Pop Junkie

Postcards from the Center

2006-06-15T08:52:00.000-04:00

You may have wondered where I got my scintillating writing style and gift for storytelling. I inherited it from my father. He and my stepmother recently retired and are exploring the country. Here is a sampling of my father's eye for detail and wordsmithing. For some reason, I find these hilarious. Forgive me for being evil and posting them here.

The Scoop

2006-05-23T08:59:00.000-04:00

My bloggy friend, lorem ipsum, was kind enough to include me in her interview post. She asked some interesting questions and I'll try to think of suitably exciting answers, although it might be hard!

1) Where the heck have you been?
Living life, I guess. I plan a gala each May, which makes me anxious for several months and this year was particularly difficult. My husband was interviewing for a new job with a potential relocation. That fell through, so we started the process again and he's starting at a different company next Tuesday. No relocation necessary! All that, plus various medical tests, and I was basically working and watching bad television for the past several months.

I guess I could have written about it here, but I figured it was just normal life stuff. Extremely interesting to me, but I'm not as talented a writer as you and I don't think I could make it compelling to others.

2) What is the first book you ever remember reading?
Go, Dog, Go!

I remember that my mother, who worked evenings, was getting ready and I was in my bedroom pretending to read. We had read the book many times together and I was spelling out the letters and making sounds. Suddenly, the sounds became a word, then the next word, then the next. It was a revelation. I felt like I had opened a door to another part of my brain. I was 15.

Just kidding. I was 30.

3) You are a 'pop junkie,' but your tastes don't seem banal at all. What music/book/magazine/tv show is your guilty pleasure?
Oh, I definitely enjoy swimming in the shallow end. Almost prefer it, actually, after putting up with the pretensions of my professors and fellow students in an ivy league graduate program. Sure, I can talk the talk when appropriate, but I will always be tickled by the absurd and the tasteless. It's a character flaw.

So, music - I love Neil Diamond and The Monkees. Davy Jones was my first crush at 5 years old, and I still remember the words to Pleasant Valley Sunday.

Books - I read trashy romance novels. Not just the greats like Catherine Coulter, Linda Howard, and Amanda Quick, but also the Harlequins by Violet Winspear. I look for bulk bags of romance novels at used book stores, buying 50 for $5, then I will spend the day on the couch with them.

TV - Actually, all I watch is bad television. Disaster shows on Discovery. The Soup. Reality shows on MTV and VH1. I reveled in Flavor of Love when it was on. Right now, I'm following Ghost Hunters on Sci Fi and Top Chef on Bravo. The SciFi channel is continuing a fine tradition of B Movies and I've been enjoying the ones based on Greek mythology for the horrible special effects and stilted acting.

4) What famous author, living or dead, would you most like to have over for dinner, and what would you serve?
Goodness, there's so many. I'd like to meet Kurt Vonnegut, although I imagine he'd be a lot like Kilgore Trout in real life. Maybe Madeleine L'Engle, because she has a purity and honesty in her writing that makes me think that she's a warm and wise person. Nick Hornby because he's got a dry, cynical sense of humor and eclectic taste in music.

I'm not sure what food I'd serve, but I'd definitely try to lubricate them with alcohol.

5) You have $10 and $90 to last you for the month, to split between food and books. Does the $10 go for food, meaning you eat ramen noodles for a month but get a nice stack of books, or do you skimp on the reading material in favor of some more substantial nutrition?

I don't skip meals. It goes against my nature. I ate enough ramen to last a lifetime in art school. Thank goodness for library cards!

So that is your peek into the world of Jane. Scary, isn't it? If you're interested in being interviewed, give me a holler and I'll try to conjure some imaginative questions!

Thanks Lorem!

Blatant Theft of Meme

2006-04-11T11:00:00.000-04:00

Thanks, Arethusa, for this idea and for your great book suggestions. I can't stand looking at Britney Spears for one more second, so I'm going to post my version of the booklist meme as well. Yay me.

Look at the list of books below. Bold the ones you've read and own, italicize the ones you might read, capitalize the out the ones you won't, underline the ones on your book shelf, and place parentheses around the ones you've never even heard of.

THE DA VINCI CODE, DAN BROWN - er, never. Got into a discussion about this at dinner with friends last weekend and looked like a total book snob. But really. I know this book will suck.
The Catcher in the Rye - J.D. Salinger
The Great Gatsby - Scott F. Fitzgerald
The Hitchikers Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams
To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
The Time Traveler's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince - J. K. Rowling
The Life of Pi - Yann Martel I own it but have never been able to read it.
Animal Farm: A Fairy Story - George Orwell
Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
THE CURIOUS INCIDENT OF THE DOG AT NIGHT-TIME - MARK HADDON - I just think not.
Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
1984 - George Orwell
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban - J. K. Rowling
One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
THE KITE RUNNER - KHALED HOSSEINI
The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold (ugh)
Slaughterhouse 5 - Kurt Vonnegut
Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe - C.S. Lewis
MIDDLE SEX - JEFFREY EUGENIES - I own it but will probably never pick it up.
(Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell)
Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
(Atonement - Ian McEwan)
(The Shadow of The Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon)
The Old Man and the Sea - Ernest Hemingway
The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
DUNE - FRANK HERBERT - tried several times but it's a snooze.
(Sula by Toni Morrison) - I've read a few of her books, but not this one.
COLD MOUNTAIN - CHARLES FRAZIER – most annoying end of a movie ever.
THE ALCHEMIST - PAUL COHELIO
(White Teeth by Zadie Smith)
The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton

What titles would you add to this list?
Of Human Bondage, William Somerset Maugham
Sons and Lovers, D.H. Lawrence
The Complete Works of Saki
Einstein’s Dreams, Alan Lightman
Wicked, Geoffrey Maguire
The Wind-Up Bird Chronicles, Haruki Murakami
Wonder Boys, Michael Chabon

Oops she did it again

2006-03-31T08:32:00.000-05:00

I am almost beyond coherent thought on this one. First, I was going to be flippant and say that this is exactly how I've always imagined giving birth - naked on a bear skin rug. Then I started to get pissed off.

If this sculpture is, according to the news story I heard, meant to celebrate the women who choose having a family over their careers, then why would you honor a woman who was a multi-millionaire by the time she was 18? Her decision was easy compared to the women her age who are going to school, working part-time, and trying to be a mother. Many of these women are doing it on their own, without the help of private chefs and nannies, or even without a husband. Although I think it's a stretch to think that Kevin Federline is of use to anyone, including his wife and son.

What's with the zombie-like expression on her face? No hint of personality or intelligence. Wait...it IS supposed to be Britney. So maybe that's alright.

And the most disturbing thing about this sculpture - has anyone seen it from BEHIND? Art shouldn't make you slightly nauseous when you contemplate seeing it from a different perspective. But maybe that's just me.

Ok. I might be cranky and taking it out on the hapless Britney Spears. I think I hurt my back during a medical test a few weeks ago, and the aches kept me awake last night. I tell myself I'm imagining it during the day, but when the pain wakes you up at 2:30 and you can't get back to sleep, perhaps it's time to take it seriously.

Grrrr.

Just remember Jane, the sun is shining. Spring has sprung. Daffodils are blooming. Forsythia are waving their joyous little branches in the breeze. It's a good time to be alive. Right? Now get yourself some caffeine and start working.

Bye for now!

New Media

2006-02-27T08:46:00.000-05:00

We stopped at a bookstore after dinner on Friday, which had its fun moments. Just when I think I've forever passed on to the side of matronly, some stranger tries to pick me up in the science fiction section. He seemed like a nice guy and I thought he was just making conversation until my husband breezed by with an obnoxious smirk on his face. He didn't stop - just rolled by like a freight train and slammed a book into my hand - leaving an awkward silence in his wake. The stranger and I just stared at each other for a few seconds until I thanked him for his suggestions and moved to the next aisle. We avoided making eye contact after that. Thank you for your suggestions, strange SciFi Man.

He suggested China Mieville's Perdido Street Station and The Scar. I'd already picked them up because of their covers, and he gave me a glowing recommendation. I've not read enough to give a full report, but I am enjoying the dense, rich prose and unique, dark world.

On my very own, I picked up The Children's Blizzard by David Laskin, indulging my morbid fascination with natural disasters. Like most books of this sort, this is an easy, fast read. But the story is amazing. In January 1888, one of the worst blizzards in the history of the US hit the praries of the Dakotas, Kansas and Nebraska. It was a fast storm, moving 60 mph, and what made it particularly lethal was that it hit on the first balmy morning after a severe cold spell. The day started at 20 degrees, and by the time school was dismissed, the storm hit and left many of children stranded on their way home. One record shows that the temperature dropped 18 degrees in three minutes, eventually falling to a windchill of 40 below that night. You can imagine that many of these children had traveled to school that day in their lightweight coats, not to mention the farmers who were probably working their fields in their shirtsleeves. It is called the Children's Blizzard because many of the fatalities were schoolchildren.

Also noteworthy was the snow. Because the temperature was exceedingly cold within the storm, the snow was the texture of fine sand, getting into every crack and crevice and reducing visibility so that people could not see their hands in front of their faces, even if their eyes weren't frozen over.

This book underscores the harshness of life on the prairie for settlers. Grasshoppers descending like locusts and eating an entire crop in minutes, prairie fires that spread across thousands of acres, and the crippling isolation. For any of you who have read Laura Ingalls Wilder, I would recommend this book as well.

Ahem....

2006-01-30T09:28:00.000-05:00

Well, hello there. Long time, no see. I've been uninterested in blogging recently. No, no, it's not you. It's me. I'm just not ready to commit to a clear focus with my blog. This type of hodge podge makes for poor reading, in my opinion. And it's not fair to you, reader. You deserve much better. So I'm setting you free and I hope that one day you'll find a blogger that can give you what you need.

In the meantime, I shall continue in my search for the perfect escapism material. You should know that I've surrendered to the dumbing down of America. I'm proud to say that I may have lost 10 IQ points this year through my television intake alone. This is without the aid of liquor, people! It has been a while since I've catalogued my media intake, so here are my current guilty pleasures.

1. Digital Devil Saga 1 and 2 - Who can fight the lure of a woman whose demon form has fanged mouths on her breasts? Or a hero who doesn't speak? I love the strong, silent type. Seriously, this is a great RPG series with a convoluted story that would make the writers of the X-Files proud. It's also long, which is excellent since I've developed a genius plan that incorporates playing a game with my workout. I can run around for an hour, powering up, whilst on the elliptical. Keeps boredom at bay on both fronts! I'm so smart that I scare myself.

2. Lost - I know, I'm a bit slow on the uptake. The husband and I have decided to spend quality time together by watching Lost. Yeah, laugh all you want but you'll see what happens when you've been with your partner for 16 years. It's a great excuse for cuddling. We're about half-way through the first season and the show's lived up to the hype so far. But I have to wonder where all the ugly people went. How likely is it that a plan would have that many attractive people on it? Is that revealed in season two?

3. The Flavor of Love- Since Tyra turned into a psycho drama queen, and not in a good way, I have filled the void left from America's Top Model with The Flavor of Love. What can I say about The Flavor of Love except that its appeal is the lack of any redeeming qualities? A bunch of video vixens fighting for the love of that luscious piece of manmeat - Flava Flav - by frying him chicken and hanging out at a retirement community. And the winner of the competition gets to go on a date with him to Red Lobster. Red Lobster! Could television sink lower? I don't know, but I'm watching until it hits rock bottom. The cost of freedom is eternal vigilance.

Reading:
1. Dies the Fire, R.M. Stirling - post-apocalyptic fantasy novel about a world without electricity, and the Ren Faire geeks who rise to power in their respective tribes. I wouldn't recommend this book unless you think that the mock swordplay during Ren Faire tournies could conceivably be useful when End Times arrive.

Listening:
I've been revisiting Bauhaus and the Old 97's, but am enjoying newer bands like My Morning Jacket, Spoon, and the Kaiser Chiefs. I would say that the biggest disappointments this year were Sufjan Stevens and Death Cab for Cutie. Both were put into my "overly self-conscious and pretentious singer/songwriters with penchants for painfully unclever song titles." To wit, Stevens' Come On! Feel The Illinoise!: Part I: The World's Columbian Exposition/Part II: Carl Sandburg Visits Me In A Dream.

I mean, isn't it bad enough that you have vowed to make an album for each of the 50 states? Isn't that both overly ambitious and, well, a bit childish? I can appreciate wanting to be prolific, but with 22 songs on an album, I think perhaps you should embrace the idea of self-editing.

Speaking of self-editing, I must do the work they pay me for. Those bastards. Don't they know that I'm a goddamn genius? So, until the MacArthur Foundation chooses me, I must bow down to The Man. Back to the grind. Wish me luck.

Blogging, schmogging

2006-01-23T09:00:00.000-05:00

I'm not that interesting. Really.

A Kernel of Wisdom by Jane

2005-12-12T09:14:00.000-05:00

It ain't Christmas until you pull tinsel out of your cat's ass.

Seems about right

2005-10-17T09:08:00.000-04:00

Heard this on the radio this morning and parts of it seemed appropriate for my frame of mind. I just wonder who I'm supposed to go see...

When your mother sends back all your invitations
And your father to your sister he explains
That you're tired of yourself and all of your creations
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?

Now when all of the flower ladies want back what they have lent you
And the smell of their roses does not remain
And all of your children start to resent you
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?

Now when all the clowns that you have commissioned
Have died in battle or in vain
And you're sick of all this repetition
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?

When all of your advisers heave their plastic
At your feet to convince you of your pain
Trying to prove that your conclusions should be more drastic
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?

Now when all the bandits that you turned your other cheek to
All lay down their bandanas and complain
And you want somebody you don't have to speak to
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?

Nothing Much to Say

2005-09-26T11:41:00.000-04:00

Well, I don't have much to say right now. So here are more photos of recent additions to the household.

Our new TV cabinet, which replaced the $20 "as is" Ikea stand we bought 10 years ago and the 3 foot high speakers (which weren't even hooked up) that filled the space. It's teak and from Java. I oil it with Old English every few months, which I love because Old English smells like children's aspirin.

A wall hanging from Tibet. Don't know much about it. We bought it a few weeks ago during our trip to DC. We stayed in Dupont Circle and did a little window shopping early Sunday morning. There was an outdoor farmer's market. I bought our host a lovely field flower bouquet. I put a sprig of lemon basil in it - I'm sure it made his entire apartment smell nice.

Cast iron lanterns from aforementioned host. I'll put them outside eventually, but we are currently redoing our stone patio. By "currently" I mean that it should be done next June.

Hope you are well.

More Travel Photos!

2005-09-13T12:07:00.000-04:00

You've been anxiously awaiting the next installment of the Doh adventures. Well, here is a sample of our trip to the Poconos last weekend.

The call of the highway, there's always something exciting about it.

Suki is slightly dubious of our adventure.

The little cottage in the woods. The lawnchair is a makeshift dog fence.

The well-fed deer liked to come up our driveway and work Suki into a frenzy.

We went on several hikes at a local state park. The air smelled so sweet. The weather was clear, sunny, and warm. All in all, a perfect late summer weekend.

The road less taken

Fields of flowers....

The requisite waterfall...

So many shades of green...

Seas of fern...

Dappled textures...

And Shades of DEATH - WTF?

Our fearless leader

Ready to take on the world.

But we eventually exhausted her. So much that she apparently lost the use of her front paws.

It just gets worse

2005-09-02T13:07:00.000-04:00

The stars can see Biloxi
The stars can find their faces in the sea
And we're walking in the evening by the ocean
We are splashing naked in the water
And the sky is red from off towards New Orleans
And the sky is red from off towards New Orleans
-Ted Hawkins

One one hand, I simply can not understand how such a thing can happen in the United States.

On the other hand, I walk around my city during work and think how easily anarchy could rise here. I have been increasingly discouraged with the violence and death on the news this summer - just in my metro area. Poverty, ignorance, and despair run rampant in Philadelphia too.

We have failed our country. I mean all of us, not just the government. As we grow increasingly divided into bipartisan factions, the backbone of this country is crumbling. Even now, while people are actively suffering, the blame game has started.

I wish I have a solution. I don't. Right now, I'm just trying to understand.

If you haven't read this, it is a blog from someone inside New Orleans right now.

Tooting My Horn

2005-08-08T09:35:00.000-04:00

I have a tendency to be self-deprectating. It is a natural modesty that evolved out of an attempt to make others feel comfortable. I think I overdo it at times, however, and sound like I have low self-esteem. The fact is that I have a healthy opinion of myself, but I usually spare others' feelings before my own - unless it is an issue that I judge to be important. Is it a matter of being a laid-back person or a matter of courtesy? I'm not sure.

I have been doing my semi-annual "What Do I Want to Be When I Grow Up?" soul-searching. Working in non-profit development is fun at times. It pays the bills and I always get Columbus Day off. Still, it's not quite where I pictured myself ten years ago.

I have been attempting an analysis of my strengths. What do I really enjoy doing? Where are my talents? And I'd like to toot my horn just this once about the one thing that I've enjoyed doing lately.

We do a lot of events and have been gradually bringing them in-house. Last week, we had a cultivation dinner here at our office. It was supposed to be a summery theme, so I chose the table overlays and created the centerpieces. The overlays were a pink, several shades of green, and white stripes. I bought apple green ribbon to wrap around the pillar candles and napkins.

I woke up early on the morning of the event and went to the florist. I picked some white and pink flowers from their stock and got some interesting greens. Within a half hour after arriving to work, I had five centerpieces. They were gorgeous. Simple and delicate. And they cost $80 with the vases. We usually pay $40 per centerpiece.

I stood back and looked at the dinner space after we had set it up that evening. It looked cool, summery, and festive.

In fifth grade, I decided that I was going to be an artist. I took art classes throughout high school and went to a private art college on scholarship. I only went for one year and have felt guilty about frittering away my talent ever since. But this week I realized that, although I don't draw or paint like I did, I still use my creativity. I used it when I decorated my house. I use it when I plan events at work. I use it when I cook.

So there you go. I'm tooting my own horn because I've got a knack. Screw self-deprecation!

I've got that fresh feeling

2005-07-26T09:03:00.000-04:00

I want to walk in an untouched pine forest in the mountains, on a hot sunny day. I'd enter the forest and the sounds of my footsteps would be hushed by the thick padding of pine needles on the ground. All the undergrowth would be cleared out so I could see long distances under the umbrella of pine branches. Bird song would seem far away, and I would feel like the only living creature for miles around.

I'd find a comfortable perch against a tree, take a deep breath of the cool fresh air, and listen. I think that would be nice. More than nice. Necessary, in fact.

Stay

2005-07-22T08:52:00.000-04:00

I've been reading quite a bit lately, although I seem to have the teflon brain. Nothing much is sticking except some odd sci-fi/fantasy short stories. Like the one where a rape victim has the ability to turn her lovers into butterflies, which she then stuns with ether and mounts with pins...that one really bugged me. GET IT? hahahah. I crack myself up.

So, Stay, by Nicola Griffith. It's a neo-noir crime story (wrongly categorized as SciFi in my library), with a straightforward plot that moves quickly and smoothly. But the plot seems almost incidental to the over-powering and evocative description of grief. The main character, Aud Torvingen, and her loss are the focus of the first paragraph, the last paragraph, and nearly everything in between. The writing is succinct, yet oddly lyrical and descriptive. It is deeply moving without being preachy or overbearing.

Aud is a violent person, which puts her in a nice juxtaposition with the violence towards women that is central to the plot. It keeps this book centered on character development, not a political agenda.

Stay is about being safe. Or the realization that there is always the potential for being unsafe. While Aud tries to regain her balance after her grief by retreating from the world, she finds that she is constantly teetering on the edge of loss. It's a dangerous world and our daily tasks can be seen as leaps of faith. We usually have no choice but to assume that our loved ones will return home at the end of the work day. How can you not believe that? But sometimes the bottom drops out from under you, and the characters in this book deal with their losses in their own ways.

Stay is a sequel to "A Blue Place," which I have not read. I'm always reading books out of order. It was a surprising book. I think I may read more of her.

I Can Read You Like a Book

2005-07-20T08:38:00.000-04:00

My husband asked me out on our first date in a library. It was our college library, a Mike Brady-esque building overlooking the Oak Grove (our quad).

I started going to the library when I transferred to this college. It was a way to get some space from an annoying room-mate (is there any other kind?) The library was under budgetary constraints. In western PA, football is king. So it three stacks of fiction, none of it recent.

Being the resourceful gal that I am, I found some wonderful books in that library. I would walk between the stacks and pull out books with interesting titles. With that method, I discovered Kingsley Amis, P.J. Wodehouse, Truman Capote, The Wizard of Loneliness, and The Truth About Unicorns - an extremely odd book that captured my imagination.

The library also had carrels with small televisions, a VCR, headphones, and a stock of about 500 movies. I would take the afternoon off and watch all sorts of classic flicks like Kurosawa's Dreams, All That Jazz, Vertigo, etc.

So the library kept me occupied when I needed some time alone or was between classes. I am fairly confident that I never studied there. However, the BEST part of the library is the memory of the day this cute guy tracked me down and asked me out.

I'd met him at a party the night before. He was an acquaintance of my brother, who was a few years ahead of me. My escort for the evening had abandoned me, and as I was new to the school, I was left stranded. I was fending off an approach from some guy who was talking about my thighs, when a cute boy started talking normally to me. I have no idea what he said, but I managed to follow him around until my escort suddenly reappeared. The escort tried to balance a glass of beer on my head and, of course, spilled it all over me. Needless to say, the cute guy walked me home that evening.

I was at the library the next afternoon and had just finished watching a movie. As I left, I encountered the previous night's escort. We were friends, before I understood that being just friends with single guys usually means that they have a crush on you. The escort said, "Hey Jane, that weird guy that you were talking to last night is down in the lobby looking for you. I think he likes you."

So I walk downstairs to the lobby and there he is. A tall, skinny blond guy who tried to act surprised to see me (he's since told me that he never set foot in the library and had called my brother and room-mate to find me). He said that there was a new show on Fox called The Simpsons. A couple friends were coming to his dorm room to drink and watch the show, did I want to come?"

History was made. We were inseparable after that. He dropped a long-distance girlfriend and a "friends with benefits." I dropped my poor escort pretty quickly, even though it took him several months and a few early morning drunken phone calls to move on. It would have never happened with him, but I'm sure he'd cringe if he realized how he facilitated our meeting.

I feel vindicated a bit when I think that 15 years later, that cute guy and I are still watching The Simpsons together.

My life is fascinating.

Another day of WTF?

2005-07-07T09:27:00.000-04:00

Condolences to our friends in London today. I am shocked and profoundly dismayed.

As American as Pie

2005-07-07T08:37:00.000-04:00

Ice cream pie, that is. We finished the last of it last night. If we have any sort of Independence Day tradition, it is my home-made peach ice cream pie (layered with caramel sauce, toasted pecans, and a buttery Lorna Doone crust). I make the caramel myself, an extremely simple recipe, but one that makes the house smell rich and warm. Ice Cream Pie day always makes the husband happy which, in turn, makes me content. The Dohs are such simple creatures.

On another note, I'd like to wish my mother a very happy birthday. It seems like I've spent a lot of my adult life squashing the parts in me that are similar to her. Not that it works. I think I am more like her than I wish to be. However, that may not be so bad. My mother is open, vulnerable, gracious, and caring. Not just to me, but to everyone. She's almost too gentle and fragile for this world. I love her more than I say and often more than I will admit.

She called me earlier this week and seemed pensive. She was feeling her mortality and is dividing up her perennials between the gardeners in the family. I didn't follow her reasoning (as usual), so I thanked her and told her that I loved her. I hope it was enough. There are some things we confront on our own. I think that getting older is one of them.

That's the problem with parents and adult children. Parents have already gone through your current phase of life, but not quite. Social changes, politics, technology, family structures - they're all different now. And we, as the younger generation, always feel like we know more than the people who have lived before us. I don't think it is necessary to bridge that gap (at least for me, I think distance is healthier for my family in many respects) but I find myself at a loss when I hear my mother's lonely comment from across the way.

Mom, what can I say? Thanks for all you've done for me. I love you.

Caramel Sauce
1 cup water
2 cups sugar
2 cups heavy cream
pinch salt
3 tbsp butter, each tbsp cut in half.

Pour water in heavy bottomed saucepan and turn heat on high. Add sugar in a heap in the center of pan, making sure that you don't touch sides. Place candy thermometer in the middle of the pan and cook, on high, until the mixture reaches 300 degrees F (10 to 15 minutes).

Lower heat when mixture reaches 300 degrees and cook until it reaches 350 degrees. The mixture should be a deep amber color, but you need to watch it carefully to make sure it doesn't burn.

Meanwhile, place cream and salt in smaller saucepan. As soon as the sugar water reaches 300 degrees, turn the heat under the cream on high just until it simmers. Turn off heat (and take off burner or the milk will foam and overflow).

When sugar water reaches 350, remove from heat and add 1/3 of milk mixture in. Wait until most of the bubbling has subsided and stir gently with a heat-resistant spatula. Add remaining cream in two parts, mixing between each part. Add butter and stir until glossy and smooth. Once cooled, this can be stored in tupperware for up to two weeks. Just reheat in the microwave or on stovetop.

Here We Are Again

2005-07-05T08:58:00.000-04:00

A momentous weekend of nothing in particular for the Dohs. We had painters at our house at 6:45 Saturday and Sunday, which meant that I was up, showered, and caffeined by 6:30 am and got a lot of housework done before 10 am. Although I haven't given you an update on the garden for a while, it is one of my greatest pleasures. The roses and Mexican evening primroses are almost finished and the first lilies bloomed this morning. The zinnias look like miniature fireworks. We finished the little terrace this weekend, planted some hollyhocks along the fence, and placed a ceramic bird bath with art deco designs on it with a little pot of yellow daisies. It is starting to come together after five years of hard labor.

I've also started my first furniture refinishing project - and it sucks. It's a cherry bedroom set from the 1930's. Much too modest for a style, I would say it is Mission if I had to put it in some category. So far, I've stripped and sanded the bedframe slats, the footboard, and one drawer. Only 9 more drawers, a headboard, and two dressers to go! Woohoo!

My take on Live 8:
1. London clearly got the better end of the deal. Better acts and longer concert.
2. I would have paid for a Live 8 ticket just to see the performance of Bittersweet Symphony by Richard Ashcroft and Coldplay. Although I didn't get to see the whole thing because..
3. MTV and VH1 covered the event horribly. If there was any smidgeon of doubt that music is incidental to these corporations, Live 8 removed it. Why did they interrupt every song to show us the vapid VJ banter? Did they realize that it was almost criminal to interrupt Comfortably Numb during a historic reunion of Pink Floyd to tell us that "we were watching history?" No, we're watching your sorry asses while history is being made BEHIND you.

The evolution of a generation. I watched the first LiveAid on MTV because, at 14, I was decreed too young to go. The coverage of the original event was respectful. Bands played their sets without interruption. Commercials and VJ's were limited to the time it took to set the stage between acts. Looking at the ADHD-inspired coverage this time around made me feel old.

Speaking of which, I found my first gray hair this weekend. It was glimmering like a silver fish at the bottom of a muddy creek. I plucked that little bastard and gave it to my husband, who laughed at me and gave me a hug.

Sigh.

A Friend in Need is a Friend Indeed

2005-06-30T10:48:00.000-04:00

Quick notes first:
1. Please excuse the appearance of the blog. I'm playing around with some design programs and learning as I go.
2. My husband has asked me to announce that has demolished the foundation of our ruinous barbecue pit and laid a nice patio in its place. Therefore, he is not the lazy bum that I have portrayed him to be on this blog.
3. For the record, this is still my blog and all opinions herein are solely my own. The dangers of letting your friends and family read your diary. Be warned.
4. After writing sporadic and careless entries for the past few months, I make a promise to myself ot take a bit more care in my posts.

Lorem ipsum (a new blog acquaintance and talented writer) wrote a thoughtful post about the dissolution of a long-term friendship a few months ago. It made me remember my one-time good friend Ruth and how our relationship ended.

As a quiet person, I am naturally drawn to more voluble and dramatic personalities. Ruth is certainly that. I met her through a coworker and she asked me to join the board of her vintage dance company. For the record, that's a group of people who dress in historic clothes and dance the cakewalk and such for fun. I was the volunteer grantwriter and thought the crowd was nice, if a bit nerdy.

Within a short time of meeting her, Ruth revealed that she was from a wealthy family. She was well-traveled, well-read, knew all the great hole-in-the-wall restaurants, and always had a interesting story about her recent happenings. We started working out together and, as these things usually happen with women, we eventually eliminated the gym and frequented our favorite restaurants.

I was fresh out of grad school and was impressed with Ruth's worldliness. She seemed to come from a different world than me. She had a beautiful Victorian twin home with a landscaped garden, an amazing kitchen with Delft tiles, and exquisite plaster moulding in her dining room. I drank in her stories of people and places like they were happening to me. Here I was, recently married, living hand to mouth in a walk-up apartment, and had been on an airplane for the first time during my honeymoon. I blame myself for encouraging her in a way.

Then Ruth contracted thyroid cancer. It pleased me to be the nurturing one, meeting her for dinner each week and listening to her inventory of problems. I was the calm and wise one, even though she was ten years older than me. Fortunately, Ruth came through her operation and recovered completely.

We continued our friendship, but I was starting to notice things about Ruth. How she seemed to go through boyfriends like they were tissues. How two housemates had left on bad terms. How her relationship with her mother was, to put it kindly, strained. Each time a relationship broke, she presented herself as the victim and I consoled her. She told me that I was "good for her soul," something that pleased me so much that I didn't mind when we stopped talking about what was going on in my life. But I did start asking deeper questions about why people seemed to leave her life on such bad terms, and never received a satisfactory answer.

The breaking point happened during a simple dinner. My husband and I were to meet at her house after work. She arrived late and this strange story evolved. Ruth had apparently been on a commuter train home and, two stops before her own, saw a vent person (her term for the homeless) clutch his chest and fall to the platform. She immediately got off the train to give him CPR. As our evening went on, her initial and hesitant story got more detailed and grandiose. The man's breath stunk, but she still gave him mouth-to-mouth, the commuter train waited 20 minutes for her to hand off her patient to the ambulance (yeah, right), and she received a standing ovation from her fellow commuters when she reboarded the train (oh come on, this is rush hour Philly).

She was clearly lying and I couldn't understand why. Why should she care so much what I think? I am completely average, with the same guy for 15 years, a homebody, a nobody really, and I didn't care that she was late.

The more I thought about it, the more I saw how our relationship was skewed. I had let myself become this nurturing, stable ideal to her that had nothing to do with the struggling young wife that I was. It was something that I carried over from childhood, when I was assumed a more mature demeanor for my mother's sake. I thought that subverting my importance was the best way to keep a relationship on an even keel. But I was tired of doing that.

I drew myself away from Ruth after that evening. We never talked about it and I am sure that I hurt her. Looking back, I could have handled it better but I don't regret losing her friendship. It was like a parasite leaving my body.

I am fortunate to have a very dear friend right now who has a flair for the dramatic. I love to listen to her tales. We meet for dinner now and then to laugh over them. But I know that she is there to listen to my trials and tribulations, too. I can share my insecurities and foibles with her - and she offers me sympathy and kind advice. It is a good thing.

Mr. E's Beautiful Blues

2005-06-29T09:00:00.000-04:00

I saw the Eels on Monday evening at the brand new WXPN world cafe studios. It's a great new venue that houses eclectic radio station (that you can listen to online - check out my new TimeWasters sidebar), a restaurant with live music, and a music hall that seats about 500 people.

My husband and I went with our next door neighbor, a gentle and funny guy with what might be the cutest baby on the planet. He and our dog are having a love affair and will whine for each other through our fence and they squirm excitedly whenever they meet. But that's another story.

The evening started out slowly with a terrible dinner (the food would have been good, but the service was neglectful. Who serves a dinner salad without dressing then disappears for a half hour?) The band was scheduled to go on at 7:30, but didn't step on stage until nearly 9:00. During that time, we were subjected to a painful 1960's stop animation cartoon from Russia (30 minutes of torture), followed by Russian military marches.

Then the Eels stepped on - Mr. E, a five-piece string section, and "The Chet" - who seems to be a man of many talents. Mr. E, who looked quite debonair in a suit and carried both a cane and a cigar, played a traveling piano that sounded like bells, a traveling organ, an upright piano, plus several guitars. Chet played a slide guitar, a saw, keyboard, and a drumset that was designed to look like a metal trashcan and a suitcase. But the drums only kicked in for a few songs, so you can imagine how mellow it was.

If you've listened to the most recent album, Blinking Lights, you'll know that it's more acoustic than previous works. The band played short versions of songs, almost like interludes, and you were able to immerse yourself into the melancholy lyrics. But before you felt like killing yourself, the band would play a happier song like "My Beloved Monster" and "I Like Birds."

The best part of the show was E's onstage banter. Sample wit from the trailer of the band's upcoming documentary, Rock Hard Times, which follows the band as they promoate their new album:

BBC Interviewer: You're a prolific writer. How do you write so many songs?
E: I write songs all the time. In fact, I'm writing one right now.
Interviewer: What's it called?
E: Inane interview

The band did not play "Saturday Morning" or "Mr. E's Beautiful Blues," sadly, but I did get to hear a nice arrangement for "The Only Thing I Care About" As an encore, they played a fast version of "Now You're Really Living." All in all, a nice night out for those of us who don't go to shows frequently.

My favorite things...

2005-06-27T16:30:00.000-04:00

psst...hey...Bud the Duck is now walking around. When did that happen?

Like many of you, I've always been a reader. Romance novels, science fiction, fantasy, the backs of cereal boxes, you name it. But the fantasy genre appeals to me in a special way. Maybe we can chalk it up to simple escapism, but this genre transports me away from my daily cares in a purely pleasurable way. Experiencing grand adventures from the comfort of my couch. What could be better?

Here's a few of my favorite fantasy series.

1. Atlan Saga, Jane Gaskell.
I found the first book of this five-part series when I was in my late teens. Until then, I had thought that all fantasy was written for and by men with epic battles and armored dwarves. Not so. Jane Gaskell published her first book when she was 14, and she has a unique, honest voice that immediately rang true with me. Feminine, but not fluffy. It felt like the main character in these books was me.

The books are based on the mythical country of Atlantis and how it fell into the sea. Cija, the heroine that could be me, starts out as a pawn between warring countries and somehow becomes Empress of Atlantis. She's shy, naive, a bit sulky, but has a wonderful resilience that fascinates the men she unconsciously attracts. No, that's not the part that could be me. The book is written as a journal and her slightly sarcastic observations are easily recognizable to a kindred spirit.

The best part about this series is the fifth book, written from the perspective of Cija's five-year-old daughter. The daughter is somehow more worldly, cynical, and accepting of the brutal truths of life than her mother. Partly a reflection of the acceptance and unsentimentality of young children, and partly because her mother is apparently a bit of a ninny. Even though the series was written in the 1960's, the language still has a freshness and femininity (not to be confused with girlishness) that is arresting. I love these books.

2. Outlander Series, Diana Gabaldon
Part romance novel, part fantasy, these books literally engrossed me for weeks when I read them the first time. The premise is based on time travel. Claire Randall, a happily-married doctor in the 1960s, walks through a circle of stones and is transported back to the Highlands and a man named Jamie Frasier. The plot twists and turns, with much drama, but the core of the book is the love between Claire and Jamie. The author has obviously been in a long-term relationship herself, and recreates the small, intimate moments of a marriage with honesty and tenderness.

I steal from a review on Amazon, but here's a sample of one of those moments: "I was lame and sore in every muscle when I woke next morning. I shuffled to the privy closet, then to the wash basin. My innards felt like churned butter. It felt as though I had been beaten with a blunt object, I reflected, then thought that that was very near the truth. The blunt object in question was visible as I came back to bed, looking now relatively harmless. Its possessor [Jamie] woke as I sat next to him, and examined me with something that looked very much like male smugness."

There are four books in the series, I think, and the characters have war, high seas adventures, prison breaks, heartwrenching separations, and joyful reuinions. It's delightful.

3. Black Jewels Trilogy, Anne Bishop
Will somebody else please read this series and tell me why I like it so? The writing is not that great, but I like the IDEA of it. I don't know. I would love to hear more from the rest of you.

4. His Dark Materials Trilogy, Philip Pullman
Yeah, I had no idea that this series was for young adults until halfway through the second book. Pullman has created a world that you can almost touch and smell, with plenty of magic, heroic quests, evil, good, and characters caught in between.

These are just a few of my favorite escapes, I guess. I think the Harry Potter series is light-hearted fun as well, but almost every fantasy reader does. So that will be my only mention of them. I am currently reading an anthology of 1960's scifi edited by Harlan Ellison that is great. It seems like the 1960's were a fertile era for science fiction - space exploration, civil rights movement, a belief in Progress - all contributed to potential futures. Interesting reading, indeed.

Seriously. Just go away.

2005-06-10T09:59:00.000-04:00

Can we send these two back to their home planet now? Are they the first people from their world to fall in love? Is that why they are slobbering over each other every time I turn on the damn television?

For Darth...

2005-06-02T09:00:00.000-04:00

You're stuck inside Fahrenheit 451. Which book do you want to be?

I would be Howl by Allen Ginsberg. My freshman English professor in art school introduced me to Ginsberg (as well as Catallus) and I will be forever grateful. Because we're all golden sunflowers inside, blessed by our own seed & hairy naked accomplishment....yes we are.

Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?

Of course. I was weaned on romance novels, thanks to a very progressive older sister.

The last book you finished is?

The Lovely Bones. Three years after it was recommended to me. Better late than never, I guess.

What are you currently reading?

The Best Science Fiction Short Stories of 2002 - I keep telling myself that reading short stories is a phase. But it's been three years...

The Best Unrequired American Reading - more short stories and essays, and edited by Viggo Mortensen, who is an incredibly boring writer. I wish I had kept the Aragorn dream in its happy little bubble.

Everything You Know is Wrong - leftist essays and news articles about how we are being deceived by governments and the media. They're supposed to make me angry, I guess, but the writing is just so terrible in some that I started laughing instead.

Five books you would take to a deserted island?

1. Persuasion, Jane Austen. I like her clear eye for human fraility and her gentle humor. This book in particular appeals to me because it is about finding love after you've resigned yourself to being on your own.

2. Of Human Bondage, W. Somerset Maugham. I read the book again this winter and it's a great story of expectations, failure, and finding your place in the world.

3. The Black Jewels Trilogy, Anne Bishop. These books are compiled into one volume so I'm not cheating. They are pure fantasy fluff and I keep reading them over and over. And over.

4. The Life of Pi. I would finally be forced to see this book through to the end.

5. The Wonder Boys, Michael Chabon. This man has a way with words.

Who are you going to pass this book to?

The She-Creature and Phoenix (I'm sure Dickens will play a role).

Reggae ain't so bad after all

2005-05-31T12:20:00.000-04:00

View from the umbrella

Ah...our first real vacation in nine years. What can I say that wouldn't be a cliche? Sunshine, gentle breezes, warm sea, and world-class food. The hotel was perfect for us. Perched on a coral bluff, Tensing Pen has 14 separate rooms that range from treehuts to bungalow. All face west to catch the best view of the sunset to be found on the island. The only sounds we heard were the doves nesting outside of our windows, the breeze, the fishing boats off the coast, and the dogs up on the street.

You can get anything you want in Jamaica. Everyone has an angle and works hard to survive. After getting over my discomfort for being seen as a rich American (haha), I started to enjoy the game. A simple "No thanks" was enough to send people away, but I loved the spirit and the lilting accent of the Jamaicans by the time I was through. And even though I vowed to hate the reggae, I was impressed by the variety of reggae styles and how it fit so well with the vibe of the place.

Entrance of hotel with bougainvilla and hibiscus

Our treehouse was incredibly romantic. It was made of cedar and shaped like an octagon to catch all the breezes. A four-poster bed with mosquito netting. A little veranda with two chairs faced the sea, and the furnishings were elegant and simple. From the patchouli hand soap in the washroom to the exotic cut flowers on the dresser, every detail was "just so."

The romantic tree house

Outdoor Showers - So THAT's Why They're Called Crabs
So the outdoor shower is nestled under the floor of the treehouse, with a spiral-shaped stone wall that is about 5 1/2 feet high. Nobody can see you, but I still felt vulnerable when I tried it the first time.

Understand that I'm naked and have no contacts in, so I had to bend over and squint when I saw something near my flip flops. It was a five-inch crab walking into the shower like he owned the place. I threw a shoe at him to make him skitter away. He just jumped back a few paces and raised his claws at me. I distinctly heard him say, "Bring it!" I threw the other flip flop at him, and this time he dodged and moved forward into the spray, with his claws up, ready to take off a toe if needed. I couldn't scream because someone might have actually come to help me.

With my weapons gone, the crab and I circled each other on the outskirts of the shower spray, staring each other down, claws and paws up and ready for combat, until he found the drain. He curled himself up in there and only came out once again to terrorize my husband by climbing the wall and hanging out just about at crotch level. My husband got a stick and started poking him with it, but that little bastard just started swiping at him. He disappeared after that first day and we didn't see him again.

Yours truly snorkeling

The Sex Life of a Famous Author - A Short Case Study
Our hut was right next door to a bestselling author who had a cultivated eccentricity that I found fascinating in the absence of television or radio. He was a cliff jumper and our first introduction to him was when he came into our lounge chair area and announced that he had jumped the cliffs 74 times the day before, and was only up to 22 that day. He told us that he pictured a terrorist in the water below and every jump was his small victory on behalf of his country.

This was cool and funny, of course. But the best part was when he brought his "girlfriend" from Hong Kong arrived. She's a moaner. So even though we did our best not to hear, we learned quite a bit about this man's sex life. At least eight times the first day. The last time was seriously less than a minute. They went into their room fully clothed. She started moaning and the maid who had been coming to his room stopped, put down her stuff, and walked away. She had just rounded the corner when they stepped outside again. My theory is that she was a high-class escort because a) no girlfriend would have sex that often and b) no girlfriend would let her boyfriend get away with a one minute wonder like that.

He would step out onto his veranda, strip off his bathing suit, and throw it onto the public sidewalk. If this woman was really his girlfriend, she would never have let him act like a wild bear. She would pick the bathing suit up and drape it over the wall of the veranda. Imposing order is just what girlfriends do.

Yes, I spent a lot of time thinking about this man. He just lived his life, completely oblivious that others may not want to live it with him. Kind of admirable in a way.

Ok, I'll get off that topic.

We met lovely people and will definitely go back to this resort. Almost everyone was a return guest, and many gave us suggestions to find the "real" Jamaica. Maybe next time. I was more interested in escaping reality on this trip. I paid for the dream and I got it.

It was sad to leave, but we got home to very excited animals and a weekend with family and friends. All in all, a perfect week.

One last wave before we go...

Hello there

2005-05-20T09:09:00.000-04:00

Springtime at the Doh estate is colorful, isn't it? We finally attacked the garden last weekend and it was the height of the azalea season. Well, the pink bush is azalea. I'm not sure what the purple bush is except lovely.

Little blue perennials that disappear completely in June and leave big empty spaces in my garden.

And what would a photo essay by JaneDoh be without a picture of Suki? Check out the ferns in the background. We planted them two years ago and they've taken off! Feel free to ignore the big patches of yellow grass. We do.

I have not been reading or watching many movies or television lately, but I have been downloading music fiendishly in preparation for a much-needed vacation next week. The vacation is well-deserved, too, as my gala went off without a hitch two weeks ago. Apparently the chairman of the Board mentioned me as the "genie behind the scenes" during her presentation and the crowd gave me a spontaneous round of applause. I heard about this later because I was working elsewhere, but what a nice thing to do!

Yesterday my husband and I went to see a live studio recording of the John Butler Trio at the WXPN studios. I should mention that Bruce Springsteen and U2 were in Philly this week as well as John Butler Trio, and the local music critics said that John Butler was the best show of the week. I know there are diehard fans who might disagree with that conclusion, but my point is that you will be hearing more of the John Butler Trio in the future. Funky, bluesy rock. He has free downloads on his site if you want to hear more. I'd recommend his song Zebra.

I was a little late, so my husband talked a bit with my favorite DJ. When he introduced himself and said that he was waiting for his wife, she said, "Oh, your wife must be Jayne from -----! I know her by reputation."

I didn't know that I had a reputation.

What kind of reputation do I have? This is the sort of thing that I will obsess about for months.

Anyway, here are my latest and most fresh download picks (new to me, at least). Email or IM me and I'll send them to you:

1. Each Coming Night, Iron and Wine - gentle, rainy day music akin to Simon and Garfunkel.

2. Thickfreakness, Black Keys - crunchy blues that you feel in your gut like Led Zeppelin.

3. Eye in the Sky, Jonatha Brooke - an acoustic remake of the old Alan Parsons Project favorite. Well, I always loved that song and remember that great animated video? This cover is soulful and a bit folky.

4. High, James Blunt - I can't make up my mind about this guy. Is he some sort of sugar pop songwriter like Jason Mraz? You like him in a mild way at first, then you realize that he's just singing the same annoying song over and over. Or is he something more? Blunt is either a guilty pleasure or the real deal. Either way, I'm digging this song a lot right now.

So I'm off to Jamaica to stay in a little tree house on a cliff. Really. Our room is a hut on stilts with a thatched roof. We have an outdoor shower under the building. I'm a little nervous about this, but I'm looking forward to the adventure. Wish us luck!

Spring Fever

2005-04-27T08:34:00.000-04:00

So spring has sprung. The bleeding hearts are blooming. The daffodils and hyacinths have come and gone. The azaleas are in bud.

And I'm developing my annual list of summer projects, although it has already been scaled back dramatically because of my husband's health problems. Let's see, there's the mostly dead dogwood that needs to be cut down - and the surrounding flagstone patio taken up, regraded, and set down again. There's the giant slab of concrete that used to house a stone barbecue pit. The pit was a ruin so we demolished it last year, but we didn't have time to jackhammer the slab of concrete and foundation. They are still an eyesore. There's the back lawn, although I think "lawn" is too kind a word, that needs to be tilled, smoothed out, and seeded. Plus various pruning, weeding, planting, trimming, etc.

Then there's the wood trim, which needed to be painted when we moved into the house five years ago. It's disgraceful and I've noticed that our paint INSIDE the house is suffering from moisture issues as a result. So yeah, put that on the list, repainting the interior of the house.

And don't get me started on the basement, which is the one area of the house still untouched from the previous owner. She must have redone her basement circa 1950 and god only knows how much longer we will be living with that federal blue paint.

When we were new homeowners, such things on our list were accomplished within a matter of months. Nowadays, it seems to take longer. A lot longer. So I ask my husband now, gently and with love, please call the goddamn painter and set this up before I lose my mind. Thanks, dear.

Hope you all have much more success with your upcoming projects. Talk to you soon!

Er...TAG

2005-04-14T14:48:00.000-04:00

So I was at the dog park last weekend and my dog had made fast friends with a beautiful steely blue standard poodle. They had played for a while but I could see Suki was getting tired and I decided to take her for a little stroll around the park perimeter to give her some breathing room. The poodle followed for a while, which was cool. Except for his owner.

The owner kept yelling, "Here Stanley. Here! Here!" And the dog ignored him and kept following us. The guy literally ran to his poodle, who turned reluctantly to face him. He bent over, putting his face inches from the dogs and shaking a finger, and said in a deadly voice, "Don't you ever turn your back on me again. Ever! Ever! Ever!" Like the poodle was a recalcitrant teenager who had messed up on recital.

My husband and I looked askance at each other and just kept walking. That poor fucking poodle.

I haven't read many posters lately, but I'll tag my new friend Claud

EDIT - I HAVE TO PICK A SONG?? Man, my reading comprehension is for shit these days. Um...well, my husband once likened me to Bob Seger's Beautiful Loser (nice). Um....maybe Further to Fly by Paul Simon?

What's going on

2005-04-06T13:30:00.000-04:00

I am sure you have been breathlessly awaiting my infrequent posts, and I feel like I am responsible for a crushing sense of disappointment each week when you come here and find nothing new.

What's the deal, man? Is my life so boring that I have nothing to say? Well, yes and no. I'm in a holding pattern right now. Lots of pots on the stove, but nothing is boiling over at the moment. I feel restless and impatient most of the time, and definitely stressed. Plus, this whole blogging thing is strange. As more things go on in my personal life, the less creative I feel on a blog.

So because it is all about me, I thought I'd share my random news and wisdom as a bookmark of my current status.

1. A good haircut can change your world view. I got my biennial haircut last month. Normally, I go for the straight, under the chin bob as seen in my blog pic - and then let it grow for several months until I get sick of it. This time, however, I kept it long and layered it. Think Piper from Charmed, without the wispy bangs. The haircut, seeing results from the gym, and five new pairs of shoes have made me feel like I look pretty darn good for a 34 year-old, washed-up married lady.

2. I haven't been watching movies lately, except for a memorable viewing of I Heart Huckabees. I thought it was cute. Anyway, I am now addicted to watching G4TV for some reason, although I only buy 3 or 4 games a year. Somehow, watching reviews of games I'll never buy is soothing.

3. However, X-Play did introduce me to God of War, an excellent game in a genre that I usually don't play. Great puzzle-solving, beautiful graphics, and a real bastard of a hero. What could be better?

4. For the first time since our honeymoon, my husband and I are taking an actual tropical vacation. We are going to a resort called TensingPen in Negril, Jamaica. They have a hammock hut there. Just think, a place dedicated to nothing but napping in a gentle carribean breeze. Lovely.

Other than that, I am on a countdown at work for our annual black-tie gala for 500 people- which is my baby. It's a month away and I am stressing about budgets and logistics. So I may not be around for a while!

Hope you are well and enjoying the beginning of spring. It's always so invigorating.

Jane

More Thievery - thanks darth

2005-03-30T14:03:00.000-05:00

i borrowed this from bella's blog, here:

"Choose a band/artist and answer these questions only in song titles by that band/artist"

Are you male or female:
Describe yourself:
How do some people feel about you:
How do you feel about yourself:
Describe your ex girlfriend/boyfriend:
Describe your current girlfriend/boyfriend:
Describe where you want to be:
Describe what you want to be:
Describe how you live:
Describe how you love:
Share a few words of wisdom:

Patty Griffin

Are you male or female: Sweet Lorraine
Describe yourself: One Big Love
How do some people feel about you: Don't Come Easy
How do you feel about yourself: Useless Desires
Describe your ex girlfriend/boyfriend: Nobody's Cryin
Describe your current girlfriend/boyfriend: Big Daddy
Describe where you want to be: Blue Sky
Describe what you want to be: Every Little Bit
Describe how you live: Poor Man's House
Describe how you love: Mad Mission
Share a few words of wisdom: Time Will Do the Talking

You Wanna Pizza Me? Bring it, Dominos!!

2005-03-18T08:53:00.000-05:00

Dear Domino Marketing Executives,

I am sure that you think that you are very clever. I would have loved to have present during the sessions where you came up with the brilliant marketing tools, such as saying everything twice for your Double Deal Tuesdays, and depicting an overwhelmed family man who can't comprehend that he can order three different toppings on three different pizzas because he fears change. Genius. Pure genius.

However, I must object to your reckless abandon in using a doorbell as your "signature sound." You see, I own a dog (pictured above) A usually sweet and docile creature whose favorite activity is gnawing quietly on a bone. She also likes to sleep. A lot.

Imagine quietly watching television with your family, smiling slightly when glancing at her peaceful face, feeling completely at ease and at home with nothing more taxing to do than watch a rerun of The Simpsons.

Then your commercial comes on. Not only must we endure your clumsy attempts at humor, but our poor dog is subjected to never-ending confusion by your doorbell sound. She will jump up as soon as she hears it, even in a dead sleep, and whip herself into a frenzy of barking and high-pitched whining. She runs half-way to the door and stops. The machine-gun barking takes on a slightly questioning tone, and eventually peters out to digruntled woofs as she walks dejectedly back to her spot in front of the couch. Every. Single. Time.

You can see how this disrupts our lives, especially if your commercial runs several times in an hour. I am sure we are not the only family to endure this. Please stop torturing America's dogs, Dominos. Or we will boycott you.

Thank you,

Jane Doh

We're all gonna die!!!

2005-03-08T08:37:00.000-05:00

Ok, we are all going to die eventually, but probably not in the panicked and hysterical way that I envision it whenever I am within 20 feet of a roller coaster. Even as a young girl, I was dubious when looking up at the towering wood or metal structures that seemed too flimsy to support the speed and bulkiness of the carts.

However, not wanting to be the one left behind on the ground holding everyone else's goodies, I always insisted on family vacations that I would ride the coaster with my brothers and sisters. I would start off at the end of the line full of anticipation and cheer, thinking to myself that this would finally be the day that I conquer my fear and see what all the fun is about. Invariably, I would get more and more quiet as we got closer to the platform and I could hear the screams more clearly and see the disheveled hair of the people who had just finished their ride. When my turn to enter the car came, I would steel my nerves, take a deep breath, step into the car...and quickly walk through it to the exit platform. One of my brothers would get stuck sitting next to a complete stranger and would give me a look that promised retribution as the restraining bar clicked into place. But I didn't care. I'd dodged a bullet.

Several years ago, I decided to confront my unreasonable fear once and for all at Kennywood, home of the Steel Phantom. At the time, the Steel Phantom had the longest vertical drop of any coaster in the world and reached speeds of 80 mph. The lines were short and I decided to accompany my husband before losing my nerve completely.

I started to get uneasy when I read the long list of cautions, including the removal of jewelry. Immediately, I pictured an earring getting stuck on the seat and ripping through someone's earlobe. The butterflies were fluttering but I stuck my ass in the seat and let the restraining bar settle over my lap. My husband grinned happily at me and started shoving against the restraining bar to prove how sturdy it was. It moved.

Then the car shifted into motion. I know that roller coaster aficionados love that clicking sound that occurs when the roller coaster is ratcheted up that first incline. To my ears, it may be the most horrifying sound in the world. I gritted my teeth and fought down the wave of hysteria. My husband was bouncing in his seat with joy - but his smile instantly faded when he looked over at me. Apparently, he had never seen quite that shade of green on anyone's face before. He started to comfort me, but I just told him to shut up. Now, I may tell him to "hush" or "shush," but I never simply say shut up to him. I think that it's rude. But to my relief, he shut up.

I don't remember much about the actual ride, except that it was the longest 1:45 minutes of my life. I was bounced around and slammed into the restraining bar several times. Because I was holding myself so stiffly, I ended up with several bruises and muscle aches the next day. But the ride finally stopped and I got out of that car as fast as my shaky legs would carry me. As soon as I was off the platform, I leaned against the wall and took several steadying breaths. My husband was really concerned - sorry I ruined your ride honey - but I grabbed his arm and went out to meet his family. His mother took one look and asked, "Why did you go on the ride anyway?"

Good question. I guess just to prove that I could. Or to prove that fear doesn't control my life. Either way, I look at my ride on the Steel Phantom as a turning point into becoming an adult. I didn't enjoy it, but the point is that I did it. I'll never do it again though. What do you think I am? Crazy?

PinkLemonadeDiva's Idea

2005-03-04T09:06:00.000-05:00

A fun little game to find out where you are today....Take the first two words of each line and finish the sentence your own way.

I Live in a little cottage that we fixed up ourselves
I Work in a renovated car dealership building
I Talk less lately, as I usually end up coughing
I Wish this damn flu would leave my body
I Enjoy my pillow-top mattress and down comforter in excess
I Look at the dust piling up on my furniture
I Must get better so I can clean my damn house before the in-laws visit
I Forget how long it's been since I gave the house a good going-over
I Find dog hair tumbleweeds as I walk through my dining room

I Smell like Dove extra-hydrating body wash
I Listen, but it's really quiet in the office today
I Hide my IM window when the boss steps in my workspace
I Pray that he didn't see my irreverent comments
I Walk quickly
I Write an overdue grant proposal
I See dollar signs as I send it off with a flourish

I Sing a little happy song to my dog.
I Laugh when she does a little quickstep
I Left her this morning looking very Winnie-the-Poohish, standing on her hind legs to look out the window at me.

I Won a free song from my Diet Pepsi bottle cap once.
I Can bake magnificent brownies, cakes, and cookies
I Own a sewing machine although I find the entire process frustrating
I Watch Starting Over on tv and try to give myself issues so I can join the show.
I Yearn to find meaningful work
I Daydream about how my life will be different soon
I Fall for flowers ever time. They really work.

I Want to make a change
I Cry rarely and never for very long
I Burn unscented candles only
I Read almost everything except mystery novels.
I Love a good cuddle

I Rode English saddle a few times in college.
I Sometimes wonder what my first love is doing now
I Hurt my mother's feelings sometimes by being too honest
I Fear failure
I Hope to overcome that fear.

I Use roller ball pens only.
I Still use composition books to organize my work
I Drink alcohol infrequently
I Stop and consider the diplomatic response
I Save the french fries for last
I Lost more jewelry than I own over the years
I Take long, hot showers in the winter
I Trip-Out the night before my big event
I Hug only those people I know very well

I Play RPG's on Playstation 2
I Miss my first car, a 1970 Chevy Nova called the Golden Bullet
I Forgive myself
I Drive assertively
I Learn quickly.
I Dream about decorating other people's houses. Literally.
I Hate feeling out of control
I Feel tired today
I Can't wait for the weekend
I Applaud your patience for reading this. Now try it yourself and let me know what you've come up with.

Goodbye

2005-02-24T15:00:00.000-05:00

I'll probably regret writing something this personal, but I have something to say and this is the best forum for it. Besides, my brother stops by infrequently and this post may speak to him.

My grandfather died late last week. Just sixteen months after his wife of 62 years succumbed to congestive heart failure and he became just a shadow of himself. He was diagnosed with Alzheimer's last summer, but I don't think any of us were prepared for his rapid and horrifying deterioriation. Not to mention the inevitable dehumanization that happens when 84 years of life is dismantled and moved into a series of smaller and more restrictive assisted living faciities.

We guess that he had Alzheimer's for years, but my grandmother had successfully hidden the symptoms from us. They were both fiercely independent people who, after being married for six decades, lived as a unit. As her heart grew weaker, he was her body. As his mind grew more confused, she was his communicator. When she died, he simply lost the will to live. We all saw it.

Grandad grew up in Pennsylvania Dutch country near Reading. He started out as a radio engineer for what later became the FCC, and worked at one of the first experimental television stations. In fact, he wrote the first book about television for radio engineers and toured the country teaching returning WWII GI's about the new technology for several years. He taught electronics at Temple University and wrote over 40 technical books. Most are obsolete and out of print now, but he did dedicate a book to each grandchild - including yours truly. I think my book was about the fascinating world of oscilloscopes.

My grandfather was not a church-going man. Growing up in Amish country, he toyed with Quakerism and joined a UCC church to please his wife. But his real temple was Nature. He was passionate about conservation, wildlife, and Native American spirituality. My father grew up with strange pets like a blue jay, a squirrel, and even collected carrier pigeons. He was always a "birder" and spent his later years building birdfeeders and taking photographs from his bedroom window, and writing articles about the habits of birds. His favorite birds were blue jays. He loved their intelligence and bossy manner. These amateur photos and articles were published in Bucks County Town and Country a few years ago to his great pride.

When I was a child, my grandfather was the quiet man who sat in his office playing with a ham radio. As I grew older, I appreciated his gentle, patient manner. He never asserted loudly, but always followed his own path quietly and with assurance. It saddened me to hear him say such things as, "There's so much I want to tell you, but I don't have the words" and "sometimes it is just too hard" over these past few months.

So Grandad, even though I distrust the comfort of platitudes and sentimentality, I am glad that your suffering is over. Even though I don't believe in an afterlife, I hope Grandma is there to meet you and greets you with a smile on her pretty face. And even though I am sure you are no longer hungry or thirsty, I wish you all the Pepsi-Cola and chocolate pudding that you could ever want.

Gym Etiquette

2005-02-18T08:29:00.000-05:00

Some of you may know that I joined a gym in November - for the first time. It has been a great experience overall. My gym is real low-key and not part of a franchise. It seems to attract serious bodybuilder types, mostly men, and women like me. No gym bunnies or college boys primping in front of the mirrors. Plus, the most interesting character is the owner, Sterlyn, a Jamaican man that I think either takes drugs or has bipolar issues. One day, he'll be sitting in the dark in his office and the next, he'll be out in the middle of the gym coaching the rest of us while doing spontaneous karate jumps. He likes to quiz me on my vocabulary while I'm on the elliptical.

Which brings me to my only pet peeve about the gym - obnoxious guys. I should preface this with two things. First, I don't wear my wedding rings when I work out. They have a tendency to slip off when my hands aren't sweaty, so I am loathe to find out what will happen at the gym. Second, I'm not into making friends at the gym. I'm sweaty, my hair is all over the place, and I usually am in a rush to get to my next errand. A nod and a hello is appropriate, asking me how much weight I've lost is not.

So, last night, a little Joe Pesci type of guy keeps staring at me while I'm on the elliptical. I should say that I'm a completely average gal, but I do have certain endowments that attract attention. I pretty sensitive about it, and I can see him in the mirror getting a good look. Anyway, he's wearing shorts and a ski cap. It's about 70 degrees in the gym. When I'm finished and stretching, he approaches me with this fabulous line:

Joe: "Hi hon. You look like a Kathleen or a Megan."
Me: "Nope."

I'm smiling, but asking myself if chicks really fall for this line and give him their names. Not a big deal, normally, but now that I see what an obvious line this is, I'm going to make him suffer for being a cheeseball.

Joe: "Yeah, you really look like a Kathleen or Megan. How about Catherine?"
Me: "No, sorry."

Awkward pause. I'm smiling expectantly at him. Yes, I know this is a bit bitchy, but a girl has got to be careful.

Joe: "Well, my name is Walter" and holds out his hand.

So I give in, and my breasts were treated to a discourse about the elitists at Gold's Gym. That's another five minutes of my life that I'll never get back. So guys, if a girl is at the gym and is a)wearing baggy clothes and b)moving through things quickly - she's interested in only one thing - herself.

Another tip for guys. Please don't sing along to the crappy dance music that they play at the gym. A fellow last weekend was working out with his friend. Well, maybe working out is too strong a word. He brought his less attractive friend with him to the gym and was making that poor guy sweat while he gave really loud advice and strutted around the space checking all the women out in the mirrors.

You know that song, I think it's by 50 Cent, about shaking your ass? Well, it is on heavy rotation at the gym and in a very carrying voice, the guy sings out "YEAH, SHAKE THAT ASS GIRL" and claps his hands. In unison, all of the women turned around and gave him dirty looks. I don't think it registered with him, but his friend looked pretty embarassed. We all looked at each other and shook our heads.

So that's my rant on obnoxious guys at the gym. I do so enjoy the dynamics, though. Hope you have a good weekend all.

My best friend

2005-02-08T13:45:00.000-05:00

A nerdy post, but I just want to pay homage to the best friend a girl could have. We met at work five years ago and have kept in touch through two additional jobs each. And although we don't see each other every day, or even talk as much as we used to, I consider her a sister. Not by blood, but by choice.

You wouldn't know how similar we are to look at us. She challenges where I accept and brood. She's outgoing where I'm the wallflower. She bedecks herself in stylish, colorful clothes while I go for the somber classics in black. Lots of black. She'll jump on a plane for an off-the-cuff trip to Europe while I'll dream of going back to our quiet vacation spot for another year. She's aggressive, smart, funny, and a genuinely kind person.

We've had eerily parallel lives - similar childhoods, marriages the same kind of guy in the same kind of business and with the same first name. And underneath it all, I think we recognize the goofball in each other - the odd girl who's apt to blurt out a non sequitur at any moment and then laugh nervously to cover it up. A little nerdy, a little cool, and with a slightly dry sense of humor that puts it into perspective.

Anyway, I love you. Let's get together soon, ok?

Kafka on the Shore

2005-02-03T10:39:00.000-05:00

In deference to Darth's eloquent and thoughtful post about the difficulties in recommending books to others, I thought I would take a step back and examine why I write this blog. The easy answer is that it is a handy way for me to avoid the pile of mundane work at my desk. A very important consideration, to be sure.

The other is that I rarely discuss books with people in my daily life. I was a solitary, shy girl that grew into a quiet, reserved woman. Books have always been a constant in my life, and I look to them to provide refuge, entertainment, defense against overly friendly men when I am alone at restaurants or on the subway, and to satisfy the random curiosities that I have. There's really no rhyme or reason to what I read. I won't say that I have particularly good taste, but I definitely have particular taste. I know what appeals to me. So, I guess what I'm saying is that I hope that readers understand that this blog is just a parking spot for inconsequential thoughts about the books I read before going to bed each night. I'm hardly a critic.

That's enough of that. Now on to Kafka on the Shore. I introduced myself to Haruki Murakami in grad school through a collection of short stories. I was instantly drawn to his unaffected writing and honest, simple characters that always seem normal - even when confronted by the impossible or unexplainable. Plus, I am interested in Japanese culture and his descriptions of modern life in Japan were an eye-opener to someone who had only been exposed to feudal Japan or life seen through Hello Kitty.

Kafka on the Shore has similar themes to Murakami's other works. For those who read his other books, you will recognize references to shadows and the horrors of war. The talking cats won't surprise you. And the ubiquitous well has been transformed into a clearing in a deep, dark forest. The book is loosely based on the Oedipal myth, but Murakami throws in another one of his wonderful tales of star-crossed lovers, a Holy Fool on a mysterious quest, and unexpected downpours of leeches and mackeral.

Murakami uses symbolism and metaphysics to bring meaning to his stories. I won't pretend to understand how everything ties together in the end. I do know that this was a deeply satisfying read about forgiveness and redemption, and that I am still thinking about its meaning whenever I have a spare minute alone.

Questions

2005-01-28T08:36:00.000-05:00

Someday somebody's going to ask you
a question that you should say yes to once in your life.
Maybe tonight, I have a question for you.
- Old 97's, Question

In honor of Mr. Doh's inaugural post onto my blog and, in fact, his first post ANYWHERE I have decided that we should all get to know this fascinating creature that I call my husband. In his typically contrary fashion, you may all wish to note that his first post was to give me crap about saying that he had a manly grip on a book. Apparently, I should have said something about how he held the book lightly and sensitively. That's much more studly, isn't it?

Welcome to "my world," Mr. Doh, as you so kindly put it (implying that it was dorky). Welcome to the world of geekiness. Don't worry, we'll be gentle with you.

Here are a few questions for you. Readers, feel free to add your own.

1. What are you listening to right now?

2. What is your favorite way to eat chocolate?

3. What was your worst fashion decision?

4. Why do you complain about having a bad hair day when it always looks the same no matter what you do to it?

5. Where do you want to have dinner tonight?

6. And finally, what is so great about Jane that you had to go and ask her to marry you? (Yes, it comes back to me eventually)

Oh and sweetums? I really do think you're swell.

A Treat for the Doh's

2005-01-27T11:56:00.000-05:00

Kafka on the Shore, the new Haruki Murakami book, has been released in the U.S. Much celebration in the Doh household. I've managed to wrestle the book from the husband's manly grip. Stay tuned for a review.

Sidenote: How on earth did Kevin Bacon come up on my "Kafka on the Shore" image search? He's everywhere, isn't he?

Nuthin but purty pictures

2005-01-20T09:26:00.000-05:00

After a three hour commute home last night, I am feeling rather frayed around the edges. It took me over an hour to drive 11 BLOCKS -and it never got better. After 2 and a half hours, I turned left to enter my home stretch and was confronted by four miles of red tail lights. So I decided to take a short cut and discovered that every single car in my neck of the woods must have been on the road from which I turned. So there I was, in my little car that stalls and stutters at a hint of brakes on slippery roads driving down dark, windy, and unfamiliar roads at 7.45 PM when the newscaster cheerfully announces, "The rush hour has ended and it is time for the road crews to salt and plow for the morning ahead." And I'm feeling very much like Eeyore and thinking that the rush hour has ended for everyone but me. Sad ol' me.

I came home to a very relieved and appreciative husband and we now have a date to buy me a cell phone this weekend. Most annoying bumper sticker of the night on a doctor's SUV - "I save lives. What do YOU do?" Apparently nothing worthwhile, you pretentious smacked ass.

Anyway, I will now force myself into cheerfulness by looking at cute and fluffy photos. Hope you enjoy them as well.

THE PUPPY! Suki is her name. She likes sticks.

THE KITTEN! Harriet the Kitten, actually. Most ridiculous piece of fluff ever.

THE CRITTER! Her name is really Critter and she really does blend into the couch, doesn't she?

Bleeding Hearts. I dig these flowers.

Sweet Violets. Planted by the previous owner, these are taking over our lawn. They creep and are unkillable (you like that word, dontcha?) Still, they're pretty little things aren't they?

House of Leaves

2005-01-14T09:19:00.000-05:00

Has anyone else read this book by Mark Danielewski? Published in 2000, it had an immediate cult following. In short, it is a horror story about a house that is bigger on the inside than the outside. Doesn't sound too scary, does it? But it is one of the creepiest books I have ever read.

A family moves into a house (location never disclosed in the book). The father is a photo-journalist who has decided to take a break from his demanding career to focus on his family. The wife is a former model and they have two young children. It's obvious that the marriage is in trouble and there are hints that the wife has had an extra-marital affair. Anyway, the couple finds an extra room in their house. It starts out as a black void of a closet, but gradually gets bigger and bigger. The photo-journalist decides to take a team to explore this phenomenon with his video camera, and disappears into the ever expanding void. That's the heart of the story - a transcription of a video pitting man against the abyss.

The book is made more complex by the fact that there are two stories. The core exploration of the strange house is framed by a journal of sorts by a young man who has found transcriptions and research of this house. He descends into madness as he tries to determine if the House of Leaves actually exists. I guess he's confronting another type of abyss.

What makes this book disturbing to me is that there is never any reason for the void. No monster lurking in the shadows (unless you count human monsters). It expands and contracts for reasons of its own and efforts to map it, analyze it, or simply understand it are useless. I think the void exemplifies death, but others have different opinions.

It's a complex and engrossing story. To add another the layer, the book itself blurs the line between literature and graphic art. Danielewski designed the book so the shape of the words tells the story visually and literally. Worlds crawl up and down the pages as the main character explores the house. Plus, Danielewski uses footnotes liberally, so at times you are not sure which story you are following. I really can't explain it better than that. You'll have to see for yourself.

Like I said, the book has a following. It's own messageboard. Even Danielewski's sister - Poe - released an album in 2000 based around the book and the death of their father. House of Leaves is mentioned several times. It's a multi-media event!

On the nightstand...

2005-01-13T09:07:00.000-05:00

Having a cranky week, mostly due to a godawful cold sore that has appeared out of nowhere and made me a freak and object of public mortification. I get them when I am particularly stressed out or out in the sun too long. I bet you all really wanted to know that, didn't you? Anyway, I've been comforting myself by making lists because they give me the illusion that I am still in control of my life.

I have several books on the nightstand that are there because they belong nowhere else. I have yet to read some of them and, in fact, keep several there as a last resort to make me feel sleepy. The books include:

1. The Warrior Athlete - from my brother. Who insisted that I take this book when he learned that I have joined a gym. He is also full of half-baked eating advice and helpful suggestions when we eat at family functions. This book was written in the 1970's and seems to be a hodge-podge of Eastern philosophy and Arnold Schwarzenegger "Pull Yourself Up by Your Bootstraps" advice. It is everything I hate about self-help books.

2. Pulp Fiction - from my brother. A collection of short "pulp fiction" stories by Mickey Spillane and the like. I've read a few stories and they are....ok. I have never been one for mysteries (one of the few genres that I dislike), but I like the hard-boiled descriptions of women and thugs. Just opening the book gets me a little sleepier, so I keep it around.

3. Some sci-fi short story collection that was compiled in the 60's. This is my favorite of the bunch. Some really good stories from lesser-known authors in this collection. This was before the idea of space exploration got a little overdone, and there is a belief in Progress and an optimism that I particularly enjoy.

4. The Life of Pi - why haven't I read this book yet? I've tried three times. It's beautifully written. The main character is appealing. I like reading his opinions about zoos (because I hate zoos and will not step foot in one). I get to a certain point, put it down, and never pick it up again.

5. The last of the Dark Tower books by Stephen King. I can't read this. He turned me off by including himself as a character. WTF?

6. Dead Until Dark by Charlaine Harris. A piece of fluff similar to the Anita Blake series except funnier and there's actual non-furry sex involved. Less guns and more supernatural stuff.

7. The New York Times crossword puzzle collection. Used mainly as a coaster for the cats' water dish. But given to me by my mother with a cigar box full of pencils that my grandmother used when she did her puzzles. So I keep it around, but never open it because the NYT puzzles make me feel dumb.

There you go. Another fascinating glimpse into the life of JaneD'oh. Aren't you glad you visited? Happy days!

Where does the weekend go?

2005-01-10T09:30:00.000-05:00

After all the holiday hub-bub, I simply wanted to hole up in the cozy D'oh shack with some video games and movies. My plan on Saturday was to get all my work done by mid-afternoon, so I could spend the rest of the day in the guestroom defeating various ghouls in Castlevania. I'm not quite sure what happened. I woke up at 8 AM, didn't sit down until about 5 PM - and I still didn't get everything accomplished. How does that happen?

Anyway, we saw Napolean Dynamite and Garden State. I particularly liked the scene in Napolean Dynamite when he and his brother test each other's reflexes - and it's a big nerd slapfight. Haven once been a sullen teen, I related to this movie a little too closely for comfort. Although I'd never wear a pair of flipping moon boots, gosh!

Garden State was good "love redeems all" movie. One of my favorite types of movie, provided it is done with a light touch. Can't be too serious about this or you'll have a Titanic on your hands. Garden State will probably be one of those movies on a continuous loop on Saturday afternoons within the next year or two. And I'm sure that I'll laugh each time the Renaissance Faire knight tries to leave the breakfast table with dignity.

On the nightstand is The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula Le Guin. I have not read too much of this yet, but I am enjoying her take on the role sexuality and gender plays in our society. I could do without the court politics, but including that sort of intrigue seems to be a pre-requisite of sci-fi/fantasy novels. So I'll try to follow along.

We are considering a visit to the Cloisters in NYC sometime this spring. I visited with my father about 15 years ago and it is one of my favorite museums. We may also try to fit the Brooklyn Museum in the itinerary because of its decorative arts and period rooms. In fact, the Brooklyn Museum has an entire pre-Colonial Dutch house in its exhibition space. A tiny bit of my historic preservation background lingers, and I would like to see it again.

Mummers Parade

2005-01-07T08:59:00.001-05:00

You can say what you want about Philadelphia, and I'd probably agree. It is dirty, crime-ridden, poverty-stricken, with a corrupt government and miles and miles of urban decay. However, once a year, it becomes the glam capital of the world.

The Mummer's Parade is a 102-year-old tradition in Philadelphia, starting at 9 AM and ending a little after 8 PM with a rocking show at the Convention Center. It is comprised of over 15,000 participants. They come from all walks of life, but are generally blue-collar workers from South Philadelphia - longshoremen, policemen, union workers, etc. These people suit themselves up in dresses and glitter and spend their New Year's Day walking down Broad Street (the City's North-South corridor). There are several divisions of the Mummers, but true fans go for the string bands. Imagine 30 musicians - saxophones, trumpets, tubas, and banjoes - in costume strutting down the street playing "Golden Slippers" Whadda treat, heh?

The key to being a Mummer is not the glitter and feathers, but the walk. Or strut, as it is called. You have to outstretch your arms like you are holding a cape, bend your elbows in time, rock your body forward, and step forwards, backwards, in circles, and sideways as you march down the street. Our friend Totoro the badger has a bit of a Mummer in him.

I was born and raised in the suburbs of Philly. Suburbanites have a distrust and fear of Philadelphia. When the speak of going to The City, they usually mean New York. For that reason, I never went to the parade when I was a child. I do remember my grandparents watching it on television throughout the day while we were waiting for our New Year dinner. I hated the Mummer's then. It was so cheesy and so LONG.

After returning to the area after college, I learned to enjoy the uniqueness of the Mummers. So what if they are a little clumsy and have beefy fingers? So what if their amateur status as dancers is painfully obvious? The fact is that is the one day of the year where the people who actually live and work in the city are spotlighted. And the party just isn't around the parade. South Philadelphia - blocks away from the parade - is like a festival with people partying out in the street no matter how cold or rainy it may be.

And these people take their mummery seriously. They have fiercely competitive clubs that practice year-round. They bring in professional costume-designers and choreographers. Simply for the pleasure of being able to walk down the street as the champion, and get nods of respect from those they fought against. Modern gladiators in lame and beads? Maybe so.

Anyway, one of these years, I'm going to find a spot on Broad Street and watch the party in action. After all, I'm one of the people too.

Breathe the fresh air of 2005

2005-01-03T13:18:00.000-05:00

Whew. 2004 is finally over and it's been a doozy. While nothing terribly original or dramatic happened to me this year, I will admit that I've had to face some hard realities about myself and the people I love. And it hasn't been just me. Almost everyone I've talked to has had a stressful and busy year.

A new year has arrived. While the morning commute looks the same, just the fact that it is 2005 gives me a feeling of optimism. Grand things are going to happen this year. Wonderful changes are waiting in the fringes for me and, I hope, for you.

Now back to media. I finally purchased the Doves album called The Last Broadcast. This came out in 2002 and was heralded as one of the best albums of the year by some magazine or other. I made a mental note to check it out but never got around to it. I finally bought it for myself last week and it has not left my CD player since. A little Coldplay, a little Verve, and a smidgeon of Radiohead. Wonderful, dreamy stuff that's perfect for gray winter days.

Also have read another Laurell Hamilton book about Anita Blake. Obsidian Butterfly. It's my second one and I like Anita Blake's spunk. She's a gun-toting babe with attitude. My only problem with these books is that they are classified as erotic thrillers. Well, I've now read two books and there has been no intercourse. She's just horny. And while that can be erotic for a short period of time, two whole books of appetizer but no entree is a little disappointing.

We received the Lord of the Rings trilogy and spent most of New Year's Day watching them. Great movies. Am I the only one who is uncomfortable with the implied homoeroticism between Frodo and Sam? Sam's soulful eyes looking with hopeless adoration at Frodo as he bravely struggles under the burden of the Ring. And Frodo looking wistfully at his stocky gardener with tears of yearning in his eyes. Am I simply a hopeless American who doesn't understand manly friendship? I just don't know, but I was sure they were going to soulkiss during their last goodbye on the harbour. Not that there is anything wrong with that, of course.

Anyway, here's hoping that 2005 is less crazy than 2004.

Before the 2005 Resolutions kick in...

2004-12-21T11:56:00.000-05:00

...let's talk cookies. But first, I want to talk a little about my last post. I've received several IM's from people who know me and they all think that I'm insane because a) I don't look like a man and b) apparently that is a terrible photo of me. Which is a relief, I guess, but I hope nobody took it that seriously. I just meant it as a little bit of silliness.

Baking christmas cookies is a great source of entertainment in the D'oh household. Our favorites are:

Lemon Kiss Surprises - lemon, almond cookies baked around a hershey kiss and sprinkled with dark chocolate and powdered sugar

Almond cake - this is a wonderfully decadent butter cake made with almond paste, sour cream, and did I mention a shitload of butter? They look so drab and ordinary, but the creamy taste is out of this world.

Eggnog springerle - a chewy cookie with a hint of nutmeg and eggnog. Perfect for coffee dunkin'.

What's your favorite cookie?

It's a man, baby!

2004-12-20T08:24:00.000-05:00

Albrecht Durer's self-portrait, 1471- 1528, German painter and printmaker

Jane Doh's self-portrait, 1970 - present, amateur blogger

I was first told of my resemblance to Albrecht Durer by my eleventh-grade art teacher. Nice of him to share that, wasn't it? In art school, I used this portrait for a project and was again by a loquacious classmate that I looked like him (of course, this chick went on for hours about her commitment to not wearing a watch and breaking free of the confinement of time itself. I'm sure she saw auras too.)

I think it's the nose. And the eyebrows. The jaw, too. It's true. I look like a long-dead Northern Renaissance painter. It's a crazy world, I tell ya. Crazy.

Constitutional Amendments

2004-12-14T13:04:00.000-05:00

Kurt Vonnegut's suggested constitutional amendments...

Article XXVIII: Every newborn shall be sincerely welcomed and cared for until maturity

Article XXIX: Every adult who needs it shall be given meaningful work to do, at a living wage.

Article XXX: Ever person, upon reaching a statutory age of puberty, shall be declared an adult in a solemn public ritual, during which he or she must welcome his or her new responsibilities in the community, and thier attendant dignities.

Article XXXI: Every effort shall be made to make every person feel that he or she will be sorely missed when he or she is gone.

Shameless Theft of Music Idea

2004-12-10T11:15:00.000-05:00

Thank you Arethusa and Phoenix for the idea of listing favorite songs, and thanks to Darth for making a list of lists.

Here is a list of favorite songs. As of today, that is. I have a short attention span and find that my most-listened-to music of past years now annoys the heck out of me.

1. Under the Milky Way, The Church - one of the few holdovers from the music I liked in high school. Still sounds great and I love the wistful lyrics..."wish I knew what you were looking for, might I know what you would find."

2. Sunday Shining, Finley Quaye - this song has one of the grooviest guitar riffs ever. It's the perfect song for playing hookie on the first warm days in May.

3. Unsung, Helmet - loud, pissed off music. That's all that needs to be said.

4. Last Goodbye, Jeff Buckley - so much passion in such a whiny voice. "Kiss me...please kiss me. Kiss me out of desire, baby, not consolation...."

5. Son of Sam, Elliot Smith - a wall of sound paired with a breathy voice. I have no idea what the lyrics are, although I do remember reading them once and still being confused.

6. Come a Long Way, Michelle Shocked - perfect sing-along song to put on as you enter the last stretch of your hour-long commute..."I've come a long way, I've come a long way..I've gone 500 miles today"

7. Fell in Love with a Girl, White Stripes - I love this band. I can't even say this is my favorite song, but I listed it because it was the song that hooked me.

8. Spooky, Atlanta Rythym Section - I can't explain this, but love is kinda crazy with a spooky little girl like you.

9. There Goes the Fear, The Doves - I just downloaded this song a few months ago and I can't get enough of it. It just carries you along with it.

10. Sunday Times, Loudon Wainwright, III - I don't usually go with straight folk, but I chuckle everytime I hear this song.

11. Let Him Fly, Patty Griffin - one of my favorite artists ever. Just a woman and a guitar. This song is so bittersweet and her voice is so strong. "Ain't no talking to this man, he's been trying to tell me so, took a while to understand the beauty of just letting go. It would take an acrobat and I already tried all that, so I'm gonna let him fly"

12. The Bike, Amy Correia - happiest, catchiest song about inheriting a bike from your recently deceased alcoholic uncle that you'll ever hear.

This list really doesn't encompass all of it. I've disovered many favorite songs since I started using my new mp3 player. I'm probably missing some crucial ones. Anyway, great idea Arethusa!

A Life Less Ordinary

2004-12-09T13:20:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite books lately is Nick Hornby's How to Be Good. It is by the same author of High Fidelity and About a Boy, and chronicles the breakdown of a marriage. It's told from the POV of a lady doctor (as my dad likes to call them) who has an affair and throws her husband into a tailspin - the end result being that he brings a New Age guru into the house to teach the family how to be "good."

Like many dark comedies, I find the book more depressing than funny. But I wanted to share an excerpt with you that makes a lot of sense to me. It's a bit long, so I apologize in advance.

We live what an awful lot of people would regard as a normal life. There are some - rock singers, novelists, young columnists in the newspapers, those who affect to think of anything involving children and day jobs and package holidays as a long and agonizing spiritual death - who would regard us as beneath contempt, such has been our wholehearted embrace of some sort of conservative lifestyle ideal. And there are others, and you know who they are, who would regard us as being impossibly lucky, blessed, spoiled by our upbringing and our skin color and our education and our income. I have no quarrel with the second bunch at all - how could I have? I know what we've got, and what we haven't had to experience. But the other lot...I don't know. Because it seems to me that normal life, or the kind of "normal" life that these people despise, already has plenty in it that prevents an agonizing spiritual death, and plenty in it that is simply agonizing, and who are these people to judge anyone?

It seems to me now that the plain state of being human is dramatic enough for anyone; you don't need to be a heroin addict or a performance poet to experience extremity. You just have to love someone.

Right on sister! Or brother! Whatever. I don't think anyone should apologize for wanting a simple, ordinary life. I don't mind living in the suburbs with my SUV. Actually, I revel in it. Maybe it's because of my upbringing and I value what others take for granted. Maybe because I saw in art school that those who tried the hardest to be "different" were those who were the most ordinary. Or maybe it's because I was crisis hotline counselor and have seen firsthand how everyone has a sad story - regardless of their life circumstance.

I don't think I'm alone in trying to find happiness in hearth and home. Trying to be in the moment and and enjoying the small things are forms of meditation and spirituality. For me, the meat of life is in one's daily work. And that's enough for me.

Ok, I'm off the soapbox. Please feel free to hold forth...it's a lot of fun.

My Life as a Dog

2004-12-06T13:58:00.000-05:00

Taking my dog Suki to the park is the highlight of my weekend. Here's my little photo essay...

The dog park is a public park on the land of an old estate. It's got a lovely vista.

Suki doesn't run very fast. The other dogs literally run circles around her.

But she still runs faster than a basset hound. Then again, who doesn't?

The unadulterated bliss of a grassy backrub. Oh heavenly joy!

Queen Foxy and her protege.

Suki is fascinated by Foxy the Great Dane.

Self portrait of a amateur photographer.

Bits and Pieces

2004-12-03T08:34:00.001-05:00

Like many people this fall, my life has lately been like a steam train and I have been trying to get on board to avoid being run over. Everyone is so busy lately! While my happenings have been of the humdrum sort, there are several noteworthy additions:

Games:
I have gone through the five stages - anger, denial, bargaining, depression, and resignation - and have accepted the fact that Final Fantasy XII will not be my winter entertainment. Yes, yes...I am an adult woman and play RPGs. Sue me. I find the games are great stress-relievers.

Siren screenshot

To console myself I have purchased several used horror/action games including Silent Hill 2, Silent Hill 3, and Siren. These games are old so I can't say anything new about them. But I like the atmospheric creepiness, and am enjoying the chance to indulge my bloodthirsty side. There's nothing quite as satisfactory as the sickening thud you hear when you finally kick the brains out of a crawling zombie.

Books:
I'm ashamed to admit this, but after bitching about the Anne Bishop trilogy in my last post I PICKED IT UP AND READ IT FOR A FOURTH TIME! Yes. It is still pretty bad. I also have the final book in Stephen King's Dark Tower series, but am not terrible excited about reading it. More than anything, I feel obligated to read it.

I just finished Christopher Moore's The Stupidest Angel. A lighthearted, easy read about murder, brain-sucking zombies, and a Christmas miracle. My favorite part was Chapter 16, which reads in its entirety, "So that sucked..."

I'm easily amused lately.

Music:
My husband bought the new U2 disc, which he played several times as we drove across the state during Thanksgiving. He also slid it into my purse for my listening pleasure at work. I think U2 is a great band. I would happily become Bono's love monkey. But I'm not excited about this album at all. I have two just like it in my CD collection already - All That You Can't Leave Behind and Pop.

So I have been listening to my old favorites. P.J. Harvey's Is This Desire? is an album of which I never tire. It's a bit mellow, but has serious moodiness and crunch. I like my music with a little crunch.

I'm also planning on getting the Phil Specter Motown Christmas album. I heard it on the radio several years ago and there isn't a bad song in the bunch. We are putting up Christmas decorations this weekend and we need the music to be truly festive.

Other Important Facts:
Let me share my life lessons with you:

1. Don't put the sweet potato casserole with marshmallows too close to the broiler or a small kitchen fire may ensue. It is especially important to remember this during important occasions like Thanksgiving.

2. You should not skimp on skin treatments for your face once you reach a certain age. I just purchased a Dermalogica skin kit and did the exfoliating, hydrating masque, etc. last week. Later that evening I noticed my husband staring at me. I snapped, "What?" in a loving, wifely voice and was told that I looked very pretty. The next day my mother said, "Jane, I've never seen you wear foundation." I wasn't. My skin looked THAT GOOD. Ah, the little things. Oil of Olay can now officially kiss my ass.

3. Everyone should work at an office that allows you to bring your dog to work.

How did I get to be so wise at such a young age?

Guilty Pleasures

2004-11-16T08:51:00.000-05:00

Just a few of the many furtive entertainment choices I make so I don't seem as dorky as I really am...

BARENAKED LADIES

This band is so bandgeek, whitebread, and wholesome that I feel almost like stepping on kittens to offset the happy little grin and bobbing head that they instill in me. But they also have great lines like "You think you are so smart, but I've seen you naked."

I LOVE THE???'s!

I've seen every episode of I Love the 80's and I Love the 90's. At least twice. Plus all the other damn list shows. Yes, I know that these shows are giant circle jerks for people we don't care about, but I watch them anyway. I hit rock bottom last week while watching the 100 Most Metal Moments with my husband. ZZ Top was being featured and I looked at him and said, "Oh wait...Kid Rock is going to talk about the bounce." Sure enough, Kid Rock says something like," To me, guitar playing isn't about how many notes you can play, it's about the bounce between the notes." WTF is wrong with me???

ANNE BISHOP

This is a series about witches and demons. Cool stuff in theory, but the writing is awful. Not so awful that you can't read it, mind you. But awful enough that when you are halfway through the trilogy, you start predicting Anne Bishop's next adjective or verb. The dark heros in these stories are Satan, Daemon, and some other dude. Daemon's the most dangerous - forced to prostitute himself to inferior witches in a matriarchial society but he never sacrifices his soul! He "croons gently" a lot - and apparently that causes great fear in the rest of the characters. I've read this series three times, I think. WTF is wrong with me???

TOLLHOUSE COOKIE DOUGH!

I buy packages of the pre-cut, raw Tollhouse cookie dough and eat them raw. Just grab one or two squares after dinner and eat slowly while watching The Simpsons. Gross, huh? WTF is wrong with me???

America's Next Top Goofball

2004-11-12T08:57:00.000-05:00

I love America's Next Top Model. It is the only reality show I try to catch. I think it started by accident, finding that I was usually watching TV on Thursday nights instead of my usual routine.

But I'm not apologizing for liking the show. Don't get me wrong. I watch not only because I have a girly-crush on Tyra Banks (she's so sassy!), but also because the show is perfect tv. Pretty girls arguing bitterly about their looks and weight, catty fashion designers, bitchy make-up artists, and drugged-out, burned out Janice Dickenson on the jury panel. What could be better? What the hell is wrong with Janice Dickenson's face? And have you seen her cleavage? Why does a woman her age insist on showing that much of her unattractive breasts? Some things are better imagined. Really!

Right now, my favorite contestant is Yaya. She is reality show gold with a beautiful face (but with bad skin so the other models can make pointed comments about that) and a deliciously superior attitude. This week she told her PR consultants that she, "attended an ivy league university and feels comfortable talking about anything with anybody." Well good for you Yaya. Unfortunately, those of us who have attended ivy leagues know that talk is decidedly cheap, and a haughty demeanor is only one of the unfortunate side effects of that sort of education for those without real character.

Oh, did that sound bitter? That's another story. But anyway, in addition to YaYa there was Cassie , the pretty cow-eyed girl from Oklahoma who shared who bulimia with everyone, refused to get help for it, and then had a catfight with another model about low-carb brownies. The last exchange being, "Cassie, I'm going to tell Tyra about your bulemia problem!" and Cassie saying triumphantly, "I already did!!!" Uh, ok. So, so sweet.

Finally, I like the show because the make-up and fashion are always cool. So pretty, bitchy, and vapid. I am in love.

Driving in my car....turn on the radio....

2004-11-10T10:02:00.000-05:00

Except now I'm the DJ! My husband gave me this mp3 player for my birthday several months ago. I was a little dubious at first because it seemed more trouble than it was worth. But he knows me so well, or is tired of my rantings about David Dye's lameness and Howard Stern's foibles. Anyway, after a few days of figuring out the limits of the crappy software that comes with this player with the help of a very patient Darth, I was in love.

Speaking of Darth, I am stealing blatantly from his music post on November 7th and will now get to the point. Most of the music I enjoy these days has been a part of a car commercial. Either before or shortly after I discovered the song. Now I am not an elitist or someone who considers myself above the rat race in any way, but I do find this trend disturbing. Am I the target market? Or am I simply drawn to music that is a soundbite for the marketing folk's idea of the perfect life? I picture young trendsters in their 20's feverishly scrolling through mp3 websites, searching for that perfect lifestyle song.

Anyway, here is a short list of my favorite car commercial songs and whether the commercial inspired me to find the song, or if I found the song first:
1. Pink Moon, Nick Drake - the commercial came first
2. Last Good Day of the Year, Cousteau - song
3. Just Breathe, Dirty Vegas- commercial
4. Bohemian Like You, Dandy Warhols - song
5. 20th Century Boy, Placebo - commercial
6. Mercy, Mercy Me, Marvin Gaye - commercial (many years ago)
7. Boombox, Mosquitos - song

The strange thing is that I don't remember the make or model of the car that any of these songs promoted. Except Volkswagen. So perhaps the marketing idea is not as effective as they think.

Tigers are Better Looking

2004-11-09T08:25:00.000-05:00

I imagine Jean Rhys as the girl who hugs the corner at parties. You either feel sorry for or intrigued by her, but find that most overtures of friendliness are rebuffed by a cold stare or an inappropriate comment. Not that she means badly, of course, but it's just that she is completely out of step with the social dance.

Ms. Rhys led an interesting life. Born in 1894 in Dominca, she went to Europe at 16 to become a chorus girl, artist's model, and mannequin (in-house clothing model for higher-end designers.) She published several books of novels and short stories in the late 1920's and early 30's, but they didn't well and she disappeared for 20 years. She made a dramatic reappearance in the 1960's with her novel, Wide Sargasso Sea, and was given several literary awards. Her only comment to those was, "it has come too late."

I prefer her short stories to her novels. Tigers are Better Looking is a collection of stories that have an existentialist feel and an emotional honesty that is still almost painful to read. Her stories are always about women. The sad and ridiculous nature of growing old. The predatory nature of women towards other women. The thin veneer that separated her life from the ordinary life she saw others leading. All of this set against a post-war European background - when the gilded life was decaying rapidly.

I should like to laugh at her, but I am a well-behaved little girl...Too well-behaved...I long to be like Other People! The extraordinary, ungetatable, oddly cruel Other People, with their way of wantonly hurting and then accusing you of being thin-skinned, sulky, vindictive, or ridiculous. All because a hurt and puzzled little girl has retired into her shell.

You know how sometimes you think that if you ever met a particular writer, that you would be immediate friends with them? Well, I don't think that is the case with Jean Rhys. But every time I read her stories, I am struck by her unflinching and bitter world view, as well as the compassion she extends to others whom she feels are like her. She sets the stage for women writers like Dorothy Parker and Sylvia Plath, I think. and also puts a feminine slant to the existential writing that was coming from Europe at that time. If you have not had a chance to read her, I would recommend it.

Mirror Mirror

2004-11-08T09:06:00.000-05:00

I fell in love with Gregory Maguire when I first read Wicked The book is a refreshing take on The Wizard of Oz and has been adapted into a Broadway musical. I enjoyed the book not only for his unique perspective of a popular childhood tale, but also for his rich, poetic prose sprinkled with sly humor. I stuck with him through the less successful Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister (a version of Cinderella) and the unsuccessful novel Lost(a retelling of a Dickensian ghost story that didn't quite pan out).

Luckily for me and all Gregory Maguire fans, Mirror Mirror is a more focused tale based on Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. The basic premise of the fairy tale is the same with bits of Renaissance Italy court intrigue thrown in. Like all Gregory Maguire books, the psychological and dangerous undercurrents of childhood tales are explored.

I am in the process of rereading Mirror Mirror and have been struck how he uses this common story to bring issues of self-awareness and self-illusion forward. At what point does a child become self-aware and when does that awareness blunt the particular truth that children see to become the rationalization of adulthood? When does memory become more real than the actual experience? And how much of beauty is an illusion? While the eye may see everything in detail, the brain is more selective and our perspective directly affect what we see.

All of these issues are brought forward in understated, simple writing with succinct descriptions. Maguire is what I like to think of as the space between the words writer. Although he's nothing like Hemingway, his writing is similar that it relies on the reader's imagination to fill in the blanks. For those who have not yet read this book, or any of the Gregory Maguire books, I recommend it.