Sa-Weet Sixteen

16 years ago today, the ever-so-handsome and charming Duke #2 entered the von B's world. We were awestruck, and immediately fell head over heels in love with our little elfish bundle.

Like every other birthday of Duke 1 and 2, we will celebrate in our humble, close-knit family way.

Every wish and whim will be our command for these 24 hours, and we will have a fancy-schmancy dinner out at the restaurant of their choosing. They will get their "special" present from us today; there will be other smaller ones at the big family extravaganza in a couple of weeks.

What we won't do is this for Duke 2's Super Sweet Sixteen:

Bow Wow, hip-hop phenom who hit the charts at the young age of thirteen, is a hard worker, but he makes sure he has time to still kick it and be a kid. So, for his big, bad 21st birthday he is going to throw not one, but two parties. Over a game of pool with his friends, Bow Wow announces that he wants Vegas to be his premier party so he can really show the world how a grown man does it. His parties are going to be more than crazy-they are going to be "stupid."

Bow Wow goes down to the Jet Night Club in Vegas to check out the place where he is going to have his party. He talks with a Jet Club representative and lets her know that his main concerns for his party are that there will be hot chicks there and pole dancing.

Next, Bow Wow goes to find something fresh to wear to his party. His stylist helps him pick out the perfect set, and Bow Wow drops just over 3,000 on his new clothes.

Having picked out his birthday suit, Bow Wow goes to the Mercedes Benz dealer with one of his boys to look at cars. He calls his mom to tell her about the Maybach he wants that's only 400 grand. However, his mom doesn't seem think the car is as good of an idea as he does.

The night of Bow Wow's first party has arrived, and while his fans start the party in D.C., Bow Wow gets ready in his hotel room. Bow Wow surprises his guest by making his grand entrance through the back and tells his guests they are going to party like crazy. Let's get it poppin!

After partying the night away in D.C., Bow Wow gets on a jet to travel to Vegas. After heading to the casino to gamble, Bow Wow freshens up once again while the guests start arriving at the Jet Night Club. Bow Wow is psyched because if D.C. was poppin', then Vegas is about to be out of control!

Outside the club, Bow Wow's mom is waiting for her son to arrive, and when he does, she surprises him with his birthday present-his very own Mercedes Maybach. The crowd goes wild as Bow Wow makes his grand entrance, and only shortly after, they go even crazier as Snoop Dog - the Big Bow Wow - makes a surprise appearance. Bow Wow's second birthday bash is even more successful than the first, and finally 21, Bow Wow is livin' the life-Vegas style!

Sorry, dude. Ain't gonna happen.

Mama dint raise no playa.

The Calling

So, I'm being as compulsive as usual, and scanning the locations of my readers.

Lo and behold, one of the people hails from - wait for it -

Washington, DC.

I don't want to brag or anything, but I think it's Sarah Palin's people.

Oh. My. Gawd.

I think that they're going to approach me to be her speechwriter, and feed her lines for the Thursday night routing, er, debate. How GREAT would that be?

There's just a few things going against me, but I'm willing to ignore them in order to pursue this dream job.

1. I'm Canadian. Although I am North American. Half points for that.

2. I'm completely apolitical. Although I think Jon Stewart is pretty smart sexy. What does this mean?

3. I would rather eviscerate myself with a rusty knife. Although that kinds of ties in to the hunting/fishing scene that Ms. P's Alaska has got going on.

So, fingers crosses I hear something in the next couple of days.

I've been to St. Louis, and I know for a fact that aside from the fabulous International Bowling Museum & Hall of Fame, they have a Neiman Marcus nearby.

I am so ready for this...

How About That?

Question: Why is it that most of the friends/acquaintances/Baroness syncophants who encouraged me to write "something" in the first place don't even read this blog?

I know they have computers - I've seen them. I have even, on occasion, received an e-mail from them - so they're not complete techo-peasants.

Too bad for them that they'll miss today's post.

Hmmm. With such very important information abounding, too...

Consider yourselves off of my dedication page of my book. And when I say "you", you know who you are.

There is still time to redeem yourself, though, as my birthday is right around the corner (note that expense incurred should be in triple proportion to guilt)(if, in fact, you have a conscience at all.)

Jumping off the bitterness train, and moving right along...

Sunday, September 28 - Daytime
Those of you on the right half of North Amurrcka still have some sunlight left to get this holiday under your pleather belt - "Hug a Vegetarian Day". Aww, so sweet.

Yes, they have feelings too. Sometimes, more than us. I hear tell that some can actually hear a vegetable scream as it's ripped from the ground. Freaky. Definitely in need of comforting there.

The vonB's, in fact, are having a vegetarian for dinner this evening. With some pinto beans and a nice Cabernet (we ran out of favas and Chianti after the last vegetarian get-together).

But I'll make sure we all hug him first.

Sunday, September 28 - Evening
Teeny tiny lucite platform shoes (that was for you, MPM). Check.

4", small-diameter aluminum pole? Check.

Miniature thong underwear? Check.

You are now ready for "Fish Tank Floorshow Night".

I have no idea how this whole thing started. Part of me wants to; part of me does so not want to.

Cue the DJ - it's "Chicka Chicka Whanwh Whanwh" music time. Ooooh, the lights are dimming - get the dollar bills* at the ready, kids!

(*please note we will not be celebrating this holiday in Canada, as we have no longer use paper $1 bills; the coins could potentially weigh down Goldy, rendering useless her newly-acquired Carmen Electra PoleFit Aerobics moves).

Thursday, October 2nd
"National Custodial Workers Day". If you can't honor these humble men and women just because, please do it for The Baroness. You see, her dad was a high school custodian in his pre-retirement years, and would bring home such tales of disrespect and digusting acts, all I can say is "Gah".

Oh, and also, "What the hell is the matter with you awful children?. Clean up your own damn mess for a change. Pigs." (ooh, I sounded a little Alec Baldwin there!)

So, do a little extra kindness to some cleaning staff today. Sure, it will totally freak them out, but deep down, they will be feeling it. I guaran-damn-tee it.

Friday, October 3rd
"World Smile Day".

Oh, how I wanted to spew out my conspiracy theory about dentists and the manufacturers of all those crack-laced whitening strips.

Or how the food manufacturers are in cahoots to make food that rots and stains dentin verr--r-r-y slowly over time.

But I won't.

Because that would sound ka-razy, right?

Plus, I don't think that this is really in the spirit of the day.

Instead, I urge you to take a moment to make that humanistic eye-to-eye connection, and hand out your beautiful smiles freely and often. Just be careful, 'kay?

Have an inspired/inspiring/inspirational week, everyone!

Affectionately,
Baroness von B

Baroness, Book Reviewer?

Who'd a-thought?

The ever-so-lovely people (oh, alright already - one person) at Hachette Book Group USA have proposed that, should they send me books to review in my post, I could also do more give-away contests. Hellz to the ya to that idea!

Like any good book pusher, the first giveaway of Alice Sebold's "The Almost Moon" was frills-free - first come, first served.

Now that you're all jonesing for more, you're going to have to work for it. Trust me when I say that some creativity will need to be involved.

And maybe just a teeny tiny titch of bowing and scraping.

Because who ever really tires of that? Certainly not me.

I believe that the Wanderlust Wednesday theme's candle is flickering out, so look forward to upcoming Wordsmith Wednesdays.

First up on deck will be of the mystery genre - "Trunk Music" by Michael Connelly.

Look for more this coming Wednesday.

May your weekends be fulfilling ones. Remember my decree from yesterday. It's still a decree, people - just try...

"Live, Love, Laugh and Be Happy". Thus spoketh the Baroness.

More spoketh-ness later, gator.

Thoughtful Thursday

There is no explaining what compells The Baroness to do what she do, when she do it. It defies usual logic, which is strangely appealing to me.

When I was recently at my local library, my hand inexplicably reached for a CD, "Jazz for Kids", because I thought it would be fun and lighthearted; good errand-driving music.

It certainly was both. Fun and lighthearted. Great music by equally great jazz artists.

And as I listened to "When the Red, Red Robin" by Carmen McRae, it immediately brought back childhood memories of my mom singing this to me.

Double bonus.

Now, I'm fully aware that the seasonal clock has ticked over into Autumn.

But the lyrics and the bouncy music sure bring some hopes of Spring into a dreary, rainy West Coast fall day.

When the Red, Red, Robin

music and lyrics by Harry Woods

When The Red, Red, Robin
Comes bob, bob, bobbin'
Along, along,
There'll be no more sobbin'
When he starts throbbin'
His old sweet song.

Wake up, wake up you sleepy head,
Get up, get up, get out of bed,
Cheer up, cheer up, the sun is red,
Live, love, laugh and be happy.

What if I've been blue,
Now I'm walkin' through
Fields of flow'rs,
Rain may glisten
But still I listen
For hours and hours.

I'm just a kid again, doin' what I did again,
Singing a song,
When The Red, Red, Robin
Comes Bob, bob, bobbin' along.

The line about "Live, love, laugh and be happy"?

My decree for today, people. Do it.

Wanderlust Wednesday

Champillon Region, France

The Epicenter of Bubble Magic.

And Muenster cheese. Gah.

How can a place get something so right and so wrong? 'Tis a puzzlement.

White Chicks Sitting Around Talkin' 'Bout Backyard Bizness

Yesterday, I talked about dispelling myths about the livin' large day-to-day of the Baroness. Today is a little diversion from that particular party line, but c'mon.

Ya love me. Ya know ya do.

How dull would I be, were I not a study in contrasts?

It's kept the Baron on his toes for 25 years - dude still can't get a handle on me.

So, the other day, me and my home-grrrls were sippin' lattes and carping about how we can't find a single, solitary spa in this god-forsaken Sleepy-Hollow-esque community to give us a decent pedicure. Wah, wah, wah.

It's always something. If it's not the price, it's the problematic service. If it's not a technician making your cuticle hemorrhage into the sink without word one of an apology, it's one of my lady friends convinced the local in-and-out nail bar(no booking required) is a front for a prostitution ring.

In the middle of all of our grousing, as we simultaneously stopped moaning long enough to sip our bevvies, one of the more lucid of the women said, "Listen to us! How precious are we? Here we are, stay-at-home moms, complaining about our spa experiences".

OK, we so deserved that reality bitch-smack upside the head.

But here is my point, and it has nothing to do with the good life, or beauteous tootsies.

It has to do with good business.

I'm all for supporting my neighborhood economy - if I were ever to avail my fabulosity to the community at large, I would expect my fellow 'burbanites to respond in kind. I really want the little guy to succeed.

But I gotta tell you, local business establishments of mine - if you want me to shop in my own backyard, you better damn well step up your game - something fierce.

Thanks to you, I am willing to pay extra to travel to another suburb, where not only does a living, breathing receptionist answer the phone, she can actually manage to write down my name correctly, and have the humility to ask me to spell it if they're not sure.

I am willing to invest the extra time out of my day to go somewhere where the service is world-class, and I know without a doubt that things will always go without a hitch. The services rendered jive with the amount due, and there will be no hiccups, no technician error, no double-booking, no snarky staff.

You see, dearest idiots, the secret of a good spa is to make the customer feel pampered. I can slap a coat of polish on myself any old time. I want to feel special. And I'm willing to pay for it. What I'm not willing to do right now is pay for you.

What I don't want is, after I mention I was a little surprised by an extra charge I wasn't initially informed of, to be asked "What do you want me to do about it?".

By.

The.

Owner.

This is just not good backyard business sense.

Don't use your answering machine as a receptionist. This has got to be the most ridiculous scam going. Let's see - I like what I've read about the services you offer, I want to come to your shop, I want to make an appointment.

What I don't want to do is leave my number so someone can call me back. What I don't want to do is hope that my message doesn't get erased. What I don't want is to leave you an e-mail, when no one there really has the time, knowledge or inclination to read them (Computer? Whoa, man - way too space age for me!)

Hire staff. If you can't afford to, either bite the bullet and learn some freakin' manners and how to use a computer, or don't even bother going into business until you can afford someone with skills.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it. You're an artist. You're not a businesswoman. Pul-eese. You've been chuffing the nail polish remover. Again.

If you have administrative problems, hire someone who can do this. Expertly.

Like me.

I'll work for trade.

And this will be very good for backyard business.

Because I'm all about the little guy succeeding. Always.

And having pretty pink toes.

Always.

My Fascinating Monday

Who out there thinks that the Baroness has the utterly fabulous life of a noble - filled with cabana boys, personal chefs, (cordial) corporate takeovers , frivoulous shopping trips , and hourly mani/pedis?

Well, my friends, I hate to burst your bubble, but you would be mistaken.

Sadly mistaken.

So very, very mistaken.

We have no pool (although, we have a fountain...)

And our shed could be considered a cabana (with a mother of a wasp's nest inside. And maybe a mouse) (who's eating the bird seed).

Personal chef? Check.

Giovanni Boy-ar-dee - take a bow.

Capricious buying? Hmm - there was that decision to buy the topsoil with compost in it.

Below please find my alibi-establishing/dreary accounting of the day thus far:


. Got up at the butt-crack of dawn to visit my diet clinic/Vitamin B pusher. Willingly lifted my skirt to have a shot in the ass. Glamourous!!

. Made Duke 2's lunch. Improvised, then heavily marketed the protein element - Brie cheese is not just for effete art students who have renamed themselves Mistral. Creative!

. Made my breakfast - egg white omelette. Delicious and nutritious!

. Contemplated washing pan and unloaded dishwasher. Nixed both. Decisive!

. Plopped disgusting gelatinous dog food in pet's bowl. Courageous!

. Booked it to yoga class; butted in line (unwittingly) to pay drop-in fee. Assertive!

. Came home, loaded up dog and gardening supplies (this is not going where you think it may be), and drove to my mother-in-law's to do some fall clean-up gardening. Philanthropic!

. Got flowers for host of dinner we're going to tonight. Socially PC!

. Finished last chapter of book while still ignoring growing pile of dishes on the counter and sink. Self-centered!

. Decided, after an entire day of wondering what to write, to basically write nothing. Minimalistic! Unapologetic!

I know, huh?

I can barely keep up with myself.

Stay tuned tomorrow for Part II of Livin' La Vida Loca - If It's Tuesday, It Must be Towel-Warshin' Day.

The excitement never ends.

Never.

Goodness Gracious, Great Balls of Bubblewrap

Did I ever mention that when I was a kid, one of my huge-est, biggy-iest wishes was to be able to fly?

Staying in the theme the last couple of days of leaping and soaring, I'll end the week with a very cool commercial (not sure what it's for - who cares?).

Have a bouncy, light-as-air weekend.

Affectionately,
The Baroness

Thoughtful Thursday

Courtesy of that prolific and elusive writer, Anonymous:

When you have come to the edge
of all the light you know
and are about to step out
into the darkness of the unknown
Faith is knowing that one of two things will happen
There will be something solid to stand on. . . or
You will be taught to fly.

May we all stick that tentative toe over the line, take that baby step, make that gigantic leap...

...and soar.

Make That Leap

Years ago, when ideas swirled like a raging eddy current in my brain, and I was enamored with the notion of being a writer but not actually putting pen to paper (finger to keyboard?), my friend Anna gave me this postcard:

"Leaping the Chasm at Stand Rock, Wisconsin Dells 1887"
by Henry Hamilton Bennett
(photo credit here)

Having it on the cork board above my desk, it inspires me in so many other ways than just getting down to the task of writing. May you be blessed, Anna.

Today, be fearless.

Defy logic.

Make that metaphysical leap.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PS: I know that some of you either visit the Dells or live near there. Please note that The Baroness is in no way encouraging you to physically attempt this (my lawyer told me to include this addendum).

But if you do, and make it - let me know...

Some Girls

"Some girls give me money,

Some girls give me clothes,
Some girls give me jewellry,
That I never thought I'd own...

Some girls give me diamonds
Some girls heart attacks
Some girls I give all my bread to,
I don't ever want it back..."
Some Girls, The Rolling Stones

This girl is gonna leave you one of those lethal doses you talk about.

Of vitriol.

Don't get me wrong, Mr. Jagger & Co.

I love ya. Really.

Let me clarify that statement.

I love your music.
[Always have. After having been introduced to "Exile on Main Street" through my oh-so-cool-older friend Tony, I was hooked. I was born about 10 years too late to see their evolution from the beginning, but I could see their appeal right away, as the antithesis to the squeaky-clean (?) Beatles.]

I love your energy.
[I mean, y'all are what - in your 80's? We should all have such stamina after running back and forth and forward and backwards for 2 hours straight. It truly is a thrilling thing to see.]

I love your business acumen; that after all-ll-ll-ll these years, you can still figure out a way to rake it in, hand over fist.

But.

Maybe I should backtrack a little.

With Duke 2 babysitting this past Saturday night, and the Baron off attending services at the Church of the Sacred Hockey Puck, I was at loose ends as to what to do.

I decided to rent a pay-per-view movie.

Yeah, so. I was restless, but not energetic enough to walk down the block to the video store. I'm all about the cocooning.

So the movie that caught my eye was the documentary, "Shine a Light", about the Rolling Stones, and directed by Martin Scorsese. I had wanted to see in in IMAX (thank god for small miracles that no one wanted to go with me).

The music was fantastic - especially the old blues numbers. When Jack White of the White Stripes and The Raconteurs came out to sing "Loving Cup" with Mick, he looked positively gleeful. No doubt just previously having come from off-stage, checking his butt-hole for horsehoes to explain his good fortune at being one of the chosen three "extra" musical performances.

The cinematography was at times frenetic, then painfully slow-paced. Kind of like a concert, I guess.

At times, with the right lighting and his fluffy hair, prancing Mick looked ageless. Then, just like on the episode of Seinfeld with the good light/bad light girlfriend, every crevice of his face showed up, and he looked like the Crypt Keeper.

I tried to think nice thoughts.

I really did.

Really. Promise.

And then, all that supreme effort actually sprained my brain.

And the thoughts that I dared not speak aloud came surging forth, no longer bound by the chains of politeness.

Like the thought of how both Mick Jagger and Ronnie Wood look like emaciated chickens that are so skinny, they're just not worth the effort to slaughter ("Let's just leave these ones to live out their lives, Martha, they're being so scrawny and all. They won't but last the winter.They're jerky on 2 legs.")

Once this visual got in my head, it was stuck, and whenever Mick started strutting around, pullet-like, I couldn't help but guffaw. Imagine these fellows below, one stage in a theater, with booming music and bright lights, freaking out and running all over the place:

(photo credit here)

And then there's Keith Richards.

Much talk has been made of his appearance. I didn't think I could possibly come up with something even vaguely original. Until I, in glorious HDTV, looked at his skin. More specifically, the quality of his skin.

While some would call it leathery, it reminded me of this:

(photo credit here)

Those eyes? They're actually all the doo-dad thingamajiggies he wears in his hair.

He's extremely talented, and really seemed to be in his happy place. And he's such a badass.

Ya. A spud badass.

Last, but not least, is Charlie Watts, quite possibly one of the most respected, gentlemanly drummers ever. Did I think about this? No.

Did I remember that he's quite the little jazz dude, and well-accomplished in this genre as well?

No.

To me, he looked like this...

(photo credit here)

...but a very well-groomed tortoise.

He, too, was in his happy place. So happy, in fact, that he started to look a little savant-like to me. Charlie? Hello? Where are you, Charlie? It's time to go home now - the theatre's empty. Let go of the sticks, Charlie. Shh, shh. It's okay.

So, what is the end of all this?

I don't know.

Sometimes, some girls...

just wanna hear the music.

Some girls...

don't care who's directing.

Some girls...

think very strange things when they're home alone on Saturday night.

How About That?

One of the few benefits of being an only child is that I learned from an early age how to amuse myself.

I do it quite well.

And I have to say, somewhat proudly, that as I read back on some of my earlier posts - I find myself highly amusing.

One of the things that I've missed doing is the inane, goofy "holidays" that some may not be aware of.

I consider it sort of my civic duty to inform my fellow Citizens of the World. Or Citizens of the Month.

3 really important dates coming up this week include:

Monday, September 15th - "National Woman Road Warrior Day"

This day I dedicate to all of the moms who, when those xygotes first got together in the womb, dreamed of an idyllic existence. Full of loving nurturance, provision of nutritious food, gentle schooling on the subtle nuances of social mores and ethos.

Very few had the thought cross their mind that, while not only perhaps commuting themselves back and forth to work, they would become their darling children's personal chauffeur.

And sadly, there is no 18% tip included in the cost of service.

So instead of a flowery meadow/gentle warm breeze scenario, we have mothers screaming at the top of their lungs that the kids only have 2 minutes to get their ass into gear and out the door for their soccer/lacrosse/football/ballet/Baby Einstein lessons. And the kids are screaming back - "Where are my cleats/shoulder pads/toe shoes/extra Pampers?"

Nice.

Recognition should also be given to the geniuses who plan all of the said education to start either 20 minutes after children get home for school (assuming they don't dawdle), or during dinner time when rush hour traffic is in full swing.

Here's to you, Road Warrior Mamas - for co-ordinating, equipping, cheerleading, and feeding your children. Your reward? An opportunity for you to ditch the mini-van, and get on something that will get you to your destination in record time:

(photo credit here)

Tuesday, September 16th - "International Day for Preservation of the Ozone"
Hair fashionistas out there, bad news.

Today, you will have to forgo your usual 2 minute application of CFC-laden hairspray. Don't fret, honey - you needn't worry about flat head.

I hear from my punk friends that either an egg yolk/sugar/water mixture, or gelatin/water/blowdryer work wonders. You may actually have enough "strong hold" with this to last you through the week (getting it out is a little tricky - the key word here is "patience")(and lots of hot water and conditioner)(and maybe a cocktail)(or five).

Young Men/Men/Old Men: For the love of all that's holy, please ditch the "Axe" body spray.

A little hint here? The only women who really love it? Yuh. They work in the marketing department.

Of "Axe" Body Spray.

Gar.

Speaking of Gar...

Friday, September 19th - "Talk Like a Pirate Day"
When I first saw this as a sidebar in Not Afraid To Use It's page, I thought it was a bit of a inside joke. After all, her son had just had a pirate-themed birthday party.

But, there really is such a day. The link here is fantastic - it even tells you how to talk like a German pirate.

I was not aware that Germany had its fair share of piracy, but just in case - forewarned is forearmed.

The von B's have a huge affection for talking like pirates - at least of the literary kind(the Baroness herself, on a good day, talks like a longshoreman)(Not that longshoremen are pirates - they just both are near water)(Oh, shut up).

We spent many an hour reading Tin Tin books when the Dukes were younger - some of their first phrases were "Blistering Blue Barnacles!" courtesy of Captain Haddock (OK, he wasn't a pirate either)(I don't personally know any pirates - I'm reaching here, people - just go with it, ok?).


Avast ye, mateys - make yourselves a road-rage-free, ozone-full, eye-patch, peg-legged week!

With Affection,
The Baroness

In Bruges, 'Tis A-Mazing

Ah, the maze.

My dear friend Sting (he'll deny knowing me - we made a pact years ago ) sings songs from there.

My dear friend (and guru to the stars) Cathy holds much importance in the power of the labyrinth. She believes, and has taught me, that meditating upon one one can bring one a centering, tranquil peace.

Did I mention that Bruges, Belgium kind of looks like a labyrinth? Looky here:

(click to enlarge on the civil engineering, one-way- street-rich madness that is the City of Bruges)

See how in this labyrinth, all the juicy bits are in the middle?

Therein lies both the genius and the anguish.

It will make grown men weep, trying to negotiate their way into the nougat center. And it will make women wish they had an iron-clad guarantee that, should they throw themselves from a moving vehicle, they would only suffer slight abrasions & contusions.

The only meditating I did as we drove around this maze for an hour and a half was how I could possibly slit my husband's throat (and then my own, of course!) with the maps in order to end the suffering.

Insults were flying - mine snidely remarking on the vanishing of his almost always-present sense of direction, his snapping because I was unable to simultaneously co-ordinate the local city map, the English Google Map, and the non-existent Flemish streets signs (all of which have at least 20 vowels and a minimum of 2 consenents - it's the law).

I do not know Flemish.

And having been phlegmish on occassion? Not the same thing.

Obviously.

However, despite our bickering, we finally made it to the gooey, yummy center of the old city, to our delicious hotel, Relais Bourgondisch Cruyce (which I learned about from the movie "In Bruges"), where they gave us the key to their magic kingdom:

(Much prettier than the normal card, and MUCH harder to steal. Quite bulky)

And, to quote Ralph Fiennes' character Harry in the movie, it was like a fairy tale. A f**king fairy tale.

Imagine, if you will, that one of those little snowy ceramic Christmas villages somehow is made to real-life scale. This is Bruges.

It is just one of the most medieval, exquisite, picturesque places I have ever been to. Each building top has its own uniqueness, like this:

and this:
Carrying my new-found confidence of being the best photographer on the face of the earth (see here), I even managed to get some groovy reflection pictures on our early morning stroll:

(click to enlarge; our hotel was the one just about the black sign facing the canal)

(yup. I'm just waiting for that call from National Geographic an-ny day now...)

The Baron and I, once settled in and nourished, agreed that we would both go off-page of our respective food plans for four things Belgium is known for.

1. Beer - I was the only drinker in our duo. I give it a hearty "meh". It was smooth, yes, but living in MicroBrewery world, I've had better. (and yes, that's what she said...)

2. Fries - I have heard tale that these are supposed to be amazing. Not so much.

3. Chocolate - Well. Things here definitely looked up. We stopped at a boutique chocolateria, and I had an Orangette (chocolate covered orange peel), and the Baron had full on Ganache-filled chocolate. This, miraculously, completely obliterated all of the painful squawking of earlier.

Like morphine, but creamier.

4. Waffles - I hate to buy into country stereotypes, but Oh. My. Gawd. Belgians so get it. Take a look for yourself:

(It really WAS like eating a cloud)

Sadly, we had to bid a fond adieu to Belgium all too quickly.

I really would have loved to have moused around in the maze much, much longer.

I wouldn't even mind the dead ends:

Thoughtful Thursday

The Baroness knows a good deal of people who, as part and parcel of their careers, travel a great deal.

And I worry.

In our modern, tech-savvy lives, the world of travel is taken for granted; it's a given, not a privilege. The on-going miracle of flight, of car travel - organized chaos of a gazillion schedules meshed into a flowing airport or highway - these are given a sideways glance with a jaded eye.

For those who begin each day believing that their commuter hops are a matter-of-course, I give you this:

A Traveler's Prayer

A prayer for the journey
We could say it every day
When we first leave the soft warmth of our beds
And don't know for sure if we'll return at night
When we get in the trains, planes and automobiles
And put our lives in the hands of many strangers.
Or when we leave our homes for a day, a week, a month or more -
Will we return to a peaceful home? Untouched by fire, flood or crime?
How will our travels change us?
What gives us the courage to go through that door?

A prayer for the journey.
For the journey we take in this fragile vessel of flesh.
A finite number of years and we will reach
The unknown, where it all began.
Every life, every day, every hour is a journey.
In the travel is the discovery,
the wisdom, the joy.
Every life, every day, every hour is a journey.
In the travel is the reward, the peace, the blessing.

Rabbi Sheila Peltz Weinberg

Outbound or inward, may all your journeys be blessed, wherever they may lead.

Waxing and Waning on Wordless Wednesday

Sadly, "The Almost Moon" book giveaway is now closed.

[Countess Formerly Fun - I still need your address!!]

Congratulations to those eager readers who snapped them up - remind me not to stand in your general vicinity at the local library book sale without full body armor on.

Y'all are are voracious!!

And fierce! (I had to throw that in, Project Runway recently started up here in Hinterland, and I love this little guy).

Thanks again to Ms. Russo at Hachette Book Group USA for approaching me with this. I had a ball - felt a little like Janta, if that's at all possible (you can figure this one out on your own...).

Hachette has other book contests posted on their website - my feelings won't be hurt if you venture afield.

Just remember to come back!!

Make yourself a fabulous Wednesday.

(Photo credit courtesy of here)

Surprises - The Good Kind

Let it be known that, control freak that she is, The Baroness is not so big on surprises.

Knowing that someone has been working in the background, with me blithely and fully unaware, is extremely vexing.

Because I would like to think, as a know-it-all, that I, well, know it. All.

And I don't.

This becomes more crystal-clear on an hourly basis.

(*Note to vonB children: There - Mommy's gone public. She does NOT know it all. I repeat - she does NOT know it all. So stop asking so many questions, already. Have you not heard of Wikipedia?)

However.

Sometimes, there are good surprises.

What makes these different from all other surprises? I guess it's the random, out-of-the-blue-ness of it all. For instance, like espying this in a window:

(Remember me? Aidez-moi? I'm still here - waiting for your assistance...)

Or this e-mail to me, from a Valerie Russo, Web Publicist for Hachette Book Group USA:

Hi, Baroness:

I saw your Alice Sebold post and was wondering if you'd lke to do an online giveaway of The Almost Moon by Alice Sebold now that it is in paperback. I have gratis copies of The Almost Moon to offer you for giveaway on your site.

Would you like to host a giveaway of the book?

Well, hellz ya, Miss V! Thank you so much for the pleasant surprise.

Here it is, thrown out to y'all. I have 5 - count 'em - 5 paperback copies of "The Almost Moon" to give away. This is a good thing because:

a) I just finished reading my own copy (which I had to pay for, btw) and found it absolutely fascinating. How Alice Sebold can take the unthinkable and make us want to think about it, I do not know.

Normally at this point, I would then begin the lending out chain (Can my friend have it when I'm done? Can she give it to her friend? Her cousin in Latvia? Her cousin's boyfriend? Girlfriend?
Third-cousin's parole officer?)

b) I love giving stuff, especially stuff like this:

randomly.

Because no one ever wants random stuff like this:

So, let me know if you want a copy for your burgeoning collections, and how Ms. Russo can get it to you in the mail (if the books free to me, I'm not about to pay postage either.)

(To the U.S?)

(What? Am I taking crazy pills?)

(The answer is yes, but that has nothing to do with this).

You can send me your addy's off-line at Baroness von B's Bookworm Hotline:

BaronessvonB@gmail.com

Operator(me) is standing by to take your call.

(Photo credit here)

The Sun Will Come Out - You Know When

Something I said I might do - someday.

A veritable picture of the of-the-moment Baroness:



That's me in the corner.

That's me in the dark light - losing my religion.

I now enter the dark, 2 week phase between having my routine blood work done and getting the results.

Masochist that I am, I am currently reading a very disturbing book (The Almost Moon by Alice Sebold) , and watching very sad things (my DVR'd Stand Up to Cancer), where tears freely flow.

I know full well what happens in these coming two weeks. I should be stocking up on David Sedaris, Archie Double Digests, and Austin Powers movies.

But I resist.

Why?

Maybe I think that if I get into a really dark corner, any wee speck of light at all will be blindingly beautiful.

Maybe I think if I weep (under the pretense of a sad movie), all of my anxiety will flow away.

Maybe I'm Swedish.

I heard one of my favorite Dixie Chick songs while driving around this morning - "Not Ready to Make Nice" - where they quote some of their hate mail as telling them to "shut up and sing".

Maybe I should just shut up and be funny.

And I'll try - tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

I love ya - you know when.

He-e-e-e-ere's Johnny!

Well, well, well.

Who knew that my glorious readers also peruse the comments?

Truly, you are a fine bunch of blends*.

The Good Countess Sandi, of A Widow for One Year, noticed in one of my comments for "Lessons from the Louvre - Part II"** that not only had I seen an incredible likeness of Joaquin Phoenix, but also Johnny Depp.

Sandi was on this wee factum like a bee to honey. "Show me the Johnny", pleaded she.

(Alright, already. She didn't actually say this. I was watching Jerry Maguire recently, and the "Show. Me . The. Money!" line has been inexplicably running through my head ever since...)

(And she did not plead either. She's better than that. Artistic license and all - I so desperately need for y'all to hang on my every word, I try to create compelling dialogue. Aren't you SO drawn in?)

An-n-n-nyways...

Let me first say that I do not quite understand the physical attraction to Johnny Depp. Don't get me wrong, I think he's a brilliant actor, and quite the smarty-pants.

However if I ever find myself in a cougar-ish mood (which I believe is in the Spring, during mating season), I would opt for his hairless POTC co-star:

(Mmmm. Mama loves her the Elf. So pret-ty!)

But, who am I to judge? I mean really - according to my sons, Dude Bloom has approximately the same amount of body hair as this. . .

Just call me "LegoLASS"
Rawr!

. . . and about as many X chromosomes.

Mr. Depp, on the other hand, is mucho macho. And, may I add, quite the Dapper Dan.

You could even say, fashion-wise, he's ahead of his time.

And I've got the picture to prove it:

(Make sure you "le clique" on the picture to see the eerie beauty...)

Happy Friday, everyone. Tune in next week for Battle of the Bruge and other tales from Land O' the Euro...

Affectionately,
B von B

* blend: bl(0g) + (fri) end = blend

**shameful self-promotion

Lessons from the Louvre - Part II

Well, technically, it's Lessons from both The Louvre and the Musee de L'Orangerie, which is so near and yet so far.

To put things into perspective, after you've schlubbed through The Louvre for about 3 hours, head to the nearest exit and get some fresh air in Les Jardins des Tuileries. Walk through said "park" for seemingly another 2 hours to get to the other museum.

Those French, they love a good optical illusion.

"Really, honey, look here on the map - it's only at the end of this park"

Uh huh. The end of the park. Which is the size of Central Park. If you don't put that map away in the next 10 seconds. Gawd. Quit with the map, already!!

Oh, who's kidding who? It's the size of frickin' Manhattan.

Engaging death stare NOW, Mr. Sulu.

It was worth the walk, as you will see - The Baroness (well, her feet, at least) suffered for your art.

Appreciate it.

Or else.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So, where were we? Ah, yes, in the rooms with the things and the guy at the place.

Let us carry on. And remember, click on the pictures is to be drawn into a magical world where artist becomes one with canvas, blah, blah, blah:

10. I SPECIFICALLY said only 4. Morons!

I certainly wouldn't have wanted to be the one to do the narrowing down. They all look kind of dashing, don't cha think?

Especially Dude in the middle. So special, he doesn't even need a hat.

The other hatless guy? Just stupid. Look at that vacant stare. He's not even looking at the camera.

11. I Bought it on eBay

Historical proof that garage sales have been around since time immortal.

I don't usually buy into the whole time-space continuum thing, but I have to ask myself - how did the artist know what was in my secret hiding place under the stairs? Freaky.

12. See this line here? I call it the "RuPaul/Elton John". Very long!

I personally think the feather is just a little over the top.

Just sayin'.

13. I Swear to God, if He asks for "Mary Had a Little Lamb" One More Time...

We've all been there.

Again!

Again!

Little known fact - cello players were well within their legal rights to stab small children with their bows. And here it is for us to see. Kind of like an early version of a snuff film.

14. What's on my MIND? Funny. Really Funny.

It took until the Industrial Age to really perfect the art of piercing.

But hey, scars are sexy, right?

15. Whoa - I am SO loaded right now.

Mead, weed - who knows? But Merlin "The Magician" pulls another great party out of his ass, like an eye of newt from a cauldron. That guy seriously rocks.

16. Why Yes! I Do have some Grey Poupon!!

Shhh - it's the generic brand, but if we throw it in the fancy jar, no one will know.

17. The Name's Phoenix. Joaquin Phoenix.

Only Jay Jay could rock that hat. If you look closely, you can see "Snaps" von Bloggenschtern. It's one of those cool camera tricks that I invented (because I am such a faboo photographer).

18. Happy Trees

You can not imagine how fast my heart went pitty-pat when I saw that the curator had the good sense to include my favorite White Bro Wit Da Fro, Bob Ross:

19. Sad Trees

This was in Bob's Blue Period.

After PBS cancelled his show.

Artless fascists.

20. The Baron, After My 3rd Absinthe

OK, he's a little wobbly, but if you squint, you get a general idea of what a hunk he is.

21. Elvis Lives - after my 4th Absinthe

So, we had a nice chat. He's sad that Priscilla had all that work done, but happy that Lisa-Marie ditched Bubbles Boy.

He looks a little wobbly too, but at least I saw the thin Elvis.

Or I think I did.

22. The Waiter, after my 6th and Final Absinthe

You go right ahead, put your hands on your hips. Oooh, I'm so-o-o-o-o scared.

Were you aware, sir, that your right ear is shaped like a teeny-tiny door? What's inside? Can I have a peek-a-boo? Whoa - I can SEE what you're thinking. Trippy.

Fine, fine, fine. Wobbly Baron will settle the billet, then me and my hallucinations will hit it.

Au Revoir for now, my fellow art officiandos!! Stay tuned for more marvelous travelogue, coming up soon!

Lessons from The Louvre - Part I

*Author's note: Before we begin our learnin' about them thar pick-toors in that thar Loo-ver Museum, please do not in any way get me confused with Sister Wendy:

My teeth are much less, um (how do I say this nicely) - bucky(?), I only wear glasses first thing in the morning when fingers without coffee should be nowhere near eyes, and I would so TOTALLY rock that habit 100 times more fashionably (a flower broach? a jaunty neck scarf?).

I digress.

The fact that I am focusing on looks rather than smarts? Textbook Baroness. I am, nor will I ever be, as intelligent as the Good Sister. And ya know what? After all these years? I'm cool with that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What exactly is it about museums and art galleries that makes people check their sense of humour, as well as their umbrella, at the door?

The Baron and I noticed this the other day at the Louvre.

Everyone talking in hushed tones, all reverent-like.

Yowza.

They're pictures, for goodness sake. Not Real Life Jesus and the Virgin Mary herself. Get a grip, already.

The situation of having to mill around with this ilk practically screamed out for some levity.

Because, I am quite certain that, when these great artists of the world were - palette in hand - creating their masterpieces, they were not secretly wishing, "Please, please, please, let every person who casts their eyes upon my work have the appearance and attitude of someone chronically constipated...

So, I've decided that I will take you on The Baroness' Bad Photography Tour of some of the lesser-known works, replete with the new titles that I have personally bestowed upon them.

Do you have your little headset on, pretending to listen? Excellent.

[make sure that you click on the actual picture to get the full brunt of my horrible photography skills, and the vibrant details...]

Here we go:

1. Holy Sh*t - Are You Seeing What I'm Seeing?

What draws us in here is the slack-jaw yokel look of Dude 1 & 2 on the far right. Yes, even in Medieval times, there apparently were yokels.

You go-eth, Cletus of Aquataine!

2. And Then, I add just a Pinch of fresh Tarragon - Yum-mo!

There is such a crew here listening to Mr. Fancy Hat. It's like he's important or something. What else could he possibly be telling them about? Love the cape, babe - so fashion-forward.

3. Does This Painting make My Ass Look Big?

Of all the subject matter out there, here's what Mr. 50-And-Still-Lives-In-My-Mother's-Barn
chooses to focus on. Although, I must say - they are darned athletic and muscle-ly.

But why does only Leftie Louie have a full tail?

Such questions plague art historians on a daily basis. Really.

4. He's Got Legs - He Knows How to Use Them

The face? Not so pretty. The hair? Love it. The outfit? Fierce. And the legs - this guy is destined for a kickline Off-Broadway. I should be so shapely.

Bitch.

5. If You Listen Closely, You Can Hear the Dairy...

Again. Subject matter. Aren't some things best left private? I guess this was in the days before
paparrazzi - well, there was paps, but it took them a month to "capture the moment". Not exactly lucrative.

6. It's True - I AM a Huge Fruit

Well, there are vegetables, too. But they're not quite as funny. Although the cucumber nose? Always kills on the Roadside Tavern circuit.

7. Rock Band 1.0

Things sadly fell apart for the blokes once they got a little exposure on Thee-Tube, and Ampion (3rd from the left) started getting all the groupie action.

8. Le Counte D'Aluminium Foil

One word - shiny. The Baroness likee long time.

And our last picture of today,

9. They ARE Spectacular, Darling, but The Twins are not
Going to Bring him Back to Life

That is all for today, you attentive students, you.

Stay tuned for Part II tomorrow!

Yours in Oil(s),
B von B