Telling my story

So got invited to share my story at a church service tonight. Which story? The one about how I married a guy before I figured out that I was gay, and then found my inner truth and the love of my life (not necessarily in that order). It was a service for the Pacific Northwest Reconciling Ministries, which is all about getting the gays and the Christians together with love (http://www.pnw-rmn.org/). Talk about the way of Jesus, right?

I'd tell you what I said, but I don't really remember. I step up to the mike, start rolling and ... well, they laughed when I meant them too, nodded and seemed as though they appreciated the tale.

Lacking the words from tonight, I'll just share the coming out story that I wrote for the gay/lesbian email listserv at the big internet retailer I work for ....


Here's how my story ends: My ex-husband is happily married to a woman who was a pal of my current partner and I. They have a kid, we have two, and while we didn't get through everything neatly enough to, you know, stay in communication with each other, we all wish each other well and our drama seems distant and unbelievable, like it happened to someone else.

Here's how my story begins: I married this nice fellow, because that was what I felt like I was supposed to do. I think on some level I figured it would prove to myself that my close friendships with women (never sexual, except that one moment with a college friend that remains unspoken of and would likely be denied by her) were just friendships, and not (yikes!) crushes. I found out later that the woman catering my wedding immediately read me as gay and predicted a quick end to the marriage. We hit five years, which outlasted her prediction.

For a while, all was well. Then I met Cheryl, the woman I've gone on to marry (several times, in the hopes that one of our ceremonies will finally be legal here). Cheryl and I were colleagues. Actually, I was her boss. And I immediately clicked with her: she's smart, talented, fun ... all that good stuff. Before long, she and I and my husband and another friend of ours were hanging out. After a summer of this, we began to realize that the chemistry was working in unexpected ways. Cheryl and I had pretty much fallen in love, and my husband and our other friend were really connecting. Finally, on the eve of a trip Cheryl and I were taking to NY (because my hubby didn't want to see Lucy "Xena" Lawless in Grease, or other Broadway shows), I confessed: first to my husband, and then to my boss, as I knew I could no longer be Cheryl's manager. Much drama ensued, at home and at work (all four of us worked together, so we were pretty much Ground Zero for all gossip for what felt like an eternity). My mom suggested I just stay married an have an affair with Cheryl. But when I told her that was untenable, she adjusted. Before she died, she referred to Cheryl as her second daughter. My dad considers her and our children family, though he's against gay marriage and other such civil rights and seems amazingly able separate his feelings for us from his feelings for gays as a whole. He doesn't understand that in most states, I would not be allowed to adopt these children Cheryl gave birth to, and that in the eyes of the government and many other major institutions, she and I aren't really family. Cheryl's relatives, meanwhile, were uniformly great, and while we worried that some LDS branches of the family tree might not be too friendly, it's not been a problem. I have never for a second felt anything loved, welcomed and accepted. Even when I was just the "friend" she brought to her family gatherings.

Now, I lead a typical suburban life: enjoying time with my wife and twin sons, taking the bus to work, trying to keep the house clean, looking forward to the next R Family cruise with Rosie O'Donnell and Co., going to church on Sundays (a wonderful, accepting church that is all about social justice). I'm ashamed to admit that I don't always expect people to be accepting, even of what I think is a ridiculously noncontroversial life. But I'm happy to say that I have been pleasantly surprised many, many times.

Steph

riding the ferry boat home from Bainbridge

I installed a Badger tonight

A Badger is, by the way, a garbage disposal. Our old one gave out, and Cheryl picked up a new one tonight.

Fortunately, I was able to fairly easily do the main connection to the drain. I also wired the old plug into the new disposal, which I know frightening Cheryl (sheesh, you cut through a live wire with scissors ONE TIME and the love of your life gets all panicky whenever you're around electricity).

Life has been so busy lately. Just random thought I found myself reflecting on as I put in a garbage disposal after 9 p.m. on a Thursday night.

No more Animal Planet for a while ...

So Eddie was going potty tonight, and having a little trouble with a turd of significant size. Which apparently got him thinking about a show we saw last week about a baby giraffe (not just its life, but its birth).

He asked where a giraffe's butt was. Under the tail, Cheryl replied, probably wondering where this was going.

"And the baby giraffe comes out there?" Uh, not really ... but there's only so much explaining you can do when it's past a little guy's bedtime.

Anyway, Eddie said that his poop made him feel like he's pushing out a baby giraffe. Awesome.

"Cheating" on this blog ....

So, here is one reason why my number of blog posts has dropped: I am blogging in another place.

Here's a sampling of what I wrote today about Anna Nicole:

Anna Nicole apparently told people that she wanted to be the next Marilyn Monroe. She certainly embraced the style at times, but never became a movie star. ... And Marilyn lived in a time when it was easier for us to see a star through the prism of our own dreams and wishes -- it often took the finality of death for ugly realities to intrude on our perceptions. I can't help but wonder what Marilyn's final years would have been like if there had been an E! network, not to mention celeb bloggers like Perez Hilton.

The whole post is here:
http://www.amazon.com/gp/plog/post.html/ref=cm_blog_pl/104-2017613-0507122?ie=UTF8&pt=personalBlog&aid=PlogMyCustomersAgent&ot=customer&pd=1170972620.315&pid=PMCASDQOJGOVEX58at1170969916&iid=ASDQOJGOVEX58

I have also blogged about Joss Whedon not doing a Wonder Woman movie anymore:

http://www.amazon.com/gp/plog/post.html/ref=cm_blog_pl/104-2017613-0507122?ie=UTF8&pt=personalBlog&aid=PlogMyCustomersAgent&ot=customer&pd=1170790880.648&pid=PMCASDQOJGOVEX58at1170790039&iid=ASDQOJGOVEX58

And CSI, which I have grown to appreciate:
http://www.amazon.com/gp/plog/post.html/ref=cm_blog_pl/104-2017613-0507122?ie=UTF8&pt=personalBlog&aid=PlogMyCustomersAgent&ot=customer&pd=1170747624&pid=PMCASDQOJGOVEX58at1170745857&iid=ASDQOJGOVEX58

So, my attentions are divided. But my heart belongs to betterlater.

Light in the sky makes everything better

So I'm on my way home, riding the train. It's 5:15, and it's not dark, which is terrific. Not so terrific is the throbbing in my foot. Of course, throbbing is better than screaming pain, so I shouldn't complain. I made it a little worse, I think, by running to catch the train. But the fact that I could run at all shows how much better I am doing.

Days like this make me glad I have a window seat at work. Now, if only I could go outside during the day. I need to make sure I don't get in the habit of just sitting on my arse all day without ever breathing fresh air or working my muscles. It's an all-too-easy pattern to fall into. Hell, I was in it for years and have only moved into a realm of walks and workouts with baby steps.
I can't wait to get back to it. I know it will be a while before my foot is no longer the color of a sunset, but the light in the sky makes everything better.

When newspapers die ...

Journalists gather for vaguely uncomfortable parties.

I went to the wake for the King County Journal (formerly the Valley Daily News, formerly the Bellevue Journal American). And it was wonderful, in that I got to see some former colleagues who are still dear to me. People like Curt Milton, for example. (Here are some pictures he took: http://www.flickr.com/groups/kcjparty/).

It was cool to meet people I'd heard about from my dear Cheryl, who shared many wonderful stories of joy and oppression at Valley.

But it was sad in that for every story about the joys of leaving journalism, there was at least one and probably more stories of people who have found themselves lost and lacking options in the no man's land between middle age and retirement.

It made me glad I left journalism. Don't get me wrong: I'm glad that I was a member of the club. But leaving has forced me to push myself in new ways. I've actually even flirted with the idea of getting my MBA. Which is scary. But working at a newspaper, for all of its challenges, can make one myopic. Like newspapers are all there is, and for some people, print newspapers are all there is.

"That is very purple"

So said Eddie about my foot. It's getting better, which is to say I can walk on it without screaming. Mostly. And, oddly, I think it's less discolored right now than it was last night.

It's very strange to feel this way. I am really not used to being lame. Well, lame physically anyway. I know I've been lame in other ways. It's funny how full of joy I was to get crutches. It's funny how full of joy I am when I put ice on my foot.

Wonder what it will feel like tomorrow. It felt crappy this morning, exploding my cocky dreams of quick healing.

Watching Animal Planet has this effect on me ...

So, with the boys around, watching TV means watching more Animal Planet and less MTV and VH1 (at least until they go to bed).

And right now, I'm watching a show like about giraffes -- giraffes who live a lot closer than Africa, and not in a zoo. Specifically, they live in wine country, of all places. It's a place called Safari West -- and until I can get the family to the actual Savannah, this may tide us over.

This is from their Web site, minus the blah blah about how our world moves too fast, etc., etc.:

Nestled on 400 acres in the heart of California's wine country, Safari West is home for over 400 exotic mammals and birds. Not a zoo, not a drive-through park, it's a wildlife preserve where the whole family can experience some of nature's most beautiful animals in a natural habitat.
Established by Peter Lang in 1979, Safari West gained membership in the American Zoo and Aquarium Association, one of only six private facilities in North America to belong to that prestigious organization. The ongoing mission of Safari West is wildlife preservation through breeding, education, research and public interaction.
What happens at Safari West?
Safari West serves two important functions: first and foremost, we are a wildlife preserve, with several important ongoing projects such as:
The propagation of endangered species. Safari West is the home of zebras, giraffes, cheetahs and many more exotic creatures.
Under the directorship of Nancy Lang, Safari West is breeding several endangered bird species.
Conservation programs are in place for two species of Saharan Desert antelope now extinct in the wild.
But Safari West is more than a preserve. We are dedicated to raising awareness of our exotic neighbors and promoting understanding through in-person contact. That's why we offer safaris year-round. If your only experience with a zebra or giraffe has been at a zoo, you should see these beautiful animals in their natural habitat. You owe it to yourself, and to them.

The safari is something like $30 a pop, and then there are lodging opportunities ("luxury tents on the Sonoma Serengeti")

Googling a broken foot

I'm working from home today. Here's an excerpt from the email I sent:

So I wish I had a better story, but while walking through the park and ride lot to my car last night, I misjudged a curb and abruptly met the ground. The good news is that the intense pain and swelling in my foot has taken my mind off the non-intense pain in my knee and hand. The bad news is that if I try to, say, move my foot or, God forbid, walk on it, I must loudly scream (usually obscenities). This could be disruptive in an office environment. Seriously, it's really messed up. So, I'm going to be working from home today, foot up, on ice. And possibly going to the doctor, though I think all a doc will say is that it's not broken and good luck with that.

And it's all true. I feel compelled to add this last part after getting this response from a friend of mine:

I once cranked my ankle at a strip club after I slipped on some body oil. But when I called in to work the next morning, my story pretty much resembled yours. Anyhow, I found immersing my foot in buckets of ice to be helpful.

Because my pain is so ... pain-y, I'm consulting with Dr. Google to see if I need to see a real doctor. I think I might. Cheryl, meanwhile, is dealing with the oddness of me being the one in need of medical aid. She says she's used to filling that role herself. And she has had actual surgeries and stuff (I haven't) not to mention all of the rigamarole that went into IVF, etc. But she should remember that she is the one who even got me to take medicine of any sort, from aspirin/ibuprofen on up to antidepressants. I may not usually be limping and swearing, but if it weren't for Cheryl, my medical interactions would be dominated by the influence of Grandpa (didn't see a doctor until his femur broke from cancer) or Mom (let diabetes rage untreated, and didn't start seeing medical professionals until it was essentially too late).

I never thought I'd own a 52-inch TV ...

But I do! (Actually, my family thinks it is also theirs, but that's OK -- it's big enough to share). It is, specifically, a Panasonic 52 inch LCD projection TV, which means it's not skinny enough to hang on the wall, but still pretty small (17 inches deep, and only 68 pounds -- which is probably a quarter of what our 36-inch CRT TV weighs).





It lives in the alcove above our fireplace, and pretty much fills it. There was barely room for Cheryl and I to make a shelf above it, which holds the Tivo box and VCR. It's a Series2 Tivo, which means we are still without HDTV content (that comes from a Series3, or a special cable box, neither of which we're willing to spring for). But even regular TV looks really good, and DVDs look fabulous.


And now I'm going to say something nutty: It "only" cost $1000. Well, $990-something plus tax. Now it's back up to $1699, so we feel quite smart. I'mat least as happy as the golf dude in the picture.

Here are specs: http://www.circuitcity.com/ssm/Specifications-of-Panasonic-52-LCD-Projection-HDTV-PT-52LCX66/sem/rpsm/oid/152131/rpem/ccd/productDetailSpecification.do#tabs

Kate Fleming and Charlene Strong deserved better. (We all do.)

I get a lot of my news from my wife, who keeps up with current events far better than I. She's the one who told me about how the partner (widow, really) of the Seattle woman who was drowned by floodwaters in her own basement testified before state lawmakers on behalf of domestic partner recognition. Charlene Strong is the widow. Kathryn Fleming is the woman who died. I kept forgetting the names, but I feel like they should be noted.
Here's the story: http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/local/301274_domestic26.html
Basically, while the victim was dying at Harborview, her partner was kept from her until the dying woman's family gave the OK by phone. What if they were against the relationship? What if so many things?

"As the minutes ticked by, I kept wondering, 'What if she dies without me holding her hand? What if she dies without knowing that I told her I loved her?' "

Honestly, I can't even bring myself to read the whole story. That quote stopped me in my tracks.

There's no law against Cheryl being my news service, at least not yet. All humor aside, it's just too upsetting to think that even though Cheryl and I have a civil union that's recognized in Vermont, and a marriage that is recognized in Canada, that doesn't necessarily mean anything where we live. I mean, let's say we carried our certificates around with us, instead of framing them and putting them on our wall … would they do any good?
We can be kept from each other, and while I believe we'd prevail in court, a judge can't give back a loved one's final moments.
How can anyone be against this basic right?

Our boys display their Thomas stuff ....

I'm just not as into sports anymore ...

I've aways been something of a sports fan, though the depth of my engagement in athletics has shifted, based on what's going on in my life.

When I was a kid, I got into the Mariners and Seahawks to a degree because they were new to Seattle. And then in '79, the Sonics won the title, briefly engaging my interest in the team and curly-top center Jack Sikma. I collected literally thousands of baseball cards, in part because my obsessive tendencies needed an outlet, and sports joined the cycle that also included Star Wars/Star Trek, Oz, etc.

I was never a fan of, you know, actually watching the games with an eye towards understanding them in depth. I mean, the obsessive part learned a lot of details, but I actually don't enjoy just sitting and watching a baseball game. Football is more interesting to me, maybe because the style of play has more drama than the chess-match stylings of America's Pastime. I like basketball in person, but not on TV. It's just harder to tell what the heck is going on. Football, on the other hand, is much more enjoyable on TV (for me). The cameras can get in close and illuminate the action in ways that I find entertaining.

Anyhoo, a year ago, I was in charge of the Seattle P-I sports department. And the Seahawks were in the middle of a playoff run. I subscribed to ESPN the magazine and listened to Jim Rome on the radio. And I enjoyed it. But I've since moved on to a different job and focus, and I find myself much less interested in all things (or even select things) sporty. I steal read the excellent blog deadspin.com, which is entertainingly written and mostly focuses on sports through a pop cultural filter (my favorite kind).

I still listen to sports on the radio, though often it's by default (like if there's nothing good on NPR). I know everyone needs an interest. Everyone has a reserve of attention that they pour into the buckets of their choosing. Mine is certainly not always poured into Proust, or politics, or shit that makes me seem smart. But sports increasingly seems just so empty ....

I was watching the playoffs briefly this afternoon and thinking of the "storylines:" Brady vs. Manning, hunk vs. geek, Super Bowl Champ vs. Guy People Think Can't Win the Big One. Very, very rich guy vs. very, very rich guy. I think I prefer scripted drama now, with a healthy soupcon of, ya know, real life and all its messes.

Dreamgirls makes me think of Florence Ballard

Just saw Dreamgirls tonight, and yes, I know it's Jennifer Hudson's movie. And it's a neat bit of foreshadowing that Simon Cowell thought Hudson too fat and, let's get real here folks, too black to make it to the top in American Idol (she finished in the top seven while others with less vocal talent carried on).

I'm glad that Effie got her happy ending in Dreamgirls, the Supremes-esque story of a girl group and the varying trajectories of those it touched. I'm glad that Jennifer Hudson's getting her happy ending. But let's not forget Florence Ballard. She had soul and a voice so strong that she supposedly had to stand more than 15 feet away from the mike while the other Supremes sang up close. But Ballard wasn't as pretty or as packageable as Diana Ross. So she got shunted aside, didn't take it well, and found herself booted from the group and on a tough road that included too much alcohol, welfare and eventually death from coronary thrombosis.

She was just 32.

At least Florence Ballard lives on in some ways. I found this online, along with an always helpful Wikipedia article:

http://www.florenceballardfanclub.com/

The Florence Ballard Fan Club was founded in 1986 by Alan White as a living memorial to Florence Ballard. The purpose of the fan club is to keep Florence Ballard's legacy alive in a positive light.

And then there's this, from "Call Her Miss Ross," the less-than-flattering bio by pro dirt digger J. Randy Taraborelli:

http://www.findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m1077/is_n4_v45/ai_8325383

"You know, you told me you wouldn't try to stand in Diane's way if she wanted to go out on her own," Berry told Florence one afternoon at the airport in Vancouver, Canada, in 1966. (Though "Diana" is the name on Diana Ross' birth certificate, most of her friends and associates from the early days called her--and still do call her [perhaps not to her face]--"Diane", which is what her parents intended that she be named.)
"Yeah, that's what I said," Florence once remembered having told him. "If she wants to be on her own, then that's okay with me. But I ain't leaving the group."
"She wants out," Berry said, ignoring her last statement. "But you're making it tough on her. She told me you're making her feel guilty about it."
Years later, Florence recalled, "That's when I started getting pi---d off. I said, 'Look, Berry, she's grown. If she wants to walk all over people to get to the top, then that's her business. I'm not gonna make her feel no better by agreeing with it.'
"'You're a millionaire,' he told me. 'You can leave the group any time.' But I told him I ain't leaving."
With that, Berry and Florence became locked in the same quarrels about her excessive drinking and weight gain, all of which ended with Florence--tears in her eyes and her voice shaking--threatening Berry once more. "You'll be sorry you messed with me, Berry Gordy," she screamed loud enough for everyone in the terminal to hear. "I know a lot about you, more than you think. And don't you forget it."
Actually, Mary Wilson was "the quiet one," not Florence Ballard. Mary, content to be a Supreme at whatever cost, watched and waited to see what would happen next. But Florence shouted and made threats, claiming to have embarrassing information on Berry Gordy's business practices. She quickly became a threat to Gordy's peace of mind, to the continued success of the group and, maybe even more importantly, to Diana's future career.
On stage, as off, Flo was irrepressible--and audiences loved her for it. During the act, when Diana said, "Thin is in," Flo sassed back, "But honey, fat is where it's at." When Diana sang, "Gold won't bring you happiness," during their rendition of "You're Nobody Till Somebody Loves You," Flo would interrupt with, "Give me that gold and I'll do my own shoppin'." Flo was a crowd pleaser and Diana and Berry couldn't very well ignore that.
But Ballard's smart-aleck remarks on stage hid a lot of pain. Increasingly pushed into the background, she felt cheated. The more successful The Supremes became and the more attention Diana received, the more alienated and bitter Flo seemed. She put on weight and began to show up drunk for performances. She deluded herself into thinking that because she formed the group and chose its name, she was indispensable.
She was wrong. Florence was unceremoniously dumped and quickly replaced. Soon, she found herself without money, without a career, and, worse, without hope.

Hope abounds in Dreamgirls, which is wonderful. And Beyonce does Diana Ross a favor, portraying Deena Jones as an innocent who is led away from loyalty but leaves her friend behind with regret and comes through for her in the end. The most tarnished character is that of the Barry Gordy-esque entrepreneur (Jamie Foxx) who gets the girls their break, then breaks their hearts and spirits.

And Eddie Murphy deserves an Oscar. (So does Jennifer Hudson -- and not some "best supporting" crap. It's her movie.)

A Disney feast, and a confession about my real age

The fun folks at Boing Boing (www.boingboing.com) seem to have a Disney jones. Which is fine with me: I'm kind of a Disney freak myself: Not so much the mouse, or even the animation, etc., but more the experiences.

In fact, it looks like we're going to Disneyland this year, to celebrate my 40th birthday. Yes, I'm 40 this year, though I've fudged the year with people for the past five years or so. For a while, I even had Cheryl convinced I'm a year younger than I really am. But the truth is out, and I'm only a little reticent about it. I guess if there's a trip to Disneyland involved ....

So here are some of the Boing Boing goodies:
1. A link to a video about the history of Tomorrowland (which seems like an oxymoron). It is focused on Walt Disney World, which I've only been to once, but it's chock full of wonderful "future visions," which include significant doses of commercialism (the RCA Space Mountain??? Yes, it was), patriotism and supercool retro design. LOVE that stuff.
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-7520893542761833477

2. Unofficial Disney posters. Cheryl and I have a few of these -- official versions purchased at Disneyland and lovingly transported home. One way I can tell I'm getting old, by the way, is that I get excited by purchasing things like posters and not toys at D-land. Anyway, these unofficial posters are beautiful, and apparently got their creator a job making the real thing for the Diz.
http://gregmaletic.wordpress.com/2002/10/18/faux-disney-attraction-posters/



3. And finally, the frickin' motherlode! Found this on a link from a google video about the matterhorn. It's got backstage photos, attraction photos, "Disneyland deaths" (which you can sort by date or attraction), magazine articles, etc., etc., etc., ad infinitum. Oh and videos. The site interface is fugly, but the actual content is cool ….
http://www.dldhistory.com/

Trinity is missing!

My favorite action figure .... the last survivor of the great action figure purge of 2002 .... is, or was, Trinity. But she has gone missing, somehow lost when I moved to a new desk.

Having a window seat helps me deal with the pain, of course. (As well as the pain of losing the colleague who moved on to greener pastures -- a different store within the Big Internet Retailer universe). But I may need to get another Trinity. Unless I can find a Starbuck. Or maybe I can sub a Xena. But that's so 1997.

OK, I just checked eBay, and when I bought my Trinity (probably 6 or 7 years ago), there was only one kind. Now Todd MacFarlane (creator of Spawn and maniacal action figure maker who embraces verissimilitude to the extreme) has entered the Matrix realm and there's a ton to choose from. Sheesh.

Look at this one .....

She's falling off a building and shooting and God knows what. I like it better when she jumps in the air, time slows down and she kicks her foes in the head. But that's just me. :)

There are many, many more options. I think I'm going to go with the classic. I just need to find one with a gummed up box or something so I can get a deal -- less than $5, I'm hoping. This time around, I'm not sweating the whole "MIB" (mint in box) thing. I want her to come out and play. You know, in a grown-up, non-kinky way.

(Oh, and I will not ever buy myself a Trinity coat. Unless I weigh, like 100 pounds less than I do now and look hot in tight vinyl pants. Then, maybe ..... )

Why? 'Cause this is how I roll ...

So I picked up a little bit of "youthful lingo" from some of my Amazon colleagues, and now say things like "That's how I roll." Or "That's not how I roll."

And now that the boys have entered their "why" phase (asking why why why why why ad infinitum), I tried to use it as a conversation stopper, as in:

Boy: "Mama, why are you doing that?"

Mama: "Because that's how I roll."

Other Boy, intrigued: "I want to see you roll. Roll now, Mama. Show me."

At least he didn't ask "why."

This only sucks literally. Otherwise, it's very cool.

Cheryl, my domestic goddess, has gotten herself a fun little indulgence (as much as anything that involves housecleaning can be called an indulgence):

It's a "SweepEze," and basically it wakes up and starts sucking everytime a broom comes near. Or my foot, if I'm not careful. I think my dear partner felt a little silly for blowing $40-odd bucks on it -- nowhere near as much as, say, a Roomba.

I'm sure we'll be buying a new vacuum soon, after treating our former vac like a ShopVac when we put in the new floor. The belts keep breaking and it's just not well. Maybe we'll get a Dyson this time. But those cost a heck of a lot more than $40.


Or maybe by the time we're ready, these will actually be available to buy ....

Yes, those are vacuum shoes. Now you know what the good folks in Electrolux R&D have been up to:
http://www.engadget.com/2006/12/17/electrolux-unveils-vacuum-shoe-concept/

Maybe it's my cheerfulness!

How pathetic that my first post in days is about having a cold. Or, more accurately, not having a cold.

Thanks, Boing Boing, for this fabulous news:

Good moods prevent colds?
A new scientific study suggests that people who have a positive outlook are less likely to catch colds. Psychologist Sheldon Cohen and his colleagues at Carnegie Mellon University exposed more than 300 healthy adults to a cold virus and interviewed them about their emotional state. Those with "generally positive outlooks... reported fewer cold symptoms than were detected in medical exams." From Science News:
"We need to take more seriously the possibility that a positive emotional style is a major player in disease risk," Cohen says. Those who displayed generally positive outlooks, including feelings of liveliness, cheerfulness, and being at ease, were least likely to develop cold symptoms. Unlike the negatively inclined participants, they reported fewer cold symptoms than were detected in medical exams. The new study, which appears in the November/December Psychosomatic Medicine, replicates those results and rules out the possibility that psychological traits related to a positive emotional style, rather than the emotions themselves, guard against cold symptoms. Those traits include high self-esteem, extroversion, optimism, and a feeling of mastery over one's life. Link

Clutter is a good thing?

I greeted this news with a mix of relief and fear: relief that I'm not somehow messing up my life (or that of my kids) by having a messy house, and fear that the news will somehow derail any sort of organizational effort that Dear Partner and I have had going.

From the New York Times (http://www.nytimes.com/2006/12/21/garden/21mess.html):

January is now Get Organized Month, thanks also to the efforts of the National Association of Professional Organizers, whose 4,000 clutter-busting members will be poised, clipboards and trash bags at the ready, to minister to the 10,000 clutter victims the association estimates will be calling for its members’ services just after the new year.
But contrarian voices can be heard in the wilderness. An anti-anticlutter movement is afoot, one that says yes to mess and urges you to embrace your disorder. Studies are piling up that show that messy desks are the vivid signatures of people with creative, limber minds (who reap higher salaries than those with neat “office landscapes”) and that messy closet owners are probably better parents and nicer and cooler than their tidier counterparts. It’s a movement that confirms what you have known, deep down, all along: really neat people are not avatars of the good life; they are humorless and inflexible prigs, and have way too much time on their hands.
“It’s chasing an illusion to think that any organization — be it a family unit or a corporation — can be completely rid of disorder on any consistent basis,” said Jerrold Pollak, a neuropsychologist at Seacoast Mental Health Center in Portsmouth, N.H., whose work involves helping people tolerate the inherent disorder in their lives. “And if it could, should it be? Total organization is a futile attempt to deny and control the unpredictability of life. I live in a world of total clutter, advising on cases where you’d think from all the paper it’s the F.B.I. files on the Unabomber,” when, in fact, he said, it’s only “a person with a stiff neck.”

Actually, it confirms what I've pretty much believed all along. It's nice to be as organized as you can. But I also know well what pathological clutter is, having cleared out my Dad's storage unit, and having avoided his house for months. I feel bad about that sometimes, but when I go to the place formerly known as home, it presses all kinds of buttons, especially the one that says: "Throw this shit away!" So I instead invite Dad to visit me, and leave him to his many old newspapers and, my favorite, issues of Catholic Digest from the '70s (we're not Catholic). Somewhere in all that mess are some things that are precious to me. I just hope I have the stamina and the patience to power through the crap someday when Dad's not around to stop me (and for the record, I do not want that day to be anytime soon).

The Long Tail meets journalism

At the Big Internet retailer where I work, after having walked away from journalism, The Long Tail is one of the fundamental texts (you know, it's not about the First Amendment, so we gotta embrace what we can):

http://www.longtail.com/the_long_tail/2006/12/what_would_radi_1.html

Anyway, I was interested to see this intersection of my past life and current principles:

(These are from Chris Anderson)
Six tactics of transparent media:

1) Show who we are. All staff edit their own personal "about" pages, giving bios, contact details and job functions. Encourage anyone who wants to blog to do so. Have a masthead that actually means something to people who aren't on it. While we're at it, how about a real org chart, revealing the second dimension that's purposely obscured in the linear ranking on a traditional masthead?
Upside: Readers know who to contact. The organization is revealed as a collection of diverse individuals, not just a brand, an editor and some writers.
Risk: Competitors know who to poach; PR people spam us even more than usual.
-------
2) Show what we're working on. We already have internal wikis that are common scratch pads for teams working on projects. And most writers have their own thread-gathering processes, often online. Why no open them to all? Who knows, perhaps other people will have good ideas, too.
Upside: Tap the wisdom of crowds
Risk: Tip off competitors (although I'd argue that this would just as likely freeze them; after all the prior art would be obvious to all); Risks "scooping ourselves", robbing the final product of freshness.
-------
3) "Process as Content"*. Why not share the reporting as it happens, uploading the text of each interview as soon as you can get it processed by your flat-world transcription service in India? (This may sound ridiculous, but it's exactly what wire services such as the AP have long done--they update their stories with each new fragment of information). After you've woven together enough of the threads to have a semi-coherent draft, why not ask your readers to help edit it? (We did it here, and it worked great). And while you're at it, let them write the headlines and subheads, not just for the site but also the punchier ones for the RSS feed and the one that has to work with the art for the magazine.
Upside: Open participation can make stories better--better researched, better thought through and deeper. It also can crowdsource some of the work of the copy desk and editors. And once the story is done and published, the participants have a sense of collective ownership that encourages them to spread the word.
Risk: Curating the process can quickly hit diminishing returns. Writers end up feeling like a cruise director, constantly trying to get people to participate. And all the other risks of the item above.
-------
4) Privilege the crowd. Why not give comments equal status to the story they're commenting on? Why not publish all letters to the editor as they're submitted (we did that here), and let the readers vote on which are the best? We could promise to publish the top five each month, whether we like them or not: "Harness our tools of production! Make us print your words! Voting is Power!"
Upside: Maximizes participation.
Risk: If we don't deploy voting tools or (sigh) a login system, trolls may rule.
-------
5) Let readers decide what's best. We own Reddit, which (among other things) is a terrific way of measuring popularity. Why should we guess at which stories will be most popular and give those preferential treatment? Why not just measure what people really think and let statistics determine the hierarchy of the front page?
Upside: A front page that reflects reader interest better.
Risk: A more predictable and lowbrow front page.
-------
6) Wikifiy everything. The realities of publishing is that at some point you push the publish button. In the traditional world, that's the end of the story. It is a snapshot in time, as good as we could make it but inevitably imperfect. The errors (and all articles have them) are a mix of commission and omission--we hope for the best yet brace ourselves for the worst. But what if we published every story on a wiki platform, so they could evolve over time, just like Wikipedia itself? The original story would be the foundation of what could eventually become a version expanded and updated by readers (our Fortune 500 blogging wiki was an experiment in this). If you want to see the original version, just push the "original" button, or see any changes in-between by looking at the version history.
Upside: Stories live and grow, remaining relevant long after their original publication (at no cost to us!)
Risk: Stories get progressively less coherent as many cooks mess with them. Whatever brand authority the Wired name brings is diminished over time as the stories become less and less our own work.

Being an action figure

It's been possible to get "personalized" action figures for a while now. All it took was enough money, or enough sculpey and skill, and you could be immortalized in all your miniature glory. But through the magic of the Internets, it's possible to get a made-to-order action figure for something less than the $600 or so charged by the schmancy places (www.highlyflammabletoys.com).

The schmancy places are cool, of course, but cooler still is self indulgence at a fraction of the price -- http://www.herobuilders.com/ondemand/. The only downside is you have somewhat limited options (all boys). And it's got a hip-hop/urban assault vibe. But it's still cool.

If only I had the self-discipline to stick with my original plan -- sculpt myself to match action figures like Trinity and Wonder Woman .... I'll be honest: An action figure of a soft suburbanite just isn't ... explosive enough.

Having a hard time with gifts?

So, dear partner Cheryl and I have very different gift-buying experiences .... She seems to stress a great deal about what she's getting me. I generally don't stress as much. I get a couple of things I'm confident about and kinda color in the details.

Which is why I thought of her when I saw this, from a Journal of Consumer Research news release (via Boing Boing):
"Our results suggest that familiarity caused [people] to put an overly heavy weight on pre-stored information. The pre-stored information that people possess about their partner is extensive. This elaborate knowledge makes predictors overly confident, such that they do not even attend to product-specific attitude feedback.”

Boing Boing's spin is that this is why it's so hard to pick out a gift for a loved one, i.e., one is overwhelmed by their certainty that their dear partner or family member is more like them than they really are. But I read this with the concern you might expect from someone who recognizes her own overconfidence (on a good day). Yeah, I know Cheryl and I have different tastes. But do I REALLY use that knowledge when I shop, or am I buying her things that are all too colored with my own desires/taste?

I actually like getting gifts that are as much or more a reflection of my loved one's tastes than mine, when I like their taste (as I do with Cheryl). In a way, it's like seeing myself through another person's eyes. Sometimes, it's seeing myself perhaps as the other person would like me to be.

OK, back at it .... Chuck E. Cheese, Pirates, Percocet and more

Wow, is it really Dec. 14? Yes. It is. The month has flown by, and I've gone from 3x to 3x. You'll have to fill in the second digit yourself. Once I hit 40, my new motto will be "fuck it," but in the meantime, I will embrace denial.

Oddly, snow, Christmas lights, putting up a tree and various decking of the halls, etc. were all November things, though fodder for December enjoyment.

So here is what December has included: A flat tire. A wild Percocet ride (not for me -- Cheryl's back went out, and the pain alleviation process did the same thing to her mind). Several visits with Santa (again, not for me). Several birthday parties for small children. I decided not to have my party at Chuck E. Cheese this year, since Aidan stole my thunder.

Chuck E.'s reminded me of my family. We went there a number of times for my brother, and when I was was in college I owned and actually wore a sweatshirt with a Chuck E. Cheese character (something purple whose name escapes me). Is it any wonder I didn't get much action? Chuck E.'s now is a much brighter place with more child-protecting rules enacted. You can't leave with a kid unless you have matching hand stamps, which are applied at entry. Of course, someone at the party pointed out that bad people could perhaps find a way to do something untoward INSIDE the building, but I looked all over, and I didn't see a place where one could achieve something resembling privacy (or peace, for that matter).

But that's not what Chuck E.'s is for. It was actually kind of fun, but I'm glad our boys want to have their birthday at their cousin Delsa's gym.

I'm not the only one with an Internet celeb watching habit ....

OK, I was checking out PerezHilton.com today, something I don't do all that often (really -- I'm a much bigger fan of Defamer.com), and saw this:

We set a new traffic record yesterday.
On Wednesday, we had 3.97 million unique visitors come to PerezHilton.com in that 24 hour period!!
More folks came to our site yesterday than read People magazine in the entire week!!!!
We had originally set the goal of 4 million by the end of December, and we already reached that. This is so beyond insane.
6 million by December 31st???

It's amazing how far you get when you'll actually run Britney Spears upskirt shots. (Confidential to Ms. Spears -- PLEASE start wearing underwear!)

The boys made it snow!

Or so they think .... I worry that they will be in for disappointment down the road, if their weather-creating ability doesn't hold up. But for now, they believe that putting the tree up, and getting all Christmas-y on November's ass, makes the flakes start falling.

The snow started falling when they were in their bath last night, but we still let them outside to frolic briefly. They just put jackets and boots on over their PJs! And, of course, they had to bring Duplo Thomas and Duplo Percy out to join them. Whether it's sand, water, or snow, Eddie in particular feels the need to pile it on to Duplo Thomas.

OK, even I'm not this maniacal of a parent ... yet

This just in, from the Associated Press:

'CSI' parents swabbing kids for DNA
Testing kits provide samples in case child is kidnapped or injured

MILWAUKEE - Many parents across the country are swabbing the inside of their children’s mouths to get a DNA sample just in case they need it if the youngster is kidnapped, runs away or suffers a terrible accident.

((Just wait -- it's only a matter of time before they come into play when the kid grows up and is accused of a crime))

News reports about child abductions and television shows such as “CSI: Crime Scene Investigation” are helping drive the interest in keeeping genetic records that could be used to identify remains, hair or blood.
“It’s the CSI mentality: that DNA is going to be the answer to any problem that comes up,” said Jerry Nance, supervisor of the forensic assistance unit of the nonprofit National Center for Missing and Exploited Children.
...
The kits are distributed by private companies, police stations, orthodontists and others. Most cost from $5 to $60, Nance said, but some are provided for free.
...
Ed Smart said he wishes he would have known about the DNA kits before his daughter Elizabeth was kidnapped from her Utah bedroom in June 2002. She was found alive nine months later. He said investigators took boxes of her belongings to find her DNA and did not get a sample back for weeks. Having the sample ready could have narrowed down suspects faster.
“It is kind of like an insurance policy you hope you never use,” he said.

The whole story is here: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15922270/

And, of course, we had to put the tree up.

So, we have a mostly decorated house. And a tree glowing in the corner. And too many ornaments to fit. The boys were adorable, and then, by the end of it, so excited that they gave me a headache. They get the high, I get the hangover.

Actually, it's not bad as hangovers go. The house really does look great. The only problem now is that Eddie keeps trying to act like Christmas is tomorrow. He knows it isn't, I'm convinced, yet I also think that part of him believes that if it snows tonight or something, he'll have presents waiting for him.

I think it's going to be a long December.

It's two whole days after Thanksgiving -- time to decorate for Christmas!!!!

OK, so the original plan for today was to see a movie. Probably Happy Feet, though I was lobbying for Flushed Away. Yes, I hate the damn penguins. And I don't care who knows it.

Anyway, we were on track for the movie, with time to stop at the crafts store (clarification: Cheryl wanted to stop at the craft store, and I wanted to be supportive spouse who appreciates the end result, but not so much the process). The whole end result vs. process thing kinda explains how I am about Christmas decorating. I don't mind that Cheryl has enough Christmas stuff to fill our house. But I get sort of rubbery at the thought of putting it all up -- not to mention the thousands of ornaments. OK, maybe hundreds.

Now, however, Cheryl has two VERY willing accomplices. Eddie and Chas decided that they would rather stay home and decorate than go to a movie. So here we are. Three of us are VERY excited, to the point of running around the house, singing and literally jumping for joy. One of us is excited, but in a moderate way that cannot possibly compare to the mania of the rest.

DRM is not an abbreviation for drum

Before I started working in the realm of digital media (I don't count a newspaper Web site), I'm not sure I would even have noticed this tidbit on "DRM" from Newsweek via Boing Boing. It should also be noted that before I stared working in the realm of digital media, I did not read Boing Boing. And if you don't know what Boing Boing is, then you're really not ready for the concept of DRM, and you should continue to consider entertainment items you buy to be, you know, yours.

Anyway, here is the tidbit:

Now, an increasingly vocal grassroots resistance to DRM is cropping up. An anti-DRM campaign called “Defective by Design,” which is organized by the Free Software Foundation, has 15,000 registered members; the Electronic Frontier Foundation argues that DRM places limits on “your ability to make lawful use of the music you purchase.” Web sites like stopdrmnow.org and digitalfreedom.org have been launched “to protect individuals’ right to use new digital technologies” and urge boycotts on DRM-tagged content. David Berlind, executive editor of tech trade journal ZDNet, coined his own term for DRM: “Content Restriction, Annulment and Protection.” (Figure out the acronym).

DRM is going to be more of a thing. No matter how you feel about it (and I don't necessarily think it's evil), you should pay attention.

I enjoy the box opening process but not THIS much ....

I'll admit it ... I get a certain level of pleasure out of opening up my gadgets. I often save the boxes. But now that I look at engadget on a regular basis, I see many of these .....

http://www.engadget.com/2006/11/10/wii-hands-on-unboxing/

It's cute! Do they go to these lengths to document the undressing of a lover?

Awwwww .... a penguin with two daddies. What could be bad about that?

So, there's a book about a couple of penguins -- male penguins -- who essentially "adopt" a baby (penguin). Sounds sweet! I want to get one.

And, of course, it's controversial. From MSNBC:

SHILOH, Ill. - A picture book about two male penguins raising a baby penguin is getting a chilly reception among some parents who worry about the book’s availability to children — and the reluctance of school administrators to restrict access to it.
The concerns are the latest involving “And Tango Makes Three,” the illustrated children’s book based on a true story of two male penguins in New York City’s Central Park Zoo that adopted a fertilized egg and raised the chick as their own.
Complaining about the book’s homosexual undertones, some parents of Shiloh Elementary School students believe the book — available to be checked out of the school’s library in this 11,000-resident town 20 miles east of St. Louis — tackles topics their children aren’t ready to handle.

Here are more details: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15764474/

For Better or For Worse not forever????

OK, so until about six years ago, I was an avid comic page reader. I had fully bonded with the comics as provided by the Tacoma News Tribune, the newspaper I used to work for. Those comics were in color, and included all my favorites, especially For Better or For Worse.

FBoFW tells a family's story, with characters that "age" and seem to live real -- albeit wrapped up in a few panels -- lives. Family dynamics. Love. Loss. Sickness. Health. And a lot of fun. When I started working for the Seattle P-I, I quit reading the comics. They weren't in color anymore, and a lot of my faves were in the competing paper.

But I did keep reading FBoFW ... via the Internet (http://fbofw.com/). Creator Lynn Johnston has her own Web site, where I can gorge myself on the comic. But it's not a daily habit, or even necessarily a weekly habit, so I always end up devouring months worth at a time. In fact, I'm due, which is the second thing I thought after reading this:

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/4326967/

Johnston's been dropping hints for years that she'll end the strip soon, and now there's a report that the clock has started ticking: As of the fall of 2007, the Patterson family will stop aging.
This article in the Grand Rapids Press is not quite clear as to whether the strip will end, go on hiatus, or what. Sounds to me like the strip will end at least for a while, possibly to return in some format -- I'm just guessing here, but maybe via occasional Web updates, or a TV show or a Sunday-only strip? (nooo! Learn from "Outland" and "Opus"!)? In any case, the characters will freeze in time as of next fall.
There've been rumors aplenty that the final strip will be a wedding, and its last words will be the title of the strip (probably spoken by Patterson daughter Liz, since Michael is already married and April is too young).

OK, I just checked. I haven't read FBoFW since December! I have almost a year's worth to catch up with, which is both exciting and daunting. ...

LATE ADD: OK, for a minute I thought I was crazy .... the comic characters blinked. And their thought bubbles moved. But I'm not crazy! They're just subtly animated. Very cool.

So I bet I'm at least a pound lighter ....

Is it wrong to give blood to lose weight? Probably. But what else is going to get me to do something like that? Sheer do-gooderness? Ha!

Pulpits and parties ....

So, my girl is a preacher's kid. And this weekend, for the second time, she preached at our church. And did a fabulous job.

The funny thing is, I don't think that she realized how natural she looked, both up in the preacher place and even while writing her words. She says I'm the speaker of the family, and it's true, I'm a natural at running my mouth, but she's the preacher. I actually get a little frozen up when it comes to God stuff. Like, I feel as though the Creator of all can see through the crap. Of course, the Creator of all gave me the ability to let fly. ...

Anyway, I know Cheryl will read this, and maybe seeing it in writing will cause her to believe me: She's a great preacher. I laughed. I learned something. (Cheryl called the Book of Ruth as "Desperate Housewives, the early years" and explained how feet is a Biblical metaphor for the male member. So when Ruth lays herself at Boaz's feet, well .... it takes on a meaning I'd never considered before.)

It was a sermon called "Family Values." She said that was 'cause Heather (her niece, and the church administrator) wouldn't let her call it "This Space For Rent" or "Coffee Hour Will Start Early Today, Like Now." My favorite thing was how she pointed out the irony of many straight couples using the "Whither thou goest I will go ...." thing from Ruth in their weddings since it described the lifetime bond of two women.

At our lefty liberal church, it was preaching to the choir. Kind of like what the Dixie Chicks did the night before. I expected at least a smattering of boos, like when lead singer Natalie "We're ashamed Bush is from Texas" Maines said things like "Did you hear they found Osama Bin Laden today? Yeah, me neither. Of course, you have to look before you can find something." There was a significant police presence at the event, and threats were apparently made on the group. Geez. It sure wasn't like that when we went to our last show at the Tacoma Dome (of course, that was The Wiggles).

Lights and sirens aside, can I also just say how odd it is to be political? I've still got a little of the "no cheering in the press box" feeling (I was a journalist for a long time, after all ....) but I've enjoyed becoming a part of the process. OK, for me, becoming part of the process is putting a "Had enough? Vote Democratic" sticker on my car and watching the kids while Cheryl canvasses for the D's. It's a start. I'll follow my preacher girl anywhere.

Yup, that's my girl preaching! (And she did a great job)

Our view of the stage -- pretty good for $40 each

Cheryl and I at the Dixie Chicks show!

OK, a little more politics

So I don't feel all gloaty about the fact that the D's have apparently prevailed today. I guess it's because I'm afraid that they won't be able to get their act together and really make a difference. But I'm trying not to get all cynical.

Just for kicks, check this out. It's really interesting to see what words emerge as you move back and forth in time ("economic" is a mainstay, "Communist" rises in the '50s):

http://chir.ag/phernalia/preztags/

Am I getting older? Smarter? More paranoid? I'm not sure, but this item from Boing Boing really bothers me. And I LOVE London:

UK is a surveillance society

Cory Doctorow: The UK information commissioner called Britain a surveillance society, where "dataveillance" of buying habits is combined with cameras and other surveillance methods to track practically every movement of Britons.
I saw this first hand, as when the London Underground phased out almost all forms of paper tickets in favor of the inherently less private RFID-based Oyster card (the only paper tickets remaining were single-rideday tickets, and the LU doubled the price of those). Even the banks get in on the act -- Citibank UK sent me a "mandatory questionnaire" that demanded that I disclose every source of income I have or might have or had, all property I owned all over the world, whom I loaned mney to and why, and so on -- they claimed that this was to comply with British terrorism rules. When I confronted them on this, they backed down and said it was an optional mandatory questionnaire.
Not only are cameras all over Britain -- especially London -- but many indoor spaces have rules that say you aren't allowed to shield yourself from their gaze, prohibiting motorcycle helmets and even hooded sweatshirts. The hoodie has become a symbol of surveillance-dodging hooligans -- a favorite (ab)use of the expansive, extra-judicial "anti-social behaviour orders" (ASBOs) is to order kids to stop wearing camera-foiling hooded jumpers.
The report's co-writer Dr David Murakami-Wood told BBC News that, compared to other industrialised Western states, the UK was "the most surveilled country".
"We have more CCTV cameras and we have looser laws on privacy and data protection," he said.
"We really do have a society which is premised both on state secrecy and the state not giving up its supposed right to keep information under control while, at the same time, wanting to know as much as it can about us." Link

Now I understand how Lady Soveriegn (the Brit, female Eminem) could write a song about hoodies and have it be controversial. There's an interview with the 20-year-old was in the latest Rolling Stone (the one with Jon Stewart and Steven Colbert on the cover) and it's a hoot the way she gripes about how the grandmas in their rain hats get away with murder. I guess The Man is afraid to put his boot on granny's neck.

You don't even want to know about balanitis.

So let me paint a picture for you ... two moms taking their son to the pediatrician on a Sunday. He's in pain. They're worried. And rarely have they felt their "two-mom-ness" more. This is because something is wrong with their son's boy parts. To be precise, his uncircumcised wanker looks like it tried to swallow a ping-pong ball. Yes, things are not well south of the border, and the potential for guilt is tremendous. I mean, it's not exactly an area of expertise for Cheryl and I. Though I think I feel the most inadequate, as I am the partner responsible for the "husbandly" arts of roof maintenance, garbage removal, bug elimination and the watching of football on the weekends.

The funny thing is that the men we talk to are barely more knowledgeable about the problem than we are. The male pediatrician struggles to remember the name of the condition: balanitis. It's an infection of the foreskin and/or head of the penis. Suddenly it makes sense that a day earlier Chas was talking about a bug in his boyhood.

Anyway, it's been willy/dingle/peepee central around our house since Sunday. Chas has to take medicine by mouth, and have an ointment applied to the afflicted area. "Is the swelling going down?" (Yes.) "Is it still purple." (No. And yes, it did look freakin' purple!!!!) "Will we still have grandchildren?" (No reason to think otherwise. However, if they have balanitis, I'm not sure I want to know about it.)

It makes me feel more politically aware than voyeuristic ...

Check this out:

http://www.newsmeat.com/celebrity_political_donations/

You can get info about celebs and feel like you're doing other than killing brain cells ... you know, it's important political stuff.

The 100% blue crew includes: Ben "I'm gonna be a senator someday" Affleck, "Buffy" and "Firefly" creator Joss Whedon and Reese Witherspoon.

Author Patricia Cornwell, however, is something of a disappointment: Yes, she gave a couple thousand bucks to Friends of Hillary, but she gave well over $100K to the RNC!!!

Don't forget to vote!

Wait a minute ... no Rene Russo?

From MSNBC/Jeannette Walls:

Pierce Brosnan confirms that he’s working on a sequel to the 1999 flick “The Thomas Crown Affair.” “Yes we’re going to have a crack at that and it’s a mighty challenge,” Brosnan told DarkHorizons.com. “It was a challenge the first time and it’s even greater now, so we should be getting the script for that in the next few months.” It will be based on the book “Topkapi,” which was a 1964 film starring Peter Ustinov.

But wait a minute ....

“This version of ‘Topkapi’ will have a different part, different woman, and different affair,” he says. “The guy is a little bit more seasoned and we’re using wonderful locations this time.”

OK, so the guy is more seasoned ... but let me bet that the woman is younger than Rene Russo.

Carrie Fisher: CrazyCool

This interview with Carrie Fisher is a delight, for this picture alone. Ny favorite exchange came on page 2, along with her list of meds.

I would be remiss if I didn't ask how you ended up in Star Wars.
I slept with some nerd. I hope it was George.
You weren't sure?
No … I took too many drugs to remember.

But here's where to see it all (you can skip the stuff about the dead Republican in her bed, it's not as interesting as it sounds):

http://www.vanityfair.com/culture/features/2006/11/wayne_carriefisher200611

Gay marriage update, celebrity edition

So, apparently Ellen and Portia are going to tie the knot. You know, if you can believe the National Enquirer. (And, often, you can.)

http://www.nationalenquirer.com/celebrity/63692

The festivities will take place in June in a beautiful new home near Oprah Winfrey's palatial spread in Montecito, the wealthy community next to Santa Barbara.Although Ellen and Portia have been blissfully happy at their current residence — a 140-acre ranch home in the wine country above Santa Barbara — they instantly fell in love with the intimate Spanish-style villa built by famed architect G.W. Smith, and knew right away it would be the perfect backdrop for their ceremony.
"They're going to have a late afternoon outdoor wedding, possibly catered by Portia's favorite hotel, the San Ysidro Ranch," revealed the friend.
Portia, who has taken on the "housewife" role since her TV series "Arrested Development" was canceled, is handling most of the wedding arrangements — but the wine and music will be Ellen's responsibility. Ellen has become a wine connoisseur while living in the vineyard-rich Santa Ynez Valley, and she's picking her favorite local reds and whites for the wedding feast, said the friend.And Ellen, who has become close friends with Elton John lyricist Bernie Taupin recently, is hoping to have Elton perform a few piano numbers at the reception.
She's also enlisting the help of her show's DJ, Jonny Abrahams, to spin tunes for the guests.
The couple has been together since meeting at a VH1 awards show in December 2004. At the time, both were in relationships with other women, but immediately dumped their significant others to be together.In recent years, Ellen has kept her personal life out of the Hollywood spotlight and plans to keep the guest list small, says the friend — just family, key staffers from Ellen's show, a few of Portia's pals from "Arrested Development" and some close show business friends."Ellen and Portia have settled into a comfortable and loving domestic situation — staying in L.A. during the week while Ellen shoots the show and heading up to their home near Santa Barbara on the weekends," added the friend.
"The commitment ceremony is the next logical step."

And then there's that other "married" lesbian we know and love. This is from afterellen.com:

BECAUSE REALLY, WE'RE ALL THE SAME, EXCEPT FOR THAT LACKING IN BASIC CIVIL RIGHTS THING. There's an interesting new article on PopMatters.com called "Gay TV: Making Same-Sex Marriage Safe for America" about the effect of TV lesbians and gay men on the gay marriage debate. The piece is focused most on analyzing (and praising) Rosie O'Donnell on The View, concluding that "Rosie O’Donnell is doing exactly what she needs to be doing to make same-sex marriage less threatening or offensive to her audience: appearing not so different from any straight counterpart". But she and other gay TV characters are doing this by taking the sex out of homosexuality, because "In order to reach out to people who are freaked out by gay sex either because they find it 'ewwwwy' or because they’ve been taught that it’s an 'abomination', it’s safer for Rosie to talk about poopie diapers than Sapphic desires."
Overall, it's a remarkably insightful article for a non-gay publication, even if it is a bit disconcerting to read the phrases "poopie diapers" and "Sapphic desires" in the same sentence.

What? They broke up? Really?

If you're not watching The Amazing Race, you're missing the best reality show on TV. And Sunday night, you missed the elimination of Peter and Sarah. She's an amputee. He's an asshole. They were dating, emphasis on the WERE.

Here's a postrace interview: http://tv.ign.com/articles/741/741464p1.html

And some highlights:

IGN TV: You've known each other for seven years, but how long had you been in a romantic relationship when you began the race?
Sarah: We had only recently started dating. We had both been coming out of relationships. I had been breaking up with a man that was living with me at the time and Peter had gotten out of a relationship. We had always flirted with each other and the idea [of going out] and we started seeing each other and dating. And then we went on the race, which, even though we knew each other for a long time, I think we were sort of imagining in some ways that there would be moments for nice sunsets and all of the rest of it. But then you get into the reality of it and it was really crazy and hectic, and I think we got to see how we both operate under very stressful conditions. You just see different colors and different sides. It didn't turn into the romantic experience that we thought.

IGN TV: You guys had competed together before in different competitions though, right? Was this just such a different level of intensity?
Peter: We never really competed together. In triathlon and running, it's an individual sport, so you just rely on yourself. So this was the first time we really had to race as a team.

IGN TV: So the Race just opened up seeing different facets of each other?
Sarah: Exactly. You do get to see someone in a very different way when you have to sleep in airports and just race, and you're tired, and you haven't eaten. You're stressed out because you can't read the signs; are you going in the right direction? There's a level of stress that you live with and you get to see different sides of a person.

IGN TV: Peter, there were fans who were upset about some of your confrontations with Sarah. How do you think you came off on the show?
Peter: You know, I have no regrets of the race, and I think you see one part of it. They never show any post-interviews of me praising Sarah and what a great job she's doing. You see me lying in a boat, but I was actually standing for a couple of hours cheering her on and cheering everyone on. And just being aggressive; wanting to win! And to see Sarah win The Amazing Race and all the people it could have helped, and does help and did help… It was a race and I wanted to do well and I think a lot of stuff is left out. They caught me at some bad moments, but I had a lot of great moments too. And I think when each leg of the race ended, we always reflected back on how can we grow from this and communicate a little bit better. Hey, we just wanted to win and sometimes you have to push the envelope. I didn't want to be somebody walking through the race and casually getting through it like some of the other teams. We were the leaders of The Amazing Race 10. All the other teams looked at us as being the leaders and the front runners, and we had to race that way. So it's not always the best scenario, but it got us two first place [finishes], a second, a third and then the first to the Forbidden City. Not too bad for us.

My favorite way to consume Apples ....

At the risk of living up to my "Haroldina" nickname (Dad's name is Harold, and sometimes I do things that bring him to mind), I'm going to confess that I love Mac/PC ads. The dude who plays "Mac" (Justin Long from "Accepted," "Ed" and thank you, IMDB, "Galaxy Quest") is adorable, and the Gatesian PC actor is hilarious in his stiffness.

Of course, wikipedia has info, including synopses of all:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Get_a_Mac

Better - Mac praises the PC's ability with spreadsheets, but explains that he is "better with life stuff," such as music, pictures, and movies. PC defensively asks what Mac means by "better" to which Mac replies that it's easier for Mac to make a website or photobook. PC replies, "oh, that kind of better. I was thinking of the other kind." The ad cuts to the ending splash screen with Mac saying off-camera, "What other kind?"

Work vs. Home - Mac explains how he likes doing "fun stuff" like movies, music, and podcasts. PC says he also does "fun stuff" like time sheets, spreadsheets, and pie charts. Mac says it's hard to capture a family vacation using a pie chart, however PC rebuts by showing a pie chart representing "hangout time" and "just kicking it."

I'm still not going to buy a Mac or an iPod, but I will go to the site and watch all of these entertaining little character sketches.

http://www.apple.com/getamac/ads/

This is the view from my new dentist's office ... no kiddin'!

I'm just so glad it wasn't one of my kids ....

ANTIGO, Wis. (AP) — A toddler who went fishing for a stuffed cartoon character in a vending machine wound up sharing space with the toy inside the game's plastic cubicle.
Three-year-old Robert Moore tried to scoop out a stuffed replica of SpongeBob SquarePants with the vending machine's plastic crane on Saturday, but had no luck on his first attempt.
While his grandmother, Fredricka Bierdemann, turned her back to get another dollar for a second try, Robert took off his coat and squeezed through an opening in the machine. He landed in the stuffed animal cube.
"I turned around and looked for him, and he said, 'Oma, I'm in here," Bierdemann said. "I thought I would have a heart attack."
Store employees couldn't find a key to the machine, so Robert waited while the Anti-go Fire Department was called.
"He was having a ball in there, hugging all the stuffed animals," Bierdemann said. "He was so good-natured, but I was shaking like a leaf."
Firefighters broke one lock but then spotted two latches inside the plastic cube. They passed a screwdriver to Robert, who eventually freed himself.
He went home safe — but without a stuffed Sponge Bob.

http://www.usatoday.com/news/offbeat/2006-10-25-boy-vending-spongebob_x.htm

This is me, not quitting

OK, so I didn't post for a while. But I'm back in the swing, here (every post is me) and here (not every post is me, just the ones about video downloads):

http://www.amazon.com/gp/blog/id/ASDQOJGOVEX58

Like it's 1989 again, Part 2

So I listened to a CD today. Whoopee, right? Well, an act that pretty much defined my musical entertainment for much of my life has become something I rarely do. In part, that's because I don't drive for two hours a day anymore. But it's also 'cause I'm getting, you know, older.

I remember my shock when I learned that my co-workers only listened to talk radio. They didn't seem that old, or like their souls had withered to empty husks. Now, I understand. Well, I understand that I no longer crave fresh music the way I did.

Still, every once in a while, I will try something new. Didn't so much love the new Christina Aguilera, though I like the fact that she really sings. But I really do love the new Keane, "Under the Iron Sea." They're the guys who did the song about "Somewhere Only We Know." And while I've not quite made it through the album that song is on, I tried the new one. And it was AWESOME.

Click here and scroll down to hear samples. Choose any track: They all have a certain yearning majesty I just adore. http://www.amazon.com/Under-Iron-Sea-Keane/dp/B000FBHT1C/sr=8-1/qid=1161752146/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/102-1231922-6520159?ie=UTF8&s=music

It's fun to have that feeling: You know the one, where you're super excited about not just a song, but an entire album's worth of songs. I've not felt that way in a while … probably almost since I was wearing 501s.

Like it's 1989 again, part 1

So I bought some jeans last week. Whoopee, right? Well, I'm getting more joy from these particular jeans than from anything I've bought lately. They are Levi's 501s, and the last time I wore a pair I was twentysomething instead of thirtysomething. Early twentysomething.

They're not the same kind of 501s I had "back in the day." They're "preshrunk," which means I don't have to do the math of inseam plus 3 inches (or is it 4) and waist plus 2 inches (or is it 3). The amazing thing is that they were only $24.99, which is about what I paid "back in the day."

My only regret is that they're not smaller. … But my ass is my ass.

Eleanor Roosevelt had good taste

From Rush & Malloy (NY Daily News), who took a time out from covering the Paris Hiltons of the world to bring us this gossipy tidbit …

Did First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt have the hots for aviatrix Amelia Earhart?
Biographers have long speculated about Roosevelt's close friendship with reporter Lorena Hickock. Now comes author Gore Vidal to assert that FDR's wife lusted after Earhart.
"Eleanor did like my father [Gene Vidal] because he was close to Amelia Earhart, for whom she had a Sapphic passion that Amelia found disconcerting," Vidal writes in his second memoir, "Point to Point Navigation."
"Amelia said that Eleanor was always suggesting they make flights together all around the country, just the two of them, communing with the wind and the stars."
When Earhart's plane disappeared, Vidal quotes Roosevelt saying, "I made my own small investigation. ... I harassed everyone connected with the flight and the search." He says she concluded that, contrary to rumor, Earhart hadn't been spying but "simply lost her way."


A slightly less dismissive view of Amelia's potential interest in flying on "both sides of the Atlantic" ….
http://www.amazingdreamspublishing.com/patricianellwarren/lesbiansports1-2005.html

An Interesting RelationshipMuch has been speculated about their relationship. It may have one of those marriages of convenience that stud the history of American celebrities. Gay historians point out that prominent closeted lesbians and bisexual women have often covered their tracks this way. In Hollywood, Dietrich, Garbo, Claudette Colbert, Kay Francis, Tullulah Bankhead and Agnes Moorhead (to name a few) made such marriages. Even non-gay authors ponder the question. Donald Goldstein, co-author of "Amelia: The Centennial Biography of an Aviation Pioneer," said: "I think she and George truly liked and respected each other .... I don't think they had sex, for what that's worth. She may have been gay, and if she wasn't, she was [sexually] neutral. But I think their marriage worked. Amelia was a feminist without being a man-hater." Significantly, the couple had no children.

Ellen and the lesbian anaconda

I've not been watching Ellen lately (I'm more into the View with Rosie). Here is something very good that I missed (thanks, Defamer.com!):

http://www.defamer.com/hollywood/ellen-degeneres/ellen-vs-the-20-ft-lesbian-anaconda-208904.php

Steam trains are loud!!!

Ridin' the rails with the boys

So Cheryl, aka the Mistress of Fall Fun, bought the family tickets on the Pumpkin Express, which is a steam train that runs from Elbe to ... a few miles from Elbe, up near Mount Rainier. It was a ton of fun, and I'm not even a train freak (there were a few of those on board, wearing their shirts from other railways). Our boys wore their Thomas costumes, of course.

We got to stop, pick up punkins and candy ... and trade one engine for another, which would have been cooler if not for the oily steam raining down on us the whole way home. Ah well. Some call it "icky," others consider it "character." I'll go with "character."

Yup, it's a steam train!

This is the yard I liberated from blackberries ... coming soon, a picture of it fenced!

Paintin' punkins at the Y. Maybe someday I'll work out there again ...

So how do you know if you're addicted?

Are you addicted if you like to tinker on the 'puter ... while watching TV? Naaah.

From New Scientist, via Slashdot (yes, I know it's ironic that I found this ONLINE):
"Nearly 14% of respondents said they found it difficult to stay away from the internet for several days and 12% admitted that they often remain online longer than expected. More than 8% of those surveyed said they hid internet use from family, friends and employers, and the same percentage confessed to going online to flee from real-world problems. Approximately 6% also said their personal relationships had suffered as a result of excessive internet usage. 'Potential markers of problematic internet use are present in a sizeable portion of the population,' the researchers note."


http://science.slashdot.org/article.pl?sid=06/10/19/1931239&from=rss

A transit cornucopia, or how many ways can I get to to work?

I've really put my FlexPass to the test this week, due to a variety of circumstances, including laziness, a doctor's appointment and lingering effects of cold medicine. Or maybe just more laziness.

Anyhoo, the week began with a bus ride in from downtown Tacoma after I minded the boys while Cheryl went to a church-related meeting at the ungodly hour of 7:30 a.m. I did the Tacoma thing because I could catch an express bus at 10 a.m. (in Federal Way, my usual bus connection, the last express leaves at 7:26 -- and this will become important later). So I took the 590 to Seattle, a Sound Transit thing, which means slightly plusher seats, but slightly less leg room. It was a fairly crowded bus, though there were seats for all. And I was TIRED. So I fell asleep instead of working. And woke up when the poor woman next to me gave me a gentle shove. I had slipped over into her personal space, you see, and though I'm hope I seem like a perfectly nice person, I don't expect people to let me just fall asleep on their shoulder before I've even introduced myself.

Leaving from downtown Tacoma has an advantage: I can take the train OR the bus home. I went with the train, though it's actually slower than the bus (except in extreme traffic situations). The train left Seattle at 5:40 and got into T-Town at 6:30. I was home around 7.

The next day, I took the 177 from the old Federal Way park 'n' ride. It used to be damned near impossible to find a place to park there, but now the "cool" routes go to the shiny new transit center with the parking garage, about a quarter-mile away. So, people like me (who aren't picky) get easy parking and a comfy ride.

I should mention that I took the 177 because I missed the last 196, which is the bus that I prefer. It leaves from the park 'n' ride closest to our house (about a 12-minute drive, including a quick detour for a very large diet Coke). Miss the last 196 at 8:08, and you can still get the last 177 at 8:26. Miss the last 177 ....

And you have a journey like I had this morning.

I didn't commute in on Wednesday. I worked from home, and went to the doctor. Thursday morning, it was back to work, but a cold that had been nagging at me all week was still nagging. I had the hardest time getting out of bed. And it's not that I was unaware of the time ... I just had trouble mustering the energy to care. So, I missed the last 196 and the last 177. This meant I could either drive all the way to Tacoma ... or see what Federal Way had for me. I knew I didn't want to take the 174, which has an average speed of about 30 mph and stops every 10 feet along Pacific Highway. But the 194 ... that I could do. It only stopped at a couple of park 'n' rides and the airport. And I got to work by 9:30. It was late-ish by my current standards, but I've been working every night (the curse of the take-home computer) so I wasn't too worried.

I took the 577 home, which was great in the sense that it was very fast: A true express from downtown, stopping nowhere between my office and the shmancy Federal Way park 'n' ride. It was a half-hour trip, made smooth by HOV goodness, while the 177 gets bogged on the 320th on ramp. If you've not experience the 320th on-ramp, just imagine the arteries of someone who eats bacon for breakfast, lunch, dinner and dessert.

This leaves me with two things to ponder: What means of transport shall I use tomorrow? And, should I go back on the Atkins diet?

"Halloween is coming up in a minute of soon."

So says Eddie, who just asked what time it is.

It's also time for me to either do some more blogging, or quit. I'm going to do some more first. Then, maybe, I'll quit.

The rototiller is my friend. My angry, sharp friend who's hard to start and harder to control.

So I think I've already told you about our newly discovered chunk of yard, and my blood feud with the blackberries that had taken it over. The wounds are mostly healed now, so I won't belabor that -- until I clear the truly nasty and entrenched bit next to our driveway.

But for now, I'll celebrate the even, if somewhat sloped ground that is now ours to do with as we see fit. It was, just a week or so ago, ankle-sprainingly lumpy and messed up. But I borrowed my neice's rototiller and tore the crap out of the chunky clumps of grass and roots. A rototiller is quite a powerful device. And maybe someday I'll learn more about them. For this job, though, I just read enough to learn how to start it and maneuver it without losing a limb (i.e. at least half of the quick start guide).

Basically, a rototiller (or cultivator) is a couple of very angry blade-wheels that dig up whatever. (In our case, they dug up some barbed wire in addition to the garden-variety dirt -- remnants of the old farm fencing that I had to unwind from the blade-wheel's axle. Good times.) I'm not sure when I'll need to pull out the rototiller again, but I look forward to it and dread it both. It's tiring, difficult, moderately scary but ultimately satisfying work. Not unlike the entire blackberry vendetta.

The beads on the bus

There's a woman who sits across from me on the bus, fidgeting and talking to herself. But it's not what you think, if you're thinking of unpleasant public transit stereotypes. She's not covered in mysterious stains or exuding mysterious smells. She's a perfectly nice, quiet woman of indeterminate middle age, on her way to work. And she prays the rosary, sometimes the whole way.
I mean, the drivers make me nervous too at times. They can get a little lead-footed. But this woman is either seriously worried about physical harm or her soul or both because the second the wheels begin to turn, her wheels begin to turn as well. The prayers and bead-caressing begin. I also feel like she's looking at my with a particular intensity, somehow sizing me up, or perhaps challenging me to challenge her, since I clearly notice her behavior.
The other day, I ran into her at Costco. I'm surprised I noticed, considering that my first-born son was having a total nut-out over the fact that he didn't get to hand our receipt to the person checking carts at the exit. She gave me that same look, plus a slight, smilish rise of the lip. Maybe someday I'll actually talk to her instead of merely filling in the blanks.

More Paula Poundstone ...

OK, so I got distracted for a few days and failed to fully convey the hilarity of Paula Poundstone. Here's some of what she said at her private show for employees of the Big Internet Retailer I work for:

"I have terrible short-term memory loss, but I prefer to think of it as presidential eligibility."
She told us something else about herself:
"I have OCD. I cannot stop talking for the life of me and I managed to turn it into a career.Which is a good thing. But not socially."
And then she riffed on the Big Internet Retailer, after first seeming surprised that it sells not just books but pretty much everything. Here's how she responded to hearing that she was in just one BIR building in Seattle:
"There's another building? There's many buildings? Hey, if this 'selling everything' takes off, there will be many, many buildings."
She remarked upon some BIR recruiting efforts ….
"I saw the posters: 'Do You Know Anybody?' … Isn't that nepotism?"
And then she talked to some folks about their work, including some poor soul who does some kind of tax figuring.
"No wonder they have posters looking for new employees.?
Finally, when she asked how much time she had, the message from the room was to just roll.
"You don't exactly seem hard at it. How the fuck are you going to sell everything?"

Reason No. 482 why I love my job: Paula Poundstone stopped by!

OK, so it's been almost exactly six months since I left newspapers. It was a career that put me into proximity with famous people and provided me with free stuff. You know, in addition to all that journalistic business like comforting the afflicted and afflicting the comfortable and all that.

Afflicting the comfortable .... as if being comfortable is a bad thing? I don't think so, if you're treating people fairly and trying to leave the world better than you found it. But I digress.

My life as an employee of an unnamed Seattle-based Big Internet Retailer (you'll never guess which one!) has also involved free stuff and celebrities. The most recent example of this came on Friday, when Paula Poundstone stopped by. (This, the day after I stopped by the "duty free zone" where unwanted promotional media items sent to the BIR await trips to shelves such as mine. Best find: the Cindy Sheehan book, which I gave to Cheryl, who reads meaningful, topical, thoughtful things while I look for things featuring superheroes or lesbian detectives.)

Paula was a hoot. Very humble, as you might expect from someone who has been publicly dragged through the mud. Yes, it was largely mud of her own making. And that probably makes it worse. It's hard to understand how someone can get drunk and drive with their kids, but it's not hard to understand how a parent can do things they regret. God knows I have, though thankfully these things have not involved cars or alcohol or paparazzi or police. They've tended to involve something like raising my voice when someone gets too distracted to pee in the potty and I have to change the fourth pair of wet pants that day. Or letting kids eat cottage cheese with milk (a favorite snack of mine and theirs) in bed. But I digress again.

Paula has a book out. I'll plug it, for all two of my readers: "There's Nothing in this Book I Meant To Say."

The best $12 haircut EVER!!!!! (aka Get Thee to the Gary Manuel Aveda Salon!!!!!)

So I walk into the salon the other week, and I am immediately filled with the usual mix of excitement and dread ... Yay, I'm getting a haircut! Shit, I'm not very cool! Damn, maybe I should have combed my hair this month!

I did not expect to feel this at the training salon, but the Gary Manuel Aveda Institute is not your typical training salon. It's JUST LIKE a schmancy joint, down to the vaguely distainful people at the front desk, and the pitcher or water next to the herbal teas that you're invited to relax with while you await your special moment.

But then, my haircutter arrived. Belle was her name, and she had a big, friendly smile. No disdain, no too cool for school-ness that can sometime accompany hipsterism. Then she said, "You're my first customer!" And I immediately knew that she didn't mean "First customer today." Though I kind of hoped it. Then I thought, fuck it, it's just hair. What's the worst that can happen?

Well, Belle did a great job. She was careful, precise, and fun to talk to. I learned about the beauty school process, which in this case involves a lot of learning the "Aveda/Gary Manuel" way. That is to say, students often already know how to cut hair. They just don't necessarily do it exactly as Gary would want. And they do things like use the word "bangs" when they should use the word "fringe." Though when Belle referred to my fringe, I thought of the surrey with it on the top. (That's a show tunes reference, kids. "Oklahoma," a classic).

Anyhoo, I'll be going back to Belle. My $12 bought me a solid haircut, a stress-relieving shoulder rub (part of the deal all the time, not just for "first customers ever") and a good story to tell.

Here's the info: Gary Manuel Aveda Institute
www.gmaveda.com
206-302-1044
1514 Tenth Ave., just off behind Broadway, between Pike and Pine.

And this is Eddie's ghost. We almost framed the paper tablecloth because we are wacky that way

A sudden uptick in artistic ability: Chas draws a gorgeous pumpkin at Cucina Cucina