It takes a strong man to ride in the "bitch seat" -- so I took his picture

The greatest day ever in the history of days.

I got to see Thomas the Tank Engine today. It was all right. But for my boys, it was akin to seeing Jesus. In fact, if Thomas were truly "cheeky," he'd have a press conference about how to young people he's bigger than God's own son.

But he's not that cheeky.

The weather was hot, a nice change of pace. The boys did a lot of jumping up and down and clapping. Good times. Riding in Thomas' coaches was somewhat anticlimatic, but that's OK.

The boys are now playing with their $60 worth of souvenirs (not Day Out With Thomas things, but assorted Percy toys. As long as they are happy. :)

Two feet of pain

My feet hurt. Yes, I realize this is frequently the complaint of old people (and people who never get to sit down at work, but that ain't me). My feet hurt in part because they spent too much time in what I like to call Hawaii sandals. Hawaii sandals are fun, but they're lacking support, stability and other niceties people usually seek in their footwear. They're really comfy at first, but I think what wrecked things this week is that I took a long walk to lunch. Then, I played broomball.

What is broomball?. It is a tradition at my workplace. And with the company picnic coming up next week, I thought Ii would jump in and play. How hard can it be, right? Not that hard, it turns out. At least not in terms of understanding how it is played. But when it comes to actually getting in the game, well, suffice it to say I felt all of my nearly four decades and then some. The way to succeed at broomball is to just run your ass off, all the while trying to knock a large (knee-high) ball across the opponents goal line (a short side of the rectangular field) while keeping it away from your goal line. This can occasionally get a little physical. The younger guys really tend to dive all over the place. But mostly, perhaps because I'm one of the very few women who plays, I've avoided physical harm so far (one practice).

I asked the team organizer if I was the only woman playing, by the way. He said I probably wouldn't, but that unless HR fielded a team, it just wasn't easy for any department to get many women involved. Touche'.

It's interesting to work in a place so full of guys. Not that newspapers lack the fellas, but the mix is MUCH more even. And in the department where I worked (features), it was nearly all women. (Whereas sports is nearly all men.)

The good thing about Mariners traffic ....

Is that it slows down the buses in just the right way for me to catch them if I don't make it to my regular stop. The scenario goes a little something like this: I walk out of my building. Turn left. See the street. And sometimes, when things aren't going my way, I see my bus out there. This is not a good thing, because that means it has already passed my bus stop, which is about 300 yards to the north. And once it's past the stop, I'm out of luck. Unless ....

On Mariners game days, the street is a bee-yotch between my bus stop and Safeco Field. And the next stop is located just beyond Safeco. So, if I double-time it (and I do need to double-time it), I will just make it to the next stop before my bus does. It worked out tonight, thankfully. It was a long ass day at the office. I can't tell you exactly what happened (this is the effect non-disclosure agreements have on blogs) but I can tell you how I felt about it, which was moderately panicked. All ended well, or well enough, but for a while there, thtings were, well, "suboptimal," as we say in the internet commerce biz. But the good news is that I caught my bus. And it wasn't screamingly crowded, as it was earlier this week. So no only can I sit down, I can actually ride in style -- with my feet up on the sideways seat in front of me, and with "The Matrix" shining on my screen as I write this.

Have I mentioned how little I miss actually driving to work?

Why I never got to sit at the "cool kids" table at the TV press tour ....

Here, from Ray Richmond of the Hollywood Reporter, is an allegedly humorous breakdown of the unwritten rules of the television critics press tour, a twice yearly gathering of largely self-important scribes who get to spend several weeks a year getting their ass kissed (quality of smack depending on what paper they work for).

I am, as you can probably tell from the tone of my post, bitter at never getting the full-on open-mouthed love like, say, Bill Carter of the New York Times. But one soldiers on.

I will also admit, right here and right now, that I have asked for autographs. And I don't regret my Mary Tyler Moore "Oh Steph" on a glossy of her from the Dick Van Dyke show. I just don't.

Let me also say a word here about alcohol, which goes unmentioned by Ray. But suffice it to say that plenty gets consumed by critics at network expense. And seemingly enjoyed. I'm not much of a drinker, and had about 57 stories a week to file, so I didn't go there. But I felt as though I was darn near alone on that front back in the day (mid-'90s).

Just like I felt like I was darn near alone in actually enjoying television. I remember raving about ER before anyone knew what ER was and most people were predicting that it would get crushed by Chicago Hope. My enthusiasm, sincere though it was, was viewed with tremendous suspicion. Sad, really.

Anyway, now it is Ray's turn:

http://www.pastdeadline.com/2006/07/at_the_tv_criti.html

When at Press Tour, Kindly Check Your Unbridled Enthusiasm and Garden-Variety Toadiness At the Door
We all need someone we can lean on. That became apparent to me the day I started work as a talent coordinator and segment producer for "The Merv Griffin Show" in 1985, during the seminal talk show's dying days. My job was to edit movie promo clips and conduct pre-interviews with guests, feeding Merv questions and answers based on that advance chat to ensure that the show contained no spontaneity whatsoever. What I wasn't told by my fellow talent coodinators prior to my first pre-show meeting with Merv was that you were never to try to be funny in Merv's presence lest he grow offended at the sheer audacity of your thinking you might succeed in drawing a smile. So of course I pretty much immediately launched into a joke. Merv responded with complete silence, literally turning his back on me. Once the meeting mercifully concluded, one of my fellow coordinators frantically took me aside and gasped, "Oh God, we forgot to tell you: nobody can be funnier than Merv!"
Uhhhhh...yeah. Thanks for the tip.
With this 20-year-old story in mind, I'm committed to being there for any TV critics who may be new on the job and taking in their first Television Critics Association press event (currently going down in Pasadena) with the goal of sparing them the same sort of excruciating pain I experienced when Merv put a well-meaning neophyte in his place.
You see, the TV critics have unwritten rules at these affairs, an ingrained code of conduct that first-timers no doubt find perplexing, not to mention unnerving. If you don't know how to properly behave, there is guaranteed to be embarrassment, admonishments, angry stares, wagging fingers and, in rare cases, the outright withholding of meaningless chit-chat. You risk being ostracized, isolated, gossiped about, possibly even placed on the TCA's version of probation (having your key access to the prison cell-size official association suite at the hotel taken away).
To guard against such public humilation and potential trauma, I submit the 10 Iron-Clad Unwritten Rules of TCA:
1. Critics do not applaud at any session no matter what! And when company drones in attendance take to clapping, critics are expected to assume the "Buddha Position" (arms crossed, legs crossed, staring blankly straight ahead, all of the body's muscles in complete repose). The louder the surrounding applause, the more blank and emotionless the expression and inert the limbs.
2. The more popular the star attending a session happens to be, the less outwardly impressed the critic must appear -- demonstrating a palpable indifference to the celebrity's standing via what's known as the "You ain't all that!" line of questioning and level of recognition. (Does not apply if the star is too hot to speak to and simultaneously breathe properly, such as in the case of Salma Hayek.)
3. When asking a question of anyone (executive, producer or star) on a panel, never address he or she by first name. It's not "Ted" but "Mr. Danson." You are not their friend. You are their journalistic overlord. And asking for autographs? Only if you want to be strangled to death. You are not a fan and are not in attendance to help them feel good about themselves or their project. At TCA, skeptical is the new curious. Always has been, come to think of it.
4. If you ask any question during a session that smacks of ass-kissing, your chances of ever achieving the respect of your fellow critics hovers close to zero. Better to let others do the asking until you get the lay of the land.
5. If you still insist on asking a question and are fortunate enough to draw the attention of one of the network pages who control microphone access, be as rude as possible. Jump up and down. Interrupt with impunity. Wave your arms frantically. Holler "Over here on your right!" at three-second intervals until acknowledged. Fall to the ground clutching your chest, feigning a heart attack. Then scream, "I've fallen and I can't get up!" or, while experiencing a miraculous and instantaneous recovery from the heart episode, yell, "I don't know about you guys, but I'm not gonna let these bastards get away with this!" If you don't approach this task with the firm conviction that you are the center of the universe and the other critics mere orbiting pieces of space trash, you'll never get a chance to speak. But again, don't worry about making a scene to get your shot. It's simply how this game is played.
6. If a fellow critic asks a question of a network executive that elicits a shifty, evasive, awkward, uncomfortable, testy or ignorant response, be sure to follow it up by asking the same question in a slightly different way. And then again if necessary. Be sure to work yourself into a hostile lather. Rinse. Then repeat during each subsequent network executive session.
7. Laughing during sessions is permissible, but it must be driven by the proper motivation. You cannot chuckle because you genuinely like the person and believe he or she is a stitch. The laughter can only emerge as a temporary, reflexive, otherwise dispassionate reaction to a single amusing moment and then immediately followed by a quick recovery and a mumbled, "Ha. Funny."
8. You can eat the free food supplied by the hotel and covered on the networks' dime but cannot appear to be enjoying it excessively. It is adequate sustenance, nothing more. To imply otherwise is to effectively abandon your power. The meals must be reflected as moderately satisfying at best. Regular and increasingly frustrated complaints about the poor quality of the gratis grub are encouraged.
9. If you speak to a fellow critic about the general news value of this year's press tour while it's in progress, it must pale in comparison -- using such descriptions as "sucks" or "bites" -- while recalling the quality and excitement of every past event. And if someone misses a session and inquires as to how it went, you are duty-bound to reply, "Oh God, it was painful. Didn't get a thing out of it. (Insert names here) were so lame."
10. If you try to sneak a "plus one" into any network party, expect to be fixed with the evil eye by many out-of-town attendees who are there by themselves. Taking along a friend or family member is not the politically savvy thing to do, implying that special (read: unethical) favors have been sought and unjust enrichment bestowed. Like smoking a cigarette in the bathroom in 7th grade, it is unlikely to escape the attention of someone with an ax to grind and will surely haunt you to your grave.
So anyway, there you go, newbies. No need to thank me. It's all just about giving back for me.

Crocs: So ugly they're beautiful. And so comfortable ...

I have been on a bit of a Crocs binge. Three pairs, for the price of one and a half ($45 total), courtesy of my nephew's employee discount (Thanks!). Black, light blue and lime green .... awesome.

Yes, this color is accurate. I've worn these with shorts, with khakis, with whatever. At work, no less. But not to church (yet). They make me feel all sprouty and full of life. And kind of silly, but what the hell. I couldn't go for the pink ones like Rosie, but I'm not afraid to go for the goofy in a slightly different form.

"The Girls" get some fresh air and sunshine

So I got several new shirts of different styles and brands .... some Ts, some nicer, whatever. And discovered that they have something in common: Very low-cut fronts. I mean, I'm not a prude or anything, but these shirts reach well to cleave-land.

What's even funnier is that a couple of the shirts have buttons that look as though they might enable me to be slightly more modest, but they're just for show (no holes to go into) until things become revelatory.

However, I've decided to embrace this. Unlike at my previous place of work, where I made excuses for the girls and didn't ever wear my accidental low-cut Gap party shirt, here I'm just going for it. I figure that before I know it they'll be slunk down too low for it to matter. So I'll rock it while I can.

A little more on Rosie ...

So here's the news item about the Emmy nominations received by "All Aboard," the movie about the R Family cruise that took place a year before ours:

Rosie O'Donnell was vacationing on a cruise ship with us! near Alaska when she got word that her HBO special "All Aboard! Rosie's Family Cruise" had been nominated for three Emmys, including outstanding nonfiction special. Partner and fellow executive producer Kelli O'Donnell woke her up "at the crack of dawn" I think it was more like the crack of 9 or 10 to tell her about the noms. "I said, 'That's amazing; I have to get some more sleep now,'" she joked. O'Donnell said the news was especially gratifying considering what was going on during shooting. "Last year during the cruise, the federal marriage amendment (regarding gay marriages) was beaten for the first time. This year, when we said we had gotten nominated, everybody was cheering. There are 3,000 people on this cruise, and it's touching to get nominated while on board." She added that she's happy to see that that special has touched people's lives. "It's reached people in a way I never thought it would. ... It's really changed a lot of people's perspectives. It's easy to vilify a group of people until you see their lives and see the humanity. ... But what unites us is much bigger than what makes us different." O'Donnell starts her role as co-host on ABC's daytime talker "The View" in September, saying she's both excited and nervous about the job. "I've never been on a daytime show where I wasn't the boss," she said. "All of a sudden, I have a lot of bosses." And lord I hope she doesn't alienate them. Rosie is funny, smart, passionate ... but sometimes her emotions can get the best of her. You know, she's human .... but we don't really want that from our celebrities.

Back at it ....

So, I've been remiss. And it's certainly not that I don't think every one of my passing thoughts is desperately important. Of course it is. :)

I've just gotten out of the habit. But now I'm back, baby.

A few words about the parents and the kids

We've been on a number of cruises. All have had kids, and parents, aboard. But none have had as many kids as the R Family ship. Capacity was about 3,000, and nearly a third of those people were children. (In fact, all those kids drove the ship above its official capacity -- though still well within its lifeboat capacity, the crew took pains to point out -- 'cause they took up every damn bunk in every damn stateroom, or so it seemed). Of course, in our stateroom, the boys just wedged themselves into their moms' bunks. But I digress.

Anyway, never have I seen such well-adjusted children and such patient adults. They weren't over-indulgent. They didn't let the kids run wild. There was just a lot of love on that ship. A lot of support. A lot of people glad that they didn't have to explain that they weren't aunts or uncles or grandmas or grandpas, but moms and moms and dads and dads.

Home, and ready for the next big, gay cruise

I've been remiss in my blogging, and I apologize to all none of my readers. I'm sure you've all been devastated at my absence and barely able to function. Well, prepare to resume your lives, because I have.

No longer am I living on a cruise ship, eating five pounds of bacon (and eggs drenched in butter) for breakfast. No longer are my days filled with swimming, shows, celebrity spotting and a bedroom that rocks back and forth with the waves. This is a good thing, as we got enough waves on our second-to-last night, when all the amazingly good weather turned to 50 mph winds that made some people feel like they were trapped in another remake of The Poseidon Adventure. (For me, it was the Barf-on Adventure, as that's what the boys did.)

But to linger on the nausea is to give the wrong idea of the trip. For six of the seven days, it was bliss. Like, weather so good that the park rangers were wide-eyed in amazement. Weather so good I never needed a coat. IN ALASKA. Was it global warming, or just God smiling on the gays? I think it was probably both.

We saw Mendenhall Glacier, and Glacier Bay (boy quote: "Oh, more ice.") We rode a train toward the Yukon, drinking our bottled water and hearing stories of why the place we were looking at was called Dead Horse Gulch. (Hint: It's not a metaphor -- times were pretty damn terrible then.)

We enjoyed the company of numerous celebrities. Oh, we didn't hang out in their stateroom, but we did see them "in the wild," like bald eagles (saw a number of those too). There was Sharon Gless at the buffet (and participating in a Q and A on Cagney and Lacey). And there was Cyndi Lauper by the stairs, being nice to our boys and their little pal. And there was Kathy Griffin headed for the elevator, barely looking like herself without her makeup. Rosie was more elusive, spending her time either in her penthouse overlooking the pool or on stage, ready to retreat through a private exit. Cheryl ran her down, however, and got a picture with her. And she ran into her in the wild as well.

The most remarkable thing about the cruise was the fact that everyone was made to feel like a VIP. Rather than just chocolates on our bed, each night we got goodies of all sorts, from a really nice R family backpack to a mug to a T-shirt and more. And during the days, the boys got stuffed animals, pirate gear and other fun stuff. Don't get me wrong, there was plenty to buy (and we did) but the treats were terrific.

Tomorrow we get on the big gay boat with Rosie and company

Yes, after months of anticipation, our R Family cruise to Alaska is upon us. And we're all in really, really good moods, even if they won't make a movie about it the way they did the first one (avaiable at www.amazon.com, of course).

But our good moods may change as the day goes on. We still haven't packed. But we will. And anything we don't have we can buy (at just slightly above typical retail rates I'm sure).

Except alcohol. That's always a great deal, 'cause of the duty free business. Of course, we still have alcohol left over from our last cruise ..... Which was in 2001, so you can tell how much we drink.

As Maria McKee said during her Fabchannel show in Amsterdam (www.fabchannel.com):

"I gave that (drinking) up, luv. I'm just naturally crazy."

Meet our boys, Anger and Frustration

So I stopped to pick up some Play-Doh that was flattened but not completely ground into one of our rugs. And Cheryl started talking about how there just wasn't any percentage in getting new rugs, or even, for that matter, worrying about the presence of Play-Doh in the ones we have. I agreed, saying, "That's just a recipe for anger and frustration."

And Cheryl said, "That's what we should have named the boys."

"But what about Recriminations?" I asked.

"If only we'd had triplets," Cheryl said.

I love laughing. No wonder I love Cheryl so much.

Staining the playset -- this was taken before I ended up staining myself

Girls in love on The N

The N is one of those high-numbered cable channels that I and a lot of people don't get. But having seen some fan-created montages from "South of Nowhere," I'm interested. It is, apparently, a show about some teens new to LA. So it's that familiar fish outta water thing. But two of the characters are girls in love (yup, that's them with the guy). Which is always nice to see. And it's clearly inspiring to a number of people who have created videos on YouTube:

I only watched a couple, but there are a lot:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1rm9poP4JG4

(my favorite, because I really like the Del Amitri song "Roll To Me")

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SYjuIxDNJfY

(also good, and a little more au courant with the song "S.O.S." by Rihanna)

Wikipedia has an entry on the show, which describes main character Spencer Carlin (Gabrielle Christian) as "confused" about her sexuality. She doesn't seem that confused to me -- she seems like she's falling in love, or already there, with her best friend Ashley Davies (Mandy Musgrave). But getting to that point has involved some boys (as happens in real life, I can attest) and drama (also real). Apparently the topic is handled with the richness it deserves, and some realistic dialogue. Cool.

A new member of the Diet Dr. Pepper family to love

Had my first taste of Berries and Cream Diet Dr. Pepper, and it's so rich and yummy it's like a dessert in a can. And I mean that in a good way, not a cloying, yucky way. It's similar to the vanilla cherry Diet Dr. P in that my first taste seemed almost too rich, but my second spelled addiction.

(Of course, we'll see if I feel the same when the cold medicine wears off.)

What can possibly be next? Diet Dr. Pepper chocolate and cheese? Diet Dr. Pepper syrah? The mind boggles. And yes, I realize that other people get this excited about beverages such as wine. Bully for them.

Oh, it was definitely insufferability. I don't miss people like this.

From Gawker:

Today’s (New York) Observer calls attention to Times metro reporter Sewell Chan’s signal accomplishment of the last year: 422 bylines, nearly 100 more than his closest competitor and more than twice the total for most other reporters. What we can’t quite decide is whether Gabe Sherman’s piece is designed to celebrate Chan’s accomplishment or to demonstrate his insufferability. We suspect the goal was the former, but we’re pretty hung up on the latter. To wit:
“I guess I’m really old-fashioned, but I’d rather be the one writing about the news,” Mr. Chan said, declining to comment any further.
He has been known to shower famous journalists with detailed praise, including specific citations of their work.
“There’s a lot of great, ambitious, smart reporters in the newsroom,” [Chan’s former editor Wendell] Jamieson said, “but he’s the only reporter I know who actually pitched me a story while I’ve been standing at the urinal in the men’s room.”

No blood donation for me today (that 35 needs to be up around 38)

There's a waterfall in the middle of Seattle! I had no idea! (It's in Pioneer Square, at 3rd and Main)

The bus zone

In a relatively short time I have become amazingly good at sleeping on a multi-ton moving missle (aka the bus). And I gotta say: there's something intensely satisfying about closing my eyes in Federal Way and opening them in downtown Seattle. Or closing them in downtown Seattle and opening them in Federal Way.

A lot of people sleep on the bus. A fair number read and/or listen to music. Almost none write, as I'm doing (first longhand, then I'll transfer it to the 'puter). Literally never have I seen anyone but me pull out a laptop, though more people may indulge themselves on one of the buses that offers wifi. But the truth is that a bus isn't a great place to use a computer. It's kinda bouncy, sometimes really damn bouncy, which means that if you type with both hands, you might not be able to react in time to a potentially laptop destroying bump in the road. And there's not always a lot of room. Hence, my notepad/prewrite method.

I'm also listening to music as I write this, and getting more used to plugging in by the day. It's kind of nice to hear something besides the engine whine. (A review of my new Shure "noise-isolating" headphones will be coming soon.) I don't usually like to cut myself off from the world, but there's not much interaction to miss out on when you're commuting.