Squirrel!!

Recently I learned what happens when my dog catches a squirrel.

This has been a huge source of speculation ever since he joined our family last June. The first time we ever heard him bark was when he saw a squirrel, and what came out of his mouth was a high-pitched yip that sounded like the squirrel had him by his non-existent balls. My husband immediately wondered if this was what intruders would hear if they came to our house. (The short answer - a resounding "no," thank goodness. So the bark is now simply known as Squirrel Bark.)

Until now our dog has never caught a squirrel, mind you. Instead he has endured their mocking stares and chirps as they scamper along the top of the fence and climb our big oak tree.

But it was only a matter of time before an animal dumb enough to run in front of moving cars would look back at my dog and think, "Heh, he's not moving that fast. I bet if I stood here for a mo... oh, shit..."

And thus, stupidity has yielded my latest lessons. And I didn't even have to be the stupid one this time.

Well, not entirely.

1) If my dog keeps running but the Squirrel Bark stops, my dog's mouth is full. That is never a good thing.

2) Dying squirrels make me scream. Not in fear, but in anguish. This is why I don't hunt (yet I have no problem eating an already-dead animal kindly served to me).

3) When I scream it sounds like someone is actually getting murdered. Like a real person.

4) My neighbors really don't like when I scream like someone is getting murdered.

5) When my neighbors are not happy, they sic the landscaper on me send the landscaper to my yard to make sure I'm okay.

6) The landscaper really doesn't like when I scream like someone is getting murdered. He also seems to think that if he's not talking to me directly, I can't hear him through the fence when he curses my existence and calls me an idiot.

7) After more than two decades in the south, the redneck influence is rubbing off on me - because for a fraction of a second I actually wondered if the squirrel wasn't too damaged to be dressed and cooked. Or maybe I'm just watching too much Walking Dead.

8) A third-grade girl handles such events better than I do. I debated telling my daughter about the whole thing because I didn't want to upset her, but I wound up spilling the beans when she got home from school. Her reply - "Cool! Can I see it?" (By the way, that shouldn't surprise me at all.)

9) If you have to dispose of an animal carcass, have the good fortune of doing so the day that the garbage gets picked up. Dodged a serious bullet there.

Week Ending Feb. 12 - "Always Look on the Bright Side"

This week I learned to never, ever doubt my husband.

Not that I normally do. Dude is awesome, an absolute prince and I'm damn lucky to have him. But several months ago when they announced that "Spamalot" was coming here in February, I told him that this would be the only thing I'd want for my birthday. I know the tickets are expensive and, frankly, we have enough stuff in the house without adding to it. So that was my one and only request.

Every now and then in the months that followed I'd drop a hint to remind him, hoping that he wouldn't wait until the last minute to buy the tickets. Because lord knows I've procrastinated on this type of thing. And sure enough, last month the performing arts center's website had a big "SOLD OUT" banner across the show's listing. So the neurotic idiot in me wondered if he had indeed procrastinated and we'd be out of luck. It wouldn't have angered me - he has always been one of the most thoughtful gift-givers I've ever known - but I've wanted to see this show for years and it would have been a disappointment at the very least.

But on my birthday he told me to close my eyes... and presented me with tickets to the show. Orchestra seats. Purchased more than three months ago.

Love. That. Man.

Week ending Feb. 5 - Someone needs driving lessons

This week I learned that, despite what my parents always told me, I do not have the biggest wise-mouth in the world. That honor goes to Giselle Bundchen, who tried in vain to keep her yapper shut last night after her husband, Tom Brady, and the Patriots lost the Super Bowl to my Giants.

For those of you who either don't give a flying fig about football or live in a cave, Giselle was on her way to comfort her husband after the game. At first she was able to ignore potshots being shouted at her - including the rude-yet-quite-hilarious, "Eli owns your husband" from one Giants fan. But at that point she turned to her friend and, loudly enough for recorders to pick up, said:

My husband cannot f***ing throw the ball and catch the ball at the same time. I can't believe they dropped the ball so many times.

Oh, honey. I feel your pain. I've let shit come out of my mouth that never, ever should have left the depths of my pea-sized brain. I appreciate how you stand by your man and support him in his work. And quite frankly, you're right. One catch by Welker and we'd be looking at a very different blog post here.

But you should also know that wide receivers cannot f***ing commit intentional grounding while in the end zone, thereby costing their team two points on a safety. Wide receivers cannot f***ing throw a pass into coverage, ripe for the picking by Chase Blackburn.

Only quarterbacks can do that. Losing quarterbacks.

Not to mention that even if I weren't a Giants fan, I'd have a hard time feeling sorry for Tom Brady. I know, I know... athletes are competitive, they take losses personally, blah blah blah. But he led the Patriots to three Super Bowl victories in four years, and now he goes home every night to bang a supermodel. Feeling bad for him losing last night's game is like feeling bad for Warren Buffett if he lost money on an investment.

You'd figure that Giselle would have calibrated her mind-to-mouth filter when she called Tom's child by Bridget Moynahan her own child, or perhaps when she said that "There should be a worldwide law, in my opinion, that mothers should breastfeed their babies for six months."

But some of us have slower learning curves, I suppose. And curves are hard to navigate when you're driving the big bus you ran over your husband's teammates with.

A midweek question

Can someone please tell me what the hell this is about?

They're called "Superfan" suits, and in the past couple of years I've seen them in the stands at college football and basketball games.

But to me it looks more like someone is searching for a green screen. Or perhaps a super hero got a world-class wedgie in which his tights were pulled up and over his entire body. And it has to be terribly inconvenient if you get hungry or thirsty. Not to mention... NO FACE. Does nobody else find this creepy?

Please, enlighten me. Because I was a crazy college kid myself a couple of decades ago, yet I never felt the urge to dress like this. And this is from someone who willingly wore a full-body band uniform in 100 degree heat.

Feb. 1 - The inevitalbe change in plans

Today I learned that my aspirations simply run too high.

I made it a month with blogging almost every day and I'm pretty proud of that, but that much thinking is really hard there's only so much I can write about while keeping it entertaining for everyone.

So from here on out, "What I Learned Today" becomes "What I Learned This Week" - with occasional mid-week sidebars. Check for the first installment this Sunday, either before or after the Super Bowl. I'll have had a decent amount of beer by then, so it should be pretty entertaining!

Jan. 31 - "Is not a kiss the very autograph of love?" ~ Henry Finck

Today I learned what the most awkward kiss in the world looks like:

(Photo from Fame/Flynet)

This is just all sorts of weird - and I'm not just talking about the pairing of Elisabetta Canalis and Steve-O. I'm wondering what exactly they are doing at this moment. Do they have really shitty aim? Or was he still hungry after lunch and decided to slurp the crumbs off of her lower lip? Because even when my love for my husband was new, if he had a little something on his face I'd just tell him so or maybe throw a napkin at him. I didn't make a second meal out of it.

I'm not sure how this hook-up happened, but it doesn't really matter. We could be looking at Brad and Angelina in the same pose and it'd still be gross.

Jan. 30 - Patience, young grasshopper

Today I learned to never completely rule out doing something again until I've finished it the first time.

I've had a longtime dream of making a great loaf of bread. It sounds kind of silly, I know... but I'm a foodie. I can cook a lot of things, but I have never baked a good loaf of yeast bread. A few years ago a friend of mine gave me a Williams-Sonoma baking cookbook. I have tried several recipes from it and liked them, but the bread section has always intimidated me.

Today, however, I decided to face my fears and try it. So I cracked open the book and turned to the recipe on making baguettes.

And I learned. I really learned. I found out what a sponge is (in regards to bread, anyway). I understood what proofing your dough means. I saw the proper way to knead bread, and got a great arm workout in the process.

I started at noon, figuring that I'd have a warm, toasty baguette to go with the pasta I was serving for dinner tonight.

But kneading dough is freaking hard work. And rising time, apparently, varies from kitchen to kitchen. Two hours here, 40 minutes there... I lost patience. I kneaded the dough forever, waiting for the moment when I'd get that "window" (when you can stretch a piece of it and it becomes translucent), but that moment never came. I waited for the formed loaves to double in size, but I don't think it really happened. And I figured that there was no way I was pissing away that much effort and time again, when Publix will do it all for me - for about $3.

But a short while later I looked in the oven and saw three beautiful, golden loaves that were just about done baking. In a few minutes I took them out and could not believe the aroma. I let them cool, slice them, and my family and I devoured one loaf almost entirely in one sitting. Everyone raved about them, and I have to say they were quite tasty. They were a bit dense in texture, apparently the result of insufficient proofing. I will fix that next time.

Yeah. There will be a next time. Patience pays off.

Jan. 27 - Down to 60 degrees, you say? I'm breaking out the sweater.

Today I learned that I don't miss this:

Nope. Not at all. This afternoon it struck me that I did my grocery shopping in flip flops and shorts, and then I washed the pollen off the pool deck. And it's January.

The longer I have lived in Florida, the more I've come to appreciate the hot, oppressive summers balmy weather. Those of you who are fellow transplants might agree that this change comes in stages.

Stage 1: When I first moved to Florida I was shocked to meet people who had never touched real snow. Granted, I loved that you could be outside year-round down here. But I missed the colder weather during football games and being able to wear cute sweatshirts on a regular basis (a staple of my late-80s wardrobe).

Stage 2: Within about five years I saw the merits in the shorter "winter" we have here. I had also gotten a bit more used to the summer heat; marching in 90 degree weather wearing a full-body band uniform will do that to you. But I still lamented the absence of truly cold weather over the holidays, and I wished it would snow a few times a year.

Stage 3: About three years ago I turned on the Weather Channel to see that they were broadcasting live on Christmas Day from Key West. They showed people wearing bathing suits and Santa hats, enjoying beers and boat drinks on the pier. I turned to my husband and said, "You know, that looks kind of nice..."

Stage 4: Now I bitch if I have to wear socks.

This year I'm making holiday flip-flops. The way I see it... the first Christmas was in a desert. Why should I have to suffer in the name of authenticity?

Jan. 26 - My husband needs a shotgun

Today I learned my daughter is the coolest girl in the universe.

The girl loves to work out - the kids' machines at the gym, Zumba class, jogging trampoline, ab-roller, you name it. So I told her that when she goes to college someday she could major in exercise and sports science, and her career could be showing people how to get and stay in shape. (And obviously, I could be her first client.) Then I said that she could even work with professional athletes.

Her wide-eyed gasp of a reaction? "Oh my gosh... like Ray Rice?!"

While my daughter likes football enough, her knowledge has been limited to Jaguars players since that's her favorite team. I had no idea she even knew who Ray Rice was; none of us are Baltimore fans, and he didn't exactly light it up on Sunday in the Ravens' loss to New England. But apparently she was paying attention.

Oh yeah, she also won our NFL playoff picks brackets, screams at the refs during Gator basketball games and loves The Three Stooges.

The line to take her to prom forms here. Unless my husband has put her in a convent by then.

Jan. 25 - I meant to do that

Today I learned that if you're trying to win a big jackpot in a radio contest, you should not take a shower.

Because - hypothetically speaking, of course - you might try to take that shower during the time span of one song (and crank up the stereo so you can hear it over the water) so you don't miss that cue to call the radio station. You might even strategically place your phone within your reach near the shower, so you have it handy in case the cue plays.

But in your haste, you might turn the water on so hot that you scald your back.

You might shampoo so fast that you don't quite rinse all the suds out of your hair.

You might forget halfway through your shower that you had makeup on earlier in the day, so you tug at your eyelashes to remove your mascara - only to get a chunk of the black stuff (or maybe an eyelash, or a plank) in your eye.

While you frantically rinse your face, some of those suds from your shampoo might get into your eye and make the pain worse.

Once you are completely soap-free (although probably not pain-free), you might turn off the water just in time to hear the cue to call the radio station. That might also be the time that your cordless phone's battery goes dead.

You might wrap your soaking self in a towel and dash to the kitchen to grab a charged phone. Your young daughter might come around the corner and just miss seeing your barely-covered ass. And you might slip and almost kill yourself on the wet ceramic tile.

And you might not even get through on the phone lines.

So please, if you're trying to win a radio contest, deal with your own stink. Because I've heard that all of this can happen.

Hypothetically speaking, of course.

Jan. 24 - Why yes, I do enjoy sticking needles in my eyes. Thank you.

Today I learned that no matter how tired I am, and no matter how disgusted I am with the state of politics... I'll still watch the State of the Union address.

Why do I do this? Because I'm a dumbass. It's the same rah-rah crap every year (albeit more palatable without Pelosi smarming in the background). I rarely learn anything. And I'm always vaguely reminded of Catholic mass.

Instead, I find it far more interesting to passively listen to what the president says while observing the goings-on around him. So if you were actually paying attention to the jabber between the cheers (or Bronx cheers), let me fill you in on the good stuff.

1) Soon after I tune in, I realize that I’ve got it on a Fox station when Shepherd Smith is on my screen. (Is it me, or does he look suddenly alien with his gaunt face and wide-set almond shaped eyes?) Anyway, the only thing I find more offensive than Fox news broadcasts are those by MSNBC. So I’m about to change the channel when...

2) The female correspondent Smith cuts to says that Michelle Obama will have “several people in her box tonight.” She’s speaking, of course, of the guests she will sit with during the speech. But my inner 12-year-old is quite pleased, and my clicker stays put.

3) The president’s arrival is announced, and after two minutes he's maybe halfway down the aisle. We are told some members of Congress arrive hours early to get those seats so they can grab Obama’s ear and push their agendas. Wow - that explains so much. Like why they don't get anything done. "Sure, I'd love to pass this bill to create a million jobs, but the SOTU is in three days and I gotta pack the tent." I can only imagine what they go through for Black Friday.

4) Ruth Bader Ginsberg looks like a cross between Joe Paterno and my mother-in-law. Weird.

5) Great moment of the night - the cheers as Obama sweetly hugs Gabby Giffords. If that didn't make you smile, your heart is made of... no, wait - you don't have one.

6) Just before he speaks, Obama gives Joe Biden and John Boehner what appear to be large greeting cards in yellow envelopes. I'm guessing they're copies of his speech, but it's much more fun to think they'll open them up and get a great Hoops and Yo-Yo bit. Or maybe Biden's is a get well card; between the handkerchief he pulls out, the red nose and the coughing, he doesn't look too hot.

7) Michelle Obama feels exactly the same way about her husband’s jokes as the rest of us feel about our own husbands’ jokes. The president mocked someone's comparison of oil to milk, then mentioned how it was okay to "cry over spilled milk" in that case. The good God, baby, you did not just say that look on the First Lady's face was priceless. Yes, honey. We've been there. We feel your pain.

8) "Spot the Republicans" is a lot harder now that Congress has decided to sit together. Oh, that's just great. The one time these bozos can agree on something it screws up my fun. Maybe I should just welcome the new challenge?

9) Wow, Obama finished maybe five minutes ago and the lights are already off in the House chamber. And we know that can only mean one thing...

PARTY AT BIDEN'S!

Jan. 23 - Facing my failings

Today I learned that no matter how much time I have on my hands, I will find an excuse to not exercise.

I used to work full time and always said, "If I didn't have a full time job I'd be in such great shape!" There was always a reason to put the workouts off - hours at the office, housework at home, my freelance work on the side... it all got in the way.

But now I work part time from home. My kids are in school in the morning and part of the afternoon. Yes, I still have plenty of freelance work, along with a home and kids to take care of. But I have a great workout video that only takes 20-ish minutes and kicks my ass. I have a rebounder, ab cruncher, Pilates ball and a YMCA membership. Most importantly, I have time to do this.

And yet here I am, at my highest non-pregnant weight ever. Again. Not huge, but certainly uncomfortable in my clothes. I eat healthy foods for the most part. I just hate working out.

It stops now. It has to.

Jan. 22 - Can we still use "da bomb" these days?

Today I learned that I'm da bomb. I found this out courtesy of a phone call from my son while I was at the grocery store:

Son: Mom, are you still at Publix?
Me: Yes, I'm just finishing at the checkout.
Son: NOOOOOOO! You have to go back! We just saw a commercial for Multi Grain Cheerios with peanut butter. You have to go back! Please??
Me: Oh, really? Well, I guess it's a good thing I already bought two boxes.
Son: (Pause) OHHHH YEAAAHHHHH! MOM, YOU'RE DA BOMB!! AWESOME!

Stuff like this is one thing I love about this age. (Aside from the fact that he included the "Multi Grain" to prove that he's being healthy - hee...) At 12 they're on the cusp of their teenage years. They're going skating by themselves, adjusting to having a different teacher for each subject and asking each other about girls. And yet they still get excited about cereal.

It's like last year when my son had two friends sleep over and I set up the fixings for ice cream sundaes. I asked them whether they wanted chocolate, vanilla or strawberry when one asked if they could have all three. "Sure," I said, "why not?" With the way they all screamed, you'd have thought I just bought them a keg.

I know it's not going to last forever, but I'll hang on to that "Awesome" label my kids have given me as long as I can. Maybe they'll want peanut butter cereal after prom? A mom can only hope.

Jan. 20... okay, Jan. 21 - The first hiccup

This morning I learned that I can't travel back in time to write a missed blog.

I prefer to blame it on the munchkins who invited friends for a sleepover last night. As much as I love to write, my to-do list last night was quite full:

* sing karaoke
* construct and devour ice cream sundaes
* make quicksand out of cornstarch and water (seriously, so cool)
* listen to endless fits of girly giggles and pre-teen boy "OH YEAH, THAT'S IT!" outbursts as video games are played

It wasn't until after the early morning Dunkin Donuts run (spurred on by two wide-eyed girls I found curled up on the kitchen floor asking me, "Can we go to Dunkin Donuts with you?") that I realized I'd forgotten my nightly post.

I'm bummed that I missed it just a few weeks into the year, but I figure I've got a good excuse. Back in the saddle again today!

Jan. 19 - Thank you, Merriam-Webster

Today I learned that "fustian" (pronounced "FUSS-chun") can be either 1) a strong cotton and linen fabric, or 2) high-flown or affected writing or speech; anything high-flown or affected in style.

That's probably the last time I'll ever use that word.

Jan. 18 - You want paddles with that?

Today I learned, yet again, that as a society we will do anything we can to lay blame elsewhere instead of taking any responsibility for ourselves.

The latest evidence of this comes courtesy of Paula Deen, cheerful purveyor of southern recipes - if by "southern" one means "heart attack-inducing" as everything she makes involves a pound of butter, a dozen eggs or perhaps some lard sausage.

Yesterday Paula revealed that she was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes three years ago, and that she now plans to adjust her recipes to fit a healthier lifestyle (oh, and she'll be promoting a diabetes-management website for a pharmaceutical company - handy coincidence, that).

And yet all I've seen yesterday and today are declarations of outrage about Paula and her deception. How can she push her food on us knowing that it isn't healthy? She has lied to her fans! She has contributed directly to the epidemic of obesity in our society!

Really? Let's take a look at this:

This is what Paula calls "The Lady's Brunch Burger." It is a half-pound burger, topped with a fried egg and two slices of bacon, and sandwiched between two doughnuts that serve as the bun.

I know not everyone has access to the same levels of education, but it doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize that this is fucking crazy. Ground beef, fried eggs, greasy bacon... oh yeah, and DOUGHNUTS. And I love how in the picture you can see the grease from the burger running down the doughnut on the bottom, mingling perfectly with the sugary glaze.

Will it kill you to eat that burger once? Not likely. And I bet it's delicious, with the sweet-savory combination of it all. But on what planet could anyone expect to eat meals like that on even a semi-regular basis and not test the physical limits of the elastic waistband? (or a defibrillator, for that matter)

Now, I don't believe for a second Paula's proclamation to Al Roker that "I have always encouraged moderation" - not from a celebrity who is on my TV every day showing me how to make mayonnaise truffles. The woman has built an empire on gluttony, and the fact that she has only now revealed her disease - when she'll be paid to endorse ways to manage it - doesn't make me believe her claims of responsibility any more.

So perhaps she's a hypocrite. But she's not a moron. And we shouldn't be morons either.

Is it bad if I wonder whether that burger comes with fries?

Jan. 17 - A twofer

Today I learned that my smoke alarms work even when I put dishtowels over them and open my windows.

I also learned that I suck at broiling steak.

Jan. 16 - The limits of physics

Today I learned that in my world, "putting a few holiday decorations away in the closet" results in this:

Much like my stomach after Thanksgiving, there's only so much that can fit into one small space.

I feel better now.

Jan. 15 - Onward, GIANTS!!

Today I learned that trash talking is even more fun when you engage your own children.

I am a Giants fan. My 7th-grade son is an Eagles fan. He is also a fan of the NFL postseason fantasy football commercial - the one with "Bad Day" playing and the people with losing fantasy teams lamenting their seasons. And of course he loves the moment when a man in Giants gear and a team named "One Giant Step" is shown with an 0-17 record.

Tonight once again he laughed and said, "Haaaaa, Mom, the GIANTS fan is a LOSER!"

Tonight I replied, "Hey, how is the Eagles' playoff run going? Oh, wait..."

Ah... victory.

Jan. 14 - "And then Usher taught me this move..."

Today I learned that this happened:

I just couldn't keep the awkwardness to myself. You're welcome.

Jan. 13 - As the Page Turns

Today I learned that just when you feel younger than ever, Old smacks you in the face.

I celebrated my 40th birthday last year and, unlike my 30th, I welcomed this milestone with open flabby arms and joyful exaltation - I am WOMAN! I am FULL OF VITALITY! I have MY WHOLE LIFE STILL AHEAD OF ME! Maybe it was the wine, or the weekend at Universal Studios, complete with a visit to The Wizarding World of Harry Potter.

But I digress... The point is, I feel really good about my life at this age. I'm doing what I love professionally (writing) and personally (raising my family) and striking a great balance between the two. I'm not at my skinniest, but I'm still reasonably fit and can keep up with daily life. It'd be great to have a little more comfort financially, but we're far from broke and we still have our health. For that alone, I am grateful.

But I'm putting together a proposal for an article I'd like to publish in Redbook. This is my favorite magazine, kind of a combination between Cosmopolitan, Good Housekeeping and People. It has a little of everything - they way I prefer life to be - and for many years I have enjoyed reading it. So it's no surprise that I fit their target demographic perfectly.

So this morning I look at the Writers' Guidelines and the first sentence reads:

REDBOOK is targeted to women between the ages of 25 and 45 who define themselves as smart, capable, and happy with their lives.

Whoa.

I'm merely a few years away from NOT being a part of that cherished advertising range.

I know it does not matter in the practical sense. Redbook will not cancel my subscription. I will still enjoy the articles and benefit from them. I know I'm only as old as my mind will let me feel, blah blah blah. And tomorrow I totally won't care.

It's just a reminder that, not unlike my waistline, my relevance is fading with age. It's one of those little turning points of life that makes you think, or reassess your life.

Or just ramble on with a blog about it.

Jan. 12 - The End of an Era

Today I learned that the pain of losing a friend is far worse when it happens to your own kid.

The neighbors across the street are moving out of state tonight. They have four kids - three boys and a girl - all of whom mesh incredibly well with my own children and the few other kids who live in our small neighborhood. It was especially nice for my daughter, since there were no other girls around to play with on a regular basis. Their arrival two years ago made her jump for joy that she finally had someone to call on. The two became almost sister-like, both in their affection for each other and the squabbles they had.

What followed in the next couple of years was something the likes of which I haven't seen since my own childhood - a bona fide neighborhood gang that harkened back to the days when the word "gang" didn't make people shudder. The boys ran between houses and shouted down the road at each other during endless games of Manhunt (glorified Hide and Seek, pretty much), while the girls made up songs and dances and drew with chalk on the street. They gathered together on driveways for impromptu after-parties during New Years Eve or the Fourth of July. Everyone from the six-year-old girl to the sophomore in high school played summer kickball games together, not stopping even when the sun had set and the ball could barely be seen.

In reading that, I wonder who's more bummed - the kids, or me.

But I know it's heartbreaking for them. It's always sad when a friend moves away; I saw a few of those back in my day. But when you see your kids go through the same heartbreak - when you hold your daughter as she sobs because her neighbor-sister won't call on her this weekend, and when your son mopes because there are no longer enough kids for Manhunt - it hurts a thousand times worse.

I know they'll be fine. I always was. But it's going to be a tough few days.

Jan. 11 - I'd like to buy a clue, Pat...

Today I learned that I still don't have the answer to an ages-old question, at least for me.

I was watching Wheel of Fortune tonight. Hey, remember waaaaay back when Wheel first came on and you could go shopping with the money you won? Once you solved a puzzle, they would give you a total and then the camera would pan over a rotating set filled with prizes - furniture, jewelry, trips (usually they'd frame a photo of the destination and caption it), all of which had price tags on them. And they'd have the camera shot of the contestant in one corner, naming her selections, as if she was actually hovering over everything herself. I wish they still did that.

Tangent. Sorry.

As you probably know, you get money for each consonant you guess correctly in the puzzle. But you have to "buy" vowels - they deduct a pre-set amount of money from what you've earned. So you only want to buy a vowel if you need help figuring things out, right? Makes sense to me, anyway.

Then why on God's green earth do people who obviously know the answer still buy vowels? Come on, now. The topic is "Place" and the board says "L_ND_N, EN_L_ND" - do you seriously need the vowels to solve this (or at least figure out that the last consonant is a G)? Are you confused that it might be "LINDIN, ENZLOND" instead?

It's especially fun to see when people do that and then try to make up their losses with another spin - at which time they hit BANKRUPT and everything goes out the window. Then the next contestant with absolutely nothing in the bank spins one time, hits the $5000 space, calls out that G and solves the puzzle.

Am I missing something here? And am I the only Austin Powers fan who can't read the above phrase without internally saying "London, Eng-a-land"?

Jan. 10 - Born with a lucite spoon in her mouth

Today I learned yet another meaning for the word "luxury."

By now most of us know that a few days ago, Beyonce and Jay-Z welcomed their first child into the world - a baby girl named Blue Ivy Carter. I've never been a fan of either parent's music, but I can respect that both are talented, hardworking people in a solid marriage. And these people are so rich that this kid will likely shit gold bricks and want for nothing. So in all sincerity - Mazel Tov, you crazy kids.

Little details have since emerged about the blessed event - the kind of birth, the celebrity well-wishes, the alleged closure of an entire wing of Lenox Hill Hospital. But none so absolutely awesome as this:

Courtesy of US Weekly's website... this is the lucite crib that the happy parents have purchased for their daughter. And it costs $3500.

No, I'm not going to begrudge them spending that much on a crib. They earned their money fair and square, and they already raise/donate millions of dollars for worthy causes. A sum that big is fitting for a 2200-square-foot nursery (as is detailed by a "source"). Knock yourselves out, Carter family.

I just think while it's not my personal taste, it's fabulously intriguing for many reasons - all of which I will present in a point-counterpoint format. (Mind you, not all of these are serious. I'm not an idiot.)

1) POINT - There are some conveniences. For one, it's much easier to see the baby. And it's probably easier for the baby to see out as well. That's pretty neat.

2) COUNTERPOINT - What if the baby can't see the slats? Are there any studies done on the dangers of this? Could the baby move forward, thinking her path is unobstructed, and crash into the bars like a bird that doesn't see a sliding glass door?

3) POINT - Clear lucite will match any paint, trim or bedding colors. Again, quite convenient.

4) COUNTERPOINT - That thing is gonna be a bitch to keep clean. Can you imagine how easily fingerprints and drool will show up? Not to mention that the most popular use I've seen for clear lucite is stripper heels. Do we really want to instill a love for this material so early? Will the playroom have a firehouse pole and a lighted stage?

5) POINT - This crib likely has nice smooth edges, which is very safe for the teething little ones. Bonus design point - it's probably firm enough to not show teeth marks.

6) COUNTERPOINT - Apparently the main ingredient in lucite is petroleum. Yum. Sure makes me want to nosh on that siderail.

And on a side note - what's up with the playground balls in the picture? Have babies developed a fondness for crib dodgeball tournaments?

Enjoy the new digs, Blue Ivy. And if you don't like how they arranged your room, you can always ask your mom to move that crib - to the left, to the left...

Jan. 9 - A champion is crowned. And there was much rejoicing. Yay.

Today I learned that if I never hear the words "honey badger" again, I will die a happy woman.

I didn't terribly care who won tonight's BCS cash cow championship game between Alabama and LSU. I preferred the Tigers mainly because I love their crazy ass fans. On one particular band trip in college, a three-year-old kid dressed in purple and gold chased us through the parking lot (while we were in uniform) shouting "TAAAHHHGER BAIT! TAAAHHHGER BAIT!" at the top of his lungs. The sheer gumption of this kid, combined with the shit-eating grin on his face and the laughter of his parents, were almost as entertaining as the kids in the Quarter who asked us "Where you got your shoes?" (By the way, the answer to that is "I got my shoes on Bourbon Street" - or else you owe them five bucks, and you damn well better pay.) So yeah - love them Tigers.

Overall, though, I didn't care because either way the SEC is taking home yet another corporate money haul national championship. And you can't put a price on that. Well, okay. You can.

But after spending most of the game half-asleep on the couch due to a nasty cold that won't go away, I realized that had I been healthy... I would have slept anyway. I can appreciate two excellent defenses, but I'll take an early-90s Gator scorefest over two teams that manage one touchdown over eight quarters of play.

So I enjoyed my doze on the couch. Yet even through my haze of congestion, I heard it again and again.

Honey badger.

Punctuating my sleepy state in Brent Musburger's irritating, fake-folksy staccato, the words cut through my brain like Al Gore's "lock box." At one point he used it four times in a span of about 30 seconds. And immediately after my husband yelled at the TV for that, Musburger added another for good measure.

Honey badger.

Look, I know Tyrann Mathieu got the moniker for his tenacity. But it's irritating, especially when it comes from Musburger (who seems to have a weird preoccupation with the whole thing). And how long can it honestly last? Because there's only so much one can use a nickname before it becomes more of a fake proclamation than anything else. It's like the whiny, spoiled chick who talks about how low-maintenance she is. If you have to tell me you're low-maintenance, sweetheart... you're probably not.

So here's hoping that despite being a sophomore, Mathieu declares for the NFL draft this spring. Because a nickname like "honey badger" teamed with the honey-colored dye job he's sporting is enough to get his ass kicked in the pros. Then maybe the hell can end.

Sure it will. And we'll get a college playoff, too.

Jan. 8 - Promises, promises

Today I learned that this whole "What I learned today" thing might not have been the brightest of my ideas.

It appears that finding something I learned each and every day is a bit harder than it looks. But even more daunting is remembering to blog it, which has led to a few late-night computer reboots as I've realized - after hitting the hay - that I hadn't jotted down that day's lessons. Tonight, in fact, I have been sitting in front of my laptop for about 20 minutes, trying to figure out what to write without boring you all to tears.

But bear with me if you will, because a promise is a promise. I will still do my best to blog every day and learn something new - even if it means trying a new recipe or looking up a word that I've never seen before in the dictionary. I'm kind of realizing that this is more of a personal challenge to myself than a way to entertain others.

Oooooh - see that? I did learn something new today. Hah!

Jan. 7 - It's the little things

Today I learned that you can have a great time with nothing more than a plastic bat, a football and scooters. I'm not sure what they were doing, but it occupied my son and his friends for at least an hour.

And nothing got broken, so everyone wins.

Jan. 6 - Oh, how we change with kids in the house

Today I learned that I'm losing my edge. Fast.

Most who know me know that I live for college bowl season. That whole "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" song? It's not for the holidays. It's because we have bowl games, NFL playoff races and college hoops all at the same time. Really, what more could you ask for?

So you can imagine my surprise when, even though the Cotton Bowl is on tonight, I find myself watching the final episode of The Wizards of Waverly Place. Willingly. Because apparently I must know whether Alex or Justin becomes the Russo family wizard. Don't even think about that third kid, Max, because he's the stupid one and of course there's no way he could beco... GAH!! Why do I even talk about this?!

Instead, close to 9pm I found myself shushing my husband because the headmaster of Wizard Tech (don't ask) is announcing the winner. All while Arkansas and Kansas State were locked in a 3-0 defensive struggle that has apparently been pretty interesting.

Ooops, 10-0 now. I must have missed that Razorback touchdown while watching Jessie.

Jan. 5 - At-Home Improvement

Today I learned that I'm getting better at this parenting gig.

The kids just finished winter break and went back to school a couple of days ago. While I love being with them, I usually find myself begging for the end of school vacations and wishing for peace. Not an unusual thought... but it loaded me with guilt. Why couldn't I be like many of my friends who long for a few extra days to snuggle with the wee ones? Meanwhile I was practically pushing them out the door. I became a freelancer so I could spend more time with the kids, but all I did was get frustrated and anxious.

This time, however, I vowed to schedule writing work to finish before the holidays and push aside the housework... and just be. We decorated the house, baked cookies, fed the ducks at the pond, went to Skate Station (thank God for school coupons!) and watched The Price is Right every day. Pure bliss.

As I thought about that today I realized that, for the first time, I too was longing for a few extra days of school vacation. When I was able to focus on just them and not deadlines or anything, I could enjoy them so much more.

Sounds pretty logical, but it's amazing how much you miss in the heat of a tantrum. And I'm not talking about one thrown by the kids.

Jan. 4 - Armageddon is upon us

Today I learned that the Mayans are right. The world will end in 2012.

I know, I know - the end point of the Mayan calendar/timeline/whatever it is doesn't necessarily signal the actual end of the world. Many scholars think it simply notes the ushering in of a new era. Hell, until today my theory was that the guy making the timeline could have had a heart attack and dropped dead right at that point, and now everyone thinks it's a sign that Something Big Will Happen.

But that theory changed today. Because I saw this:

Kardashians Trying to Launch Kardashian-Themed Magazine

Yes. This is actually happening. I know the "source" is quoted on gossip websites, so perhaps there is hope for a denial by the freak circus. But really, does this sound out of character for the Kardashians? This is a family in which one sibling's staged union for profit marriage barely outlasted another sibling's stint on Dancing With The Stars.

You know, there was a simpler and happier time in life. A time when we passed paper notes to our classmates instead of texting them. A time when we didn't scour food labels for high fructose corn syrup and other evils. And a time when, God bless us, we didn't know what a Kardashian was.

But now? Now I can see the four horsemen on the horizon. And they speak in a nasal vocal fry with an upswing at the end that makes every sentence sounds like a drawn-out question. ("And so I told Scoooott? That he should be home with meeee? And the babyyyy?") They will dress all women in tacky clothing with pointy shoulder pads and apply mascara to them until they cannot blink - all the better to keep an eye on the men, who will have their faces smoothed over with wax so that only holes for eyes and nostrils are left. Because in the new Kardashian world they need not speak, lest the woman overlords are contested. They have come to judge the living and the dead, and their kingdom will have no end.

All I want is my handwritten notes? On paper folded into little triangles? So I can throw them across the classroom again?

Oh, great. It's already happening.

Jan. 3 - Love and Marriage

Today I learned that Johnny Weir got married to his boyfriend on New Year's Eve.

Who is Johnny Weir, you say? He's a world-class figure skater who has competed in several Olympic games and won three U.S. championships. But he is probably known more for his preference for boas and the single red glove he calls "Camille."



While I'm thrilled that Johnny and his boyfriend are able to legally tie the knot, my main reason for this post isn't to further the cause of gay marriage. It's because gay or straight, I think the guy is hilarious. While he never publicly commented on his sexuality until his book came out last year, he never hid his true colors - and often was quite witty in his retorts to any criticism of them. My favorite quote of his is from several years ago, after he apparently caused a commotion after a press conference. At the time, he wrote the following on his blog:

"The next morning the papers came out and all of a sudden I was causing a stir because I told Phil Hersh he looked thin and I was wearing a chinchilla scarf that someone thought was a boa. First of all, boas are so out. Secondly, I would never wear a boa to a press conference."

See? Unabashedly fabulous. I wish them many years of happiness. And when they have their "second wedding" over the summer (as apparently this one was just for legalities), I want to see pictures. Because anyone who has as much fun with fashion and attitude as Johnny Weir is going to throw one hell of a party.

I just hope Camille is his maid of honor.

January 2, 2012

Today I learned that Oregon is the new head of college football's House of Style. As it was, Maryland had already started the season with enough uniform components to put together 37 different looks for games. Seriously, has any team ever put more thought into what it wears? It takes real men to be that fashion forward.

But Oregon has upped the ante with this piece de la resistance, which they wore for the Rose Bowl today. Behold:



I. LOVE. THIS. It's protective headgear and your teammates can check their look in it. Although I have to admit, my first thought was this:



Still, it's pretty much awesome. And it confused Brent Musberger, which makes me love it more. Kudos for innovative fashion in the world of football. Now if we could only do something about golfing outfits...

A new year brings a new name

Did you notice? :-)

Probably not, since I haven't posted in almost six months. But I realized that I need more of an impetus to blog than expressing moderate thoughts on politics, pop culture, my family, sports or whatever else comes to mind.

They say that there's a learning opportunity in everything one does, so I've decided to see if that's true. Each day I will write about at least one thing I have learned. Yes, each and every day. It might be something profound or something stupid, but I guarantee that it will be something I didn't know the day before.

So are you ready to learn with me?