Pop Junkie

Postcards from the Center

2006-06-15T08:52:00.000-04:00

You may have wondered where I got my scintillating writing style and gift for storytelling. I inherited it from my father. He and my stepmother recently retired and are exploring the country. Here is a sampling of my father's eye for detail and wordsmithing. For some reason, I find these hilarious. Forgive me for being evil and posting them here.

The Scoop

2006-05-23T08:59:00.000-04:00

My bloggy friend, lorem ipsum, was kind enough to include me in her interview post. She asked some interesting questions and I'll try to think of suitably exciting answers, although it might be hard!

1) Where the heck have you been?
Living life, I guess. I plan a gala each May, which makes me anxious for several months and this year was particularly difficult. My husband was interviewing for a new job with a potential relocation. That fell through, so we started the process again and he's starting at a different company next Tuesday. No relocation necessary! All that, plus various medical tests, and I was basically working and watching bad television for the past several months.

I guess I could have written about it here, but I figured it was just normal life stuff. Extremely interesting to me, but I'm not as talented a writer as you and I don't think I could make it compelling to others.

2) What is the first book you ever remember reading?
Go, Dog, Go!

I remember that my mother, who worked evenings, was getting ready and I was in my bedroom pretending to read. We had read the book many times together and I was spelling out the letters and making sounds. Suddenly, the sounds became a word, then the next word, then the next. It was a revelation. I felt like I had opened a door to another part of my brain. I was 15.

Just kidding. I was 30.

3) You are a 'pop junkie,' but your tastes don't seem banal at all. What music/book/magazine/tv show is your guilty pleasure?
Oh, I definitely enjoy swimming in the shallow end. Almost prefer it, actually, after putting up with the pretensions of my professors and fellow students in an ivy league graduate program. Sure, I can talk the talk when appropriate, but I will always be tickled by the absurd and the tasteless. It's a character flaw.

So, music - I love Neil Diamond and The Monkees. Davy Jones was my first crush at 5 years old, and I still remember the words to Pleasant Valley Sunday.

Books - I read trashy romance novels. Not just the greats like Catherine Coulter, Linda Howard, and Amanda Quick, but also the Harlequins by Violet Winspear. I look for bulk bags of romance novels at used book stores, buying 50 for $5, then I will spend the day on the couch with them.

TV - Actually, all I watch is bad television. Disaster shows on Discovery. The Soup. Reality shows on MTV and VH1. I reveled in Flavor of Love when it was on. Right now, I'm following Ghost Hunters on Sci Fi and Top Chef on Bravo. The SciFi channel is continuing a fine tradition of B Movies and I've been enjoying the ones based on Greek mythology for the horrible special effects and stilted acting.

4) What famous author, living or dead, would you most like to have over for dinner, and what would you serve?
Goodness, there's so many. I'd like to meet Kurt Vonnegut, although I imagine he'd be a lot like Kilgore Trout in real life. Maybe Madeleine L'Engle, because she has a purity and honesty in her writing that makes me think that she's a warm and wise person. Nick Hornby because he's got a dry, cynical sense of humor and eclectic taste in music.

I'm not sure what food I'd serve, but I'd definitely try to lubricate them with alcohol.

5) You have $10 and $90 to last you for the month, to split between food and books. Does the $10 go for food, meaning you eat ramen noodles for a month but get a nice stack of books, or do you skimp on the reading material in favor of some more substantial nutrition?

I don't skip meals. It goes against my nature. I ate enough ramen to last a lifetime in art school. Thank goodness for library cards!

So that is your peek into the world of Jane. Scary, isn't it? If you're interested in being interviewed, give me a holler and I'll try to conjure some imaginative questions!

Thanks Lorem!

Blatant Theft of Meme

2006-04-11T11:00:00.000-04:00

Thanks, Arethusa, for this idea and for your great book suggestions. I can't stand looking at Britney Spears for one more second, so I'm going to post my version of the booklist meme as well. Yay me.

Look at the list of books below. Bold the ones you've read and own, italicize the ones you might read, capitalize the out the ones you won't, underline the ones on your book shelf, and place parentheses around the ones you've never even heard of.

THE DA VINCI CODE, DAN BROWN - er, never. Got into a discussion about this at dinner with friends last weekend and looked like a total book snob. But really. I know this book will suck.
The Catcher in the Rye - J.D. Salinger
The Great Gatsby - Scott F. Fitzgerald
The Hitchikers Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams
To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
The Time Traveler's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince - J. K. Rowling
The Life of Pi - Yann Martel I own it but have never been able to read it.
Animal Farm: A Fairy Story - George Orwell
Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
THE CURIOUS INCIDENT OF THE DOG AT NIGHT-TIME - MARK HADDON - I just think not.
Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
1984 - George Orwell
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban - J. K. Rowling
One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
THE KITE RUNNER - KHALED HOSSEINI
The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold (ugh)
Slaughterhouse 5 - Kurt Vonnegut
Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe - C.S. Lewis
MIDDLE SEX - JEFFREY EUGENIES - I own it but will probably never pick it up.
(Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell)
Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
(Atonement - Ian McEwan)
(The Shadow of The Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon)
The Old Man and the Sea - Ernest Hemingway
The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
DUNE - FRANK HERBERT - tried several times but it's a snooze.
(Sula by Toni Morrison) - I've read a few of her books, but not this one.
COLD MOUNTAIN - CHARLES FRAZIER – most annoying end of a movie ever.
THE ALCHEMIST - PAUL COHELIO
(White Teeth by Zadie Smith)
The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton

What titles would you add to this list?
Of Human Bondage, William Somerset Maugham
Sons and Lovers, D.H. Lawrence
The Complete Works of Saki
Einstein’s Dreams, Alan Lightman
Wicked, Geoffrey Maguire
The Wind-Up Bird Chronicles, Haruki Murakami
Wonder Boys, Michael Chabon

Oops she did it again

2006-03-31T08:32:00.000-05:00

I am almost beyond coherent thought on this one. First, I was going to be flippant and say that this is exactly how I've always imagined giving birth - naked on a bear skin rug. Then I started to get pissed off.

If this sculpture is, according to the news story I heard, meant to celebrate the women who choose having a family over their careers, then why would you honor a woman who was a multi-millionaire by the time she was 18? Her decision was easy compared to the women her age who are going to school, working part-time, and trying to be a mother. Many of these women are doing it on their own, without the help of private chefs and nannies, or even without a husband. Although I think it's a stretch to think that Kevin Federline is of use to anyone, including his wife and son.

What's with the zombie-like expression on her face? No hint of personality or intelligence. Wait...it IS supposed to be Britney. So maybe that's alright.

And the most disturbing thing about this sculpture - has anyone seen it from BEHIND? Art shouldn't make you slightly nauseous when you contemplate seeing it from a different perspective. But maybe that's just me.

Ok. I might be cranky and taking it out on the hapless Britney Spears. I think I hurt my back during a medical test a few weeks ago, and the aches kept me awake last night. I tell myself I'm imagining it during the day, but when the pain wakes you up at 2:30 and you can't get back to sleep, perhaps it's time to take it seriously.

Grrrr.

Just remember Jane, the sun is shining. Spring has sprung. Daffodils are blooming. Forsythia are waving their joyous little branches in the breeze. It's a good time to be alive. Right? Now get yourself some caffeine and start working.

Bye for now!

New Media

2006-02-27T08:46:00.000-05:00

We stopped at a bookstore after dinner on Friday, which had its fun moments. Just when I think I've forever passed on to the side of matronly, some stranger tries to pick me up in the science fiction section. He seemed like a nice guy and I thought he was just making conversation until my husband breezed by with an obnoxious smirk on his face. He didn't stop - just rolled by like a freight train and slammed a book into my hand - leaving an awkward silence in his wake. The stranger and I just stared at each other for a few seconds until I thanked him for his suggestions and moved to the next aisle. We avoided making eye contact after that. Thank you for your suggestions, strange SciFi Man.

He suggested China Mieville's Perdido Street Station and The Scar. I'd already picked them up because of their covers, and he gave me a glowing recommendation. I've not read enough to give a full report, but I am enjoying the dense, rich prose and unique, dark world.

On my very own, I picked up The Children's Blizzard by David Laskin, indulging my morbid fascination with natural disasters. Like most books of this sort, this is an easy, fast read. But the story is amazing. In January 1888, one of the worst blizzards in the history of the US hit the praries of the Dakotas, Kansas and Nebraska. It was a fast storm, moving 60 mph, and what made it particularly lethal was that it hit on the first balmy morning after a severe cold spell. The day started at 20 degrees, and by the time school was dismissed, the storm hit and left many of children stranded on their way home. One record shows that the temperature dropped 18 degrees in three minutes, eventually falling to a windchill of 40 below that night. You can imagine that many of these children had traveled to school that day in their lightweight coats, not to mention the farmers who were probably working their fields in their shirtsleeves. It is called the Children's Blizzard because many of the fatalities were schoolchildren.

Also noteworthy was the snow. Because the temperature was exceedingly cold within the storm, the snow was the texture of fine sand, getting into every crack and crevice and reducing visibility so that people could not see their hands in front of their faces, even if their eyes weren't frozen over.

This book underscores the harshness of life on the prairie for settlers. Grasshoppers descending like locusts and eating an entire crop in minutes, prairie fires that spread across thousands of acres, and the crippling isolation. For any of you who have read Laura Ingalls Wilder, I would recommend this book as well.

Ahem....

2006-01-30T09:28:00.000-05:00

Well, hello there. Long time, no see. I've been uninterested in blogging recently. No, no, it's not you. It's me. I'm just not ready to commit to a clear focus with my blog. This type of hodge podge makes for poor reading, in my opinion. And it's not fair to you, reader. You deserve much better. So I'm setting you free and I hope that one day you'll find a blogger that can give you what you need.

In the meantime, I shall continue in my search for the perfect escapism material. You should know that I've surrendered to the dumbing down of America. I'm proud to say that I may have lost 10 IQ points this year through my television intake alone. This is without the aid of liquor, people! It has been a while since I've catalogued my media intake, so here are my current guilty pleasures.

1. Digital Devil Saga 1 and 2 - Who can fight the lure of a woman whose demon form has fanged mouths on her breasts? Or a hero who doesn't speak? I love the strong, silent type. Seriously, this is a great RPG series with a convoluted story that would make the writers of the X-Files proud. It's also long, which is excellent since I've developed a genius plan that incorporates playing a game with my workout. I can run around for an hour, powering up, whilst on the elliptical. Keeps boredom at bay on both fronts! I'm so smart that I scare myself.

2. Lost - I know, I'm a bit slow on the uptake. The husband and I have decided to spend quality time together by watching Lost. Yeah, laugh all you want but you'll see what happens when you've been with your partner for 16 years. It's a great excuse for cuddling. We're about half-way through the first season and the show's lived up to the hype so far. But I have to wonder where all the ugly people went. How likely is it that a plan would have that many attractive people on it? Is that revealed in season two?

3. The Flavor of Love- Since Tyra turned into a psycho drama queen, and not in a good way, I have filled the void left from America's Top Model with The Flavor of Love. What can I say about The Flavor of Love except that its appeal is the lack of any redeeming qualities? A bunch of video vixens fighting for the love of that luscious piece of manmeat - Flava Flav - by frying him chicken and hanging out at a retirement community. And the winner of the competition gets to go on a date with him to Red Lobster. Red Lobster! Could television sink lower? I don't know, but I'm watching until it hits rock bottom. The cost of freedom is eternal vigilance.

Reading:
1. Dies the Fire, R.M. Stirling - post-apocalyptic fantasy novel about a world without electricity, and the Ren Faire geeks who rise to power in their respective tribes. I wouldn't recommend this book unless you think that the mock swordplay during Ren Faire tournies could conceivably be useful when End Times arrive.

Listening:
I've been revisiting Bauhaus and the Old 97's, but am enjoying newer bands like My Morning Jacket, Spoon, and the Kaiser Chiefs. I would say that the biggest disappointments this year were Sufjan Stevens and Death Cab for Cutie. Both were put into my "overly self-conscious and pretentious singer/songwriters with penchants for painfully unclever song titles." To wit, Stevens' Come On! Feel The Illinoise!: Part I: The World's Columbian Exposition/Part II: Carl Sandburg Visits Me In A Dream.

I mean, isn't it bad enough that you have vowed to make an album for each of the 50 states? Isn't that both overly ambitious and, well, a bit childish? I can appreciate wanting to be prolific, but with 22 songs on an album, I think perhaps you should embrace the idea of self-editing.

Speaking of self-editing, I must do the work they pay me for. Those bastards. Don't they know that I'm a goddamn genius? So, until the MacArthur Foundation chooses me, I must bow down to The Man. Back to the grind. Wish me luck.

Blogging, schmogging

2006-01-23T09:00:00.000-05:00

I'm not that interesting. Really.

A Kernel of Wisdom by Jane

2005-12-12T09:14:00.000-05:00

It ain't Christmas until you pull tinsel out of your cat's ass.

Seems about right

2005-10-17T09:08:00.000-04:00

Heard this on the radio this morning and parts of it seemed appropriate for my frame of mind. I just wonder who I'm supposed to go see...

When your mother sends back all your invitations
And your father to your sister he explains
That you're tired of yourself and all of your creations
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?

Now when all of the flower ladies want back what they have lent you
And the smell of their roses does not remain
And all of your children start to resent you
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?

Now when all the clowns that you have commissioned
Have died in battle or in vain
And you're sick of all this repetition
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?

When all of your advisers heave their plastic
At your feet to convince you of your pain
Trying to prove that your conclusions should be more drastic
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?

Now when all the bandits that you turned your other cheek to
All lay down their bandanas and complain
And you want somebody you don't have to speak to
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?

Nothing Much to Say

2005-09-26T11:41:00.000-04:00

Well, I don't have much to say right now. So here are more photos of recent additions to the household.

Our new TV cabinet, which replaced the $20 "as is" Ikea stand we bought 10 years ago and the 3 foot high speakers (which weren't even hooked up) that filled the space. It's teak and from Java. I oil it with Old English every few months, which I love because Old English smells like children's aspirin.

A wall hanging from Tibet. Don't know much about it. We bought it a few weeks ago during our trip to DC. We stayed in Dupont Circle and did a little window shopping early Sunday morning. There was an outdoor farmer's market. I bought our host a lovely field flower bouquet. I put a sprig of lemon basil in it - I'm sure it made his entire apartment smell nice.

Cast iron lanterns from aforementioned host. I'll put them outside eventually, but we are currently redoing our stone patio. By "currently" I mean that it should be done next June.

Hope you are well.

More Travel Photos!

2005-09-13T12:07:00.000-04:00

You've been anxiously awaiting the next installment of the Doh adventures. Well, here is a sample of our trip to the Poconos last weekend.

The call of the highway, there's always something exciting about it.

Suki is slightly dubious of our adventure.

The little cottage in the woods. The lawnchair is a makeshift dog fence.

The well-fed deer liked to come up our driveway and work Suki into a frenzy.

We went on several hikes at a local state park. The air smelled so sweet. The weather was clear, sunny, and warm. All in all, a perfect late summer weekend.

The road less taken

Fields of flowers....

The requisite waterfall...

So many shades of green...

Seas of fern...

Dappled textures...

And Shades of DEATH - WTF?

Our fearless leader

Ready to take on the world.

But we eventually exhausted her. So much that she apparently lost the use of her front paws.

It just gets worse

2005-09-02T13:07:00.000-04:00

The stars can see Biloxi
The stars can find their faces in the sea
And we're walking in the evening by the ocean
We are splashing naked in the water
And the sky is red from off towards New Orleans
And the sky is red from off towards New Orleans
-Ted Hawkins

One one hand, I simply can not understand how such a thing can happen in the United States.

On the other hand, I walk around my city during work and think how easily anarchy could rise here. I have been increasingly discouraged with the violence and death on the news this summer - just in my metro area. Poverty, ignorance, and despair run rampant in Philadelphia too.

We have failed our country. I mean all of us, not just the government. As we grow increasingly divided into bipartisan factions, the backbone of this country is crumbling. Even now, while people are actively suffering, the blame game has started.

I wish I have a solution. I don't. Right now, I'm just trying to understand.

If you haven't read this, it is a blog from someone inside New Orleans right now.

Tooting My Horn

2005-08-08T09:35:00.000-04:00

I have a tendency to be self-deprectating. It is a natural modesty that evolved out of an attempt to make others feel comfortable. I think I overdo it at times, however, and sound like I have low self-esteem. The fact is that I have a healthy opinion of myself, but I usually spare others' feelings before my own - unless it is an issue that I judge to be important. Is it a matter of being a laid-back person or a matter of courtesy? I'm not sure.

I have been doing my semi-annual "What Do I Want to Be When I Grow Up?" soul-searching. Working in non-profit development is fun at times. It pays the bills and I always get Columbus Day off. Still, it's not quite where I pictured myself ten years ago.

I have been attempting an analysis of my strengths. What do I really enjoy doing? Where are my talents? And I'd like to toot my horn just this once about the one thing that I've enjoyed doing lately.

We do a lot of events and have been gradually bringing them in-house. Last week, we had a cultivation dinner here at our office. It was supposed to be a summery theme, so I chose the table overlays and created the centerpieces. The overlays were a pink, several shades of green, and white stripes. I bought apple green ribbon to wrap around the pillar candles and napkins.

I woke up early on the morning of the event and went to the florist. I picked some white and pink flowers from their stock and got some interesting greens. Within a half hour after arriving to work, I had five centerpieces. They were gorgeous. Simple and delicate. And they cost $80 with the vases. We usually pay $40 per centerpiece.

I stood back and looked at the dinner space after we had set it up that evening. It looked cool, summery, and festive.

In fifth grade, I decided that I was going to be an artist. I took art classes throughout high school and went to a private art college on scholarship. I only went for one year and have felt guilty about frittering away my talent ever since. But this week I realized that, although I don't draw or paint like I did, I still use my creativity. I used it when I decorated my house. I use it when I plan events at work. I use it when I cook.

So there you go. I'm tooting my own horn because I've got a knack. Screw self-deprecation!

I've got that fresh feeling

2005-07-26T09:03:00.000-04:00

I want to walk in an untouched pine forest in the mountains, on a hot sunny day. I'd enter the forest and the sounds of my footsteps would be hushed by the thick padding of pine needles on the ground. All the undergrowth would be cleared out so I could see long distances under the umbrella of pine branches. Bird song would seem far away, and I would feel like the only living creature for miles around.

I'd find a comfortable perch against a tree, take a deep breath of the cool fresh air, and listen. I think that would be nice. More than nice. Necessary, in fact.

Stay

2005-07-22T08:52:00.000-04:00

I've been reading quite a bit lately, although I seem to have the teflon brain. Nothing much is sticking except some odd sci-fi/fantasy short stories. Like the one where a rape victim has the ability to turn her lovers into butterflies, which she then stuns with ether and mounts with pins...that one really bugged me. GET IT? hahahah. I crack myself up.

So, Stay, by Nicola Griffith. It's a neo-noir crime story (wrongly categorized as SciFi in my library), with a straightforward plot that moves quickly and smoothly. But the plot seems almost incidental to the over-powering and evocative description of grief. The main character, Aud Torvingen, and her loss are the focus of the first paragraph, the last paragraph, and nearly everything in between. The writing is succinct, yet oddly lyrical and descriptive. It is deeply moving without being preachy or overbearing.

Aud is a violent person, which puts her in a nice juxtaposition with the violence towards women that is central to the plot. It keeps this book centered on character development, not a political agenda.

Stay is about being safe. Or the realization that there is always the potential for being unsafe. While Aud tries to regain her balance after her grief by retreating from the world, she finds that she is constantly teetering on the edge of loss. It's a dangerous world and our daily tasks can be seen as leaps of faith. We usually have no choice but to assume that our loved ones will return home at the end of the work day. How can you not believe that? But sometimes the bottom drops out from under you, and the characters in this book deal with their losses in their own ways.

Stay is a sequel to "A Blue Place," which I have not read. I'm always reading books out of order. It was a surprising book. I think I may read more of her.

I Can Read You Like a Book

2005-07-20T08:38:00.000-04:00

My husband asked me out on our first date in a library. It was our college library, a Mike Brady-esque building overlooking the Oak Grove (our quad).

I started going to the library when I transferred to this college. It was a way to get some space from an annoying room-mate (is there any other kind?) The library was under budgetary constraints. In western PA, football is king. So it three stacks of fiction, none of it recent.

Being the resourceful gal that I am, I found some wonderful books in that library. I would walk between the stacks and pull out books with interesting titles. With that method, I discovered Kingsley Amis, P.J. Wodehouse, Truman Capote, The Wizard of Loneliness, and The Truth About Unicorns - an extremely odd book that captured my imagination.

The library also had carrels with small televisions, a VCR, headphones, and a stock of about 500 movies. I would take the afternoon off and watch all sorts of classic flicks like Kurosawa's Dreams, All That Jazz, Vertigo, etc.

So the library kept me occupied when I needed some time alone or was between classes. I am fairly confident that I never studied there. However, the BEST part of the library is the memory of the day this cute guy tracked me down and asked me out.

I'd met him at a party the night before. He was an acquaintance of my brother, who was a few years ahead of me. My escort for the evening had abandoned me, and as I was new to the school, I was left stranded. I was fending off an approach from some guy who was talking about my thighs, when a cute boy started talking normally to me. I have no idea what he said, but I managed to follow him around until my escort suddenly reappeared. The escort tried to balance a glass of beer on my head and, of course, spilled it all over me. Needless to say, the cute guy walked me home that evening.

I was at the library the next afternoon and had just finished watching a movie. As I left, I encountered the previous night's escort. We were friends, before I understood that being just friends with single guys usually means that they have a crush on you. The escort said, "Hey Jane, that weird guy that you were talking to last night is down in the lobby looking for you. I think he likes you."

So I walk downstairs to the lobby and there he is. A tall, skinny blond guy who tried to act surprised to see me (he's since told me that he never set foot in the library and had called my brother and room-mate to find me). He said that there was a new show on Fox called The Simpsons. A couple friends were coming to his dorm room to drink and watch the show, did I want to come?"

History was made. We were inseparable after that. He dropped a long-distance girlfriend and a "friends with benefits." I dropped my poor escort pretty quickly, even though it took him several months and a few early morning drunken phone calls to move on. It would have never happened with him, but I'm sure he'd cringe if he realized how he facilitated our meeting.

I feel vindicated a bit when I think that 15 years later, that cute guy and I are still watching The Simpsons together.

My life is fascinating.

Another day of WTF?

2005-07-07T09:27:00.000-04:00

Condolences to our friends in London today. I am shocked and profoundly dismayed.

As American as Pie

2005-07-07T08:37:00.000-04:00

Ice cream pie, that is. We finished the last of it last night. If we have any sort of Independence Day tradition, it is my home-made peach ice cream pie (layered with caramel sauce, toasted pecans, and a buttery Lorna Doone crust). I make the caramel myself, an extremely simple recipe, but one that makes the house smell rich and warm. Ice Cream Pie day always makes the husband happy which, in turn, makes me content. The Dohs are such simple creatures.

On another note, I'd like to wish my mother a very happy birthday. It seems like I've spent a lot of my adult life squashing the parts in me that are similar to her. Not that it works. I think I am more like her than I wish to be. However, that may not be so bad. My mother is open, vulnerable, gracious, and caring. Not just to me, but to everyone. She's almost too gentle and fragile for this world. I love her more than I say and often more than I will admit.

She called me earlier this week and seemed pensive. She was feeling her mortality and is dividing up her perennials between the gardeners in the family. I didn't follow her reasoning (as usual), so I thanked her and told her that I loved her. I hope it was enough. There are some things we confront on our own. I think that getting older is one of them.

That's the problem with parents and adult children. Parents have already gone through your current phase of life, but not quite. Social changes, politics, technology, family structures - they're all different now. And we, as the younger generation, always feel like we know more than the people who have lived before us. I don't think it is necessary to bridge that gap (at least for me, I think distance is healthier for my family in many respects) but I find myself at a loss when I hear my mother's lonely comment from across the way.

Mom, what can I say? Thanks for all you've done for me. I love you.

Caramel Sauce
1 cup water
2 cups sugar
2 cups heavy cream
pinch salt
3 tbsp butter, each tbsp cut in half.

Pour water in heavy bottomed saucepan and turn heat on high. Add sugar in a heap in the center of pan, making sure that you don't touch sides. Place candy thermometer in the middle of the pan and cook, on high, until the mixture reaches 300 degrees F (10 to 15 minutes).

Lower heat when mixture reaches 300 degrees and cook until it reaches 350 degrees. The mixture should be a deep amber color, but you need to watch it carefully to make sure it doesn't burn.

Meanwhile, place cream and salt in smaller saucepan. As soon as the sugar water reaches 300 degrees, turn the heat under the cream on high just until it simmers. Turn off heat (and take off burner or the milk will foam and overflow).

When sugar water reaches 350, remove from heat and add 1/3 of milk mixture in. Wait until most of the bubbling has subsided and stir gently with a heat-resistant spatula. Add remaining cream in two parts, mixing between each part. Add butter and stir until glossy and smooth. Once cooled, this can be stored in tupperware for up to two weeks. Just reheat in the microwave or on stovetop.

Here We Are Again

2005-07-05T08:58:00.000-04:00

A momentous weekend of nothing in particular for the Dohs. We had painters at our house at 6:45 Saturday and Sunday, which meant that I was up, showered, and caffeined by 6:30 am and got a lot of housework done before 10 am. Although I haven't given you an update on the garden for a while, it is one of my greatest pleasures. The roses and Mexican evening primroses are almost finished and the first lilies bloomed this morning. The zinnias look like miniature fireworks. We finished the little terrace this weekend, planted some hollyhocks along the fence, and placed a ceramic bird bath with art deco designs on it with a little pot of yellow daisies. It is starting to come together after five years of hard labor.

I've also started my first furniture refinishing project - and it sucks. It's a cherry bedroom set from the 1930's. Much too modest for a style, I would say it is Mission if I had to put it in some category. So far, I've stripped and sanded the bedframe slats, the footboard, and one drawer. Only 9 more drawers, a headboard, and two dressers to go! Woohoo!

My take on Live 8:
1. London clearly got the better end of the deal. Better acts and longer concert.
2. I would have paid for a Live 8 ticket just to see the performance of Bittersweet Symphony by Richard Ashcroft and Coldplay. Although I didn't get to see the whole thing because..
3. MTV and VH1 covered the event horribly. If there was any smidgeon of doubt that music is incidental to these corporations, Live 8 removed it. Why did they interrupt every song to show us the vapid VJ banter? Did they realize that it was almost criminal to interrupt Comfortably Numb during a historic reunion of Pink Floyd to tell us that "we were watching history?" No, we're watching your sorry asses while history is being made BEHIND you.

The evolution of a generation. I watched the first LiveAid on MTV because, at 14, I was decreed too young to go. The coverage of the original event was respectful. Bands played their sets without interruption. Commercials and VJ's were limited to the time it took to set the stage between acts. Looking at the ADHD-inspired coverage this time around made me feel old.

Speaking of which, I found my first gray hair this weekend. It was glimmering like a silver fish at the bottom of a muddy creek. I plucked that little bastard and gave it to my husband, who laughed at me and gave me a hug.

Sigh.

A Friend in Need is a Friend Indeed

2005-06-30T10:48:00.000-04:00

Quick notes first:
1. Please excuse the appearance of the blog. I'm playing around with some design programs and learning as I go.
2. My husband has asked me to announce that has demolished the foundation of our ruinous barbecue pit and laid a nice patio in its place. Therefore, he is not the lazy bum that I have portrayed him to be on this blog.
3. For the record, this is still my blog and all opinions herein are solely my own. The dangers of letting your friends and family read your diary. Be warned.
4. After writing sporadic and careless entries for the past few months, I make a promise to myself ot take a bit more care in my posts.

Lorem ipsum (a new blog acquaintance and talented writer) wrote a thoughtful post about the dissolution of a long-term friendship a few months ago. It made me remember my one-time good friend Ruth and how our relationship ended.

As a quiet person, I am naturally drawn to more voluble and dramatic personalities. Ruth is certainly that. I met her through a coworker and she asked me to join the board of her vintage dance company. For the record, that's a group of people who dress in historic clothes and dance the cakewalk and such for fun. I was the volunteer grantwriter and thought the crowd was nice, if a bit nerdy.

Within a short time of meeting her, Ruth revealed that she was from a wealthy family. She was well-traveled, well-read, knew all the great hole-in-the-wall restaurants, and always had a interesting story about her recent happenings. We started working out together and, as these things usually happen with women, we eventually eliminated the gym and frequented our favorite restaurants.

I was fresh out of grad school and was impressed with Ruth's worldliness. She seemed to come from a different world than me. She had a beautiful Victorian twin home with a landscaped garden, an amazing kitchen with Delft tiles, and exquisite plaster moulding in her dining room. I drank in her stories of people and places like they were happening to me. Here I was, recently married, living hand to mouth in a walk-up apartment, and had been on an airplane for the first time during my honeymoon. I blame myself for encouraging her in a way.

Then Ruth contracted thyroid cancer. It pleased me to be the nurturing one, meeting her for dinner each week and listening to her inventory of problems. I was the calm and wise one, even though she was ten years older than me. Fortunately, Ruth came through her operation and recovered completely.

We continued our friendship, but I was starting to notice things about Ruth. How she seemed to go through boyfriends like they were tissues. How two housemates had left on bad terms. How her relationship with her mother was, to put it kindly, strained. Each time a relationship broke, she presented herself as the victim and I consoled her. She told me that I was "good for her soul," something that pleased me so much that I didn't mind when we stopped talking about what was going on in my life. But I did start asking deeper questions about why people seemed to leave her life on such bad terms, and never received a satisfactory answer.

The breaking point happened during a simple dinner. My husband and I were to meet at her house after work. She arrived late and this strange story evolved. Ruth had apparently been on a commuter train home and, two stops before her own, saw a vent person (her term for the homeless) clutch his chest and fall to the platform. She immediately got off the train to give him CPR. As our evening went on, her initial and hesitant story got more detailed and grandiose. The man's breath stunk, but she still gave him mouth-to-mouth, the commuter train waited 20 minutes for her to hand off her patient to the ambulance (yeah, right), and she received a standing ovation from her fellow commuters when she reboarded the train (oh come on, this is rush hour Philly).

She was clearly lying and I couldn't understand why. Why should she care so much what I think? I am completely average, with the same guy for 15 years, a homebody, a nobody really, and I didn't care that she was late.

The more I thought about it, the more I saw how our relationship was skewed. I had let myself become this nurturing, stable ideal to her that had nothing to do with the struggling young wife that I was. It was something that I carried over from childhood, when I was assumed a more mature demeanor for my mother's sake. I thought that subverting my importance was the best way to keep a relationship on an even keel. But I was tired of doing that.

I drew myself away from Ruth after that evening. We never talked about it and I am sure that I hurt her. Looking back, I could have handled it better but I don't regret losing her friendship. It was like a parasite leaving my body.

I am fortunate to have a very dear friend right now who has a flair for the dramatic. I love to listen to her tales. We meet for dinner now and then to laugh over them. But I know that she is there to listen to my trials and tribulations, too. I can share my insecurities and foibles with her - and she offers me sympathy and kind advice. It is a good thing.

Mr. E's Beautiful Blues

2005-06-29T09:00:00.000-04:00

I saw the Eels on Monday evening at the brand new WXPN world cafe studios. It's a great new venue that houses eclectic radio station (that you can listen to online - check out my new TimeWasters sidebar), a restaurant with live music, and a music hall that seats about 500 people.

My husband and I went with our next door neighbor, a gentle and funny guy with what might be the cutest baby on the planet. He and our dog are having a love affair and will whine for each other through our fence and they squirm excitedly whenever they meet. But that's another story.

The evening started out slowly with a terrible dinner (the food would have been good, but the service was neglectful. Who serves a dinner salad without dressing then disappears for a half hour?) The band was scheduled to go on at 7:30, but didn't step on stage until nearly 9:00. During that time, we were subjected to a painful 1960's stop animation cartoon from Russia (30 minutes of torture), followed by Russian military marches.

Then the Eels stepped on - Mr. E, a five-piece string section, and "The Chet" - who seems to be a man of many talents. Mr. E, who looked quite debonair in a suit and carried both a cane and a cigar, played a traveling piano that sounded like bells, a traveling organ, an upright piano, plus several guitars. Chet played a slide guitar, a saw, keyboard, and a drumset that was designed to look like a metal trashcan and a suitcase. But the drums only kicked in for a few songs, so you can imagine how mellow it was.

If you've listened to the most recent album, Blinking Lights, you'll know that it's more acoustic than previous works. The band played short versions of songs, almost like interludes, and you were able to immerse yourself into the melancholy lyrics. But before you felt like killing yourself, the band would play a happier song like "My Beloved Monster" and "I Like Birds."

The best part of the show was E's onstage banter. Sample wit from the trailer of the band's upcoming documentary, Rock Hard Times, which follows the band as they promoate their new album:

BBC Interviewer: You're a prolific writer. How do you write so many songs?
E: I write songs all the time. In fact, I'm writing one right now.
Interviewer: What's it called?
E: Inane interview

The band did not play "Saturday Morning" or "Mr. E's Beautiful Blues," sadly, but I did get to hear a nice arrangement for "The Only Thing I Care About" As an encore, they played a fast version of "Now You're Really Living." All in all, a nice night out for those of us who don't go to shows frequently.

My favorite things...

2005-06-27T16:30:00.000-04:00

psst...hey...Bud the Duck is now walking around. When did that happen?

Like many of you, I've always been a reader. Romance novels, science fiction, fantasy, the backs of cereal boxes, you name it. But the fantasy genre appeals to me in a special way. Maybe we can chalk it up to simple escapism, but this genre transports me away from my daily cares in a purely pleasurable way. Experiencing grand adventures from the comfort of my couch. What could be better?

Here's a few of my favorite fantasy series.

1. Atlan Saga, Jane Gaskell.
I found the first book of this five-part series when I was in my late teens. Until then, I had thought that all fantasy was written for and by men with epic battles and armored dwarves. Not so. Jane Gaskell published her first book when she was 14, and she has a unique, honest voice that immediately rang true with me. Feminine, but not fluffy. It felt like the main character in these books was me.

The books are based on the mythical country of Atlantis and how it fell into the sea. Cija, the heroine that could be me, starts out as a pawn between warring countries and somehow becomes Empress of Atlantis. She's shy, naive, a bit sulky, but has a wonderful resilience that fascinates the men she unconsciously attracts. No, that's not the part that could be me. The book is written as a journal and her slightly sarcastic observations are easily recognizable to a kindred spirit.

The best part about this series is the fifth book, written from the perspective of Cija's five-year-old daughter. The daughter is somehow more worldly, cynical, and accepting of the brutal truths of life than her mother. Partly a reflection of the acceptance and unsentimentality of young children, and partly because her mother is apparently a bit of a ninny. Even though the series was written in the 1960's, the language still has a freshness and femininity (not to be confused with girlishness) that is arresting. I love these books.

2. Outlander Series, Diana Gabaldon
Part romance novel, part fantasy, these books literally engrossed me for weeks when I read them the first time. The premise is based on time travel. Claire Randall, a happily-married doctor in the 1960s, walks through a circle of stones and is transported back to the Highlands and a man named Jamie Frasier. The plot twists and turns, with much drama, but the core of the book is the love between Claire and Jamie. The author has obviously been in a long-term relationship herself, and recreates the small, intimate moments of a marriage with honesty and tenderness.

I steal from a review on Amazon, but here's a sample of one of those moments: "I was lame and sore in every muscle when I woke next morning. I shuffled to the privy closet, then to the wash basin. My innards felt like churned butter. It felt as though I had been beaten with a blunt object, I reflected, then thought that that was very near the truth. The blunt object in question was visible as I came back to bed, looking now relatively harmless. Its possessor [Jamie] woke as I sat next to him, and examined me with something that looked very much like male smugness."

There are four books in the series, I think, and the characters have war, high seas adventures, prison breaks, heartwrenching separations, and joyful reuinions. It's delightful.

3. Black Jewels Trilogy, Anne Bishop
Will somebody else please read this series and tell me why I like it so? The writing is not that great, but I like the IDEA of it. I don't know. I would love to hear more from the rest of you.

4. His Dark Materials Trilogy, Philip Pullman
Yeah, I had no idea that this series was for young adults until halfway through the second book. Pullman has created a world that you can almost touch and smell, with plenty of magic, heroic quests, evil, good, and characters caught in between.

These are just a few of my favorite escapes, I guess. I think the Harry Potter series is light-hearted fun as well, but almost every fantasy reader does. So that will be my only mention of them. I am currently reading an anthology of 1960's scifi edited by Harlan Ellison that is great. It seems like the 1960's were a fertile era for science fiction - space exploration, civil rights movement, a belief in Progress - all contributed to potential futures. Interesting reading, indeed.

Seriously. Just go away.

2005-06-10T09:59:00.000-04:00

Can we send these two back to their home planet now? Are they the first people from their world to fall in love? Is that why they are slobbering over each other every time I turn on the damn television?

For Darth...

2005-06-02T09:00:00.000-04:00

You're stuck inside Fahrenheit 451. Which book do you want to be?

I would be Howl by Allen Ginsberg. My freshman English professor in art school introduced me to Ginsberg (as well as Catallus) and I will be forever grateful. Because we're all golden sunflowers inside, blessed by our own seed & hairy naked accomplishment....yes we are.

Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?

Of course. I was weaned on romance novels, thanks to a very progressive older sister.

The last book you finished is?

The Lovely Bones. Three years after it was recommended to me. Better late than never, I guess.

What are you currently reading?

The Best Science Fiction Short Stories of 2002 - I keep telling myself that reading short stories is a phase. But it's been three years...

The Best Unrequired American Reading - more short stories and essays, and edited by Viggo Mortensen, who is an incredibly boring writer. I wish I had kept the Aragorn dream in its happy little bubble.

Everything You Know is Wrong - leftist essays and news articles about how we are being deceived by governments and the media. They're supposed to make me angry, I guess, but the writing is just so terrible in some that I started laughing instead.

Five books you would take to a deserted island?

1. Persuasion, Jane Austen. I like her clear eye for human fraility and her gentle humor. This book in particular appeals to me because it is about finding love after you've resigned yourself to being on your own.

2. Of Human Bondage, W. Somerset Maugham. I read the book again this winter and it's a great story of expectations, failure, and finding your place in the world.

3. The Black Jewels Trilogy, Anne Bishop. These books are compiled into one volume so I'm not cheating. They are pure fantasy fluff and I keep reading them over and over. And over.

4. The Life of Pi. I would finally be forced to see this book through to the end.

5. The Wonder Boys, Michael Chabon. This man has a way with words.

Who are you going to pass this book to?

The She-Creature and Phoenix (I'm sure Dickens will play a role).