Jamie Foxx Tennis Ball Song

There are a LOT of people who stumble across this blog by searching on "Jamie Foxx Tennis Ball Song." I can see why this might come up as a match, but it is, obviously, not what these folks are looking for.

Now I'm intrigued. Six months ago Jamie Foxx my entire knowledge of Jamie Foxx was as a comedian on In Living Color. To the point where I didn't want to go see the movie Ray because it was starring Jamie Foxx. Then I heard an interview with him on NPR discussing his classical music training, his approach to the movie, and the fact that Ray Charles had given his blessing on the casting decision. That was when I decided to go see Ray. And now I know he's a dang good actor - the academy of motion picture arts and sciences agrees.

So can someone please shed some light on what this tennis ball song is? Inquiring minds want to know.

The Road to Recovery

It's been at least 5 hours since I've run a temperature, so it looks like I'll be let back into the bedroom tonight. As much as I love my couch, I miss sleeping with Sweetie. (Been camped out on the couch so he doesn't catch what I've caught).

I've been eating solid foods for a day and a half. I didn't realize how much I enjoyed chewing until I was stuck on an all clear diet.

I'm actually sitting in the La-Z-Boy typing this entry, rather than lying out on the couch.

That being said, I've about lost my voice from all the coughing. And almost had to take a nap after getting up to take a shower. So I'm nowhere near 100% yet. I suspect I'll take tomorrow off work, simply because I didn't think they'd take too kindly to me shutting the office door and curling up for a few nice naps during the day (which is what I suspect I'd have to do if I went in to work tomorrow).

But the real test that I am getting better is my intolerance to the stupid commercials that play during the stupid TV. After seeing it 5 million times over the last week I'm fairly sure I'm not hallucinating that Hootie (sans the Blowfish) is now wearing a cowboy outfit and hawking Burger King. Isn't that one sign of the apocalypse?

Flu-tastic

This morning marked the third day in a row that my temperature topped 101, so a visit to the doctor was in order. The good news is that if the scale at the doctor's office is at all similar to the scale at the gym I've lost 5+ pounds in the last couple of weeks.

You know it's bad when the nurse takes your temprature and says, "Wow, that's high!" The doctor walked in the room, reviewed my symptoms, and declared I had the flu. The check-up was purely for formality sake.

So I now am on a mixture of Tylenol, Advil, and a prescription called Tamiflu. I was offered cough medicine with codeine as well, but the cough isn't all that bad. The diet consists of water, 7-up, Gatorade, Jello and chicken soup.

I'm camped out on the couch with really bad TV dozing in and out of consciousness, and that's my life for the forseeable future. It has to be really bad TV, because when you're dozing in and out of consciousness you don't want to be watching anything too compelling. The doctor said it may last up to a week, so I may not be back to work until next Wednesday. If I'm feeling better I can go back sooner, and if things aren't improved by Monday I go back to the doctor.

So I'm taking a brief hiatus from the blog for the time being. When your diet consists exclusive of clear things it's difficult to muster up the energy to type.

Bleh

I'm running a temprature of approximately 101. And at 7:30 tomorrow morning the exterior of our condo will be crawling with construction workers who are loudly removing siding from the building and peering through the windows at me splayed out on the couch in all my sick glory. Although with the three blankets that enshroud me maybe they won't notice, and think I'm just a big pile of linens on the couch.

But my Sweetie has the week off of work, and he is taking wonderful care of me making me chicken soup and fetching me ice water and basically catering to my every need. So please send healthy thoughts my way, and hopefully I'll be up and blogging again soon - this stint on the computer was instigated by e-mailing work to let them know what to do tomorrow in my absence.

Happy President's Day!

I know it's not traditional to give gifts on President's Day, but that sudden spike of traffic you received to your website today? That was my gift to you.

I work in an industry that traditionally has all the lesser holidays off. Except our office barely takes all the major holidays off (I get 6 paid holidays a year). Sometimes that's a very good thing, because everyone up the chain is closed, so even dealing with people down the chain it gives a good opportunity to get caught up, cleaned up, and put some organization into my life. Today was not one of those days. Last week I somewhat purposefully left myself some messes to clean up. And due to a sudden fever I left work 3 hours early on Friday. And I was still done being productive by lunchtime.

When I have days like that at work I will often obsessively check out others blogs on the off chance that they have posted something interesting, ideally a lengthy article, to help dither away my time. Y'all dissapointed me today. I believe Veteran's Day is your next opportunity to make good on this, so make note and blog away.

Spring has Sprung

I know we're a bit off when you look at the calendar, but in the world of Swank Spring has sprung. My internal rhythyms follow those of the soil, where winter makes me hibernate under warm fuzzy blankets and take hot baths all day long. Spring makes me MOVE, must always keep moving, must not stop, must be productive and getting stuff done.

The transition to spring began yesterday. The agenda was easy enough - go to the gym, then go buy some towel racks for the bathroom. But there was a twist. Everyone has weird idiosyncracies that dictate decorating decisions. Mine is that I get claustrophobic in the shower if I do not have a clear vinyl shower curtain. I don't try to understand it, I just know that when it comes time to replace the shower curtain it's got to be of the clear vinyl variety. (There can be design on it, but at the base it must be clear vinyl). Sweetie's idiosyncracy involves towel racks. With his super-human strength he has a tendency to tear towel racks off the wall. So I decided that the new towel racks should be of the variety that screw directly into the wall, rather than the variety that hang on a mount that was screwed directly into the wall. I knew they existed, I've bought them in the past, but I didn't realize the lengths I would have to go to in order to procure such towel racks. They would have been easy to procure if I didn't mind super-ugly towel racks, but I desired an attractive rack on which to hang my towels. And in the end I settled for a towel rack that doesn't screw directly into the wall, but it has other mechanisms which will keep it secured to the wall. And don't ask me what those other mechanisms are, because I can't really explain, but they're there. And that was my Saturday in a nutshell.

Today the transition is complete. I've worked out, made the rounds to the grocery stores, made apple sauce, and before the day is done will also pack up some glassware and make some soup, plus also hope to clean the kitchen and get some laundry done. And don't be surprised if the towel racks get mounted and I start to make a dent in the CD organizing project that lays before me.

Spring is my favorite season of the year, so it makes perfect sense that an impatient person such as myself would get spring started early. And she's off...

The Amazing Race 7: Predictions

This will mark the fourth season of Sweetie and I making predictions, before we've seen the first episode of The Amazing Race, of who we think will win the race. It gives us a rooting interest.

My method of selecting my team of choice has been to go to the website, read the biography and Q&A of all of the teams, and make my selection. Last season I was torn between two teams, one of whom didn't have a Q&A posted so I could not, in good faith, pick them, not knowing what secrets that interview would have held. And, for the first season, Sweetie's team did better than mine. (No, we're not competitive, not at all). Of course, I'm the only person to pick a team that's won the race. And I haven't picked a team that got eliminated on the first episode yet. Pretty soon Vegas will be calling me to make the odds.

Except CBS has gone and changed things now. They've eliminated the written Q&A. I have the option of downloading some program that's not on my home or work computers and watching videos of each of the teams, but that involves too much work for a television show. So that means I'm forced to make my predictions this year based only on the biography. Therefore, instead of just picking a team I'm going to make general predictions about each team, then select one that I will have no confidence in, and see where it goes from there.

So, without further ado, here are my predictions for The Amazing Race 7:

Brian and Greg - Brothers: They're athletic, but have limited travel experience and limited knowledge of the race. They're brawn will carry them for a while, but they won't have the travel savvy to make it all the way.

Debbie and Bianca - Best Friends: The yin to the brothers yang, they've got the travel experience, but not the brawn. If these two girls were to hook up with the two brothers and swap teams around they might make two formidable forces, but if when it comes down to who can run the foot race the fastest or who can climb the wall the fastest these girls will be left behind.

Lynn and Alex - Boyfriends: I cannot pick a team who professes to be going on the race to "test their relationship." You may do well, but you will not win. You need to have your teammate behind you 110% to get through the challenges, so if they're someone who might rub you the wrong way you're doomed. And when one team members claims to be bad at dealing with stress and the other is lazy. And your motivation on the race it to possibly get married in Amsterdam - yeah, no, not a chance. This may be our sacrificial lamb.

Meagan and Heidi - Roommates: Click on the link. Look at the picture. The hair. The bandanas. Sorry, I can't get past the homage to Farrah Fawcett and Olivia Newton John. They could be the best, most perfectly matched team ever, but the hair disqualifies them.

Meredith and Gretchen - Married: The token old people. As old people go, I'm sure they'll do fine. But time has shown that the most athletic old folks won't be able to hold up until the end.

Ray and Deana - Dating: Testing the relationship, and he's cocky. No thanks.

Rob and Amber - Engaged: I hated him on Survivor All-Stars. And then he went and proposed on Reality TV. I was OK with her as long as she was using Rob for her own greedy ends, but then she went and fell for the scumbag. I don't like them at all. I don't want them to win. And I suspect that they'll find the manipulation that got them ahead on Survivor won't get them far here, and the laziness that the manipulation allowed them won't get them off the starting line. They'll probably do OK, but I really don't want them to win.

Ron and Kelly - Dating: I used to have a strictly "no dating teams" rule on the rooting interest front. The relationship is just too tenuous and won't hold up to the stress. By the end of last season I had eased on that, with both Sweetie and my teams gone we found ourselves rooting for Kris and Jon, and I think I may be completely abandoning that this season. I do believe this may be the team to beat. Yep, I'm picking them. They're not testing the relationship, they're going on the race for the adventure. And man if they don't have the brains and the brawn to make it happen.

Ryan and Chuck - Friends: These guys look like fun. I don't know that they have the spark to make it to the finish line first, but I'd like to see them do well because I think they'll be entertaining.

Susan and Patrick - Mother and Son: Again, no spark.

Uchenna and Joyce - Married: They're going through a challenging spot in their relationship. They want to bring their relationship closer together. They want to use the money they win to help them have a baby. Not a chance.

So there you have it: Lynn and Alex as the sacrificial lambs, Ron and Kelly to win it all. Stay tuned and see if the predictions hold.

Sweetie vs. Samson

Last weekend Sweetie and I headed down to Portland, primarily to pick up Samson (the cat), who had been staying with the grandparents during the move. Now that the three of us are one big happy family it's been interesting watching Sweetie and Samson start to warm to each other.

In the past the relationship has been a tense one to say the least. Samson, despite his being a homosexual, has suffered from an Oedipal Complex since I picked him up at the animal shelter 10-1/2 years ago. This meant Sweetie got to have his clothes pissed on by the cat on at least a couple of occasions. Yet Sweetie was still willing to let the cat move into the condo. AMAZING!

The first night the tension continued. But I was about ready to send the cat packing that night, so I can't blame Sweetie for anything. Take a cat who doesn't like change, stuff him full of valium, put him in a car for 4 hours, then put him into a new environment with just a few things he knows from his past and it's a disaster waiting to happen. While coming down off the drugs and wandering the new digs the cat squawked all night long. Woke both Sweetie and I up at 4:15 am. NOT a fun night.

But I think the cat is starting to realize that he's been dealt his cards and now he needs to make the most of it. One of the most endearing qualities of the cat, in my opinion, is his ability to know when you are sick or having a tough time with things and becoming ultra-snuggle kitty at that time. Sweetie's running a mild fever tonight and has been sprawled out on the couch. I can see Samson is torn between his wariness of Sweetie and the ultra-snuggle kitty instinct. He's circling the couch, pacing a protective barrier around Sweetie, and is also standing on the floor, putting his paws up on the edge of the couch, WANTING to jump up there and snuggle but not quite ready to.

So maybe, just maybe, the cat is becoming a little less psycho. Or maybe he's just old and can't handle the anger any longer. Either way, I'll take it.

Happy VD Day!

Prior to Sweetie v2.0 I've never had a boyfriend on February 14. I had a pretty good string of meeting guys the end of February, and some fizzle-outs in late January, but for the first 29 years of my life my biggest Valentine was my mother, who could always be counted on for her traditional holiday Pez dispenser.

Valentine's Day was spent in black, sneering at people who were too saccharine for their own good, and reveling in my single-ness and not being forced to participate in another Hallmark Holiday.

Valentine's Day 2002 Sweetie and I had officially been together about a month and a half, we were living 250 miles apart, and Sweetie would be at my home the following Saturday to spend an entire week at my home. A co-worker who was fresh out of college seemed to think that Sweetie should show up on my doorstep Valentine's evening with a dozen roses in one hand and a box of chocolates in the other. I tried to explain to the co-worker that not only would that not happen but I would actually be UPSET if it did and he just didn't get it. As a girl I'm supposed to want roses and diamonds and chocolates and a nice dinner and a teddy bear and enough gifts to spawn the GNP of a developing nation.

Sweetie did send me chocolates. About 5 pounds of chocolates. I wasn't quite sure what the message was supposed to be there... I love you a lot, but I'd love you even more if you weighed 500 pounds? Turns out there were a couple of methods to his madness: He knew he'd be in town and we'd share, and he had to maximize quantity of the greatest chocolate ever invented which is the Trinidad. It's like a chocolate truffle with a dark chocolate inside and a white chocolate/nutty coating. The assorted mixed chocolate package quickly got dispensed to work after the Trinidads were removed.

This year we're going to see a stage performance of Singin' in the Rain on Saturday. (Our favorite movie ever) When I saw the performance was coming to town I had mentioned it as a Valentine's outing, since the dates lined up well, and I thought we'd planned on that to be the Valentine's Day outing of the year. Then, come Christmas, Santa Claus must not have kept very good records because we BOTH received copies of the Singin' in the Rain DVD under the tree this year. His was a gift from my parents (at my prompting), and mine was a gift from him. Since he'd already received his copy of the DVD, he included a note on mine saying he'd get us tickets to the play for Christmas. But I thought we'd still do our celebrating that night.

So I get up this morning and I'm running REALLY late to work. And when I get out to my car there was a package sitting on the front seat. I had heard Sweetie leave then come back in the house this morning. I figured he'd forgotten something, but turns out he'd stolen my car keys to put the gift out there. It's a totally fantabulous looking book called, "What Einstein Told His Cook: Kitchen Science Explained." And I hadn't even gotten the boy a silly card!

I'll make it up to him... somehow. For starters, publicly apologizing here and now for being such a lame ass I couldn't even manage a card.

Brooke with an E

Saturday night Sweetie and I had a fantabulous time hanging with grigorpdx and his lovely wife Al. That's pretty much always a guaranteed good time, but thanks to Brooke with an E it raised up to the fantabulous standard.

The plans for the evening were "happy hour." Which, generally, means we meet up at some watering hole for alcohol and see where the night takes us. We started at Salvador Molly's which, if you enjoy rum drinks and throwing peanut shells on the floor, is a place you must check out. We had cocktails and a couple of appetizers, there were still tables open (so it's not like we were wasting space), yet the waiter insisted on coming by approximately every 2 minutes to ask if we were ready to order yet? Had we decided on food? Had we had a chance to look at the menu? Time to move on.

Somehow we ended up at No Fish Go Fish on Hawthorne. I was familiar with the lunch cart they (at least used to) have on the corner of SW Yamhill and 5th, but was not aware they had an actual storefront location. A fantastic time was had from the moment we arrived until well after we left.

The fun started with the cocktail menu. You aren't going to get your standard margaritas and martinis here, no siree. Your selection includes such concoctions as The Crater Lake, Frank Sinatra and Brook's Frou Frou Drink. How can you pick from such marvelous selections?

Shortly after getting a chance to peruse the menus our waitress came up to take our orders. If she knew what an adventure it would be perhaps she would have pawned us off on another waiter. Sweetie does not, as a general rule, drink, and when he does drink he wants "something that tastes like a milkshake or candy." Outside of Bailey's Irish Creme he is not knowledgeable on different liquors, so needs a waitperson who can cater to his needs. Al is at the opposite end of the spectrum and wants a beverage so sour that it will cause patrons at adjacent tables to pucker up.

Our waitress was not only good at helping us navigate the drink menu, but also provided editorial commentary along the way. This drink was created for a regular patron. That drink was invented by Brooke herself. We learned it was Brooke with an E because she has a concoction named after herself (the aforementioned frou frou drink), although her name is misspelled on the menu. What great fun this was!

Brooke commented that she liked us, and wanted to get our food orders taken care of pronto because there was another couple in the restaurant who promised to be of the demanding variety. We assured her we were fine, and food would perhaps be called for later in the evening, but go ahead and help the other couple.

I won the prize for the best drink order of the night, if I do say so myself. I had ordered a Crater Lake - I can't remember what was in it, but I know it sounded really yummy. It came in a champagne flute and was a sparkling sapphire blue that normal bodies of water do not attain, but Crater Lake does. But that's not the best part. The best part was the garnish. Because there, floating in the middle of the drink, was a tiny Wizard's Island made of meringue. Whoever imagined anyone would make geographically accurate cocktails?

Shortly after serving us our drinks Brooke went to check on the demanding couple. Sweetie was observing her, just curious on how that interaction would go. Brooke noticed and, within full view of the other couple (if they chose to look) mouthed, "I don't like them!" to the Sweetie. Upon hearing this news the four of us about died laughing and fell even deeper in love with our waitress.

And so the night went on. Brooke would stop at the table and share stories with us. She'd continue chatting with us as she walked over to the demanding couple's table, only breaking away from our conversation at the exact moment she MUST begin talking to them. We invited her to be a part of a movie that grigorpdx, Al and I have been envisioning for the last several years, and she gladly accepted.

And then there was the straight man. Not speaking of his sexual orientation (not sure of his sexual orientation), but he was the straight man waiter foil to Brooke, the comedic wit waitress. We, eventually, had ordered some no fish sandwiches and after devouring them Al had a moment of, "Wait, this crust, how is it bound together? Usually in a case like this folks would use egg as a binding agent." I quickly clued in and panic ensued. Sweetie is allergic to egg, and we had ended up at this restaurant in part because we felt it wouldn't challenge sweetie's allergies. So we dispensed the straight man into the kitchen to find out what was in the crust of the sandwiches. He came back several minutes later with a laundry list of carbohydrates. "Yes, but what's the binding agent?!?!?!" I don't think Mr. Waiter knew what a binding agent was, "Um, water???" "Are you sure it's not egg?!?!?!" "Well, yeah, if that was all you cared about I could have told you that. They're vegan."

Oh yeah, Brooke had mentioned the vegan properties of some of the sandwiches to us earlier. But between the stories and the cocktails and the demanding couple we had completely forgotten that part of the story.

Brooke tried to talk us into staying on, because at 10:30 they would be featuring a rollicking game of "Strip Jeopardy." Even in our various states of tipsy we were afraid of exactly what that entailed. From there we wandered on and furthered our attempt to get Sweetie drunk. We didn't fully succeed, but we did get him a lot tipsier than I've ever seen him before, so progress is being made.

So if you're in the Hawthorne district and you're looking for a tatsy cocktail and perhaps some food to go along with you shoud definitely check out No Fish Go Fish. Ask for Brooke, tell her one of the crazy people who wants to put her in a movie sent you. If you're truly brave, use the restroom while you're there. I think I may still be suffering nightmares from that experience.

Beer Thirty

In the past I have extolled the virtues of working in a wet office. I am now here to tell you that it is not all fun and games.

Because when you work in a wet office the boss can send an e-mail out to everyone that says, "Tomorrow afternoon we're having pizza and beer!" Sometimes it's to celebrate someone's birthday, sometimes it's to celebrate a holiday and sometimes it's to celebrate the fact that it's Friday and we've all survived another week/month/year.

Now on the surface that may sound like a good thing, but when your boss has the uncanny ability to ALWAYS schedule these Friday afternoon festivities for those Fridays you will be leaving after work to go on a 200 mile road trip and, therefore, don't want to drink -- well, that can be a real bummer.

We're three in a row now. The Christmas party was the day Sweetie and I went down to Portland for Christmas. Boss #2's Birthday party was the day I went down to Portland to buy me a wedding dress. And tomorrow (an early valentine's celebration) Sweetie and I are heading to Portland to retrieve the cat.

Especially painful this time because there is a 6-pack of Old Peculier in the fridge at work with my name on it. A late Christmas present from Boss #2 that I keep forgetting to take home.

The Pond

A post and the ensuing comments over on Lemming's site have thrown me into heavy reminiscence mode over a favorite childhood haunt.

Two blocks from my childhood home was a creek that fed into a duck pond which backed up to houses along one side and a golf course on the other. There were a couple of paths through the area, one which led from near my house to the main road, the second which led to the other side of the subdivision. Throughout my youth it was a favorite childhood haunt, in part because it offered everything you could want in childhood recreation and then some.

Officially, it's a local park, but other than a couple of paved trails it didn't really offer any amenities, so it felt like our own little wildlife preserve.

The most family-friendly area of the pond was, indeed, the pond. You'd take your stale bread down there to feed the ducks and the geese. If mom was at the bread outlet and find a super-steal, she might even buy a loaf of cheap bread with the express purpose of feeding the ducks. Those were some well-fed birds. The geese were really pushy, always honking at you DEMANDING bread. Once after going down to the park to feed the birds one of the geese followed us home. Up the trail, through a couple of blocks of suburban streets, he probably would have waddled right into the house if we let him. That was surreal.

In grade school we would often ride our bikes down the path that ran along the pond, out to the main street, to go to the little market on the corner to buy candy. At the time we knew it as "Bethany." I've since come to know it as "The Mad Greek Deli." It's a little hole in the wall dive that has great Greek food and fantabulous sandwiches. The guy who runs the place is quite the character, a loud Greek guy who will chastise you if you dare call his Greek fries jo-jos or try to order a mad Greek sandwich with substitutions. For a kid just wanting to get a kit-kat it could be a little scary and the goal would usually be to get in and out as fast as possible. Once on of my friends was brave enough to say, "Thank you" to him. His response was, I kid you not, "Thank you for thanking me and thanks for coming to Bethany." Man, were the rest of us kids jealous of that!

The other side of the pond from Bethany's was the creek that fed the pond (and the source of the initial reminiscence). There was a footbridge that crossed the creek at one spot and would take you to the golf course and the other, newer side of the subdivision. It was our own suburban variety of the train tracks, and I'm proud to say I lived on the wrong side of the tracks. However, a bit upstream from the footbridge the creek was hidden within the foliage, and across the creek were two fallen logs. One of the logs was large and high. The other was small and low. We'd run and climb across those logs all the time, and there was much exploring to be done.

Although memory-wise the best exploring was done in the open field next to the creek. In sixth grade a bunch of local boys were collecting garter snakes. I won major points for being a female that was willing to touch the snakes. Similar to the points I've gained in years since for being a female who likes to drink dark beer. Sweetie seems to think I'm a girly-girl, but girly-girls don't touch snakes when they're in 6th grade.

The other thing I remember about the pond is the plants. There were blackberry bushes EVERYWHERE. And because they weren't along a roadside, where they'd be covered with exhaust, or in an area where you had to be worried about chemicals and crap being sprayed on them, so in the summertime you could just fill buckets with blackberries without even trying. You just had to watch out for the berries on the lower branches, since the pond was also a popular place for walking the local dogs. And where there weren't blackberries there were clovers, which is what little girls in Oregon use to make chains since wild daisies don't grow in the area.

In addition to the fun times it was where we'd take the fish that went belly-up in the fishtank, it was where I broke up with my first boyfriend, and it was a good place to just go THINK. Really, every kid needs a pond near where the grow up.

The Amazing Race 6: Episode 12

I officially declare that reality show proposals must all stop IMMEDIATELY! I cannot think of a SINGLE positive reality show proposal that has EVER happened. And yet they continue on. STOP THE INSANITY!

Although given the choice between Hayden and Aaron getting engaged and getting $1,000,000 I'll take the former. But really, folks, ENOUGH!

Style points to Adam and Rebecca at the final elimination. They let Hayden and Aaron take the mat first, knowing that a penalty would be assessed and they would be eliminated. But at least Hayden and Aaron didn't have to come in last place on that leg.

Style points are subtracted from Freddy and Kendra. They've spent so much time in third world countries where Caucasians with camera crews cause everyone in the town to flock and be friendly, I think they may have suffered from some culture shock when they arrived back in the states. First, while paddling down a river in Hawaii, Kendra was waving at all the old guys on the golf course. Any other city they were in if they would pass the smallest crowd and everyone would be gawking. I think the geezers were standing on the golf course thinking, "Why the hell is that person waving at me?" Worse yet, when having difficulties with the final cab ride Freddy approached a Chicago Police Patrol Car and requested assistance in finding the finish line. Again, it may work in third world countries where the must roll out the red carpet and then some, but I think the Chicago PD have more important things to attend to.

And so it is over and the models win it all. I would have preferred for Kris and Jon to win the race, but there are worse things than Freddy and Kendra winning it. Here's the thing that I find most annoying about their win. Kendra is in TEARS over having to eat two slices of deep dish pizza and doesn't know if she can get it down. Which wouldn't be so horrible except early on in the season her teammate ended up eating his own vomit while in Hungary without too many complaints. I'd take the deep dish any day of the week.

But here is what I'll remember most about the final episode: The finish line was at Ping Tom park in Chicago. Freddy and Kendra's cabby had no clue where this park was. I don't know Chicago, but I do know that when the Amazing Race had the finish line in Seattle a few seasons ago one of the final clue boxes was at Kerry Park. Not every cabby in Seattle will know where Kerry Park is, either. It's known, but it's not Central Park in New York City known. I was discussing this with Sweetie as we were holding out hope that Kris and Jon might win, they appeared to get a cabby who knew where the park was and we estimated they were 15-20 minutes behind Freddy and Kendra. This could be it. And I'm sitting on the couch going on and on about Kerry Park when Sweetie turns to me and says he doesn't know where Kerry Park is. Except we've been to that park about a million times. We always take out of town guests to the park. The night we got engaged we went to the park. We may get some wedding photos taken at the park. It is not acceptable to not know where Kerry Park is. Once he realized the mistake he was quite embarrassed, and to his credit he had a long day today and it's past his bedtime (with the two hour episode tonight). And in the end given that he didn't propose to me on a reality TV show I'm OK with him not remembering where Kerry Park is. And it just makes me a little less guilty about not wanting him as my partner if I ever go on the Amazing Race. (He would never survive given dietary issues)

The next season of The Amazing Race starts in three weeks (so you'll get only a brief reprieve from my posts). Rob and Amber from Survivor All Star fame are participating. I hated Rob throughout the All Star competition, and he's another one of those assholes who insisted on proposing on reality TV, so I'm rooting for them to be violently eliminated in the first episode. Predictions as soon as CBS has the website updated. Stay tuned.

Stock Market Beware

My name is Swankette and I am a Diet Coke-aholic.

I think the problem began my senior year of high school. On my way to "study hall" I'd stop by the vending machines for a Diet Coke and Ho-Hos. Yeah, all those schools that are banning vending machines from on campus, that's a really good idea.

It continued through college and reached its apex around 1997. At the time I was on a three Super Big Gulp a day habit. Stop at the 7-Eleven on the way to work for #1, walk to the 7-Eleven up the street from work during the lunch hour for #2, then #3 on the way home. When the clerk who works the morning shift not only recognizes you, but inquires to your health if you miss a morning, that's when you not longer have control over the Diet Coke but it has control of you.

Over the years I have attempted "Diet Coke Detox" several times. Always cold turkey. And always when I have, at minimum, a three day weekend with no obligations involved. The withdrawal prompts headaches and grumpiness.

An acquaintance once joked that I needed to warn her when I was planning a detox routine, so that she could go invest in Coca-Cola stock. Her theory being that given the amount of Diet Coke I drank on a daily basis when I suddently cut-off consumption it would drive the stock price down. But eventually I would relapse, and then the price would soar back up again.

Well I'm not going cold turkey, but I think I may be slowly kicking the habit. The consumption has slowly decreased over time. I can't even FATHOM drinking a Super Big Gulp now except in severe code red situations. It's been strictly Big Gulps. And I've moved from liter bottles to 20 ounce bottles. Lately, it's taken me a while to even polish those off. And the last couple of times I've purchased fountain carbonated beverages I've gone for the 22 ounce size. I can't remember the last time I consistently purchased 22 ounce fountain sodas.

The aliens are at it some more. Scary.

Take That, Aliens

Training session #2 with the trainer (aka the evil one) this evening. I mean that in the nicest way. He suggested it during the third set of reps on the shoulder exercises. The ones that almost killed me. Even at the lowest weight possible. Even with him helping me with the weight, so it was less than the lowest weight possible.

But it makes me know that I've made the right decision. Because it would be very easy for me to slip into bad habits, bad form and bad boredom. But he's mixing things up just enough. And helping me make sure I do things correctly. And not letting me be a lazy ass. He's worth his weight in gold.

Progress is already being made. There is a kick ass exercise he taught me for my abs. I just have to hold my body in a certain position for as long as possible. Wednesday I could hold for about 3 seconds. Today we did it twice. First time I made about 7 seconds. Second time I made about 12 seconds.

The downside is on the car ride home I could feel every muscle in my arms yelling at me as I went through the simple act of turning the steering wheel on the car. They'd had enough, thank you very much.

But I'll stick to the plan. Work out on the weights this week. Maybe check out a yoga class. And next week I'll subject myself to it all over again.

The Answer: Bleh

The question: "Swankette, what did you think about the Superbowl?"

My interest in the Superbowl is about 25% football and 75% advertising. I probably wouldn't give a damn about the game were it not for my college education. My senior year of college Winter term was a KILLER - a pretty intense course load including lots of group projects that sucked up lots of time. Friends were having a Superbowl party which I was fairly confident I would have to skip because there was just too damn much homework to do. But I was taking Advertising that term. And hell if I can remember who the professor was, but he assigned us to watch the Superbowl - specifically the advertisements. Salvation was mine! And since the ads get exponentially worse/less important as the game progresses it was perfectly acceptable for me to slam back the beers, because as the buzz set in the ads became less important.

Since that time I know I've watched the Superbowl every year. Usually I watch the whole darn thing, but am more interested in the ads than in the game. One year a few friends and I got together and although we were technically "watching" the game it was all about the commercials. Only time of the year you might hear someone yell, "Hurry up getting that beer and get back in here, the commercials will be on in a minute!"

Yesterday I was watching with a large group of football fans. They probably cared 95% about the game and 5% about the commercials. We TiVoed the game at home so that I would be sure to catch all the commercials without disrupting the goings on at the party. By halftime we were fast-forwarding through commercials (Seriously, folks, you need to go get yourself a TiVo if you don't have one yet.), and when we got home that night I didn't bother to watch any of the ones I missed. They were THAT dissapointing.

Two were particularly pitiful in my eyes. Not only because they were lame ads, but because they were ads I expected so much more from:

One: MasterCard's "Priceless" campaign. This is a campaign that has some serious legs in it. Lots of twists and turns and new ways to approach it. But what sort of crazy product placement is going on when you've got the logos from every food product ever known to man showing up in your commercial? And then Mr. Clean is doing the dishes? Maybe I'm not up on my cleaning products, but I'm pretty sure Mr. Clean doesn't belong anywhere near the dishes. BLECH!

Two: Anheuser Busch. I expect little, if anything, from the Bud Light ads. I never got the whole "Whassup?" thing. No problems with those ads (although they did suck) But I had some serious issues with the clydesdales ad. Clydesdales are to Busch what the bald eagle is to America. Just look at the animals - they ooze majesty and respect. Last year they toed the line, with the donkey that wanted to be a Clydesdale. I let them get away with it then because who WOULDN'T want to be a Clydesdale? But then this year they took the question too far with giraffes, elephants, and all other manner of animals applying for the job. Yet Busch was still able to do the touching ad with the troops coming home. Not sure what that one had to do with beer, but why couldn't they have melded the two together somehow? I was even OK with the cheese factor of the 2002 ad, with the Clydesdales kneeling down in respect to what happened on 9/11. Just a little respect, that's all I want.

The game - well, that was so boring I've already forgotten it.

Eeyore was here

In my circles the co-worker known as Eeyore was first coined in 2001. It's that co-worker who is as adept at problem solving and accomplishing tasks as Eeyore is in the Winnie-the-Pooh stories. You ask them a question and their first answer is, "Oh, I don't know." They generally have big puppy dog eyes that express exactly what a blank slate they are. When you ask them a question you can see the gears clicking ever-so-slowly in their brain:

You: "What's 2+2?"

Eeyore's thought process: Oh, that person is looking at me and their mouth is moving. I think they are talking to me. Are they asking me a question? Oh, I think maybe it was a question. Maybe they want me to answer the question. I don't think I know the answer to that question, though. Wait, maybe I know the answer. 2+2. I think that's math. I think if I count my fingers then I can figure out the answer. Yes, that's what I'll do. I'll figure out the answer to the question. I can count that high. Yes, the answer is 4!"

The PR guy at the company I worked with in 2000 was an Eeyore. It was frustrating when you were trying to accomplish things in which he somehow needed to be involved, but it also created hours of office entertainment at his expense. At one point in the adventure our office relocated from crappy, cramped quarters to a nice, newly remodeled office space. We got actual cubes to work from (you know it's crappy when the cube farm is a step UP), and it was ever so exciting. My cube was the closest occupied cube to Eeyore's in the new configuration. (there were several empty cubes between us so, thankfully, I didn't have to sit next to him). The day we moved into the new office some co-workers and I had a pool going on as to how often Eeyore would ask me where a particular item in his cube belonged. If memory serves, the high guess won that pool.

It finally dawned on me today that the instigator of the Hulk yesterday is an Eeyore. It also dawned on me that the pecking order is (from most to least favored):

- Stupid person
- Eeyeore
- Stupid Eeyore

Again, ever the optimist, there was some enjoyment sprung from the day. Coming up with ways to get revenge on the Stupid Eeyore for causing pain and suffering in my life. We've got their UPS account number, so are thinking of all the nasty, heavy things we can send to them.

The Incredible Swank

When I was 8 or 9 I had a cousin-type person* who was around 4 or 5 years old whose mother could not buy him button-down shirts. This was because he would play Incredible Hulk and rip them open. The boy LIVED in t-shirts.

You know, I'm not a big fan of button-down shirts myself. And I've finally figured out why. It's not a fashion thing, it's that the Incredible Hulk lurks inside of me, waiting to rip out at any moment.

Friend-wise people don't really get a chance to summon forth the Hulk. I know I've got a line, and when people start approaching it I generally remove myself from the situation to let things simmer down before we go there.

Work-wise stepping away from the situation isn't always an option. People who work with me a while learn not to cross me. And if you're going to cross me you'd best get on my good side before you cross me again. Continually crossing me without allowing me that chance to simmer down you are in TROUBLE. If you're stupid on top of the mix just look out for the wrath that is Swank on the warpath.

Thankfully for the co-workers it is rarely, if ever, directed at them. Usually it is because I am fighting FOR the co-workers against the powers of evil that are stupid people in the world that the Hulk comes out. The co-workers know when the Hulk is imminent. They just step out of the way and watch. They've given me a fireman's hat to help signify when I'm on the warpath. The co-workers now don't need it so much, but for new co-workers it is the signal: See how Swank looks while she's wearing that fireman's hat? Yeah, stay away from her. Actually, i have two fireman's hats. One from each boss. I think the second boss was afraid I'd split the first hat as my head expanded during the transformation, so he wanted me to have a spare.

Today the Hulk was summoned. The worst part is I can already tell he'll be summoned tomorrow and the next day, too. Man, it's going to be a fun week.

Although, eternal optimist that I am, there is a good side to it. And I think the Hulk may be the alien that resides within. Because I've got an appointment with the trainer tonight, and you'd bettter believe that we'll be lifting some weights. I'll be lifting those idiots who summoned forth the Hulk today and then smashing her head in like a little bug.

Hey, at least I use my rage for good instead of evil.

*He was my mother's cousin's grandchild - you do the math because, quite frankly, I can't.

Imagine the Dissappointment...

... all these people who have come to this blog via their online search must have felt when they landed HERE.


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Imagine That!

So apparently the experts are now saying imaginary friends are a good thing, but it wasn't always that way back in the day. Thank goodness my parents weren't up on current psychology in my youth!

I didn't have an imaginary friend in my youth, I had imaginary FRIENDS. They were known as The Invisible People*. From the age of 1 or 2 until the age of 4 my family lived on a 1-2 acre parcel of land that was shared with my grandparents and my great aunt. The Invisible People lived at the back of the property, and I would frequently play with them. It may have done something with the fact that I don't recall any kids of my own age around to play with at the time. I had my brother, and he had a neighbor named Lenny (who had an infant brother at the time). There was a girl, maybe her name was Kristy, who lived nearby but was older - I inherited her Barbie doll collection at one point. So I think they were my best option when not willing or able to play with the big brother.

When I was four we moved from St. Louis to California. I remember sitting in the car looking up at the hills, it must have been in Arizona or New Mexico. The Invisible People were moving with us but there OBVIOUSLY wasn't room in the car for them, so they followed alongside the car on horseback. Once we arrived in California the Invisible People fell out of favor - probably had something to do with the fact that there were several playmates of my age living on the same block so I had no need for them anymore.

We moved to Oregon immediately before my seventh birthday, but the Invisible People remained in California. They did come to visit once. I believe it was our first Christmas in Oregon. The grandmother I didn't really know that well had sent my brother and I Christmas gifts, which was out of character for her, except mine was a kissing Barbie (I'd already had one for quite some time) and I think my brothers gift was something equally just not right for him, and I started to realize how cheated I was on the grandparent front in this thing called life.

I wonder whatever happened to The Invisible People. I hope they're doing well and have had successful invisible lives.

* Yeah, I know what a horribly unimaginative name that is. Scary thing is, it gets worse. The stuffed animals that were important to me in my youth were named: Brown Bear, Red Bear, Big Bear and Little Red Bear. Just not good on the name front. If not for the fact that there are a couple of family names we'd like to see carried on Sweetie and my's future children might end up being named Boy and Girl. Or worse, Boy and Little Boy.

The Amazing Race 6: Episode 12

aka The Curse of the Cabbie.

Tonight we saw a perfect example of why I love this show so much. Which was timely given that I was at a book signing for Douglas Coupland this evening and he and I chatted a bit about reality television (his favorite reality TV show is The Swan) and he told me he just doesn't get The Amazing Race.

One of the things I love about The Amazing Race is the fact that you get contestants with pre-existing relationships. My big complaint about MTV's The Real World (which I did watch once upon a time) was the fact that they were putting these STRANGERS together in a house. They didn't have the dysfunction and inside jokes and challenges that real friends living together would have. Those fucked up dynamics would just start to set in as the season came to a close. I thought they should put my friends and I together in a house... now THAT would have been entertainment! (With, of course, the added benefit that my friends and I would get to live in a kick ass house). Same thing goes for Survivor and any other show that pits stranger against stranger. This is the beauty of The Amazing Race. Because you have teams you have the pre-existing dysfunction that any relationship carries. And it's watching that dynamic, along with the challenge of the race and having to work with and against the strangers that makes it compelling television.

One of the other things I like about this show is that small element of luck that plays into it. It's the curse of the cab driver. Because as strong as you might be as a team, and as well as you might play the game, you never know when you're going to get the crappy cab driver whose going to fling you into last place because he gets lost, blows a tire, or simply doesn't understand the concept of "fast." Of course, I like the element a lot less when it's working against my favorite team in the race, which it definitely was this evening, but Kris and Jon made it to the final four and now all we can do is hope and pray.

Unfortunately, tonight was a non-elimination leg which means we are stuck with Adam and Rebecca for the final episode. I REALLY, REALLY, REALLY, REALLY hope they don't win. So stay tuned next week for the season finale.