They're writing songs of love, but not for me

When I was at dinner with Steven, we got on the topic of my ex-boyfriends (as one does). I mentioned that I get along with most of them, and he pointed out that I was always good that way. Of course, it got me thinking about why this is the case.

At first I started with the basics: I never really had a nasty, terrible break-up. (Sure, they weren't any fun, but nothing really nasty.) And I've always maintained that, if I cared for these guys on some level, I'm not going to stop caring about them just because we're no longer dating. I've got some really great ex-boyfriends: smart, funny guys doing impressive stuff -- engineers, professors, scientists, etc. (I may have a bit of a type). I'm in touch with a number of them and I like to hear what's new with them. But then I started wondering if there wasn't more to it than not-nasty break-ups and the occasional e-mail.

A few years ago, I stumbled upon this in my reading: "Why are old lovers able to become friends? Two reasons: They never really loved each other, or they love each other still." Thinking about that, I think, for most of my relationships, it's actually both. While on some level I really do care about many of my exes, it occurs to me that I've never really had a passionate relationship either. One that is just pure emotion, just craziness. Boombox over your head in the rain frenzy -- not happening to me. Which is probably why it's never lead to that nasty break-up, that tearing up of one's heart. I think the kind of love I am prone to is that steady but not-too-exciting love, but not deep, crazy passion.

I know that a big part of the reason this sort of passion has not happened to me is my fault. I do guard my emotions and I really don't let go. This is not an easy thing to accept, this unwillingness to trust another person, to be that vulnerable. I tell myself that this sort of craziness doesn't really last, and maybe only exists in movies, but sometimes I wish...

So, I'll probably never get the love songs. But I will have the friendships. Is this what I want? Depends on the day. Ask me tomorrow, you might get a different answer.

Revolutionary Road

A couple of years ago I read "Revolutionary Road" by Richard Yates. I don't even remember why I picked it, but I absolutely loved the book. It's sad and awful and fantastic. Easily in my top ten. And it's one of those little-known books, ones of those books people just haven't heard about. Even my brother, the PhD in literature, had never heard of it. Of course, I recommend the book to all my reader friends, especially those who also watch "Mad Men" (which is really the perfect show to match with the book.)

Now it is being made into a "major motion picture" with Kate Winslet and Leonardo DeCaprio. Now, I love Kate Winslet, and she's really a perfect for the role. And I'm actually kind of excited that a lot more people are going to discover the book as a result of this movie. But I'm sort of protective of the book and I kind of don't like the fact that it's so "out there." That it's not longer my cool, secret book to recommend to everybody. 

There's not too many times I'm at the front end of a trend. Sure, I was in the Kiss Army in 1975 and I was digging the cartoons of Matt Groening in the early '80s, but I think that's about it in my list of being ahead of the crowd. So, just remember, I was digging "Revolutionary Road" before "Mad Men" and Kate made it cool.

Words of love

It's goofy but I really love tut.com (although I don't actually go to the site very often). What is it? It's this absolutely goofy thing (calling it a service is almost an exaggeration) where you sign up and they e-mail you a "note from the universe" every day, Monday through Friday. Here's an example:

Every challenge is a stepping stone to a happier place than you even knew existed. Oh, the magic,

The Universe

One day soon you will be exceedingly glad for this very path you now tread.

Yes, they are new-age-y, kind of silly little messages. But every morning, I open my e-mail and see what "The Universe" has sent me for the day (you get a bonus message on your birthday!) These notes make me happy. Sort of like a feel-good horoscope. 

Sign up. And be happy that The Universe is sending e-mail. 

My favorite thing about Christmas

Although this time of year has a lot of things to hate or, if nothing else, be annoyed by, there is one thing I love about Christmas: Christmas carols. No, really, I absolutely love Christmas carols. There is no such thing as a Christmas carol that is too dopey for me. I'm singin' along and lovin' it.

Part of the love comes from the Catholic thing: no Christmas carols during Advent, then Christmas Eve: Joy to the World! The church we attended in Toledo always had especially wonderful music at Christmas. Midnight mass was always freezing but great music. They would always hit the standards, but pull out some of the more unusual carols as well. Oh, CORC, you bunch of hippies, I'm missing you this time of year. 

I also loved when the Christmas music showed up in the band folder. Marching band season was over, the big fall concerts had passed, contests were still months away. Right around Thanksgiving: "Sleigh Ride"! Yippee! We'd play the standards (to this day, I love, love, love "A Christmas Festival") but some weird ones as well. One year we played this awesome piece called "Russian Christmas Music" -- just fantastic. Plus, Christmas concerts were lighter and more fun than other concerts. 

My love for Christmas carols is pretty much across the board. I love all the Phil Spector Wall-of-Sound nonsense, "Jingle Bell Rock", both the Drifters' and Bing Crosby's versions of "White Christmas", James Brown. Bring it on! 

But I freakin' hate the Springsteen Christmas songs.

Yay for today!

There are little things in life that just make me feel good. Like, when I get the oil changed, I'm good for another 5000 miles (I do a lot of highway driving), and, after I get my car inspected, I know I'm good for another year. (I don't think my life is all about car maintenance, so why are these my example?) Anyway, today is the day I look for every year: the day the sun starts setting later.

"Wait just a gosh-darned minute! Today is December 12th. December 21st is the shortest day of the year!" And you would be correct. But I am a dork, so I know that although December 21st provides you with the shortest amount of total daylight, there is a short period where the sun start setting later. The sun also rises later, which then leads to an overall shorter day (up until the 21st). For those keeping score at home, today the sun set one minute later than it did yesterday! Glorious!

It's really silly, but when the sun starts setting just a bit later, I feel like I'm winning. So, yay for today, my funny, little holiday!

No time to post

Great dinner with a friend from high school and suddenly, the night is gone. I will post the sleeping cat instead, which is what I should be doing. Yes, I am lamely trying to keep the streak alive. 

Something that makes me the way I am today

Everyone has those events in their life that shapes who they are and how they behave. I'm going to tell you about about one of mine. One night in December when I was in the 4th grade, my dad and I went to pick up my grandpa. It was snowing, and on the way home, it got pretty bad. The car got stuck in the snow, but we were only a few blocks away, so my dad told me to just walk home with Papa while he dug out the car. Although it wasn't too long of a walk, it was in fairly deep snow, so it took a lot longer and was a lot harder walk than either of us expected. But we got home. I was so excited, I ran up the driveway. My mom was waiting for us and gave me a hard time for running ahead: "Go help Papa get up the driveway." Of course, I went back to him, but he was already most of the way up the driveway. And that would have been the end of it. Except the following week Papa had a heart attack and died.

I have to admit, I was probably a lot older than I should have been when I finally accepted that I didn't actually kill my grandpa. But I don't think I'll ever get over that I could have anticipated that there was something I could have done to help. I know that this is a big part of my control-freak nature. Of course, it's absolutely ridiculous to think that if I had held his hand walking up the driveway, he wouldn't have had that heart attack. But, deep down inside, I know there is a part of me that says, "but what if it would have made the difference." 

I do sort of live my life anticipating the possible problems, trying to solve them before they happen. I keep a change of clothes at work, spare shoes, snack bars, safety pins. Why, yes, I do have tweezers/a Sharpie/a sewing kit. A friend once told me that I was the person she would want to get trapped in an elevator with -- I'd have food and probably a deck of cards. Yesterday, I had a minor panic attack when I realized that all of my spare keys to my car are up in Pennsylvania. (If you don't think that that's crazy enough, the reason I thought this was because, if my purse got stolen, I would not have a spare set.) But it is tiring. I wish I could let go just a little bit. 

But I did run ahead that once. And, yes, I may be crying right this minute.

Really, American History Museum?

The National Museum of American History is reopened, and this afternoon I went to check it out. Disclaimer: I only had about an hour, so not too much checking. First thing I did: checked out the Gettysburg Address, which is on display until the end of the year. I'll admit it, not too exciting. But it was there, I was there, we both had time to kill, and, well, you know how these things are. (A slightly amusing side note, this particular document hall was named for Albert Small. So it was the Albert Small Document Hall. I kept thinking of small documents -- okay it's not that amusing...) (tee-hee).

As the small document hall didn't take too long, continued to do some exploring, see what they did with the place. And they still have that awful statue of George Washington. What the hell is up with that? The least they could have (should have) done was gotten rid of the thing. Okay, actually, the least they could've done is move it into a far corner or covered it with a big blanket. But, no, there it is, all ugly and awful and embarrassing for poor George Washington. I don't know why, but I saw that statue, and I was instantly exhausted with the whole museum. 

In all fairness to the Museum, I know that they have to keep some things there because the tourists want to see the things they saw as kids (I'm talking about you, Fonzie's jacket). But wouldn't it be nice to surprise us now and again?

Hello kitty

Yes, we have a cat. Before that, we had two cats. I like having a pet and a cat makes more sense than a dog since we travel and work, etc. It's a furry, four-legged animal that we keep in the house. This does not make me a "cat person." This does not make me dislike dogs. And it most certainly does not make me want things with cats on them.

As soon as we got the cats, I started getting birthday cards with kitties on them. Calendars with cats, Christmas ornaments, little decorations, etc., all with cats. Really? Did I become that girl? Because I thought I just got a pet, not ideas for the gifts I will get for the rest of my life. And the cat stuff is especially bad. Pastel-ly, flowery nonsense. I don't understand how people who know me think that, because I have a cat, I suddenly like this sort of thing. 

No one has gotten me any "hello kitty" stuff, so that's something. Although some of that stuff is actually kind of cute. (A quick check of the "hello kitty" website has taught me that you can buy a "hello kitty" Flip camcorder! Awesome! You can also get diamond earrings that cost over $2000. Plus they're really ugly.)

So, with Christmas coming: no cat stuff. Thanks.

Open Houses

Today we did the open house frenzy. It's just overwhelming. I'm such a dork -- before we hit the road, I got our list together, found them on the map, listed the coordinates on the map for easy finding, so we could see as many houses as possible. Of course, after you see a few houses, they all start to blend together. And my energy level goes into the negative region.

It doesn't help that there are houses that look okay on-line are not-so-much when you see them in person. You're looking at it at home and it's like "ooh, look at the cute little thing!" and you get there and it's, "Hey, why doesn't this have a driveway?" In some ways this is a good thing. You pull up, you look, you say "no" and quickly move on. But then you panic that they will all be awful. 

One or two open houses are kind of fun -- a day of it is too much. They do tend to blend together. "Is that the single-guy's house or the one with the blue?" It always amazes me how people get "ready" to show their homes. Did you really thinking that little snake on the counter would help sell your house? Oh, don't bother cleaning up all those leaves; they add to the charm.

Anyway, after seeing a lot of houses, there's a part of me that is "a great house is out there" and a part that is "there's nothing but nightmares out there." I'm sure there will be some compromises, but I'm not ready to give up too much stuff yet. 

3 Weeks

Three weeks ago I packed up my car and moved down here. I can't believe it's only been 3 weeks. It amazes me how quickly I've kind of gotten used to it all. It's not that I feel that this is my life and the way it's always going to be. But it's become comfortable and routine; it's like I've gotten used to this weird hotel-like existence. 

I'm surprised that I haven't been bored yet. In fact, not even close. By the time I get home, make a phone call or 2, catch up on e-mail, blog (well, now), have some dinner, do some stuff around the house, well, that's a night. (I know, the excitement is killing you.) I'm doing a few things during the week like going out to dinner or running errands (usually those are weekend activities for me). Next week, I'm planning to go into DC twice!

I've settled into the job pretty quickly. It's a new therapeutic area, but I'm working on the types of documents I know, so I'm pretty comfortable overall. The group is delightfully ornery, so that keeps me happy. Give me some snark during a meeting, and you've got my attention. The projects are starting to pile up and soon I will be busy, busy, busy. And I'm actually looking forward to it. I hate waiting for things to do.

I've got to start getting at least a little bit serious about the house hunting. This existence can't last too long. House hunting just makes me tired. So, for now, I'll enjoy the walk to work, the minimal cleaning, this weird existence.

Walking the walk

One of the best things about where I'm living now is that I can walk to work. It's not the nicest walk, and it's not the best time of year, but I'm still enjoying it. Most of the walk is through parking lots, and I have to cross a fairly major road (luckily, there is a crosswalk with a walk/don't walk sign). I'm not thrilled that the walk home is in the dark, but I'm sure it's safe. At least no less safe than walking to and from my car would be.

It takes me about 15-20 minutes, which is almost too short. It's not exercise, so I really should do more than just this walk to work. But it's a nice amount of time to clear my head or listen to music. If it were much longer, I'd probably make excuses to not walk (it's too cold, it might rain, etc.) For now, I've walked to work almost every day since I started. 

I'm always surprised that other people are surprised I walk to work. It's not far and it probably takes almost as long as driving. Anyway, I get to listen to my ipod and get some fresh air. I'll enjoy it while I can.

Sticker shock!

In order to help sell our house, we are considering hiring people to "stage" the house. I know, hard to believe that's actually a job, but there you go. Anyway, they had come to the house a couple of weeks ago, taken a lot of pictures, and tonight they were ready for their presentation. (This is why we set up the iChat, if you're wondering.)

So, they walk us through their findings. First off, we have too much clutter. Really?! Yes, we know that. We're not putting the house up just yet. We know we need to clean our closets. You also may be surprised to hear that the litter boxes are not a good thing. Thanks. You are clearly an expert. Be sure you put that in your report. Anyway, they have a lot of suggestions which mostly fall into the categories "yeah, we meant to get to that" (Paint the garage, yep. New light fixtures, sure.) or clean up your shit (organize the linen closet, clean the windows, etc.) None of this is really a surprise.

So, what do they do to sell themselves as experts? Well, when you're ready to sell, they come in a day or two before you list and rearrange everything, add some decorations, that sort of thing. I will be the first to admit that this is not my strongest suit, so, okay, we need some like them for that. And they'll bring in some of their things, which, whatever. 

How much does all of this cost? If we sign up with them: $2900! No, I am not making that up. But, wait, there's more: if we use their stuff (which they basically said is going to happen), we have to pay extra to "rent" their stuff. Is there any guarantee that this will help sell our house? No. None at all. In fact, they get more money if you don't sell right away, because you are renting their stuff. 

Anyway, I'm a bit annoyed at the whole thing. Sure, I expected to pay more than I expected. But this is way more than I expected. Way more. To rearrange my furniture and tell me to clean my closets. For that kind of cash, you can do some cleaning. Or provide some vases without charging "rent". So, we definitely have to think about this.

On a side note: not having cable is resulting in me watching a lot of "Two and a Half Men." This is not helping my mood.

Adventures in iChat

So, we're trying to set up the iChat. First, you need an AIM account. Ugh. Off to the AIM site. Pick a name. Seriously, someone else has HiggyPiggie? And HiggyPiggy? It's a complete nonsense name that I starting using when I set up a fantasy sports team. And now someone else has it!? Jerk! Meanwhile, Mr. Higgy Piggie is going through the same thing. "I can't think of anything. This is stupid. What do you mean I can't start with a number? Why won't you take this name? Can't I have a period in there?"

So, I finally find a name to use. Now I got to fill out all the nonsense. I'm still listening to Mr. HP cuss as they keep rejecting his choices. ("What the hell is wrong with that one?!") I fill out the nonsense (or so I thought) and type in the crazy, blurry word. Error! Oh, I forgot one field. Type in the new annoying word. Error! ("Come on! That one's gotta work!" from Mr. HP.) Finally, I get it set up. Now onto the actual iChat program. Except it keeps kicking me to the website that advertises iChat. No! Meanwhile, Mr. HP has finally successfully picked a name and is now trying to register. "Is that a 9? Dammit! Another error?! I can't read that!" At this point, I'm hating technology. I tell Mr. HP to call me when it's all set up on his end and he can walk me through it.

I get a big glass of wine.

Mr. HP calls and has it set up. He walks me through the steps and, yay, we can see each other and hear each other. Unfortunately, my picture is up there as well (kind of picture-in-picture) and I realize that I blink a lot. Seriously, what is up with my eyebrows? It's hard to resist making faces. And rubbing my nose. So, I'm trying to figure out what the different buttons are and, of course, I hang it up. I don't remember Mr. HP's "name" and I can't figure out how to call him back, so I wait. And wait. And wait. Sigh. Phone call. Somehow, I had hit something and was "not available." Anyway, we get it working again. We "chat" a while, then it randomly hangs up. "No data." I have no idea. We connect again. We play with it a bit more. Yeah, I may have hung up on him a few more times.

So, I think we've got it working. We'll see tomorrow, when the realtor is meeting with us. I'm betting we have to go to the phone.

Sometimes I can be girly

I'm not a particularly girly girl, but I do have a strange obsession with make-up. I have no idea where it came from and why I love it so. And, yet, Sephora! I am not a shopper, but I cannot go past a Sephora and not stop in (and most likely buy something). It's really a problem.

The weird thing is that I wasn't one of those girls who wanted to wear make-up when I was 12 or one of those girls who had to hide make-up in my locker to put it on when I got to school. Around the time I started high school, my mom took me to one of those places that taught you how to actually use the stuff, and that was that. I don't remember asking if I could wear make-up. And, even though I love the stuff, I've never worn a lot of make-up (although, for full disclosure, I did go through an unfortunate blue eye shadow phase. It was the '80s, so it wasn't entirely my fault.)

I sort of blame Nana. I once told her that when I started making money, I would buy good make-up. When I got my first "real" job, she reminded me of this. (I think she just wanted the freebees that came with buying Estee Lauder or Clinque make-up.) It's not really her fault, but I think of her when I overspend. And I do like having an excuse to thinking of my Nana.

I have this great lace-covered train case full of make-up in my closet. It smells so good. Lip balms, perfume samples, eye shadows, powders, funny little brushes. And I have the most ridiculous stuff. False eyelashes, green glitter eye liner, white eye liner (I'm not even sure what that one's about), lip balm that changes color depending on "your mood." All very practical. Alan Moses does like my green glitter eye liner, though.

This is not my beautiful house!

Living in my apartment is a weird thing. There's this feeling of going back in time. Am I really back to apartment living? Am I back in grad school? It's one of those things that, once you live in a house, you think you'll always live in a house. That you'll always have all that space. Now it's all so compact. Of course, on the flip side, every time I get groceries, I've got to haul them up to the third floor.

Yes, this is a temporary arrangement. Hopefully no more than 6 months. But 6 months is still a pretty long time. I'm renting furniture, which only increases the weirdness factor. It's not my comfy bed, and it's more coordinated than I would go. And more brown. It's single-guy furniture. Not that that's a bad thing, but it's not me.

Anyway, it's better than it was when I first moved in. We've rearranged the furniture, and I've brought some stuff from home that has made it feel more like mine, as opposed to some weird hotel. I'm tempted to bring more things in, but everything that gets moved in has to be moved out, so I'm trying to resist those temptations. 

I have a loft and I'll be damned if I have any idea what to do with it. It seems like a good idea, but then there's this spiral staircase...

Too much stuff

So, I just read about this "100 things challenge". The idea is to trim your stuff to 100 things, and live on it for a year. There's a couple exceptions to the rule: underwear and socks each count as one thing, the 100 things are "personal" things (so I guess things like "bed" do not count), and the guy I've read about is keeping tools as "household" items. I guess it's his challenge, he can make the rules. It's still a crazy idea, trimming your life to 100 things.

Having just hauled a bunch of stuff down to a new apartment, I know I have too much stuff; I've got about 100 things on my coffee table alone (how do I have 2 notebooks on the table already?) My clothes alone, good God, the clothes I have. (So why am I stumped as to what to wear every morning when I'm getting ready for work?) And will someone please stop me the next time I go to buy another pair of shoes?

But looking at Dave Bruno's list (the guy who apparently started this), I certainly have opinions about his 100 things. Apparently his camera and the SD card count as 2 items. Really?! But his Mac is just one item (what about all the cords and adapters and stuff? Does software count? Because if my Word crashes, I need that case it came in with my serial number.) He's got 3 bibles on his list. (Three?! Insert offensive godless comment.) He's in San Diego, so no coats and only one sweater, which is sort of unfair to anyone who is doing this challenge and actually has seasons. 

Criticism aside, I suppose it is a good idea to try to trim down the amount of stuff I have. No, I don't need all those shoes (but they're so pretty). It'll probably even make my next move easier, if we approach from a completely selfish perspective. Maybe I should try to get rid of 100 things. That would be a good start.

On a completely unrelated note, I-95 in Delaware, you can bite my ass. 

A month late...

November is supposed to be "a post a day" month. As one can see, I have not been doing this. Not even close. Oh, the excuses I have... but, honestly, these are just excuses. Yes, I still have time to write silly notes to friends. Yes, I have time to buy useless crap that I don't need. But, somehow, no time to write. So, I am going to do a post a day for a month starting now.

(I now have this picture of Kramer when he made a vow of silence "starting...now!" Bangs leg, makes hurt noise. "Starting...now!") 

It has been an eventful time, not only with actual stuff, but with things in my head. New job, new place to live, stuff just happening. I'm still getting used to all of the change going on. It still seems like a break or a trip that I'm on, and soon I'll rejoin my real life. It's just a really weird conference. 

There are a lot of other new people of Medi, so at least there are people to talk to about the whole experience. It's always good to chat with someone who is going through the same thing. And it's very nice to talk to people who are a few months or more into the whole thing, and know that everything will work out to be okay. 

So, a post a day. Starting now. Good timing, with Christmas and all. But I'm going to try to do it. 

Birthday

Well, today is my birthday. I suppose we all get reflective on our birthdays. Was it a good year? Would I do things different? What about next year? Am I on the right track? It's like your own, personal New Year's Day. With cake!

It's been a busy year for me, mostly work-related. New bosses, new jobs, traveling, sick cat, soon-to-be moving. It's been a while since so much has happened in such a short period. A year ago, Cliff was in charge of my group, I was planning to work for Novo for the rest of my career. Now, I am moving and starting a new job next week, and Cliff, well, poor Cliff.

Overall, it was a good but stressful year. Not the best, but certainly not the worst. I've learned a bit about myself. I am doubting things about my life as it is currently, but I'm willing to try new things. I am trying to change my attitude towards life in general. More "yes", less hesitation. I suppose how successful this whole job change is will affect how long I keep up this attitude. I doubt if I'll be bored.

Dear idiots in the lobby

I was here first. And I ordered a drink. So stop knocking into my foot. And talking so damn loud. Yes, I'm the dumb ass who's on her computer in a bar, so I should expect some hardship. But you people are really pissing me off.

You clearly have some money and are adults. You should order something if you're taking up a corner of a bar. There's 12 of you and you're going to a show. Just order one drink. It is just not fair to the waitress. Yes, they charge too much, but it's not her fault. And stop stealing my munchies. Yeah, I'm not eating them, but I hate you. They're my munchies. If you ordered one drink, like you should, you would have your own.

And, honey, you are wearing way too much perfume. And, no, that top doesn't work.

I am not used to winning

The past couple of weeks have been weird for me. My guys have won. I can't get my mind around it. I am way too used to backing the loser and being able to shout, "Wait until next time! Then we'll get you!" And then I can feel sorry for myself. But now, my world is upside down.

First it was the Phils. The Phils!? Wait a minute, did they even break .500? They were in the play-offs? Really? When did that even happen? And then they actually win the World Series. I have lived in the Philadelphia area for 20 years and Philadelphia teams do not win world championships. Sorry. That's for other cities, cities I don't live near. 

Sure, we got close a few times. I went to the World Series in 1993. Very exciting, fun for us all, but the Phils lost. To Canadians. Sigh. I remember when the Flyers were in the Stanley Cup finals and the trophies were on display at 30th Street Station. (Yes, I stood in line with all the sports guys to ooh and aah at the pretty, pretty trophies). But they lost. As did the Sixers when they were in the finals and the Eagles did in the Super Bowl. It's not that we're used to it, it's expected. Seriously, we won something?

The legend is that once a building in Philadelphia was built taller than the William Penn statue on top of City Hall, no Philadelphia team would win a championship. And sure enough, that's what happened. So, a little over a year ago, they put a William Penn statue on top of the new Comcast building (which is now the tallest). And looked what happened! Which is kind of hilarious.

Sports are fun, but the election of a president, that's amazing! I'm still getting used to the fact that I actually voted for the guy who got elected! This is just very weird for me. I'm just so happy that we actually picked the smart ones! There's still a part of me that can't believe it. How did the US go from voting for such an idiot to Obama? I am so proud of the US!

A side note. My spellcheck still does not recognized Obama. But will correct it to Osama. 

Jammie pants for Obama

The other day, Bru and I were discussing that, with the non-stop campaigning, Barack and Michelle Obama probably have to be good-to-go at all times. That means all dressed up, make-up for Michelle, etc. No trips to the grocery store in sweats. No walks in ratty jeans and and old t-shirt. No bad hair days.

I'm sure everyone associated with this election is looking forward to Wednesday, and the chance to actually relax. To sleep in. To not wear a suit. And that's when Bru said that she wants to see Obama in jammie pants. 

Tomorrow I'm off to Chicago on election day. Very exciting. I was trying to get Bru to join me, so we could go down to Grant Park for the (cross fingers) celebration. She said we'd probably get arrested. For what? She's said, we'd shout out "Jammie pants for Obama!" The Secret Service would think it was some code, we'd be hauled away. She makes a good point.

Sorting through my Stuff

The days are ticking by and I am realizing that I don't have too much time until I've got to be down south. And I have a lot of stuff. Too much, most likely. Which, of course, makes me feel guilty and frivolous. Meanwhile, Mom's on the phone telling me not to get rid of anything until I run it past her (and my Dad's behind her grumbling that they need less stuff, not more and he better not be seeing any of my stuff coming their way.)

One of the issues I have is that I'm moving in stages. I'm first going down for a week and a half and staying in a hotel. Then to an apartment, and, eventually, to permanent digs. As I sort through things, I have to decide if it's worth keeping (which is the easy part). Then, I have to determine when I will need it. Will I need it in the future apartment? Can I put it away for an unknown amount of time? And if I can put it away that long, maybe I should get rid of it. 

Unfortunately, making these kind of choices has somewhat paralyzed me during this process. I head towards a closet, full of energy, ready to sort, dragging everything out. And then I start. Am I going to need this in the next few weeks? Next few months? Ever again? Sure, I haven't worn it in 6 months, but I kind of forgot about it. It's kind of cute. And I've lost a little weight since I last wore it... Of course, logic like that is why I have so much crap in the first place.

It's not just clothes. I've got plenty of other, well, just stuff. Notebooks, little stuffed animals, toys the kids may or may not ever be interested in playing with, keychains, computer stuff, resume paper (how quaint!), instruction books to things I may or may not still have around. Most of it is at least potentially useful, but I think it is the volume that's the issue. Having a notebook or two around is a good idea, but I probably have 20, in various sizes. Will I ever need 20 notebooks? How did this happen? (In all fairness, some of them were free, so that's a bit of an excuse.) And then there's the guilt of deciding to get rid of something that I bought years ago but never used. "But, it's brand new!" screams the voice in my head. So wasteful, but how many times can I move an unused item?

And my books. Good Lord, the volume of books I have around the house. It occurs to me that books are my primary clutter. I've got them scattered around the various rooms in the house, piles in the guest rooms, next to my bed, somewhat organized in the study, bags of them in the basement. It's a problem. I've done a pretty good job of keeping the textbooks down to a minimum (well, they're really heavy), but the other books... How do I get rid of my guide to France from 1994? I can't just get rid of books. It's so wrong. I need to know that they may be used by someone else.

Time to make some choices.  I'll still move too much, but I'll try to cut back.

Oh, it's somewhere...

Today I started to pack up the study and it occurs to me that I don't really respect my education. Don't get me wrong, I am proud of getting a PhD and it was probably the single hardest thing I've done. But the props of my education, I don't respect those.

My diploma from grad school is in a dusty envelope on top of a bookcase. I had lost track of it for about 5 years. After I found it, my mom asked to see it, and noticed that my name was misspelled. And I've been too lazy to bother to get a new one. The copies of my manuscripts are scattered in different drawers, some water-damaged, some just copies with missing pages. My college diploma is upstairs somewhere (I think).

I've always insisted that I went to grad school for me, that it was something I needed to do. I guess it must be true.

Changing my life

I have taken a new job in a new area of the country. I'm excited, scared, and a bit in a state of denial. My life is going to change, a lot. Of course, I am assuming it's for the better, that it will all be interesting and wonderful. Okay, that's what I hope, but I know there will be days I'll be thinking, "What the hell did I do?"

(When I was typing that last sentence, I was going to put "when I get home at night..." and I thought "home? For the next few months, what will be home? Back in PA? The apartment I'm renting?" And I may have freaked out a bit. Again.)

I've only done two major moves in my life: one when I was six and my move to Philadelphia 20 years ago. Of course, the move when I was six was just part of the whole growing-up gig, but the move to Philadelphia, well, that was a big one. My parents had moved a few months before. I finished the school year (I was teaching high school), packed up the apartment, and decided to give it a go out here. The trip out was a nightmare. My Civic was completely packed (my roommate cleared out a tunnel through my crap so that I would have some use of my rear-view mirror), it was 90+ degrees, I had no air conditioning. I cried pretty much the whole way. 

It's funny, but thinking back on it, I really didn't want to leave Toledo (I know, that simply can't be right.) But it was the only life I knew. All my friends, most of my relatives, all of my history, it was all in Toledo. And, yet, I knew leaving was absolutely the right thing to do. I can't say that there weren't times that I wanted to go back, but I had to leave. I had to seek the new life. And it was the single best thing I did. 

I sometimes wonder what I would have been if I would have stayed in Toledo. All I know is the best things about my life now are because I have left. There's a group of us from my old high school who left Toledo (sort of a weird fraternity), and we all talk about how the best decision of our life was getting the hell out. And when we go back, we look around and think, "There but the grace of God..."

So, my life is changing. I'm freaking out. But I'm choosing to believe that this will be the best thing.

Did it have to be Toledo?

Let's talk about poor Joe the Plumber. Let's say that Joe's business makes $250,000. Apparently there is no difference between what his business makes and what he makes. So, he makes $250,000/year. Let's do some math:

That's $20,833/month. This is the 33% tax bracket, which brings it down to $13,888. The Ohio tax rate at that income is 7.5% which means he pays out another $1563.

Take a minute and go to realtor.com and see what's available in Holland, Ohio. Let's say he lives in one of the more expensive houses (I've pick the one on 636 Anastasia Court for $274,900). That's another $1500/month.

According to McCain, his health insurance will be about $485/month for the whole family. Yep, that's what he said last night and we should believe him. So take that out.

So, what does that leave for poor Joe the Plumber? Only $10,340/month for all other expenses. In Toledo. Sorry, dude, that's a lot of money. Congratulations, you get to pay more taxes. 

Joe the Plumber. Joe Six-pack. What about the chicks, man?

6-4-3

I used to love baseball. Love it. I can't remember not having baseball as part of my life. Listening to the Tigers at my grandparents, Papa bitching about the Yankees, Nana's crazy crush on Mark Fidrych. And, sure, I was a Tigers fan, but I was also a fan of The Big Red Machine. Because The Big Red Machine was managed by Sparky Anderson. Yes, I was the dorky kid that was into the manager of the team. Oh George, never step on those foul lines! Needless to say, the day that Sparky Anderson went on to manage the Tigers -- bliss!

I just loved watching every little bit of the game. Following the count. Listening to the announcers spout out the crazy statistics ("The Phils are 1 and 3 when the count is full after 2 outs in the 8th inning...") The dorky sayings  ("a little chin music!") I'd watch every game during the season. It was the background of my summers.

The Roar of '84! The best year ever. Alan Trammel! Lou Whitaker! Chet Lemon! I love them all. Bless you, boys! It was so much fun to follow such gloriousness. When we moved to Philadelphia, following the Phils was a way to pass the time. We'd all watch the games and wonder if moving was the right thing to do. 

Although I enjoyed going to games, it wasn't a big part of my fan-dom. I was actually just as happy to watch them on television or listen on the radio. When I was in grad school, listening on the radio was a way to calm down. The rhythm of the game, the cadence of the announcers, it was all very zen to me. 

So, what changed? Well, the strike didn't help. I know, you've probably forgotten all about the strike, but it broke my baseball rhythm. Once I stopped watching and got used to baseball not being there, it was easy to stay away. Baseball is about sticking it out for the long run. It's a game almost every day. It's nine innings, full counts, hundreds of pitches, no clock. You got to stick it out. I just haven't been able to pick it back up.

But yay for the Phils for now!

Pandora, Revisited

Despite its shortcomings, I have not completely given up on Pandora. Also, my ipod battery has died a few times while I was at work, and I have to listen to something. Anyway, I have some additional thoughts on it.

First off, there's an update to the whole system. There's a bar that shows you how much of the song has played (actually, that may have been there all along, but I've just discovered it. Okay, I'm just not that bright.) This I like. Instead of the "skip" function, it's a "don't play this song for a month" function. I'm not sure how I feel about it. Sometimes you just want to skip it, not shelf it. So, a yay and a meh.

Now, I supposedly have only one station (cleverly called "Angie Radio." So creative.) It's hooked to my e-mail, right? But when I listen to Pandora at work, it's definitely, well, harder than when I listen at home. So, is it computer-linked? Time-linked? (It's a workday; she needs X. She's at home; bring on George Harrison.) I thought it was supposed to be my only account, but it definitely behaves differently. Ah, mystery.

I wish there was a master playlist. I can't remember which artists I suggested, songs I gave a "thumbs up" or "down", etc. I kind of want to add some artists to the list, but I can't remember who I've already added. Or maybe add more music by an artist I gave a "thumbs up" to earlier.  I guess I feel that if I had a master list, I could play with it a bit. 

So I haven't given up on it yet, but I'm still not happy with it. But you can't beat the price.

Floating

Not that I buy into the whole Oprah thing, but she often talks about "living in the moment." Yeah, sure, great theory, but I doubt that anyone sane could actually do that. Do you want to be "in the moment" of the last traffic jam you were in? No. Just zone out and listen to music, my friend. 

But there are times you should be there. When you should be feeling what is going on around you, what is happening to you. And I realize that at many of those times, I am just floating by. A few months ago, I was with my family at the Franklin Institute, in front of a perpetual motion machine, and I was numb. My family can make me nuts, but I also want to see them. I love me a science museum, and I really love those perpetual motion machines like the nerd I am, but I was feeling nothing. I was watching the balls go through the machine, and it was washing over me. And when I realized what was happening (or not happening), I nearly started crying. 

Thinking about it, I realized that I have been allowing this lack of feeling into my life more and more, this floating through life. And I have been calling this realization my mid-life crisis, for lack of a better name. (I suppose "mid-life crisis" is more acceptable than "dead inside.") The past few months have been an attempt to stop floating through life, changing some things up. So far, it's been working. Scary, but working. I think.

Although there is something somewhat childish about this whole thing. Shouldn't I just be happy? What is wrong with what I have? Do I have to change things in order to feel things? And yet, staying the same wasn't working. 

It's still a work in progress, but I suppose it always is. Just keep moving along. This time, with feeling.

Aiming for Seven

What makes for a happy life? Let's say there's a rating system: one to ten, ten being as happy as you can imagine. Okay, no one is going to be at that ten all the time, that's just crazy. And we'll say that five is just content, so aiming for seven, that seems like a good goal. Thinking about it, I'd say that's what I'm going for. Yeah, that's about right. And assessing the situation, I'd say that I've been hanging out there.

What has occurred to me recently is that there's more to it than just aiming for seven. Yes, seven is the average I would want, but there's two ways to hit that. One way is to hang out at seven pretty much full time: maybe hit eight on a good day, go down to four if something bugs you. But there's the second option of going for ten, and sometimes hitting two. Both ways, you can get that overall seven.

So, which way do I want to hit seven? Looking back on the past few years, I've definitely chosen that first option. Steady, but not too many highs or lows. It's been good, but lately I wonder if it's been good for me. Perhaps I should embrace a life of the second option. But it's so risky. What if I get stuck at two? What if I never see that ten? Can I even change to do this? Have I been hanging out at seven for too long?

An aside: I've been listening to "Is this Desire?" which is rapidly becoming a favorite. 

No regrets (maybe)

I've been thinking about regrets. I know there are people out there who make choices and are confident that it was the right way to go. Always. I don't know the philosophy behind this: are these folks just that happy with every decision? Do they just simply not think about it? Do they convince themselves that it was the right choice ("The powder blue tux with the blue velvet bow tie was absolutely the right choice for our wedding. In 1998.") I am not one of those people.

I reanalyze my choices. A lot. Which is, on one hand, a really stupid thing to waste time on. The decision has been made, can't go back in time, etc. Of course, I am crazy. Sure, I can wrap it in "next time I am faced with a choice like this..." but, honestly, I overanalyze things. I do it before, I do it after. Oh, I know it's not healthy.

The funny thing is that, even with the unhealthy obsessing, overall, I don't have too many regrets. Maybe my obsessing is an attempt to convince myself that it was the right choice. But I'm pretty happy with how the story has turned out so far. Now, onto the next set of choices.

I do regret the perm I got my sophomore year in high school. How did I get any dates?

Chumpie's

Every night when we walk, we pass Chumpie's. You might call Chumpie's a convenience store, but it's not really that convenient. Unlike a 7-11 or a Wawa (oh, how I love you, Wawa!), Chumpie's has limited hours and is closed on holidays. Which is actually fine because they don't really carry that much. No matter, we rarely actually enter Chumpie's.

Mr. HP is fascinated with the Chumpie's bike. For whatever reason, the braintrust at Chumpie's has put this huge sign advertising ice cream on the back of one of those adult tricycles. Not that anyone actually rides the bike anywhere. They just bring it to the road everyday, and back to the store at night. Mr. HP kind of wants to steal the bike. He always notes if it is locked up or not. I point out that if he started peddling off, it's not like (a) he would be hard to spot or (b) he could get away very quickly. No matter, he still kind of wants to snatch that bike. I keep imagining the kid behind the counter spotting him jumping on the bike, pedaling away. The kid sighs, shakes his head, mutters, "not again," grabs his car keys, and chases after Mr. HP. "Dude, you gotta bring the bike back."

A Surprising Old-People's Concert

Last week we saw Liz Phair and it turned out that it was an old-people's concert! I know! Am I sure it was an old-people's concert? Well, I was home before 11, even with traffic issues. 

Liz Phair is touring in honor of the 15th anniversary of "Exile in Guyville" which was just too tempting to turn down. She was playing the TLA, which I like because it's a small venue. I dragged Mr. HP along, assuring him that although there would be a bunch of angry chicks, it would be a bunch of angry chicks who like sex. Turns out a lot of really dorky guys like Liz Phair as well.

We were sure that a "special guest" would be wasting an hour or so of our time, but at 8:20 or so, Liz and her band took the stage and launched into "6'1"". Whoo-hoo! It was kind of weird, knowing exactly what she would play in and the order she would play it. She stayed fairly true to the album which I am mixed about. On one hand, it's always cool to hear new versions of the songs you've heard a hundred times, on the other hand, I don't want her "messing up" my favorites. 

One of the funny things about the concert was the fact that the album is 15 years old. Most of us in the audience bought the album back then, when we were, well, young, angry chicks. And Liz isn't that different from us. We've all read our old diaries and laughed and cringed at what was in them. I'm not sure how I'd feel about singing that diary on stage. 

A bit about "Flower": obviously she can't sing both parts, so during this tour, she pulls someone on stage to sing the back-up vocals. Earlier in the show, a couple of girls in the back had "whoo-hoo'd" that they would do it, but when it was time, they were not to be found. This young-ish (possibly drunk) guy in the front was like, "I'll do it! I'll do it!" Liz was looking at him, like, no way, dude. He starts begging, no one else volunteers, she's, like, oh, what the hell. Everyone else in the audience is thinking: disaster. And he was fantastic! Honestly, better than I ever thought. And you could tell the Liz was digging it, too. 

One last thing: I miss ticket stubs.

Bargain Hunt!

Let's discuss my love for "Bargain Hunt"! You've never seen it? Oh, you are missing out. It's a simple show: two teams of two go to an antiques fair and, assisted by an "expert", spend 200 pounds (oh, yes, it's very British) and then resell these items at an auction. The team that makes the most at auction wins the profit! Yes, the entire amount! It's crazy!

Now, if you have BBC America and catch this fabulous show, your first thought will be: "Oh, this is a show from the '70s," but you would be wrong. I would like to remind you that this is a British show. But how can you not think it's the '70s when you see the host, the wonderful David Dickinson. Yes, those are rainbow reading glasses. That feathered hair! Those suits! I am cooing with delight! 

My love for David is deep and true, but I also have a soft spot in my heart for some of the experts. The experts vary from show to show, so there is the anticipation of who will be on the show. Will I be stuck with one of the women (bleh, they're all horrible) or will we have one of my favorites? Philip Serrill is just cuddly, but David Barby is especially wonderful. Sometimes, after you have gotten over the disappointment that David Barby is not one of the experts, he will be the auctioneer! Joy!

The teams are actually the big throw-away of the show. They serve a couple of basic functions for me: the women provide someone for David to openly flirt with (oh, they love it!) and the men are always porcelain experts (not gay -- British.) Sometimes they show the expert obvious clunker items, which is always a bit amusing, especially when they've already bought the item. Of course, the expert is too polite to do anything but say, "Oh, dear."

But David makes the show sing. He offers his opinion on all of the purchases ("a bit dear..." "cheap as chips!") and, sometimes, other items up for auction. He hugs the ladies when items don't do well and will do the math for you ("You bought that vase for 40 pounds, it sold for 15, for a loss of [pause for thinking] 25 pounds.") He gives the winning team their cash prize (if there is one) and questions them about what they will do with their huge amount of cash (usually go to the pub. Of course.)

Oh, Bargain Hunt, never change!

A Day at the Beach with President Garfield

Yesterday was one of those days I should have more often. Visiting a friend, exercise, walking on the boardwalk, historic sites. Of course, today I'm sunburnt, sore, and bitching about bits of bike seat still stuck in my butt. 

Bru invited me out to Long Branch for a day of bike riding, crazy dogs, and Jersey shore adventure, and I took her up on it. Before I went down, Mr. Higgy-Piggie ask me when was the last time I rode a bike. Had it been that long? He pointed out that he never saw me ride a bike and he's known me for about 14 years. And it's not like I was this bike-riding fool before I met him. Luckily, riding a bike is, well, like riding a bike. Not saying that I didn't almost run Bru down a couple of times.

After living around in the Philadelphia area for over 20 years, it still amazes me how quickly you can be at the ocean. The ocean! With a boardwalk and everything! Bru keeps explaining to me that this is why she lives in Long Branch, as if I need convincing. So very nice. And it was really beautiful yesterday. Almost too nice, which is why we both have sunburns.

We did a lot of bike riding. Okay, it was a lot for me, being the out-of-shape wimp I am. Poor Bru, had to listen to my whining. But we saw it all: the ocean; pretty, rich-people houses; Garfield statue; the Church of the Presidents; Asbury Park (for rock 'n roll cred). 

It was just nice to hang out in a beautiful, interesting place. Although I'm bitching about it today, it's kind of great to be sore from so much exercise. 

A good day is going bike riding with a friend. A good day is seeing the ocean. A good day is dorking out by a Garfield statue. A really good day is free dessert. A great day is having all of that in one day!

And, despite what she says, Bru's dogs aren't that crazy.

More about the Olympics

About 15 or so years back, "Sports Illustrated" did one of those super-huge stories on what it takes to be a world class athlete. There was a lot about the drug abuse, but they also discussed the abuse on the bodies, the sacrifices (moving to be by world-class coaches, that sort of thing), the limits of the career even if you get to a certain level (short careers, little recognition for a lot of the sports, etc.), and how this was across most sports. And as I read this, it occurred to me that you would have to be bat-shit crazy to be a world class athlete. 

As someone who loves to watch sports, this article was unfortunate, as it has colored my view every since. It is especially true when I watch the Olympics, as, for a lot of these sports, this is the big spotlight. Think about it: those divers work just as hard (harder?) than the baseball players we heard about all the time. But the divers get that once-every-four-years shot (and what about the folks who don't even make the team!) Even if they medal -- has anyone really thought about Laura Wilkinson in an off-year? Yeah, love of the sport, blah, blah, fine, I'll accept that. But that doesn't mean it can't bother me a little.

For me, this Olympics has had a lot of the things that are wrong with sports, which is sort of the opposite of what it's supposed to be about. The craziness over age, dropped batons, stepping out of bounds, it's been about the details, not about the sports. I'm watching because I feel I should, not because I want to. 

There's been some cool things: Dara Torres, the water polo team, Usain Bolt, but not enough. Maybe it's the coverage -- not enough live events, not enough of the less common events, Bob Costas (he just seems grumpy and tired and bored), but something is missing. I miss the Olympics of my youth. Or, more likely, I miss watching the Olympics without knowing all the nonsense that goes on behind the scenes.

But, seriously, who is watching all the volleyball?

Thoughts on The Olympics

Ever since I was a kid I've been obsessed with The Olympics. Just insane over the whole thing. Rushing out to buy the "Sport Illustrated" preview issues so I knew who to keep my eye on, that kind of thing. But it's just not doing it for me anymore. I'm not sure why, but I've got a number of theories. Anyway, here's a few thoughts on what's happened so far:

Age things: First off, can there be a real conclusion about the ages of the girls on the Chinese gymnastics team. Aren't there some pictures? Look, she's celebrating her 8th birthday and it's the new millennium! (He's birthday is January 1st, according to the official record.) Do you remember that Romanian gymnast who got her gold medal taken away because she took some cold medicine? Hey officials, this is a bigger deal. There seems to be some convincing evidence that some of these girls are 14, and none that they are 16, besides those passports.

Speaking of age, how 'bout that old bag Dara Torres? I'm surprised she can even make it to the pool to practice!

Ugly American: Am I the only one who thinks that the announcers are trying too hard to make China seem just wonderful? I'm not saying it should be a bash-fest, but aren't there some issues here? When they interviewed the female diver (Jingjing?), she said how much she hated it and how she was afraid to dive when she first started. Could we point out that this might be a bad thing? When these little kids are taken away from their families so that they can learn tumbling, I'm not thinking, "Oh, how cute!" When racers bike past Tiananmen Square, shouldn't we all be reminded of more than its "beauty"? 

I am over beach volleyball. Especially during primetime.

Usian Bolt may be Superman. He ran that final like it was a qualifying race and still kicked everyone's ass.

Yeah, I watch the marathon. I actually look forward to watching it, so stop interrupting me, Bob Costas.

Why does my HD Olympic station show so much boxing? 

More handball, please. It's what soccer would be if soccer were awesome. 

iTunes store

Since I am old and don't listen to the radio much, I need new ways to discover new music. This is one of the reasons I started to play with Pandora, but that has been a disappointment, as I have already mentioned. Before I was playing with Pandora, I had tiny, tiny hopes for assistance from places like amazon and the iTunes store. Yeah, that didn't work so well.

Oh, iTunes store, do not judge me based on what I buy from you. The first song I bought was "Romeo's Tune" (shout out to Brunella!) and most of my purchases have been, well, impulsive. "The Groove Is in the Heart", oh yeah! The Darkness? Hell, yeah! Buying a handful of Christina Aguilara songs is cheaper than buying the whole greatest hits album, so I grab those (no, I won't tell you which ones.) There are some real embarrassments on the list (even than "What a Girl Wants" -- shut up!), but, at 99 cents a pop, who cares? 

However, this means that the music they recommend for me is just random and a bit scary. I try to modify the suggestions by rating other things and telling the store what I already own, but the crazy remains. Right now it is recommending Jimmy Buffett, "Still the One", and Brandy. Oh my. And no. Just no.

Oh, look! It just recommended "Jesus Christ Superstar"! Maybe there is hope after all...

Thoughts on Pandora

Lately I've been playing with Pandora and I'm trying to decide if I like it. I like the idea of its potential to expand my musical horizons. I like that it's free. I like that you can update your preferences, etc. But I am finding it limited.

I haven't really listened to it very much (probably a total of less than 10 hours) and the number of repeated songs I have had is higher than I would like. "Imagine" has come up a couple of times and, although I like it, there are so many other John Lennon songs out there. "Imagine" illustrates another point: Pandora doesn't seem to dig too deep into the catalog, which doesn't really help you discovery new music. If I check that I like "Imagine", shouldn't Pandora play something a little less common? Play "Jealous Guy", see if I like that as well, and then keep going further. I'm also wishing there was a better rating system. Thumbs up or down is not enough. There are a lot of songs I like okay, which I may throw a "thumbs up" at, but if it's something I really love (or really hate), shouldn't that affect things more? Once again, I like "Imagine" but we've all heard it a million times. I really love "Nobody Loves You when You're Down and Out", but all I can do is give it the same rating as I gave "Imagine."

There seems to be a love for live versions of songs, which, bleh! Sure, once in a while live versions are cool, but there's usually a reason a band has spent months in a studio recording an album. And because of the limits of the rating system, I don't want to hand out a "thumbs down" just because it's live. The other day it played a live version of "Badge". I like Cream, I like the song, didn't like it live. I want to hear more Cream, so I give it a "thumbs up" but now am I going to get more live stuff?

I'm trying to give it more time, but the repeating thing is getting to me. Right now, it's playing "Rebel, Rebel" again. I know that Bowie is a one-hit wonder and all...Grrrrr.

So, a blog and Pandora. Am I the coolest girl in 2003 or what?

Music for Old People

As promised, here's the rundown from The Police concert. Now, people my age want to think that The Police and Elvis Costello are so hip, but, let's be honest, we're all older now, and this was an old-people concert. If you doubt it, let's note that the ticket said that the concert was to start at 7:30, and, at 7:28, the lights were out and Elvis was on stage. We are old and do not have time to waste!

I've already told you a bit about Elvis, and I really did enjoy his set. The mix was a bit off (too bass-y, as these things tend to go). He mostly did the "hits" ("Watching the Detective", "Radio, Radio", etc.), which is fine and appropriate given the audience. I can't help but feel that if we went to one of his concerts where he was the headliner and he wasn't playing to Police fans, he would've dug a bit deeper into the catalog. I loved the arrangement of "Everyday I Write the Book". He did "Alison", which I always find a bit boring, but Sting came out to sing it with him. The way Sting was singing along, like he was a huge fan and he won some awesome contest: "I get to sing on-stage with Elvis Costello!" And, ha! to all you jerks who came late because they only wanted to see The Police.

I still can't get over how much Elvis wants us all to sing along. He did this last time I went to see him (18 years ago! Good God, I am old.) We were all listening politely, because I paid to hear an Elvis Costello concert, not to hear the jerk next to me singing the wrong words to "Accidents Will Happen." But he still yelled at us for not singing. 

Okay, now to the headliners. Let's just say I could watch Stewart Copeland play the drums for 24-hours a day and not get sick of it. And when he stepped away from the kit to play other percussion (for "Wrapped around your Finger", etc.), so very awesome. Now, here's the weird thing I noticed. About mid-way through the set, it occurred to me that no one member was leading them. It was three guys, each playing their part (quite well, I must add), but they were so tight, they didn't need one of them to lead. They each had a part of the stage, and I just don't think they could see each other, but they were totally together. There were a few bits where they had to move closer together, which just proves the point that they probably couldn't see each other. Well, I was impressed.

And we were on the road by 10:30. Old people -- we've got to get our sleep; we have jobs, you know.

Why being a girl sucks

I really know virtually nothing about her, but I do have something to say about Miley Cyrus. Well, not her exactly, but reaction to her. Last week, I'm buying the "TV Guide" with Miley on the cover (for my 9-year-old niece. Really!) As I go through the checkout, the (older generation female) cashier looks at the cover and says, "I don't understand why she's so popular -- I don't think she's that cute." Now, I have no problem with someone questioning her talent, but why does she have to be cute to be popular? And then, that night, my mom said the same thing! Mom! Well, at least I could give my mom a hard time.

Too shy, shy

So, how do you tell people you have a blog? I don't know, it seems a bit vain. "Hey, read my opinion -- it's so very awesome." I'm not sure of the reaction: "um, okay?" I think my generation is a bit more private than these kids today. Of course, I read a few blogs by people I don't even know. (In fact, I don't read anything by people I have actually met. I have to wonder if any of my friends have a secret blog.) (Now I'm imagining the conversation when we all reveal our secret blogs...)

Poor Elvis

So, last week Mr. HP and I went to see The Police with special opening act the awesome and fabulous Elvis Costello. I'll write later about The Police and other thoughts about the concert in general, but let's talk Elvis. 

I absolutely love me some Elvis. Having Elvis on the bill was what pushed me over the edge to get the tickets (or, more specifically, forced Mr. HP to buy the tickets.) However, I knew there would be drawbacks to having Elvis as an opening act. First, most folks in the audience are there to see The Police. Sadly, there was a certain amount of "who's the dude?" from the people who bothered to show up on time. Second, Elvis needs hours to get through a fraction of his material, not the 45 minutes or so usually allowed for an opening act. Plus, he's promoting a new album. But he's still Elvis.

Before we go further, yes, he was great. But there was a moment... I've seen Elvis before. He really likes it when the crowd sings along (which, frankly, I find a bit weird. I was there to hear him, not us.) As I mentioned above, most of the crowd wasn't really into the Elvis scene, but he clearly wants us to sing along to this next song he's rockin'. So here's what he picks: "Head to Toe." Really?! Sure, I love it, but it's not even a "hit" -- Mr. HP had never even heard of it and he's at least a kind-of fan. And then Elvis screwed up the words. Oh, Elvis.

Still love him. Still would see him in concert any day of the week.