Red Delicious

Rex-n-Effect

2012-01-11T20:52:00.000-08:00

I assume everyone is up on their 90s hip-hop classics?

Anyway, on a more serious note:

Some of you may have heard that my dad recently had another stroke. It happened early Saturday morning. I noticed that something was wrong when he turned his head to look at me, and then started talking to the wall.

"Dad, can you see me?"
"No."
"OK. Let's go to the E.R."

He was admitted to the hospital where he ended up staying for 4 days. In addition to leaving him totally blind, the stroke had also damaged the part of the brain that would normally worry about such things. He knew he was blind, but he didn't seem too bothered by it. If you or I were to wake up tomorrow morning and not be able to see a thing, we would FLIP OUT. Rex was fine with it. No big deal. And the not caring was part of the stroke.

And now for the good news. Two days later, he was able to recognize my face. I handed him a glass without saying anything, and he reached out for it. Three days later, he was able to feed himself. It was a miracle, plain and simple. A big huge "thank you" to The Man Upstairs.

Today, we moved him to a short-term rehab facility. It's a nice place, I guess, but being in those kinds of places just breaks my heart. The residents looked like they were well cared for, and everything looked clean and nice...but it wasn't home. I am anxious to spring him out of there as soon as possible. The plan was for him to stay a couple of weeks, get some strength back, hopefully get some vision back, and then come home. Well, he's progressing so much faster than we had anticipated, and I know that I can give him the same level of care that they are giving him, if not better because I know the guy. I know what he can and cannot do. Like, why did they give him his silverware wrapped up all tight in a napkin like they do at restaurants? He doesn't have the manual dexterity to unwrap it. If I hadn't been there, how long would he have had to wait until a nurse noticed him struggling?

One week, and I'm busting him out. I can't wait any longer than that.

Thank you to all who have already sent kind words and offered prayers on my dad's behalf. I know they have made a big difference already.

Isn't he handsome?

Retraction

2011-12-23T16:34:00.000-08:00

In the Christmas letter I mailed out last week, I mentioned the college roommate reunion I had in May. I credited Bekah Dunkley with the financing, planning, and execution of said trip, but I was sadly mistaken. I just received a sternly-worded text from one Greg Dunkley letting me know that it was in fact he who masterminded the whole thing.

My apologies to Greg, the true giver and planner of joyful reunions, and the sender of terrifying texts. Seriously, people. If I ever go missing for several days, your number one suspect is GREGORY DUNKLEY of BOISE, IDAHO.

You're the best, Greg!

Epic Fail

2011-12-18T20:22:00.000-08:00

Threw away some rotten kale today. I woke up every morning and said to myself, "Today is the day I eat kale." But every time I opened up the fridge and looked at it, I gagged. So I made a batch of sugar cookies and ate 90% of them instead. They were tasty.

Re-purchasing kale tomorrow and forcing it down my throat, come hell or high water.

Puh-thetic.

No, But Seriously...I Mean It This Time

2011-11-28T22:38:00.000-08:00

Tonight I had salad for dinner. For dinner, people. As in salad was my entree. Somebody shoot me, please.

I've made countless attempts to implement Operation Britney Spears, Pre-Meltdown. You know...my naive and misguided belief that I can transform my fat ass into this:

I do pretty well for a week or so, but then I just can't seem to deny these basic truths:

1. Cake is delicious.
2. Broccoli tastes better with cheese sauce.
3. There is no acceptable substitute for butter.
4. Fruit makes a great dessert as long as it is baked with a crisp topping and served with ice cream.
5. As I stated before, salad makes one disappointing meal.

So I give in to these truths and let my appetites run wild. After a while I am faced with another set of truths:

1. My ass can barely fit into those seats at the ballpark.
2. Tying my shoes takes more effort than it used to.
3. I have high cholesterol.
4. Heart disease is the #1 cause of death in women, and I've got a family history of it.
5. Nobody makes cute clothes for fatties.

That last one really gets me. I went shopping a few weeks ago, and as I was walking through the average-sized ladies department, I looked around and thought, "That's cute...that's cute...that's cute." And then I made my way to the cold, dank, smelly basement where they hide the fat lady section (so that the pretty people aren't visually assaulted by the unpleasant sight of fat people shopping for clothes?) There wasn't nothin' cute down there. Everything was huge and billowy--a sea of big silky tarps/blouses meant to conceal the horrors underneath. And don't get me started on the prints. Everthing was either a) heavily bedazzled, b) grandmotherly, or c) a "big game" print--your zebra, your lion, your cheetah, your leopard, your giraffe. I enjoy an animal print, but I don't want anybody to see me and have an Ernest Hemingway moment:

It's a real shame, because I actually have an excellent fashion sense. You wouldn't know it to look at me, though, because it's all about the jeans and t-shirts these days. I refuse to wear crap like this:

The Sequined Snake:

The Chubby Streetwalker:

Tunics for Tubbies:

The Rorschach:

The Glittery Zebra:

The Portly Panther:

The "If I Could Only Look Fatter Than I Really Am":

The Stevie Nicks:

The Butterfly Cheetah:

As if I didn't feel bad enough about myself, now I have to leave the house dressed as a glittery rhino?

I need to regain control of my life, people. So starting this week, I'm turning over a new leaf. I'm going to eat healthy meals, healthy snacks, incorporate some physical activity into my daily routine, and try to get to the bottom of why I sabotage myself the way I do. And every week I'm going to try eating a new vegetable--or at least a vegetable that I've tried to avoid in the past. This week it's kale. One of the old restaurants I used to work for had a pretty tasty kale salad--as tasty as kale is capable of being, that is. I'm going to try to recreate it sometime this week. I'll keep you posted.

Wish me luck!

Social Media Ennui

2011-10-02T11:32:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago my dad and I went to the Western Washington State Fair (home of the "Krusty Pup" corn dog and Fisher scones--the former being awesome and the latter not worth the hype.) We wandered around through the various exhibits and game booths manned by carnies, and eventually ended up by the livestock barns. On the outside wall of the dairy cow barn, I noticed a big one of these:

I have been disillusioned with Facebook for a while now, and this just pushed me over the edge. I can't go anywhere, visit any website, look through any magazine without seeing a:

or a:

everywhere I look. I'm getting really sick of it. And now they're putting their logos all over my DAIRY CATTLE? I won't stand for it! So I'm supposed to pull out my smartphone, go on Facebook, tell everyone I like the livestock barns at the fair, and then WHAT? Sixty thousand people get in their cars and race to Puyallup, WA to gawk at the Holsteins?

That's not what's going to happen. What's going to happen is that all of my friends are going to see an update that says "Randi Johansen likes the dairy cattle barn at the Puyallup Fair," and they're going to say to themselves, "Who cares?" That's what I say to myself every time I read a status update that says "Phew! I'm exhausted!" or "I love my amazing boyfriend!" or "It's hot outside!" or "Enchiladas for dinner tonight! Yum!" NOBODY CARES WHAT YOU HAD FOR DINNER, OK?

I worry about what Facebook is doing to us on a subconscious level. I think it's creating a generation of people who believe that every passing thought and feeling they have is somehow newsworthy. And if you think that the irony of what I'm doing right now is lost on me, you're wrong. In fact, I distinctly remember stretching the sentiment "It's hot outside!" into an entire blog post. The other day I saw a t-shirt that said "More people have read this t-shirt than your blog." So funny. And so true. I have Kool-Aid stains on my upper lip just like everybody else. I am full of self-loathing.

And then there's all of the political crap that makes my blood boil. I've got liberal friends posting their crap, and conservative friends posting their crap...why can't everybody keep their crap to themselves? What is the point of sharing such inflammatory bullish*t? To educate? To recruit people to their cause? It ain't gonna happen. And what do I do tonight, for example, when a lady from my ward at church posted a jaw-droppingly offensive political cartoon making fun of Muslims? I don't want to start a Facebook fight with a lady I barely know. In the end, I just flagged it and reported it to the Facebook people as "hateful speech."

And I would love to be able to purchase a song on iTunes without Ping getting all up in my business, too.

Gag. You know it's time to shut up when you start annoying yourself. I think I'll end this rant about social media with a little help from some social media:

Life After Pastry

2011-07-19T12:48:00.000-07:00

So, my last day of work was May 25th. It was bittersweet, I must say. I really miss my coworkers, being a part of our world-class pastry team, licking chocolate off my fingers all day long, having access to high-end ingredients at industry insider prices, etc. etc. However I really do enjoy not being on the receiving end of calls like these:

"Hi, Randi? This is so-and-so from Catering. Yeah. We have a party tonight for 100 people that we forgot to tell you about. Can we get 20 coconut cream pies in about an hour?"

Ahh, memories.

As sad as I am to leave my friends at work, they seem to be taking it especially hard as evidenced by the look on poor Marisa's face here:

I think Chicago, the pioneers of the horn-saturated rock ballad, said it best: [I'm] a hard habit to break.

Anyway, things are pretty good around these parts. My dad is in the process of selling our house to my sister Leslie. Years ago, my father converted his work shop in our back yard into a two bedroom apartment. Leslie and her family live there now, but once this deal goes through we will be swapping residences. We don't need that much space, and my sister's family needs a lot more...it just made sense. Plus, it gives us a nice chunk of change to go spend at senior citizen buffets around town. Can anyone say "rice pudding?"

Let's see, what else have we been up to...

We went to the Pet Expo show at the fairgrounds a few weeks ago, where we met Smokey the Marauding Therapy Llama:

And some miniature ponies:

Did you know that only dogs and miniature ponies can be service animals? Everything else is a "therapy animal," as in "Smokey the Marauding Therapy Llama." I wish we saw more service ponies around. That would be awesome.

Another highlight from this summer would have to be the BRITNEY SPEARS CONCERT, YO!!! I originally wasn't going to go, but then God struck down my friend CNash with a nasty illness, so I got her ticket! Isn't it funny how things work out sometimes?

The concert was fabulous, but my friends Heidi and Carrie (who both have 4 Britney concerts under their belts) tell me that she used to dance a lot more in her earlier concerts. Now she just kind of walks around onstage in sparkly outfits, pausing every now and then to gyrate.

Here are some shots from the concert. I know you're curious.

Aside from all the gyrating, probably one of the best parts of going to a Britney concert is the great people watching that one can do while there. Everybody is either sporting some outfit from a Britney video, or they are totally skanked up. I tried to capture some of the good ones, but it's hard to take pictures on the low.

Man, I'm really disappointed in that sampling of concert-goer photos. You can't get a good feel for the trashiness of it all. Trust me, it was impressive.

I also joined a Stampin' Up club this summer. You know. 'Cuz I love to get my craft on. I'll post pictures once I've got something worth posting.

Aaaaaaaaand that about does it! Peace out!

All Fired Up

2011-06-27T17:45:00.000-07:00

I really try to avoid controversial issues on my blog. The world is a very serious place. I want my blog to be a light-hearted space where we can all discuss our mutual love of things like food, friends, movies, and Justin Bieber. Go solve the world's problems on somebody else's blog.

But right now, I'm sitting here watching TV in the comfort of my living room--and I'm horrified.

I just saw a news story about a 95 year old woman who was stopped by the TSA in a Florida airport and was required to remove her adult diaper before she could pass through the security checkpoint

You can read more here.

I get it. Terrorists can plant a bomb anywhere and on anybody, therefore no one is exempt from TSA screenings. Even this poor woman, dying of leukemia, too weak to stand let alone walk through the metal detector. She, too, must be screened. Fine. But isn't that what those metal detector wand thingies are for? For situations like these? She actually has to suffer the humiliation of taking off her soiled diaper and exposing her naked body to airport security?

Is this who we are now? A people so shell shocked from 9/11 that we think measures such as these are in any way, shape, or form justified?

Taking care of the elderly is heartbreaking work. Growing old sucks for everyone, but in my father's case I think it is particularly difficult. My father was a carpenter and construction worker. The sixty plus years of back-breaking labor have taken their toll on his body. He has had two knees and one hip replaced, along with surgery on his lower back. The hands that at one time could build houses and uproot trees can barely button a button now. He has troubles with continence, too. I don't have the heart to suggest he start wearing an adult diaper, so I make sure he takes regular bathroom breaks throughout the day. At church, I take him to the bathroom between classes so that he doesn't have an accident. Accidents invariably happen, however, and when they do I try to clean him up as quickly as possible, all the while reassuring him that it is no big deal.

When I heard this poor woman's story, I cried. I have been trying to find the words to express exactly why her treatment by the TSA affected me the way it did. I guess it comes down to this: I love my father more than anyone else on this earth. I spend my days fighting to protect his dignity. It is a priceless commodity, and for the elderly, it is unfortunately in very short supply. The idea that someone could use their authority to rob someone of their dignity, thinking that this violation somehow makes our world a better and safer place is disgusting to me. This woman's daughter, when told that she would have to remove her mother's diaper, broke down in tears. Her emotional response earned her a pat-down of her very own.

Hear me clearly on this: I would rather get blown to smithereens 30,000 feet in the air by a shoe bomber than live in a world where it is OK to treat the elderly this way. I am willing to roll the dice and bet my life on the odds that this woman is not a terrorist. If that means that I might be wrong, that she is actually one of al-Qaeda's elite operatives and is there to hijack my plane, so be it. I am willing to take my chances. I suppose other people do not share this opinion, and so ass-hat TSA officials will continue ripping diapers off babies and little old ladies until they come up with a better system of "protecting" us.

I just feel so helpless. They know we have to fly. Of course we are going to submit to the stupid 3 oz. carry-on rule, the pat-downs, the $20 checked-bag fee, THE IN-FLIGHT BEVERAGE THAT IS MORE ICE THAN BEVERAGE!!! What can I do? Who do I write to? Do I stage a protest? A sit-in? A march? I have to do something. The entire air industry is spiraling out of control!

I'm serious. What can I do?

Rexatronic

2011-06-14T09:54:00.000-07:00

That's what my friend Carrie calls my dad.

My dad, as you may or may not know, has diabetes. He also has Parkinson's, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, arthritis, and who knows what else. He hasn't let it interfere with his cookie consumption, though. We Johansens have a SERIOUS sugar addiction. Don't think I haven't eyed my dad's insulin syringes a time or two and thought seriously about mainlining some high fructose corn syrup. Let's hope it never comes to that.

As a consequence of not managing his diabetes, my dad's feet are almost perpetually swollen. Recently this swelling led to cellulitis in his right leg, which led to septicemia, a.k.a. blood poisoning. It's a long scary story that involves 911, a week in the hospital, and a 2 week stay in a rehabilitation center. He is home now, and doing well.

So...my dad's recent health scare has forced us to take a look at our lifestyle and make some changes. We've been eating very healthily these days. Lots of fruits and vegetables, whole grains, lean proteins, blah blah blah. It's freaking miserable. I could absolutely murder an eclair right now. But my dad's blood sugar is under control, and he's gone down a few pant sizes, so that's good. He's more active than he was before, and he's much much happier. However, he still asks "Have we got any treats?" about 6 times a day. And whenever I check his blood sugar, no matter what the number is, he always says, "Wow. I could probably use a little bump, don't you think?" That last one cracks me up. I had no idea my dad was so street.

Up until now, my brother-in-law had been staying with my dad during the day while I went to work. I would come home and take over the night shift. When I started my gig as sous chef, we made pastries for a retail bakery, a catering department, and 5 restaurants. In the past year and a half, we've added 5 more restaurants and a small retail bakery/cafe. I just kept working longer and longer hours, which didn't leave me very much time to take care of things at home. Last month I decided to quit my job and stay home with my dad full time.

I do miss making pastries for a living. I might go back to it in the future. But right now, I feel like this is the right thing to do. There may come a time when my dad needs more care than I can provide, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, we are having a good time, hangin' out and enjoying each other's company. I am also making good progress on my Netflix queue.

And that's what's up.

Update: Part 2

2011-06-06T07:46:00.000-07:00

Lately, I've been on quite the genealogy kick. I signed up with Ancestry.com, and I highly recommend it to anyone with an interest in family history. You can find other people who share a common ancestor with you, and see how far back they've traced the family line. Now granted, I don't know how thoroughly researched these people's work is, so who knows if it can be trusted, but some people on Ancestry.com have traced one of our family lines back to King Henry II of England. I'm certainly not willing to do the work it would take to verify that claim, but you know what? It just feels right. I've always known I was better than everyone else, and now I know why. From now on, I would like to be addressed as "Your Royal Highness."

So all of that is from my dad's side of the family. From my mother's side, I inherited something pretty special as well.

Here is a copy of a census record from long, long, ago. On line 285, you'll find my great grandparents, John and Alice Hodgen, and their family. They have a few kids living with them, including my grandmother, Jamima. That's right. I said Jamima. Too bad she's not my aunt.

They also have a nephew staying with them, and you'll never guess who that nephew is.

Click on the pic below and check out whose name is on that last line there...

STUPEFY!

That's right, readers! Not only am I British royalty, I am also WIZARDING royalty! I understand if some of you might feel a little anxious--perhaps even a little unworthy--to hang out with me in light of these new revelations. It's to be expected. But I'm still me, people! Things don't have to be weird. Sure, you'll have to greet me with a bow or curtsy from now on...oh, and the whole aforementioned Your Royal Highness thing...but other than that, don't be fooled by the rocks that I got. I'm still, I'm still Randi from the block!

So back to my Utah vacation...

I spent three fun-filled days with the Buchanan family, who were so very good to me. Because I'm all about the family history these days, I wanted to visit all of my dead relatives in the area. You know. Just 'cause. I also heard that there was an old pioneer cabin in Wellington, UT that my great grandfather had built, and I wanted to go check it out. Scott ditched work and we all drove to Carbon County to see it.

My dad says that his mother was born in that cabin. Pretty sweet, right? You want to know what isn't sweet? Growing up in Wellington. I looked around and thought, "Wow. This place is a dump." And unfortunately for my grandmother, she married Leo Johansen and moved to Altonah, UT. Ever heard of it? Of course not. But I've been there, and believe me, Altonah makes Wellington look like New York City.

After a better-than-I-expected lunch at the Wingers in Price, we went to see some dead Johansens in Mt. Pleasant, UT (near Manti). You know what? Mt. Pleasant really is pleasant! For real, I thought I was in Switzerland there for a while. My great great grandparents, Niels and Anne Johansen, first settled there after emigrating from Denmark in 1856.

Here is Anne (and Brielle):

We were walking around the cemetery, checking out all of the Johansens, and Brielle (Scott and Alicia's oldest) told me that she had a surprise for me. She led me back to Anne's grave and showed me that she had put some flowers on it. I was so touched--I had to wipe away a few tears. She is such a sweet girl.

Here's Niels:

We also found my great grandparents, Annie and Andrew:

Many many thank yous to Scott and Alicia for dragging themselves and their kids to the ends of the earth just so I could snap a few pictures of some headstones. That is friendship, people.

The next day, I rented a car and drove to Oak City, UT (what is it with my pioneer forebearers and these ridiculously obscure towns?) On the way, I stopped in Payson to visit the father of the guy who built the aforementioned cabin:

When I was a kid, we lived in Delta, UT, just a few miles down the road from Oak City. Little did we know my great great great grandmother was buried there. I wrote about her a few posts ago--she's the one from Sheffield, England who loaded up her kids after her husband died, sailed to America, and joined the Martin handcart company. When I finally get to meet this woman on The Other Side, the first thing I'm going to ask her is, "How the hell did you wind up in Oak City, UT?" The place is a sh**hole in 2011. I can only imagine what it looked like in the 1850s.

Here's Eliza Gill Hartley:

In Salem, UT, I visited the grave of another set of great great grandparents, Sarah Wells Hartley (Eliza's daughter) and Lyman Curtis:

And that concludes my Dead Tour 2011. It was great. I learned a lot. I feel closer to these people whose name I carry around with me every day.

Coming soon, a post about what I'm doing now. Spoiler alert: it ain't pastry.

Guess Who's Back...Back Again?

2011-06-04T09:37:00.000-07:00

I'm probably writing this post in vain--surely I've lost all of my blog readership by now. But just in case there are still a few of you out there, I'll fill you in on what I've been up to these last few months.

My friends and I love a good theme party. We threw our friend Sara a "1976" party, to honor the year she came into the world. I revived my old Mrs. Roper Halloween costume from high school days, even though 3's Company didn't technically air until 1977. Whatever.

(FYI, that muumuu I'm wearing in the above photo? You can buy one TODAY at your local Sears department store.)

Last month, thanks to the generosity of Greg and Bekah Dunkley, I got to join my former BYU roommates for a reunion in the Beehive State. We visited our old apartment, which seems to have fallen into some serious disrepair:

I mean, how much does a few gallons of paint cost these days?

We knocked on the door to see if the new tenants would let us in to look around. No one was home. Now, this is really where the story should end, but it doesn't. Some of my roommates went through the laundry room and broke in through the back door, being careful to wipe their prints from the door handles behind them. Clearly, a little thing like THE LAW isn't going to come between THESE nice Mormon housewives and the object of their desire. I had no idea what riff-raff I had been running around with all this time.

Anyway, then we toured the BYU campus. I hadn't been there since I graduated 11 years ago. I was glad to see that the candy counter in the bookstore was still selling the same fudge that contributed to my Freshman 15. I was also glad to see that the English department got a nice new home. On my list of disappointments was all of the new construction in the quad that prevents you from running past the statue of Brigham Young, which, if done at night, used to make Brother Brigham look like he was doing the "Funky Chicken."

We stopped by the Museum of Art on campus, and saw this cool installation:

and this glittery ram:

I love glitter. I really do.

We drove past the little yellow house we lived in our last year at college:

Some good memories were made in that house. And I'm glad the house is still yellow.

It was a wonderful reunion, and this is the girl who made it all happen:

Thank you, Bekah! The next reunion will be on us!

Very coincidentally, my best friend Rebecca was vacationing in Utah the same time I was, so after my roommates and I parted ways, I spent a night with the McAllisters in their swanky time-share up at Snowbird. The next day we went to Hogle Zoo:

Here, Rebecca's son Ewan is letting us know that he's had enough zoo for one day:

After the zoo, we went across the street to the This Is The Place Heritage Park. My great great grandfather, Lyman Curtis, accompanied Brigham Young on his first trip west, and it was cool to stand where they stood, look out on the Salt Lake Valley and see what they saw...minus all the McDonalds and strip malls, of course.

OK, this post is getting too long. I feel like we need to pause here for a break. So go to the bathroom, get yourself a glass of water and a snack, and meet me back here in a little while.

Champagne Wishes And Caviar Dreams

2010-12-19T01:19:00.000-08:00

Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with being poor...but there ain't nothin' particularly great about it, either.

Growing up, my dad would always pester me about my life choices. Still does, as a matter of fact. The man loves to give unsolicited advice. Back when I was in college, he kept trying to get me to change my major from English to anything but English. Speech therapy. Business. Chinese. Chinese business. He wanted me to pursue a career that would one day pay the bills. At one time he even suggested I look into a career in the military. (Can any of you really see ME in the military? I do one sit-up a day--the one that allows me to get out of bed in the morning. I see no reason to do more.)

Anyway, my dad was right. My freaking nephew bought a house last year. MY NEPHEW. A HOUSE. I changed his diapers, and now he's hosting Christmas dinner at HIS HOUSE. That HE OWNS.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed my English studies. The knowledge and skills I gained in college have come in handy many times. I never say "less" when I really mean "fewer." I never abuse apostrophes. I also know under what circumstances a semicolon is appropriate. I probably could have put a few to good use in this very paragraph, as a matter of fact. Oh well. Missed opportunities is one of the themes of this post.

Bottom line, I need to get rich. Why? Because, umm...I want to help the poor. Yeah! I want to help them by buying nice handbags for them to admire. Don't you think that would brighten up a poor person's day? Gazing upon this little beauty as it passes them by...

OK, I sense that I've gone too far.

I'm just sick of constantly worrying about my finances. I know that I'm not as frugal as I could be. I go out to eat a lot. I have about a $30/month lipstick habit. I know I could cut back in many areas, and I intend to. It's one of my goals this year to be more budget-conscious. But don't you ever wonder how the other half live? Imagine being able to relate to Jay-Z when he raps "What you call money, I pay more in taxes."

A couple hundred years ago, you had to be involved in steel, oil, banking, or railroads to become a millionaire. These days, any damn fool can become a millionaire. Right now, on a private beach somewhere in The Hamptons, the inventor of the Snuggie is lounging around, counting his money and laughing maniacally to himself. I ain't gonna get there by making cupcakes for a living. My sister tells me, "Randi, you don't need a different job. You need an idea."

So I'm putting it out there, dear readers. I need an idea. Help me come up with a plan. Whoever comes up with the million dollar--or better yet, billion dollar--idea gets a free trip to my Hampton estate. The one I'm gonna build right next to Snuggie dude. Only mine's gonna make his look like a shrimp shack.

I'll also buy you that little Marc Jacobs beauty pictured above.

Ready...set...go!

Bad Dog!

2010-10-11T18:44:00.000-07:00

Let's tally up all of the things my little doggie Maxwell has destroyed in his ten short months of life.

1 hearing aid
1 pair prescription glasses
1 lift recliner electrical cord
3 laptop power cords
7 pairs shoes
1 bra
1 throw pillow
1 pair scriptures
1 belt
countless books
countless pens/pencils
countless pieces of kleenex
countless photos

Behold the carnage:

But look at that face...

All is forgiven.

What I'm Made Of

2010-08-16T19:35:00.000-07:00

We have these old genealogy books lying around our house, filled with some truly remarkable stories from the lives of my ancestors. Every few years I get the itch to open them up and remind myself just how unworthy I am to be numbered among their posterity, and how much I underappreciate the legacy of faith and general awesomeness that they left me.

In particular, I am struck by the awesomeness of my female ancestors.

There is my great-great-great grandmother, Eliza Gill Hartley. Recently widowed and recently converted to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Eliza packed up her 5 kids, left her home in Sheffield, England, sailed to America, and joined the Edward Martin handcart company. You Mormons out there know the rest of that story.

One of Eliza's granddaughters, Sarah Lucina Curtis, married Robert Augustus Snyder and had 14 children. After child number 12, Sarah went completely blind. She still managed to cook, clean, and run her household as before. She could tell her children apart by the sound of their footsteps. An excellent quilter, she learned to tell colors of fabric apart by their taste and smell. She knitted over 80 pairs of socks and 40 pairs of mittens for the soldiers in WW1. Blind. She was an absolute beast.

Here she is, 9 kids in and just getting warmed up. The little girl standing in front of her father is my dad's mom, Lillie Snyder Johansen.

Probably my favorite family photo comes from my mother's side. It is a photo of my great grandmother, Emma Jane Anthony. My mother said she was a hoot, and whenever I look at this picture I can't help but laugh. Here she is, holding my uncle Loren in one arm and some dead chickens in the other:

Now that is a woman who knows how to get s*** done. Do they even make women like this anymore? There is nothing she can't do. She is gentle and loving, capable and fearless. When life gets tough, I think of this photo and tell myself to snap out of it--to get in there and "pluck those chickens" as it were.

Diluted though it may be, the blood of these three women does still run through my veins. Oh, and the blood of one more great woman:

Big shoes to fill. I'd better get started.

Culinary Rant

2010-06-17T20:55:00.000-07:00

Can someone please explain to me the allure of red velvet cake? I don't get it. Everywhere I turn, it's red velvet this and red velvet that. I'm freaking sick of it, and so I am calling for a nationwide boycott.

I mean, really. It has no more than a couple of tablespoons of cocoa per cake, so there's barely any chocolate flavor (which it so desperately needs). In its place is some repulsive red food coloring, which always jumps out at me from the very first bite. And it doesn't matter what kind of food coloring you use. All of them taste like FD & C Red No. 40--which is derived from coal. Mmm! Delicious!

The only thing red velvet has going for it is cream cheese icing--and it needs a strong flavor like cream cheese to cover up its unpleasant before, during, and aftertaste.

Imagine the betrayal I felt when Carrie tried to serve me a slice of the Red Death at a party she recently threw. She, and others of my so-called "friends," tried to justify the choice, saying it was, quote, "delicious." You can't fool the experts, people. My body runs on cake the way a car runs on gasoline. I recognize a low-octane baked good when I taste one.

So join with me, fellow Americans! Together we can control the market, reclaim our bakeries, and start eating delicious, all-natural, non-carcinogenic cake once again.

Travesty

2010-04-22T22:20:00.001-07:00

Here's what we did:

The Diary of Canned Franks

The Lovely Bones

And here's what won:

The Audacity of Toast

I demand a re-count.

Cutest Dog Ever

2010-04-14T22:44:00.000-07:00

And he's mine! OK, technically we got him to be a companion for my elderly dad, but I'm the one forking out all the cash. Dang, pets are expensive.

He's a Maltese-Lhasa Apso mix, and so far, a very good dog. Except for the pooping on the carpet. And the constant chewing of valuables. I had to replace my laptop power cord last week. (Thank goodness for E-Bay! Those thieving scoundrels at Dell were going to charge me $80. I ended up paying $10.)

Anyway, adorable, right? I know! He came with the name Maxwell, but nobody could agree on another name, so we just kept it. He probably has no idea what his name is, though because I usually end up calling him "Maximus," "Puppy Dawg," or "Dr. Pupper." We are all in love with him. I'm probably going to cry when I take him to get his doggy nuts chopped off next month.

Anyway, again, on an unrelated note, we didn't win jack squat in the stupid cake competition. We had two, in my opinion, winning entries: one was a Lovely Bones cake. We replicated a Vogue magazine cover, only the supermodel was a skeleton. The articles advertised on the cover were actual articles from Vogue: "Shedding the Last 5 Pounds" and "When Size 4 Is Too Big," among others. It looked great. The other one was a cake decorated to look like a diary with a picture of Vienna Sausages on the front. We called it "The Diary of Canned Franks." Carrie's idea, and a freaking brilliant one. Not even an honorable mention. Maybe some day when I calm down I'll tell you about the stupid entries that DID win. But not now.

Bekah, I loved your Joy Luck Club idea. Next year, definitely.

Anyway, that's my random post for today, dear readers. Until next time!

Help!

2010-03-10T22:38:00.000-08:00

So, there is this cake competition coming up in April. It's the 5th Annual Seattle Edible Book Festival, sponsored by the Seattle Center for Book Arts--never heard of 'em until the other day when the CEO of our company walks into our pastry kitchen and says, "You guys should enter this contest" and hands us a flyer.

The idea is this: make an edible masterpiece that has some sort of literary theme. It doesn't necessarily have to be cake, but most are. Puns are encouraged. Prizes will be awarded in the following categories:

Most pun-derful
Most drop-dead gorgeous
Most structurally book-like
Most appetizing
Best in show

I was looking through last year's photos, and I was totally bummed to see that my idea had already been done: I was going to make a George Forman grill and have a bird smashed inside--To Grill a Mockingbird. Get it? HA! Turns out I'm not as creative as I thought. However, my mockingbird idea was way cooler than last year's pathetic piece of crap. Whatever.

Anyway, here are some photos of last year's most punderful and best in show:

Best in show: Good Night Moon Pie

Most punderful: Huckleberry Flan

I can BURY these fools, people. All I need is a good idea. Help a girl out!

The Hurt Locker?

2010-03-09T19:02:00.000-08:00

I should have seen it coming. Gone are the days of handing out Oscars to big blockbuster films, I guess, like your Gladiator, your Titanic, your LOTR 3. It's all about the indie film now, like your Crash, your Slumdog Millionaire, your Hurt Locker. Like I said, I should have seen it coming.

Oscar Pics

2010-03-07T02:07:00.000-08:00

You've been so patient. Here they are:

Best Actor: Jeff Bridges. He deserves it, he was great.

Best Supporting Actor: Christoph Waltz, but part of me wants to give it to Captain von Trapp for "The Last Station." Give the man an Oscar before he dies!

Best Actress: Probably going to be Sandra Bullock (who any other year, might have deserved it) but this year it should go to Helen Mirren, also for "The Last Station." She blasted everyone else out of the water. You must see this movie. Mere words cannot convey the grandeur of her performance. It is with a very heavy heart that I'll be sticking with Sandy as my choice here.

Best Supporting Actress: This one's easy. Mo'Nique. Slam dunk.

Cinematography: Avatar. Duh.

Best Director: Surprisingly, I'm not giving it to James Cameron this year. I think it's gonna be Quentin Tarantino.

Best Picture: Avatar. Usually, the Best Picture winner also wins for Best Director...makes sense...but this isn't always the case. I think this is going to be one of those rare upset years.

And that's it, folks! I'll meet you back here in a few hours to say I told you so!

Operation B.S.P.M., Take 43

2010-03-05T00:37:00.000-08:00

Some of you may remember my goal to drop a few pounds...and by few, I mean a few hundred. I called it "Operation Britney Spears, Pre-Meltdown."

It hasn't gone so well.

Anyway, tonight I am sitting here in my room, wearing a t-shirt that has nacho cheese dribble stains down the front, and I just discovered some chocolate smeared into my pillowcase. I swear on a stack of Holy Bibles that I at no time ate chocolate in my bed. So why is there chocolate on my pillow? Which of my friends allowed me to walk around with chocolate on my face and didn't say anything?

This is a new low, folks, and it must end.

After Oscar night.

My Olympic Dream

2010-02-22T21:03:00.000-08:00

By now, most of you have begun to realize that I have a lot of boyfriends: Taylor "Just Turned 18" Lautner, Jacoby Ellsbury, Albert Pujols, LeBron James, Johnny Depp, Jake Gyllenhaal, Clive Owen...just to name a few.

And now I've got to add one more: Aksel Lund Svindal, the Norweigian beefcake who just won gold in the Super G, whatever that is.

Feast your eyes on the loveliness:

So handsome!

Such nice teeth!

I hope our kids end up with his bone structure...

AAAAA!!! Who the EFF are YOU? GET AWAY FROM MY BOYFRIEND, YOU SKEEZY BIATCH!!!

I Ain't Got A Fever, Got A Permanent Disease...

2010-02-03T21:56:00.000-08:00

Gettin' a haircut tomorrow. I want to keep my length, but add a little rock 'n' roll. I'm going to ask her to give me "The Bon Jovi." I'll post a photo of what I come home with. Keep your fingers crossed for something like this:

Ten points if you can identify the song from the title of this post. Most underappreciated Bon Jovi song of all time.

I'm Back, Y'all!

2009-12-28T21:33:00.000-08:00

Just when you all thought I was dead! Ba-BAM! I triumphantly re-emerge, like a phoenix from the holiday ashes.

It was a busy one this year, folks. However, I'd say it was our smoothest, most organized holiday season yet. The pies looked amazing, nobody misplaced any orders, nobody lost any fingers in the mixers. That's what I call a success story.

Of course, all work and no play has never been my personal life philosophy...so I tried to squeeze in a few hours here and there to keep up on the must-see movies of the season.

Let's review, shall we?

Men Who Stare at Goats

Worst movie I've ever seen. The longest two hours of my life. I prayed for death to release me from the hell I'd stumbled into. Trust me. You don't want to see this movie. Even if you're in the middle of a 16 hour flight and the only entertainment is a showing of Men Who Stare at Goats. Don't do it. So boring. So NOT funny. And you know what I've decided? I don't care much for George Clooney. I think he's totally overrated. It's disgusting to me that he has an Oscar and Johnny Depp doesn't.

New Moon

Yeah, I saw it! Don't even try to make me feel guilty about it, 'cause if lovin' Edward is wrong, I don't wanna be right.

However, loving Jacob IS wrong, and I need to talk to a psychiatrist about my inappropriate feelings for one underage Taylor Lautner.

Hey, just out of curiosity...anybody know which state has the most lenient statutory rape laws?

When I see photos like that, I have to force myself to think of Taylor from his Sharkboy and Lavagirl days:

Phew! Felony averted.

Nine

This movie totally bummed me out, because I KNEW I was going to love it. Daniel Day Lewis? Are you kidding me? The man is a genius and I will personally kill anyone who says he's not. I also love me some Judi Dench, some Penelope Cruz, some Marion Cotillard...how many Oscar winners can we cram into one movie? And, as expected, their acting was great. However, none of these people can sing, which in this case turns out to be rather unfortunate because the movie is a MUSICAL. Somebody should have told the casting director.

And as far as the story goes, I thought it was freaking unbearable. I didn't give a damn about any of the characters. In fact, I kept hoping that Daniel Day Lewis's character would end up dead in a gutter somewhere, lying in a pool of his own vomit and urine. Alas, it was not meant to be. He does seem pretty miserable at the end, though, so I guess that will have to do.

The Blind Side

Great, great, super great. Loved it. I laughed, I cried...not much else to say.

Sherlock Holmes

Oh, Jude Law. Why must you be so attractive?

Invictus

I thought this was a lovely movie. It was a bit slow at times, and I must admit that I snoozed a little here and there. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the parts I did see, and I thought Matt Damon did a superb job with a really tough accent. So believable. And Morgan Freeman? Amazing. Unfortunately, I don't give a poop about any sports besides baseball and ladies gymnastics, so the rugby scenes didn't really do much for me. My friend Carrie informs me that they were thrilling, however, so there you go.

Next on my list to see: Up in the Air. Another freaking George Clooney movie. Gag. But it's getting all sorts of award-season buzz, so I gotta see it.

That's it for now, loyal readers! Stay tuned for my Oscar pic predictions!

Happy Now, Kamber?

2009-11-03T18:37:00.000-08:00

I've been meaning to blog for the longest time, but unfortunately I am a big fat loser, and my life just isn't that blog-worthy. Nevertheless, Kamber keeps pestering me for more updates, and who am I to deny her? We celebrities must respond to the relentless demands of our adoring public before that adoring public starts to adore someone else. Sigh. Only Britney Spears can truly relate.

So yeah, I ain't been up to much. See for yourself:

I've been hangin' out with my dad,

watchin' baseball.

When I'm not at work,

making wedding cakes,

I spend most of my time playing games with my peeps.

Oh! And I got my eyebrows waxed...

...and got a pedicure.

I also went to a Jay-Z concert a couple of weeks ago

with my friends Carrie and Sara.

And I just got back from visiting the Buchanans, which was awesome and deserves a blog post all of its own. Stay tuned.

So that's about it, y'all. If anyone has any blog ideas, by all means, send them my way. I'm suffering from some major blogger's block.

Ouch!

2009-10-08T16:30:00.000-07:00

So, my friends and I like to say cruel and vicious things to each other. You should try it with your husband/wife/loved ones. See what new, exciting, and heretofore unknown dimensions of your relationship open up to you!

Anyway, we were teaching a work friend of mine how to play the game "Loaded Questions." A question is drawn, for example: "What is your greatest fear?" People write down their answers, pass their papers to a "reader" who reads them to a "guesser," who tries to guess who said what.

Carrie: So, if somebody says something rude about Red, you can guess that it was probably me. And if somebody writes something rude about me...

CNash: Then it could have been anybody.

Just Finish The Freaking Vacation Recap Already...

2009-09-27T21:09:00.000-07:00

Sorry. I'll just post a few pictures, say a few words, and then move on. I'm sure the few people who maybe cared at first have officially stopped caring by this point.

So...Chicago pizza. According to the Lonely Planet guide book (which, by the way, I will never purchase another Lonely Planet guide EVER AGAIN. I hated that freaking book. I hate the way they organize the chapters. There will be a section--let's say "The Magnificent Mile"--and it will list all of the attractions in the Magnificent Mile, but if you want to find someplace to eat nearby, you have to go to the "Eating" section, and then look up "Magnificent Mile" all over again. Just put all my Magnificent Mile needs: eating, drinking, sleeping, sight-seeing, etc. all in the same damn section. I am already looking like a total chump, standing on the streets of Chicago with a camera around my neck and a brightly-colored oh-so-discreet guide book in my hand--don't make me flip any more pages than I have to, Lonely Planet! Oh, and Lonely Planet, your index sucks.)

Where was I? Oh, right. Pizza.

So the Lonely Planet (ptooey!) people told us that there were 2 must-visit pizza joints: Giordano's and Gino's. (Already went to Pizzeria Uno's in Boston. Didn't feel the need to refresh my memory in Chicago.) Here's Gino's:

And here's Giordano's:

The showdown breakdown goes something like this:

Crust: Giordano's. Gino's crust bore too close a resemblance to cornbread for my liking.

Filling: Gino's. The sauce was great, and there was lots of it. I like my pizzas nice and saucy. Plus, Giordano's pizza had, and I can't believe I'm about to say this, too much cheese.

Atmosphere: Giordano's. At Gino's, you are allowed to write on the walls, doors, booths...it makes for a very unsettling dining experience. It just made the place feel dirty, like I was eating inside a public bathroom at some creepy rest stop.

Souvenir t-shirt: Way better at Gino's, but they didn't have any cool ones in my size, so...Congratulations, Giordano's! You win!

Those of you who watched Top Chef Masters will recognize the name Rick Bayless, owner of Frontera Grill and its upscale sister restaurant, Topolobampo. I was pumped about visiting his restaurant, 'cuz I love Mexican food, and I also love celebrity. (If any of you are wondering what to get me for Christmas this year, how about a subscription to People magazine?)

Anyway, we went there not once, not twice, but THREE times trying to get in. The first two times there was about a 3 hour wait. We got lucky with the hour and a half wait the last time we went...or so we thought. We ordered guacamole and sopes for starters. Ho-hum. I think Carrie makes a better guacamole. Then I ordered tacos al pastor, which were OK--nothing better than I get at our favorite little dive restaurant, Chihuahua's, in Auburn, WA. CNash got corn with crema and something else. Shanon got ceviche. Carrie got the mole, which is supposedly his signature dish. It was bitter and disgusting, which makes me think he has gone the way of all celebrity chefs: no more cooking, just a lot of TV appearances and cookbook signings, making millions off his good name--which is being tarnished right under his nose! Look out, Rick!

And then there's the Chicago Dog, which is an absolute abomination. I tried to have an open mind, but Chicagoans have completely missed the mark on this one.

Look at all that crap they put on top! Yuck. You couldn't even taste the dog.

We also ate at a place called Avec--this was the restaurant my boss had given us a gift certificate for. AMAZING! I don't have any pictures of the food, because I felt a little self-conscious whipping out my camera in that kind of establishment. Anyway, it was incredible, and Carrie just about lost her mind over the bacon-wrapped date/chorizo balls. She says that rather than stopping by Avec if you're ever in Chicago, you should book a trip to Chicago just to go to Avec for that one dish. It's true. Those were some damn fine balls.

Moving on...

We saw lots of famous art:

And some art that Shanon didn't particularly care for:

Saw the world's most complete T. Rex skeleton:

Enjoyed several minutes watching this fat kid playing in a fountain in Millenium Park:

Scratched the old Dunkin' Donuts hot chocolate itch, even though it was August:

Took some pictures at The Bean:

Saw the first Playboy Mansion:

Stood watch while Carrie brazenly peeked in the windows of all the old mansions on Astor St:

Saw the theater in front of which the elusive bank robber John Dillinger was shot:

Saw an old lionness with an abscessed tooth in the Lincoln Park Zoo that Carrie (and a Facebook quiz) claimed was Carrie's "Spirit Animal":

Came to realize that Tiffany windows are a dime a dozen in Chicago. Everybody's got at least one:

Went to the aquarium:

Got lost and wound up here:

That last one actually deserves a post of its own. I'll let Carrie guest-blog the tale.

Toured Lincoln's home in Springfield, IL:

And his tomb:

Ate lunch at a place on Route 66 that claims to be the birthplace of the corn dog:

Had lots of gastro-intestinal distress:

Took an awesome architechtural boat cruise:

Went to a Cubs game at Wrigley Field:

Endured this view:

Felt sorry for all the schmucks who have to endure this view:

That seat has to be free, right?

Anyway, it was a super trip and I am so glad I got to spend it with these three kids:

Route 66 To Springfield

2009-09-10T22:39:00.000-07:00

So yeah...back to my Chicago vacation recap...

Probably my favorite thing we did in Chicago was leave Chicago to pay a visit to Abraham Lincoln's hometown of Springfield, Illinois. The road to Springfield (I-55) parallels none other than historic Route 66, a.k.a. the Mother Road. Coincidentally, it also parallels about 12 trillion hectares of cornfields, which doesn't make for a particularly exciting road trip. Here's a little taste of what a 3 hour drive through America's Heartland looks like with me and my crew:

Wow! Look at all that corn!

Hey! These people are growing corn, too!

And these people...

And these people...

Gee whiz, more corn?

Seriously?

What? We don't rotate crops nowadays?

Surely there's gotta be some potatoes out there somewhere...

Or a zucchini...

Or some carrots...

Anything!

Viva La Revolucion!

2009-08-28T21:55:00.000-07:00

Well, everyone, I’m back from vacation and I figured what better way to start off the tale of my madcap adventures than by writing a scathing review of the airline industry in general, and United Airlines in particular.

Our flight to Chicago was scheduled to leave at 6:10am last Wednesday. We arrive at the ticket counter at 5:30 and learn that we are too late to check in. Apparently, if you are checking a bag, you need to arrive 45 minutes early. “You should have checked our website,” is the surly United lady’s answer when we tell her that nowhere in our Orbitz travel info does it say that we need to be that early. We are then told that we will be waiting standby for a flight, potentially all day since all of the flights that day are heavily oversold. “That sounds RAD!” exclaims Carrie, with only a touch of sarcasm.

You know, it’s not like I haven’t flown in 50 years. I know all about the 3 oz. carry on rule. I know I have to take off my shoes before walking through security because clearly I’ve got a travel-sized armory inside my freaking FLIP FLOPS. But it seems like every time I go to the airport, there is another rule that somebody springs on me. What do you mean we’re too late to check in? The plane is still here, right? Nobody has started boarding yet, right? I’m sure the rationale is that bags need to be scanned, loaded onto a truck, shuttled out to the airplane, and all of that takes time. Yeah, well it didn’t take that long back in the olden days.

THEN they tell us we have to pay $20 if we want to check a bag. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? The heinous shrew behind the counter mumbles something about rising fuel costs. TWENTY BUCKS? How long has this been going on? Isn’t that included in the freaking TICKET PRICE? Can’t you people at least HIDE the cost of that somewhere? Just lump it into the “taxes” or “airport fees” category, for crying out loud.

So then we get on board, we’re chillin’ at 37,000 feet, homegirls roll up with their beverage cart and tell us SNACKS ARE GOING TO COST US EXTRA, OH, AND WAIT: THEY DON’T ACCEPT CASH! WHO DOESN’T ACCEPT CASH? HAVE I BOARDED SATAN’S PERSONAL AIRLINE?

Remember the days when you were allowed TWO checked bags, free of charge? Remember when airlines used to give you a FREE meal? It was disgusting, but at least it was free. And on shorter flights, if they didn’t give you a meal, they at least gave you a damn bag of pretzels or peanuts or something. What happened, airline industry? Why you gotta be harshing my mellow all of a sudden?

Which brings me to the next theme of my rant: First Class.

Let us turn to the scriptures, shall we? In 2 Corinthians, chapter 8, verses 13-14 we read:

13 For I mean not that other men be eased, and ye burdened:
14 But by an equality, that now at this time your abundance may be a supply for their want, that their abundance also may be a supply for your want: that there may be equality.

Yeah right.

I remember there always being a special line at the ticket counter for first class passengers. I was OK with that. I was OK with them boarding first. I was OK with them de-planing first. But lately, things have gotten out of hand. At the United gates, there is a super special red carpet that first class passengers get to walk on…Am I at the Kodak Theatre? Is this the Academy Awards? On our return flight, right when Carrie and I were about to hand the United dude our boarding passes, this first class passenger rolls up, hands the guy his boarding pass, and totally cuts us off. Wasn’t nothin’ either of us could do about it. We just had to stand there and take it.

AND do you remember back in the day, you would board the plane at the front and then have to tromp through first class to get to your seat? Now coach passengers board the plane behind the first class section, which is carefully curtained-off, so that the elite don’t have to mingle with the dregs of society.

And just when you thought things couldn’t get any more Plessy v. Ferguson…

On the way back, Carrie overheard an elderly gentleman ask a flight attendant for a pillow and a blanket. Her reply? “We don’t store those items in this section.”

THAT’S IT! I’M STARTING A REVOLUTION! WHO’S WITH ME?

Chicago!

2009-08-06T10:16:00.000-07:00

My much-anticipated trip to Chicago is coming up! I leave on August 19th, and I am PUMPED. I'm traveling with my friends Carrie, Shanon, and CNash, and none of us have ever been to Chicago, other than a few brief layovers in one of the airports.

So...if any of you people are familiar with the city, what are some of your favorite things to see/do? We're going to hit all of the parks, ball parks, museums, etc. And we're planning a day trip to Springfield and a day trip to some national park in Indiana (Shanon is obsessed with national parks.) What else would you recommend? We're also planning to eat ourselves into a coma, so any restaurant ideas would be great.

Let's hear it!

Panties Officially In A Twist

2009-08-02T23:44:00.000-07:00

This is an OUTRAGE, people! I don't know if you've been following the current Seattle area weather trends, but you should be. It's a sign that the end of the world is near. We have been experiencing some record-breaking heat. In fact, this last week Seattle was hotter than Tucson, Arizona. OK, I haven't actually fact-checked that one, but my friend Carrie assures me that it's true. All I know is that in some areas, temperatures reached 108. And that is unacceptable.

Come on, Seattle! What does a girl have to do to get some freaking RAIN up in here? Isn't rain kind of our THING? Isn't that what we do best? I would KILL for some rain right about now.

But wait, this story is about to get a whole lot sadder. Since temperatures like these are unheard of in Seattle, air conditioning is virtually non-existent. You gotta go to the library. Or the DMV. No thanks. I'll take the first degree burns. I have insurance.

And just when you thought this story couldn't get any worse, let me remind you that I work in a kitchen. With four ovens. And a six-burner stove. And it's underground. No windows. Of course, no air conditioning. Remember 7th grade Greek mythology? I'm like freaking Hephaestus, hanging out in my smithy in the middle of the earth, forging various metal do-dads for the rest of the gods on Mount Olympus.

AND it's totally making my skin break out!

Tissue, anyone?

I'm Not Usually One To Brag, But...

2009-07-22T16:09:00.000-07:00

This was just too awesome to not document. I credit my years in Boston for giving me this superpower.

Check out this parallel parking job:

Front end

And back end

Say whaaat?

Just Admit You're Jealous

2009-06-01T22:56:00.000-07:00

My friend CNash and I took a little road trip last Thursday:

That's right, Twilighters! We made the ultimate pathetic female pilgrimage to Forks, WA, the setting for Stephenie Meyer's bestselling tale of obsessive teenage-vampire romance. I think my first words to CNash that morning were, "I wish we would have planned ahead and made this a two-day trip." And I think my last words to her as I dropped her off were, "Thank heavens we didn't make that a two-day trip."

You see, kids, Forks is about as exciting as...hmmm...I'm trying to think of something not very exciting, but everything I'm coming up with is waaaay more exciting than Forks.

The trip there was lovely, of course, although I did have a moment of panic as we drove over this bridge. We survived, thank goodness. We also drove through Olympic National Forest, which is gorgeous. The road to Forks (Hwy 101) winds around Lake Crescent. Here is a shot I stole from Wikipedia:

And here's another shot of me and the lake. Neither picture really does the color of the water justice. It was so freaking turquoise. I swear I almost crashed the car a million times, the water was such a distraction.

Once you get into the city, there is a park with a big train on display:

It's supposed to be a big deal for some reason. Anyway, moving on...

Still very much a logging town, I guess. We saw lots of these around:

I still haven't decided if I feel happy or sad for the town of Forks. One minute it's a quiet little town nobody has ever heard of (and that includes other Washingtonians) and the next it's the epicenter of an absolute worldwide phenomenon. Check out this store on the main drag:

f

You wouldn't believe the crap that was in this store, so I had to take some pictures to back up my story. I think my favorite was this line of lotions and body sprays called "Essence of Jacob." I think I'll leave that one alone, although I'm just dying to say more...

This I find truly horrifying:

And then there was this collection of greeting cards with pictures of Twilight vampires from their pre-vampire days. Here's a great shot of Alice in her straightjacket:

And a "portrait" of Carlisle in his mid-1600s doctor garb:

Awesome. Now here we are at the Cullen residence, which is a bed and breakfast in real life.

And here's the Forks Police Department, where Chief Swan works, of course:

Forks High School, which apparently is no longer Forks High School. Can't quite remember what it is now...but I think the current high school is somewhere nearby:

The hospital where Carlisle works. One of the parking spots has a sign that says "Reserved for Dr. Cullen."

Here are some Twilighters out taking pictures of significant Twilight loci. I know! Total freaks, right? It's like, "Hello! Get a life, losers!"

And here we are at the Swan house:

At the Chamber of Commerce building there is this lovely replica of Bella's truck:

And it's on to La Push!

CNash saw this dog and screamed, "Werewolf!"

Werewolf tracks?

Whew! That was a close call. It's dangerous for us vampire-sympathizers to be hanging out on the rez.

We saw a couple of bald eagles (or haliaeetus leucocephalus washingtoniensis, as I like to call them) hanging out on the beach, too. How cool is that? Certainly not something you see every day.

Jacob's high school:

Phew! What a trip! CNash and I would take pictures and then giggle like school girls, half excited, half embarassed by our own fan fervor. This is not the behavior of women in their mid thirties. But it's not like I bought any of that fan crap at the Dazzled by Twilight store or anything...

Cakes From The Hall Of Justice

2009-05-18T21:31:00.000-07:00

I made this cake for my friend Sara's superhero-themed birthday party a few weeks ago. I thought it looked pretty dope, if I do say so myself.

Yes, that is Wonder Woman's golden "lasso of truth" around the base. Real ribbon--not fondant--'cause I got lazy.

Here's the birthday girl, after a busy day of fighting crime in the Seattle Metro region:

Open Mic Night: A Privilege, Not A Right

2009-05-10T18:26:00.000-07:00

Last week, my peeps and I went to an open mic night at a local high school where my friend Carrie teaches. One of her students organized the event as part of his senior project, and it was really really really good. There was some singing and some dancing, but the vast majority of the kids read poetry they had written. I was struck by the sheer number of kids who a) had poetry to share and b) were willing to share it. As I sat there listening, I thought to myself, "This would never have flown at my high school." No way. If it were discovered that you wrote poetry back in my day, you could expect somebody to be waiting for you after sixth period with a baseball bat. At this particular high school, however, even the jockiest of jocks had a gut-wrenching, soul-bearing poem to share and everybody was cool with it. My, how times have changed.

Unfortunately, there was one part of the evening that left a bad taste in my mouth. Anyone heard of a nation-wide organization called Youth Speaks? It's a group of kids who get together to write bad poetry and perform it at open mics and slams near you. What is this group all about, you ask? I quote from their web page:

Vision
Shift perceptions of youth by combating illiteracy, alienation, and silence to create a global movement of brave new voices bringing the noise from the margins to the core.

Mission
Youth Speaks empowers the next generation of leaders, self-defined artists, and visionary activists through written and oral literacies. We challenge youth to find, develop, publicly present, and apply their voices as creators of social change.

"...through the medium of overwrought, heavy-handed, melodramatic, aimless, preachy, meandering poetry."

OK, so that last bit was mine. It is, nevertheless, true.

These kids bugged! There were four of them, and they showed up to recite a few crappy poems and plug their next poetry slam event. Each kid recited (from memory--gotta give them props there) a freaking epic poem that lasted like, ten minutes each. And they all were about the evils of society, and how each one of us is a perpetrator of said evils. In one poem, I heard some dude lecture me about:

American Idol
Sweat shops
Rape of Congolese women
Atrocities in Darfur
Aids
Poverty
Racial profiling
...and a million more societal ills.

It's like he opened up the newspaper, pulled 50 headlines from the "World News" section, and screamed them at me, one after the other. And I wanted to scream back "Oh yeah? And what exactly are YOU doing about the illegal trafficking of conflict diamonds in Sierra Leone, you freaking upper middle class CHUMP kid?" And as if it weren't annoying enough to be lectured by a bunch of privileged private school brats, while one kid was up reciting his/her poem, the rest of them were sitting behind him/her, slapping their chairs and snapping their fingers in the air whenever they found a part of the poem particularly poignant, as if to say "Preach on, my brother/sister! Remove those blinders from their pathetic, self-absorbed eyes! Show them a better path! Hearken, O ye wicked and perverse generation!"

Gag.

On a lighter note...one of my favorite poems of the evening came from a kid who wrote about his favorite cereal, Lucky Charms. I think his best line was:

I even eat them on the toilet.
Although it might smell bad,
It doesn't spoil it.

Now THAT'S a poem.

A Post Only Tim And Scott Will Care About

2009-04-15T21:21:00.000-07:00

Last Tuesday was the first Mariners home game at Safeco Field, the day Griffey made his first appearance in Seattle as a Mariner once again. Big day...big day. CNash and I left Kent at 1:45pm--plenty of time to make a 3:40 game downtown. Or so we thought. We drove around for over an hour looking for parking. The lots right next to the field were $50. We scoffed at first, but after an hour of driving around, fifty started to sound pretty reasonable.

We eventually found a spot on the street and started the trek to Safeco as fast as our chubby legs would carry us. Right as we were handing our tickets to the dude to get in, we heard that Griffey was up. We ran up the stairs, two at a time, and tried to see over the shoulders of people in the aisle. Impossible. We had to watch it on the TV screen in the passageway. But I can tell you that the whole crowd was on its feet, chanting "Griff-ey, Griff-ey, Griff-ey." I don't care how many games you've been to, baseball or otherwise. You've never seen anything like it. I was so pissed. This was the moment I had been waiting for ever since I found out that my hero was coming back home, and I missed it. Junior, will you ever forgive me?

Anyway, we made it to our seats and proceeded to have a pretty good time. I say pretty good because we sat by some real freaks who kept trying to engage Carrie in strange conversations. One of the things I love about baseball (I suppose this is true of other sports, but I wouldn't know) is that you always make friends with the people around you. You crack jokes together, you learn each other's names, you share your licorice ropes. It's very convivial. This was not one of those games, unfortunately. The group of frat boys and their brainless girlfriends who sat in front of us also really brought me down. Besides, it was freaking cold and the lines for the garlic fries were WAAAY too long. BUT it was a good game. Mariners won in 10 innings, and it was pretty sweet. Too bad we didn't go to the next game, where Junior hit his 400th home run as a Mariner and Ichiro tried to remind Griffey that he was still the star of this team by hitting a grand slam. (A valiant effort, Ichiro, but it ain't never gonna happen. Try to start getting used to second place.)

Mariners win!

Do Yourself A Favor: Get On Board.

2009-03-25T22:39:00.000-07:00

If you aren't already on board. The Flight of the Conchords. First season now available in stores.

Check This S*** Out

2009-03-03T23:40:00.000-08:00

Sorry about the obscenity there, but I just can't help it! For real. Check this s*** out:

So every year, Tom Douglas (my boss) throws a managers-only Christmas party at his house. Last year's party was cancelled due to snow, so it was rescheduled for last week. I brought along my friend Carrie...

...to eat some good food and gawk at what a rich celebrity chef's house looks like. We schmoozed for a little while, drank some pop out of a lowball glass, and admired his impressive cookbook collection. Then Tom announced that there was going to be a competition.

Carrie's ears perked up.

Downstairs we would find a pile of pipe cleaners and plastic beads. Whoever made the coolest hat out of those two materials would win a trip to Chicago, luxury hotel accommodations, and dinner for two at Tom's favorite restaurant, Avec.

"That's cool," I thought to myself. It never really crossed my mind to compete. There were too many people there, and I wasn't feeling particularly creative. Carrie, however, was a shark and that Chicago trip was a bleeding sea lion in distress. "We're winning this," she said, and dragged me to where the pipe cleaners were. She came up with a brilliant plan: We'd make a crab, holding onto a cake, taking the L train to Wrigley Field. Crab, because Tom is famous for his crab cakes, and the cake, because I do cakes. It works on two levels, you see.

Anyway, for the next hour, we talked some major trash. At one point, Carrie was even heard to say, "Back up off of those pipe cleaners. They're for the winners," and, "If we don't win, we're pushing over the mini-bar and lighting it on fire." It was all in good fun, I assure you.

So we finished the hat, and although it wasn't the prettiest hat in the room (there were some amazing hats there that night) conceptually speaking, it was kick-ass. We all lined up and each of us got 10 seconds to model our hats and explain our design to the panel of judges.

I CAN'T HOLD IT IN ANY LONGER! WE TOTALLY WON!!! Can you believe it? We won a freaking trip to Chicago! How awesome is that? I gotta get us tickets to Oprah because with our luck, we'll show up on Oprah's Favorite Things Day. Maybe we'll drive home from Chicago in our shiny new Jaguars.

We kind of feel like shmucks, though, because now we look like some seriously ruthless competitors. You can trash talk all you want, as long as you lose in the end. Then it's all fun and games. But if you trash talk and then win? You look all kinds of arrogant. I feel bad about that moment when I squeezed past a co-worker and said, "Excuse me, I've got to go win a trip to Chicago," as Tom was announcing the results. That doesn't sound so good, in retrospect.

Oh well! You wanna see a picture of the winning hat? OK! Here it is!

To "Mr. Anonymous" Who Commented On My Griffey Post

2009-02-24T11:09:00.000-08:00

"This is rediculous. Mariners fans dont be so easily fooled by the window dressings provided you by the Mariners Management. Ken Jr will have no impact in the coming year. All this shows is that the Mariners are not really committed to winning but blowing smoke in the faces of easily fooled Mariners fans across the country. Those of you in Washington State should be offended and hold the Mariners responsible for such a dismal record and not get so easily excited over something that will do nothing for the team's record."

Have you no heart? You obviously don't comprehend what Ken Griffey Jr. means to us here in Seattle. I understand that baseball is a business, and nobody likes to see their team lose. But you don't think the Yankees would jump at the chance to re-sign The Babe? They would dig his ass up and roll his bones out to right field if they could.

That's what Griffey means to us. He is our Great Bambino. When the Reds came to play at Safeco in 2007, the entire crowd CHEERED FOR THE OPPOSING TEAM. And although his stats aren't what they used to be, there are other factors--no less important--for which there are no stats. I'm talking about EXCITEMENT. LOVE. THE FANS, for crying out loud. Haven't you ever seen the energy of the fans turn a baseball game around? I have. It happens all the time. You cannot quantify that as a statistic, but it is very real.

But even if Griffey strikes out every damn time, I will still walk away a satisfied customer, because the thrill of seeing #24 on the field again is better than any World Series trophy. Ask any "easily-fooled Mariners fan." You will get the same answer.

You should come visit Seattle. We're nice here.

Oscar Review, Part Two

2009-02-21T23:56:00.000-08:00

Continuing on...

Slumdog Millionaire
Cinematography
Danny Boyle, Best Director
Music, Sound Mixing, etc., etc.,
Best Picture

I haven't loved a movie this intensely in a long, long time. I have already pre-ordered my Blu-ray copy on Amazon. March 31st can not get here fast enough.

There are lots of movies out there that try to get funky by mixing up past and present story lines. "Is this a flashback?" you ask yourself. You don't know where or when you are. I hate those movies. Just tell the freaking story, for crying out loud, and quit the time travel trickery. I thought Slumdog got it just right. Multiple story lines and eras tied together nicely. Loved it.

There are those who have complained about certain elements of this movie, and I would like to address those issues now. Is it violent? Yes. But not gratuitously so, and I don't think unnecessarily so. OK, sure, homeboy is getting tortured in the opening scenes, but it's not any worse than the torture scene in The Princess Bride. He gets electrocuted, but it's not like he froths at the mouth and loses control of his bowels. And the scene where the little kid is being blinded--it lasts two seconds maximum and you watch the scene from a great distance. The camera isn't all up in his face, showing you every gory detail. You have to see that scene so that you understand what the brother does next and why. I felt like the director exposed you to the minimum amount of violence possible. Violent things happened, but they certainly weren't the focus of the story.

And I don't think the movie had a Hollywood ending. The two main characters paid a heavy price to be together. It cost the main dude's brother his life. Last time I checked, Sleepless in Seattle didn't end with somebody committing suicide and Meg Ryan getting her face slashed up. Sure, the bit about her being his "Phone-a-Friend" was a little hokey, but who cares? It was sweet. Aren't these people allowed to have a little happiness at the end of this movie? Or because they've led such tragic lives, the director has to drag that tragedy through the entire movie until the credits roll? If that's what you're into, go see Babel. I wanted to kill myself after seeing that movie. I had no hope left for humanity. At least in Slumdog, you got the sense that even though some truly horrible things happened to these people in their lives, they still made it through with some integrity and some hope for a better future.

I can't excuse that Bollywood dance number at the end, though. Not sure where that came from.

Moving on...

Revolutionary Road
Michael Shannon, Best Supporting Actor
Art Direction
Costume Design

I hated this movie as much as I loved Slumdog Millionaire. One reviewer called it the "feel-miserable movie of the year," and I thought that was both hilarious and true. I pretty much knew I was going to hate this movie going into it, and I was right. I felt like the message of the movie was supposed to be "If you're unhappy with your life, do something about it. Don't waste the best years of your life wishing you could be doing something different." However, I felt like the real message of the movie was, "Life in the 50s sucked. Being a woman in the 50s really sucked. Suburbia sucks. Marriage sucks. Having kids sucks."

Kate and Leo are this married couple who had all these dreams, but then she got pregnant, they got married, he got a job working at the same company his dad worked at for a million years, and everyone is miserable. Then Kate comes up with this brilliant idea: Let's all move to Paris. She'll get a job and he'll take some time off to figure out what he wants to do with his life.

Here's the problem with that scenario. Even if they move to Paris, that won't change the fact that both of them are immature, impossible-to-please a-holes who don't know how to communicate. They'll just be a-holes who now live in France.

Anyway, the whole Paris plan unravels and everybody ends up hating, resenting, and cheating on each other.

So yeah, I hated it. Because suburbia is the BOMB, yo! There are lots of people living a pretty great life in the 'burbs. Some married couples are actually HAPPY. Some couples can fight and work it out without having to sleep with someone else's spouse. Some people are glad they had kids, as exhausting and frustrating as parenthood can be sometimes. You think people in Paris don't ever get depressed about their lives? Come on. I don't usually get this hot under the collar about a movie. If only there could have been a couple in the movie who weren't miserable. If there could have been more fairness in the portrayal of suburban life, I could deal with this one couple's tragic tale. But instead, I felt manipulated and preached at. I hate that.

Ok, I gotta wrap this up. It's getting late and I have to plan my Oscar Night menu. (Sure to make an appearance: Jalapeno Poppers. Delicious!)

Frozen River
Melissa Leo, Best Actress

I really liked this movie. I won't be adding it to my DVD collection, mind you, but it was good. As for Melissa Leo (never heard of her before this movie), I could tell from the very first scene that she deserved this nomination. She was sooooooo good. I would be thrilled if she won, but I don't think it's going to happen.

Changeling
Angelina Jolie, Best Actress

SUCH a good movie! The ads for it didn't really grab my attention much, so I wasn't exactly thrilled at the prospect of watching it for my Oscar research. How wrong I was! Angelina was incredible, proving that she's the real thing, and not just a pretty face (eg. Natalie Portman). Such a compelling story. Probably not a good one for young mothers, but we barren spinsters with our underdeveloped maternal instincts can manage to remain emotionally detached. Loved it.

The Visitor
Richard Jenkins, Best Actor

Good movie. Slow at first, but it picked up. Richard was good, but not as good as everybody else in the movie, especially the lady who plays his love interest. She was super. Whatever. Richard Jenkins will be lucky if he comes home with an Oscar gift bag, let alone an Oscar.

Tropic Thunder
Robert Downey Jr., Best Supporting Actor

So funny. So inappropriate. There's no way he's going to win, but I think Robert Downey Jr. is a BRILLIANT actor. I hope his drug issues are behind him, because he's just so darned talented.

Dark Knight
Heath Ledger, Best Supporting Actor

He's got it in the bag, and he deserves it.

OK. That's all I got. Here are my official Oscar winner predictions:

Best Actor: Mickey Rourke
Best Supporting Actor: Heath Ledger
Best Actress: Kate Winslet (but it should be Angelina!)
Best Supporting Actress: This one is hard. I'm going with who it should be: Penelope.
Best Picture: Slumdog, baby!

OK! Stay tuned for my post-show recap!

Reunited And It Feels SOOOOO GOOD!

2009-02-19T19:53:00.000-08:00

There are simply no words to adequately express the joy in my heart right now. Welcome home, Kid. I don't know who I gotta sleep with to get tickets to opening day, but I promise I will see you there.

O Holy Night

2009-02-05T22:26:00.001-08:00

Sorry, Christmas. I'm talkin' about the 81st Academy Awards, otherwise known as "Oscar Night." It is only a few days away (February 22nd), and I know you have all been waiting on pins and needles for my movie reviews. Research has been exhausting. I am trying to see as many Oscar-nominated films as possible before the big night. I'm very behind schedule this year, so I'm afraid I won't be as prepared as I'd like for the annual betting pool. Nevertheless, here are my findings thus far:

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Nominations:
Taraji P. Henderson, Best Supporting Actress
Brad Pitt, Best Actor
Best Picture
Other categories that nobody cares about, like Costume and Film Editing

Taraji was great, sure. I'm glad she got a nomination. I thought she was better in Hustle and Flow, but whatever. Brad Pitt was good, but Best Actor good? I didn't think so. I wouldn't bet on either of these folks walking away with anything on Oscar Night.

I thought the movie itself was pretty ridiculous. If you took 100 people, locked them in separate rooms and asked them to write the script for a movie about a guy who ages in reverse, they would all emerge with the same damn script. I thought it was predictable and pointless. Of course there's going to be some scene where Benjamin has his first sexual encounter and everybody's all shocked because to them, he looks like an 80 year old virgin. Of course he's going to fall in love and be forced to walk away from it. Yawn.

Cate Blanchett is an amazing actress. Definitely in my Top 10. But I've been disappointed with her choices lately. Indiana Jones? And now this crap? Homegirl needs to start stepping up her game and choosing roles that are worthy of her talent.

Doubt
Philip Seymour Hoffman, Best Supporting Actor
Meryl Streep, Best Actress
Amy Adams, Best Supporting Actress
Viola Davis, Best Supporting Actress

This film was lame. I can't believe I'm about to say this, heaven forgive me, but I think it was overacted just a touch. I am willing to go down on record as saying that I think Philip Seymour Hoffman and Meryl Streep are two of the best in the business, but this movie was not their finest work. And I wanted to throttle Amy Adams the whole way through. Viola Davis, on the other hand, was brilliant and I can't wait to see what she does next. And oh, my gosh, wasn't she gorgeous at the SAG Awards?

Milk
Sean Penn, Best Actor
Josh Brolin, Best Supporting Actor
Best Picture
Costume, Directing, etc., etc.

So good! Sean Penn was amazing. Josh Brolin was amazing. James Franco was hot and amazing. It was a very moving story, and I thought it was beautifully told. The interweaving of actual footage of the time with the action of the movie was masterfully done. And the cinematography! There was this one scene where Sean Penn is having a conversation with a cop, but you see the actors reflected in a whistle dripping with the blood of a man who had just been beaten to death (the gay people in the neighborhood would use whistles to alert each other when the police were raiding stores, beating up homosexuals, etc.) The scene kind of frames the police officer's reflection in the whistle, and you ask yourself, whose whistle is it, the victim's or the officer's? Is it a symbol of the blood the police have on their hands? It was brilliant.

Sean Penn is a genius. He just might add Oscar #2 to his collection this year.

Frost/Nixon
Frank Langella, Best Actor
Best Picture
Ron Howard, Best Director

Or the Oscar could go to Frank Langella, who would TOTALLY DESERVE IT. I was mesmerized by him. He was incredible. Flawless, even. In fact, I can't think of anything I didn't like about this movie. It was so great, and if I didn't have such strong feelings about Slumdog Millionaire, I would be happy to see it take it all come Oscar Night. I totally loved it. Such an interesting story and so timely and so relevant to many of the nation's current feelings about George Dubya. On paper, this movie looks like it would be a total snoozer, but in reality it was actually suspenseful. Again, I loved it, loved it, loved it.

Vicky Cristina Barcelona
Penelope Cruz, Best Supporting Actress

I usually can't stand Woody Allen. I don't really get him or his style. But I liked this film, and I LOVED Penelope Cruz. I just like her more and more every time I see her. She was so good in Volver. I don't think she stands much of a chance on Oscar Night, but I hope I'm wrong. She is my favorite pick out of all of the nominees for Best Supporting Actress. She plays crazy really well. But it's a controlled, understandable, and normal kind of crazy, which I think is difficult to do. She is definitely one of my new favorite actresses.

Okay, I'm going to go ahead and post this. Stay tuned for more movie reviews and my official Oscar Night predictions! (Can you feel the excitement?)

Shaken and Stirred

2009-01-15T01:00:00.000-08:00

I'm on a major James Bond kick, yo. I don't know where this is coming from, but I just can't seem to get enough of that martini-swilling, Aston Martin-driving, STD-carrying rapscallion. I just saw Quantum of Solace yesterday. The movie itself was no Casino Royale, suffering from a disappointing lack of dripping-wet beach scenes:

Hey, there, Dr. No-discernible-body-fat! But the verdict is in: Daniel Craig is the best James Bond ever. I only have one criterion: Who looks the hottest in a tuxedo? Clearly the swimsuit competition was anything but:

In his defense, that was probably a very sexy look back in his day.

So all that remains is the evening gown competition. Let's start with Mr. Connery, the first Bond, the man who set the standard:

I don't know, I'm just not feelin' it.

Then we have George Lazenby, who barely counts 'cause he only did one movie:

Still, not a contender.

Roger Moore, perhaps?

Does he even know how to shoot that gun? Do any of them so far? On to Timothy Dalton:

Are you kidding me? Is this guy James Bond or an Olympic figure skater? He is looking very Elvis Stojko to me, only less manly:

Next, Pierce Brosnan, who looks like he is holding a hair dryer rather than a gun:

HOLD THE PHONE! WE HAVE A WINNER:

I'm sorry, but this guy wears the S*** out of a tuxedo. (Mr. Craig's is by American designer Tom Ford. Suck it, Armani!) His tuxedo can be in a total state of dishevelment, and he still out-tuxedos those other punks by a MILE.

Oh, and he's a pretty good actor, too. But who cares?

I'd Like To Thank...

2009-01-04T23:23:00.000-08:00

Each and every one of my wonderful friends for being so good to me this last week. Bekah, thank you for flying out here to be with me, thank you Scott for trying to, thank you Rebecca for driving up and taking care of me, thank you to all of my BYU roommates for sending the most enormous bouquet of roses ever. It looked like somebody in our house had just won the Triple Crown. So gorgeous. And thank you to all of you who sent messages of love and support. I am so touched by the things you said, and I feel so very loved. Thank you.

It was a lovely service. Her brother George gave the eulogy, my nephew Sam accompanied my niece Sydney on my mom's guitar (a 1932 Gibson, now mine. Will start guitar lessons soon.), and all of us kids gave a little talk on different aspects of the gospel that my mom taught us. I think it went very well. Lots of tears, but also a lot of laughter, which you would expect at a service for "Looney Eunie," as she called herself.

Since my dad was a Navy veteran, she was buried in Tahoma National Cemetery, which is totally beautiful. Check it out:

That's Mt. Rainier in the background. My mom LOVED Mt. Rainier.

As you approach the cemetery, there is this street sign:

That sign just became a whole lot truer this week.

Anyway, I wanted to say thank you for all of your expressions of love and sympathy. I have the best friends a girl could ever hope for, and you have all been such a comfort to me. Dad and I are doing well. It is strange to not have her around anymore, but the memories are so thick around this place that I swear I can still hear her trying to guess the answers to Wheel of Fortune puzzles and warning me about the dangers of nose picking, her two favorite activities.

Once again: Thank you.

Mother of Mine

2008-12-25T08:38:00.000-08:00

At noon on Christmas day, my mother passed peacefully away to be met by what must surely have been the largest wecoming committee heaven has ever seen. Here are some photos from the life of Lila Eunice Johansen, the greatest mother of all time.

Teddy

My mom lived on a farm as a child. They had several horses, and here she is on one named Teddy. She later had her own horse, Diablo, who apparently lived up to his name. She loved that horse, though, and talked about him constantly. I hope he is running around up there somewhere. She was counting on it.

Class of 1950

My mom liked to brag that she was the valedictorian of her graduating class. She usually left out the part about there being only six people in said class.

Cheerleading

My mom is from a tiny town in Eastern Washington called Nespelem, which lies within the Colville Indian Reservation. She and her best friend, Mary Katherine, were the only two cheerleaders at Nespelem High School, home of the "Savages." What can I say? It was the Fifties. Today, they are the Nespelem Eagles. Those dresses are real buckskin, by the way. Comfy!

December 9, 1951

My mother was in nursing school when she met a smokin' hot sailor named Rex Johansen. She dropped out of school and married him, which infuriated my grandmother. She wanted my mom to finish school and become a nurse, and this hot shot comes along and screws everything up. She refused to go to their wedding, and she hated my dad for years. All was forgiven when they named my sister Lee Ann after her.

Whidbey Island, WA

Soon after my parents got married, my father was transferred to the Naval base on Whidbey Island. While there, my dad became active again in the LDS church, and my mother, originally a Methodist, was baptized. Here they are with their first born, Michael, and Lee Ann on the way. They had just been sealed in the Idaho Falls Temple a few months before.

Haircuts to Remember

Whidbey Revisited

This was taken about 10 years ago during one of our little weekend jaunts back to Whidbey. My parents loved living on Whidbey Island. My father has some of the greatest stories about the time they spent there. Like how when he was in the Navy, there was one church building that was shared between all of the different religious groups on base. One Sunday, a couple of the primary kids found the communion wine from the Catholic service, and came home from church totally lit. Hilarious.

Singing Time

This is one of my favorite pictures. I love the big chubby ass sitting next to my niece's little tiny one. So cute. My mom only had three or four songs that she could plunk out on the piano, but she'd perform them every day in exactly the same order. One of them was Glenn Miller's "In the Mood." Another one was Perry Como's "'Til the End of Time," also known as Chopin's Polonaise in A flat major.

September 1995

This was taken the day I took out my endowments at the Seattle Temple. I love this picture of my mom and dad. My dad never smiles in pictures, so this is a rare treat.

Still Crazy After All These Years

Fifty-seven of them. They were such an odd couple. It's like Mrs. Claus and Ebeneezer Scrooge got married and actually made it work. Amazing.

Thanks for being my mom, mom. I love you.

Urgent

2008-12-14T19:34:00.000-08:00

The following people need to send their mailing addresses to johansen_randi@yahoo.com.

Bowman
Tamlynn
Sarah and Scott
Kam and Brian
Mikey and Marisa
Missi Bunker
Oliver and Kristin
Bekah and Greg

Much obliged.

Mashed Potatoes, Gravy, And Cranberry Sauce...Woo-hoo-oo--oo

2008-12-10T01:08:00.000-08:00

Ten points if you can name the reference.

Freaking Thanksgiving. What a nightmare. When I said I wanted to make pies for a living, why didn't anyone try to stop me? Where were all of you when I needed you most? Why wasn't anyone there saying, "Randi. Two words. Thanks. Giving."

We started prepping for T-Day in early October. We roasted and pureed butternut squash a little at a time. We chopped, vacuum sealed, and froze apples box by box. We started forming pie shells a week before the big day. No bakery was better prepared than we were. Still, the memory of it all sends an icy chill down my spine.

Here are some shots from the belly of the beast:

Our prep board:

Head pastry chef beurre mixing the pumpkin pie filling to ensure maximum silkiness:

Pumpkin pie filling awaiting its destiny:

Sauteeing apples for pies:

Our cute little intern who we worked like a plow horse:

Pumpkin:

Apple:

At my family's Thanksgiving dinner, I was in charge of making prime rib and rolls. My sister seems to think this is a family tradition now. Somebody made prime rib last year and now it's apparently a family classic. Whatever. I was terrified to do it, since meat is not my forte. I was especially terrified on Thanksgiving morning when I realized that I had left my thermometer at work, and therefore had no way of knowing when the roast would be done. I must be some kind of meat whisperer, though, because when I sliced into her, she looked like this:

Turns out, the term "prime rib" is a bit misleading. "Prime" is an adjective meant to describe the best section of rib meat, ribs 6 through 12. It gets confusing because the USDA system of grading meat starts with Prime, then Choice, Select, barely edible, inedible, cafeteria sloppy joe meat, and lastly, dog food. True USDA Prime is difficult to find, and it's usually only sold to restaurants and hotels. So the fact of the matter is we had a Choice prime rib, not a Prime prime rib. Whatever. It still cost a fortune. But it was good.

I'd also like to give thanks for my cute new shoes:

The end.

Recently Overheard Conversation

2008-12-10T00:49:00.000-08:00

Setting: Game night at Carrie's House. Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" playing in the background.

Kiki: This song needs to be changed.
Carrie: To the national anthem. I know!

What's Hot And What's Not

2008-12-03T00:00:00.000-08:00

I don't really have anything to blog about, but I feel like I owe it to my loyal readers to come up with something. So here, you ravenous dogs! Have some scraps!

Most of you know I'm a total shopaholic. Since I'm too fat to really enjoy clothes shopping (yeah, who was I kidding about that 5 a.m. trip to the gym? It's never going to happen.) I spend my hard earned cash on movies and cds. Here are some of my latest purchases:

John Legend, Evolver

Review: Really good. Not as good as his first album, but better than his second. I'm digging "Everybody Knows." I just think his voice is so smooth and buttery. And you know how I feel about butter.

Jay-Z, American Gangster

I don't know if you people have hopped on the Jay-Z bandwagon, but you really should. The track is "Roc Boys" and you need to make it your ringtone. In the words of the man himself: "When you're used to filet mignon, it's kinda hard to go back to Hamburger Helper. It's your choice, though, baby..."

Jennifer Hudson, Jennifer Hudson

It's OK. I am totally feeling the song "Spotlight," but that's about it. There's even a duet with Fantasia of American Idol fame which should rock, but they're basically trying to out-scream each other. I'm starting to think that it's not a good idea to put two divas together. It always happens. Whitney and Mariah. Celine and Barbra. (Babs was in waaaay over her head on that one.)

Speaking of...

Barbra Streisand, The Essential Barbra Streisand

A three-disc collection. Lots of garbage, but there are some gems, too. She does a great "Cry Me a River." Oh well. It was only $9.

Clay Aiken, On My Way Here

I am a total Claymate. Love him. Love his voice. Think he's great. And this is his greatest album yet. Oh, sure, there are some songs that are seriously sharp cheddar cheesy, but most of it is KICK ASS. Listen to "Sacrificial Love" and tell me you aren't a believer.

Beyonce, I Am...Sasha Fierce

This is...total crap. Here's the thing: it's a 2-disc album with 5 tracks on one disc and 6 on the other. How obnoxious is that? Apparently there's a deluxe version that has 8 tracks on both discs, which is even MORE obnoxious. I didn't know that when I bought the shorter version. Why don't you give me all 16 tracks on ONE CD, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD? I have always loved Beyonce, but she is really walking on thin ice with me these days. I'm warning you, Beyonce!

Coldplay, Viva La Vida

Kick ass! Only ten tracks, though, and the first one is 1 min, 44 seconds and almost totally instrumental except for some "whoa-ohs." I feel a little ripped-off.

As for what I'm watching:

Little Britain

I discovered this one while I was in London, and thought it was hilarious. Fast forward three years: I'm searching through the "View Instantly" section on the Netflix website and there it was! You can watch the first two seasons on your PC. I highly recommend you do. It's a sketch-comedy show created by Matt Lucas and my new soul mate, David Walliams. David's on the right:

Here's a little taste:

Warning! This one isn't for the kids.

O.B.S.P.M.

2008-11-19T17:06:00.000-08:00

Today is the day I begin my new healthy lifestyle, everyone. That's right. Today I look like this:

And exactly one year from now, I will look like this:

Actually, I misspoke. Tomorrow is Day 1 of Operation Britney Spears, Pre-Meltdown. Tonight we're having what Carrie likes to call "The Last Supper," meaning pizza from "The Murf" (Papa Murphy's), D.P. (Dr. Pepper), and brownie sundaes. It's our own little Mardi Gras. Or in this case, Mercredi Gras. Tomorrow it is all discipline and misery, starting with a 5 a.m. trip to the gym. Heaven help me.

Boston Reunion 2008: Part Three (People and Places)

2008-11-02T09:24:00.000-08:00

I've been dragging this out way too long. Here are the final pictures of my Boston vacation, I promise.

The first day was filled with stops along Boston's historic Freedom Trail. First up, Boston Common and the 23K gold capped (no joke) State House, completed in 1798.

Boston Common is America's oldest public park. It has also been used as grazing ground for cattle, a British army camp, and a venue for public executions of pirates and witches. Today, it is home to the fabulous Frog Pond, a large, ankle-deep wading pool (or an ice skating rink in the winter) in the middle of the busy city.

Next to Boston Common is the Public Garden, America's first public botanical garden. Totally gorgeous, and one of my favorite places in the city. In the garden is this famous equestrian statue of George Washington, who showed up in Boston right after the Battle of Bunker Hill, took control of the Continental Army, and kicked some Redcoat ass.

Here is another of my favorite places in Boston. On the left is Trinity Church, and on the right, the John Hancock Tower, designed by the god of all things architechtural, I.M. Pei. I love the way the old church reflects in the sleek and shiny skyscraper. Boston is such a strange city. You'll see modern buildings such as this right next to a 17th century cemetery. All of those dead people are taking up some really prime real estate, but you can't dig 'em up because those dead people just happen to be Paul Revere and John Hancock himself. Crazy.

Here is a cute shot of two of the best daddies I have ever met giving their daughters a lift from Bunker Hill (actually Breed's Hill. My 10th grade U.S. History class was full of LIES!) to the U.S.S. Constitution.

And here she is, Old Ironsides. Launched in 1797, she is the oldest commissioned warship afloat in the world.

And here are the hot sailors who are stationed on her.

Scott took some tea (English Breakfast. How fitting, right?) from the hotel that morning so that he and Brielle could reenact that fateful night in 1773 when angry colonists dumped hundreds of crates of tea into Boston Harbor. How much you want to bet we are the first tourists ever to attempt this?

After a quick diaper change...

...it is on to Faneuil Hall (pronounced FAN-you-ill), where people like Samuel Adams got together with other disgruntled colonists to plot against the Brits.

Oh, look! It's the Old North Church, where some dude lit two lanterns to alert Paul Revere and others that the British were coming by sea.

Scott is standing on a circle of bricks that marks the spot where the Boston Massacre took place. Really Boston, this was just pathetic. There wasn't even a plaque anywhere letting us know what the stupid circle was about. I expect this situation to be rectified before my next visit.

A few days later, Timmy Tim Tim, Scooter Pie, and I headed down to New York City to catch a Red Sox/Yankees game in the House That Ruth Built.

I know I'm supposed to be in awe because it's Yankee Stadium and all, but this place is a DUMP. Sure, it's all historic and what not, but check out how freaking gloomy these passageways are:

Go ahead, tear the place down. Next time, try something a little more like this:

I'm sorry, but Safeco is the most beautiful damn ballpark in creation. Anyway, back to business. Here we are, along with Scott's friend Digby, a Yankees fan. (He seemed like such a nice guy, too.) I can't tell you how much I was looking forward to this day. I mean, a Red Sox/Yankees game in baseball's most hallowed hall, road trippin' down to New York with other women's husbands... Unfortunately, it was like surface-of-the-sun hot that day, and like a dumb ass, I wore jeans. And I got a sunburn on my bottom lip that blistered and didn't heal for 3 weeks. When will I ever stop being stupid?

Scott, dealing with the grief that naturally results from watching the Red Sox lose to the Yankees. Damn you, Jason Giambi! Has anyone checked that dude for 'roids lately?

Next stop: 13 Ronaele Road, where I spent two of the best years of my life (no offense, Bolivia) with Alicia, Kamber, Becky, and Melena. Isn't it the cutest little New England house? I wish we had been there in October. That tree out front turns the most gorgeous shade of yellow.

And we're back to baseball! Seriously, there was a lot of baseball this trip. I also went to a traveling baseball exhibit from Cooperstown at the Boston Museum of Science. I saw the Babe's bat, the jersey Hank Aaron was wearing when he hit #715, the most valuable baseball card out there (the Honus Wagner), Schilling's bloody sock, and lots of other cool crap. I went with my dear friends, John and Rachel, but I don't have any good pictures of them to post. Rach and John, if you're out there, I'm sorry about that. Next time I promise to fill my memory card with you and only you.

Man, I love this place:

Ken Griffey Jr. had just been traded to the White Sox like, 15 minutes prior to game time, so I got to see The Kid play for the first time in about 10 years. Totally awesome. (Hey, Griffey! I hear you're a free agent now. Come back to us! No one will ever love you like Seattle loves you.)

Then we headed down to The Cape and went swimming in some very frigid waters. The kids didn't seem to care much.

Then we checked out Provincetown, where the Pilgrims really landed. (My high school U.S. History teacher has some serious explaining to do...)

Let's see...what else? We rode the T:

We swam in Walden Pond:

We went to a Boston Pops baseball-themed concert on the Esplanade, where the 2004 and 2007 World Series trophies were displayed:

We went to the Boston Children's Museum, where Scott was groped by Arthur's mom:

We found out that the Turley-Benson family is just as wacky as we remembered:

We found out that Tim plays a mean game of Catan:

And that's about it. Thanks for an amazing vacation, everyone! Let's keep in touch more, OK?

Men I'm Strangely Attracted To

2008-10-22T23:19:00.000-07:00

Terry Francona, Red Sox manager, preferably sans chewing tobacco.

Anderson Cooper, CNN news anchor, 360 degrees of tasty, possibly gay.

Michael Kors, fashion designer, definitely gay, so funny he's hot.

Cesar Millan, Dog Whisperer, makes me feel all "calm submissive"-like.

Boston Reunion 2008 (Part Two: The Kids)

2008-10-16T22:58:00.000-07:00

Been holding on to this post for a while. Gotta finish my vacation re-cap before the holidays hit and I enter pumpkin hell.

Being a dusty and barren old spinster, I don't get to do many posts about cute kids. However, during vacation I was up to my saddlebags in the adorable little dumplings. At one point, there were six kids under the age of 2 1/2. It made for some interesting restaurant experiences, that's for sure. Everyone has made a big deal about how well I coped with so much youth and vitality, but it really was a lot of fun. I'm Mormon. I know what kids are about. And when they flipped out, I just simply handed them off to their parents. Someday I'll probably have quadruplets and then I'll get mine. Until then, it's all fun and no responsibility.

The first little tykes that I encountered in Boston were Ava and Brielle Buchanan.

Ava

Adorable!

Ava, enjoying her first cannoli from Mike's Pastry:

Brielle

Brielle reminds me so much of her mom, Alicia, in this video. You can tell that proper hair care is a top priority in the Buchanan household.

Brielle showing the other Mormons at Mormon Night at Fenway the appropriate way to behave at a baseball game. Watch the damn game, you losers! There's plenty of time to socialize during Sunday School! Show some respect!

Brielle taking over command of the U.S.S. Constitution

And then came the Bishop children!

Samantha

Sorry, Sammie. I couldn't resist:

And these are some of my favorite shots of my vacation. It was NOT the perfect day for swimming off the shores of Cape Cod, but that's not going to stop Samantha Bishop! Here she is, adjusting to the frigid waters:

Spencer

I'm sorry, but Kamber, YOU MAKE THIS FACE ALL THE TIME! Alicia, are you with me on this? This first picture here is all you, girl:

Then Claire Boyle arrived on the scene:

Claire

Here's super-cute Claire hanging out in her "backpack! backpack!" (as she called it) as we take a ride on the swan boats in the Public Garden. (Coincidentally, my first time on the swan boats. What is up with that?)

Thank you so much, Scott and Sarah, for driving all that way just for little old me. I hope the Zuni Roll made it worth your while.

After one week in Yankee territory (and by Yankees, I don't mean baseball) the South rose again. Jeni Hendrix Ennis came up from Alabama with her daughter:

Sara Katherine

Best picture EVER:

Come on! Isn't she killing you with that face? Those squishy arms? I absolutely loved this girl.

Sara Katherine texting her dad.

S.K. has a thing for apple juice, pronounced "-uice." We heard that word a lot on vacation. That, and "dog dog."

Next stop, the Tim and Becky Wilson residence, home of:

Caroline

Caroline doesn't appear to be too thrilled about being stuck in the back seat with me:

"Isn't there somewhere else you can sit?"

"Can you at least get yo' camera up outta my business?"

Speaking of squishy, Caroline definitely holds her own in that department. Totally irresistible. Too bad we missed baby Amelia Wilson by a few short weeks. Next time!

But we DID make it there just in time for Mikey and Marisa's baby:

Jonah

What an angel, right? So beautiful. He has two of the funniest, zaniest, greatest parents a kid could ask for. I can't wait to see how their personalities will manifest themselves in Jonah. He's got it made in the parent department, that's for sure. (Sorry, Shiloh Jolie-Pitt.)

I can't wait for the next vacation! Keep those cute kids a comin'!

Eunice Update

2008-10-01T19:55:00.000-07:00

First and foremost, thank you so much to all of you for the love, prayers, and fasts on my mom's behalf. You can't begin to understand how much it means to me.

Things came to a head Sunday night. Mom came out for breakfast that morning, but when she caught a glimpse of Rex, she made some excuse to go back into her bedroom. She locked herself in the room, and then locked herself in the bathroom, where she stayed from about 9am to 7pm. Usually she admits me or one of my sisters to her little lock-down, but that day she didn't want any visitors. She refused to eat any of the food we brought her, and screamed at us to go away. My family talked it over and decided to call 911. She was admitted to the hospital against her will, which meant that some King County Mental Health dude had to come evaluate the situation, OK the hospitalization, take my official statement, and then read my mom her Miranda rights. That's right, you heard me. As in "You have the right to remain silent..." She would be held for a 72-hour period, after which time we were to appear in court to see if a judge would allow her to be held longer. So bright and early this morning I got ready to go testify against my own mother in court. Luckily, she agreed to sign some paper giving her consent to remain in the hospital for an additional 7 days, which is what the hospital psychiatrist recommended. So...my poor little mom is currently in the gero-psych ward at some hospital in Seattle. The psychiatrist has taken her off some of her medications which he thought were unnecessary, and added one: a medicine originally designed to treat schizophrenia, but shown to be beneficial in patients with dementia. I feel good about it. I know that dementia is a progressive disease. I know that medicine can only do so much, but hopefully it will take away some of her anxiety and let her have a more peaceful life. And even after all she has been through, there are moments when she is still Eunice. Like this morning when she said, "I don't know why they've got me in this place. I can walk, I can talk...whatever I have, it ain't nothin' a little whisky couldn't fix."

That's my mom for you.

On A Serious Note...

2008-09-20T23:13:00.000-07:00

Hi, friends. I usually try to keep this blog light and fluffy, but today life just won't permit it. Those of you who have had the pleasure of meeting my parents, Rex and Eunice, know what wonderful people they are. My mom has had memory issues for years now, and she has always made little jokes about her diminishing "gray matter." We always chuckled about it. Didn't think much of it. Memory loss is just a natural part of aging, right? This last year she has gotten much worse, and has gotten worse quickly. We don't have an official diagnosis from the doctor, but all signs point to Alzheimer's. Starting this past week, she has been terrified to be with Rex. She locks herself in their bedroom, locks him out of the house when he goes to get the mail, and recently locked herself into a Taco Time bathroom, refusing to come out. You can imagine the scene. Whenever I leave the house, she begs to come with me, to not leave her alone with "that man." That man is my amazing dad, who since her knee replacement surgery last summer, has taken on the role of June Cleaver around these parts. He does the cooking, the laundry, cleans the house, makes sure she is taking her meds, lifts her up from chairs, and on and on. It is heartbreaking to see her so afraid of the man who loves her more than any husband could possibly love a wife, who would never hurt her, and who has sacrificed his own health to care for hers.

Today my sister Lee Ann and I drove around town to find a care facility for my mom. Now I love to shop, but this is one shopping trip that I prayed I would never have to make. We found a really nice home specifically for patients with Alzheimer's less than a mile from our house, but of course it doesn't accept Medicare and costs around $3500 a month. Is the only other option to sell their house and put her in a nursing home? Surely there is a way that he can continue to live at home and pay for her care at the same time. We have started to look into the reverse mortgage option, but it seems like such a scam to me. I know we should have planned for this better. We should have been researching all of this a long time ago. But procrastination is the Johansen Family way, and here we are.

Could you please pray for my mom? Pray that doors will be opened for us, that we can be led to people who will have answers and solutions that will work for our family? I would be so grateful. And if any of you have been faced with similar situations, what did you do? I want to find the best possible care for this sweet, tender-hearted, unselfish, perfect mother who taught me how to ride a bike, write my name, bake a pie, tie a square knot, pray to my Heavenly Father, and serve others.

Boston Reunion 2008 (Part One: The Food)

2008-09-14T00:50:00.000-07:00

So last week I returned from my much-anticipated trip to Boston. The old gang came from the four corners of the earth for a Boston Friends Reunion, and I can't find the words to express how excited I was to see everyone again. That being said, there was another reunion that I was looking forward to almost as much. Strike that. Reverse it. This one was WAAAAY more satisfying--my Boston Food Reunion.

Here are a few moments from this frequently emotional reconnection:

It started off on day one with a trip to Parrish Cafe, 361 Boylston Street, for the best sandwich on earth: The Zuni Roll. "Smoked turkey breast, crisp bacon, chopped scallions, dill havarti cheese, and cranberry-chipotle sauce wrapped in a flour tortilla." Behold! The Zuni Roll:

It may not look like much on film, but DAMN! That's a good sandwich.

Then it was on to 112 Salem Street to eat at La Famiglia Giorgio, my favorite restaurant in the North End. Here in Seattle, I often reminisce with Carrie, Shanon, and Sara (who lived in Boston for a while) about La Famiglia. Whenever we go out for Italian food, Shanon always orders chicken parm, somebody else will get gnocchi, and then afterwards we are all bummed that it wasn't as good as La Famiglia. So just to make sure that my memory was still in tact and that my passion was justified, I ordered the gnocchi. Sigh. Even better than I remembered.

And what trip to the North End doesn't end at 300 Hanover Street, otherwise known as Mike's Pastry? Local Bostonians hate this place, but they can all kiss my ass because it's awesome! Oh sure, their cakes are totally made from a mix, and their pastry cream is essentially Jello instant pudding, but there is a reason that the Freedom Trail passes directly in front of Mike's door. I suspect that part of that reason is mob-related. There's a picture on the wall of the owners with President Clinton at a White House dinner. How often do bakery owners get invited to the White House? Plus, just look around. Lotsa dudes with pinky rings. I'm just sayin...

Another thing I'm just sayin' is that I can't get enough of their cannoli:

In fact, I went back the next day for cannoli #2:

And here's another North End institution: Pizzeria Regina at 11 Thacher Street.

Then it was off to the Red Sox/Yankees game at Yankee Stadium. I will totally dump on Yankee Stadium in an upcoming post, but for right now I'll just dump on the food. I started the day with a Nathan's Jumbo Hot Dog:

I'm sorry, but back here at Safeco Field, that is what's known as a "Minor League Dog." Nice try, Nathan, but you're about 3 inches short of "Jumbo."

Scott got us some very sketchy chili cheese nachos:

The "cheez" was ICE COLD, by the way. Not lukewarm. Not even cool. ICE COLD. Through sheer grit and determination, we managed to eat every last nacho. Tim was horrified, but dang! Those nasty nachos weren't cheap! At least you can't mess up a classic:

Then it was on to 307 Somerville Avenue, home of Machu Picchu, one of our favorite restaurants. It's a little Peruvian joint in our old 'hood. The specialidad de la casa is a little dish called lomo saltado:

Meat and potatoes have never tasted so good. Seriously, people, this dish alone is worth a trip to Boston. We were happy to see that our little restaurante Machu Picchu had been so successful, they opened another location almost directly across the street. I don't know how smart that was. Now they're competing with themselves. But hey--maybe they're THAT busy. I wish them the best of luck.

Next up: 4 Yawkey Way. Fenway Park, that is! Home of the Fenway Frank:

Not the best picture, and let's be honest, it's a freaking hot dog. But when you're sitting in the cutest damn ballpark in the U.S., it is magically transformed into the best hot dog you've ever had. And those weird New England-style buns. I don't understand them, but I just know they're something special.

And who can forget The Brown Sugar Cafe, at 1033 Commonwealth Avenue? I always order the same thing here. Sometimes I think I should try something else on the menu, but all roads seem to lead me back to Mango Curry:

And then ginger (or coconut) ice cream with sweet sticky rice:

You don't even KNOW how good that last dessert is.

Then we went to The Cape and had some clam chowder, de rigueur.

Another must-eat: the lobster roll.

I wasn't too hungry the night I ordered the lobster roll. I actually shared it with everybody at the table. Looking back on it now, what an idiot I was! I should have soldiered up and stuffed that thing down my freaking throat because when am I going to eat another lobster roll? It was a really good one, too. Tons of meat, perfectly seasoned...yeah. Big mistake.

Part of the reason I couldn't finish the lobster roll is because I had consumed a large Dunkin' Donuts hot chocolate just a few minutes before:

I can't say I entirely regret the hot chocolate, though. It's my fave. I had about 30 of them during my two week vacation. I didn't care that it was August. I went online to see if I could find a Dunkin' Donuts in Seattle. Search results: I ain't gonna be dunkin' no donuts anytime soon.

OK, now we're to the part that really gets me choked up. After a perfect day of swimming in Walden Pond, we went to Kimball Farms, 343 Bedford Road, and had a little bit of ice cream:

Guess how much that ice cream cost? Like, three bucks. That's why when I go to Cold Stone and I have to pay $5 for a tiny litte scoop of ice cream with oreos in it, I kind of lose my mind for a second. The poor 16 year-old kid working the counter. I'm practically screaming, "Five dollars? FIVE DOLLARS? Why, I know this little place near Concord, Mass that would give me TEN TIMES this much ice cream for HALF as much money!" The kid is like, "Lady, one more time. That'll be five bucks." But it's an OUTRAGE! AREN'T YOU OUTRAGED??? ANYONE?

Needless to say, I ate a lot while I was in Boston. I needed another week to eat everything I wanted to eat. Some people worry about having enough time to do what they want to do. I worry about having enough time to eat what I want to eat. Mr. Bartley's in Harvard Square...The Elephant Walk...Anna's Taqueria...

But now it's over, and it's time to sew those busted buttons back on.

Anyway, it was a wonderful trip. Stay tuned for another post about other things that made it so wonderful.

Can't Believe It's Taken Me This Long To Blog About This...

2008-08-24T08:55:00.000-07:00

I remember one particular trip to the grocery store back in my college days. For some reason unknown to me still, I purchased a tub of "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter." Maybe because it was cheaper? Who knows. Anyway, when I got home, I was looking over the receipt and I noticed that the fake butter product rang up as "Not Butter...$1.79." I thought that was hilarious. "I don't know what cost me $1.79 at the grocery store, but I know it wasn't butter!" Years later, I realize that the cash register was trying to send me a message. "Hey! Stupid college student! Call mommy and daddy and ask them to send you $3 so you can purchase some real freaking butter, because that crap you just bought is vile."

I love butter. One of my friends (can she even be called that anymore?) just confessed that she prefers margarine to butter. I refuse to accept this. I keep telling myself that I heard her incorrectly, because I can't even begin to fathom a world in which butter takes a back seat to margarine. Margarine is a butter substitute, and we all know how we feel about substitutes. You don't even show up to class when there's a substitute. Substitutes get spitballs thrown at them.

I mean, come on! Do I have to make a list? Honey butter, herb butter, butter pecan, butter rum, butterscotch, buttercream, butter cookies. "Hey, kids! Who wants a margarine cookie?" Answer: Nobody. Because that's disgusting.

Other substances wish they were butter. Cocoa butter. Shea butter. Peanut butter. Butterball turkeys. Butternut squash. Butter lettuce. Butter beans. Those last few really get me hot under the collar. Freakin' vegetables.

And butter is so cool, it's even got its own knife. What other spread can say that?

Our pioneer forebearers churned cream for hours to get butter. Why? Because it's freaking WORTH IT, that's why. If the end result were margarine, they would have been like, "Screw this. I'm going to go plow a field."

So bring it on! Bring on the 7 grams of saturated fat per serving! Bring on the heart disease! I just know I'm going to be in a hospital bed one day, lying next to Paula Deen, both of us waiting for a heart transplant. And you know what? I'm going to give her my place in line, so that she can continue her life's work of raising butter awareness across the land. God bless you, Paula Deen. You are an inspiration to us all.

Carrie And Shanon Seal The Deal

2008-08-20T12:11:00.000-07:00

What a lovely day. It all went down in their backyard, which in my opinion, looked awesome. You can't really see them in the above picture, but there were mason jars with little tea lights hanging from the trees, and white Christmas lights all over the place. It looked so great when the sun went down.

I made the cake:

And the groom's cake:

You might recall that Shanon is a big Boston Red Sox fan.

Once the serious stuff was over, we all hit the dance floor. This one kid got down with his bad self. Check him out:

Shamefully, I left one person out of that post I did about the people I hang out with. It's Carrie's sister, Jen, pictured here with their dad, Chuck(-les):

Jen sang a rockin' rendition of Etta James' "At Last," which is one of my favorite songs of all time. Dang...it probably should have made that list a few posts back...anyway, Jen has some serious pipes. And she is hilarious. You should see Carrie and her together. Now that is a good time. They talk about one day starting their own ice cream company: Jen and Carrie's. (Get it? Hilarious!) Jen loves show tunes, karaoke, Taco Bell, Catan, and flower arranging. She did all of the flowers for Carrie's wedding. She is one talented girl, that's for sure.

I guess I should include a picture of the bride. Here she is with Sara:

Carrie was the worst bride ever. She is the exact opposite of a bridezilla, but no less frustrating. She didn't care about anything. Her mom made her outfit, and the night before the wedding I asked her how her dress looked. She replied, "I don't know, I haven't tried it on." WHAT? ARE YOU KIDDING? What bride hasn't tried on her wedding dress the night before her wedding day? Things like that made me crazy. I just had to keep reminding myself that it was her wedding, and she could watch it all go up in a ball of flame if she wanted to. I guess she knew what she was doing, though, because everything was perfect. The whole thing was planned and carried out in about six weeks. Carrie didn't want a prolonged affair. She said it was better to just do it fast, "like ripping off a band-aid." Her exact words. So romantic.

Congrats you crazy kids!

Astoria

2008-08-10T09:20:00.000-07:00

A very warm welcome to the Brian and Kamber Bishop family, who have left Merrie Olde England and returned to the land of their inheritance, as the scriptures foretold. It's so nice to have you guys in the next time zone. No more 6 a.m. phone calls on my way to work.

Brian and Kamboni, as I like to call her, were on the Oregon Coast vacationing with her side of the family. I drove down from Seattle, picked up Rebecca and her daughter Heather in Portland, then headed over to Astoria for a little pre-Boston reunion.

We met up at the Astoria Column, and the girls got to run around a bit after a long car ride. Here they are rolling across the hill as opposed to down it.

When the frolicking was over, we drove to a local restaurant for lunch: The Pig 'N" Pancake. I'm sorry, if you're driving and you see a restaurant called "The Pig 'N' Pancake," you stop and eat there.

Opened in 1966 by these guys:

Bob and Marianne

...the Pig 'N' Pancake is apparently an Oregon Coast institution. I ordered sausage links, scrambled eggs, and some banana pancakes with orange/pineapple syrup. Review: the "pig" was great. The pancakes were tasty, but the syrup was disgusting. Too runny, not in the least bit syrupy, and very very bitter, as if they had zested that orange rind a little too aggressively. You need to ease the hell up on that zester, Bob and Marianne. Anyway, the girls had fun coloring:

And applying lip gloss:

And mugging for the camera:

I shot a video of Heather putting on the lip gloss, but I can't freaking figure out why it's rotated 90 degrees to the left. Anyway, it went something like this: load, swipe across face, reload, repeat.

Heather was bummed to leave Samantha, and on the car ride home, kept saying "Where's Sammie? I miss her!" In an effort to ease the pain of separation, Bec gave her some more lip product. By the time we made it home, her whole face was glossy:

If lovin' lip gloss is wrong, she don't wanna be right.

So good to see you, Bishop family! Can't wait to party with you in The Bay State!

You're Stranded On A Deserted Island...

2008-07-30T17:37:00.000-07:00

...that miraculously has a CD player and an electrical outlet. You can burn one CD with 20 tracks, and that's it. What songs make the cut? A co-worker and I hashed this out one night. Here's my playlist, in no particular order:

1. Crazy--Patsy Cline
2. Crazy--Gnarls Barkley
3. Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me--Mel Carter
4. Freedom--George Michael
5. Let's Get It On--Marvin Gaye
6. Nothin' Can Change This Love--Sam Cooke
7. Bad Medicine--Bon Jovi
8. Separate Ways--Journey
9. Fast Cars and Freedom--Rascal Flatts
10. Doo Wop (That Thing)--Lauryn Hill
11. Sabotage--Beastie Boys
12. To Love You More--Celine Dion
13. I Have Nothing--Whitney Houston
14. Pour Some Sugar On Me--Def Leppard
15. I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues--Elton John
16. Stranded--Heart
17. PYT--Michael Jackson
18. Oh! Darling--Beatles
19. Shoop--Salt-N-Pepa
20. With A Little Help From My Friends--Joe Cocker

Dang! This is hard! I'm adding 5 tracks:

21. Why Can't This Be Love?--Van Halen
22. Kashmir--Led Zeppelin
23. Come On Over--Xtina Aguilera
24. Everything--Michael Buble
25. My Cherie Amour--Stevie Wonder

Ok, I know that as soon as I post this, I'm going to find another song that should have pushed one of those songs out, but right now I feel good with my list. It was hard to pick just one Celine and one Whitney song. It's like freaking Sophie's Choice up in here. Same with George Michael.

Your turn!

I'll Never Wear Them, But...

2008-07-27T23:22:00.000-07:00

I had to have them. Aren't they HOT?

They're like "prep school nerd" meets "low class hooker," which is precisely the look I'm going for!

I'd have to drop about 20 pounds before I would even think of wearing them, because right now as I am walking around the house in them I am reminded of a joke: "Yo mama so fat, every time she wears high heels she strikes oil."

Someday, though. Someday.

The Dark Knight

2008-07-23T10:10:00.001-07:00

I saw the new Batman flick last night. I thought it was...KICK ASS!

I know there's been a lot of hype surrounding Heath Ledger, and this being his last film and all. Everyone has been saying what an extraordinary performance he gave as The Joker, blah blah. Not that I doubt Heath's talent (Brokeback: Amazing!), but I was worried that perhaps they were laying it on a little thicker than normal because of his passing. Maybe the critics were a little too kind, a little too effusive in their praise. After all, who wants to speak ill of the dead? As it turns out, Heath deserved every word. As Carrie put it: "Heath Ledger was sellin' me some Joker, and I was buyin'." Nobody could have done better. He was perfect.

You gotta feel sorry for Christian Bale, though. Rather than sit back and admire his absolute loveliness as I usually do in his movies, I found myself wishing that his scenes would be over so that I could see what Heath was up to. The under bite, the gravelly voice that he assumed while speaking as Batman...it was distracting, to say the least. I thought he was still really good, but I think I prefer Michael Keaton's Batman. It's true.

And Maggie Gyllenhaal. I was disappointed. I can't put my finger on exactly why, but I wasn't feelin' it. I guess in her defense, movies such as these aren't really known for their interesting, complex female characters. Women are basically just asked to do one thing: scream like you mean it. I didn't feel like she meant it, or anything else she was saying. She seemed only partially committed to her lines, which is a shame because when you're surrounded by actors like Michael Caine, Gary Oldman, Heath, etc. you gotta step up your game. Otherwise it will be easy to pick out the stinky diaper in the nursery, you know what I mean?

Oh, Aaron Eckhart. You are a tasty piece of man flesh. That hair! That jawline! Those teeth! Leave your apostate ways, come back to church, and let's make you and me eternal. Sound good? I'll wait as long as I have to.

My Peeps

2008-07-13T23:02:00.001-07:00

I thought I should do a not-so-quick post about the people I most regularly hang out with. It's fun for me to see my friends from the four corners of this country all post and interact with each other on my blog, even though you've never met. Someday you'll all meet (either at my wedding or at my funeral--let's hope it's the former) and it will be a truly magical gathering. I make reference to these individuals pretty frequently in my blog, so I thought that those of you in far off lands might like to know who they are, what they look like, and what makes them tick. Or maybe you don't give a crap. If so, you can just wait for my next post.

Here's the Northwest chapter of the Friends of Randi Society.

Rebecca

Rebecca has been my best friend since the 9th grade. She is the Jonathan to my David. The Frodo to my Samwise Gamgee. The Kool to my Gang. She lives in Oregon with her husband, Evan, and their three super-cute kids (soon to be four: Baby Anne will be born in October).

(L to R) Heather, Cameron, and Ewan

This last picture illustrates one of Rebecca's most loveable neuroses. She is obsessed with coordination. On Sunday morning, she picks out everyone's outfit for church, which must all be in the same color palette. If she is wearing earth tones, then everybody is wearing earth tones. And thank goodness Heather didn't want to be a fairy or a witch for Halloween, because that would have messed up the Star Wars theme. The kids' names are all Scottish (Anne isn't necessarily Scottish, but it has been in her Scottish family for generations). It probably drives Bec crazy that her own name is Hebrew, and therefore uncoordinated with the rest of the family.

Rebecca studied music at BYU Hawaii, and has the most beautiful voice you've ever heard...or not heard, as the case may be. She loves chocolate, So You Think You Can Dance, scrapbooking, reading, Stephen Sondheim, and talking for hours about both the trivial and the profound. She hates asparagus, scary movies, and Oprah.

CNash

CNash (The C stands for Cari) never lets me take her picture, so I have to resort to shots such as this, taken during a white trash-themed party we had last year. CNash has a degree in cosmetology, which I'm sure comes as no surprise after seeing her artistry in the above photo. Our families have been friends since the 60s, when my family moved to Kent. My siblings were friends with her siblings, and we are doing our part to keep the tradition alive.

My BYU friends will remember her: she came to visit for a week when we lived in B-31 (was it 31? I can't remember.)

Anyway, CNash is a total freak. For example, we went to a hamburger joint for lunch one day, and she ordered a cheeseburger, hold the onions, with an order of onion rings on the side. What the...? She hates raspberries, but loves raspberry jam. She loves bacon, but doesn't like bacon on burgers or sandwiches. She's a freak, right?

She also loves Kenny Chesney, The Rock, Motown music, and Friday Night Lights. CNash and I are also an UNBEATABLE team in Pictionary. We aren't allowed to be partners anymore, ever since the time she and I made it all the way around the board and won the game before anyone else even moved past the starting square. That's a true story.

She really is a beautiful girl. I'll try to scrounge up a nice picture of her...

Carrie

This is the picture that shows up on my phone when Carrie calls. Carrie and I have a relationship that makes a lot of people uncomfortable. We thoroughly enjoy thinking up cruel and horrible things to say to one another. Nothing is off limits. For example, tonight Carrie's sister Jen was talking about the bridal shower she is planning for her, and how great it is going to be.

Jen: "...and we're going to have gourmet dessert..."
Carrie: "Nuh-uh! Red's making it!"

However, our favorite thing to argue about is who sucks more at games (answer: not me). This is a picture of the birthday cake I made for her a couple of years ago:

Carrie teaches college prep-type classes to high school students who will be the first in their families to attend college. Her students worship her, and she is totally devoted to them. She puts in hours and hours of extra work that she never gets paid for. And there is nothing she wouldn't do for her friends. Ugh! It is killing me to write nice things about her and not say something sarcastic. Moving on...

Carrie likes playing, and apparently losing, all manner of board games, watching crappy TV shows like Prison Break, going to Red Robin and always ordering Clucks and Fries, and pretending like she knows anything about anything. She also likes Pepsi, Jay-Z, socialism, and as you all know by now, Celine Dion.

Ok, one more compliment: She plays a pretty mean air guitar. (Don't know why this video is sideways. Sorry.)

But she still sucks at games.

Shanon

Shanon, the poor fool, is Carrie's fiancee. He is probably the nicest guy you'll ever meet, which is so sad considering the harpy he's marrying.

Whatever Shanon loves, he loves passionately. He is obsessed with the Red Sox. He probably sends naked pictures of himself to Jacoby Ellsbury on a daily basis. His dream is to one day open a Red Sox bar in Seattle. He's trying to think of a good name, so if you have any ideas please send them his way. In direct proportion to his love for the Red Sox is his hatred of Derek Jeter, as you can see here:

Shanon also displays some serial killer tendencies. He is one methodical dude. You should see his handwriting. He should have his own font, it's so neat. And check out that tidy little stack of chicken wing bones on the plate in front of him, stripped clean and stacked up like he's playing Jenga or something.

Shanon is also the proud owner of a National Parks Passport, and is obsessed with getting a stamp from every National Park in the country. He has to do a few tester stamps to get the feel of the stamp and how it handles before stamping his actual passport. If the ink were to be unevenly distributed, his day would be shot to hell.

Anal retention aside, Shanon is an absolute winner. The following conversation between Carrie and one of Shanon's co-workers says it best:

Co-worker: (to Carrie) Can I help you with something?
Carrie: No, thanks. I'm just waiting for Shanon.
Co-worker: Yeah, aren't we all...

Sara and Kiki

Sara and Carrie have been best friends since they were little kids. In fact, she, Carrie, and CNash all grew up in the same neighborhood. Thirty years later, they're still whining about who got a bigger scoop of ice cream. Sara, Carrie, and Shanon moved to Boston at roughly the same time I did. After Boston, they moved to Phoenix, where Sara met Kiki. A couple of years later, everybody moved back to Seattle and we've been kickin' it ever since.

Sara is a lawyer, and teaches us all about how to work the system. Kiki is a GM for Old Navy, and always has the greatest stories about how truly horrible the general public can be. I love hanging out with these girls. Sara is so high-brow and proper, yet a total freak at the same time. Kiki pretends to be all tough and street, but is actually a big softy. You never know what to expect. It's awesome.

I also hang out with another lovely lady named Kellie. Unfortunately, the only picture I have of her shows just her forehead and maybe one eyeball. She is a great girl. She has way more energy than a mother of two should have. She is all about going, doing, and seeing. She does her best to drag my sorry tail away from the Catan table, and I'm grateful to her for that. I'm also grateful that a few years ago she forced me to sit down and watch the first episodes of LOST. Thank you, Kellie!

Ok, I've been working on this post for a week now. I'm just going to skip the proofreading and post this sucker. Peace out.

More Truths I Hold To Be Self-Evident

2008-07-11T22:46:00.000-07:00

I am absolutely ON FIRE tonight, people!

I just got back from seeing Hellboy II (Review: For the genre, pretty good. Not as good as another Guillermo del Toro film, Pan's Labyrinth, which was in-freaking-credible. The dude is a Mexican Tim Burton. A lot creepier, for sure, but just as creative and brilliant.)

Anyway, I seem to have a knack for selecting seats right next to, behind, or in front of the most annoying people in the theater. When Carrie and I went to see The Queen (Review: Super!) we were practically the only ones there. It was just us and these two middle aged women. Five minutes in, we knew we were in trouble when they both exclaimed in unison, "Corgis!" The rest of the time they were like, "I remember exactly what I was doing when I heard about Princess Di's death. I was sitting at the kitchen table reading my mail..." and "Look at those cute little cars! How many miles per gallon do you figure they get?" and "Helen Mirren is so talented. Did you see Calender Girls?" SHUT UP YOU CRAZY OLD HAGS!

That's right, I said hags.

When we saw Shrek the Third (Review: Total crap, but you have to see it, right?) I was sitting next to this couple who kept making out the whole time. When we saw Wanted (Review: Bloody and gross. Didn't want to see it, but James McAvoy was in it, and I have a HUGE crush.) we sat in front of these two frat boys who reported on the action of the film as it was unfolding, like they were sportscasters. "He's going to get his gun!" and "He lives right next to the train tracks." and "Oh! Looks like he's having another anxiety attack!" SHUT UP! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!

Tonight we got it from all sides: Three year-old whimpering child behind us, manic text-message dude beside C Nash, and inordinately-loud laughing woman in front of us.

Here's my thing: I don't care if you talk during the previews. That's fine. Talk it up. But when the movie starts, ZIP IT! I'm not bothered by the occasional request for clarification: "What did he say?" or "Where are they?" as long as the answer takes less than 5 seconds. But if you are a chronic movie talker, then stay home! Wait 4 months and RENT the damn thing. And if you bring a child to an adult movie, shame on you. The kid tonight was freaking out, and all the adults did was say "Sh!" the whole time. Take that poor kid and go see Wall-E (which I totally plan on seeing tomorrow night, by the way.) And when I go to the movies tomorrow, I expect there to be a hundred kids talking, squealing, and asking lots of questions. They're children. It's a children's movie. I'm fine with that. But if you drag them to Hellboy and they start crying, LEAVE! For every one's sake.

And if you can't stop texting for two hours, then you shouldn't be at the movies. How about you get up, excuse yourself, have a 3 minute phone conversation, take care of business, then come back and watch the movie like a normal person.

I just don't get it. Doesn't all of this go without saying? Aren't these things that people should know instinctively? Is movie etiquette a lost art? Perhaps the bigger question is why don't I get up and change seats? Why do I sit there and take it? Why can't I turn around and kick some ass, rather than just letting out these little passive aggressive sighs of annoyance? A discussion for another day, I suppose.

Ka-BOOM!

2008-07-09T00:04:00.000-07:00

Ah, the Fourth of July. The singing of the national anthem. The reading of the Declaration of Independence. The Old Navy flag shirts. The sweet smell of barbecued flesh mingling with the sulfur and potassium nitrate rolling in on the breeze. It just doesn't get better than that.

We gathered at my sister Lee Ann's house for the show. She lives at the top of a big hill that overlooks the valley below. We had a great view of every fireworks display between Puyallup [pew AL up] and Seattle, albeit on a much smaller scale. I was okay with that, though. At least there weren't any crowds. How I hate crowds!

Not to say that we didn't do our part to try to blow up the neighborhood. Do you know how long it took to light off all these fireworks?

Answer: a long damn time.

I've decided that the Whistling Pete needs to be outlawed. Could there be a more annoying and disappointing firework? Perhaps the bottle rocket. Those are totally pointless to me. I'm more of a Friendship Pagoda kind of girl. Or the "Fountain of Jewels" (no picture available). If it ain't sparkly or glittery, don't waste my time.

Speaking of sparkle, here's a shot of Rex and Eunice, who were enjoying a rare trip out of the house:

Aren't they cute?

And this very patriotic holiday was extra special for my brother-in-law Sylvere, who became a U.S. citizen earlier that week. (Country of origin: Haiti)

Oh, and I made a cherry pie:

Sing it with me! "She's my cherry pie...cool drink of water, such a sweet surprise...looks so good, brings a tear to your eye...sweet cherry pie..."

Happy Fourth of July, everyone!

Weightier Matters

2008-06-29T21:52:00.000-07:00

OK, so I am now officially the fattest I have ever been.

I am not telling you this in an effort to get you to write back and say nice things about me (although you're always welcome to do that), but I need to get it out there. I need to address the elephant in the room (a fitting metaphor). I need an intervention. I need to be on the Dr. Phil show, and have him say, "Randi, your case is so severe that we have arranged for this team of professionals to whisk you away to a fat camp where you will do push-ups all day long and be fed nothing but celery and water. Are you willing to walk out of here right now and go with them?" There I am, tears dripping from my multiple chins, my flab rippling from the strain of trying to compose myself, my sobs stretching the word "yes" into four or five syllables.

How serious is this? I went to the optometrist the other day to get some new glasses, and after checking out the health of my retinas, he explained that for significantly nearsighted individuals like myself, retinas can get worn down, thin, and potentially detach. He said that my retinas, however, were surprisingly nice and thick, especially considering how blind I am. You hear that, people? Even my RETINAS are fat.

What makes me the angriest is that I worked really hard while I was in Boston to get into shape. I went to the gym every day. I got off the bus a few stops before my destination and walked, even during the winter when the snow came up to my thighs, and even during the summer when the humidity was in the 90s. I was determined to get myself healthy. I lost about 20 lbs. I'm sure I could have lost more, but hey. I have never been one to turn down pizza and cupcakes.

Then I decided to become a pastry chef. I moved to Portland, and for the first few months I continued to exercise regularly. I even started running, which I despised, but I did it anyway. I probably ran about 3 or 4 miles 6 days a week. I lost another 10 lbs. or so, and I was so proud of myself. I was still chubby, but I felt good. My arms didn't flap so much anymore. I was beginning to catch a glimpse of what my muscles looked like under all those layers of chunk. I wish I had taken more pictures during those months. Very little photographic evidence exists of this period in my life. You'll just have to take my word for it.

Oh, man, but then we started learning how to make ice cream, and then we made danish...have you ever had a danish or a croissant right out of the oven? It blew my freaking mind. Then it was caramels, and chocolates, and cakes, and other Frenchie desserts that I can't remember how to spell right now...

The end of the story is that I gained back everything I had lost, plus a cool 20. All of that hard work GONE. All of those mornings I hauled myself out of bed to go running...all of those sore muscles...all of those nasty carrot sticks I ate because they were good for me...totally wasted. As if it never happened.

And it's not just my pride that is hurt. In February, I had some minor surgery to remove a fibroid from my lady parts (details available upon request) and before the surgery, I had to have some blood work done. The result? High cholesterol. Almost high, anyway. Two points away from high. I'm only 33, for crying out loud.

I need to get serious about this, and I need to get serious right now. The problem is that I have a really good memory, and I can recall exactly how much effort it took for me to get to that point where I was happy with how I looked. That mountain is just too tall to climb, so I go watch TV instead. Plus, I am on my feet all day long at work. The last thing I want to do after work is go to the gym for another hour or so on my feet. But then I think about my BFF Rebecca, who was so determined to get healthy that every blessed day she packed up her 3 little kids along with toys, snacks, diapers, swim gear, water, towels, you name it--and went to the little gym at her apartment complex where there WASN'T a place where you could drop off your kids so you could have a nice, uninterrupted work out. Somehow between diaper changes, breaking up disputes over toys, TV, what have you, this amazing woman lost over 30 lbs. I have seen with my own eyes how much effort it took for her to accomplish this incredible feat. I have seen how long it took to get those bags packed and those kids out the door. All my excuses start looking pretty damn flimsy when I think about her and what she has accomplished.

I have to do it, people. I have to do it. Hold me accountable. Don't give me any of that "Aw, it must be so hard to be disciplined when you're surrounded by warm chocolate chip cookies all day long." (It is, by the way.) But don't indulge me. Smack me around and give me nothing but tough love. Tell me that I'm a lard ass and that you are ashamed to be seen with me in my current grotesque and hideous state. (Carrie and C Nash, this should be easy for you.) Help me keep my eyes on the prize.

Something Else I Feel Strongly About

2008-06-28T01:00:00.000-07:00

So I'm at Carrie's house playing Catan, and as usual, the conversation rolls around to Celine Dion. Carrie poses this question to us all, and you must answer truthfully:

On the off chance that there might be some dissenting voices out there, let me remind you that the question was "Who is a better singer than Celine Dion?" and not "Who is making the best music today?" You don't have to like Celine's music, but you can't say squat about that voice. I mean, I couldn't give two poops about the sport of basketball, but even I can recognize that Michael Jordan was something special. You gotta admit, Celine reigns supreme. (I know you're with us on this one, Bec.)

A few years back, however, she might have had some competition. Watch this and tell me if you make it through without weeping:

I didn't think so. I bet even Saddam Hussein couldn't do it. He'd be wiping a tear from his tyrannical, murderous, leathery old cheek: "Damn you American peegs. I was planning to blow up your country, but now because of your Wheetney Houston, I have no choice but to apply for citizensheep."

Poor Whitney. What happened?

Anyway, I'm bummed that I missed Cirque du Celine in Vegas, but she's coming to Tacoma on October 18. Don't bother calling me that night. You know where I'll be.

George Lucas Owes Me Ten Bucks

2008-06-15T01:25:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I went to see Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. I know you all have been waiting on pins and needles for my review. Perhaps it can be best expressed by the following snapshot taken during the car ride home:

It sucked, people. Here is my list of grievances, in no particular order:

* Indy survives an atom bomb explosion at ground zero by shutting himself in a lead-lined fridge? Now I am willing to suspend some disbelief in these movies, but come on, Spielberg. You could at least meet me half-way.

* The special effects were so much better almost 20 years ago in The Last Crusade (yikes! Has it really been 20 years?) For real, though. This is the 21st Century, and if the jerks at American Idol can hologram Elvis onstage to sing with Celine Dion, then they can freaking make a car chase through the jungle look a little more believable.

* Those stupid prairie dogs that kept popping up...were those supposed to be funny? They were so out of place. It just didn't make sense.

*So one minute they're in Peru, and the next they're sailing over Iguazu Falls, which isn't anywhere near Peru. Was it really supposed to be Iguazu, or were they trying to pass it off as some random waterfall? I was never clear on this. If it's the latter, then perhaps they should have chosen a waterfall that isn't so easily recognizable? I mean, you can't have Britney Spears appear as an extra in a movie. ("Hey, isn't that Britney Spears? and isn't that Iguazu Falls?")

*After going over said waterfall, they all miraculously survived, managed to emerge from the water at the same location, as a group, not a bump on them, and COMPLETELY DRY. Did anyone notice that? Homegirl's hair has a few misty water droplets, but that's it.

*If Daniel Day-Lewis is the best actor around, then Cate Blanchett is the best actress, yet somehow George Lucas finds a way to make her look bad. He did the same to Liam Neeson in Star Wars. It doesn't matter how great of an actor you are. You can only do so much with lines like "You fight like a young man. Quick to begin, quick to finish."

* Shia LeBeouf's character calls himself "Mutt," but his real name is Henry Jones III. And you're telling me that when he meets Henry Jones, Jr., an old acquaintance of his mother, he can't figure out that he is his father? He seems to be as surprised by this revelation as Indy is. What a moron.

*So this lost culture's greatest treasure is knowledge, which Indiana flat out tells us just in case we were too stupid to get it on our own. So then why does Cate's head explode when she asks the aliens for more knowledge? Not the greatest public service announcement for staying in school, is it?

*The ants. Disgusting and unnecessary.

The list goes on, but I think I'll leave it alone for now. Hopefully I'll have better luck next week when I "Mess with the Zohan."

Congratulations, Kid

2008-06-10T01:09:00.000-07:00

He did it, and proved himself a total class act in the process.

Bringing Home Baby

2008-06-04T15:02:00.000-07:00

It seemed like this day would never arrive, but here I am, proudly announcing the arrival of my 40", 1080p, 30,000:1 contrast ratio Samsung HDTV. I have no idea what all of that means exactly, but the sales nerd at Best Buy assured me that I needed it. Here are some pictures from the happy day.

Baby's first car ride:

Finally home!

Check it out! Only ten minutes old, and already broadcasting her first show. My baby's a genius.

Now all I have to do is upgrade to HD programming and then my life will be complete.

Suck it! Part Two

2008-05-28T23:17:00.000-07:00

So although I was sitting pretty much right next to first base, I hauled my fatness up to the nosebleed section to show you the view:

Too bad stupid Qwest Field is in the way. Although I guess if anyone deserves their own stadium these days, it's the Seahawks.

As for food consumption, I started out with good intentions:

But ended up returning to familiar paths. Witness the remnants of my secret shame:

As for Manny hitting #500, it didn't happen. I taped every at-bat in the hopes that I would catch it, but no luck. Here's Manny's last chance of the game, and me voicing my disgust with J.J. Putz for not giving him anything to hit:

Suck it, Timlin!

2008-05-28T00:00:00.000-07:00

I freaking love baseball. I grew up in Seattle during the Griffey glory years, and the Mariners have always been my team. I went to games in the crappy old Kingdome, and was lucky enough to never have a ceiling tile fall on my head. It was a risk you were willing to take, though, just to be able to witness this beautiful, perfect swing:

Amazing, isn't it? And in spite of all the injuries that sidelined him season after season, The Kid is still going to easily clear 600 homers this year. That's some pretty rarified air he's breathing--just him and 3 other guys. Maybe you've heard of them: Hank Aaron, Willie Mays, and Babe Ruth. Barry Bonds and Sammy Sosa don't count, the filthy cheaters.

Anyway, in 2000 I moved to Boston and my heart made room for another team. Sometimes I suspect that my love for the Red Sox is more about my love for Boston itself and the wonderful years I spent there rather than any real devotion to the team. But like I said, I love the sport of baseball. I love the history of it, the records, the stats, the hot dogs, and all the rest. Fenway embodies all of that for me. The place is just dripping with history. It was so easy to catch Red Sox fever there. I wept, and I mean honestly wept, when they won the World Series in 2004. I'm glad nobody was there to witness the blubber-fest.

So when the Red Sox come to Seattle, I'm one conflicted girl. For whom do I root? Tonight I wore a Red Sox cap, but I gotta admit, I was happy that Seattle won. I mean, what a game! It's the bottom of the 9th, two outs, one man on base. Freaking Timlin intentionally walks Ichiro, thinking he can easily get Jose Lopez out. Lopez is like, "Ichiro ain't the only Mariner who cat hit a baseball, sucka!" and CRACK! he whacks one past my boyfriend, the George Clooney of baseball, Mike Lowell. It was such a good game, that I came right home and bought tickets for the next night. This time, I got the fancy seats. Who knows? It might be the night that Manny clears 500. I'm such a sucker for history-making moments.

Here are some pics from tonight's game:

My peeps (L to R) Shanon and Carrie

Hey, Boston friends. The next time you see me, you will probably ask yourself, "How did Randi get to be such a fat ass?" The following picture should explain it. And I ain't just splurging 'cause I'm at a ball game, neither. Meals like these are usually followed by a huge serving of regret, but I invariably turn around and do it again the next time. It sure was good, though. Love those garlic fries.

And here's a beauty shot of those fries.

Let's go Red Sox!

I love Safeco Field. It's a real beauty. If you're up in the nosebleed section, you've got the most perfect view of the city beyond the Safeco Field sign. The park is known as "The House That Griffey Built," but Griffey only played part of one season here. Apparently he has expressed a desire to come back to Seattle and retire as a Mariner. There's no doubt about it: I would wet my pants.

Critic's Corner

2008-05-21T23:22:00.000-07:00

So now that I'm the sous chef, my days off are Tuesday/Wednesday instead of Sunday/Monday, which sucks. I'm the lame-o who can't play another game of Catan* because she has to work the next morning. And on Sundays, I rush home from church, change my clothes, and run out the door again. It makes for a very long day. On Tues/Wed, all of my friends are at work, so it's just me, Rex, and Eunice. All. Day. Long.

Anyway, I'm going to make an effort to focus on the positive here, because my schedule ain't changin' any time soon. I'd have to say the best thing about my schedule is that I have few interruptions to my rigorous TV watching regimen. I am totally up to date with The Desperate Housewives, The Top Chefs, and the American Idols. Plus, I just subscribed to Netflix (is that a chorus of angels I hear?), so I can now begin a rigorous movie watching regimen. It's all about cross-training, people.

These past couple of days have been very productive. Thanks to Netflix, I have now seen: The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (review: really good), The Age of Innocence (review: disturbing), and In the Name of the Father (review: really really good). The latter two I rented because I'm kind of going through a Daniel Day-Lewis phase right now. I think he's the greatest actor of all time, period. You can either agree with me on this one, or you can be wrong. (If you disagree, be forewarned. I feel a lot more strongly about this than I do the salt and vinegar potato chips thing. You WILL be cut out of my life--permanently.) Anyway, it's too bad for Johnny Depp, who I think might either be #2 or #3 on that list of greatest actors of all time. I don't know when the Academy is going to do right by him. He's been nominated a zillion times, but always walks away with nothin'. Too bad for Johnny that Daniel Day chose this year to crawl out of his hole to make There Will Be Blood (review: in addition to there being blood, there were also about 30-40 minutes that should have been left on the cutting room floor). Otherwise, the Best Actor Oscar would have gone to Johnny D for Sweeney Todd (review: kick ass!). They really should re-name the whole category. "And the Daniel Day-Lewis award goes to..."

Anyway, today I decided to take a break from my DVD fest and go to the theater instead. I saw The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian and Ironman. Let's start with Prince Caspian. I don't know. It was kind of a re-hashed version of the first one. Somebody is in charge who shouldn't be (this time, the Spanish), so the rightful leader assembles an army and ultimately wins the day. I was also bummed that my new movie star boyfriend, James McAvoy, didn't return as Mr. Tumnus. Plus, there are all of these lame sidekick characters that made me feel like I was watching another Shrek movie. (Lookin' at you, tiny sword-fighting rodents.) The one bright spot was Prince Caspian, who I am totally hot for now. He can Chronicle my Narnia any day, if you know what I mean. (Not sure I know what that means. I was just going for "dirty.")

Ironman, on the other hand, was a lot of fun. I love Robert Downey, Jr. You can tell that the dude has done some hard livin', but I'm happy to see him back because I think he's just soooo talented. Jeff Bridges did a decent job of playing the bad guy, and Gweneth did what she could with the role she was given. Great special effects, of course, and a pretty relevant story line. I liked it.

As far as American Idol goes, David Cook, congratulations. Chris Daughtry you are not, but you'll do well for yourself. Please get a haircut, though. David Archuleta, you're cute. You have a truly lovely voice, but let's be honest. You are twitchy and weird. Bless your heart, though. I'm sure you're the sweetest guy this world has ever seen. Go serve a mission and then cut some Mormon pop albums. You'll make millions.

And as for Top Chef, WHEN IS LISA GOING TO GET THE AX? Seriously, she has no business being there. I don't know when the judges are going to wake up and realize that her surly ass is ALWAYS on the losing team. Come on, Padma. Do the right thing.

Ok, must go to sleep. I'll continue this rant some other time. Ciao!

*A game made entirely out of crystal meth. If you haven't started yet, don't.

It's What's for Dinner

2008-05-17T23:53:00.000-07:00

You know, like many of you, I am getting older day by day. Various bodily systems are beginning to shut down. My cholesterol is on the rise, I can never remember where I put this or that, and I am wrinkling up like a freaking sun-dried tomato. However, none of that bothers me as much as how damn crotchety I have become. I have no tolerance for anyone who disagrees with me. I used to be so open-minded, so accepting. Now, it drives me crazy that my friend Carrie doesn't like salt and vinegar potato chips. I actually think less of her because of it. Our friendship hangs by a thread.

Anyway, the latest group of people who are dead to me are vegans. I recently attended a workplace communication seminar that was held at Bastyr University near Seattle. For those of you who haven't heard of Bastyr, it's a school for naturopathic medicine, acupuncture, nutrition, herbology, potions, defense against the dark arts, etc. It is supposedly one of the country's most prestigious naturopathic schools. That's great and everything, but I had lunch in their cafeteria yesterday, and everything was either vegan or vegetarian. And as I was sitting there eating my vegan burrito (whole wheat tortilla, carrots, pinto beans, quinoa) and gagging after every bite, a rage started to boil up from somewhere deep inside me. "What is with these people? What exactly do they have against flavor and deliciousness? Why can't they recognize that what this burrito needs is some nice marinated pork?" And also, "Why are they forcing their meatless agenda on me?" There are almost always vegetarian options at any restaurant or cafeteria you go to. Why can't they have at least one or two options for us omnivores out here? All I'm asking for is just a little chicken salad or something! Is that so awful?

One of the best books I have ever read is called Fork It Over, by Alan Richman. He is a food writer for GQ magazine, and the book is a collection of some of his finest articles. In the chapter "My Beef with Vegans," he talks about one of his editors, a hardcore vegan, who tried to evangelize him by sending him some literature on the subject, including a pamphlet entitled "101 Reasons Why I'm a Vegetarian." Richman says:

It was indeed informative. I learned that the combined weight of all the cattle on earth is greater than the combined weight of the entire human population. The solution, as I see it, is to eat more cows.

Preach on, my brother.

Never Say Never

2008-05-14T19:08:00.000-07:00

It started with cell phones. I said I'd never get one. I hated the interruptions, the accidental ringing in church or at the movies, the people who either never realized or never cared how loudly they were talking in public places. But after a slew of experiences which left me thinking, "If I had a cell phone, I wouldn't be in this mess," I caved and haven't looked back. Best money I've ever spent--and continue to spend, monthly.

Then it was the iPod. Unlike cell phones, the iPod was always an object of lust for me. My entire CD collection on ONE device? Come on! I looked like a CHUMP on the bus each morning, fumbling with my dinosaur Walkman, CDs spilling onto the floor and rolling down the aisle. I finally coughed up the cash and got a Zune (we'll address the Zune v. iPod issue at a later date) and once again, I can't imagine my life without it.

Shortly thereafter came the laptop. And the car. Pretty soon it will be an HD TV, but my nephew works at Best Buy, and they're doing this special promo for friends and family where we can purchase things at cost, plus five percent. I'm never going to do better than cost plus five percent, so I'd be crazy not to, right? I must strike while the iron is hot! (Did I mention I'm still living with my parents?)

Anyway, I've been really dragging my heels on this whole blog thing, and here's why. My life just isn't that interesting. I get up, go to work, and then watch a lot of TV. What's to blog about? (Prediction: This blog will be mostly about what's happening on TV.) I don't have any kids, so no cute posts about cute faces, cute sayings, cute firsts, etc. Blogging just makes me feel like a crappy, self-indulgent writer who can't get published but still wants to be HEARD, dammit! Maybe it's because the majority of my friends are doing it, and I feel left out. It is an easy way to keep in touch without the commitment of a phone call.

Well, for whatever reason, I'm here. Hope to hear from you.