WanderingAmylessly 2.0

I'm the first to admit that I'm no supermodel. Let's get that right out there, right away. But I just witnessed something that I wish could've been recorded on video. I would've sent it in to Conan or America's Funniest Somethingorother. I wanted to turn around to the person standing behind me in line to say, "Are you seeing what I'm seeing? How incredibly Alanis Morisette-Ironic is this? How are you not having to pick yourself up off the floor from the side-splitting belly laughter??!" Alas, no video. Not even a surrepticious cellphone camera. I'll have to make do with a written description, followed by a rather poor visual example that you'll just have to use your imagination to fully appreciate. Picture it: I'm standing at the checkout lane of the local Walgreen's, holding my sugarless gum and my spiral notebook for purchase. I hear the clerk say, "You ready to check out?" Perfectly normal. I say "Yes." She wa

I'm having one of those days where I just want to be alone. I don't want to talk to anyone. I don't want to hear any noise or incessant chatter. I don't want to hear the dog barking. I don't want to do anything but sit in a room by myself and just be in the quiet moment. However, that hasn't been my day. In fact, that hasn't been my weekend. I went to a musical on Friday night, band practice Saturday a.m., a small-town festival and playdate with Henry on Saturday afternoon, TV shopping on Saturday evening and again Sunday midday, and a band concert on Sunday late afternoon. I just finished helping Henry with his piano practice. And all the while, all weekend long, I've been bombarded by every question a 5-year-old can ask, from "What are you doing?" (what he just asked me as I'm writing this) to "Why did Obi-Wan Kenobi disappear at the end of Star Wars?" to "When are you going to have more babies?" to "Can you name

I'm not really close to completing a novel. I've outlined. I've sketched out character back stories and dabbled with scenes and situations and plot scenarios. But we all know what's the most important part of any great novelist's entry into the publishing world. The nom de plume. I need a pen name folks. And here's where you come in. Those half dozen of you who bother to read my blog periodically might have fun with this one. I'm sure there's a Facebook quiz out there that covers this, much like the one that tells you what your porn star name or your private investigator name might be. I haven't come across one for writer pseudonyms, so I'm asking you to help me. Why not write under my real name? I've joked that given the wacked out and/or smutty stuff I might come up with, it might be better if no one knew who I was! Plus, I need flash. Glitz. Pizazz. And, perhaps, something that Matt Lauer won't butcher when he interviews me on the Toda

I'm not heartless. Really. And I'm not oblivious to pop culture -- honestly, quite the opposite. I would wholeheartedly challenge anyone to a pop-culture pop quiz, any time, anywhere. I know more useless information about movies, TV, music, and news-of-the-weird than is wise to admit. But I'm amazingly indifferent to yesterday's news shockers: Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett are dead. No one can deny that MJ was a musical and entertainment genius. I was one of those 50gazillion people who bought the best-selling album of all time. But if we're being honest, we also cannot deny that he was one freaky dude. Uh, maybe "dude" is even a stretch. The plastic surgery, the exotic pets, the carnival mansion, the hair on fire, the creepy adolescent sleepovers, the wardrobe malfu...wait, wrong Jackson. His death sort of seems anticlimatic after all that. And I kept hearing everyone say, "Oh wow, I can't believe he's gone." Seriously? You can'

There's something gloriously satisfying about reading a story about how ABC's "The View" star Elisabeth Hasselbeck apparently plagiarized a book she wrote. It's even more stupendous when I'm reading the story on FOXNews.com . Take that, you prissy, self-absorbed, self-righteous, hypocritical beast. Oh, I know, you naysayers, you Hannity lovers, you right-wing nutjobs...innocent until proven guilty. Fair. And. Balanced. (my ass) Just wait until THAT day. If you think I'm giddy NOW...

Thought I'd give you all an update on the Father's Day present situation. Henry and I got Tim: Fordlandia (a book...thanks for the idea Cherie!) Band of Brothers DVD set Green Day's latest CD Chocolates and chocolate-covered macadamia nuts from Bochner And I also got him an office voodoo kit. It's a little person-figure with pins, to torture coworkers, managers, etc. It probably wasn't the most appropriate, but it did get the biggest laugh. Henry also expressed interest in playing with Dad's "doll." He also got to go for a bike ride, grill brats, and put together a jigsaw puzzle. Hope he had a great Dad's day!

Bradley Cooper and Jennifer Aniston reportedly enjoyed an intimate dinner together recently. Can you imagine what kind of beautiful babies these two could create?

A story relayed from Tim, on the road in South Dakota... It may be particularly humorous for those of you intimately familiar with the movie Shrek . Tim and Henry have been exploring nature this week during their vacation. At one point, Henry picked up a rock. It was the type of rock that you could actually peel back pieces of, to get to what's underneath. Tim explained that the rock had layers. Henry looked up at Tim inquisitively and then said, "Daddy, onions have layers." A pause. Then Henry followed up with, "And ogres have layers, you know." If he learns Shakespeare the way he memorizes cartoon movies, we have a budding thespian in our midst. Or perhaps a stand-up comedian. By the way, here's the exchange from the film: Shrek: Ogres are like onions. Donkey: They stink? Shrek: Yes. No. Donkey: Oh, they make you cry. Shrek: No. Donkey: Oh, you leave em out in the sun, they get all brown, start sproutin' little white hairs. Shrek: NO. Layers. Onions ha

While Tim's been away, I've been carrying on a torrid affair...with whole wheat pasta. Seriously, I found a Food Network recipe that takes only a few minutes to make, is super healthy, and includes nuts and cheese . Could you ask for more? Whole-Wheat Pasta Salad with Walnuts and Feta Cheese 2006, Ellie Krieger, All rights reserved Prep Time: 20 min Inactive Prep Time: 30 min Cook Time: 12 min Level: Easy Serves: 4 servings Ingredients 1/2 pound whole-wheat fusilli or other spiral shaped pasta 1/2 cup walnuts 1/2 cup crumbled feta cheese 1/2 cup diced red onion 1 1/2 cups chopped baby spinach leaves 2 tablespoons walnut oil 2 tablespoons red wine vinegar 1 clove of garlic, minced (about 1/2 teaspoon) 1/2 teaspoon Dijon mustard Salt Freshly ground black pepper Directions Cook the pasta according to the directions on the package. Drain the pasta, rinse it under cold water, and put it in the refrigerator to chill. In a dry saute pan toast the walnuts over a medium-high flame u

Pssst. Everyone. I have a question. While Tim's out of town and not paying attention to my blog ranting... Do you have any ideas for him for Father's Day? I have a stellar plan for his 40th birthday coming up in July. But I'm drawing a blank for Father's Day. We all know his obsessions: cycling and photography. He's also a Packers and Brewers fan. He enjoys books and movies and documentaries about history and politics. He loves being outdoors, camping and canoeing and hiking and such. So help me. Any ideas, no matter how off the wall, will be appreciated. E-mail them to me, so just in case he's dinking with his iPod Touch, the secrets won't be revealed. We're so sneaky, you and me.

My boys are gone...for a whole week. I thought I'd be excited to have some free time to knit and sew, watch movies, read, walk the dog, hang with friends. And that's all well and good. But it just hit me. I won't see them for a WEEK. I couldn't get enough hugs this morning. They'll probably miss me for all of 3.2 seconds. They're off on an adventure to South Dakota, attending a family reunion, but more importantly: cave exploring, hiking the badlands, camping, visiting Mt. Rushmore, playing with the kids of Tim's SoDak buddies. My boys are on vacay without me. *sniffle*

I owe another wonderful discovery to Facebook. Because it is Facebook that helped me get to know a coworker personally and find out that he's a member of The Quire , eastern Iowa's Gay Lesbian Bisexual Transgender chorus. Which, in turn, led me to learn that they were having their "Americana Pride Concert" tonight at Zion Lutheran Church in Iowa City. What an amazing group! Gorgeous voices, delightful humor, an hour and a half that I thoroughly enjoyed. They did gospel songs, spirituals, a little Irving Berlin, a bit of George Gershwin, and a couple chucklers just because they're fun people. One was called "The Homomotion," to the tune of the Locomotion...you can only imagine... The last song of the night was "I Do," a song in celebration of this year's extraordinary events in Iowa that led to our state legalizing same-sex marriage. At several points in the song, members of the group held up signs saying "I did it!" or "I'

I guess we're in a pattern called the 6-month freak out. I got a phone call from the imaging clinic this week, reminding me that it had been 6 months since my mammo revealed a lump or bump or pea-sized anomaly or 4mm mass or fibrous creature from the land of glands. Whatever you'd like to call it. I got the call one day, set up the appointment for the next -- luckily, someone had canceled her boob-squish appointment so I took the spot. Get it over with, out of the way, out of my mind, etc. This morning, I had the follow-up mammo done. The lump or bump or pea-sized blahblahblah was still there. Luckily, though, it hadn't grown bigger or misshapen which, I'm told, means that it's probably nothing, same as they told me last time. Go home and try to ignore it, they say, for the next half a year, then they'll call me in to do it yet again. Yeah, ignore it. Except do your monthly self exam and second-guess yourself about whether it has grown. I know men are fond of t

Henry became quite annoyed with me this morning because I had much to do before I could help him pick out clothes and get ready for school. Finally, with a huge sigh (and I'm sure an eye roll, although I wasn't looking him straight in the face), he said this: "Why do you always have to put so much stuff on your face and your hair, just so you can look like a real girl?"

While we're tangentially on the subject of it (see the previous post's photos), I'm going to take a moment to talk about facial hair. Specifically, I'm going to rant for a moment about how badly some men deal with it. Commissioner Gordon is one example. Recently, I read a story about how mustaches are making a comeback. You say "mustache," I think "gay men in the '70s." Nothing wrong with that, particularly, except that most mustaches are ill-trimmed, get in the way of beverage consumption, tickle the nose of a person the mustachioed one kisses, and tend to look like a caterpillar took up residence in that path between nose and lip. And then there's the ever-popular goatee, often used by men to cover up double chins or the lack of any chins at all. Or to look ultra hip and trendy. Or to resemble Diablo. For a complete history of goatees, and to delve into the question of whether they originated with Satan, click here . The full beard (or some

Gary Oldman...meet Uncle Knit-Knots from Imagination Movers.