In the on deck circle

I'm copping out.  I'm posting about what I'm not posting.  But, on the upswing I hope to grow some ambition (like I'm growing my nails, that stuff from Avon really does work!) and actually start crack-a-lacking back to the writing.

Brewing in my noggin' currently:
- The NFL Draft (this weekend) I haven't heard much about anything but Stafford but I'll throw my two cents in any way, we can always spill into general NFL -- like KC trading Tony Gonzalas (so, who actually plays there now?) or Kyle Orton and Jay Cutler switching teams ... OR Michael Vick getting out of jail and possibily being reinstated to the league.
- Grey's Anatomy and why Izzy should die.  No, I don't dislike Izzy.  In fact I loved the Izzy & Denny story line (yes, he's dead--but she saw him because she has cancer so don't you feel bad about bitching about the story line now?) I don't respect Katherine Heigel and would rather she leave the show, but I do like Izzy.
- Turning 26 shortly and the cliche that was my quarter life crisis at 25
- Blogs and sites I love, as proof of how I'm entirely addicted the Internet.

And now, it's nearly 10.  And I'm tired.  I'm going to listen to a little music, go to sleep and hope for better things tomorrow.

Good night and happy painting.

I bet I won't be able to wear chopsticks again (darn!)

The first shampooing after a haircut I always use way too much shampoo.  If you already didn't know this about me, I have very thick hair.  So thick that in it's natural state, it takes at least 6-8 hours to dry.  I don't bother with a blow dryer, it barely makes a dent.

When I got my first perm, my head hurt from the weight of the hair and curlers.  The curl only stayed in around a month. Even trying to curl it more than a flip in or out is pointless.  It's so heavy that it will not hold the curl, no matter how much product you try to cement it in place.

The first time I went to my stylist I told her she would have to thin out my hair.  She said yeah, sure we can do that.  She didn't get it.  When the pile of hair was around an inch high and she wasn't even close to done, she finally understood.

I don't so much need a hair cut, but more a trim, style and thinning out.  Afterwards, it's great though ... like, wow this must be what it feels like to have normal hair.

Sadly, I broke two nails today

It's finally warm enough to walk around outside for more than three minutes at a time without risk of frost bite, so this weekend I spent a fair amount of time mingling with Mother Nature.  She, of course, sent me home with a lovely gift of lingering allergies. 

Let me tell you folks, I'm fighting the good fight.  Runny nose, sniffy nose.  Sinus pressure, sneezing, itchy and watery eyes.  ... but I'm also being a baby about it.  I'M MISERABLE!!!  And all I want to do is stay in bed and sleep.  But I don't.

In the epic battle against my allergies I made chicken noodle soup from a Ramen Noodle Pack.  Now this might bring back the old glory days for some, but I hate Ramen Noodles.  In my entire college career I never ate them.  So where does my loathing come from?  It's the "base" my dad uses for his "soup," or more acurately described as "let's throw every leftover from the fridge in a pot of boiling water with Ramen and eat it for like six meals."  I suppose it's just easier to refer to it as "soup" even though it's inaccurate. I refer to it as slop in a bowl, not to be confused with slop on a stick.

So I think I would make my Dad's heart proud to know that I was making Ramen.  Of course, he'd doctor it more (celery and leftover green beans, corn, chicken or turkey (or both), celery salt, extra noodles, rice ... I'm sure I'm leaving something out).  He might also turn his nose up at the garlic and ginger I added.  No, on second thought, he would be less disgusted if I had put a pancake in ... but ginger and garlic?  For shame.

Blink 182's back in the studio, which is really f'ing great.

Ever the Same.

I'm starting to pull out of the March lulls.  Only took nine days into April.  It's official, March is the new February.

I'm suddenly craving a glass of wine.  And I know I have some Sauvigan Blanc chilling in the fridge.  So convenient ... so ready to come out and splash into a glass.  Is 9:46 a bad time to have a glass of wine??

Mmmmm, good decision.

So, I was at Perkins probably three weeks ago.  At the table right across from us was a family.  The grandparents, their three daughters and three grandchildren.  The daughters were taking their parents out for an Anniversary meal.

Throughout the meal I was struck at how very condesending each daughter was towards her parents.  If I were to guess I'd say they were around 80-90, but seemed to be very healthy and high functioning.

First, Big Hair on the end tells her Mom that she doesn't have to eat her bun.  "See, I don't like my bun, I just put it right there.  They give it to you if you want it or not.  So you don't have to eat it Mom."  Of course though I see "Mom" eating her bun later in the meal.  Hadn't Big Hair ever heard of carbo loading?

Then The Middle Child said to her Mom,  "Mom next your fork is a steak knife.  See, you use it like this. Big Hair, Mom was trying to use her fork to cut into her steak."

Halfway through the meal, Big Hair gave her Dad the talk about not eating all his toast.  She must really have something against bread.

I'm sure they were all well intending ... but if I were mom & dad I wouldn't have been amused at the eating lesson.

Because tomorrow's another day

I just stepped outside to put the garbage out and I was struck at how peaceful it was.  The moon is out and high above, shining between two towering pine trees.  The air is crisp, yet comfortable ... assuring me spring is on the way, it's just taking its time.  But what made me pause was how quiet it was.  No crickets or insects yet.  No cars or any other sign of the white noise of life that usually surrounds us.

I appreciate those rare moments where there's harmony and the universe gives you a sign that you're okay, right there in that moment is where you are supposed to be.

Life seems to be going at a million miles per hour and no matter what I do I can't catch up.  With everything.  Work projects, housework, dishes.  Books to read, movies to see, scrapbooks left undone, blog posts left unwritten, the sheer mass of web sites and blogs left unexplored.

No matter how much time there it is, it is never enough.

We went to a conference this winter and heard Paul Wesselmann (The Ripples Project) speak.  He really gave us all a shot in the arm.  He told us to do more tomorrow than what we did today.  Now, in this specific instance he was referring to exercise ... but I think I'm finding harmony applying it to life. 

Didn't get all my clothes put away? Well, I'll put the rest away tomorrow.  Not in the leaving to tomorrow what could be done today sense.  But in the way that there's a finite amount of time--in a day, in a life.

And how we spend that time is our choice---we can choose to react or be depressed or discouraged about what life throws at us.  Or we can choose to act--to be the best person we can be in that moment.

And in this moment ... I feel better knowing that.  Thanks again, Paul!!

White pepper tastes like dill

I haven't mustered up the concentration to write down what I've been mulling over for new posts.

So, I thought in the meantime, I would post some pictures.  (I also have some funny videos of our cats chasing tree branches, but I have to do a little editing or my mom would KILL ME.)

I call this A Study in Supper.

Monday Night: Burger & a Beer

 Tuesday Night: Minestrone 

I think it looks pretty awesome, tasted pretty good too.

(and look at me with my all blue dishes, totally not coordinated to be that way)

My So-Called Snarky Life

Another way to tell if it's too crazy busy at work is an over loaded computer desktop (much like the mess of my physical desktop).  I like keeping a "clean" desktop, so when you start seeing these icons piling up i'm in trouble. Example below--5 1/2 columns deep.  I'm in trouble.  (I love the sunburst wallpaper though)

I got my application done, so now it should settle down a little bit.

I'm not in a place with nothing to do by any means ... just as busy if not more so.  But at least this busy is something that comes more second nature to me ... writing, designing.  Not budgets, stats and explaining call center operations.

It's like one step forward and two steps back

I have been feeling very manic-depressive the past two weeks.  I don't know if it's spring fever, too much on my plate or the fact that the "crazy" inside of me is bubbling up and finally sick of being cooped up in that "normal" shell I try to show.

Even now, I need to vent here, but in the back of my mind I'm thinking about that application I desperately need to work on so i can finish it and polish it.  And God, not to mention the mile long list that I haven't been doing because this and one other big project at work and redesigning the web site and creating an interactive, engaging online presence.  Fuck yeah.

I totally missed my "alarm" this morning.  I woke up at 7:30.  I looked out the window and thought that it was awfully light out.  Man, if only I got up and dressed as fast as I do the days I'm running late I'd have a whole two extra hours in my daily routine.

I miss the days when I was in that old workplace when I still wasn't in the real world.  I was good at what I did.  In fact, I was awesome.  I rocked it out.  Every day.  It was fun, most of the people were supportive and I didn't feel so judged or so much of a loser.

My snow is FINALLY melting.  I love my camera.  I love the sunshine.  Gah gah gah ... :-)  I want cookies or cake ... CRAVING them so desperately.  **trying not to have a Pepsi Twist ....

There was my vent.  Now I must go back to work.

***Ohmmmmm, Ohmmmm*****

Best. Tweet. EVER.

markhoppus Got a birthday card from my dad. "happy 38th birthday. " dude, I'm 37.

Time Flies, and I don't need to endure anymore

This is going to be a random, disjointed post.  No apologies per se, but I felt the obligation to let you know what you were in for.  I just haven't been in that "creative, flowing writing" state of mind of late.

This morning as I drank my coffee and did some adventuring, I listened to Friday's Dan Patrick Show.  I love the On Demand feature.  I can't listen live because I like to catch the last part of Mike & Mike in the Morning, and after that it's so hard to jump in without listening to the first hour.  Most days aren't posted when I'm ready to listen, so I'm usually a day behind.  For awhile I was on a huge music kick so I was quite behind.  But with listening on Thursday, Friday and this morning, I think I'm finally caught up with DP.  Now they need to just get on Twitter and my addiction will come full circle.

I went home on Saturday to visit Mom & Dad.  But Mom will tell you I came home to visit the kitties.  Now don't get me wrong, those furry ones make my day.  Saturday, Benny and I were sitting in the sun on the patio step.  Eventually we both lounged and took a little cat nap.  Awesomeness.  If I could bottle their cuddles and open it when I'm having a tough time I totally would.

A visit is never long enough for my mom.  If it's an hour she wants it to be two.  If it were 12, she would ask for 14.  There is only so much time in the weekend and I'm not on the ball enough to do all my chores during the week to spend the whole weekend over there.

I got a camera, I got a camera, I got a camera, hey hey hey!  It's even purple.  Internet, let the over posting of pictures commence!!

As referenced above, I'm a terrible housekeeper.  I HATE doing dishes.  But the piling up of dishes is getting out of control.  I'm just going to have to grit my teeth and bare it each and every single fucking night.  Yeah.  I'm also not good about putting my clothes away after work (this one goes in streaks though) and I'm very good about piling stuff on the table.  I'm truly a product of my parent's bad habits.  And without the thought of shame or repercussions I let it happen way to easily.  I need to think as though someone is going to pop in at any minute so this kitchen stays a little cleaner.

Sun and 56 degrees, that's what my Internet weather bar says.  I've been out and about, it's warm, but chilly.  And someone in the neighborhood is grilling.  But my snow isn't melting any faster!!!

I've been biting my nails lately.  I usually only do that when I'm anxious.  I didn't realize I was living in a constant state of anxiety (maybe it's those damn dishes).

Random snip of a conversation this weekend ..."So are you going to write about this in your blog now?"  Ha. I just did.

Talented Mr.

I love when I'm in his presence.  How his eyes light up with that sparkle when he sees me.  A quick get over here motion with his fingers, unnoticed by anyone else around him.  "Hey you" and a hug.

I love the compliments--I'm a rockstar and he means it.  He makes me feel worthy, even on the lowest, ugliest day.  He sees me, and knows when something is not right.

I'm a smart ass, but he'll forgive me and give it right back.

The sun shines down on me, as if I were the only person in the room.  But that social butterfly, flits away and leaves me in dark, in the realization there are others here and I'll never get enough time with him.

I get yelled at for popcorn, but pizza is okay?!

I had a bad day.  Like a terrible, horrible, no good, rotten very bad day or somesuch things.

And it's not "little" things that made the day bad, like Oh darn, I forgot my coffee.  Or Oh, shoot I spilled sauce on my shirt.  It's big things.  Very big things.  Work things, but I'm not going to talk about them here.  That's not the point and this is not the place.

But the day ended (thankfully) and I went to get gas because I was at a quarter tank and the weather rumor is that there's an ice storm headed this way (garg) and it's really best not to be running on fumes in such a situation.  As I'm pumping gas I realize that I have to go home and eat my bean soup without french bread that I procrastinated making under the (stupid) assumption that I could do it tonight.

So I decided to pop in, pick up something hot for supper and that's that.  I can have it right away, indulge in something greasy or generally unhealthy and hopefully put this day behind me.  I get inside and there's nothing left, no soup, no pizza, just hamburgers and ugly shriveled hot dogs.  I looked at the take and bake section and then in my head rationalize it's not worth the 6.99 when I have a frozen pizza at home that would take as long if not less for no extra cost.

On my drive out I do a quick peek of whose call I missed while pumping gas.  Aww it's XYZ calling because they knew I had a bad day and they want to cheer me up. Awesome.

I stop to drop off some letters at the mail box.  Stupid people just sitting there and as far as I can tell not doing anything that has to do with mail.  Obsenities withheld (barely, I think).

I get home, something bad happened, got in the house and called XYZ.  They proceeded to tell me ABC and how their day and next week is absolutely ruined.

I feel obligated to them that my sympathy bucket is running awfully low and there would be little to share.  So we comiserate together.

And fancy that ... things still are tough, life still is hard.  But that moment ... didn't feel as bad.

*Blip*

The Obvious: I don't like the "Spring Ahead" aspect of Daylight Savings Time.  Yeah we get "more" sunlight at night.  Really, maybe you should just get up earlier if that's what you want.  Also, when I lived at home I hated that my dad would start changing the clocks on Saturday, at like 3 p.m.  And not all the clocks, only some of them. 

I got dressed in stages this morning.  First the bathrobe and slippers to make coffee.  Then pants.  Finally now at 12:34 a shirt.  I'm a lazy weekend dresser.  If you let me wear my pajama's 24/7, I'd seriously consider it.

I made banana nut biscotti this morning and will make a loaf of French bread this afternoon to go with the bean soup my dad sent home with me.

A Love Affair

I love music.  And when I say love, I mean LOVE.

I cannot artfully make music--play an instrument, write it, read it or sing it.  I think I regaled you about the tale when Tim tried to teach me to play the drums ... and then laughed (nicely) at me when he realized that when he started counting I totally fucked it up.  I think that at the root of it, creating music is too mathematical for me and my brain shuts down.

But I LOVE listening to music. It's one of the things that keeps me energized and can pull me out of my darkest moments.  My parents got me CD player/stereo when I was in my teens.  Nothing fancy, but had speakers that you could set the output.  I'd love messing with the settings to get the best result, but what's more, I loved when the music would completely surround me. I would be engulfed in the notes, the bass and instruments (now some people would call this "loud").

When I worked with my mom at the ungodly hour of 4 a.m., the only thing that got me through was that I was allowed to bring a CD player and listen to my music.  And my mom, the saint, would let me listen to it as loud (with in reason) as I needed to.  Because she knew if she talked to me before I got at least my hour-quota of music in, all she would get is one syllable grunts. (the evil side of me played my harder rock or punk (loudly) when I knew she had a little bit too much to drink the night before--I love how the bells of that one Metallica song would bounce off the walls of the banquet hall.)

I was raised on Disney music and Country music.  I still enjoy the Disney tunes I listened to as a child (and probably could sing you a bar or two of most of the songs).  I never quite got into the country music.  Except I didn't know what that meant.  There were some songs I liked, but the rest really felt empty to me.  When I started riding the "high school" bus in seventh grade they listened to Top 40 radio.  A couple of songs again were pretty good (I discovered Name from the Goo Goo Dolls and later Iris), but I still really wasn't into it.

I think I had my "musical awakening" when I had a disposable income that I could purchase my own CD's.  Instead of having to endure country or Top 40, I could listen to the artists I enjoyed, by  ... get this ... purchasing their CD (or I think in 8th grade, it was still cassettes). My god, a whole 14-20 songs that I liked!!  AND some that I LOVED (that you never even have a chance to hear on the radio).

I find that I still enjoy (and still love) most of the songs I liked in middle school and high school.  I've even been listening to the Spice Girls lately again.  (Ohmigod, I know.  I SHOULD NOT have just admitted that I like the Spice Girls.  But come on, WANNABE makes me smile.  I still remember the first time I heard it.)

Quite frankly, I have to extend a sincere thank you to whoever left off the "Parental Advisory" label from the Blink182 - Enema of the State CD.  Mom knew What's My Age Again and All the Small Things and liked the songs, so I got the go ahead to buy the CD--even with the questionable cover.

Then the next time we went shopping, the CD was on the display/end cap of the aisle.  Of course, with a cover like that, my mom recognized it right away as one I owned.  And noticed the Parental Advisory label. Then proceeded to grill me about if it was there when I purchased the CD.  It wasn't.  We went home and looked at the disc/liner notes--nothing there.  If that label was there when I bought my copy, she would have never let me get it.  And I would have never had the opportunity to love Blink182.

Always the week after a work conference

Internet, I feel sick!  All day today I felt off.  It's either a bad case of heartburn or the cold/flu.  And now that my head is foggy, I think I might place my money on the flu end.

I made ribs last night with a creole rub, and felt the effects immediately.  I didn't think it was going to be an issue because I've been seasoning my creations towards the spicier side lately.  The "heartburn" is so horrible it made me light headed today.  Or maybe that's the flu?  I drank water.  I took tylenol. I drank Dr. Pepper.  Sarah gave me some tums.

Then I felt better.  But at 5 p.m. it was back.  My god.  I feel like if I would throw up (or burp) it would be better.  And, HATE throwing up, so I guess I'm going to suffer or drink more soda (but what waste of Pespi Twist and I refuse to do it!).

I made an Asian Chicken Noodle soup, with chicken, noodles (you don't say?), garlic, ginger, veggies, peppers and lime juice/zest.  Ginger is supposed to help with heartburn and that with the other ingredients, maybe it'll kick the cold/flu out??

Either that or it'll make it worse.  I'm totally screwed.

Just don't let go or you may drown

William's chapter  of That Dark and Winding Road.  Click here to read again how we first met him.

There was nothing remarkable about the day.   No emotional highs or lows.  Just a day, like nearly every other day of the year.

William came home from work, threw his keys, his coat bag and empty dishes from lunch on the kitchen table.  Half the contents of his bag clattered to the floor.  Any other day William might have left them there until the next time he sat at the table.  This time he bent over to pick them up and *BANG* his head connected with the table top.

He bit his tongue, and the taste of blood trickled into his mouth.  William shut his eyes and watched the gold and blue lights dance.  "Shit," he thought.  William stood, to blinding pain in his head.  "Gotta love those instant headaches," he muttered.

He figured nothing helps skull searing pain but hot water, so William turned on the shower and let the room fill with steam.  He stepped in and let the water run down his back.  William could never feel how tense his muscles were until the hot water began to sooth the ache.

Leaning one arm against the wall his head fell nearly to his chest.  Then the tears came. He only cried in the shower.  The running water mixed with his tears and ran down his cheeks.  Here the red flush of his cheeks could be from the water or out pour of emotion, but no one was there to know.  The spraying water and noise of the fans even masked the occasional audible sob.

His knees buckled under him and William found himslef on the floor of the shower.  Still crying.  He laughed between his tears, marveling at the utterly unmanly situation he put himself in.  If the world could see him now.

Not that the world ever saw him anyway.  Just a few days ago he went to the party.  Filled with people he wanted to be.  He tried the art of positive thinking, to picture what he wanted. 

He had a fantastic life in his head.  But his personality always wrecked it from coming through to others though.  And there's a fine line between positive mental pictures and delusions.  He didn't need to add crazy to his loser label.

That label was slapped across his chest like a name tag at the party.  Hello, My Name is William, the Loser, blaring like a siren he knew everyone could hear.

Of course, most of them put up a polite front, not openly mocking him to his face.  A small blessing, he supposed.  But he could see the pity in their eyes.  It made his neck burn with embarassment.

He tried his best to live up to the persona in his head at the party.  He put on that mask--tried to smile and make small talk.  God how he hated the fucking small talk.  He yearned for a conversation.  Something that wasn't that nauseating exchange of pleasantries. 

But when you say, "I've had a really shitty day, the weather is horrible and I could give two fucks about the state of politics in Uganda as reported by the New York Times." If you say that, along with LOSER, they smack the WEIRDO tag on your back.  Right next to socially inept.

He snickered at that sorry sight in his head.  The ladies to his right looked at him and moved a little further away. His shoulders sunk.  Exactly.  He pushed his way towards the bathroom to splash water on his face and regain some composure.  Or at least have a moment of peace. 

Except that the door to the hallway was blocked by Matt and a gaggle of his adoring followers.  He tried not to listen as Matt recounted a hilarous story about his exciting job and how colly he leads his life.  Instead, William watched.  The way Matt used his hands to emphasize the highlights of his story.  So crisp, each beat dead on, the perfect punctuation to each point.

Then Matt pointed, at William?  The group laughed.  William turned away and placed his hands on a table below an ornate mirror.  Trying not to hyperventalate, he focused on breathing deeply.  He looked up with no acknowledgement of his own reflection, and surveyed the room.  From this position he let his heavy mask slip. 

The pain pooled around his mouth, pursing his lips.  Defeat shown in his eyes, but William refused to face it, to actually acknowledge it there.  Instead, he continued to look past himself, observing others without being a part of the group.

That sense of isolation jolted him back to the present, sitting in his shower.  He turned off the water, then leaned back to pull himself up to stand, and his hand grazed his razor.  With pain, fear and humiliation crushing William, he wrapped his fingers around it.

He brought it to his wrist, tracing a line down his arm.  He leaned forward  and looked at the faint red scratch. More pressure ...

Sunday morning musings

As I was getting ready for bed last night I mentally mapped out what I wanted to accomplish today.  I realized as I was snuggling in, that my Sunday (and most of my Sundays) start about the same.  Wake up.  Read until the Sunday Morning Show comes on. Get up, make coffee and breakfast.  Watch Sunday Morning Show.  Adventure.  Read dooce and other blogs.  Write in my own.

I've been holding this tradition for at least four years, without a single thought.  I love my Sundays.

Today, as I was partaking in my normal habit, my Internet connection went funny.  I was receiving "server errors" and "page cannot load" messages.  I checked my connection and it was amazingly slow 1.0 Mbps, where I normally have 11.  No amount of refresh could make it pop back to normal, so I removed my wireless card.

When I put it back in it was blinking.  Typically it blinks back and forth between the two lights as it's registering and achieving the hallowed connection.  After connection is achieved Status stays on and Activity flickers.  This was just a steady on-off.  I double clicked on the icon and it gave me the search for a connection screen.  Another odd thing.  After searching it produced the 1.0 Mbps connection.  But here I noticed the name was off.  It was a series of numbers and letters whereas my "connection name" is Stacey.

Somehow during the course of dooce, I lost my wireless signal and my computer found and connected to another network in the neighborhood.  I hope for the sake of the person who owns this connection that the distance between my computer and their house made it so slow.

We have had such beautiful, warm weather lately.  Above zero, low of mid-20.  Even a high of 45.  Of course, being Wisconsin there's this little voice in everyone's heads telling us not to get too used to it. There's still plenty of winter to be had.  But it's just so nice to see my clean roof.  To drive up a clear driveway. And, and!!! To see grass.  It's dead grass.  But hell, it's a different color than white, gray or a mix of white, gray and dirty-snow-brown.

The trade off last week was we didn't have much sun.  No one complained because it was warm, overcast, grey weather.  And to herald in the transition of the seasons, and to battle the winter grey-blahs, I changed my computer wallpaper.  And I stocked up.  I had a beautiful night scene of a park in New York City.  Lots of explosion of color, plus some snow and a bridge over a frozen pond.

But having a winter scene tells the universe that I'm okay it's still winter.  Just like having snowmen decorations and I love snow plaques on display conveys the message we want more.  Go ahead, snow, we don't mind.  Hence the taking down of all that relates to the white stuff.

Mom and I have that tradition every year.  One of us declares it time for spring to start to think about coming.  And these decorations discourage that, so we must remove them.  Promptly.  And without bias.

Okay, a little off track and back to the wallpaper.  I needed to replace it.  At first I went for the spring pictures, but then stopped because it's a little depressing because it is still winter.  So I went for color instead.  To combat the grey, I went for blue.  Right now I have blue roses.  They are somewhat gaudy and irredesent, but it makes me feel better to see the color.  I have a couple more "blue" photos stocked to change when I don't feel like the blue roses any more.

I did something similar on my laptop a couple of months ago.  At the end of fall when it was bleak--the trees let go all their leaves, there was no snow yet so the world outside was just brown, dead and ugly.  I don't remember what I searched for but I got this photo of soap stacked at the market in Provence from webshots.   It did the trick.  Visually interesting and bursting with color.  I had a hard time replacing it.  i knew I wanted something with a lot of color.

I finally settled on this one.  It's a photo of a Dale Chihuly instillation.  From the description this one is on the ceiling.  The album tags indicate it is from a Chihuly exhibit in the Legion of Honor in San Francisco.  It would have been cool to see.  Though I was happy with what was there when we went in 2005.  I had seen some of Chihuly's work (other than in the Weidner Center) at the Children's Museum in Indianappolis.

Here's to warmer weather, the impending spring and the good things the week will bring.

In the dark when there's no one listening

I just had to post this ... the first time I saw +44 on television.  Check out Travis drumming with one hand. Vocals aren't the strongest on this performance, actually at a second listen, not that bad, rough start but Mark recovered. But my god the drumming. 

This is the video for When Your Heart Stops Beating.  To see and compare the awesomeness that is Travis Barker drumming (in fact you can search Travis Barker and drumming in You Tube and you'll get tons of awesomeness).  The filming of this video is when he broke his wrist.

Can't. Type. More. Nothing.  Coming. That's. Not. Obsessive.  Great band.  Talented Folks.  (Way better than AVA)  Ooops.  :-)

I Want One!

I know ... I'm getting obessed about this ...

... but ...

I WANT ONE!   Even recession proof! 



Please?

The three things I learned from The Grammys

1. Kenny Chesney is friends with Morgan Freedman
2. Coldplay, though not the heaviest of rock bands, is more like limestone.  A little lighter but just as charming.
3. BLINK182 IS BACK TOGETHER.

And to think I wasn't planning on watching The Grammys. When I heard "Together, the guys from Blink 182, Mark, Tom and Travis."   I thought wow, someone really screwed up that writing.  Then I realized it indeed was the trio, on the same stage, Mark and Tom actually close enough to touch. 

It's the first time I've seen Travis since the plane crash, and I find it oddly-but-fittingly-funny that Travis, the man who almost died and still has his arm in a sling, opened the damn envelope.  (Gotta love the run on sentence)

And what the hell is up with Tom's arm behind his back?  Fingers crossed?

I have mixed feelings.  Blink182 was one of my favorite bands, and I was disappointed I wouldn't get to hear their sound evolve further.  But I also really like the work Mark and Travis did with +44.  Summer 2009 cannot come fast enough.

And a random observation: Kid Rock is an interesting amalgamation, but truly talented.  Through the years I've liked a couple of his songs.  There's no doubt that he puts on a great show.  He has an unique blend of rock and country.  A mix perfected to satisfy rock fans but be tame enough for Top 40 Radio.  He's oddly melodious when he's not rocking hard, rasping about drugs, booze or women.  And to confuse conservatives even more, he's loyal to his hometown of Detroit and madly Patriotic.

BUT WHO THE HELL CARES?!  BLINK 182 IS BACK TOGETHER!!