nina turns 40

wake me up when it's over

The Oscars last night were mostly a big yawn.  There were no surprises, no excitement, nothing much interesting at all.  Chris Rock was funny enough, but not outrageous, or even very different than any other Oscar host.  Sean Penn was a bit of a prick, but that's what we've come to expect of him.  Even the twists with having presenters in the audience or nominees on stage just seemed weird and not innovative.  It was nice to see some women with meat on their bones like Scarlett Johanssen, Kate Winslet, and Don Cheadle's girlfriend (wife?).

Oscars that should have been awarded but weren't:

Best boobs, but worst hair: Salma Hayak
Most recently attacked by a box of kleenex: Charlize Theron
Worst case of squish-boob: Gwyneth Paltrow
Lamest attempt at vocal performance: Antonio Banderas
Female star who most needs to eat a sandwich: Emmy Rossum
Weirdest eye shadow: Beyonce
Most uncomfortable presenter: Dustin Hoffman
Most squinty and pointy: Renee Zellweger
Man who should have looked gorgeous, but really needed to comb his hair: Johnny Depp

Update:  I forgot to mention how irritating and even offensive I find it that everytime a person of a certain ethnic group is on stage, they then show folks in the audience of the same ethnic group, as if to say, hey, look, there's Jorge Drexler up on stage, and there in the audience is Antonio Banderas and there's Carlos Santana, can you tell what they all have in common?

the loot

The problem with telling everyone that the kidlet is really into Legos this year is that of course, everyone then gives him Legos for his birthday, and soon there are Lego bits in every nook and cranny of the house and the kidlet there in the middle of it all yelling, "Mom! I can't find [vitally important Lego piece]!"

why it's cool to be six

You don't get to ride Metro for free anymore.  And I quote, "Mommy, it's fun to pay for the bus."

random food notes

I've become totally addicted to this, I think I'm going to start ordering it by the case.  This wouldn't be so bad except that I eat it raw.  Yes, I've become Mr. Ed.

Szechuan green beans with tofu is super fantastic (tm Manolo).

I need to figure out a way to keep my triple espresso with chocolate hot while I drink it.  By the time I add half-n-half and then wait for my co-workers to get their drinks and make it upstairs it's usually cold.  Steamed half and half perhaps?  Bet the baristas would love that--steam me a tablespoon of cream you peons!

Never eat a bag of Rolos. Not even a small bag.  Just don't.

There are few things better than really good roasted chicken.  Having really good roasted with chicken accompanied by an ice cold kamikaze might just be one.

de donde eres?

I suppose this is a meme, though I am loathe to call it such.  It is an exercise to get you thinking and writing, and the results are lovlier than just about any commonly repeated blog post subject I've seen.  I discovered it from Kimberly, who got it from Pratie Place, but it originates from Fragments from Floyd and surely many a college poetry class.  It's called "Where I'm From", and is based on a poem by George Ella Lyons.

Here is mine:

Where I'm From

I am from Main Street, from Schlitz beer, and Hamburger Helper, and "Highlights for Children". I am from the scent of the lilac bush under the window, from kick the can, and barefoot walks to the mailbox.

I am from crab apple trees, three in a row, and Miracle Whip.  I am from the strings of a zither, and "Old Man River", and the New York Central Railroad.

I am from shoo fly pie, and volleyball nets, and sunsets over the Olympic Mountains, from highballs, and refrigerator cookies, and cedar trees planted in Dixie cups and then transplanted to the backyard. I am from fighing with my sister in the back seat of the mustard colored Dodge Dart.

I am from color TV, and pony tails,and daffodils blooming along the driveway.  I am from clouds of Aquanet and "Jazz at the Philharmonic".

I am from Cinderella, and calipers, and grilled tuna salad sandwiches cut in triangles. I am from the wind tunnel, and the office tower, and sleeping bags in the yard all night, covered with glittering slug trails in the morning.

I am from jumping on the bed, and a rented cabin in the summertime that smelled of dusty wood.  I am from rum & cokes and pinochle games played to the sound of the lake lapping against stones.

I am from piano tuners who went door-to-door, and a man born during the deperession. I am from a farm on a hill that grew gladiolas, and from men with wide laps and rough cheeks who rolled their own cigarettes and taught me magic tricks with a toothpick and a white cotton handkerchief. I am from a diva who got her chest carved out. I am from seven sweets and seven sours, and from a woman who stayed.

I want to reserve the right, like Kimberly, to play with this some more.  I hope you'll write one, too, and let me know about it.  It's good to know where you are from (oh god, I sound like Fred Rogers).

fading

"There was hope of a secular Iraq, even after the occupation. That hope is fading fast." ~Baghdad Burning

Read the entire, excellent post here.

the secret

I have discovered the secret to good health and happiness.  This secret cures any number of ailments, from aches and pains to grumpiness, and it gives you lots of energy and shiny hair, too.  What is this miracle cure? I won't even ask you to send me $19.95 for it, I am such a good person that I will tell it to you for free.  It is  sleep.  Uninterrupted sleep.  At night, for several nights in a row.  I have not had this since the kidlet was born--six years ago.  I have just had three nights of it, and let me tell you, I'm a new woman. 

The kidlet is at my folks' house, enjoying the spoils of two birthday parties, and yes, I do miss him, but it's really freaking me out, this sleep thing.  And to think I once had it virtually every single night.  I must have been something back then.

announcement

Hello everyone and welcome to the kidlet's birthday party.  We're so glad you could make it.  Please don't mind all of my coughing and hacking, it's really not as bad as it sounds.  Rest assured I had nothing to do with the food preparation, though I did have to upright one of the pirates on the birthday cake. Yes, all those used tissues in the trash are mine, but don't worry, I'm being very careful when I blow my nose, and I'm washing my hands quite frequently.  That sullen looking man in the corner?  Why yes, he is the kidlet's dad, I know you've never really seen him around. He's not as bad as he looks.  He's really a pretty good guy most of the time, but he's a bit shy at these sorts of things.  No, I'm sure you didn't see him shaking his head at me, and certainly not rolling his eyes.  OK, kids, have a good time, but remember the rules, no hitting, no biting, no hair pulling, no screeching, no crashing into things, please no destruction of museum property, crying will be kept to a minimum, and most important of all, no musical instruments or noise makers of any kind are to be given as gifts.  Thank you.

don't worry, you're doing it all wrong

Mothers are bad.  Everyone from Freud on down says so.  Judith Warner is the latest author to chime in--she's got a new book out and she's getting lots of press.  And women of my generation, just like every other generation before you, you're doing it all wrong!  These sorts of theories, and the books and articles they spawn just tend to piss me off and render me inarticulate.  Luckily, that is not the case for getupgrrl. If you're not already a big fan of her blog Chez Miscarriage (and if you're not, you haven't been reading blogs for very long) please go read her wonderful analysis of the hubbub here.  She manages to be pissed off and not lose her head about it.  Plus, she is also very funny, as you will notice if you poke around her blog a little bit, which I highly recommend. 

UPDATE:  Did I mention that Warner gleaned her info for the book by talking to 150 women?  Yes, 150!  Now there's a representative sample of American motherhood.  Whew, glad we cleared that up.

poly

One of my favorite new blogs is the kinky, and also very well written and often quite touching, Twisted Monk.  Part of what fascinates me about this blog is the non-monogamous relationship enjoyed by Monk and his wife of almost 20 years, Tambo.  They are thoroughly committed to one another, and obviously share a deep and satisfying love, yet they both have other lovers and play partners.  As a twice-divorced woman, I'm pretty interested in exploring the different ways that people make lasting bonds with one another. Traditional marriage just doesn't seem to work for me.  Yet, I've never ventured into any other territory--my relationships, marriage or not, have all been (at least in theory) monogamous.  I'm thoroughly single right now, so it's not a pressing issue, but certainly one that's been on my mind.  Would I have the strength of character and maturity to share my beloved?  Have I been robbing myself of the potential for real happiness by trying to force myself into an outwardly prescribed mold that just isn't me?  Where would I even begin to find this kind of relationship?  Luckily, there are lots of resources right here on the good ol' internet, so I'll keep poking around to see what I can learn.  Meanwhile, some really cool kidlet that I know is turning six, and I'm itching to shoot some new fotos, and something about the longer days just makes me wanna get out and shake my groove thang.