Pictures for you!

Here is a photo of a new little something I picked up for my desk at home:



I like it . . . it inspires me.

And here are the photos from my business trip to Orlando this week--check them out!

Oh, and here is my post about Christmas night in Paris, which I wrote on the way back from Orlando.

Rethinking my agnostic position.

In recent years, I haven't been so sure there is a God. But that was called into question yesterday, when the deposition I had scheduled for tomorrow was postponed. Not that I would have minded taking it (though it would have necessitated another trip to the hellhole that is Oklahoma City). But here's what I will do instead, precisely at 10:00 a.m.

I am a happy Cubs-loving girl!!!!!

A tough day at work.

Work days like this . . . spent at a resort preparing for a client presentation there . . . make the soul-sucking 13-hour administrative-packed days subside a bit in importance. This was my office today:



Here is the hotel's photo of its bay:

Top Ten Things I Hate About Air Travel

I am writing from the fine state of Florida, but more on that later. On the way here, I developed a list. I adore travel, but air travel has some definite downsides and I encountered each and every one of them on this trip. I found that it lowered my blood pressure to write about these things.

Without further ado:

1. People who cough in the airport or on the plane without covering their mouth, especially when they cough on my hair or my back or in the air I'm about to walk through;
2. People who do not help streamline the security process by taking off their shoes or removing required items from their bags;
3. TSA personnel who apply different "clothing rules" to men and women, forcing women to disrobe under conditions when men are allowed to pass without doing so;
4. Airline personnel who selectively apply the baggage size rules;
   
5. People who place all their bags in the overhead bins without putting any bag under the seat in front of them;
6. People who automatically recline their seats even when they are not sleeping;
7. People who make calls on their cell phones from the plane, just to say, "I'm on the plane";
8. Parents whose children pick their noses, depositing the product on the plane;
9. People who hold up the plane by arriving incredibly late; and
10. Listening to "Generic White Guy Talk," with comments like, "You'll be sitting on your porch with a shotgun."
    

Crash.

Tonight I watched the movie Crash, which is up for a few Academy Awards, including Best Picture:



I want to watch it again without delay, because I feel like I'll learn even more by watching it yet again. This movie is about all of the negative qualities in us and all the good qualities in us and the myriad of aspects of us that fall in between. It is about class and race and the choices we make in dealing with everyday problems. It is about how those choices affect the lives of others and that feelings they have as a result. This is a truly splendid movie, with excellent acting by Don Cheadle and Matt Dillon and Ryan Phillipe and others . . . including Sandra Bullock, in a role unlike any I have ever seen her play.

I felt as if I lived a scene from this movie today, when an elderly Hispanic man came to fix my furnace. The house was so cold that icicles were nearly developing when he arrived. He was able to quickly get to the cause of the problem and fix it; along the way, he saw a few other issues that needed to be addressed. One was a safety issue--a gadget that cuts off the flame of the furnace if it escapes its fiery hole. Apparently, the company I used to use removed that gadget and did not replace it. The man not only replaced it; he told me eight times if he told me once how important that piece is, that he was replacing mine for free and that I must notify the other company of their error in removing it. I appreciated his efforts very much--particularly because I have been through one house fire and will do everything in my power to avoid having another--but my patience did begin to wear a bit thin on the seventh reiteration of his thoughts on the issue. I realized after a while that he really wanted validation and profusely expressed gratitude for his efforts; I hope I was able to give him that.

Anyway, if you haven't seen Crash, please do. I know you will find it thought-provoking.

What the Natives Do

For those of you wondering what a winter weekend in Dallas might be like, here's a photo of it:



Yes, it is approximately 30 degrees outside, and there was ice on my windshield this morning. One of the dangers of ice in Dallas is that because it is so rare, no one carries an "ice scraper" in the car. Being the enterprising soul I am, I used the lid of a large plastic mug to clear my windshield of its icy veil.

For those of you wondering what people in Dallas do for fun, here's one option:

Last night, I had the good fortune to be invited to a Robert Earl Keen concert at Billy Bob's in Fort Worth. My friend won tickets to the concert by calling a radio station at an ungodly hour of the morning; she kindly shared one of those tickets with me. Two good omens began our evening: (1) it was supposed to rain ice (also known as sleet), but didn't; and (2) we saw the sign for this fine establishment upon reaching Fort Worth:



You just don't see many businesses owned and named by a "Lisa," what with my name having completely lost its popularity right around the time I received it. We struck gold again by finding excellent parking near Billy Bob's, complete with a parking attendant dressed like someone attending a Bears game at Soldier Field in Chicago in the dead of winter.

Inside the honky tonk and dance hall, there was quite a scene to be seen. What you see here is dancers under a sparkly saddle that substitutes for the traditional disco ball:



The number of dancers increased exponentially when the "Cotton-Eyed Joe" was played:



Although this picture, of drunk girls posing on a fake steed, is very blurry, I still like it a lot:



My camera phone doesn't hold a candle to my Nikon, but it does its best in the face of limited lighting and the rush to take a photo before the professional photographer can get mad at an amateur one.

Going to Billy Bob's last night reminded me of the significant role women played in the Old West. Put simply, the women ruled Billy Bob's! Two particularly funny women reigned supreme on the dance floor, trying out kicky moves and tailoring their pantomimes to the song lyrics. There apparently wasn't a self-conscious thought in their heads at the fact that they were the only same-sex pair on the floor--they were just having fun! So were the numerous seriously drunk women who populated the ladies' rooms at Billy Bob's. A particularly brave woman permitted her oh-so-confident male dance partner to spin her around the floor (literally) by her wrist and ankle when he wasn't propelling her around in upright circles at a speed and with an arm angle that reminded one of an airplane preparing for takeoff.

The Keen concert almost seemed like an afterthought in light of the great people-watching we had already experienced. But we partook and the music was great! He played several of my old favorites, including "The Road Goes On Forever" and "Gringo Honeymoon."

A nice finishing touch to the night was our encounter with a few band guys in our parking lot. No, not that kind of encounter! We noticed the oddity of these appropriately ragged and cool-looking band guys having a "W" sticker in the back window of the big white truck into which they were loading equipment. In a move that shows the spirit of adventurousness that is one of my friend's most excellent qualities, she encouraged me in my desire to quiz the guys about the cause of this cognitively dissonant choice. The less ragged of the two boys, asked, "Why does a cool band guy like you admire George Bush?," said, "W Rocks!!!" Given his deeply thoughtful answer, we concluded that W makes him feel like one of his own is in charge of things. The other guy, who had long, curly black hair reminiscent of a youthful Howard Stern, said he works in an oil warehouse and that the warehouse is empty when a Democrat is in the White House. We probably should have asked him if he was old enough to legally work in an oil warehouse the last time a Democrat was in the White House, but instead accepted his self-serving, but at least rational, answer as being superior to that of his dimwit buddy. And thus ended our Friday night outing in the West.

The essence of love.

In this, my 200th post on my blog, posted on Valentine's Day, I wanted to write about the true essence of love. I am without words for that tonight, and could not top the ones I am going to borrow from the exquisite Marjorie Williams. So, here is Marjorie's last column for the Washington Post, written a few months before she died far too soon, of liver cancer, just over a year ago:

I was the one who insisted on the body glitter. Normally, you understand, I am a mother who pulls her daughter's shirt down and tucks it into her waistband every morning to keep her from showing her navel to the whole third grade. I make her scrub the supposedly water-soluble unicorn tattoos off her cheeks before she goes to school. I court her wrath by refusing to buy the kids' fashions that seem designed to clothe tiny hookers.

But after all, this was Halloween, the holiday that celebrates license. (A fifth KitKat bar after 9 p.m.? Why not?) Alice was determined to be a rock star, and I was happy to help her. Simple enough.

Yet my joy in conspiring with her felt so big. Usually I'm not much of a Halloween enthusiast, not since I was 13 or so. For a while, having children of my own brought me a new version of the old childhood thrill. One year Will came home from preschool and told me he'd learned about a new Halloween creature, one that lurches through the night swathed in flapping bandages.

"Oh," I said casually. "What's it called?"

"The MOMMIES!" he announced, with much more excitement than dismay.

But my delight lasted for only a few years before I returned to thinking of Halloween as just a silly, gaudy night that strains at symbolism -- the floozy among the family of big holidays. I thought, for a while, that I had simply buckled under the demands of Costume Hell. ("I want to be a computer, but also my feet will be, like, a robot, and you can make me a head with glowing red eyes and a voice like Darth Vader.") But that explanation has become less and less convincing: At 11 and almost-9, after all, the kids have more and more fun making their own costumes, with minimal help. Really, I think that I'm just not one of those people who easily climbs into fantasy and achieves flight.

Recently, after my dear cousin Sally spent a night guarding my sleep in the hospital, we talked about the one part of the experience I remembered as clearly as she. When I'd finally taken aboard enough pain medicine to dull the effects of the procedure I'd just been through, I'd said clearly, out of my cloud of Dilaudid, "I love all these random thoughts. All my life I've worked so hard to get words and sentences into line. They had to have a point. I love floating along on all these random thoughts."

It made me hugely sad to see that my escapes from the taskmistress of literalism are still so rare and hard-won. And in the days before this Halloween, it was especially hard for me to avoid interpreting its elements too bluntly. If you have cancer, if you've had it for a while, at some point you start really seeing all those skulls and skeletons and Styrofoam headstones, all those children in hooded capes, bearing scythes on their little shoulders.

So how could I explain the euphoria of the 45 minutes Alice and I spent in her bedroom, colluding over her hair, giggling at her faux-leather, deeply fringed bell-bottoms? The pleasure of watching her strap on those awful silver platform shoes, like something I wore in 1973?

Because Alice was getting picked up to join friends for trick-or-treating, I kept my eye on the clock, and shooed her into the bathroom just in time to add make-up: grown-up lipstick, a layer of shimmery lip gloss over that, and an overall, emphatic scribble, on her neck and face, with the body-glitter crayon. Every other day of the year, any mother knows that glitter is the work of Satan, but last Sunday it lit her skin with a dew of every color.

We could hear her friends pull up to the curb. As her momentum carried her to the top of the stairs, Alice looked back and tossed me a radiant smile. She had become my glimmering girl: She looked like a rock star. She looked like a teenager. She looked absolutely stunning. She thundered down the stairs in those shoes, and as the front door slammed behind her, it came to me -- what fantasy I had finally, easily entered this Halloween.

I'd just seen Alice leave for her prom, or her first real date. I'd cheated time, flipping the calendar five or six years into the future. The character I'd played was the 52-year-old mother I will probably never be.

It was effortless.

I thought of this column this weekend when I spent time with my friends' three daughters. Not that I think death is on the immediate horizon for me . . . I certainly hope it isn't. But when I spend time with these sweet, smart, funny and surprising girls, I feel like I'm stealing moments of the parenting experience I will never have for myself. When I received their valentines in my mailbox today, I was reminded again of how lucky I am to know them and how grateful I am to their parents for their generosity in sharing that experience with me.

Happy Valentine's Day!

And, for reading material until I can make a more Valentiney post, here is a story about heart, and the lack thereof by the White House:

While the White House jokes about Cheney's shooting of his hunting buddy, the buddy has been found to have buckshot in his heart that led to him suffering a heart attack today.

If only the White House Press Corps put this kind of dogged effort into their questions of Scott McClelland regarding issues like the elusive weapons of mass destruction, etc. . . .

A visual aid for Cheney's future hunting trips

A true classic, created by fubar, found via boing boing.

In case you missed it this weekend,

I have updated my photoblog to contain more of my Christmas Day activities in Paris, when I met characters like Luc Skywalquer and his little brother at the Parc des Vosges:



I hope you'll check it out!

I am so proud of myself!

(This is a fake income tax return photo found on the internet--NOT MINE.)

In Internal Revenue Service circles, I am what is known as a "late filer." I always have overpaid my income tax and am owed a refund, but due to my slackerism in all matters personal, the federal government has traditionally received the benefit of free use of my money for several additional months. Typically, I miss the April 15th deadline and obtain an extension through August 15th, but last year was such a horror that I believe I even obtained an additional brief extension beyond August.

Hatred of one's government has the power to motivate even the most lazy tax filer, however. I am sure this is the case, because due to my determination not to let this administration have a penny more of my money than they insist upon, I have completed my tax return a record-setting (for me) 2 months before the deadline!

Yes, folks, it is true. Pats on the back are much appreciated, although the satisfaction of a deed well done is quite enough for me.

TO CLARIFY:

Under normal circumstances, I have no problem with the government taking some of my money and using it to make our country better. However, this administration will use it for things like a war based on false pretenses, shovel it to "faith-based" groups I do not support and throw it at fraud artists posing as Katrina victims because the government is too incompetent to audit the process of awarding funds at the most basic level. So, yes, right now I DO have a problem letting the government take my money or have free use of it for any period of time.

Quick Pre-Dinner Meme of Quatre

Here it is:

FOUR JOBS I'VE HAD:

1. corn detassler for DeKalb-Pfizer Genetics . . . I rose to the lofty position of bus supervisor (the pinnacle position of the detassling industry) before hanging up my shorts and t-shirt;
   
2. photographer's assistant/telemarketer of senior photos/putter-together of wedding proof books for a local photographer;
   
3. sales clerk at Pool-a-Rama; and
   
4. nighttime worker at a detention center.
   

FOUR MOVIES I CAN WATCH OVER AND OVER:

1. Philadelphia Story
2. You've Got Mail
3. Breakfast at Tiffany's
4. Broadcast News

FOUR PLACES I'VE LIVED:

1. Plano, Illinois
2. Georgetown, Texas
3. Austin, Texas
4. Houston, Texas
5. Dallas, Texas (okay, all five)
   

FOUR TV SHOWS I LOVE:

I do not have television--not cable or regular TV, anyway. But here are shows I loved when I did:

1. Sex and the City
2. Six Feet Under
3. Seinfeld
4. Curb Your Enthusiasm
   

FOUR PLACES I'VE VACATIONED:

1. Paris
2. Greece
3. Santa Fe, New Mexico
4. Boston, MA

FOUR OF MY FAVORITE DISHES:

1. anything Tex-Mex from Chuy's
2. sushi
3. an excellent filet mignon with mushrooms
4. my mother's lasagne

FOUR BLOGSITES I VISIT DAILY:

1. http://www.cubs.com/
   
2. http://www.overheardinnewyork.com/
3. http://www.aclutx.org/
http://www.washingtonpost.com/

FOUR PLACES I WOULD RATHER BE RIGHT NOW:

1. Exploring Asia, including but not limited to Japan, China and Thailand
2. Watching the Cubs win the World Series
   
3. Road-tripping through France and Italy
4. in New York, preparing to go to the opera and a late romantic dinner.
   

One benefit of my anti-social mood today

is that I took the time to complete one more photoblog post about my Christmas trip to Paris. This one describes my walk through the charming Marais neighborhood of Paris and includes sights like this:





I hope you will check it out!

I am in a bad mood today.

I woke up early, ready to take on the day, but instead spent my morning waiting for a furnace repair company to arrive. They are now 2 hours late and offended that I would even raise a question about their actual arrival time. I told them not to bother coming to my house.

In addition to this, I now realize that someone was fishing for information from me so that they could feed it to someone else. I wondered about this at the time, but told myself not to be paranoid, that people are better than one normally gives them credit for being. Turns out, my instinct was right. Why can't all people be nice and straightforward and decent?

Instead of waiting for furnace repair or stewing over the fact that people are not what I wish they were, I am going to go have breakfast at my favorite place, read a great book and then try to finish my Paris posts before the trip is completely out of my head. Maybe thinking about it will restore my good spirits. I feel a "Lisa Day" coming on . . . haven't had one of those in a while!

Sorry for the blogging drought . . .

I have a big work thing today and have been busy preparing. More this weekend! In the meantime, here's a Paris pic to tide you over:

This is why Americans don't know what's happening.

One of the upsides/downsides of travel is that I typically receive USA Today in the hotel. It reminds me of why so many Americans have no idea what the Bush Admininstration is up to. Today's issue is no exception.

You know the Congressional hearing that is taking place concerning the Bush Administration's illegal wiretapping of average citizens? Well, USA Today relegated that to page 7 of the print version, using the not-quite-accurate title of "Lawmakers Doubtful on Surveillance." No one who questioned A.G. Gonzales yesterday, not even Arlen Specter (well, except for some Republican toady who talks as if he is leading the Confederacy in a Civil War movie), "doubted" that the surveillance the Administration has undertaken is illegal. Even in the online version of the paper, the headline is repeated, though this time on the "front page."

If you're interested, here is how real papers report on an important issues like infringement on our Constitutional rights:

New York Times
Washington Post

I am sad to say that the Chicago Tribune, usually one of the top papers in my book, has buried this story. But then, their editorial came out in favor of Bush in 2004, so I shouldn't be surprised.



(Photo courtesy of http://reclaimdemocracy.org)

Just when I thought Oklahoma City

could not possibly offer me any new delights, this fine city has surprised me again. Yes, it's true!

Oklahoma City has many distinguishing characteristics, such as its amazingly liberal . . . use of the color brown (what did you think I was going to say), a collection of cab drivers in which nearly every single one offers passengers his theory on how to do a better job of blowing up the federal courts building and consistently, stunningly, bad service at the nicest hotel in town. I thought there was nothing that this Very Special Town could offer me that I had not experienced before.

But tonight, as I inhaled my first deep breath of Oklahoma City air while striding from the airport to my rental car, I was treated to the olfactory equivalent of a Tiffany diamond: the sweet, clean smell of skunk:



The scent was so vivid, so untainted by any other smell, such as exhaust or smoke or, well, air, that I wondered briefly if a cargo flight of skunks had landed at the same time as my flight from Dallas. But then I realized I was too hungry to investigate and needed to beat a quick path to my hotel before room service called it a night.

Then, while I was waiting to check into my hotel, I thought I heard the gaggle of women next to me say they are here for a Mary Kay Convention. God, I hope not. But it would give me something to write about, that's for sure.

In other news, Anthony Hopkins is on Jon Stewart tonight, and he could not be cuter (either of them, really).

This is why I wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night.

Via the always-spectacular Dan Froomkin comes this story he found in the New Yorker. Apparently, Michael Gerson, the former speechwriter/now senior policy adviser to Bush, was asked to share with a group of ex-White House speechwriters something it didn't know about Bush:

"Gerson, in a quavering voice, responded with a story that left some of his audience nonplussed. He described a call that he got moments after Bush finished addressing a joint session of Congress on September 20, 2001. Bush thanked Gerson for his work on the speech, to which Gerson replied, 'Mr. President, this is why God wants you here.' Gerson then related Bush's response, as evidence of his thoughtfulness. 'The President said, 'No, this is why God wants us here.''

"An uncomfortable silence filled the room, and then one of Bill Clinton's speechwriters said, in a stage whisper, 'God must really hate Al Gore.' "

So much for the road trip!

Instead of driving to Houston this weekend, I flew. The story of that change in plans, and of what I did in Houston, is found here, on my other blog. Here is a picture from the trip to tantalize you:



In case you are wondering what I think of Houston as compared to Dallas, I'll just say you would never find this fun and funky kind of place in Dallas.

UPDATE:

Incidentally, I forgot to include in my travel post regarding this trip a description of two interesting passengers on my return flight. One of them, a very early 20-something girl with unnaturally blonde hair, sorority letters on her canvas tote bag and a petite figure clad in, among other things, skin-tight jeans and heels, came dashing up to the gate just after her group had boarded. As she came running up, our young friend took a pull from a freshly opened bottle of beer. She was ready to throw her drink away at the gate when the flight attendant told her she couldn't take it on the plane, but received a reprieve to take it as far as the other end of the jetway. So our maiden swigged indelicately from the bottle as she speed walked toward the plane, so rapidly that it was nearly empty by the time she reached the door of the plane. Having successfully run the "beer gauntlet," our heroine settled into a seat next to a similarly-aged friend with a large Louis Vuitton purse and matching tote.

Each of them ordered "Wine. White." when the flight attendant took drink orders before takeoff, courteously letting her know in advance that they would also expect refills before the plane landed. The pair chatted enthusiastically and nonstop (with one exception I will describe below) throughout the entire hour-long flight in voices strangely reminiscent of the "valley girl" talk popularized in the 80's, covering such wide-ranging topics as shopping, travel to Mexico for spring break, shopping, their Moms and shopping. When those topics ran dry (who thought that was possible?), they compared aloud the prices paid for the various items of clothing they were wearing. I can only wonder what the normal-looking 40-ish African-American woman sitting next to them thought of this scintillating and soul-wrenching conversation.

At one point, the beer-swigger trotted off to use the facilities; more than a few heads followed, then exchanged confused looks, as her seatmate sprang up and joined her in the tiny airplane bathroom. They stayed in there for several minutes before returning to their seats. Just when one thought additional entertainment from these two would be too much to ask, they launched into the topic of comparing their respective family histories of poverty, with the beer swigger declaring that her mother "grew up poor, just like Johnny Cash," and the seatmate countering with, "My Mom came from money, but they still shopped at Wal-Mart. She was smart like that, like my Grandma." Not to be outdone, the beer swigger described with pride her mother's recent purchase of pants that were originally $450, but were marked down to only $45 . . . "on a half price sale!"

And with that, I was ushered back into the Dallas city limits. Hope you had a great weekend!

Spring plans!

Typically, I am the queen of the Last Minute Plan. But I find that I have a fair number of plans already in place for the spring, all of which make me very excited! I thought I would share them with you here. This is what I have on tap for the spring:

My first-ever trip to Disney, where I will spend one glorious day before a business meeting later this month:



In March, I have two fun events planned . . . a Sheryl Crow concert with friends:



and a long weekend at the Cubs' spring training in Mesa, Arizona, capped by a Cubs game against the World Champion Chicago White Sox:



Then in April, I will see the great David Sedaris at a charming theater in Dallas, with some great friends:

Oh good lord.

I finished the Dreaded Document today. I feel free, free as the wind, that is, if the wind was tethered to the ground with a 40-pound weight. Because there is more work for me tomorrow . . . actually, the next many tomorrows.

But right now, the prospect of a full night of unsullied sleep is so tantalizing that I feel like it's the first time . . . I mean, well, you know. Although I am tired as tired can be, I'm not ready to go to bed yet. I just want to savor the prospect of going to bed.

My friend at work called me "punchy" today. I think she was right!

UPDATE:

I know you must be dying for an update on the orgasmic nature of my sleep last night, meaning whether it measured up to expectations. My sleep was blissful and dreamless. But strangely, it came to a screeching halt when I awoke at 5 am, a full 3 hours before my alarm clock was scheduled to wake me. So I got a drink, put a movie on in the background and went back to bed. I fell asleep right away but still had a hard time waking at 8. And, to my even greater surprise, I was even more punchy this afternoon than I was yesterday. Apparently, I have not yet replenished the sleep well to its satisfaction. So I'm home now, drinking a glass of wine, and planning to fill that well to overflowing tonight.

UPDATE II:

If you're interested, I just updated my reading list. That last book was a bit difficult to get through, but I hope to pick up the pace now!

Just returned from a pajama-clad run to my neighborhood Starbucks . . .

and I'm full of philosophical thoughts. Maybe it's because for the first time in days, I have almost a sufficient amount of sleep under my belt, but not quite enough, so it is as if I am in a dreamlike state of awakeness. (What?!?!?)

Anyway, I was thinking as I drove to Starbucks about how much I love taking pictures and how sad I am that I have been too busy at work this month to complete my photoblog entries with the photos from my Christmas trip to Paris. When I take pictures, I try to capture something real in a creative and beautiful and/or different way. There is something about that process that feeds my soul in a way that even the most creative of legal arguments cannot do. I am at my happiest when the creative, observing, interacting and people-loving aspects of me all intersect in taking photographs while exploring a new place, whether it is a different location, neighborhood, state or country.

So, here are a few new photos to tide you (and me) over until I can finish the photoblog entries about my trip:







And on a non-creative, but equally heartfelt note, I saw this Robert F. Kennedy quote on Digby tonight and want to share it with you:

For the fortunate among us, there is the temptation to follow the easy and familiar paths of personal ambition and financial success so grandly spread before those who enjoy the privilege of education. But that is not the road history has marked out for us. Like it or not, we live in times of danger and uncertainty. But they are also more open to the creative energy of men than any other time in history. All of us will ultimately be judged and as the years pass we will surely judge ourselves, on the effort we have contributed to building a new world society and the extent to which our ideals and goals have shaped that effort.

The future does not belong to those who are content with today, apathetic toward common problems and their fellow man alike, timid and fearful in the face of new ideas and bold projects. Rather it will belong to those who can blend vision, reason and courage in a personal commitment to the ideals and great enterprises of American Society.

Our future may lie beyond our vision, but it is not completely beyond our control. It is the shaping impulse of America that neither fate nor nature nor the irresistible tides of history, but the work of our own hands, matched to reason and principle, that will determine our destiny. There is pride in that, even arrogance, but there is also experience and truth. In any event, it is the only way we can live.

I instinctively knew

that I would find something funny and reassuringly true at Overheard in New York tonight, when I find myself much in need of a laugh and reassurance. And I did:

A NSA Tattoo Works Wonders

Guy #1: So I had ex sex last night.
Guy #2: How was it?
Guy #1: Amazing as always, but now I'm fucked cause she's gonna start calling me again.
Guy #2: Imagine that, you sleep with someone and then they call you...Crazy.

--1 train

Back to drafting the dreaded brief . . .

Murphy's Law Strikes Again

Nearing the end of an exhausting week of work, I decided to pop out of work a bit early on Friday to see a movie, with the plan being that I would then work all day Saturday and Sunday after having enjoyed myself a bit. I did enjoy the movie, and was looking forward to a relaxing Friday night.



In the tradition of Murphy's law, here is what happened instead:

(1) the valet lost my car keys (yes, in Dallas, one may valet park at a movie--I did this for the first time ever because I was so late in getting away from work that I didn't have time to park before the movie);

(2) my car keys resurfaced when another valet pulled up in the car, demonstrating that the valet searching for keys with me lied when he assured me that he had looked and confirmed that the car was still where he parked it;

(3) the security guard for some reason became suspicious that I was not actually the owner of my piece-of-crap Volvo filled with junk, but instead was someone who preferred it to the nearby BMWs and Mercedes and was trying to steal it, which resulted in an additional delay while I vouched that, yes, this is my 3 day old Starbucks cup in the cup holder;

(4) I realized I needed to return to work to take care of one more thing, but was foiled when the security guard in our building disappeared, resulting in a wait of approximately 20 minutes until a tenant happened to come by and let me in the building so I could get the cell phone number of the security guard (which, strangely, is only available to those already in the building); and

(5) I arrived home later, toting the now-cold dinner I picked up as I left the movie theater, only to find that my dogs had somehow pulled out the tall kitchen "drawer" that contains a tall kitchen trash can and pulled the entire full garbage bag out, devouring its contents and leaving lots and lots of remaining tidbits all over the kitchen floor.

How to waste time and have fun while doing it

Via Kottke, I found this fun game called fastr. It involves guessing the tag that a group of flickr pictures has in common and is played against several other players at any given time, for points!

In other time-wasting news, I finally discovered this Sodoku thing that everyone is so crazy about--it's even more fun than a Rubik's cube! Yes, the evil Southwest Airlines (which isn't really evil--I think they're great) included 4 puzzles in their in-flight magazine. During the 4 segments I flew this week, I was able to complete almost all of the puzzles, which made me quite proud. But now I'm hooked! If you enjoy this as much as I do, here is a place where you can find free puzzles. Please be warned: THIS IS A HIGHLY ADDICTIVE ACTIVITY AND YOU UNDERTAKE IT AT YOUR OWN RISK.

In the event you were worried

about whether I would find helpful amenities in my hotel room in Oklahoma City, please allow me to put those fears to rest:



Yep, that's a stuffed buffalo and beef jerkey treat, available for purchase!

Baseball and Bill Murray . . . two of my loves

The author of the Feed Me Good Tunes blog has come up with a wonderful post: fielding a baseball team made up entirely of characters played by Bill Murray. Two of my favorites among his picks:

6, Bob Harris, 3B, Lost in Translation
He's publicly suave but privately struggling, old, listless, spiritually unsatisfied. Occasionally finds success with the bat, but mostly in the team for lack of anyone else to use. Mike Lowell's new best friend in a baseball uniform.

Starting Rotation

Bob Wiley, What about Bob?
Throw out the textbook, Peter Gammons. One look at this wackadoo and you'd think of Therapy Tim Worrell. However, look past his infuriating persistency and bullish blend of narcissism and manipulation and you'll find an excellent pitcher: part-Hideo Nomo, part-Mark Prior, part-Denver the last Dinosaur, Bob will paint the corners with his screwball and change-ups that'll have you sprinting for the hills.

By the way, I just watched "Lost in Translation" again (it's been a veritable movie fest at my house, with the DVD player coming back to life and all):



If you haven't seen it, you must. It is a wonderful movie, capturing the feeling of disconnectedness while traveling in an uncannily accurate way.

For the next two days, I will be visiting this fine corner of America:



Jealous? I know you are. I see all the hot spots!

Chicken wings and where they lead you.

Today I went to this fine metropolis, El Paso, Texas:



This is actually a highly romanticized image of the city, which I found on the internet. The place actually looks like this photo, which I also found on the internet:



Isn't that a lot of brown for one city?

I went there for business, not for chicken wings, and had a very pleasant and productive day despite the fact that I was in a town that looks like Santa Fe after it had its beauty surgically removed. El Paso also happens to be the site of one of the most spectacularly disappointing dates I have ever had, but that is a story for another day.

For some reason, I heard people mention hot wings many times today, enough times that I started to really want to eat hot wings for dinner. I have been trying to limit the amount of meat in my diet and, thus, don't eat wings very often. But boy, did they sound good by the time I arrived home this evening, famished from trying my very first-ever Sodokhu puzzle on the plane. I thought I knew of a wing place that was on the way home, but when I got there, I found only this:



Yes, it's a "Cowboy Chicken." Upon investigation (meaning that I asked the guy at the counter a question), I determined that this place once was the wing place about which I had fond memories. But, surprisingly, they no longer offer hot wings. Does that seem odd to you, for a place that specializes in chicken to not offer hot wings, which are one of the best-known chicken dishes? It seemed odd to me, too.

But I was there, and I was too tired to continue my search for wings. So I ordered a barbeque chicken sandwich, which seemed like it would be similar but really wasn't. While I basked in the warmth of the rotisserie spit (which is located close to a tall wooden bar where one can eat, or read the newspaper while one waits to eat--I did the later), I noticed something else about this place: only men eat there. I was the lone female in the entire place, among approximately 10 other customers, except for one other woman, who was there with a guy. So, if you're a single girl in Dallas and don't know where to meet men, may I suggest Cowboy Chicken on Greenville Avenue. The sheer novelty of being the lone chick in the place (no pun intended) will draw more attention to you than any Greenville Avenue bar. And that's my service deed for the day . . . .

UPDATE: Lest you think I'm imagining this wing thing, LOOK, here's ANOTHER wing reference!

What a nice diverse group of readers I have!

My last 20 (unique) visits were from:

Waco, Texas
The Netherlands
Irving, Texas
Newark, New Jersey
Nottingham, England
Ucon, Idaho
Chicago, Illinois
Los Angeles, California
Des Moines, Iowa
Smyrna, Georgia
Elmhurst, Illinois
Madrid, Spain
York Mills, Ontario
Arlington Heights, Illinois
Avignon, France
Addison, Illinois
Calgary, Alberta
Harrison, Arkansas
Dodge City, Kansas
Virginia Beach, Virginia

Thanks for your visits, and your support!

Sorry about the dearth of posts . . .

I have been on the mend from my second (at least I think it's the second--I've lost track) illness of this oh-so-young year. And, I have also been busy, busy, busy at work! This weekend, I have been immersed in the delightful experience of writing a brief, which makes me look like this:



But I took a break last night to see this masterpiece of a movie with some friends:



If you haven't seen it yet, please do! Scenes like this one (pictured below) are comic genius, and will provide you with a nice break from the earnest and excellent movies like Brokeback Mountain, Capote and Good Night, and Good Luck (which you really should see if you haven't already):



As if that wasn't enough excitement for a single weekend, I engaged in another favorite activity this morning: bringing my home back into a condition considered habitable by humans (and dogs). Now it's so tidy (at least the part not behind closet and cabinet doors) that I want to celebrate by watching movies all day instead of drafting this brief. To make matters worse, I was successful in my effort to fix my brand-new, not working for indeterminate reasons, DVD player. So now, "Must Love Dogs" is tempting me.

Surely I can draft and watch at the same time, right?

UPDATE: Yes . . . yes, I can! Especially when this movie features the two actors who are probably my top two "wouldn't have to think before saying yes" kind of guys: John Cusack and Dermot Mulroney.

UPDATE II: In light of the revival of my DVD player, I watched that Season 2 of Northern Exposure that has been taunting me from its wrapping for weeks. That series, which had its debut in 1990, was truly cutting edge . . . I had forgotten to what extent. For instance, I just watched an episode in which Maurice, the founder of the town, struggled with his feelings of homophobia upon realizing that he was about to sell a property to a gay couple looking to open a bed and breakfast. He is most disturbed by the number of things he has in common with the pair, fearing it calls into question his own sexuality. Ultimately, he is won over by the men's willingness to pay a premium price for the property, and agrees to complete the sale. This was pretty groundbreaking stuff for 1991, and is very cleverly written.

It wasn't all a vale of tears yesterday.

The drive down to my college campus, which is 2 1/2 hours away, went by pretty quickly. Perhaps it is a sign of one's advancing age when a road trip feels like the height of relaxation and adventure. Here are some of the odd, amusing and/or interesting things I encountered on the road:

(1) A radio station whose tag line is, "music and ministry you can trust." I haven't run into any duplicitous music before . . . and if a ministry has to remind me it can be trusted, I'm not so sure it's a ministry in which I want to partake.

(2) I learned that Martha Stewart has a television show that plays over the radio waves, with guests and everything. Her invited guest yesterday struck me as an odd choice for that show: Susan Sarandon, whom I view as just a tad bit more liberal and free-spirited than the irrepressible Martha Stewart. But there was magic on the air waves, as Martha and Susan worked on some craft project involving plates. Susan was moved to reminisce about how she and her kids once did a project with "plastic plates and magic markers," a memory Martha met with stony silence. Trying to loosen things up a bit, Susan commented that their joint project appeared to be a meeting of two type A's and asked Martha if she was the oldest child in her family. Martha didn't quite catch the baton, as she answered, "No, the second child, who mothered all the others. You really must concentrate on this or it isn't going to work." And I'm not sure Susan said another word after that.

(3) There is a place along the way called, "Weber's Shooting Sports." Only in Texas is shooting a "sport."

Other pleasurable moments:

Stopping on the way home to pick up excellent "hots" at this fabulous kolache place:



Hearing the cheesiest of cheesy country songs, "Mr. Mom," which never fails to make me feel "dancy":

Artist/Band: Lonestar
Lyrics for Song: Mr. Mom
Lyrics for Album: Let's Be Us Again

(Richie McDonald/Ron Harbin/Don Pfrimmer)

Lost my job, came home mad
Got a hug and kiss and that's too bad
She said I can go to work until you find another job
I thought I like the sound of that
Watch TV and take long naps
Go from a hand working dad to being Mr. Mom

Well
Pampers melt in a Maytag dryer
Crayons go up one drawer higher
Rewind Barney for the fifteenth time
Breakfast, six naps at nine
There's bubble gum in the baby's hair
Sweet potatoes in my lazy chair
Been crazy all day long and it's only Monday
Mr. Mom

Football, soccer and ballet
Squeeze in Scouts and PTA
And there's that shopping list she left
That's seven pages long
How much smoke can one stove make
The kids won't eat my charcoal cake
It's more than any maid can take
Being Mr. Mom

Well
Pampers melt in a Maytag dryer
Crayons go up one drawer higher
Rewind Barney for the sixteenth time
Breakfast, six naps at nine
There's bubble gum in the baby's hair
Sweet potatoes in my lazy chair
Been crazy all day long and it's only Monday
Mr.Mom

Before I fall in bed tonight
If the dog didn't eat the classifieds
I'm gonna look just one more time

'Cause
Pampers melt in a Maytag dryer
Crayons go up one drawer higher
Rewind Barney for the eighteenth time
Breakfast, six naps at nine
There's bubble gum in the baby's hair
Sweet potatoes in my lazy chair
Been crazy all day long
Oh been crazy all day long and it's only Monday
Mr.Mom

Balancin' checkbooks, juggling bills
Thought there was nothing to it
Baby, now I know how you feel
What I don't know is how you do it


*****************************************

Just a taste of Central Texas for ya!

Time travel, and an ode to a favorite professor.

Have you ever had one of those days when you are hurtled back in time so rapidly that, before you know it, you have completely re-inhabited one of your earlier selves? That's how I felt today when I set foot on my college campus to attend a memorial service for my most influential college professor.

I know the precise moment when "college Lisa" took the place of "lawyer Lisa." I was talking to a colleague/friend on my cell phone as I drove onto campus; I was still talking to her as I emerged from my car to begin the walk to the chapel. But then an elderly couple approached and asked me how to get to the chapel, and I heard what seemed (to my ears, anyway) like a much younger version of my voice answer, "Over there, Ma'am, but I'll show you the way, as I'm headed there, too." I briefly told my colleague that I would talk to her tomorrow, but I had already gone back in time about 18 years at that point.

Essy explained as we walked with her husband to the chapel that they had known my professor for about 40 years, having first met him in a Sunday school class at their church. My professor remained a bachelor until he was about 50 years old, and apparently one of Essy's great joys in life until that time was to try to fix him up on dates with various eligible ladies. She said my professor put a stop to that practice after she offered to set him up with a friend of hers who had “decided not to become a nun after all,” saying that he would assume responsibility for his own social life, thank you very much. It was shortly after that when my professor met Dottie, who became his wife for the next 31 years.

The relatively plain, narrow and high-ceilinged campus chapel held a multitude of alumni, faculty and community members. Our common bond was the love and friendship of a man who taught psychology and so much more. The sun's rays reached through the chapel windows and bent the rich primary colors of the stained glass into a beautiful border of color on the white wall surrounding each window frame. One of the first things one learned upon meeting my professor was the depth of love he bore for his wife and three children. So it felt right to learn from one of the speakers that my professor's children have grown up to be a psychologist and a writer and a teacher . . . which were three of the things he did best. His son's poem about the professor's use of words in his relationships with all of us, and the pleasure Ted found in writing with his father in the last stage of his life, was just right in so many ways.

Another eulogy was moving as well . . . my professor’s best friend (the retired registrar of the college) asked the college President to deliver his words because he was too grief-stricken to say them himself. I loved his words because they were simple and brought back fond memories of our friend instead of trying to teach us something with quotes from people who didn't know him. Some of the tidbits that rang truest about my professor included his lifelong love of the Detroit Tigers, borne of his first four years of life in Detroit, and his habit of taking a British tea daily, borne of his childhood and teenage years after his Welsh parents were forced to return to England. The story of how my professor celebrated the end of World War II (which he saw from the vantage point offered by the British Royal Navy) by attending a symphony performance was new to me, but sounded just like him. We heard of the twists and turns that ultimately brought my professor to a small liberal arts college in Central Texas, where he taught for 43 years, 25 years of which he spent chairing the psychology department.

It was at that college, in that psychology department, that I met my professor. He was my faculty advisor, presided over an uncountable number of my psychology courses (it was my major) and coordinated the two summer internships in which I participated. But more than that: he was my mentor, my quiet cheerleader and my friend. I realize now that my professor was more formally-educated and well-traveled, but otherwise very similar to my own gentle and encouraging father (though the professor would never have let you know he was either well-educated or worldly in experience). He wasn’t that kind of man; he was the kind of man who listened both quietly and intensely, who never made any person feel uneducated or naïve or belittled, who fostered a sense of self-confidence in you so subtly that you only realized later that he made you feel as if you had limitless possibilities. I believe he was one of the first persons, if not the very first person, with whom I shared my LSAT score; he managed to look extremely proud and pleased without seeming a bit surprised at how well I had done. In addition to moral support, he taught me how to listen, both in class and out of it, a skill that has made me a much better friend and lawyer. There are many life questions I have now with which I think my professor could have helped me, though he would have just viewed it as talking things over . . . questions about work and love and faith and politics (not necessarily in that order). I think he would have enjoyed trading baseball stories and talking about my newfound love of opera together if I had done a better job of keeping in touch with him in recent years.

All of these memories and thoughts and feelings came rushing at me today as I sat on the red velvet cushion of my chapel pew, focusing on the bright colors surrounding the stained glass windows while I tried to stem the flow of my tears. Some were tears of grief, for the lost opportunity to exchange thoughts with and say goodbye to my professor. I spoke with him a few times in the years since graduation, but not recently. Strangely, I had found myself thinking of my professor a number of times in the days before he died although I did not know he was in seriously ill health or near the end of his life. Others were tears of memory and gratitude and honor. Today I was reminded of the person I was when I knew my professor best, and of the person whom he believed I was and that I could be. Maybe that memory was the cause of at least a few of my tears.

Thank you, my professor, for all that you were and all that you saw in me.

Eloquent Words About An Eloquent Man's Premature Passing

The words of Bobby Kennedy on April 4, 1968, from this site:

Ladies and Gentlemen: I'm only going to talk to you just for a minute or so this evening, because I have some very sad news for all of you -- Could you lower those signs, please? -- I have some very sad news for all of you, and, I think, sad news for all of our fellow citizens, and people who love peace all over the world; and that is that Martin Luther King was shot and was killed tonight in Memphis, Tennessee.

Martin Luther King dedicated his life to love and to justice between fellow human beings. He died in the cause of that effort. In this difficult day, in this difficult time for the United States, it's perhaps well to ask what kind of a nation we are and what direction we want to move in. For those of you who are black -- considering the evidence evidently is that there were white people who were responsible -- you can be filled with bitterness, and with hatred, and a desire for revenge.

We can move in that direction as a country, in greater polarization -- black people amongst blacks, and white amongst whites, filled with hatred toward one another. Or we can make an effort, as Martin Luther King did, to understand, and to comprehend, and replace that violence, that stain of bloodshed that has spread across our land, with an effort to understand, compassion and love.

For those of you who are black and are tempted to be filled with hatred and mistrust of the injustice of such an act, against all white people, I would only say that I can also feel in my own heart the same kind of feeling. I had a member of my family killed, but he was killed by a white man.

But we have to make an effort in the United States, we have to make an effort to understand, to get beyond, or go beyond these rather difficult times.

My favorite poem, my favorite poet was Aeschylus. And he once wrote:

"Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget
falls drop by drop upon the heart,
until, in our own despair,
against our will,
comes wisdom
through the awful grace of God."

What we need in the United States is not division; what we need in the United States is not hatred; what we need in the United States is not violence and lawlessness, but is love and wisdom, and compassion toward one another, and a feeling of justice toward those who still suffer within our country, whether they be white or whether they be black.

So I ask you tonight to return home, to say a prayer for the family of Martin Luther King -- yeah, it's true -- but more importantly to say a prayer for our own country, which all of us love -- a prayer for understanding and that compassion of which I spoke.

We can do well in this country. We will have difficult times. We've had difficult times in the past. And we will have difficult times in the future. It is not the end of violence; it is not the end of lawlessness; and it's not the end of disorder.

But the vast majority of white people and the vast majority of black people in this country want to live together, want to improve the quality of our life, and want justice for all human beings that abide in our land.

Let us dedicate ourselves to what the Greeks wrote so many years ago: to tame the savageness of man and make gentle the life of this world. Let us dedicate ourselves to that, and say a prayer for our country and for our people.

Thank you very much.

Finally . . . another Paris post!

Found here, and including photos like this one:



This post is about Christmas Day in Paris!

Not dead yet . . .

but feeling like the next best thing. Yes, I'm sick. Temperature of 99.5 degrees (though I was sure it would be 199.5 and took it three times to be sure), coughing, sneezing, achy muscles. Ugh. More when I rejoin the world of the living.

Delurk, I Command Thou.

According to some other folks on this world wide web of ours, it is Delurking Week. Which means one who typically peruses this blog without commenting, even if only to think,"Wow, at least I'm not as messed up/boring/unorganized/as big a procrastinator as her," should break that trend, even if for only a day, and post a tiny little comment below.

Just do it! You'll like it!

Life is never quite what one expects.

I spent my day in the very small town referenced in this post below. The first part of the day was pretty much an average business day for me, except that I was able to spend it with a dear friend who is also a client, making it an above average kind of day. But just as we were preparing to head back to the big city, our manager contact in the small town learned that his employee has been involved in a serious head-on collision while driving a company truck.

The manager is a tough man who has spent a lifetime in a tough business, in a part of Texas that isn't exactly fluffy. That only made the seriousness of the situation even more clear as he had to visibly gather up his courage before heading out to the site of the crash. We went out there as well to provide any help we could. What felt like a bit of an adventure as we made our way out there became something very different as we walked toward the scene.

There were onlookers aplenty, even on this near-deserted country road. And the local paper was there, photographing the helicopter that took one of the injured parties to a hospital. But my stomach felt as if it has been punched when I saw the twisted metal of the two large trucks that collided, hitting each other so hard that the one with the long trailer attached spun 180 degrees, as if it was heading back in the direction from which it initially came. Thankfully, our client's employee, who was in that truck, is going to be fine, after his broken bones heal. Unfortunately, the guy in the other vehicle is around 25 years old and his wife is expecting their first child in a few weeks; the last report we heard was that he remains in an intensive care unit.

There is a humanity in that kind of moment that reminds you of how petty the everyday disputes are--even including the matter on which we were working today. Everyone at the scene was conducting their job professionally, but there was a sobriety about their manner that seemed to indicate that everyone was thinking something to the effect of, "There but for the grace of God go I," or whatever that saying is.

As I watched the journalist talk to the players, and his photographer record the visual details of the scene, I thought about whether I am cut out for that kind of work, as it is something I have seriously considered as an alternative to the law. I thought the answer to that question was no while I was in the throes of my visceral reaction to the smashed trucks. Covering stories like that, or worse, must be too depressing over time, I reasoned. But by the time we left the scene, I realized there isn't much that would make a person appreciate being alive more than being a part of that kind of scene on a regular basis, and that if one was able to write about it in such a way as to make others who were not there take a moment to appreciate the freshly bloomed flowers of life, that might be something worth doing.

It's something to ponder.

One of my favorite things.

No, it's not this guy:



(photo courtesy of VOA News)

It is National Public Radio's live broadcast of the U.S. Supreme Court justice confirmation hearings. I would love it more if The Shrub wasn't appointing those being quizzed, but it still makes for fascinating listening. I find the two general categories of questions equally entertaining: (a) the well thought out question posed by a person who clearly understands the legal system; and (b) the bizarrely uninformed question, like that from the Senator (I never caught his name) who seems to think that every case before an appellate court has previously been the subject of a trial, when many appellate cases involve the dismissal of claims without any trial. The "softball" statements prepared by Karl Rove and/or those like him are fun, too: these statements posing as questions simplify Alito's position on matters to a stultifyingly basic soundbite that bears no relationship whatsoever to his actual record.

Anyway, if you are interested in learning more about this Alito character, the Washington Post has put together a comprehensive and helpful set of pages about him. This page from the set, with a graphic showing the kinds of people/entities Alito tends to side with and against, and which compares his tendencies to those of other judges, is especially interesting.

Also, here is the ACLU's excellent statement in opposition to Alito's confirmation. Here is the ACLU's in-depth report concerning Judge Alito's opinions affecting civil rights and civil liberties. And, finally, here is the ACLU's letter to the Senate Judiciary Committee regarding the Alito nomination.

Please contact your senator to let him/her know how you feel about the Alito nomination. I've made it really easy for you!

I'm still kicking . . .

just haven't had time to post, as I have been very busy at work this week. For the last two days, I have gotten up so early that my dogs simply stayed in bed, not yet ready to begin their day.



(photo courtesy of this site)

Tomorrow I have the good fortune to make a business trip to this thriving metropolis in which, according to this link, I will find myself a member of multiple minority groups. At least the weather is supposed to be nice. And maybe I'll meet a boy while I'm there!

I'm off to finish my 565-page book now . . . only a few pages to go!

Jack Handey is Awesome

I'm still reading my "Live From New York" book (up to page 394 out of 565-yea!) about the history of Saturday Night Live, which is truly addictive. The book proceeds chronologically and I just reached the pages about Jack Handey, who wrote "Deep Thoughts" on SNL during the last time period when I was a devoted follower of the show. I remember watching the episodes with "Deep Thoughts" and belly-laughing at how funny they were.

Here's one for your Sunday reading pleasure:



Here's another one--this one was always my favorite:



Courtesy of grossgirl.com.

Not haiku, but still made me laugh out loud.

That would be Dave Barry's summary of 2005, including this amusing tidbit:

... President Bush, needing to make another appointment to the Supreme Court, conducts a thorough and painstaking investigation of every single woman lawyer within an 8-foot radius of his desk. He concludes that the best person for the job is White House Counsel Harriet Miers, who, in the tradition of such legendary justices as Felix Frankfurter, Louis Brandeis and Oliver Wendell Holmes, is a carbon-based life form.

Ultimately Miers withdraws her name. The president, after conducting another exhaustive search, decides to appoint “John Roberts” again, because it worked out so well the first time. Informed by his aides that there could be some legal problem with this tactic, the president finally decides to nominate Samuel Alito. Democrats immediately announce that they strongly oppose Alito and intend to do some research soon to find out why.

In Congress, Tom DeLay's ethical woes worsen as he is indicted on additional charges of hijacking a train.

Haiku that made me laugh out loud.

Via Joshua Newman's Self-Aggrandizement:

Really, is there a
better appetizer than
pigs in a blanket?

C'mon--funny, right?

Characters.

I mentioned before that I read Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird during my time spent in Paris. Her book covers both an approach to life and an approach to writing. I find that since reading it, my attention to detail in the people I encounter on a daily basis is heightened. Everywhere I look, I see characters, or pieces of characters, that I want to use in my writing one day.

I'm going to jot down a few of them here, so I remember:

(1) the thin and slightly nervous-acting man, probably gay, who prefers to adopt older dogs so that he can make their last years peaceful and happy ones;

(2) the trio walking across a not-at-all-well-to-do street that I took on my way home tonight, who crossed the street walking so close together I could barely tell there were three of them, until I saw that two of them were a couple, the woman having her arm looped through one man's arm, as if he was escorting her down a flowered path;

(3) the barrista at my favorite coffee shop, who draw pictures or writes names that relate to the Cubs when he makes my non-fat latte every day;

(4) the African-American, drew herself out of poverty, religiously fervrent (or fervrently religous) secretary that I seem to continue to draw--this strikes me as interesting mainly because I find irony in the fact that I so often seem to work with those who are the polar opposite of my Caucasian, solidly middle class, agnostic/atheist self, but who are in so many other ways very, very similar to me;

(5) the slouching brown-haired guy in a once-starchy white (untucked) dress shirt, who ordered a very spare salad at Eatzi's tonight; and

(6) the guy who tells everyone he has green eyes, when his eyes are actually so brown that no one could ever think they are another color.

Just jottings . . . obviously, lots of details to be fleshed out.

Here's another Paris pic for ya, because I simply do not have the energy to create another account of the trip until I make it through this long-feeling work week:



This one is for those of you who lacked a white Christmas.

Ding-ding-ding: An Announcement

I am proud to announce that I have passed my first test of the new year with flying colors. What test, you ask?

Well, those who know me may attest to my superior ability to dwell on things obsessively, mulling over the details again and again until I have twisted my brain into a pretzel from which it is difficult to extricate anything remotely resembling the true size and shape of the problem or issue on which I was dwelling. I found myself on such a path again this morning, with respect to a person I encountered through my work. Much to my surprise, after giving the matter a good going-over (mentally), I was able to emerge from my brain tunnel with an accurate, or at least liveable, perspective on the matter. The linchpin of this perspective is my realization that the fact that others have shortcomings that make them unpleasant to deal with (as do I, I am sure) is not a reflection on me--it is their problem.

This brings to mind a Bill Murray line from the movie, "What about Bob?" He was talking about difficult people and said something to the effect of (beware: very bad paraphrase ahead): "I just pretend he is a telephone, and sometimes he is out of order. When that happens, you just have to try again later and hope he's working that time."

Sorry I can't be more specific about this. But I had to post about it, as I am very proud! Here's a picture from Paris to make up for it:

2006: The Year of Books

Over the Christmas holiday, I read a few books that re-sparked my interest in reading--Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird and Alan Alda's memoir, Never Stuff Your Dog. (By the way, I highly recommend each of these books). Ambitiously, I have amassed a towering stack of books to be read in the year 2006. The pile includes the following (thus far):

• Out of Africa, by Isak Dinesen
• Our Endangered Values, by Jimmy Carter
• In Cold Blood, by Truman Capote
• Too Brief a Treat, edited by Gerald Clarke
• Capote, by Gerald Clarke (can you guess what movie I saw yesterday that piqued my interest in Capote?)
  
• Pure Drivel, by Steve Martin
• The Opposite of Fate, by Amy Tan
• Wrigley Blues, by William J. Wagner
• The Pleasure of My Company, by Steve Martin
• Notes from a Small Island, by Bill Bryson
• Adventures of a Continental Drifter, by Elliott Hester
• Hard Laughter, by Anne Lamott
• Blue Shoe, by Anne Lamott
• Travels, by Michael Crichton
• The Autograph Man, by Zadie Smith
• White Teeth, by Zadie Smith

If you are interested in tracking my progress or hearing my thoughts on these books, I have posted in the links column to the right a link to "My 2006 Reading List", which is my new backpackit page for tracking this.

UPDATE: Oops, the stack is even larger than I realized, and also includes:

• But Inside I'm Screaming, by Elizabeth Flock
• This Side of Married, by Rachel Pastan
• A Confederacy of Dunces, by John Kennedy Toole
• The Case for Faith, by Lee Strobel
• Eat, Drink, and be Healthy, by Walter C. Willett, M.D. (though I am not sure I can read a book whose title violates one of my personal grammatical pet peeves--the rule against using a comma immediately before an "and")
  
• The Portable Dorothy Parker
• The Wonder Spot, by Melissa Bank
  

Final Paris Post on Christmas Eve . . .

now ready for your perusal, here!

I cannot stop looking at this photograph

It is found at The Narrative, by Matt O'Sullivan.

Want to come clean?

Here's where you can do it! Thanks to Dimitri at Cafe DA.