My Buddy Alfred

Once a week when I was a kid, a famous movie director would stop by the house for a little humorous banter, employer-insulting, and a ripping good yarn. He felt right at home in our den, and we were justifiably hospitable to this quirky, avuncular guy because he was so darn entertaining. His stories usually scared us out of our wits, but we didn't take them too seriously, as our friend made us laugh somehow over the whole frightening situation.

Thanks to Netflix and Hulu, that old friend has begun paying visits to me again. Yeah, he's been dead for years, and in this blindingly colorful world he still appears in black and white. But his black-and-white domain is often more colorful than anything the real world has to offer. Yes, it's so good to welcome my buddy Alfred Hitchcok back into my home.

I'm catching up on Season 1 of Alfred Hitchcock Presents' 25-minute episodes now that Netflix offers a way to watch them on-demand on my computer. I was probably too young in 1955-56 to be able to stay up to greet dear Alfred, and though I've seen several of the stories in re-runs on TV, many are new to me.

Hulu offers the later The Alfred Hitchcock Hour via computer. The first one I had to see was "An Unlocked Window," which scared me out of my wits as a teenager. One word: nurses. Anyone who's seen it will know exactly which episode I'm talking about. Oh, by the way? Still scary as all git-out, and I knew what was coming.

Watching Alfred every night got me thinking. Is there another legendary film director who has bothered to relate so thoroughly with his/her audiences? I mean, Scorsese or Tarantino go on talk shows or whatever and talk about themselves and their work, but I don't feel like I know either of them.

But Alfred Hitchcock? Why, he was like an uncle. He came into our house, brought wonderful gifts, and made us laugh. Especially when he ribbed his sponsors. Hitchcock was more than a film director, he was a buddy.

Good evening, Alfred. And now a word from our sponsor.

Welcome, Liam Samuel!

GrandBoy Liam Samuel was born today at 12:03pm - just in time for lunch! Mother and Babe are doing well. Father over the moon. Shorty PJs, aka GrandMary, ecstatic and blessed. For more on Baby Liam (and GrandMary), check out Confusions of Grandeur.

Welcome to the world, Liam!

Blog Frustration

I think the reason that I haven't posted as much over the last year is that I'm frustrated with Blogge'sr new layout system and can't figure out what to do about it. What I would like to do is migrate to the new layout format, but keep my distinctive banner and template.

I've tried everything. Endless searches on Google for answers that address this. Many false starts - replacing new template HTML with my old design HTML, clicking buttons, saving reams of code. Sigh. In the end I have to revert to the old form so that I can keep my design. Another sigh. I can't believe I'm the only person out there who wants to keep a template design and take advantage of some of the new Blogger layout features, as well.

And yes, I've looked into other blog systems like Word Press, but while they let me import all the posts, comments, etc., I can't figure out how to override the standard, boring template designs they offer and replace with my own. Yet, another sigh.

Plus, for some odd reason, my Blogrolling sidebar stopped working months ago, so I just took it out of the template. I love having easy access to favorite blogs via my own blog. I've recreated the blogroll several times, inserted the HTML into my template as before, but it just doesn't work. Make that four big sighs.

I like things to look right and work right. Maybe I've lost my touch here, but if ANYbody can help me migrate my current template design + add a workable blogrolling feature to either Blogger's mew layout or another FREE blog system, let me know.

(Don't you hate when people blog about blogging? Yeah, a pet peeve of mine, too.)

Sad Anniverary

Here's to old Bailey-girl. Sweet old dog, who died a year ago today.

Hope you're having a big time in Doggie Heaven!

For Ash Wednesday: A Psalm of Life

Amidst the ashes and smudgings and hymns in minor key of Ash Wednesday, I always find myself quoting from Longfellow"s "A Psalm of Life:"  Dust thou art to dust returneth was not spoken of the soul.

It's a poem I learned in fifth grade, and it's stuck with me. My teacher, Mrs. Peters. was right fond of having us memorize poems, and Longfellow was a favorite of hers. It says a lot (though nothing surprising) that I can remember whole chunks of Longfellow and the entire Gettysburg Address even now, yet have to stop and think about my street address in New York.

Reading over "A Psalm of Life," every phrase is familiar. Did we really have to memorize the whole thing? Must've done, because line after line rings a bell. Life is real! Life is earnest! . . . Art is long, and Time is fleeting . . . Footprints on the sands of time . . . Learn to labor and to wait. Wow. Let's see, and that was - I'll admit it - about 48 years ago?

And another thing I'll admit. I like Longfellow. So there. (I also appreciate Ginsberg's "Howl," so back off.) The last two verses of Longfellow's "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" always break my heart a little. It rhymes. It's trite. But it moves me. Go figure.

On this Ash Wednesday, "A Psalm of Life" gives me hope and encouragement to make it through the 40 days of Lent. So, yeah, all right, my body will someday turn to dust. But not my soul. I'll hang on to that good news throughout Lent.

"Dust thou art to dust returneth was not spoken of the soul."

Missing George and Abe

I think Presidents Day is stupid. I say this, even though I have today off. Honestly, I do not feel the need to honor all U.S. Presidents today or any other day. But I suppose if we have a Secretaries Day (oops, I mean, Administrative Professionals Day), we have to have a Presidents Day.

It was not always thus. In the olden days we only celebrated two presidents and both holidays were in February: Lincoln's Birthday (Feb. 12) and George Washington's Birthday (Feb. 22). I think only government people got the Lincoln and Washington holidays. Were the banks and post offices closed? I seem to remember they were.

Dreary, short February had three - count 'em - three holidays (adding in Valentine's Day) to break up the gloom. And all three were perfect for school children. Lots of arts and crafts projects, plus historical context, of course.

Depending on what grade you were in, Lincoln's Birthday involved building log cabins out of Lincoln Logs or rolled-up brown construction paper, making stove-top hats, and memorizing The Gettysburg Address. (Is that even required in schools anymore? Sigh.) Even in the South, we understood Lincoln's importance to our history.

For some reason, all I remember about Washington's Birthday is cherry-vanilla ice cream. Seems it wasn't available all year, like Girl Scout Cookies. Just in February for old George. Don't care if the "I cannot tell a lie" cherry tree story is a myth, it was good enough to break out the cherry-vanilla ice cream once a year.

But now? Nothing. Honestly, what is anybody going to do to honor all U.S. Presidents today? Hm? What? I plan to sleep in and take a long walk. No one cares. Instead of donning a home-made stove top hat and reciting the Gettysburg address in commemoration of one great president and eating cherry-vanilla ice cream in honor of another, we'll just go on about out lives tomorrow.

So I propose we cancel Presidents Day from, well OK, Tuesday forward (might as well take the holiday I'm given, eh?) and go back to holding up Abe and George as the guys who set the standard. George, for not being an egotistical, power-monger and selflessly refusing to become king or serve as president for life (and his Farewell Address is pretty snappy, too - beware of foreign entanglements, indeed). Abe, for his good humor, brilliant brevity of speechwriting, handling that Civil War unpleasantness as best as humanly possible, reading by candlelight as a boy, and putting up with Mary Todd Lincoln.

And I want my cherry-vanilla ice cream!

Happy weird Monday-Holiday-in-Mid-February-to-Celebrate-Fillmore-Hayes-Harrison-etc.

Happy Lunar New Year: Year of the Tiger

Didn't have much going on this Valentine's Day (as usual), but fortunately the hearts-and-flowers holiday had to share the date with Chinese Lunar New Year, which gave me something else to celebrate. I decided to join a million other people and squeeze into Chinatown for some of the celebration.

Mott Street was turned into a pedestrian walkway (squeeze-and-shoveway), allowing the street to fill with confetti poppers, drummers, dragon dancers, banner wavers, and silly-stringers. Red and gold gizmos of all sorts were sold from street stalls, all celebrating the Year of the Tiger. Grrrrrrrrrowl.

Feeling a little hungry for sticky rice and won ton soup? Yeah, I thought so.

Tugging on the Heartstrings

Yesterday, I posted to my GrandMary blog about being weepy in these days leading up to Daughter's impending delivery of my first grandbaby. The weepiness was enhanced by the Belefonte/Greene/Reynolds song "Turn Around" and the early-1960s Kodak commercial running through my head. Thanks to YouTube, I found the old commercial and posted it to the blog.

In honor of Valentine's Day (which is not real high on my holiday list, as you well know), I thought I'd track down a few other classic weepies to share. Here are my top 3 for your enjoyment.



Aw, c'mon. When Mean Joe Green tosses his shirt to the dejected little kid, don't tell me a lump doesn't rise in your throat. And only Coca Cola can cure it.



Hallmark and Christmas. Well. Geez. The little guy missing his big brother and the Grand Finale "O, Holy Night" part? More Kleenex, please.



But this one's still the best. Turn around and you're a youg wife with babes of your own. I can hardly type it. Sniff.

Now let's all go have a good Valentine's sniffle. Cure? More chocolate.

Blizzard 2010

New York City is in the midst of a February blizzard. Last weekend's snow totally missed us (poor Washington DC, Baltimore, and Philadelphia got slammed twice), but we've had a solid day of hard-blowing snow that's slated to continue through the night.

I could've easily made it in to work this morning, despite the snow. I live right around the corner from the subway station, and I'm sure I could've worked my way up the hill from Grand Central to Second Avenue. But yesterday as we were leaving work, my boss told us to work from home today. And I really did work most of the day, thanks to phone calls and emails. Plus, I got to work in my pjs (not shorty ones).

But I did manage to get out twice. Once around 10am to tramp over to Thomas Jefferson Park and the East River, and once around 4pm to slip and slide my way to Central Park. I love snow, and I love the definition it gives to trees, railings, and benches. It was really blowing, making it hard to see sometimes, but the forays to the parks were worth the wet coat and gloves.

No snow day tomorrow, though. Stay warm and toasty, all!

Shadow Self in Central Park

I'm not very good at taking self-portraits with my little digital camera. Kids do it all the time, and the pictures come out perfect, but practice as I might, my own one-handed-arm-extended photos are either blurry or off-kilter.

So to heck with those back-handed photos. Today in Central Park, I decided to get pictures of my shadow self. And here are the results:

Super Bowl fuss

Having no intention whatsoever of watching tomorrow night's Super Bowl, I'm still going to weigh in on my favorite. For me, nothing happens in sports between the end of college football (Roll Tide) and the start of baseball season (Go Braves). OK, yeah, the Winter Olympics rears its head every four years, but even the good chance of watching an athlete break a bone or two on ice or ski into a tree doesn't keep me glued to the TV.

Drum roll, please. I'm going against the grain this year and throwing my support (how weak it is!) to the New Orleans Saints. Who dat? Yeah, you got me right. I said it. The Saints. Here's why:

1. The Saints have never been to a Super Bowl. Lovin' the underdog.
2. A win will make Fat Tuesday even sweeter for the Mardi Gras crowds.
3. New Orleans, a city that a lot of mean-spirited folks wanted to see sink into the delta in 2005, deserves a Super Bowl-win boost.
4. Gotta love the ironic team name. The Saints. Yeah, "saints" is the first word that comes to mind when you think of NOLA. (Would love to see them change it to "Sinners." Talk about support!)
5. I'm getting kinda tired of Peyton Manning. I used to like him a lot, but, geez, he's in every TV commercial now. Over-exposure.
6. I can't support a team called the Colts in Indianpolis. The name belongs to Baltimore. Ask Johnny Unitas. (See my treatise on pro-sports team names.)
7. The sheer cheekiness of the Who Dat? Nation. Way to smack down the NFL trademark police!

Yep. I'm making homemade chili and cornbread, but not for a Super Bowl gathering. The DVDs are lined up. Wardrobe malfuctions are intentional. Commercial-free.

Wake me when they throw out the first pitch in April.

Cutting the cable cord. Kinda.

One of the ways I've decided to trim my monthly budget is by downgrading to basic cable. I never had premium channels, anyway - just 4,000 channels that I never watched. Though I thought about cutting the cable cord all together, my old TV needs the extra cable boost for even local channels. I also shaved a little speed off my internet connection (though I can't tell any difference so far). The monthly savings? $75. Yes, true. $75.

Today is the first day I had to go without standard cable. I will indeed miss my favorite channel, Turner Classic Movies (sigh), but I still get all the local channels (and this is New York - there are LOTS of local channels) - CBS, NBC, ABC, TBS, Fox, two PBS channels, ION, all the shopping networks (could do without those), several Spanish-language nets (wasted on me), ION and a couple of other little surprises.

Thanks to a Netflix subscription ($14/mo), I can watch thousands of television shows and movies online, as well as the DVDs via mail. I plan to spend the weekend catching the first seasons of favs like Alfred Hitchcock Presents, Dick van Dyke Show, and whatever else strikes my fancy. And just maybe I'll finally figure out the big deal about Lost, since I've only seen a few random, very confusing episodes. Plus, in addition to Netflix, there's Hulu. I suspect I won't miss all those extra cable channels.

There's just me, after all. I'd just as soon sit on my bed with the laptop watching stuff, as to sit in front of the TV. I have friends who've cut the cable altogether (and by cable, I mean satellite, too). With online options, Netflix DVDs, and a few local channels, I think I might survive. And save a chunk o' change every month.

Take that, Time Warner!

In search of a famous twin

Facebook often has silly little themes that urge people to change their regular profile picture to something more (though not much) creative, like a childhood picture. This week it's Doppelganger Week. Post a picture of a famous person that you've been told you resemble.

Well, see, there's my problem. It's been years since anyone's told me I look like a celebrity. I don't feel I can reach back to the 1980's because all of my Facebook fans will do a double-take and slam me for not looking anything like my last celebrity twin. What to do, what to do?

For a while in the 1960's, I was often told that I bore a resemblance to Sally Field. Sally Field as Gidget, not the Flying Nun. Same pudgy face. Same hair. Same joie de vivre. I don't know. I can kinda see it, when looking at pictures of me from, say, 1966-68, maybe. And I still like to say "Tootles!" when I leave a room.

Then when Broadcast News came out in 1987, lots and lots of folks said I looked like Holly Hunter. Well, I was a television producer, and I did a lot of running around, crazed. Again, the hair, the wardrobe, the Southern drawl made it plausible. Never got to play any fun games with William Hurt, unfortunately. Sigh. On the other hand, I didn't break down, sobbing, when I was alone, either.

But I don't resemble either Sally or Holly now. So there's my problem with posting a celebrity twin.

What if I post the celebrity I feel like I resemble? I'm thinking pre-glam Susan Boyle. Another sigh. Guess I'll just let this Facebook fun-week pass me by and stick with my regular profile picture.

Do you look like someone famous? Lucky you!

Tootles!

Wanted: Here 's my list

"Wanted" isn't really the right term. Needed. Yes, "Needed" is better. Here's my list on the last day of January 2010:

1. About an hour's worth of time from a tax preparer that won't cost me $500. Sure, I can call the IRS for free, but, alas, you get what you pay for.
2. A warm hat that won't mess up my hair. (I posted about this last year. Still no good solution, though.)
3. Inspiration. I'm feeling a little drained of late. Wonderful, inspiring stuff is in the air all the time, but none of those inspiration-puffballs are sticking to me right now. What's up with that?
4. Energy. Folks tell me that I have more energy than anybody they know. I'm faking it, friends. It's all faux-energy. And I don't know how much more faux I have left.
5. Toilet paper. Yeah, I know. Just got to get out to the store for that, but I didn't want to forget it. One of the easy things on the list.
6. A closet organizer. Oh, sure, I could clean and organize my own closets, but see #4 above.
7. A change of style. I've been feeling a little rundown and frumpy, clothes-wise, of late. I don't even know where to begin.
8. A better personal budget. I keep running short every month. What am I missing?
9. To hem my new jeans. No sewing maching, so I have to do it by hand. Again, see #4.
10. To get off my rear-end and get some of this stuff done. See #4.

Got a list? Or energy you can lend me?

Little Dog, Big Scare

We almost lost Lola on Wednesday. Daughter, who found her outside, seizing and with head trauma, quickly bundled her up and got her to the nearest vet. It did not look good for everyone's favorite little Miss Priss Dog.

Lola is not an Only Dog. She is one of four: Zoe, an 8-year-old black Lab/Border Collie mix; Tripps, a crazy 3-year-old Australian Shepherd, and Little Man, a 4-year-old Chihuahua who looks more like a Miniature Pincher (hope I got the ages right). All are dearly, dearly loved and spoiled rotten, but Lola, well, this tiny Alpha-Princess-Dog Chihuaha has an extra little something that makes her utterly impossible to resist. Even to folks who favor big dogs over tiny ones (like me) or cat-lovers or those who don't like animals of any kind.

She's 8-years-old (young for a Chihuahua), tiny (4-5 pounds, maybe?) and has ears as big as her head, big buggie eyes that look like they're about to fall out of her head, fur like velvet, and a tongue that perpetually dangles out of the left side of her mouth. When picked up she cuddles into your chest and neck like a baby. And nobody ever wants to put her down. When visitors are around, Lola is usually passed around from person to person, as they fight over who gets to hold her next.

It's her attitude that sucks you in, though. Fearless (that may change), regally entitled, and just plain sweet, to boot. When Daughter was planning her wedding a couple of years ago, several family members and friends offered to walk Lola down the aisle at the big event. But Daughter knew better. Lola is a scene-stealer, and there was only going to be one scene-stealer at this wedding, and it wasn't going to be Miss Lola. Alas, she had to stay home.

Anyway, back to the trauma story. Daughter rushed Lola to the nearest vet (not her usual one), who quickly determined swelling - tissue? Fluid inside the head? The vet did what she could to stablize the little dog before sending Daughter and Lola off to Georgia Veterinary Specialists, the Mayo Clinic of vet services according to Daughter. It was really touch and go. No one knew the extent of her head trauma. Until the swelling could be stopped and lessened, it didn't look good. Not much hope was given Daughter and Son-in-Law when they left Lola-Bean at GVS.

Thanks to Facebook, news of Lola's emergency traveled far and wide. Prayers and good wishes started pouring in for this funny little creature. We couldn't imagine our world without Lola. It was so unexpected. I suspect the doctors didn't think she'd make it through the night, that's how serious the situation was. So all we could do was wait.

Good news came around midnight. Lola was responding to the meds and slowly returning to her old self. Everyone was hopeful that she might, indeed, make it through the night. And she did. The good folks at GVS took brilliant care of Lola throughout Thursday, and, miracle of miracles, she was able to go home that afternoon.

If she could be any more spoiled than she already was, well, that's what's happening now. A new bed, new treats, and not out of Daughter's sight for an instant. An unbelievable turn-around, considering the DNR papers Daughter and Son-in-Law had to sign Wednesday.

Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets. So glad you decided to stick around, you little sweetheart!

J.D., we hardly knew ye

If a recluse dies in New Hampshire, does he make a sound?

He does if he's J.D. Salinger. Many folks are worked up about his death on Wednesday, but I wonder how many of them even knew Salinger was alive? After all, he wrote a couple of brilliant novels (give or take a few short stories), fled to New Hampshire, and pulled down the blinds over 50 years ago. As far as the reading public is concerned, old J.D. could've died in 1964 or 1973 or 1992.

I believe the reason his death resonates so strongly with people is the notion - 'way back in their brains -  that Holden Caulfield has died. Not true, of course. Holden is alive and raging against phonies. But several generations of Americans have felt less alone in their adolescent angst, anger, and sarcasm, thanks to J.D., Holden, and The Catcher in the Rye. Of course, lots of readers - especially teenagers forced to read CitR for a literature class - have wondered what all the fuss is about. Still, I'm betting the book gets more thumbs-ups than thumbs-downs.

I read Catcher at 16 and at 21, for very different reasons. Loved it both times but wasn't as carried away as some were. (Think: the literary equivalent of Star Trek - Catchies? Ryeies?) I also read Franny and Zooey somewhere along the line. Maybe it's time to pick up both books again, just to see if I can get in touch with my inner-teen. Or maybe that's something I want to avoid at all cost. My marked up copy of Catcher is on my bookshelf. We'll see if it calls to me.

Well, J.D., you old recluse, you made a whole lotta noise when you died in Cornish, New Hampshire, last week. In keeping with Holden's view on flowers and death, I won't be sending any. Damn fine writing, though, sir. Thanks for Holden and Phoebe.

New rules for naming professional sports teams

OK. I've had it. "Arizona Cardinals" pushed me over the edge. The time has come to set down some rules for naming professional sports teams. Men, I assume, are in charge of this stuff and obviously have no imagination where team-naming is concerned. Let me help you out, fellers. I'm laying down new rules. Some are retroactive and will involve renaming existing teams, but most will apply to naming teams from this point forth.

1. No duplicate names. Especially for two different sports in two different cities. Having the same name for a San Francisco baseball team and a New York football team is not allowed. It's confusing.  Don't care where the team originated (see rule #2).

Too bad pro teams can't be more like high schools and colleges, having the same team name cross-sport. Yankees baseball, football, hockey, basketball. Done. Of course a couple of cities present a problem, having more than one of several sports teams (for example, NYC and Chicago). We'll figure something out there, but you other cities can get with this program right away. And no stealing from college teams (I don't want to hear about the Boston Crimson Tide). If you don't like that idea, at least abide by the "no duplicate name" rule.

2. The team name belongs to the city not the team. Is there a bigger fiasco in the team-naming biz than "Utah Jazz"? Jazz in Utah. Right. Utah had no right to that name when the pro basketball team left New Orleans. We all "get" New Orleans Jazz. Sorry, Utah - change that name to "Mormons" or "Uptights" or something. Now, I know this will affect other pro teams who've moved from pillar to post over the years. (Yes, I'm talking to you, Indiana Colts - that name belongs to Baltimore, even though Ravens is a better name for a B'mo team.) See where I'm going with this?

To avoid mass confusion and the cost of retooling all that fan paraphernalia, I decree that any pro baseball, football, basketball, or hockey team having a team name for over 40 years can keep it, even if the name belonged to another city way back when (unless it breaks the "no duplicate name" rule). Exception to this rule: "Dodgers" belongs to Brooklyn. Period. Los Angeles, change the name of your baseball team to the "Freeways," "Sleazeballs," or "Bimbos." Dem Bums = Brooklyn.

3. The name has to make sense. (See Utah Jazz discombobulation mentioned in Rule #2.) Sure, I realize that originally "Cardinals" referred to the color not the bird. However, over the years that particular team name does refer to the bird mascot emblazoned on the shirts, caps, and helmets. I think there are cardinals in Arizona, perhaps, but a red bird doesn't immediately come to mind when thinking about the desert Southwest. And anyway, everybody know that anything Cardinal-related belongs to St. Louis. How about "Cacti," "Golf Courses," or "Boiling Heat Waves," Arizona?

I have more ideas about this, but let's jump on numbers 1, 2, and 3 first.  Professional sports owes it to its fans to do a better team-naming job. And I'm here to help. For a fee.

The simple joy of a little yellow taxi

I almost didn't answer the phone. It was knocking on 4:00 on the Friday afternoon of a brutal week, and I could've been forgiven for letting voice-mail pick up, finishing the work at hand, and heading home for the long weekend. But, oh shoot, what the heck?

The voice on the other end of the line was one of my favorite people, Patti Joy, who had a request. Or rather, her grandson had a request. Seems she'd had brought him a model of a yellow taxi when she'd visited New York City some months ago, and now the taxi was missing. Could a replacement be found?

Excitedly, young Austin got on the phone and described the toy: the wheels move and the doors open and close. Could I get him another one? Could I get it today? Tomorrow? His voice belied his utter love for his little missing car and his belief that I could - hey, Presto! - magically transport the toy, ubiquitous in any NYC souvenier shop, to him instantly.

Well, yes, I believe I know just the place to get another one, said I, though I tried to explain that the taxi wouldn't show up on his doorstep for a few days.

He was just beside himself with glee. And his glee was contagious. Ever try to stay sad or depressed or anxious when talking to a thoroughly and happily excited child? Pert' near impossible.

The lowness and tiredness I felt before reaching for that phone had me almost immobilized. A work week that started with in-house training days, then tragically interrupted by the earthquake in Haiti - concern over colleagues and friends as well as brothers and sisters we don't even know, scrambling to help with communicating news and relief efforts, correcting a few technical difficulties - well, it just had me beat down. All I wanted was to get home and pull the covers over my head for three days.

Ah, but young Austin changed that for me. I had a mission! Something easy and enjoyable that would completely delight a little kid.

My prayers and donations are all I can do for the people of Haiti right now, and it doesn't seem like much. But I can get on the #6 subway, head toward Midtown Manhattan, and buy a little yellow taxi at a souvenier store. And for now, that's enough. Enough to bring a little joy to a child in Sewanee, Tennessee, and to a grown-up in New York City.

Glad I answered the phone!

Lazing Reading 2010?

Am I blinded by technology, multi-tasking to the max, or just submitting to my inner child? Ever since Daughter and SiL gifted me with an iPod last Mothers Day, I have fallen in love with listening to audiobooks on it. That slim little hot-pink device is always with me - during my daily commutes, on airplanes cross-country, during 4-hour walks around New York or just around the corner to the grocery store. Yes, I've become one of THOSE people.

But my ears aren't plugged up to shut out the world. (Well, OK, yeah, sometimes they are.) Rather, I just have to know what's going to happen next with my current audiobook or podcast. Last summer I extolled the joys of listening to my New York-music playlist as I walked the city and old-time radio horror podcasts during my commute to/from work, but once I discovered Audible and the free audiobook downloads from the New York Public Library, a whole new world opened up to me.

Should I feel guilty about "listening" to a book? Have I really "read" a book if I haven't put my eyes to paper or Kindle print? Does feeling guilty about something like listening to audiobooks mean I have a much deeper pathology. Oh, well. Not going there. Still, I do love, love, love to be surrounded by books. The paper kind. Especially the hard-backed ones. Yum! I like the smell of them, the feel of them, the solid permanence of them - and, yes, the content of them. And I still must have a real, solid, paper-kind of book before going to sleep at night, so I'm not eschewing (there's that great word again!) book-books for the ephemeral audio kind.

But I find it hard to read on the subway or even on an airplane. I'm very easily distracted. But with my cute little hot-pink earphones blocking out major distractions, I am right there with whatever's being read to me. I can get from point A to B and "read" a book at the same time! Brilliant!

Distraction isn't the key issue here, me thinks. At some level I just love being read to. If the narration is good (and many times it isn't, so watch out!), having another human being tell me a story taps right into my very soul. Hearing the words aloud deepens the meaning for me. I'm just a little kid who is delighting in having a story read to her. Comforting.

So, is my audiobook attraction just lazing reading? Technology out of control? Tucking in my inner child? Well, whatever it is, I'm enjoying the heck out of it. Can't wait till tomorrow's commute to get back to my book!

Betting on Prosperity with Peas and Greens

One of the truly great time-honored Southern traditions involves food. OK, most time-honored Southern traditions involve food (which is why I'm so glad I'm a Southerner), but this one is New Year's Day-specific. To ensure good luck and prosperity in the coming year, a meal of black-eyed peas and greens (of the collard or turnip persuasion, usually) must be consumed on the first day of the year. Add a wedge of homemade cornbread, and you'll have extra-good luck, if only for the meal at hand.

I'm not sure where the tradition started - probably a couple of hundred years ago - but it's one we've kept in my family, however scattered, ever since I can remember. The tradition says that the peas represent good luck and the greens money. Mother always told me that the peas represented coin-money and the greens folding-money. But it doesn't matter where the tradition came from or how it's interpreted, because starting off the year with black-eyed peas, greens, and cornbread is a fine way to begin anything.

I started my black-eyed peas last night because I wanted to make sure the finely-chopped onions and jalepenos had a chance to season them overnight. It's turnip greens, not collards, for me this year, and I plan to eat plenty, since I need all the folding-money I can get. We Southerners believe in cooking vegetables near to death with whatever fattening element is at hand. Yankees turn up their noses at this, but all I can say is that I come from parents and grandparents who lived to ripe old ages consuming this stuff.

Wish you could smell the cornbread right now, browning up nicely in my little cast-iron skillet. A meal worth its weight in gold (and yeah, calories).
May your peas and greens bring you a healthy, happy, and prosperous 2010. Feel free to add all the tabasco, pepper sauce, and bacon drippings you want. Pass the cornbread, please!

Fast away the old year passes!

OK, OK. 2009 wasn't all bad. In fact, some wonderful things happened over the course of the last twelve months. Here are a few highlights from my year - again, in no particular order:

1. Reconnecting with childhood friends through Facebook. I know it's cool to complain about various social networking sites and quake in your boots about the potential dangers, but thanks to Facebook I have rediscovered the folks who "knew me when." I love seeing how life turned out for my elementary school friends. We're all just as cute and smart and good-hearted as we were when we were 7, 10, and 13. That's very comforting to know.

2. Getting to show my 6th grade teacher around New York City. I never thought Marilyn and Dewey would venture forth, but thanks to their son Bruce's Carnegie Hall concert in April, they left California to spend a few days in this wild and woolly town. The Statue of Liberty, Greenwich Village, Lower Manhattan, Broadway - a great time with great friends.
3. Girlfriends' weekend in Blue Ridge, Georgia. Always fun to take time out and spend a few days with my best buds. Bro was a great host, the "cabin" (and I use the term loosely, as it's way bigger than any house I've ever lived in) was perfect, and the talk was refreshing.
4. Mad Men and Glee. 'Nuff said.

5. Seeing SuperStation FunTime friend Susie again after all these years. Twice in one year, even! Once in March - a surprise set up by another SSFT-er Jerry, and a second time in August when she came to visit with her son Ben. I love you Susie Baer!
6. Keeping my job. Lots of people around here lost their jobs in July. I survived the cut, but who knows what the new year will bring? For now, however, I am gainfully employed and am spared the soul-sucking task of hitting the streets with a resume.
7. Fun with Beth in New York City. Can you tell my year's highlights revolve around friends who come to visit me? I love playing city guide. Friend Beth and I had a great time when she hit town in October - the new High Line Park, the Met, St. John the Divine, just to name a few hot spots. And perfect fall weather!
8. The blessed week I spend at B&B Wyndbourne in April. Had the place to myself. Read lots of books, tramped through the woods, and ate/drank fabulously with hosts Nancy and Ralph. The perfect getaway.

9. The weirdly fun MP3 Experiment on Roosevelt Island. Thousands of strangers following orders over their iPods to participate in impromptu square-dancing, acting like robots, and bopping each other with inflatable bats and hammers, much to the confusion of onlookers not in on the joke. What's not memorable about that? (And I still have my inflatable hammer.)
10. Disneyland! Fifty years after trekking out to California in the family station wagon, Sis and I (and bro-in-law) spent a fabulous day at the park that cause such wonderment all those years ago. I enjoyed the time-warp experience. Thanks, Sis! (And the wine tour was fun, too!)
11. Dante at the Cathedral on Maundy Thursday. Amazing reading of cantos from Dante's Inferno at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, capped off by bone-shaking organ music. Wow! And free!

12. And the best for last. *** drumroll **** Grandbaby on the way! Woo-hoo! Daughter and hubby have a bundle of boy-joy set to arrive February 22, 2010. Next year will be fine indeed!

Gathering with family and friends, discovering new places, reading new books, tasting new foods - all make life worth living, whatever winds of fortune howl outside your door. I highly recommend making your own list of 2009 highlights and savoring the memories. Throw the list of awful things into the fire. Happy New Year to all! (More gin, anyone?)

Year-end Tired

2009 is a year that has just about beat me into submission. All was not doom-and-gloom, certainly, but a shaky economy, political wranglings, and reality television has just worn me out. I'm tired of all of it. No wonder I bury my head in a book or Turner Classic Movies.

I can live out the rest of my days with renewed energy if I never have to hear another word about (in no particular order):

1. Massive bonuses for executives of financial institutions shored up by my tax dollars. It's obvious these fat-cats will always find a way to collect big-time, so don't keep telling me about it unless you plan to do something to stop it. I'd rather not know.
2. "Twilight," or any other lame vampire series with pale-faced, angst-riddled, laughably bad actors. I'll stick with vampire classics starring the likes of  Bela Lugosi and Sarah Michelle Gellar, thank you very much.
3. Michael Jackson. He's dead. This surprised you? Where have you been for the last 20 years?
4. Reality shows featuring families with 8 or more children. Stop it. Where are the children's services people? Having lots and lots of babies qualifies you for nothing except a series of classes on birth control.
5. Reality shows, period. I'm even willing to give up the ones I watch, like Top Chef, to get back to the days of well-written story-driven programs starring actual actors. I believe the decline and fall of civilization will be appropriately placed at the feet of reality TV.
6. Recession, bankruptcy, foreclosure. For lots of complicated reasons, the economy tanked. No one seems to agree on what happened, who's to blame, or how to learn from it and move forward. I feel sad and scared for folks laid off from work, anyone who had to declare bankruptcy, or people who lost their homes in the mess. There but for the grace of God . . . But I don't want to keep hearing about it.
7. Talk show pundits. Whether Hannity or Olbermann, just shut up.You make things worse, not better. You do not clarify a thing. You use spurious information and jib-jabber to ramp up the noise, hate, and distrust. You should go the way of reality TV. To the moon!
8. Priuses and anything by Apple. Ohhhhhh, the smugness of your owners! I can SO do without it. And don't tell me you're smug for good reason. It's only a good reason in your own head.
9. Anglican Communion wars. Will it split? Won't it split? Blah, blah, blah.
10. Politicians in general, but specifically: Sarah Palin, Joe Lieberman, Nancy Pelosi, Harry Reid, Mitch McConnell, and, yes, even Barak Obama. I've had it with all y'all. Granted, anything's better than Bush-Cheney, but I'm not a bit impressed by any of you. Stop grand-standing and get to work!

No wonder I'm tired. I promise to reflect on the positive things of 2009 later, but I needed to get the soul-draining stuff out of my system. I'm looking forward to a bright, shiny New Year, where everyone behaves, the economy booms, and we practice a little peace on earth and goodwill, or at least civility and common sense. Gin, anyone?

Top Three Christmas Wishes

Here's your challenge: name your top three Christmas wishes for 1) your city or community, 2) a family member, and 3) yourself. Notice, I haven't included a Christmas wish for the world - we all want world peace, full employment, health, education, and happiness. Get specific.

I'll go first:

1. My Christmas wish for Manhattan/New York City (sorry, other boroughs) is a Super Target. Macy's, Bloomingdale's, Sak's, Barneys, Bergdof's, Tiffany's - all wonderful stores, but just-us-folks need a clean, well-lighted, name-brand merchandise, discount store on the island. I think a Target is going into the same complex as Costco a few streets over from me in East Harlem. I pray it opens its doors in 2010. 
2. For daughter Kate and son-in-law Greg, I wish for baby furniture for soon-to-be GrandBoy. Mama-to-be will not rest easy until the nursery is in place. (So really, I'm wishing for peace of mind for both of them.)
3. My Christmas wish for me, me, me is a ticket to a Broadway show and renewal of my Metropolitan Museum of Art membership. Life is too short not to include great theatre and art. 

So what are your three Christmas wishes? Do tell.

Merry, Merry Christmas to all! I do truly wish for health and happiness and lack of stress and worry for all of you. Eat lots of good stuff, love your family and friends, read interesting books, do something that fulfills your need to be You.

Guilty of licking the spoon

I love Weight Watchers. I like its philosophy and process, and, heck, it works. But between Halloween and New Year, I have to stuff all that WW love in the back of the closet. Because I love holiday food more than I love losing weight. I'm trying to feel guilty about it, but I don't.

First comes all those Halloween treats, and you know how I feel about candy corn. A month later is Thanksgiving, with its turkey, dressing, carb-loaded casseroles, and pumpkin pie. But, ah, Christmas. The universe keeps the best for last - cookies and pastries of every description, wonderful delights made with butter and cinnamon and fruit and cream and butter. And butter. (Julia Child must've loved Christmas.)

And whether it's Spinach Mornay (cream, Swiss cheese, cayenne pepper) or Banana Pudding (cream cheese, pudding mix, creamed cheese), I always do my duty as cook and/or kitchen helper by offering to lick the spoons and mixing bowls. Why is it that the bit of yumminess that hangs on to a mixing bowl is the best few bites of the lot?

I'll pull Weight Watchers back out in January. But for now, I plan to lick the spoons and mixing bowls, have a wedge of that rum cake, and eat another Christmas cookie. Or three. Go find your own bowl to lick!

Mary Christmas

One actress plays two of my favorite characters in a couple of can't-miss Christmas movies. The late great Mary Wickes, character actor extraordinaire, adds her genius to the roles of Nurse Preen in The Man Who Came to Dinner (1942) and Emma in White Christmas (1954).

The Man Who Came to Dinner is rapidly becoming one of my top 5 Christmas films. Hilarious story, Bette Davis and Monty Woolley, penguins and an octopus - what's not to love? But Mary Wickes as poor, put-upon Nurse Preen is the whipped cream on top. This was her first major film role and it set the stage (fortunately or unfortunately) for her on-screen persona throughout her career. I love her gangly physicality and droll delivery. Especially when being chased by penguins or insulted by the great Sheridan Whiteside.

And who taught us to steam open envelopes? Why, that nosey old biddie Emma Allen in White Christmas! Who needs an ex-general at the inn when you have Emma to run things? She's a lovable, sarcastic, gossip - and she works a pretty good kiss in there, too.

So for brightening up a couple of my holiday favorites, Mary Christmas, Mary Wickes.

Let me eat cake

Usually, I can take or leave cake. I'm a pie girl myself. But I may change my mind after reading a recent article in the New York Times about Southern layer cakes.

Now, I'm a proud Southerner, but I've never heard of these 15-layer cakes that are all the rage in lower Alabama (or, L.A., as we call it down South). Granted the layers are thin, but it speaks to my need for less cake/more frosting, if you know what I mean.

Other Southern "stars" include the Lane cake, poundcake, fruit cake, and coconut cake. I'm a connoisseur of all of those, but this 15-layer job intrigues me. Hmm. How can I get a taste of this? The author of the article seems to be under the misguided assumption that all Southerners know how to bake. Well, not me. Rather, I don't bake well enough to try a 15-layer cake with boiled icing.

If someone out there wants to give it a try and send me a piece, I'd be much obliged.