?
Why do you all have to be so good?
Why? Why?
I just did a count, because I keep getting surprised when I go to a site and I seem so behind and out of the loop. The Baroness loathes being out of the loop.
And just as I am a fast talker, y'all - I am an even speedier reader.
So, I read 78 on a regular basis. I try to do this daily. I'm nothing if not thorough.
Yup, 78. Seventy-freakin'-eight. You read it right.
Granted, 2 are no longer active (for them, I wear something stylishly black while I have my solemn minute of pouting), but I still go there, dancing my eyes across their final posts, reading between the lines, the words, the letters; selfish hoping they'll change their mind or that there's some code that will redirect me to another secret site. But, alas, no. (or I suck at decoding. That could be a strong possibility...)
This is crazy. How do I get anything done? But I can't help myself.
These are such compelling, amusing, eloquent, thought-provoking citizens of the the blogosphere - how can I miss even one?
Why do you all have to be so good?
Why? Why?
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Hey, Hey, We're the Monk-ees
Strictly in the name of fashion (some may say in the face of fashion), the Baroness often wears a sweater over her shoulders.
This happens for many reasons.
One, I never know from one minute to the next if I'm going to get cold - since my chemo, my internal barometer has gone whicketty whack.
Two, I feel I have upper arm issues. And while I participate in a twelve-step program for that, and dutifully take my anti-anxiety medication, I may feel the need to cover them at a moment's notice.
But here's the very interesting Number Three. It dawned on me, not so long ago, as I had my sweater tied around my neck, and the body of it majestically falling on my shoulders and halfway down my back, that all that Batman I watched as a child has permeated my brain - I want to be a superhero.
And this whole sweater thing? Forget reason one and two - all I really want is a cape. I want to feel invincible.
As a corollary of this, I noticed while on the ferry yesterday that a great majority of younger people have taken to wearing hooded sweatshirts. It seems to be a global thing, as we've hosted exchange students from all over the world, and they all use these hoodies as their overgarment of choice.
But on the ferry, and while driving around doing errands, I notice that a lot of them also like to wear the hood up.
What does this mean?
Are their heads cold?
Are they having hair issues?
Or, perhaps, are they wishing that they were monks - searching for some spirituality, some peace, some guidance?
Hmm.
(Superhero Baroness will have to use her supersonic powers and try to find this out. Once I decide on either the cotton or the lambswool cape...)
This happens for many reasons.
One, I never know from one minute to the next if I'm going to get cold - since my chemo, my internal barometer has gone whicketty whack.
Two, I feel I have upper arm issues. And while I participate in a twelve-step program for that, and dutifully take my anti-anxiety medication, I may feel the need to cover them at a moment's notice.
But here's the very interesting Number Three. It dawned on me, not so long ago, as I had my sweater tied around my neck, and the body of it majestically falling on my shoulders and halfway down my back, that all that Batman I watched as a child has permeated my brain - I want to be a superhero.
And this whole sweater thing? Forget reason one and two - all I really want is a cape. I want to feel invincible.
As a corollary of this, I noticed while on the ferry yesterday that a great majority of younger people have taken to wearing hooded sweatshirts. It seems to be a global thing, as we've hosted exchange students from all over the world, and they all use these hoodies as their overgarment of choice.
But on the ferry, and while driving around doing errands, I notice that a lot of them also like to wear the hood up.
What does this mean?
Are their heads cold?
Are they having hair issues?
Or, perhaps, are they wishing that they were monks - searching for some spirituality, some peace, some guidance?
Hmm.
(Superhero Baroness will have to use her supersonic powers and try to find this out. Once I decide on either the cotton or the lambswool cape...)
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Doorbells and Sleighbells and Schnitzel with Noodles
...These are a few of The Baroness' favorite things. That, and dressing up all Amish-ey, like an prim Austrian nanny and spinning until I'm dizzy on a flower-festooned mountaintop.
I was asked recently by the Good Countess AG over at "Is My Cape Fluttering?" to talk about some of my favorite local places. I'm assuming here that she did not mean the local Winners store (our equivalent of TJ Maxx), or Home Depot (I'm a huge fan).
I'm guessing that she would like for me to take you on a small tour-o-rama of my fair principality. So, Tourism Bureau be damned, here is where I would squire you around to, should you ever come to visit Beautiful British Columbia.
Keep in mind here, a lot of it is about the kitsch and the food. Sometimes separate, sometimes together.
The B von B Tourist Stop 1: Gleneagles Golf Course
I say, Phineus, care to chase a little white ball around for 4 hours? Grab your plus-fours and let's hit it!
Golf courses abound here, as our climate is temperate enough for the sport, almost year-round. One of my favorites in on the North Shore :
Yeah, ok, it looks like any other course. The thing is, though - it's one of the most beautiful courses around. And it is a workout. Holes go up and down the mountainside, and old growth trees abound. It's no St. Andrews, but it sure has that oldy-time brae golf thing goin' on.
The B von B Tourist Stop 2: Capilano Suspension Bridge
While we're still on the North Shore, we'll stop over here:
It's high up, it rocks back and forth, it freaks me out. But teens and kids love it, and as it's nestled in amongst the tropical rain forest we call home, it is a cool reprieve on a hot summer's day. A bit touristy, but the beauty of it all kind of supercedes that.
Once you've had that surge of adrenaline, it's time to eat. Let's go over to
B Von B Tourist Spot 3: The Tomahawk BBQ
for one of their famously huge breakfasts:
This family business, around since the mid-20's, is a treasure trove of North Shore and West Coast Indian (First Nations) artifacts. The food is merely a bonus - rib-stickin', honest, reasonably priced. A must-see. For dinner, try the organic-beef Chief Matthias Joe Burger - I hear the meatloaf is pretty bitchin', too. Make sure that you ask for a complimentary cardboard headdress on your way out. Fun.
As BC has been home to a large First Nation population, there is an abundance of artifacts, totems, etc. that illustrate and illuminate as to what life was like before we came in and screwed it all up. The best place to get an overall view of life in the early days is at:
B von B Tourist Spot 4: UBC's Museum of Anthropology
World-famous West Coast carver Bill Reid's sculpture, The Raven and The First Men
(illustrating part of a Haida Gwai creation myth)
This location also houses a full-scale long house, and the view of the mountains on a clear day is truly breathtaking.
This also gives you an opportunity to stroll through the University grounds a little - they're really pretty.
B von B Tourist Stop 5: 4th Avenue (from Vine to Burrard)
Lots of little boutiques and shops - not touristy.
Plus, were you aware that the Baroness and her #2 Labour Coach, the lovely Dame Moira, spent an afternoon strolling this stretch while waiting for the arrival of Duke #1? I can attest to the fact that if you're going to have some significant contractions, here is a perfect spot to distract yourself from the brain-numbing pain. Lots of shiny.
And having lived for a time on 4th Avenue, I can happily endorse another kitsch/food establishment:
B von B's Tourist Stop 6: Sophie's Cosmic Cafe:
Beware the brunch lineups - be an early bird, or go for lu-pper instead...
Duke #1 has been a regular since he was 3 months old. The decor looks a bit wacky(which is SO why it is near and dear to me) - but the food is extraordinary, and any meal - brekkie, lunch or dinner - is faboo. Plus you get placemats to color on. Sweet.
So, maybe regular fare isn't your thing, man. Maybe you want a taste of all the food culture that the Pacific Rim has to offer. How about sushi? Trust me on this - as one who's had sushi in Tokyo, I think we're better. We get all the rogue, thinking out-of-the-box sushi chefs who don't want to apprentice for 30 years. Our choices are these:
B von B Tourist Spot 7: Tojo's
Hidekazu Tojo is a great guy. Very personable. His food? Wow.
If you're feeling posh, go off-menu and ask for the chef's meal. Prepared to have your mind blown.
B von B Tourist Spot 8: The Eatery
Takes the whole Japanese vibe seriously - lots of Anime doo-dads, very fun.
This is one of the Baroness' faves. I remember it when it was a crunchy-granola, tofu and sprouts establishment. It's changed hands - a move for the better, to my mind.
Go for the Andy Warhol roll - a little seaweed chunk of heaven.
Word of advice - crazy busy for dinner - make reservations.
Then there's Kits Beach (at the foot of Arbutus), where ocean meets mountains. So very beautiful. I'm sure there's a zillion places I've missed, but where I've mentioned are my go-to places when guests come to town. Most of the other tourist spots, meh. You've seen one, you've pretty much seen them all.
Our city has its beauty to offer. And we're extremely nice people. Did I mention this?
There's also the Gulf Islands, which are a ferry-ride away. I would recommend kayaking on Galiano (at Montague Bay), and Saltspring is an artisan paradise.
Have any other questions? Need city myths de-mystified? Ask.
I'm listening.
I was asked recently by the Good Countess AG over at "Is My Cape Fluttering?" to talk about some of my favorite local places. I'm assuming here that she did not mean the local Winners store (our equivalent of TJ Maxx), or Home Depot (I'm a huge fan).
I'm guessing that she would like for me to take you on a small tour-o-rama of my fair principality. So, Tourism Bureau be damned, here is where I would squire you around to, should you ever come to visit Beautiful British Columbia.
Keep in mind here, a lot of it is about the kitsch and the food. Sometimes separate, sometimes together.
The B von B Tourist Stop 1: Gleneagles Golf Course
I say, Phineus, care to chase a little white ball around for 4 hours? Grab your plus-fours and let's hit it!
Golf courses abound here, as our climate is temperate enough for the sport, almost year-round. One of my favorites in on the North Shore :
Yeah, ok, it looks like any other course. The thing is, though - it's one of the most beautiful courses around. And it is a workout. Holes go up and down the mountainside, and old growth trees abound. It's no St. Andrews, but it sure has that oldy-time brae golf thing goin' on.The B von B Tourist Stop 2: Capilano Suspension Bridge
While we're still on the North Shore, we'll stop over here:
It's high up, it rocks back and forth, it freaks me out. But teens and kids love it, and as it's nestled in amongst the tropical rain forest we call home, it is a cool reprieve on a hot summer's day. A bit touristy, but the beauty of it all kind of supercedes that.Once you've had that surge of adrenaline, it's time to eat. Let's go over to
B Von B Tourist Spot 3: The Tomahawk BBQ
for one of their famously huge breakfasts:
This family business, around since the mid-20's, is a treasure trove of North Shore and West Coast Indian (First Nations) artifacts. The food is merely a bonus - rib-stickin', honest, reasonably priced. A must-see. For dinner, try the organic-beef Chief Matthias Joe Burger - I hear the meatloaf is pretty bitchin', too. Make sure that you ask for a complimentary cardboard headdress on your way out. Fun.As BC has been home to a large First Nation population, there is an abundance of artifacts, totems, etc. that illustrate and illuminate as to what life was like before we came in and screwed it all up. The best place to get an overall view of life in the early days is at:
B von B Tourist Spot 4: UBC's Museum of Anthropology
World-famous West Coast carver Bill Reid's sculpture, The Raven and The First Men(illustrating part of a Haida Gwai creation myth)
This location also houses a full-scale long house, and the view of the mountains on a clear day is truly breathtaking.
This also gives you an opportunity to stroll through the University grounds a little - they're really pretty.
B von B Tourist Stop 5: 4th Avenue (from Vine to Burrard)
Lots of little boutiques and shops - not touristy.
Plus, were you aware that the Baroness and her #2 Labour Coach, the lovely Dame Moira, spent an afternoon strolling this stretch while waiting for the arrival of Duke #1? I can attest to the fact that if you're going to have some significant contractions, here is a perfect spot to distract yourself from the brain-numbing pain. Lots of shiny.
And having lived for a time on 4th Avenue, I can happily endorse another kitsch/food establishment:
B von B's Tourist Stop 6: Sophie's Cosmic Cafe:
Beware the brunch lineups - be an early bird, or go for lu-pper instead...Duke #1 has been a regular since he was 3 months old. The decor looks a bit wacky(which is SO why it is near and dear to me) - but the food is extraordinary, and any meal - brekkie, lunch or dinner - is faboo. Plus you get placemats to color on. Sweet.
So, maybe regular fare isn't your thing, man. Maybe you want a taste of all the food culture that the Pacific Rim has to offer. How about sushi? Trust me on this - as one who's had sushi in Tokyo, I think we're better. We get all the rogue, thinking out-of-the-box sushi chefs who don't want to apprentice for 30 years. Our choices are these:
B von B Tourist Spot 7: Tojo's
Hidekazu Tojo is a great guy. Very personable. His food? Wow.
If you're feeling posh, go off-menu and ask for the chef's meal. Prepared to have your mind blown.
B von B Tourist Spot 8: The Eatery
Takes the whole Japanese vibe seriously - lots of Anime doo-dads, very fun.
This is one of the Baroness' faves. I remember it when it was a crunchy-granola, tofu and sprouts establishment. It's changed hands - a move for the better, to my mind.Go for the Andy Warhol roll - a little seaweed chunk of heaven.
Word of advice - crazy busy for dinner - make reservations.
Then there's Kits Beach (at the foot of Arbutus), where ocean meets mountains. So very beautiful. I'm sure there's a zillion places I've missed, but where I've mentioned are my go-to places when guests come to town. Most of the other tourist spots, meh. You've seen one, you've pretty much seen them all.
Our city has its beauty to offer. And we're extremely nice people. Did I mention this?
There's also the Gulf Islands, which are a ferry-ride away. I would recommend kayaking on Galiano (at Montague Bay), and Saltspring is an artisan paradise.
Have any other questions? Need city myths de-mystified? Ask.
I'm listening.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Uma, Oprah. U-U, MeMe
Well, well, well.
The Good Countess MPM over at The Mental Pause Chronicles tagged me for an interesting tag today.
It is short.
But, (surprisingly) not too sweet.
What it is - is real, people. Because, although I'm nobility, I don my ginch one leg at a time, just like you. I am real. And I've read in a couple of places (mostly "O" and "Mark Burnett's Guide to Whoring Yourself on National Television") that it's good to be keepin' it real.
Rather than calling this a Meme, Mental Pause Mama has borrowed a phrase, and calls it a UU. Here be the rules:
The taggee has to ask their spouse/significant other/kids/dog/whatever to list three random things about them.
The dog's still asleep (and has on occasion been known to be quite dishonest. Really. Look at this face:)
Has "sociopath" written all over it...
so here is the information I got from the other three (the tag did not say I could not add my commentary, so I will take artistic liberties...):
The Baron says about BvonB
1. I want to be an actress (with such drama occurring daily, who wouldn't?)
2. I snort when I laugh (I'll have to shamefacedly admit to this one)
3. I have absolutely no patience (I don't know WTF he's talking about, but he took for-EVER to think up this third one. Oh, and no patience, hon? I've been with you for 25 years - have I been in a coma?)
Duke #1 about his Darling Muthah
1. I'm compassionate (Tru dat)
2. I'm adventurous (Which he neglected to say drives him nuts)
3. I'm cranky (only when I can't be adventurous) (Or between the hours of 5AM and 12 PM) (and only on days ending with the letter "y")
Duke #2 about his (2nd) Favorite Parent
1. I'm crabby in the morning (Note here "morning" is a relative term for one who rises at 11 AM)
2. I'm funny (You laugh, or you cry)
3. I'm technologically inept (But who figured out blogger.com, huh? Huh? Bah-ring it, pipsqueak!)
I'm supposed to end this all with a rather large raspberry to the participants, so give me a moment to get the optimum volume of spittle in my mouth.
OK.
(Did any of them mention gracious or mature? No.)
(Huh).
It is short.
But, (surprisingly) not too sweet.
What it is - is real, people. Because, although I'm nobility, I don my ginch one leg at a time, just like you. I am real. And I've read in a couple of places (mostly "O" and "Mark Burnett's Guide to Whoring Yourself on National Television") that it's good to be keepin' it real.
Rather than calling this a Meme, Mental Pause Mama has borrowed a phrase, and calls it a UU. Here be the rules:
The taggee has to ask their spouse/significant other/kids/dog/whatever to list three random things about them.
The dog's still asleep (and has on occasion been known to be quite dishonest. Really. Look at this face:)
Has "sociopath" written all over it...so here is the information I got from the other three (the tag did not say I could not add my commentary, so I will take artistic liberties...):
The Baron says about BvonB
1. I want to be an actress (with such drama occurring daily, who wouldn't?)
2. I snort when I laugh (I'll have to shamefacedly admit to this one)
3. I have absolutely no patience (I don't know WTF he's talking about, but he took for-EVER to think up this third one. Oh, and no patience, hon? I've been with you for 25 years - have I been in a coma?)
Duke #1 about his Darling Muthah
1. I'm compassionate (Tru dat)
2. I'm adventurous (Which he neglected to say drives him nuts)
3. I'm cranky (only when I can't be adventurous) (Or between the hours of 5AM and 12 PM) (and only on days ending with the letter "y")
Duke #2 about his (2nd) Favorite Parent
1. I'm crabby in the morning (Note here "morning" is a relative term for one who rises at 11 AM)
2. I'm funny (You laugh, or you cry)
3. I'm technologically inept (But who figured out blogger.com, huh? Huh? Bah-ring it, pipsqueak!)
I'm supposed to end this all with a rather large raspberry to the participants, so give me a moment to get the optimum volume of spittle in my mouth.
OK.
Pthpthpthpthpthpthpthpthpthpthpthpthpthpthpthpthpthpthpthpthpthpth!!
(Did any of them mention gracious or mature? No.)
(Huh).
Friday, July 4, 2008
My Fellow North Americans...
Have an amazing 4th of July, doing whatever amazing means to you.
May it be filled with comraderie, hot dogs, cake, fireworks, and above all - laughter!
Enjoy, y'all.
Yours from N of the 49th,
B von B
May it be filled with comraderie, hot dogs, cake, fireworks, and above all - laughter!
Enjoy, y'all.
Yours from N of the 49th,
B von B
Thursday, July 3, 2008
And a Groovy-Cool time was had by all, Daddy-o
The Project: Duke #1's High School "Dry" After Grad Party
The Location: Their school
The Theme: "Cool" Hollywood
The Mission: Make the school not look like a school
Part 1: Off the bus, and onto the Red Carpet
Part 2: The Movie Hall
Students then came into the school, and down a hallway to get checked in. Lining the hallway were movie posters - some were real (we even managed to get a couple of v. cool 6' cardboard promotional displays for You Don't Mess With the Zohan and Wanted). There were also smaller ones that had pictures of the grads' heads substituted in for the real actors. The kids had a hoot looking for "their" movies.
On the other wall was a larger-than-life movie reel, with each frame being a color picture of the students' grad photos. They loved this, too (I think). OK, maybe they just loved seeing themselves on the wall. I don't know.
Part 3: The Casino
Just through the entranceway to the VIP lounge was the Casino, with 2 blackjack tables, and 2 poker tables:
Poker?
(I barely know her)
The Location: Their school
The Theme: "Cool" Hollywood
The Mission: Make the school not look like a school
I have done some pret-ty creative things in my life, but I must say that this was one of the most satisfying (and exhausting). So, to those curious about where the deuce I've been for the last 2 weeks or so, here is a photo-commentary of the outcome. Please note that I stupidly did not take any pictures - I was so busy, I plum forgot - I'll just have to use my mad descriptive skillz instead!
Part 1: Off the bus, and onto the Red Carpet
In order for students to feel as though they were the celebrities of the evening that they were (and you should have seen some of the girls' gowns - holy shamoley! Extremely Red Carpet worthy), there was a red carpet entrance, complete with plants, draping, glittery stars, and paparazzi-like lighting (the emcee of the evening was videotaping it, and asking the kids who they were wearing - funny!!)
Part 2: The Movie Hall
Students then came into the school, and down a hallway to get checked in. Lining the hallway were movie posters - some were real (we even managed to get a couple of v. cool 6' cardboard promotional displays for You Don't Mess With the Zohan and Wanted). There were also smaller ones that had pictures of the grads' heads substituted in for the real actors. The kids had a hoot looking for "their" movies.
On the other wall was a larger-than-life movie reel, with each frame being a color picture of the students' grad photos. They loved this, too (I think). OK, maybe they just loved seeing themselves on the wall. I don't know.
Part 3: The Casino
Just through the entranceway to the VIP lounge was the Casino, with 2 blackjack tables, and 2 poker tables:
Poker? Part 4: La Piece de Resistance, The LOUNGE
First, a little teaser - you can see the beginning of the lounge at the end of the casino area -
There is a vaulted ceiling at the entrance to the school, and a rotunda - this was draped off, first with black velvet curtains, then with white sheers. It was here that the VIP Lounge was located:
First, a little teaser - you can see the beginning of the lounge at the end of the casino area -
There is a vaulted ceiling at the entrance to the school, and a rotunda - this was draped off, first with black velvet curtains, then with white sheers. It was here that the VIP Lounge was located:
Chocolate fountains, wrought-iron chairs, centerpieces with movie film canister bases - think sleek and SHINY (this was my operative work throughout...).
The lounge area was complete with upholstered-tiled mocktail bar, polar bear skin rug (fake, of course - no red paint please), lounge chairs and faboo coffee table with LED lighting underneath (made by yours truly).
Now before y'all go and think I'm a decorating genius, let me say again that I was merely a cog in the the huge machine that made this evening happen. We had an amazing crew of volunteers (including my SIL, 2 nieces and Duke #2) to organize, set up, and take down.
And the lighting guy? HE was genius. An alum of the school, he came back from his new home in NYC to lend us his time and talents. He definitely made the school NOT look like a school.
Mission accomplished, I think. Baroness out!
The lounge area was complete with upholstered-tiled mocktail bar, polar bear skin rug (fake, of course - no red paint please), lounge chairs and faboo coffee table with LED lighting underneath (made by yours truly).
Now before y'all go and think I'm a decorating genius, let me say again that I was merely a cog in the the huge machine that made this evening happen. We had an amazing crew of volunteers (including my SIL, 2 nieces and Duke #2) to organize, set up, and take down.
And the lighting guy? HE was genius. An alum of the school, he came back from his new home in NYC to lend us his time and talents. He definitely made the school NOT look like a school.
Mission accomplished, I think. Baroness out!
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