They say it’s my birthday

Tomorrow I turn 34. Woo! Woo! And the birthday fete-ing has begun. My boss, knowing about the (not so) secret list I keep, “Things I need for World Domination” has supplied no. 1 “My own Font that I’ll call Twiggly”… (She was also, last year, the supplier of no. 3 “A long sleeve-T with my ISBN # on it.”)
All of you have been warned. I am one step closer. Soon the world will be mine…..

In the meantime, there’s a big fat piece of homemade cheesecake on my desk with my name on it. Yay for me I say!

Watching a fight when a hockey game broke out…

I’m not a big sports-on-tv watcher. I have a hard time paying attention when it’s all shrunk down to a little square. The announcers generally drive me up the wall with their inane hyperbole and nonsense.

Robby, of course, being male, would watch paint dry if was recognized as an official sport… My rule of thumb is that you shouldn’t be allowed to watch sports if you aren’t a fan of that particular team. So, for example, when he suddenly becomes enraptured with Uraguayan soccer I will look up from my book and ask, “Can you name five players?” and he’ll scowl and keep flipping. (Or ignore me and keep watching.)

I do watch the Red Wings. Not as avidly as my pal Sue– but then again she has more hockey knowledge then my husband. Rob follows them faithfully from the exhibition preseason to the last playoff game. I tend to half heartedly notice them during regular season (what with them being on in the background on game nights) and then start really paying attention towards the end of the regular season… by playoffs I start remembering who’s number is who’s, etc. I love the playoffs. It’s when it gets interesting. Old rivalries and long grudges come out. The energy of the crowd peaks.

The other night a good fight broke out– not just a little tussle but a full blown melee of sticks then punches and helmets flying and sweaters being pulled. Delightful. I agree with Don Cherry that the european hockey players are too nambypamby and worry about losing a tooth. This fight, sucking in the pent up rage of Hatcher and later Darren McCarty (not fighting each other but the opposing team) went on for a good long while till they hit the ice and the referees skated in. I love that, too– that the refs wait till then. Up to that point they just stand and watch with the rest of us.

In the 1980s David Letterman used to do a segment on his Late Night show (this when he was still on NBC) where he’d have celebrities make little short movies. Michael J. Fox’s entry was called “The Iceman Hummeth” and in it a symphonic orchestra played stately music while a hockey team played and, by the end, the skaters were looping loops and figure eights while the orchestra beat the heck out of each other.

Long live Don Cherry. And play long into the playoffs dear Wings.

Gloria Gaynor & Pals

My pals Pete and Jon are two of the funniest men I know. See their handwork on the website for the Museum they work for… Spring Valley Scroll down to “Xtra Clip” and play… To really enjoy it you have to turn up the volume on your computer. It’s precious.

Kudos, clever boys.

And now a word from our sponsor

So I’m back among the living. (Albeit with a creepy eye that looks like “Adam” from Buffy, Season 4.)

Our IT person, Paul, visits to fix our computers occasionally. He’s a hoot. Usually has something pithy to add to our day. He once commented that “daytime television is a plot of the government designed to keep us all working…” After two weeks of watching not-so-prime-time television I feel able to comment.

First off– you need to know where to look. Hidden amongst the wretched infomercials and reruns of Matlock are gems like the Waltons and 90210 and ER. You just have to be patient and look. Secondly– where the REAL deficiency lies is in the lack of good movies. When I was a kid there was “Bill Kennedy at the Movies” and a relatively consistent line-up of old Hollywood classics. AMC is too busy producing schlock these days to play along and I don’t get TCM where the good movies are shown regularly. (It’s a sore point. I long for TCM.) And thirdly– when you are miserably sick you don’t get through a whole hour of anything anyway. So everything kind of runs together into a weird plotline of Kelly’s psycho roommate at the beach house stealing JohnBoy’s chemistry notes and then checking into the ER where Abby is distracted over the downed plane of her brother.

God Bless America.

blah.

Sorry to have been so silent. A nasty upper respitory infection has had me couch-ridden for the past two weeks. Thanks goodness for the Walton reruns, cherry slushies, and frozen dinners.

Keep good thoughts for the little person and me. And for poor Rob who’s sleep has been severly hampered while the little woman coughs up a lung on the pillow next to him. (Though “sleeping” in the recliner doesn’t seem to help much easier…) The real highlight was when my eyes started oozing yellow goo. THAT was pretty. Now one is all bloodshot/ruptured and looking like a demon extra from season 4 on Buffy.

This has been miserable.

At least I’m on the mend. Still have the voice of a lounge singing smoker (which is kind of cool) but MUCH better feeling than this time last week.

Boston Rob, I stand corrected.

If you’re following this season of Survivor: All Stars, and I surely hope that you are… then you may have a strong feeling towards or against “Boston” Rob. Personally, I couldn’t stand him. Waited each week for his fall from immunity grace. Waited to see his flame snuffed out by a grinning Jeff Probst.

Boston Rob, has, in his 22 days on the Island, declared himself the “Godfather,” deciding, in his Chapera tribe, who stays and who goes… He’s insulted my dear Rupert. He’s been cocky and arrogant and rude.

And then, this week, all that changed when, after a shake-up in the tribal structures found him a newly buffed Mogo Mogian and his “slammin’” Amber still a red buffed Chaperite, he changed my opinion with his heartfelt plea/veiled threat to Lex, “You take care of her, I’ll take care of you. Take care of my girl.”

Oh we’d all like to think that if we were castawayed on a Mark Burnett isle that there would be someone to choke, “Take care of my girl” but would we? Really?

Here’s to you Boston Rob. May you and Amber of the “smokin’ ass” (How sweet. I’m sure it won over her father immediately) be reunited and wearing the same buff color again soon.

Poisson d’Avril!

I’ve been reaccessing the priorities in my life and well– it’s time to give up frivolous things like “Survivor.” So I won’t be watching tonight.

Hee hee. April fools.