My List of 2008 BESTS!

Seems like everyone and their cousin creates an end-of-year "Best Of 2008" list, so why should I be an exception? I took a few moments in the midst of my fevered and congested flu haze to create a list of my BESTS for 2008. This is not entirely comprehensive because, well, frankly, I only spent about 30 minutes or so pondering the topic. What you see here are just my top-of-mind thoughts. What were your favorite things in 2008? I'd love to hear them.

Flannel Sheets & King Size Beds
Obama's victory and his inspiring acceptance speech
Eckart Tolle's A New Earth
XM & Sirrius radio -- now they are one and the same. Hooray!
Beck and his Modern Guilt
Love & Marriage (go together like a horse and carriage)
Mad Men
The Rick Roll
Riveria Maya's moonlit beaches and swim up bars
David Osborne
Stephanie Meyer's Twilight books
Slumdog Millionnaire
The 2008 Summer Olympics
Rock Band & Guitar Hero World Tour
MacBook Pro
Fireplaces
Facebook
Oprah's Soul Series
Solera and Orange Osborne cocktails
IPhone
Coldplay live at the Xcel Center
Fuzzy UGG slippers
Dexter
Old friends who continue to be there and wonderful new friends who just enter your life
Freedom of speech and civil liberty
Ghetto sandwiches -- you have to try these babies. YUM!
Stainless Steel water bottles (i.e. Sigg)
David Pink and his Whole New Mind
Secret Diary of a Call Girl -- gotta love the BBC
Piracy where nobody gets hurt
Sophie & Bob and their furry little faces
Nissan Rogue
Happiness & Contentment

Here's to a grand 2008 and a look ahead to the promise of 2009. May we all find our BESTS in the year ahead!

The sniffling sneezing coughing aching stuffy head fever so you can blog medicine

I have a cold. I have the flu. Well, I'm not really sure how to distinguish between the two, so I guess I have one of them and neither one is telling me. What is the difference? My mom mentioned that she thinks I have the flu because I have a fever. Do you not get a fever with a cold? If someone could enlighten me, that would be cool. Either way, I'm kinda miserable.

OK, so I just now realized that when one describes a cold, they say "I have a cold" and when one talks about flu, they say "I have the flu." Why does cold get an "a" and flu get "the?" Is it because colds are so darn common and therefore do not get the honor of a singular and specific descriptor? Does it have something to do with the fact that each year there seems to be a new and unique strain of the flu virus and, if you so choose, you can get a vaccine for it? You can get any old cold, but the flu, well, the flu is SUPER SPECIAL! Maybe the word choice is related to the fact you can DIE from the flu, but not so much with a cold. Can you die from a cold? Please blog fans, enlighten me.

But I digress . . .

Hope everyone had a happy and healthy holiday! I guess I had the former, but not the latter. I should be at work today, but decided to keep my virus or germs or bacteria or sniffly wee-beasties locked with me inside my domicile. It's like a germ party over here and you are NOT invited. We don't have enough tissue and cough drops for everyone. Sorry.

On a somewhat lighter note . . . over the course of my holiday break, I have had the opportunity to see several films: Seven Pounds, Revolutionary Road, Slumdog Millionnaire, Let the Right One In, Blindness, Religulous to name a sampling. LOTS of movies, but so many more to see. Of the flicks mentioned, I would have to give all of them a pretty strong double thumbs up. Seven Pounds would probably garner the least enthusiasm, but still offers a good storyline which keeps you guessing for at least the first 50 minutes or so. Slumdog would be my top pick of the bunch. Danny Boyle as director (Trainspotting, 28 Days Later) rarely disappoints and this is no exception. Slumdog exposes the ghettos of Mumbai in a truly visceral way. I saw it, smelled it, the squalid conditions and poverty seeped into my skin and out of my pores. Make sure you sit through until the very end. You don't want to miss the Bollywood style credit roll.

Revolutionary Road reminds me of the television show Mad Men in a number of ways -- pacing is a little slow befitting 1950's American dystopia. Company man comes back from the war to pursue the American dream. Everyone (well, almost) falls in line with the cookie cutter version of the perfect society, perfect home, perfect family, perfect life. The problem is there is no such thing as perfect and happiness doesn't come in the form of a Cape Cod, 3 bedroom, 2 bath, white picket fence property. Kate Winslett is excellent as the young wife and homemaker disillusioned with her 'cozy' life in the 'burbs. Leo DiCaprio brings in a solid performance as her equally burdened husband. If you are a fan of director Sam Mendes (American Beauty, Road to Perdition), you'll see his tell tale mark of poignancy, sadness and longing all over this bad boy. It is actually quite a bit like American Beauty, just set about 40 years earlier.

Let The Right One In will not be a movie for everyone. I would describe it as a foreign (Sweden) art house film about vampires. We are talking sub-titles, depressing scenery, bloody deaths, etc. Given my penchant for both foreign films and vampire tales, it had me at the opening credits.

Well, this concludes my flu (or cold) fueled movie review rant. Stay warm everyone!

Room & Roses

After an eternity of patient waiting, I FINALLY, have pictures to post of my new bedroom. From henceforth I will call it the sanctuary, because it has been transformed into a peaceful cocoon of tranquility and restful slumber (no thanks to you Slumberland). Mr. Oz and I went out and got ourselves one of those little trickling water fountains with the stones in them and everything . . . yep, just like the ones at the spa.

So, just as a reminder. Here is the before picture:



And here, my friends, are some after pictures:




Oh, and just because they are lovely and smell glorious, here are some pictures of the roses Mr. Oz sent me for my birthday. He's so sweet . . .

Slumberland: The Final Saga

Slumberland came through ladies and gents. The new bedroom furniture has FINALLY arrived. It looks wonderful and I cannot wait to crawl into my glorious bed tonight. I promise to include some photos in my next posting so I can share the "after" picture with my loyal readers.

Whoo Hooo! No more cramped spare bedroom. No more piles and stacks and heaping loads of clothes just waiting for a new dresser to live in. No more cursing and gnashing of teeth . . . well, at least not for now anyway. Casa del Osborne is now back in business. Overnight guests are welcome once again, but you will be relegated to the cramped spare bedroom when you arrive. Sorry. It's perfectly fine for a couple of nights, but quarters get a little tight after a couple of weeks.

You are damn lucky Slumberland. I was about to put a mob hit on you Tony Soprano style. Your knee caps have lived to see another pain-free day.

More to come . . . Hope everyone is having a terrific and joyous holiday season! Don't worry. I won't come after your knee caps. I do have SOME Christmas spirit after all. I'll save the ass kicking until after the New Year.

The Scent of Meat Fills My Nostrils

As a perfect transition from my last Fogo de Chao post expounding on the joy of roasted meats, here is something else to chew on. In a recent Boston Globe story, Burger King announced its entrance in the "fine" fragrance category. I purposefully place "fine" in quotations here as Burger King does not necessarily play on the same brand level as oh . . . say Chanel. And, what would you expect in a cologne from the purveyor of the Whopper? Well . . . how about the subtle scent of flame-broiled beef? Yep, that's right. The Flame is a meat infused spray for men.

Ahh, whaaa?!! BTW, does the Burger King King creep you out as much as he creeps me out?



Apparently, the smart folks at BK feel this smell will lure in the ladies like some sort of addictive pheromone. Now I like a good burger. Don't get me wrong. But, the thought of a meat cologne makes my stomach turn.

The story reminds me of something out of the Onion -- a spoof, a lark. I think this one might be real, however. Watch out everyone. The Flame might just be 2009's hot ticket stocking stuffer.

Good luck with this one BK. Might I suggest sticking with the fried foods and do what you do best? Leave the production of fragrance to the folks who know a thing or two about it . . . Jessica Simpson, Britney Spears, Sarah Jessica Parker and J-Lo. Thankyouverymuch.

Fogo For Four

Today was the official start of an unusual 8 day festival known, in some circles, as the week of my birth commemoration. The spectacle of joyous triumphant glory was kicked off in a rousing fashion with a weekend visit from Abysmal Scribble and Mr. Scribble. Calloo Callay!! Before I dive into a rundown of the festival events thus far, let's take a momentary station identification break and update on a couple late breaking news stories, shalls we??

Firstly, many of you have been kind enough to reach out during my recent Slumberland "oh, how I loathe thee" dramatic re-enactment. This was a WAY off, off-Broadway production and has been garnering rave reviews among the critics and general public alike. Tickets are sold out through February, so if you haven't seen the show yet, you are SOL. Sorry. I've added a third act to the play and have changed the format from a docu-dramady to a musical. Andrew Lloyd Webber is composing as I type. My viewing audience will be pleased to find Act 3 moving from caustic rage to redemption for Slumberland as today I received the phone call I had been waiting for. Furniture delivery is set for sometime on Thursday!! No doubt the corporate overlords have been tracking my blog and were quaking in their boots. I am assured that my loyal readers were also incensed to the point of berating said corporate overlords with scads of emails, phone calls, faxes, picketing and rioting on the streets, etc. Slumberland, bending to the will of the people, has seen the error of its ways and caved to our demands. Viva la Revolution! Well played everyone. Well played.

Secondly, kitty cat Spencer Bob, took a bad health turn this week and landed himself in the hospital with a terrible cold. Poor little guy was neither eating nor drinking for days. Dehydrated and sad, he spent a few days under the care of a veternarian and seems to have bounced back somewhat. He's back home safe and sound. Thank you City Cat Clinic. You are AWESOME!

Finally, onto the festival of birth commemoration . . . Day 1 was marked with rejuvination at the spa. Abysmal and I kicked it with a relaxing facial followed by a massage. Can you say, niiiiicccce? Sure. I knew you could. Mind you, I have NEVER before had a facial and I was a tad nervous? What if the potions and elixers they used caused my face to break out in hives or something? Well, it didn't, but I'm not sure my skin knew what hit it. It is still in shock. I also tried a new thing on the massage -- the hot stones. Have you tried this? If not, you REALLY should. Wonderful experience. I believe, at one point, I fell asleep and started snoring right there on the massage table. Pure bliss.

After an afternoon of shopping, me and Mr. Oz and Abysmal and Mr. Scribble headed downtown for the traditional roast meats and cheeses gala concluding day 1 of the festival. It was meat-fest at Fogo de Chao y'all. Definitely not for the faint of heart, you roll up in this joint and throw down your $46 for an all-you-can-eat onslaught of roasted meats. Sure, they have a fine salad bar and some sides served family style. This is all well and good, but people line up around the block for the protein at Fogo. The gaucho-wearing cowboy waiters fly around the vast dining room carrying long spears of garlic beef, bacon wrapped filet, sausages and lamb chops. In their other hand they wield sharp knives which they use to slice these glorious meats onto the plates of the hungry patrons. Heaping piles of glistening pork, chicken and beef lay out as far as the eye can see.

Burp.

I feel kinda sick just replaying it here for you.

Tomorrow, Day 2 of the festival will begin with a trip to the gym and a fasting session. One must pay penance for the gorging on Day 1, but oh what fun we had.

I Want A Mulligan

Have you ever had one of those days when, oh say, about an hour into it you realize you want a 'do over?' In golf terms, a mulligan? You wish you had those Hiro Nakimaura powers (blatant Heroes reference) where time is stopped, reversed and everything starts all over again? I had one of those days today. First, the drive into work was SSSSSLLLLOOOOOOWW. We are talking snails' pace. My typical 22.5 minute commute turned into nearly an hour trudging along the sloppy, snowy highways. It is in these times, in these moments, when one really relies on the radio. Right? Well, mine just froze up. I punched buttons. I moved dials. Nuthin. The LED display was stuck. Anyone want to tell me where the re-boot button is on my car radio? I couldn't find it. I had absolutely no tunes on my long drive.

Hang on, I'm just getting warmed up.

As my trip to work neared an end, I got a funny feeling. A sort of, "what did I forget to do this morning" kinda feeling. Hmmmm. What was it? Then it hit me. I completely failed to apply deodorant. Yep. I was sans speedstick. Crap. Double crap. I took quick action, scampered into the company store (yes, we have one where I work) and snatched up a mini-size of Secret solid. Whew. Crisis averted. Thank you company store.

In my haste to get my hands on the precious anti-perspirant I forgot my laptop in my car. Of course, it wasn't until I finished the approximately 1.2 mile walk to my desk that I noticed this. The next 15 minutes went something like this: Drop purse on desk. Say good morning to my teammates, covertly apply deodorant, walk my arse back downstairs, out the door, into the vast parking lot, retrieve laptop, get back into work. I think I finally hit productivity at about 9:45am. Triple crap.

Fast forward an hour or so later. Mr. Oz calls me to ask "do we have insurance on our wedding rings?" PAUSE. PAUSE. PAUSE.

Me: "Uhm, yyyyeessssss, why?"
Mr. Oz: "I lost my ring."
Me: "huh? how?"
Mr. Oz: "scraping snow off my car."

OK, so this is not good. Not at all. Mr. Oz felt terrible. I was upset and then sad. He looked for it everywhere, but to no avail. The ring, it seems, has left the building. Luckily, we do have insurance so we'll get it all taken care of. It's only an object, right? Material stuff that can be replaced, no? But, I'm sure you can appreciate the impact this news might have on someone who is already having a (pardon my French) shitty day.

BREATHE.

BREATHE.

BREATHE.

The day quickly devolved into a flurry of meetings, emails, phone calls, etc. Things started to look up. Then I got home, worked out, made and ate dinner, plugged in to do a little more work. Then I heard it . . . "sniff, sniff, wheeze, wheeze. sneeze. cough. wheeze. hack." What could it be? Sounds of respiratory distress filled the air. It was my cat. He seems to have caught a cold. Did you know cats get colds? Google it. I did. The poor little guy needs some Sudafed. They don't make Sudafed for cats. Google it. I did. Given kitty's pre-existing medical condition -- ideopathic epilepsy -- his cold does not bode well. Looks like Spence and I are taking a trip to the vet tomorrow. Like I have time for that.

Can I just have a mulligan for the entire week? Please???

Rumble with Slumberland: Part Deux

After speaking to my Slumberland salesman yesterday, it appears that the highly anticipated bedroom furniture is arriving in multiple shipments. Much of it is coming from foreign parts unknown. My suspicion, although I have no way to confirm this, is it is on its way from a southeast Asian child labor sweatshop. Maybe the kids went on strike Norma Ray style and my dresser has sat partially finished while the union peeps lock horns with the corporate lords. I don't know. What I do know is this -- I cannot stand the Oz sleeping situation as it is much longer.

Now it appears that I will be lucky to get my goods by 2009. What!?!!! My itemized invoice, which I currently have in my possession, clearly states arrival on, or near, Dec. 5. This is some rotten business. What should I do? Cancel my order and find something else? Complain vehemently and demand a free nightstand or table lamp or something? Start a blog and tell everybody in the blog-o-sphere about my crappy experience? Oh wait . . . I already did that one.

Thoughts???

Once again I repeat, "curses to you Slumberland and your forced child labor practices which I can only assume stands at the root of all of my restless sleep woes!"*

*IMPORTANT LEGAL DISCLAIMER: The contents of this blog should in no way be taken as a statement of provable fact. The are the opinions of one bitter person and do not represent reality in any way, shape or form. Thank you.

Viral Happiness

I just spotted this story on MSNBC.com. It is as if the universe was answering my last post with some cosmic creepiness. Apparently happiness is contagious and you can catch it like a virus from your friends and family. Who knew? It's science (as infamous San Diego Anchorman Ron Burgandy would say).

As you read the article, you will notice that this catchy contagion of happiness can only be picked up within a one mile radius. In other words, you have to be in close physical proximity to those happy buggers in order to grab some of their happiness. Abysmal, Hollow Squirrel and all you other far flung comrades out there in the infinite beyond -- you know what that means, don't you? You needs to be moving to the Twin Cities and, ah, preferably around the corner from moi. Only then will my happiness radiate out and penetrate your soul. Ha. Not that anyone would EVER accuse me of cornering the market on overt happiness or anything. Now, that's just plain silly.

This happiness study also claims that people who are happy are less likely to get sick. Nice! Does this help explain why Mr. Oz, who is almost perpetually happy, does NOT seem to get a cold or the flu whilst I am bombarded by the sore throat, dry eyes, sneezy, stuffy, achy, coughing demons multiple times each year? Rat salad. From now on, only happy people will enter my sphere. If you are happy and you know it, clap your hands -- and then get your butt to my house ya hear!!

Equilibrium = Suck This Universe

Equilibrium is the condition of a system in which competing influences are balanced. Equilibrium plays a role in chemistry, biology, mechanics, physics, and economics. In all of these arenas and in all ways, the world is programmed to seek a state of balance; to bring that which is out of order or too extreme, back into its place of status quo. In other words, the very nature of our existence is one big quest for enforced balance. This helps support my theory that nature (you can call it the supreme order of things) doesn't like it when we get too happy, too successful or too excited. Just when you start to gain this sense of contentment, at that very moment when joy fills your heart, when your cup overfloweth with goodness, well, that's just about the time when some proverbial bird poop hits your windshield and you've run out of that blue juice spray and you can't get it off.

I also believe this theory jumps into effect when someone is down, depressed, sad or otherwise glum. The universe does what it can to raise the spirits and spread a little sunshine. But, oftentimes, the person is so bummed out that they fail to see the universe's attempts to achieve equilibrium. They miss it.

Well, ladies and gents, my eyes are wide open. I see both sides of this little see saw -- the ups and the downs. This equilibrium roller coaster is a twisty, turny MoFo. Why do people -- whom I believe are acting as unwitting agents of the equilibreum seeking universe -- try to rain on others' parade? Now, I know what you are thinking, "damn girl, if every person on earth exists as a pawn in the universe's desire to bring you into some perpetual state of emotional mediocrity, you are obviously a narcissist of unbelievable proportions!" Ok, OK. I hear ya. And, NO, I don't believe this to be the case. But, I do believe that every person we come into contact with has something to teach us. There is a reason for their presence and one of those reasons might be, just might be, to check us; bring us back to our own equilibrium.

So, why all the waxing philisophical? Let me tell ya. I'm feeling happy. I've got a case of post-Thanksgiving bliss and holiday cheer. I am in a rare zone where much is right with the world (at least my tiny sliver of the world), gratitude abounds and optimism reigns. This won't last. It never does. I want to enjoy it while I can. But, then the cranky attitudes, the cynicism, the "this sucks," grump-tacular, general malcontent of others intrudes. My equilibrium is once again restored making me question whether it was ever really gone. I try to block it out, to ignore it, but the universe won't allow it. It seeks BALANCE.

This "law of balance" has a strange effect in small groups of people as well. If you are a parent, a teacher, a coach, you may have encountered this interesting phenomenon. Have you ever noticed that if one person is "up" then another person has to be "down?" Why? Why can't everyone in a given family, class, tribe, team ALL be happy at the same time? Pay attention. You'll see it.

I'll tell you why . . . it's equilibrium. Word.

Prepare to Rumble Slumberland

It's going on week 4 and still no sign of my new bedroom furniture. What the "H" Slumberland? Why don't you call me already and schedule that delivery? I'm getting sick and tired of sleeping in the tiny spare bedroom. I've just about had it with the piling up of clothes and laundry baskets and bins full of crap just waiting for the copious storage space and ample drawers that the new dressers are guaranteed to provide. For the love of all that is good and holy, call me already and get your butts over to my house and BRING ME MY DAMN FURNITURE!!

Uhm, if I didn't mention it before, I have out-of-town guests coming on Dec. 12 and if I don't have my furniture by then, well let's see . . . me, Mr. Oz, Abysmal and Mr. Scribble are ALL going to be sleeping together in a single queen sized bed in that cramped little room. BAD! But, don't worry. Mr. Oz has a plan. We'll arrange ourselves so the boys are on either side and the sisters are in the middle. Wouldn't want any awkwardness happening, now would we.

SLUMBERLAND, you are on my list. The only way you can possibly redeem yourself is to call me and tell me my furniture is ready to ship a.s.a.p. Thank you very much. Your loyal (and increasingly crabby) customer.

Bowling For Bismarck

Happy Post-Thanksgiving everybody! I hope your holiday was as festive and fun as mine. Mr. Oz and I traveled west to North Dakota to spend a few days with my mom, dad, sister and brother-in-law. Luckily, Mother Nature cooperated and our drive was smooth sailing all the way. We must have global warming to thank for the absence of snow and ice. Thanks high carbon emissions and diminishing ozone layer!!

After a mere seven hours in the car, we finally hit the big city of Bismarck and made our anticipated arrival. Due to circumstances to vast and complicated to get into, we did not partake of our traditional turkey meal on Thursday. No. Instead, we did what many only dream of on Thanksgiving -- we went bowling. Yep, that's right. Your time-honored ritual of Thanksgiving bowling was in full effect. Now, I think it's been oh, let's say, a solid 8 to 10 years since my feet last hit the lanes. The first game my performance was atrocious -- the worst I've ever bowled. We are talking like a 46 or something awful. I could only laugh at myself, shrug my shoulders and order up another pitcher of Bud Light for the thirsty relatives and myself. I'm not sure what happened after that, but I crept back up and with each game I got a little better. By the fourth game, I kicked everybody's butt and scored an all tight high of 164. Seriously. It was like a Thanksgiving Day miracle people. Of course, one could say that all I needed was a little practice, ya know, work the kinks out. It might have been the Bud Light. Either way, it was super AWESOME and I'm now considering leaving my job and hitting the pro bowling circuit. Why not, right?

We avoided Black Friday like the plague. Instead, the next day was spent recovering from my bowling adventures -- my right shoulder, arm, wrist and hand hurt like crazy. Then it was time to hit the kitchen and cook up some tasty vittles. Yee Haw. Abysmal Scribble made her delicious wild rice stuffing (sshhh, the secret is rosemary and dried apricots) and the ever beloved green bean casserole. I whipped up the spicy cranberry sauce and a nice little brussel sprout dish. Mom did the rest and voila, we had ourselves a feast! Grandma and my uncle Richard and aunt Brenda joined us for dinner, drinks, card playing and general merriment. We missed the rest of the family who couldn't be here this year -- including cousin Valerie who lives in Austin, TX and my baby brother Justin who resides in Washington DC.

Mr. Oz gave me my Christmas present early -- a new Canon Rebel XSI -- so I could document the whole holiday extravagenza in style. I love it!! This camera is amazing and if the whole bowling circuit thing doesn't work out for me, I think I may try my hand at professional photographer. Or, maybe I'll just stick to my day job for now.

The whole clan in attendance:


Not sure what you and your family enjoy as an appertif, but for us its a shot of Apple Pie whiskey, another holiday favorite:


What a fine looking table. Check out those cranberries:


Me and Abysmal:


Mr. Oz eagerly awaiting the arrival of the bird:

Wickedness Pays Off

For many, last night may have just been an ordinary, run-o-the-mill Tuesday night. Ho hum. Watch a little House or Biggest Loser on the old tele, eat your pot pie, pop a Xanax and hit the hay. I get it. And, usually on any given Tuesday night, I'm right there with you. Well, all except for the Xanax as I prefer a double shot of Jack Daniels before bed. But, last night was different. Last night I hit the bright lights of Minneapolis for some wining, dining and Broadway musical action all courtesy of my dear friend Laura [insert applause and good vibes for Laura!].

Now, I must pause this happy tale with a wee bit of something I like to call, tough love. You see, Laura has a deep, dark secret and this evening of fun has a very direct link to this secret. Laura is addicted to Craig's List ladies and gentleman of the jury. I know. I know. It seems like it is all harmless purchases and online shopping frivolity. It's all games until someone loses an eye (did you know you could sell your eyes on Craigs List?) One night in the midst of, what I can only imagine to be, a drug-induced purchasing binge, Laura scored some discount tickets to see Wicked! Yee Haaa. And then, miracle of all miracles, she asked me to join her. Double Yee Haaaa. Now, I'm not here to judge (although I will if you ask me to). I'm just throwing out this cautionary word to all of you out there who might be struggling with your own online bartering issues. You know who you are! Don't stop cold turkey. You might slip into a coma if you cut yourself off too quickly. No. Instead, shop away. But, remember to call me and share your wares, tickets, furs, trips and other accessories you might happen to buy. It will make you feel less guilty whilst promoting positive relationships :) Tee Hee.

All jokes aside. Laura is AWESOME for inviting me. We had dinner at The Melting Pot before hitting the show. I had never been before and it was pretty tasty. If you get off on participating in your own 'table side' cooking what with dipping sticks of raw meat and veg into a boiling bucket of broth, well . . . this place is for you. I highly recommend the Ying & Yang chocolate fondue. It is a delightful swirl of white and dark chocolate accompanied by glorius berries, bananas, cake, brownie, etc. YUM!

Then we were off to the show. I won't get into the plot too much. I don't want to ruin it. But, I will say that the story picks up on the Wizard of Oz and paints it from the vantage point of the Wicked Witch. The songs, set, characters were great. A spectacle for the eyes and ears I say. Check it out if you can. I still have a few of the songs stuck in my head "Popular" and "Defying Gravity" to mention two of my favorites.



So, what have we learned from this blog posting? What lessons should you take away? 1) Jack Daniels is a great night cap and allows you to effortlessly slip into a deep slumber no matter what stresses you. 2) Craigs List can be destructive, but you are fine as along as you include me on any fun purchases. 3) It's good to be Wicked!

Finally, a big SHOUT OUT to Laura on her birthday. She's 36 years young and still rockin it like it was 1999! Happy Turkey Day everyone.

Brushes With Tranquility And Book Ramblings

Been awhile, but I'm back. Back and on the attack . . . well, actually I'm not feeling much like attacking. I'm happy. It's Friday and holy, T.G.I.F. Batman! The week has been pretty intense with some major work deadlines and activities. Early mornings punctuated by some late nights have left me drained and eager for some R&R. Whew.

I feel like rambling a little bit as my thoughts are bouncing around in my head. So, I'll start with a little home decorating news. Last weekend, Mr. Oz and I embarked on some updates to the townhome. Casa del Oz is receiving a small face lift. We aren't talking a major reconstruction, but more like a couple o' shots of Botox. The burnt orange walls of the master bedroom have been replaced with a soft, cafe a lait shade. It's very soothing and tranquil. We moved some of our furniture into the guest bedroom, sold our old queen bed on Craigslist and are now awaiting the arrival of our new bedroom set which includes . . . . drum roll please . . . a king bed. Whoot! It will be glorious and should definitely cure me of the doldrums incurred from our rough real estate market and nose diving economy. If you can't get to a new house, make the new house come to you, I say. I'll be sure to post the complete 'after picture' of the bedroom, but for now, here is the before:



And here is the sort of after shot:


Whatta ya think? Remember, this just represents the new walls. It will look much better once we get the furniture, new bedding and other accessories in there. Eat your heart out Nate Berkus! I found painting to be rather therapeutic. Smoothing on a new coat of color, the squishy and mechanical sound of the roller brush, trimming the edges to a fine point -- there is both a mindless yet intensely focused quality in painting that appeals to me. Plus, there is that whole transformational aspect; out with the old and in with the new. Don't get me wrong. After working that roller for two days, my arms were sore and my back was hurtin, but it was the good kinda sore and the rewarding kinda hurt. I'm not offering up my services or anything so don't get any funny ideas.

Hmmm . . . what else?

I got a few new books this week. I love Amazon.com. Addiction is more like it. Among my treasures is this cool flashcard type set called "The Observation Deck -- A Tool Kit For Writers" by Naomi Epel.



It's supposed to help break writer's block and inspire a free flow of literary content. The idea is you pull out one of the flashcards. Each one has a phrase, an activity if you will, to shake things up. I just pulled a card and it says "Feed Your Senses." In the companion book the author notes how a writer should take a break and experience a moment through the senses. Go to a concert or museum. Hit a fabric store and feel the textiles. Go to a bakery. Epel writes "Visit a place of natural beauty and enjoy a sense of peace and wonder. Go where you can see, hear, smell, feel, or taste something that has been made with care, joy or deliberation." This is just one of many cards. I like it. Although I don't fancy myself a novelist or poet, I see the application for me in my everyday strive to communicate. We all get stuck in a rut. Next time I do, I'm going to grab this handy deck and see what adventure comes my way.

The other book I bought is called "Dialogue and the Art of Thinking Together" by William Isaacs.



The premise is really rather simple as it focuses on the art of listening and engaging in productive communication with those around us. I haven't really cracked into this one yet, but I am looking forward to it. I figure we could all use a little help in the listening department, right? One of the things that someone recently told me is that, as humans, often do not tune out of conversations as much as we choose to tune in. If you really think about this factoid, it is fascinating. I feel like I expend a lot of energy just trying to block out the periphery noise and chaos of the world when really the bulk of my effort is concentrated on paying attention to that which is most important to me (versus blocking all the rest). It's a miracle that anything gets through my auto filter. I wonder how this explains the phenomenon of hearing an annoying song on the radio and then not being able to get it out of your head? You would think my brain would not choose to tune that in. Damn brain and its mad desire to keep the chorus of "I'm Too Sexy" by Right Said Fred ringing in my ears. AAhhhhhh!!

The Fourth Circle In Dante's Inferno Has Got To Be Facebook

I've decided I have a love and hate affair going with Facebook. It took some time for me to come to this conclusion, but this weekend, it hit me like a MACK truck. Sometimes I want to sweep Facebook up in my arms and give it the most constricting and mushy of hugs and kisses. I want to ravish it, whisper sweet nothings into its ear. At other moments, I want to snub Facebook and talk about it behind its back (much like I'm doing right now). I want to push it into a locker and stuff its Trapper Keeper in there, shut the door and laugh like an evil Hyeanna while it twists and squirms for its freedom. Why such a polarized and violent reaction? Well, ladies and gents, Facebook is the Internet's equivalent of high school. And ahh, well, I still to this day have mixed emotions about high school. There were plenty of fun and good times marked, undeniably, by low moments, crushing defeats and plenty o' drama.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love reconnecting with old friends. I've recently been in touch with some great people with whom I had lost complete track of. We've been doing a little chatting and reminiscing. It has been fantastic seeing where they have been, pictures of their families, joyful reuniting, etc. Then there are the mutual interest groups where I can "hang" with my peeps and bask in the glow of a happy victory (GO OBAMA!). Finally, I'm really quite enamoured with checking out who is online each time I log in and striking up random IM exchanges over the most trivial and lighthearted topics. For all of these reasons, Facebook has won my heart.

But these moments are harshly contrasted by some of my very own, homespun, Facebook hate. I find myself having strange inner dialogues questioning why someone who is friends with a mutual friend has not yet 'friended' me and whether or not I should 'friend' them and what it might mean if they don't or I do or I don't. I find myself spinning in circles just contemplating it now. And then I have this inkling, small fear that I may run into someone on Facebook that I would rather not reconnect with and how awkward that would be. If they 'friend' me will I deny them? Will I accept? Facebook paralysis sets in like a venomous snake has infected me with its rigamortous inducing poison. "But, wait, you say . . . these are all just worries about things that have not happened. Live in the now, man. Be happy and deal with stuff as it comes." I agree. That is why I refuse to let my paranoia alter my habits or change my behavior.

But, perception is my reality and my reality is starting to feel like I'm on the outside looking in. Like there is this inner circle of cool kids that are saying more, doing more, being more and feeling more than I could ever imagine. I get whiffs and hints of this on Facebook as well as the general blogosphere of which I just recently entered. My 'friend' posts pictures from a recent party. In these pictures, other friends are tagged hoisting drinks and performing a variety of hi-jinks of which I am not involved and you start to question the reasons why. I feel sad and hurt but not necessarily because I wasn't invited or did not attend. No. I feel wounded because Facebook smacked it in my face and made me see it and confront it in a way that I would never have had to without Facebook. And, this is where I mainly start to consider Facebook analagous to high school, because you always knew something was going on somewhere that you were not a part of and you would have to hear about it the next day at school and it would reinforce the message that you were sometimes, but not always, on the outside looking in.

Now, I'm not just trying to start a pity party here. Honestly. I had plenty to do in high school and if we are talking about cliques, I will defend myself only so far as to say that I was not at the bottom of the social food chain. Rather I would probably be classified as existing in the ethereal middling ground hovering somewhere in the concentric circles of band geek, scholar and athlete. I had several great friends, lots of good friends and got along with nearly everyone. But, no matter where my prepratory reference point lies, I still recognize this feeling . . . its the desire to matter and be wanted and involved. We can push it aside. We can grow up, get jobs, get married, rear children, have lots of fulfilling pasttimes and a solid life's purpose and dreams which bring us much happiness, but we can't escape the universal need to be needed. So, Facebook has brought all of this up to the surface. It's an online social microcosm of these mashed up sentiments which pull me in and push me away all at the same time.

I kinda feel the same way about blogging. I've always been an avid journal keeper, but posting online exposes me in a way that I'm not quite sure I'm ready for. Psychologically, I may be the only one reading yet I still feel this strange vulnerability by the possibility that others could be watching. Yet, I'm the one pushing the 'enter' button. So, I ask myself, why do I do it? Why are we, as a society, doing it in record numbers? For some it may be the secret wish for microfame. For most, I believe, it is an extension, once again of our longing for our voice(s) to be heard and to matter to at least one other person, or a tiny community of believers. The need to belong pushes us to spew our ideas forth into the stew of the Internets. Blogging is the antidote to our own modern condition yet I find the chatter so pervasive, the e-noise so loud and overrun that, at times, I find it hard to focus. The feedback loop always leaves me wishing for more. More connection. More empathy. More of the more. Its never enough.

When is it enough?

When will we feel enough?

And, more importantly, when will high school truly be over?

Puppy Love

Spotted this in the women's bathroom at Restaurant Max in Minneapolis and wanted to share. Stinkin cute doggy pic, dontcha think? I love how one ear is up and one is down. I think I will call him Pepe Montoya and I will sing ballads and create Haiku poems heralding his adorability to the world.

On second thought, that might be a tad much for a bathroom poster.

Right Brain Ideas

A few months ago I picked up a book entitled "A Whole New Mind -- Why Right Brainers Will Rule The Future." In it, author Daniel Pink describes a historical imbalance between left-brain thinkers and workers (sequential, concrete, detailed, measurable, linear) and those dominant in right-brain thinking (abstract, contextual, simultaneous, empathetic, spatial). From his perspective, long gone are the days when the CPA's and engineers rule the professional landscape and reap all the glory. Rather, Pink sees the growing need for designers, inventors, teachers and storytellers.

I find the premise and content to be pretty compelling stuff and tend to agree with Pink most of the time. As is usually the case with prophetic & theoretical texts of this sort, I fear that when you push for a pendulum swing you run the risk of going too far. I like the idea of putting an imbalance back into balance. But, if we fully abandon the left brain and move to the extreme of a predominantly right-brain world, we might have pretty objects, creative stories and spiritual exploration, but will we still have running water, sturdy bridges and people who know how to fill out forms in triplicate? I'm just sayin . . . gotta value both.

One of the key chapters in the book focuses on the importance of design. Now I'm a sucker for design. I'll buy something that might not work or taste good, but if its wrapped in a cool package, I'm all for it. Pink included this list outlining how regular people, who aren't professional designers, can incorporate a design aesthetic into their everyday lives. The list comes from Karim Rashid and his "Karimanifesto" guide to life and design. I liked it so wanted to share with the three people who irregularly and infrequently link to my blog. You know who you are . . . . Enjoy!

1. Don't specialize
2. Before giving birth to anything physical, ask yourself if you have created an original idea, an original concept, if there is any real value in what you disseminate
3. Know everything about the history of your profession and then forget it all when you design something new.
4. Never say "I could have done that" because you didn't.
5. Consumer experiences, not things.
6. Normal is not good.
7. There are three types of beings -- those who create culture, those who buy culture, and those who don't give a shit about culture. Move between the first two.
8. Think extensively, not intensively.
9. Experience is the most important part of living, and the exchange of ideas and human contact is all life really is. Space and objects can encourage increased experiences or distract from our experiences.
10. Here and now is all we got.

Amen.

Practicing My Superhero Moves!

It was a beautiful Fall weekend in Minnesota. My good buddy Sunny and I had a little hang time on Sunday where we skipped about town and partook in some of my best activities. Oh, and her real name is not Sunny. I'm just protecting her identity before I place a smattering of images containing her face all over the world wide web. Aren't I nice?

One cannot unleash devilish hi-jinks and general mayhem on unsuspecting citizenry on an empty stomach. Thus, our first stop was brunch at 20.21. Not your standard greasy spoon, 20.21 is Wolfgang Puck's white table cloth restaurant at the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis. Typically, you might me and my crew at places like Hot Plate or The Egg and I, but not today. Today was a different day. Today was special. Today, Sunny had a gift certificate and we were aiming to cash it in. Yee Haw!! A $30 per plate brunch buffet is no problem when you have a gift certificate. On a scale from 1 to 10 with 1 being 'god awful I think I got e-coli' and 10 being 'ultimate deliciousness so good I would sell my soul for some more,' I would rate 20.21's brunch as a ho-hum 7.5. The service and setting were posh, no doubt. The sugar and creamer set were aesthetically pleasing, sparse and modern architecturally inspired tableware. The food was just o.k. It's the kind of place you take out-of-town guests if you want to impress them with your fine taste and disregard for the current economic recession. For all others, might I suggest the McCafe at McDonald's?

But, where else can you go for Sunday brunch and see a cool, stylized picture of Mao? Well, maybe China, but not in MN . . .


After eating our fill of fancy food, we hit the sculpture garden. It was here that we practiced our superhero powers. If you don't believe me, just take a look. We lifted heavy spoons with huge cherries:

Then we undertook deadly kung fu maneuvers. Remember kids, don't try this at home:



SCARY!

Shortly after frightening small children and fluffy pets with our stealth and cunning, we changed out of our capes and tights and picked up some Caribou. That's right. We grabbed not one, but two Caribous with our bare hands. Sarah Palin, eat your heart out. Sunny's so tough, she got herself a large one!


As weariness crept upon us, our adventures took us to picturesque Minnehaha Falls. We kicked back just soaking up the lovely Fall scenery. Again, more hero powers were put to the test as we listened in on the private conversations of several park patrons. It isn't our fault. The acoustics are crazy and sometimes people don't talk as softly as they should. I will spare you these final pictures. But, rest assured, the day was glorious. Thanks for the good times Sunny. I had a blast!

Miss Manners Hates Me

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about etiquette. What is deemed appropriate and respectable and what is considered impolite, disrespectful or otherwise rude – these questions are plaguing me. Torment over my likely infringement of tried and true social practices handed down from Queen Victoria to Martha Stewart leave me drenched in anxiety. I fear Miss Manners or Dear Abby would scowl and wag their skinny index fingers at me in disapproval if they knew the secret I am all too ashamed to admit. What is that secret, you ask? I’m a bad, bad person. I’ve done terrible things.

After nearly six months post-nuptials Mr. Oz and I still have about half of our wedding thank you notes left to send. I am a thank you note offender. Bless me Father, for I have sinned . . . Can I just say twelve Hail Mary’s and six Our Father’s and get on with my penance already? I know I’m not Catholic, but with all the guilt I feel, I might as well be.

I’m usually fairly prompt about stuff, ya know. I hardly ever pay my bills late. When invited to a party, I’m usually one of those guests that show up a few minutes early or, at the very least, right on time. I try to bring the host or hostess a gift. Nice bottle of wine. A loaf of crusty bread . . . ya know, the good stuff. Beyond my natural proclivity for timeliness, I’m also pretty fond of writing notes. I like the feeling of pen on paper. The flow of ink, its stained impression on a blank canvas, always leaves me with a sense of contentment. Finally, I can speak for Mr. Oz and myself when I say that we really, really are appreciative for all the nice gifts and well wishes we received. So, what’s my deal? I just can’t seem to get my act together on this front. Why? Why do I find this so damn difficult?

In an attempt to give me the benefit of the doubt, you might consider the fact that we just don’t have the necessary supplies handy. Maybe we are fresh out of note cards or envelopes. The post office ran out of stamps. Alas, that is not the case. We have a stack of cards, plenty of envelopes and postage.

After some soul searching I’ve come to a single conclusion. In short, I blame technology.
If it weren’t for the speed and efficiency of email, my Facebook wall-to-walls, instant messaging, texts and cell phones, we would still live in an age where writing and mailing letters was both the preeminent and the most practical form of communication. The habit of physically scratching our fondest regards to loved ones and acquaintances would be so cemented into our everyday lives that posting another three dozen thank you cards would be a small task happily accomplished. Remember when we used to have pen pals? I do. I’d write a 4, 5, maybe 6 page letter on my fabulous pink, Strawberry Shortcake stationary. Shoot that bad boy off and wait patiently for a reply some 2 to 4 odd weeks later. I did this with joy in my heart knowing my words, the paragraphs I took such care in crafting, were winging their way across the continent. Today, writing letters blows. Who the hell cares anymore? I almost NEVER get a real letter in the mail. And, if I did, I wouldn’t know what to do with it. I’m surprised stationary stores and pens still exist. The US postal service is old school just barely hanging on to its last shred of dignity. Today, it’s all about faster, easier, sound bite comments sent through the Internet ether. Today we are all business. Yesterday we had heart. The romance is dead people.

I’m not here to make excuses for myself (o.k., well, only a little bit), but I’m telling you, we are all caught in the middle of a war between what was and what is and my wedding thank you notes just happen to be the casualties. The propriety and dignity of days gone by is slowly fading. Nostalgia is for suckers. If you are among those waiting for your thank you card, know that I will continue to fight the good fight until it rests safely in your mailbox. I won’t rest until this battle has been won!

Now, excuse me whilst I go download more IPhone apps. A girl has got to do, what a girl has got to do.

I Got Specs Appeal

Accessories are fabulous. Would you agree?

If you follow my blog ramblings then it will come as no surprise that I loves me some purses, shoes and miscellaneous flair. Yes, I said flair but not like the TGI Friday's kind. Oh no. I hate THAT flair.

Whilst on my Staycation I undertook an epic quest to find the perfect pair of eyeglass frames. My criteria for this particular accessory was as follows:

A) Suits my face shape
B) Does not pinch or otherwise constrict my nose, ears or general facial area
C) Color and shape are befitting my personal taste and rock star lifestyle
D) NO Sarah Palin look-alike specs
E) Adds major DRAMA without tragic consequences or geek factor
F) Contains dark Harry Potter-like magic charms allowing me to conjure spirits from the outer dimension, banish unsightly back fat and fill my coffers with gold dabloons (ahoy matey).

OK, so I was willing to give a little on that last one, but seriously, this was a tough job!

After trying on about a gazillion pairs of frames, annoying the store clerk with my continuous demands for "more drama" and eliminating nearly all of them due to their inability to make me look super cool and hot, I landed on these bad boys. What d'ya think?

I have to wait a week for the optician to grind down my lenses. Apparently I am almost legally blind (-925 if that means anything to ya) so I have to pay extra to have my lenses "thinned" out as much as possible. In exchange for this pricey add-on I get to avoid a major Coca-Cola bottle, inhumanely large googly eyeball effect. Yeah for me! I'm looking forward to the day when they make glasses with built in laser beams.

I'll post pictures of me sporting my new glasses so you can see the final effect. Sans laser beams, of course.

I Have A Dream

I'm looking for a little dream interpretation help from the blog-o-sphere. Usually, I don't remember my dreams, but last night was a notable exception. I must have left the zone of R.E.M sleep and, in the early morning hours, slipped into the fuzzy border town between full on slumber and wakefulness. It was in this fog of unconscious consciousness that I experienced what could only be considered an ominous and bizarre vision. Kick back and relax for I shall now try to describe this odd dream.

It began with me at work. I was roaming the hallway but there were no lights on. Everything was very dark, dim and shadowy. It didn't feel scary, just no lights. Then I noticed that everyone, including me, had green shirts on. All with varying shades and tones of green. Hmmmm. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, it was announced (or I just knew) we were celebrating a Jewish festival of sorts. There were large tour buses waiting outside to carry all employees to an undisclosed location to celebrate this festival. Again, it was declared (or I just knew) that Oprah Winfrey was scheduled to be at this festival. I walked outside and, on my way to the buses, I started to climb a rather large pyramid. Not sure why I had to do this or where the pyramid came from. The pyramid was rough and covered in rocks and sand. It was quite steep which made my climb very difficult. In fact, I could only walk half way up the side of the pyramid before I was forced to stop. I simply could not make it any higher. Then I looked up and saw that Oprah was at the top of the pyramid and she was walking down to greet me. We met at the half way point where Oprah proceeded to welcome me and give me a big, warm hug. It was AWESOME!

Then, the scene faded and I went back inside. I entered the ladies bathroom to "freshen up" before the festival. I was in one of the stalls and had just opened the door to exit when I saw a Latina woman with large spectacles standing in front of the sink. She was looking at herself in the mirror with her hands over her abdomen. She started talking about how she did not feel well. She kept repeating "I can't move. I can't move." Other women gathered around her to try and help. The woman said (or I just know) that she had recently given birth and was just now returning back to work. Suddenly, she pulled her hands away from her body and they were covered in blood. Her cries of "I can't move" continued. I was frozen and could not move.

Women ran out and called out for a doctor. There were doctors on one of the festival buses. Instead of doctors coming off the bus to help the woman, they pulled the woman onto the bus and placed her in the back on one of the long seats in a reclining position. Soon, the woman gave birth to ANOTHER baby. This baby was hiding inside her while the other baby, presumably its twin, was born weeks earlier. One of the doctors held the baby up by its feet. It looked blue and wrinkly. The baby began to cry.

I woke from my dream.

I ask you, what does this mean? The darkened workplace? The green shirts? The Jewish festival? The pyramid which I was only able to climb part of the way up? Oprah coming down to warmly greet me? The woman in the bathroom unable to move? My own paralysis when I saw her bloody hands? Then, the much delayed birth of the "other" twin? I wish I was making this up, but I am not.

Help. Someone once told me that every person or thing in a dream represents an aspect of the dreamer. If that is the case, I would be able to spot myself in all of these characters and places. Hmmmm. So, am I the green shirt? Am I the pyramid, the climber, Oprah or all of them combined? I'm sure I was the voyeur within the dream, but was I also the pregnant woman AND the new baby? I'm out of my league here people. Throw me some ideas.

Thanks.

Staycation Part Deux

The Staycation continues and what a glorious week it has been! In addition to hitting the gym and working on my fitness, I engaged in activities of leisure such as a blissful manicure and pedicure combo, happy hour at the Happy Gnome, shopping and lunch with friends. Ahhhhh . . . the good life.

When one has such a week of luxurious, carefree time on their hands, it is important to take advantage and attend to some medical and dental check-ups. Perfect health and wellness being right next to Godliness on the "Top 10 Aspirational Goals List" of 2008, I had to oblige and do my part. If you are wondering what #3 is, well, let's just say it might involve plastic surgery and a whole lot of suction . . . not going there right now. I'll leave that for my next Staycation.

In my quest for the holy grail of health, I took my first ever trip to the dermatologist. While I have never had the need or seen a reason to go to a skin specialist before, I was startled out of complacency by stories from friends and friends of friends. A fair-skinned lass with a sad history of blistering sunburns and biological predisposition to moles and freckles sealed the deal. When I made the appointment, I wasn't sure what to ask for? Should I request a check-up? A skin review? An ala carte special peel and graft? I just didn't have the lingo down at all. A colleague suggested I schedule a full body scan which, simply put, is a head to toe look at my epidermis. No stone was left unturned. After a thorough exam, I came to realize that I had a lot more going on in the skin department than I could have ever dreamed possible. What's that you say Dr. Cho? I have a touch of psoriasis on my scalp? Hmmm. I just thought it was a dry patch of skin. Guess not. Seasonal eczema on my hands? Check. Dermatitis with a "touch" of Rosacea on my face? Yep. Got it. Anything else? Well, just for fun let's throw in a couple suspicious looking moles that had to be removed. Good gravy and biscuits people. I'm a walking dermatological case study. Luckily the good doctor didn't diagnose Leprosy. This would have put me over the edge. No severely disfiguring and painful disease from biblical times, thankyouverymuch.

OK, so the whole mole removal thing was pretty easy. If others out there have experienced it, they can attest to this fact. A little shot of local anaesthetic and I didn't feel a thing. There was one slightly disturbing part -- the moment when my tiny wound was cauterized and the pungent smell of my own burning flesh hit my nostrils. Not good. Even worse was the thought, later provided by my darling sister . . . "just think, that was what you would smell if you were ever burned alive!" Great. Thanks!!

After my procedure, I had this compulsion to do a Google search on 'mole removal.' See I'm a bit of a hypochondriac and am always looking for the symptoms, signs and cautionary tales related to diseases and conditions which may or may not befall me. In my quick Internet query, I found a few interesting sites. One of which boasted this picture:

Ahhhhhhh!!!!! I meant mole on my skin, not mole in my garden. This was incredibly frightening. For a mere instant, I was worried my harmless skin moles may erupt and burst with sharp teethed, pointy nosed vermin like this. My anxiety released upon realizing Google was just confused. Whew. Relief. Then I pictured the movie Caddyshack. A golf course groundskeeper, played by a young Bill Murray, dueling it out with a wily gopher. In my mind, the gopher was transformed into his burrowing cousin, the mole. The mole became the small, dark dots on my skin and Dr. Cho was Bill Murray trying to eradicate them from reproducing and spreading their vermin seed across my torso, neck, arms and legs. AAAHHHHHHHHHHH.

The whole skin slicing, flesh burning, Internet searching, mole imagining, Caddyshack remembering was super trippy. Must have been a lethal combination of anaesthetic and Starbucks mocha in my system. Careful not to mix these boys and girls. It leads to bad, bad visuals.

My STAYcation

I will preface my post by saying that I am somebody who finds myself annoyed by people claiming to be super busy all the time. Everyone is tragically busy. I get it. It bugs! Here is just an example of what I'm talking about:

"Hey Sally (p.s. I don't really know a Sally), long time no see. How are you doing?"

Sally's response punctuated with eye rolling and deep sighs of exasperation, "Oh well, I just can't keep up. You know? Things are just CRAZY at work and with the kids and keeping the house clean and the laundry and then Fido needs to get his teeth cleaned and his coat groomed and then there's that family reunion and you know my aunt is going to make me plan the whole thing. I am just SO BUSY!"

My response -- notably with less enthusiasm and glee -- "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. We should really get together sometime and catch up. I miss hanging out with you."

"That would be great. But, I just really have no idea when I could schedule something. There is just too much going on. How about we block some time in 2009 and play it by ear?"

"Sure. Sounds fantastic. I'll give you a call sometime after the New Year." Yeah right.

Yeah, yeah. We are all busy, right? I mean, isn't all relative to your particular point of reference? But, seriously folks. We all need to lay off the verbal diarrhea about our insanely busy lives. Enough is enough. I've had it. I say this with total love and compassion for those bogged down professionals and the over-stressed moms out there, cuz lord knows I don't know how you all do it. And, I'm not offering up this up as smug criticism or somehow trying to compete and say that no one can possibly be as busy as me. Not the case and not true. What I am offering is a social commentary around "busy" as a topic of casual conversation. People, this subject is officially played out. It's SO 1990's. I firmly believe "being busy" is today's catch all discussion starter (and ender) on par with "how's the weather?" It has lost all meaning and distinction given the fact that 9 out of 10 people are too damn busy give a damn.

OK, that was the preamble. Now on to the full amble:

I've decided to stop with all the busy-ness. No more running 100 miles an hour, spinning my wheels just to take two steps forward and then three steps back. The rat race has got me down my friends. Yes, I'm writing in ambiguous metaphors, but this seems very appropriate as my life lately could be viewed as a metaphor of the non-stop, go, go, go times we all live in. Today, I have decided to call a cease fire on the battlefield if only for a brief moment. I'm hitting the 'pause' button on the fast forward button of life and changing the frequency from commercial free, heart thumping, adrenaline rushing thrash rock to a calmer, more soothing station -- this week, I'm tuning into the easy listening and acoustic channels. Yep, still using the metaphors . . .

OK, all vague references aside, I needed some down time. Luckily about 2 months ago I blocked a week on my work calendar as I had the forethought to realize I might need to recharge and reconnect. I am taking, what the popular media has coined, a Staycation. A Staycation is a form of vacation, but instead of vacating for warmer climes or new adventures, one stays put. I am going nowhere fast and I am really enjoying myself. After only one full day of my first ever Staycation, I've made it to the gym, paid all my bills, made a dental appointment, did some grocery shopping, lounged about and did some pleasure reading and prepared a delicious homecooked meal which included . . . drumroll . . . fresh baked bread! Watch out Martha Stewart. I'm comin to getchya. I'm not exactly sure what tomorrow has in store for me which is precisely the point. Sure, I have some loose plans like maybe a manicure and pedicure, but no real deadlines or pressing concerns.

I could get used to this.

In Da Club

There are all kinds of addictions. I believe we all have at least one addiction and the only thing that separates us is the fact that some addictions are more socially or morally acceptable than others. I've watched enough episodes of the A&E show Intervention to see the similarities (and glaring distinctions) between some of the more "popular" compulsions. You know, the ones that require months at rehab, 12 step programs and complete reformation. I'm not too interested in blogging about these, more serious issues today. Nope. Instead, I'm here to make a confession of my own. I, ladies and gents, have a bit of a problem. My name is Mrs. Oz and I am addicted to:

I'm pretty sure if Costco isn't already on the list of "Stuff White People Like" it will be there soon. In my line of work I am well steeped in all things consumer and marketing related so I can usually see through the tricks and trappings of retail. I can sniff a gimmick from a mile away. That being said, I'm a HUGE sucker for Costco. We have one in my hood so Mr. Oz and I probably take a trip there once every few weeks. Today was sample day. Score! The end of each aisle held some tasty treat for us to try. Waffle fries w/ white cheddar, bacon spreadin goodness . . . Wolfgang Puck pizza . . . heat and eat meatballs . . . yogurt . . . fresh grilled salmon. Hell yeah. We practically had our lunch consumed by the end of our visit. While the product demos are exciting and oh so yummy, they are really not the reason for my addiction. I love the treasure hunt adventure of finding something new AND getting a sweet deal. Those folks at Costco are mighty smart. They know how to keep it fresh by mixing up the usual favorites with brand new gadgets, sauces, clothes, books and the like. Damn I love Costco. Lest you think this is all about the food. Here's my latest purchase -- a beautiful and abundant pot of firey orange mums for the front patio. How Fall-tastic and Autumn-riffic is this? OK, OK. I also bought 2 bags of Pirate's Booty, some of those Wolfgang Puck pizzas and a pile of strawberries, blueberries and avocados. What? I don't think I need an intervention from discount, warehouse shopping . . . do you? If I had to stop, I'm sure I could do it. But, why would I want to or need to?

The Dog Ate My Homework

There is a lot to worry about these days. We have a war based on false pretenses still raging in Iraq. Our economy is in the crapper and shows no real signs of ceasing its plummet. David Duchoveny is suffering from a terrible sex addiction and I can't get the smell of rotten fruit out of my refrigerator. BUT, thank goodness we have someone like John McCain running for President of the U.S. I'm sure he can save us from at least one of these disastrous events -- my bet is he can help cure David Duchovney of his porn induced malady.

So, I'm being sarcastic. I'm not a McCain fan. Really. But, you have to admit this so-called Maverick does seem to be sporting a pair. Why do I say this? Well, only someone with balls of steel would try a stunt like this.

C'mon! Seriously? First it was the old "we need to postpone the RNC because of Hurricane Gustav" excuse so he didn't have to reveal himself as the boring, crusty, worn out, just following Bush's footsteps, non-change agent that he is. Naysayers (and Republican lovers) can cry foul at my cynisism and try to tell me that McCain really did care about the impending natural disaster. His heart went out to those poor Gulf Coast citizens. I politely disagree.

Now, we are led to believe that he truly has the best interests of the nation at heart and, as such, wants to suspend his campaign to focus on the financial crisis. Dude. Obviously, McCain is just looking to duck out of the debates with Obama and he's pulling the well oiled "the dog ate my homework" trick. I guess in this case, it is more like "the Wall Street Bankers shat in my underwear" excuse.

While I could really take this whole decision to task and claim McCain was scared to face Obama in a debate, I won't. No. I will take a different approach. Here are two examples of McCain threatening to hold his proverbial breathe until crap blows over and things get better. Well, guess what Johnny? Stuff just doesn't go away. Crisis is always on the verge of breaking out. Bad stuff will continue to happen. I don't think I'm interested in a president who just stays put and closes the door hoping that others will make it better while he waits it out. Now is the right time to have a debate and talk about how the next president needs to get us out of this mess. Now is the perfect time to engage in a dialogue and then action. Now is not the time for "the dog ate my homework" excuse. Sorry Maverick. You suck.

Food For Thought

Today, Mr. Oz sent me this interesting Op/Ed piece from the NY Times. While I enjoy a good burger and an occasional steak, I am also very aware that in pursuing our gastronomy of meat we humans are, well, not extremely humane. What really struck me in this article was the way in which the author describes his experience observing the unique personalities and character of the farm animals he grew up with as a child. His commentary on the familial bonds displayed by geese was particularly touching.

As a child I spent some time on my grandparents farm and saw the cattle, chickens and ducks they raised for food. These animals were always (as far as I could tell) treated well, given lots of space to roam, were fed and sheltered. I guess the life they had, albeit brief, would be considered a good one. A part of me is comforted by this. Now, I think about where my food -- particularly the meat on my plate -- comes from and I cringe. This editorial gave me pause to reflect further on my own humanity and what I choose as my nourishment. I don't profess to be among the converted to a strictly vegetarian diet. Remember, I love a juicy burger! However, I'm going to be more aware of the choices I make and try to do my part to reduce the pain and suffering of soulful creatures. I do believe all life is precious and should be used wisely and with compassion.

I promise to write about more lighthearted topics in the days to come. Seriously. Just wanted to share. Free range chicken here I come!

My Color Is Pagoda Blue

In my quest to recreate the Oz household space and infuse a little freshness into our palette and surrounds, I've been getting input and creative inspiration from friends and colleagues alike. Comments have ranged from "why don't you just sell everything and start over" to "all you need is a new tea kettle." I'm looking for something in between -- a happy medium that doesn't require me to burn all of my worldly possessions but also amounts to a noticeable improvement. One of my trusted advisers turned me onto this web site called Apartment Therapy. I've only spent a few moments checking it out, but am already loving it. Lots of cool ideas and tricks to make an old space feel new again.

While I was perusing I spotted a link to Colorstrology. It's a Pantone thing where you select your birthday month and they it spits out what color you are. Apparently I'm Pagoda Blue. "Deep and meditative, this color signifies wisdom, truth and optimism." Hurrah, I say. Hurrah. All the things I strive for in my life all wrapped up in this gorgeous blue, emerald type color. Who would have known this was MY color? It also says that wearing Pagoda Blue can help promote tolerance and understanding. This has been my problem all along. I'm not wearing Pagoda Blue dammit. I must find myself some sweater, shawl, wrap or pair of shoes in this color ASAP.

I'm curious to know what color you are in the Colorstrology my friends. And, once you have identified your color, do you agree with its assessment of you and your characteristics? Let me know. Also, if you have any home decorating tips, I'm all ears. Let me have it.

Rockin It Out With Princess Sushi and The Gang

Last night my childhood dream came true. No, I did not run away with Andy Gibb -- God rest his soul. Nope. My OTHER childhood dream came true. I played drums, bass and sang lead in a rock band. It may not come as a surprise to you, but we -- as a technologically advanced society -- have evolved from board games and cards to a new form of all-family entertainment. Move over Monopoly and cribbage with your dusty old dice and your paper and pencil score keeping. You are obsolete, done, finished, SO over. The new thing for all the cool kids these days is to gather around the warm glow of the X-Box 360 and participate in, what I can only describe as, a cross between karaoke and joining your own cover band -- Rock Band baby, Rock Band. If you have ever fantasized about being Axl Rose or Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers (and might I add, "ick" on the latter and "scary" on the former), this game is for you.

I am pleased to report, that Mr. Oz and I absolutely LOVED it!

Our good friends Jenny and Ryan broke out the hospitality and the console to deflower the Rock Band virgins that we were. Oh we rocked their fine Woodbury casbah kickin out a mix of old school hard rock, punk and Seattle grunge. I'm not ashamed to say that I provided some vocal stylings to the likes of Soundgarden's Black Hole Sun and Radiohead's Creep. Yeah, I did. I also might have played drums on a rendition of a classic Who song, but who's bragging? Mr. Oz crooned Rush's Tom Sawyer. Thanks be to Princess Sushi and Senor Sushi for the good eats, great fun and wild tunes.

Some pics of "the band." Mr. Oz working the bass. Princess Sushi on guitar and that's JoJo Fries doing her best Simon Le Bon. No autographs please.




I am officially sold. Now, we just have to find Rock Band for the Nintendo Wii and we're all set. Everyone is invited over to our house of Rock Band part deux when we get it. Rock On!!