A Writer's Closet

Life and art

2006-09-09T18:37:00.000-07:00

My solo trip to the Norton Simon today left me disappointed to find some of my favorite paintings gone. I didn't know the names of the still lifes but they used to mezmerize me, I wanted to reach out and pluck the fruit from the canvas. Now with them gone I wish I had learned more about them. But the Mulberry Tree still stands as do my other favorites from Ruebens and Rembrant. Monet’s garden inspired me to plant my own sunflower seeds, which have been sitting dormant in the garage for two months when they could be my lovely daily view. And I left with a complimentary print of Portrait of Joerg Fugger which reminds me vaguely of Hugh Laurie.

Oh, and I took a cursory tour of the modern art wing. I still don’t get it.

The Tao of Jake

2006-04-22T13:08:00.000-07:00

I had no intention of keeping Jake when I took him off the street. I was still hurting from the death of my beloved Rottweiler Max six months earlier. I absolutely did not want a dog. Especially an old, filthy, flea ridden, medically-challenged, half-bald stray. But when I saw Jake at a doughnut shop one morning, ignoring food offerings to duck his head under people's hands simply to be petted, he seized my dog lover's heart. "Foster" was the word I bandied about but I think I knew that was bull the first day, when he came into my house. He checked out every room then looked out the window into the back yard, totally relaxed, tail waving lazily. His body language was loud and clear: "Nice digs. Yeah, I could have a cushy gig here." It was pretty audacious and I laughed nervously and said, "Don't get too comfy here, dog."

Oh, I tried to find him a home, of course. I did all the Internet adoption stuff, begged friends and neighbors. Jake insinuated himself into our lives with utter confidence that he wasn't going anywhere. Cute personality traits started coming out--his passionate love for sherpa chew toys, especially squeaky ones. His adorable habit of touching me with his nose every single time he passed me, or just to get my attention. How he'd snatch a foot-long piece of beef jerky out of my hand but take a miniscule piece gently from my son's. I joked that I would have named him Worf if I realized he was such a cling on. His fur grew in thick and soft and he transformed into a handsome dog. He delighted in being part of a family so much that it broke my heart to think of how miserable he must have been alone on the street.

Cancer took him yesterday. He'd been hurting for weeks and I knew it was time for me to do the right thing. We only had him for two years, but he slid right into our family so neatly that it felt like four. I was wishing earlier today that I had had more time with him, but the truth is, four years wouldn't have been enough either. I'm grateful he picked me and for the lessons he taught me:

Ignore appearances and enjoy someone's character.

Touch the people you love every time you pass them.

Embrace the unexpected sources of love in your life, even, perhaps especially, if it doesn't fit in neatly with your life plan.

In praise of peeps

2006-04-15T10:18:00.000-07:00

I hate peeps, always have. That disgusting grainy sugar coating hiding a marshmallow center that should be soft and gooey, but was always dry and crusty. But thanks to the web I discovered this year that peeps have endless entertainment value. The Peeps Research Organization is dedicated to such noble pursuits as discovering the harmful effects of smoking (see photo) and alcohol on the little darlings. They even perform a daring conjoined quintuplet peep separation. What will modern medicine accomplish next?

For the artists out there, the crazy girls over at The Plain Jane (who have way too much time on their hands) have put together some Peep Plays. Romeo and Juliet is my favorite, the Blair Witch Project is also funny. They've combined peeps, profanity, and Shakespeare. Thank you ladies!

A-camping we will go

2006-04-09T10:31:00.000-07:00

I hated camping when I first did it last August. It was damp, buggy and the open air showers were knee-deep in lizards. My son complained that he didn't have a TV. He complained that he had to do organized activities with his fellow Cub Scouts instead of just goofing off. I was dismayed that I bought all that camping equipment for nothing because I was never using it again. Could I find someone to take the cursed stuff off my hands, for say, a dollar?

This weekend was our second campout and I was not looking forward to it. It's twenty degrees colder, for one thing and rain was a possibility. But it was only one night, local and an important Scouting event, so off we went. I figured worst case scenario, we could pack up and come home inside of a half hour. Only, a weird thing happened. I liked it. I started making a mental a list of things I wanted for myself, like I was actually planning to *gasp* do it again. I have a camp stove but suddenly it's not good enough. I eyed the den leader's two burner, thinking about how I could sauté shrimp scampi while boiling fresh linguine in another pot at the same time. A mess kettle for boiling coffee water is a must now, or even better, one of those propane-powered Mr. Coffee machines. Whoever invented that bad boy is a God. And if it rained? Why, that's what an extra tarp would be for, and they even come with corner loops for suspending into the trees with rope over your campsite! Genius.

What really hooked me was the simplicity. No TV, and as blasphemous as this may sound on a blog, no computer. I'd like to say no phone, but of course I took my cell. Still my alarm clock was the birds, my surroundings were soft and green and warm. Everything was slower and quieter. As I read In The Company of the Courtesan by book light in my tent I could breathe and was happy.

The Big 1-0 and I'm O-L-D!

2006-03-20T10:06:00.000-08:00

My son had his first big birthday party yesterday, fitting since he was turning ten. Good lord, I was five years older than him when I met his father. He's showing signs of growing up, too, with a major crush on Jessica Alba. Daddy's very proud. I was happy to learn that he's also partial to Queen Latifa. And now I'm going to print this out and keep it so I can embarrass him with it when he starts dating.

The party was awesome, we got a bouncing castle and it was never empty. Even when it started to rain the kids didn't care, they all got soaked. My best friend and her boyfriend came and she posted an amazing photo on her website. I've gotta get my digital camera fixed. Her fella was fantastic with the kids, leaping into the fray, and he brought comics and a way cool original pen drawing by Ben Burden, the creator of Mystery Men. How did he score that? It's going inside a locked frame about 6 feet up on my son's wall. No touchie! He also graced us with an original Nate Pottker birthday card. I'd take a picture of it, but, damn camera!

Happy St. Patrick's Day

2006-03-17T08:03:00.000-08:00

It seemed wrong for me not to blog about this day, seeing as I have family across the water. But, as usual, I have a complaint. I lived in Ireland for almost 4 years and I never once saw a plate of corned beef and cabbage. They don't eat it over there, people, it's an American fabrication. What they do eat--potatoes, about 6 different pork products, and natural yogurt. Also can't forget my favorite, the plum pudding, yum yum.

Actually I need to correct myself, I DID see corned beef and cabbage advertised in a restuarant once, but it was definitely satirical, making fun of America, specifically tourists who claim to be Irish and go over there with a suitcase full of gaudy clothes and a headful of misconceptions. American's use St. Paddy's Day (that's Paddy with a "D", not a "T" as I've seen some places) as an excuse to drink, but for a country who's social structure revolves either around the church or the pub (sometimes both) they don't need an excuse. They already know how to celebrate, better than Americans do.

Moo cow or mad cow?

2006-03-13T19:14:00.000-08:00

A cow is an herbivore, right? For those of you who haven't had your coffee yet today, it means "plant eater." At some point in worldwide history farmers thought they could do better than mother nature and pulled a Martha Stewart by "recycling" their dead cows into their live cow's feed, and voila, mad cow disease is born. And all it took was cheap people and dead cow brains to do it. See what happens when you screw around with the status quo? My biggest gripe about mad cow disease is that, because I lived overseas when it came out (1990's), I'm not eligible to donate blood in America, according to the Red Cross. But, lo, here it is right in America. I swear, the only things I imported from Ireland were a husband, a global viewpoint, and an affinity for using "cow" as a swear word, as in, "You just cut in line in front of me, you cow."

My best friend gave me a great belly laugh today in a letter written to Axl Rose. How the mighty have fallen.

Back on the air

2006-03-12T14:46:00.000-08:00

After almost a month long absence I'm back to my blog. Today is a record, at least in my book. A bank thermometer I passed this afternoon read 49 degrees. That might not seem so bad to you folks back east, or up north, but I've lived in Southern California for 15 years and this is the first time I've been able to see my breath in broad daylight. I dodged hailstones while unloading groceries from the car. My poor old dog is practically catatonic with the miserable cold. I know how he feels.

Speaking of dogs, I recently read Marley and Me, by John Grogan. If you like dogs in the slightest, read it, read it, read it. Ditto if you're just thinking about getting a dog, so you'll know what you may be getting yourself into. It's a totally realistic chronicle of Marley from puppyhood on (I'll let you figure the rest out yourself), the extensive trouble he gets into, the love he brings to the family and the life lessons he teaches. As a former (sniff) owner of a large dog, I was able to identify with Marley's insatiable appetite (my Rottwieler loved to nosh on door frames). There's even a website called Marley and Me, with message boards with cool titles like The Things They Ate where you can find adorable pictures of a Lab puppy caught in the act with various household items.

My fun gig

2006-02-17T15:31:00.000-08:00

My new recap of Dancing With The Stars is up if anyone wants a peek. This is the semifinals and next week is the finals then I'll be done with this gig *sniff*. It still amazes me how ABC manages to draw what should be a half hour show into 1 1/2 hours, but it's not boring. I'll miss it.

When I was about ten my father took me and my older sister to see The Harlem Globetrotters. If I live to be 110 I'll never forget it. I hope my son has the same experience because he, his Dad and I are going to see them tomorrow. Dad came through as usual and got us kick-butt courtside seats. I can't wait!

A Million Words of Crap or A Waste Of A Tree

2006-02-15T13:32:00.000-08:00

Normally I can find something to like about any book I read (I read Ivanhoe, for crying out loud) but I'm on page 80 of James Frey's A Million Little Pieces and that's as far as I'm going. It's boring me to death. He just had two root canals without anesthesia and I was annoyed with his whining. I can't take it anymore. I gave it the bum's rush and started Marley and Me. I'm on page ten and I've already laughed, cried and been hooked. My kind of book. I won't bother with Frey again.

I feel bad for Dick Cheney. Hunting buddies shoot each other all the time, but this poor schlep has to have it plastered on Leno and Letterman with comments like, "After shooting a lawyer, Cheney's approval rating went up 92%!" The Smoking Gun has the best headline that would only work in print, "See Dick. Run!" You know them over there, Mr. Frey's nemesis.

Not afraid of my phone

2006-02-06T21:33:00.000-08:00

I just finished Stephen King's Cell. I didn't hate it but I didn't love it either. The premise is fantastic--a strange "Pulse" invades cell phones and anyone who uses one becomes a homicidal maniac, stripped down to humanity's most ferocious nature. But King doesn't back it up with much. The characters aren't interesting and the plot is lame as the refugees walk from Boston to Maine in an attempt to find an area where there is no cell phone coverage. The main character, Clay, is looking for his son who may or may not have become a "phoner." That's it, that's the whole plot. King seems obsessed with this end of civilization thing but if you want to see a shining example of this read The Stand. It seems to me this book would have flown better as a short story or a novella. Worth reading if you're a die hard fan like me but wait for the paperback.

Reading is FUN-damental!

2006-02-03T17:32:00.000-08:00

I heard Jim Trelease speak last night at my son's elementary school. He's the author of the Read Aloud Handbook, as well as several others, and his message is simple; kids who love reading do far better in school than kids who don't. I almost didn't attend because I knew this already and my son loves reading so I thought I wouldn't learn anything. But I did, like don't force your kids to read. The enjoyment factor is critical. Second, even if your kids are reading on their own, you should still be reading aloud to them, preferably from books that are a little beyond them. They will get new words, new stories, new ideas from this, not to mention the bonding that goes on when you curl up with your child and read to them. This I did not know, so I got some books from Jim's list to get started right away. I've missed reading aloud--my inner ham comes out as I do voices and characters. I love it as much as he does.

The Cute and the Gruesome

2006-01-30T20:58:00.000-08:00

And now for today's nauseating cuteness it's penguins in sweaters! The Tasmanian Conservation Trust's Penguin Jumpers Project: Has volunteers knitting over 15,000 jumpers (that’s sweaters to us Yanks) to keep the wee ones warm while recuperating from oil spills around Tasmania. Their next project is to keep the Little penguins of Bruny Island from becoming road kill by erecting fences around highways and digging underpasses for the penguins to cross safely. I guess the day glo orange sweaters wouldn’t help with that.

On the other end of the spectrum I started reading Stephen King's Cell this week. It starts out bloody enough, and is getting pretty creepy. The only time I can read undisturbed is at night before bed and this book is not condusive to a good night's sleep. Fortunately I've read enough King to be immune to his wiles. We'll see if this current book holds its water all the way to the end.

Shameless plug

2006-01-28T20:41:00.000-08:00

Since this is my personal blog, I can do shameless plugs, so I'm just letting everyone know that my weekly recap of Dancing With The Stars is up if anyone would like to read it.

In a completely unrealted issue, I went to the grocery store today and came up on one of my pet peeves. I'm at the checkout, all my loot has been, or is in the process of being scanned, and the clerk asks me, "Did you find everything okay?" It's a little late to ask at that point isn't it??? Am I going to say, "Actually I couldn't find the whole blocks of parmesan cheese. Would you be a dear, stop what you're doing and go get one for me, while these five people in line behind me fume and give me dirty looks?" It seems kind of moot to ask that question when the customer is nearly out the door. That's just my rant for the day.

Frey gets flogged

2006-01-27T15:11:00.000-08:00

I'm furious that I missed Oprah's flaying of James Frey yesterday. Doubly so because I was miserable with a stomach bug and it would have cheered me up immensely. When Frey originally pitched A Million Little Pieces he marketed it as fiction, and then later changed it to memoir without any editing. He knew there were lies in there, not just lies about his jail terms, but lies about how a girl died. That's really unforgivable to me. I can only imagine how her family must have felt when they learned the truth.

It's hard enough to get published these days and I can sympathize with the pressure to make a story more interesting, but he got chosen for Oprah's book club for crying out loud. Talk about scrutiny. But like anyone who's carrying an enormous lie, he just held it and hoped no one would find out. He did agree to go on Oprah again to get his caning, I'll give him that much. Fact checkers aren't infallible either, so if a novelist is going to lie and hide it, they'd better be prepared to take the fallout. I don't have any sympathy for him but I'm curious to see what this does for sales of this book and also My Friend Leonard, which supposedly picks up where AMLP left off. You know what they say, there is no such thing as bad publicity.

Bloggers or pod people?

2006-01-21T08:52:00.000-08:00

Mediabistro's Galley Cat has a cool story on publishing with a different slant. Author John Scalzi was guest editing Subterranean magazine and came across a story that made several cuts but just didn't quite fit the publication. He was so enamored with it, he bought the story himself and posted it on his blog, Whatever. Scalzi's reasoning is that his blog gets read more than Subterranean, so the story is getting out to a large audience. Arrogant, maybe, but probably true. The story is called "Who Put the Bomp?" It's haunting and sharp, though I didn't find it terribly original, speculation on Martian invasion and pod people, amidst social insanity. Read it and decide for yourself. Scalzi has done the authors a huge service--they will get tons of exposure from this.

I used to think print publications and books were in big trouble with digital media exploding the way it is, but people are fickle and diverse creatures. Sometimes I just want info bites, I love my Yahoo page. So much to interest me, laid right at my doorstep! And other times I want to run screaming from my computer and just curl up on the couch with a thick hardcover, feel and smell the book in my hands. That will never change, for me, or the millions of true book lovers out there. We just might cheat from time to time with our computers, but our hearts belong to binders and wood pulp pages.

Happy Birthday, Mr. King

2006-01-16T08:32:00.000-08:00

After skimming through the news this morning I see that Chile has just elected the first female president, Michelle Bachelet who recieved a whopping 53% of the vote and Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf, a 67 year old grandmother has been sworn in as Liberia's head of state. Is the U.S. next? While this news is wonderful, encouraging, empowering and all that stuff, I can't help but wonder if there will ever be a day where it is not news, when it won't matter what someone's gender or race is, when we all treat each other like what we simply are: the human race. Will I see it in my lifetime? I've done what I can and I've considered it a privilige to raise my son in a way that will ensure he sees the world that way. This is how global changes are made, our children are blank slates and grow up to inject the world with whatever they learn from us. So if it doesn't happen for me, maybe it will for him, or his children. Happy Birthday, Mr. King, and thank you for your dream.

Reality mush and mouse revenge

2006-01-09T13:15:00.000-08:00

Today is a perfect L.A. day, 80, sunny, clear and dry. I can only imagine what my Chicagoan sister must be enduring, or my other relatives on the east coast while I bask by the pool. Suckers!

I feel a little icky about this, but I now write for a reality TV website! I'm a little creeped out about it because I've always hated reality TV but I'm being sucked in. I've been recapping Dancing With The Stars for Reality Shack (click here to read it), only now I'm tuning in to *gasp* Celebrity Fit Club as well. But that's it, I swear. I will not, will not watch anymore reality TV. Unless I'm getting paid to write about it.

Animals are opening up a can of whoop ass all over the place this week. In Fort Sumner, NM Luciano Mares caught a mouse in his house and threw it into a pile of leaves he had burning in the front yard. On fire, the mouse ran straight back into Mares's house, lighting everything in its path and destroying everything inside. I can't imagine the mouse living through that, but at least he went out with a bang.

In a Die Hard-like sequence a cow in line for the slaughterhouse in Great Falls, Montana jumped the fence, bolted through busy intersections, darted in front of an oncoming train and narrowly missed being hit. With police in full pursuit she then crossed another busy road, nearly got hit by a semi, jumped into an icy river and survived that by climbing up onto a sandbar. Then she gets shot with tranquilizer darts by a vet, shakes it off without dropping, and continues to elude police. Six hours after she escaped she finally walked placidly into a pen officials had set up waiting for her. The employees at the packing plant she was bound for have named her "Molly B" and vow to keep her alive. I would have named her Logan. If you don't get that reference please don't tell me because it means I'm old and you're not.

I need an ark

2006-01-02T16:40:00.000-08:00

Normally I don't mind the rain, but today we have rain of biblical proportions. This afternoon it was raining sideways, a window screen blew out of the window (yes, blew) and one of my shrubs in the back yard keeled over, probably from ground saturation. 360 days out of the year I wish I lived in a remote canyon, then it rains and I'm glad I don't have to worry about mudslides and boulders tumbling into in my backyard.

I can't help thinking Reggie hates this weather, too. Wait, you don't know who Reggie is? He's famous! He's the alligator in Harbor City who has been eluding captors since May. He's made a monkey out of half a dozen professional gator wranglers and folks have pretty much given up catching him for the moment. He has his own blog right over here at blogspot. I have to say, Reggie's pretty eloquent for a reptile. I hope someone brought him a frozen chicken for Christmas. His owner got slapped with a bill from the city for releasing him into the wild in the first place. Serves him right. As a former cop he should have known better. Of course maybe that's why he's no longer a police officer.

So that was Christmas

2005-12-27T13:30:00.000-08:00

Two days later, I'm finally talking about Christmas. Sorry, I was hungover and had to recuperate. No, not from wine, but from noise. That's okay, a noisy Christmas is a good one! Out of everything Kevin got this year he was the most excited about the books (YAY), the drum set Dad got him (it's in the garage for soundproofing) and a mechanical parrot that repeats everything you say to it. That was a last minute gift, is the most obnoxious thing in the universe and is endlessly entertaining for everyone. Of course the louder you talk the more clearly it imitates you, so much yelling ensued. Last night the men figured out how to make it sound like it was breaking wind. Fortunately it has an off switch.

One of his new toys turned out to take size "C" batteries. Who uses "C" batteries anymore??? Of course, the only one I didn't have. Walgreen's was open so I stocked up only to find the flipping toy doesn't work. Santa needs to tighten up on quality control.

I started monitoring the Boston Globe, waxing nostalgic about the town names but I had forgotten about the blue laws, which prohibits all stores -- except for convenience stores and gas stations -- to be open on Sundays or holidays. Super 88 is protesting the law, which I've always thought was stupid anyway, by staying open on Christmas. Sundays on Cape Cod were boring enough as a kid, not being able to go to the mall just added another boredom dimension.

Sunny Christmas

2005-12-22T12:19:00.000-08:00

I just finished opening all the windows in the house since it's about 80 degrees outside at the moment. This is why I love Southern California. Sorry, I can't help but gloat, but I was seriously made fun when I decided to move out here 15 years ago. My sister lives in Chicago and I heard on the news last night that it was eight degrees there. Someone please tell me why anyone would want to endure that kind of weather?

In other news, a suspected mugger in South Africa thought he'd get away from police by climbing into the Bengal tiger enclosure at a zoo. Later his mauled body was found, along with an empty beer can. I think the tigers were just enforcing the no drinking rules in their home and it got ugly. The guy must have been drinking to think this was a good idea.

Beowulf meets Hollywood?

2005-12-18T11:20:00.000-08:00

A film called "Beowulf and Grendel" debuted at the Toronto Film Festival in September and may show up in the U.S. in 2006 , but what would happen if Hollywood put out a rendition of the epic? Dan Neil, the 800 Words columnist for the Sunday L.A. Times muses on this question while being his usual screamingly funny self. I've been a big fan of his for some time but this week he's outdone himself with Monster's Ball. If you loved Beowolf, hated it, have no idea what it's about or simply tried to get out of reading it in high school (that would be me), you'll love this article. Neil manages to compare the epic to a video game, look seriously at how it influenced Tolkien and C.S. Lewis, and also question the hero's sexual orientation all in the same article. Tears were pouring down my face I was laughing so hard.

Can we please just ENJOY Christmas for once?

2005-12-17T17:30:00.000-08:00

As if there weren't enough to worry about in the world, now we're being alerted to terrorists using prepaid gift cards to fund their operations. Law enforcement's main concern is open cards, which are linked with major credit card companies and can be used to withdraw money at an ATM, even if the card holder has no account there. It's admittedly interesting and frightening, and also convenient that the story comes out around Christmastime when gift card sales go through the roof.

One of my biggest pet peeves is the way American news agencies tailor their coverage for the maximum scare potential. Ever seen the 11 o'clock news? Did you sleep after it? Of course not. Compare it to the BBC news which lasts about 20 minutes, including weather coverage (as opposed to the U.S. hour), has no fluff pieces and simply tells the facts. And you get informative world news. Imagine that.

It's a wrap

2005-12-17T16:40:00.000-08:00

Do yourself a favor--if you ever think about spending four hours straight wrapping Christmas presents, don't. Trust me on this.

Although it was worth it to be able to tease my 9 year old. He came home from a birthday party and magically knew there were a couple more presents under the tree with barely a glance. The rest I hid, and not all of them were his anyway.

"Hey, who are those for?" he asks, to which I love playing dumb.
"What are what? I don't see anything different."
"There, the new presents!"
"What new presents? I have no idea what you're talking about, sweetie."

It drives him crazy until he grabs one and waves it in my face and I have to admit I put it there. Hey, I need some kind of consolation for my aching back after leaning over a table for half the day.

Ah, the road

2005-12-12T13:54:00.000-08:00

Yesterday my friend and I did a baby road trip out to the Salton Sea. Crazy place. A huge saltwater lake, 35 miles long, smack in the middle of the desert. The salt deposits made drippy crystals on the rock and it flaked off when I climbed on the stones. The shore is made up of barnacle shells and fish bones. When the water slooshes against the shore and swishes them around it sounds like a rattlesnake's tail. The salt content makes it very marshy so birds love it. I tried to get an up close picture of a heron but he wasn't having it. Of course we were in the vicinity of the Cabazon Oulet Stores so we just had to stop there, natch. I had a fantasy this morning of pulling a semi up to the Crate and Barrel outlet.

Christmas Traditions

2005-12-05T13:15:00.000-08:00

I've been cursing the live Christmas tree three years in a row. Every year I'd swear I could still feel pine sap under my fingernails until Valentine's Day. But when I mentioned getting a fake one this year my son's face fell. "No, Mom, we need a real one." His position reversal came when I explained that an artificial tree can be up for as long as we want and it won't die. Of course this prompted begging before Thanksgiving, could we put it up NOW? Could we, could we, it won't die, you know! Forget it, kid, too early.

It all reminded me of when I was a kid and would do the same thing. My mother had a fake tree and every year we'd chip away at her time bubble and the tree would go up a little earlier. She had this ancient stereo turntable the size of a cedar chest and she'd put on Christmas albums (yes, dearies, the old vinyl records) while we decorated the tree. My Dad would come home and roll his eyes, Oh, God, it's too early for the tree, but withing a few minutes he'd be smiling indulgently. It was the same with pets, too. Whenever someone brought home a kitten he'd growl about it but by the end of the day the animal was in his lap, purring.

It's hard living so far away from family so I try to continue with these things, for myself as much as my son. Cookie baking is another tradition that I just have to continue. In a world that is so rushed and processed the simple things like spending time together and baking are the most satisfying to me.

Happy Birthday Nana

2005-12-02T13:11:00.000-08:00

Even though my grandmother doesn't have a computer I thought the rest of my family might like to see this. This was taken last Thanksgiving, my grandmother and my son. I couldn't be back east this year but I was thinking about her.

Back to the future

2005-12-02T10:00:00.000-08:00

What has 6 legs, measures 5 feet long and is found in a rock in Scotland? A water scorpion of course, goes by the name of Hibbertopterus.

What is massive, round and orbits a cigar? A new moon with the very boring name of 2003 EL61.

With all the minute details of life to get caught up in I sometimes like to ponder bigger things--what life was like on Earth billions of years ago, or what may be awaiting us out in space in the future. Fantastic imaginings remind me I am more than a collection of cells.

My dirty little secret. . .

2005-12-01T13:40:00.000-08:00

My name is Tracy and I love fruitcake. Yes, you heard me, I love, love, love it and I don't care who knows! I don't feel the Christmas spirit until I get a whiff of that bowl full of golden raisins, currants and dried fruit macerating in brandy. I was in heaven when I lived in Ireland and my mother-in-law would trot out Halloween brac and Christmas pudding and cakes, and mince pies, all derivatives of the fruitcake base. Call me sick, I surrender to it. I thought I was the only one who felt this way, then my granmother admitted her affinity, and my best friend's boyfriend. Imagine my joy! I could share the love. For anyone else who wishes to partake, here is the recipe on Food Network.

The cake itself is very fragile until it has cooled, so here are some additions I made to the recipe--line the bottom of each pan with parchment paper before baking, and you may need to tent with foil to prevent overbrowning. Let the cakes cool completely in the pans, run a knife around the edges and whack the bottom to get the loaves out, and peel off the parchment paper. It's a lot of work but worth it for the fruitcake lover.

Every day is animal day

2005-12-01T12:48:00.000-08:00

I'm a big animal lover. I'm also more of a dog person than a cat person but plucky Emily the cat has earned my respect. In Wisconson she apparently wandered away from home and climbed into bales of paper in a company's distribution center and ended up being shipped to Belgium. She was severly dehydrated after the long trip but still alive, and rescuers used her I.D. tags to locate her owners back home.

In another story a farmer has doused all his animals, dogs included, with red paint to protect them from being accidently shot by deer hunters. They aren't pretty, but they're safe. My kind of farmer.

It takes a village. . .

2005-11-25T16:41:00.000-08:00

It took me nine years of motherhood but I finally understand the saying "It takes a village to raise a child." I was at the movies with my son and a mature lady with a small boy, maybe four years old, sat next to us. I assumed she was grandma. During the film the boy needed to go to the bathroom and without even looking at him she said, "Go on, just follow the exit signs."

Now, my son is nine and I have a problem letting him out of my sight in a public place. This poor child went to the end of the ramp, looked around in bewilderment, then promptly went out the exit door to the street. Grandma never looked at him once. I leaned over and barked, "Ma'am, your child just went outside." To her credit she jumped up immediately and brought him back in, but if I hadn't warned her she'd have had no idea where he was.

I've often wondered if I should lighten up a little with my son, then I see what happens in the world. Many accidents are simply tragic but when I see a completely innattentive adult, my blood boils. This is how kids get kidnapped and killed and it is absolutely preventable.

Good In Bed--A book review

2005-11-14T10:15:00.000-08:00

Good In Bed, Jennifer Weiner's first novel, covers a year in the life of Candace "Cannie" Shapiro, a pop culture reporter for The Philadelphia Examiner, and starts off with a delicious roar. Cannie's best friend Samantha gives her a head's up that her ex-boyfriend Bruce has written a column called "Loving A Larger Woman." He's shortened her name to "C." in a passing attempt at anonimity, but anyone who knows Cannie or Bruce immediately knows she it's about her and she's publically humiliated in a national magazine. Cannie's initially reaction is homicidal fury, but after reading the full article Bruce has written about her, she sinks into deep despair over relationship regrets and her life goes downhill fast.

Sympathizing with Cannie is a guilty pleasure in the beginning of the book. She's acting whiny and pathetic, but she knows it, hates herself for it, and is still unable to pull herself out of it. There is an almost voyeuristic quality to this part of the novel as Weiner captures the agony of breakups, the self-doubt, second guessing the decision to split, pouring through endless "what if" scenarios. Adding to the calamity are Cannie's recently gay mother, her creepy siblings, and her new endevor to participate in a trial study at a weight and eating disorders clinic. Also prominent in her life is Nifkin, her "weird little dog." Cannie bounces back and forth between fury over the humiliation and anguish that she has passed on the one man who may have loved her forever for who she was.

Weiner treads on dangerous ground in the middle of the book as Cannie has a number of things happen to her which strains the story's previous realism and credibility, which is what makes Cannie so appealing in the first place. The novel deviates from that and becomes a little formulamatic, less real and engaging. Satisfying though the events are, the middle of the novel requires a heavy dose of suspension of disbelief.

In the end Good In Bed suffers from an identity crisis. One moment it is frothy and funny, and sardonic one liners abound, the next almost too painful to read as Cannie goes through her excrucating emotional turmoil. Weiner can't seem to make up her mind what kind of novel she wanted to write. Fortunately that is one of the reasons why the book works, but it's a dicey gamble in places. Good In Bed is like having lowfat frozen yogurt instead of ice cream--tasty while it's going down but not quite satisfying enough for what I really wanted. I would classify Good In Bed as a light beach read, quick enjoyment taken with a grain of salt.

Jurassic Croc

2005-11-13T10:06:00.000-08:00

Dinosaur obsession is typically a boy thing but I went through it as a child and I still love a good dino flick or story. Paleontologists are like the CSI team of ancient earth, the way they piece together a picture of what the world was like, with a healthy dose of educated guesses. Fantasy that was at one time perfectly real, or at least a reasonable facsimile.

I still love reading about new discoveries like this fossil of a relative of the marine crocodile. The 13 foot long monster was uncovered in Patagonia and lives again thanks to digitized flesh added. With four inch long teeth and presumably the agility of a crocodile, I'll bet it would have made sushi rolls out of the nastiest great white. That's a smackdown I'd love to see.

Vocation Vacations

2005-10-31T11:43:00.000-08:00

Ever wondered what it's like to be a chocolatier? A choreographer? A farmer? Now you can find out from Vocation Vacations, a company that offers just that in the U.S. and the U.K. It's a short term mentoring program that offers sneak peeks into over 70 professional fields (with more in the works) without making the actual committed plunge. You'll learn the daily ins and outs of each profession, which may or may not disabuse you of your romantic notions of say, being surrounded by vats of melted chocolate all day as a chocolatier (my personal favorite), or strolling through the vineyard on a dewy morning to commune with your grapes in your wine maker fantasy. Vocation Vacations aims to help you get down to the nuts and bolts of the business, the daily reality minus the dream. What is life without mystery, you may ask. How many business owners would have taken the leap if they really knew what they were getting into? So many businesses fail because the owner didn't know what was involved in running it. You simply can't until you get into it. A little foresight can go a long way toward success. Doing a little extra research to see if your beloved job is really for you will save you money and years off your life.

Elmo in Chains

2005-10-26T13:36:00.000-07:00

It's a parent's guilty dream come true! Impersonators dressed as Elmo, Mr. Incredible, and the villan from "Scream" were arrested on the Hollywood Walk of Fame for harrasing tourists for tips after posing for photos. Having been previously warned by police, they were handcuffed at gunpoint and officially charged with "agressive begging." I'm begging for some photos of my own of a life-sized Elmo in handcuffs. Does that make Mr. Noodle and Dorothy his accomplices?

In other news, November is National Novel Writing Month. The goal is to write the first rough draft of a 50,000 word novel in one month. My very brave best friend is undertaking the challenge, but I'm not even considering it. Mommy-dom waits for no novel. Cub Scouts first, fiction second.

Of Monks and Moms

2005-10-24T11:42:00.000-07:00

A recent article in the Los Angeles Times speculates that there is a neurological link between meditating Buddists and moms caring for their children. Say what? I'm a mom and I use yoga and meditation as something to help me recover from my childcaring activites, not something I would have compared them too, so I was slightly skeptical. Apparently, according to Richard J. Davidson, a neuroscientist at the University of Wisconson, brain scans of meditating monks and moms looking at pictures of their babies both produce elevated activity in the left prefrontal cortex, an area of the brain associated with deep happiness.

Apart from the biased fact that Davidson is an avid meditator and linked closely to the Dalai Lama, that's a pretty measly cross section for an entire study. If you want a full scientific picture, try scanning the moms when they are dealing with a full blown tantrum for the fourth time in six hours. I don't think I'll be meditating on this theory anytime soon.

Leaf peeping

2005-10-13T15:13:00.000-07:00

I grew up in Massachusetts and I don't miss the freezing rain and snow but I do miss the leaves changing. My neighbor had a maple tree with leaves that started out purple and changed to flaming red in the fall. Leaf peeping season is in full swing back east and I wish I could teleport there for a day to see the riot of color.

Here in California the trees do lose their leaves, but it's pretty pathetic. They shrivel up, turn brown and get blown off by the Santa Ana winds--a hot, dry wind you might find in hell, that whips through the southland in the fall, raising temperatures and plunging humidity levels into the teens or single digits. After living on the east coast, then Ireland, I never thought I'd live in a place where I'd need a humidifyer to breathe comfortably at night!

Apples vs. Oranges

2005-10-12T14:00:00.000-07:00

Websites like Fallen Fruit is why I love Los Angeles. It's devoted to maps depicting locations of public fruit trees, where you can help yourself without fear of tresspassing on someone's property. To anyone who has ever snuck produce out of a stranger's yard under the cover of darkness (or wish they had the guts to) it's a godsend. They take new submissions and encourage contributors to include photos of themselves alongside the tree. I thought of my best friend who lives in Silver Lake and pines over her neighbor's fruit trees. I'm lucky enough to have access to an enormous lime tree that hangs over my back fence. Limes are great for fish marinades, and of course, a long, tall Corona.

Journaling

2005-10-11T15:45:00.000-07:00

How important is journaling to a writer? To anyone? For anyone who wants to examine themselves and their lives I believe it's vital. It gets things out, onto the page and the writer begins a never ending journey of self-discovery and personal indulgence. Journals are a forgiving medium. They are not to be edited, critiqued, or much of the time, even seen by anyone other than the author. I've tried to keep journals in the past but got tired of the trite writing prompts like, "Write about a bed," or "Lunch." These can be good jumping off points for fiction, but if you are interested in plumbing the depths of your own soul, try Journalution by Sandy Grayson. It's a journal guide and self-help book all in one. What comes out on the page may not be pretty, may hurt like hell, but it will be the truth and it will be you.

What a week

2005-10-05T15:55:00.000-07:00

My third grader asked me the other day for help with subjects and predicates and I froze. Me, a writer. Well, I have three different grammar books including Eats, Shoots & Leaves and they are all gathering dust on my shelf. It never occured to me to crack any of them open. After scratching my head and promising to ask his teacher tomorrow he declared, "Mom, I think you should go back to school." I've always dreaded the day when I couldn't help my son with his homework but it might come sooner than I think. Just don't make me do algebra.

To top this off, after a two month search for the out of print How Babies Are Made by Steven Schepp, I finally worked up the courage to read it to him this week. Better late than never, and yes I was a wuss by having to use a book to explain everything. It was an excellent reproductive guide, starting at flowers, then moving along to chickens, then dogs and finally people. I don't know if this progression was meant to ease the parents into the "talk" or the kids, but I really appreciated the gentle approach. Parents can be such fragile creatures, especially when faced with the sex talk. I've been feeling so guitly about putting it off, but now I can forgive myself and feel relief and pride at having passed this particular parenting milestone.

I did get a wonderful belly laugh over the fact that my son thought the whole thing was "gross." Ah, wait a couple of years, pumpkin.

A-MAIZE-ING

2005-09-30T11:25:00.000-07:00

Nothing says fall to me like a cornfield maze. I have seen small ones here in Southern California but these mazes are attractions all in themselves. In the larger ones volunteers actually wander it with flags on poles, checking for lost people, or giving hints on possible exit strategies. Cornfields always remind me of November, when I would visit my aunt and uncle's farm in Virginia for Thanksgiving as a teenager. We'd ride horses through the harvested field, stray ears of corn laying about like a tornado had touched down and stripped the stalks, mowing them into stubble. We'd take the dead ears and rub the dried kernels off to mix with the horse's feed. The air had bite to it, an omen that the field would be under three feet of snow come January, but then there was only the sharp blue sky, clean air and the comforting musky scent of cornhusks and horses.

Supermodel Snit

2005-09-28T15:07:00.000-07:00

Why is the "downfall" of Kate Moss worthy of MSN front page news? A supermodel uses cocaine? Say it isn't so! Please, people, what woman could possibly naturally get thighs so skinny you can see her bones through them? Photographic evidence is so much more scandalous, and I have to admit to getting some perverse pleasure out of it. Pure jealousy, pure bitch-channeling. It might have something to do with the fact that I gain two pounds if I so much as think about eating a burger. At least I'm honest.

Welcome to my launch!

2005-09-28T15:06:00.000-07:00

What's in your creative closet? As a writer, I have all kinds of weird things in mine, thoughts, ideas and opinions I'd love to express and I've created this space for just that, or to share my writing with the world. Feel free to poke around.