90s Grunge in Ballard

I was legitimately out of the country when my friend's husband apparently helped jump start the Seattle grunge thing. Sorry--missed it. But I'll catch it retro-actively tonight. I promise.

Book Group

The women in my book group are wild about this guy. Apparently there's a new 007 movie coming out: Quantum of Solace. And he's Bond. James Bond.

The core compelling reason to see this film, according to the 6 giddy suburbanites in my living room last night, is this guy run out of the water in his swim trunks. There was swooning involved. And exclamations of "have you ever seen a more perfect specimen of a male body?!"

At least that was better than talking about "Three Cups of Tea." Yawn.

Wazzup on Wall Street?

There are a lot of white guys stymied by today's economic news, eh?

Umm, no bailout? But. But. But.

Errr.

Now what?

Oh, THAT Eurydice!

And here I was, feeling like I really should know the plot of the play we're seeing tonight, what with me being a former English major and all... and then I find out from Wikipedia that I know the story after all:

In Greek mythology, Eurydice (Eurydíkê, Εὐρυδίκη) was an oak nymph or a sweet maiden. She was the wife of Orpheus. Orpheus loved her dearly; on their wedding day, Orpheus played songs filled with happiness as his bride danced through the meadow. One day, a satyr had seen her and pursued her. According to legend, Eurydice stepped on a snake and fell to the ground. The venomous snake had bitten her, leaving Eurydice dead. Distraught, Orpheus played and sang so mournfully that all the nymphs and gods wept. In their saddened states, they told him to travel to the Underworld and retrieve her. Orpheus did so, and by his music softened the hearts of Hades and Persephone, his singing so sweet that even the Erinyes wept. In another version, Orpheus played his lyre to put the guardian of Hades, Cerberus, to sleep. It was then granted that Eurydice be allowed to return with him to the world of the living. But the condition was attached that he should walk in front of her and not look back until he had reached the upper world. In his anxiety, he broke his promise, and Eurydice vanished again from his sight - this time forever.

Totally romantic.

Plus, there is disagreement about the pronunciation of this lovely maiden's name. Is it:

a. You're-a-dyke
b. You're-a-disease (in which the final 'z' sound is silent)
c. You're-a-dice
d. none of the above

Greek scholars? You wanna weigh in on this one?

Two Things:

Here are two things I would completely dismiss if it weren't for GVB's children's association with them:

1. Stanwood
2. Cheerleading

But maybe VBchild#1 is on to something I'm missing. I'll give it another shot next year.

Token Magnum Post

This cartoon reminds me of my ex-husband.

On Bailouts and Family Businesses

Somebody needs to explain to me why rich white guys still run the world. Haven't we learned yet that, faced with unchecked opportunities for self-congratulation, they'll eventually all make the rest of us pay for their excesses?

I'm the daughter of a rich white guy, so I know of what I speak. And some of my dad's relatives are reeeeeeaallllly greedy.

And in medical news...

...it turns out one can't count on UW to make an accurate pathology report. So I've got that going for me. Which is nice.

Isn't this graphic disgusting? Ick.

Anyway, I might need to break my hours-old determination to go off the sauce in order to toast my new diagnosis. Not cancer? Cheers!

Red Alert!!!

MY MAILBOX IS OVER ITS SIZE LIMIT!

I can't wait to go to work today.

Family Fun Time?

Percent chance I can convince the very girls I've ignored all weekend in favor of not being very productive preparing for classes tomorrow to agree to a round of the greatest letters-on-tiles game since the dawn of Scrabble?

Probably zero percent.

But I'm gonna try... because I'm just that good of a mom.

Beading Day!

I can't decide which is worse:

spending two rainy hours on the sidelines of a soccer game with my ex-husband satelliting around me, talking to all his new friends about their super-fun party last night

OR

spending two stuffy hours in a bead store with a gaggle of women who believe themselves to be true artisans but who steadfastly ignore the paying customers, especially those age 13 and younger, who clearly require their assistance.

Both scenarios are maddening in their own way, but only one of them ends with three newly blinged girls.

So I guess the soccer game sucked more.

New Respect for Raid

Earlier today I had an email exchange with one of my favorite co-committee members regarding the infestation of Belize by missionaries in bible-quoting matching t-shirts. During that discussion, I mentioned that the sight of said Christian crusaders atop a Mayan temple made me long for a gargantuan Raid-spraying fogger to unburden the ancient jungle dwellers of their ant-like swarm of arrogant invaders.

I still hate the thought of those Christians.

But now I really want the Raid to off the 17 fruit flies currently swarming the rim of my wine glass. WTF?

Truth in Advertising

Popular mythology suggests that a creature called a Maytag Repairman exists, but I'm not convinced.

I'd write more about it here, but I have to go wash dishes.

Three Days---not so serious version

1. I've been to real refugee camps and lived with a nomadic tribe... and neither scenario involved pink tents or costumed blow up dolls. Still, the camp in Marymoor park was a trip.

2. Under no other circumstance than a fundraising three day walk can I imagine collecting pink beads, wearing a feather boa, and cheering for a man whose t-shirt reads something like "I heart my wife's boobs."

3. I used to think it was sexy when women used the word "tits" to refer to their own breasts. Now all the mammary-related terminology sounds dull. Sigh.

4. The cynic in me is troubled by the fact that the same organization that raises $8.6 million for breast cancer research also serves mass-produced bacon for breakfast, hands out Lays potato chips at lunch and encourages participants to just throw away anything they don't eat/use after dinner. I guess you just have to pick your battles.

Three Days---Serious Version

1. People like me aren't meant to walk 60 miles in 3 days with no prior training.

2. People who weigh 50+ pounds more than I do and/or are 20 years older than I am and/or start the walk on crutches and/or just made it through a round of chemo REALLY aren't meant to walk 60 miles in 3 days.

3. We all did it, and it was incredible.

4. I might be the luckiest sister-in-law on earth... my teammates were hilarious, inspiring and impressive the entire 60 miles.

P.S.

Dear Inexplicably Be-Wigged, Borderline Incompetent Division Secretary,

I don't have a husband.

Love,
The Colleague

This Time Tomorrow...

...the little pink swooshes on my Nikes will be in motion, taking the first steps of 60 miles' worth. I'm not sure I'm up to it, frankly. Walking two miles to the PTSA meeting last night was just perfect; I could have done more, but why??

Oh, yeah. For boobs.

I guess it'll be worth it.

Would you rather...

...sit in the sun, afloat on the 'Hood, and drink a beer?

OR

...sit in your office and finalize documents for next week's department retreat?

Choose very carefully.

Burning Man? Really?

People still do the Burning Man thing? It stuns me. But I guess it's sort of cool to know that pseudo-hippie strangers find my friend's life inspiring...

Complete and Unabridged

Sarah Palin and I have SO much in common.

1. We are both in our 40s.

2. As hockey moms, we represent an artificial demographic, no better or worse than any other kind of mom. (I heart Jon Stewart.)

3. We love low-cut satin shirts and leather mini-skirts. (Thanks for the photo, GVB, via AW.)

4. ummm....

Okay. Sarah Palin and I have three things in common.

Unexpected Gifts

I turn 40 today, and the emails and cards and visitors and gifts are all rolling in. Perhaps the most unique birthday gift of all, though, was a visit from Ooky, the Birthday Slug! He was oozing across my kitchen floor as I prepared the morning's coffee, and we shared some tender birthday words before I scooped him up on a piece of cardboard and hurled him into the ivy in the back yard.

Sorry

I can't help but like her.


I still want the Obama/Biden ticket to crush those spectacles into tiny shards of glass that shred her anti-feminist views...


But I sort of liked her tonight.

Sorry.

Things I learned in the International District

Lunch at Uwajimaya with 8 incoming 8th graders is an education all by itself, but here are two of the more generally applicable things I noted yesterday during my right-in-the-thick-of-puberty-fueled excursion:

1. White people who shop at Uwajimaya believe themselves to be unique and remarkable for doing so. The air of pretension in the soy cheese aisle was (dare I say it?) palpable.

2. Hello Kitty is still very, very popular.