"Sick" by Shel Silverstein

"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more--that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut--my eyes are blue--
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke--
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is. . .Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!"

Ah, Uncle Shelby.  If only I didn't actually have all these symptoms...

Winter Drive

Weak winter sun, a pale yellow egg yolk in the eastern porcelain sky. Lacy stamp of a half moon in the west. Cragged limbs of a tree filled with obsidian crows, eyes beady and glassine against the cold. Last vestiges of woodsmoke curl through the tight air. Bitter breath in tiny clouds after cautious sips of hot coffee. Skin dry and papery in front of the heat vents, fingertips numb - where are my gloves? No sunglasses this morning, crinkle my eyes against that thin creamy light flickering through the slats of pine trees edging the road, marking each second with light and shadow. Trees along the downtown streets strain their bare fractal limbs against the sky - now tinged blue or pink, the sun growing orange and somehow closer as I turn past the stacked brick building. I could keep going - keep driving in this solitary winter landscape - but I shut off the motor, go inside.

18th Century Jive: The Sequel

We just don't talk like we used to - or so it would seem from the pulp romance novels. I find myself developing a particular fondness for certain words and phrases. I confess, I'd like to bring a few back into vogue.

Exclamations
* posh
* bosh
* capital

Insults
* wiggy
* prig
* rakehell
* foppish
* doxy
* cad
* chit

Misc.
* frippery
* diamond of the first water

Cursing & Exasperation
* demmit (so much more refined, don't you think?)
* the devil take it
* dash it all
* bloody well

Chief Lionhead & Little Chief

I love my brother. That is all.

Seeing It Both Ways

Half Empty
* I had to get up today at 5:25 to go to the ATL office.
* On my way to meet The Goofball for our ATL trek, the full moon was still out.
* While handling the giant post-it note pad in today's meeting, I accumulated numerous paper cuts.
* I seem to have carried home Dillon's cold, manifesting in slightly stuffy sinuses and a niggling soreness in the back of my throat.
* Tomorrow I have to catch up on all the work that did not get done today or yesterday while I was in meetings.
* I must start thinking about having my taxes done.
* Control top pantyhose.
* Aching lower back from picking up Dillon a lot over the weekend.

Half Full
* After today's meeting one of The Clients asked me if I will be assigned to their account team long term.
* Everyone was in generally good spirits tonight at dinner, laughing easily.
* Rescheduling the daily dosage of The Medicine is helping me to actually sleep at night.
* Tonight is Pro Run.
* Excellent discussion with The Goofball about books to read.
* Tomorrow is THURSDAY.
* Elastic waistband pants
* Mom bought me a heating pad today for my aching lower back.
* Kudzu is snoring.

Are You a Donkelephant?

Because we'd like to rock the vote in our own way, Kim and me have started the new blog, Swing State. As a public service to you, dear readers, we will be posting what we know, what we'd like to know, and what we'll never find out about the candidates in this election year. In this election year - the first in a very, very long time (I heard when on the radio but can't recall...) that an incumbent is not in the running - the word CHANGE is the one to be pronouncing loud and clear at the podiums. We agree. Change is necessary. But for the right kind of change, you must have strategery or your mission will fail. We want to help, so that you can feel confident about your exit strategery when leaving the polls. Please check in for the on-going nonpartisan discussion of all things political from two of the least political people you will ever meet. Because if you're voting for American Idol, you should be voting for the president. We totally don't want to end up with a Taylor Hicks situation in the White House.

99aXed

It's the end of an era. As of January 25, 99x will no longer be on air. The 99.7 FM frequency is being given to what is now Q100, a top-40 rock format. The X will transition to 100.5, sans its morning show, marking the end of Leslie Fram's 15-plus-year run on the station's Morning X show.

For those of you who grew up in Georgia, listening to the Morning X was akin to watch SNL on Saturday night. It's just what you did. You tuned in to the legendary Barnes, Leslie and Jimmy morning show so that you could catch a few stellar lines and maybe hear the first spin of "Jeremy."

And then there was 99x Resurrection Sunday, which played chic rock and folk rock and folk infusion and was the first place I heard "Silent All These Years" by Tori Amos. I remember leaving Jenn's house and driving down a lonely stretch of road with Tori's voice reverberating through the old '92 Taurus and thinking, "Yeah."

99x sponsored the Counting Crows concert at Chastain Park Amphitheatre where I met Adam Duritz - who gave me his autograph while denying me me a hug. Somewhere, I still have photo of Niki, Tempe, Heather and me with the 99x poster we absconded with.

The X hosted the Jingle Jam that Sarah McLachlan headlined at the Gwinnett Civic Center where we had fifth-row seats.

And there was also Live X, which produced some amazing acoustic sets over the years.

99x has apparently fallen on hard times while I've been away. With the rise of satellite radio and the faltering popularity of alt rock against top-40 pop coupled with the departure of Barnes and Jimmy from the Morning X and difficulty finding a successful replacement combo, it looks like it's finally jumped the shark. Goodbye, 99x. Thanks for the memories.

* For you OC kids, I couldn't find the old logo - the bright yellow 99x on the black background. You know what I'm talkin' about!

Snow: Southern Style

It doesn't snow much in these parts. If you're from a part of the country where snow is a normal occurrence, and you've been lucky enough to experience it in the south, you know that we buy milk, bread and eggs, and take cover in the shelter of our homes. We do not, under any circumstances, attempt to travel during treacherous snowfall, particularly if accumulation exceeds half an inch. That's why I was marooned at Justin and Eva's on Saturday after taking refuge there following a day in the ATL office.

Snowfall started early Saturday morning and continued through the afternoon. And it was beautiful, deafening snow, soft and powdery, falling in big papery flakes. Enjoy.

They Say It's Your Birthday!

Happy Birthday to the somewhat-newly-married Kim! On the official birthday call, we had a serious conversation about football fandom, insurer's insurance, Albert Bell's baseball card, and coming clean to our parents about our voting preferences. That means we're old.

Kim, I hope your birthday is as full of joy as a day spent solving mysteries with Lavar Burton in a red car! Here's to an odd-numbered age - your favorite - full of impossibly good things like finally getting George Clooney to sign on for The John Boston story. Love you!

Still Counting on the Crows

After years of silence - 5 1/2 to be exact - Counting Crows is making some noise. Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings is dropping March 25.

The band's last effort, Hard Candy, debuted back in July 2002, back when I was still in grad school, and I remember walking across the sizzling hot Best Buy parking lot to get the album after work. It was uneven, fluffy and poppy in all the wrong places. A couple of gems emerged like "Holiday in Spain" and "Goodnight L.A." but others like "New Frontier" were utter disaster. The band had brought Immy (Dave Immergluck) on and Ben Mize, the band's second drummer was clearly on the way out - he departed the band shortly after the Candy tour. I saw the Crows on their swing to promote this album, and the show was just as uneven and disappointing as the album.

When Dreams About Ghosts came out, I snapped it up in hopes that the two new tracks amidst the greatest hits would be worth it. But they were lukewarm at best, and I hardly ever pick up that album.

The new album's cover is reminiscent of Live Across the Wire, which is such a great mash up of their work in acoustic and rock format. And the two songs being previewed are as different as the red disc/blue disc of LATW. "1492" is all guitars and drums layered and clanging against one another - and has a Recovering the Satellites feel. And "When I Dream of Michaelangelo" is obviously a sequel to "Angels of the Silences" (from which the title comes) but it hearkens to the acoustic version.

I liked both songs first listen, but I have to say the Crows have let me down a little with their last couple of offerings. But maybe I'm just feeling slightly miffed after recounting to The Rockstar that Adam Duritz wouldn't hug me when I met him at 17. The Rockstar found this unacceptable.

I'll still pick up Saturday...& Sunday... - for old time's sake. And in the hopes that the threads of "Rain King" and "Omaha" that were in the undertones of "Michaelangelo" will be elsewhere on the album...and I can pretend to be 14 again and feel like he's singing to just me.

One

One year ago, he arrived. Tiny and perfect.
There's so much I could say...but there are no words.
He's no longer so tiny, but still perfect.
Happy Birthday to my favorite Little Monster.
A story in pictures.

The Birthday Boy in full regalia, getting a lesson on paper blowers from Aunt Anna.

The Puppy Cake - yes, Eva made it - carved in the image of Dillon's nighttime companion.

Little fingers testing the cake.

First taste and going back for more.

In with both hands.

Packing those cheeks with yellow cake, butter cream icing and blueberry filling.
Don't worry - Aunt Ashley gave him a thorough bath afterward.

Mayer's Manners

Wow. John Mayer's latest blog entry. I kind of...does this...sort of make John Mayer a little bit of a stand up guy? I'm just asking...and p.s., I totally sent a tip to Perez Hilton.

DON'T EX WITH TEXAS

Dear Dallas and Surrounding Areas,

This isn't a sports blog, and it isn't a publicity stunt. (but have at me if it feels right.)

This is about doing what I think is right as a person, in this case speaking my mind.

I have never known anyone to have more pride in their home state and their upbringing in it than Jessica Simpson has in Texas. I don't really follow sports, but I have played some of my biggest and best concerts in your state, and having witnessed how dynamic the spirit there is, I'm betting emotions are running high right about now.

All witty barbs, blogs, and fashion policing aside, that girl loves Texas more than you know. It's one of her most defining traits as a person. So please don't try and take that away from her. (You probably wouldn't be able to, but it's less work for all involved.)

I just thought it would mean something coming from the guy who has the absolute least to gain from this. And if I'm out of line in having written it, too bad. I can spare a Wednesday's worth of bad press if it means sticking up for a good soul.

JM

Wide Awake and Dreaming

Wide Awake
The last few nights, the moment my head hits the pillow, my brain wakes up. I can suddenly feel the contour of the pillow in minute detail under my head. Eyes open against the darkness, I imagine my pupils dilating to great black discs pressing away the hazy brown to a slim, neat circle. I blink. Feel my lashes against my cheek. Blink harder. Contemplate the length of my eyelashes. Be still. Try not to look at the clock. Think about warmth and quiet and drifting instead of cold rigid silence above the seismic hum of my mind.

Dreaming
Reoccuring now, this dream that I am in my apartment on Grace Street. Sometimes, it is the apartment at Abbott's Run. There is confusion. Am I supposed to be there? I walk through the room. These things are mine - this chair, this clay pot, this painting on the wall. But everything is not here. Some of my things are missing. Where are they? And then I remember that I don't live here...but I still feel...like I could...or I do. I'm not sure whether to pack or unpack. Stay or go. As the confusion reaches a fever pitch, I seem to recognize that I am dreaming and slowly lift toward wakefulness...eyes open, pupils bleeding across the brown.

Measuring Up: In Praise of Junk in the Trunk

"36-24-36? Yeah, only if she's 5'3"." - Sir Mix-A-Lot, "Baby Got Back"

It goes without saying that as a woman, I'm supposed to be displeased with my body. Whether in some small way - a certain attribute like flabby thighs or crooked nose - or whether with the overall figure, it's the American way for us to hate ourselves just a little (sometimes a lot) for our physical shortcomings.

I've spent most of my life riding that train of thought. I've only ever owned three bikinis, one which I never had the guts to actually wear out on the beach. Neither of the other two would be in my repertoire of items to wear to the beach now. In high school, I mostly dressed like a lumberjack. But then again, it was the era of Grunge. By college, I was slowly easing into wearing clothes that were actually my size instead of a men's large.

These days, I've given up on the perfect body. Achieving ideal proportions and weight require way more work than I want to do - and denial of things I truly enjoy. Like bread. And chocolate. But there's still opportunity for a best case scenario with what I've got. And what I've got is some juice in the caboose. This baby's got back. And I am not ashamed. In fact, when a recent purchase required my measurements in that arena, I was a little bit proud of my bootyliciousness.

And the rest of me too. I am currently a 34-32-40. Remember the 34 is the band size...I'm not posting the cups. I'm not that brave. I have no desire to run, skip and jump my way down to a below-30 waist size. And as for the junk in my trunk? I plan to keep packing. I find my shape sort of glamorous at the moment - old Hollywood, curvaceous, smokin'. The hour has finally arrived for me to like my hourglass. I hope it lasts.

Outside Looking In

Resolutions in the Pot Nine Days Old

I recognize that we've already bypassed the first week of January without me posting any New Year's resolutions. Last year, I had a clear resolution - a resolution that was important enough to me to keep. And I did - at least, I committed to my very best effort to find the place to be happy. Not physically...not in the sense of moving or staying, of where I am...but more a state of being. And now that I'm there, I'm resolving to stay there. So this is less about resolutions and more of a to do list for staying the course I chose last year.

* Get my passport

* Travel more - am already tackling this by planning trip to SF with Nik and Jenn and Cleveland Rocks with Kim

* Practice my photography (on subjects including and other than Dillon)

* Stop being afraid of new people

* When I say, "Someday, I'd like to..." really think about when someday might be and how to get there

* Buy (yipe!) a house

* Be kind to other people

* Have perspective - about blessings, about all the things that could happen that don't, about all the places I'm not, about all the places I am

* Learn

* Get to work on time more often; leave work on time more often

* Snuggle Kudzu every day

* Blog it out

Tickety Tack

"Some of the designers were excited...but I think prom is horrible. And tacky. And gross." --Christian

Tonight's prom dress challenge brought the designers to that place - the one where they're lost. Where the challenge is so far out of their point of view that they don't know how to reconcile what they usually do with what they've been asked to do. And with the more-than-usual involvement of the models (a.k.a. 17-year-old giggleboxes with very definitive ideas about prom dresses), the intensity of the challenge - and the volume of the workroom - were ratcheted up several notches.

Usually, I agree with a lot of the judges' assessments. But this week? I don't know. I was at sixes and sevens with the judges' decisions, including:

* The censure that Christian got from Nina about his comments regarding his client. Perhaps there was further commentary edited out, but I thought Christian was merely stating that his client was difficult. And she was! Nina's fury about it seemed out of proportion. Maybe I tend to side with the designer's too much though. Remember Angela's mom?

* Auffed Kevin? In light of that atrocity Ricky sent down the runway? Don't get me wrong - I love Ricky for his Andre-esque waterworks, but that dress was drab, dowdy and dismal. The color was a wash and the bunchy fit on the top only made her look broad and lumpy. I agree that Kevin's dress was not the best, but the worst? Ricky's pale insinuation of a dress was much worse. Molly Ringwald could've come up with something better.

* Chris...I know they can't talk about all the dresses, but I thought Chris's dress was pretty promtastic. And I wanted them to talk to his model about how much she liked the dress. Because as much as the other designers imposed themselves on their clients, I thought Chris worked to give her a dress she felt lovely wearing.

* Victorya for the win against Sweet P. I thought Victorya's dress was okay. And I get that Sweet P's dress was a little bit more sophisticated than most 17-year-olds. But it was tasteful and elegant and draped beautifully. You could tell that the girl felt absolutely glamorous wearing it. I didn't think they gave Sweet P. enough credit because that fabric is the kind that shows every flaw, but she fitted it in such a way that it looked stunning. And I couldn't quite see what Victorya's bedazzled bubble-skirted frock trumped that.

I was sorry to see Christian not feeling fierce - he really did suffer terrible on this challenge. I held my breath during the auf moment in desperate hope of one more week of snark and sass. Looks like I get my way.

SNEAK PREVIEW: Who fears from the previews that they'll be making wedding dresses in groups next week???

Say What You Need to Say

That's right, kids. It's time for the first John Mayer post of 2008. Okay...I'm sure there are many among you who think John Mayer is lame and that I'm lame for my insanely freakish fandom. But I highly encourage you to take a listen to "Say", written for the new movie The Bucket List, with Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson. I found it to be a great sort of anthem for starting off the new year. Listen. And then say what you need to say.

Return to the Potterverse?

Mike sent me this article a week or so ago from The Daily Mail that references J.K. Rowling's interview with Time Magazine. Time interviewed her for her third-place finish in its Person of the Year issue. In the interview, she alludes to having had "moments of weakness" since Deathly Hallows in which she has considered an eighth Potter book. Although, I'm not really sure that I should say it would be a Potter book as Rowling indicates that the book would not, in fact, center around The Boy Who Lived. After all, his story has been told. But just as she slings it out there, she snatches it back by saying, "Let's talk in ten years."

I've mulled this one over...and, well, it makes me nervous. Rowling undoubtedly penned one of the most beloved, most captivating, most iconic showdowns between good and evil in history. The universe she created is certainly rich enough that we all want to go back there. The number of tears I shed over leaving is proof enough of that. But can we? Can we recapture the magic? And would a story from the Potterverse that was less than the ultimate meeting of good and evil, less than the entire world at stake, less than the triumph of love over despair, be as satisfying?

Plus, there's the absence of Harry (and therefore, likely Ron, Hermione and Ginny) at the core of this new tale. It's not that I doubt Rowling's ability to craft new and compelling characters. But I do think it will be hard to go to Hogwarts without the same cast of characters. Those second rounds of characters - the next class, the new generation - never seem to quite capture the allure of the initial characters. One could consider, too, that Rowling might go to a totally different landscape and pull it off with great success.

If she attempts to turn seven into eight, I hope she's more successful a concocting a worthy follow up than Neville in potions. I don't want to buy into Felix Felicis and end up with a melted cauldron. And most of all, I don't want to be disappointed. Although, I imagine if she had a boggart, it would be an eighth book that was a colossal failure with fans. Other magical thoughts?

A Conversation on Shoes

I wore these shoes today. My new black patent leather Mary Janes of which I am much enamored. The Goofball came into my office to ask me a question whilst I was sitting with on leg tucked under me, the bottom of my left shoe facing out.

The Goofball: "Those are new shoes. Very few scuff marks on the bottom. Did you get those for Christmas?"

Me: "Indeed I did. This is the first time I've worn them."

The Goofball: "Are they comfortable?"

Me: "Gosh no. They're actually pinching my toes a bit."

The Goofball: "Let me see. Is it because they're pointed toe? Or are they peep toes?" I wordlessly held out my foot for inspection. "Ah," he says. "Round toes. You're just going to have to stretch those out."

He leaves my office, and for a second, I try to think of any other straight man I know who might know these terms...no...there are none. And just for the record, I should not have tried to stretch the toes out by walking ten blocks to the post office and back.

Good and True News

Please welcome to the blogiverse some Good and True Things as penned by Jenn. If you're lucky, she'll eventually recount some highly amusing and slightly embarrassing stories of my earlier years, seeing as how we were fairly inseparable during that time. Hence the listing under Hometown Jungle Cats.

As the blogiverse expands, the world gets a little smaller, bringing all of us far-flung friends a little closer together. And that's a good thing.

Absurdly Pleased With...

* What I wore today - very simply, new jeans, a navy sweater with a button-up underneath and my new quilted vest and cowboy boots

* Almost being done with a good book and knowing I have another waiting upstairs

* A new episode of Women's Murder Club tonight

* New organic cotton bathrobe

* Kim's admission last night that her career aspirations as a child were to solve mysteries with Lavar Burton

* The size and shape of me...no more, no less

* Cherries

Splish Splash

I love my new camera.

Sweetness!

When I realized the nature of the challenge on tonight's ep of Project Runway, I had to concur with Christian: "Oh, great. We're going to make sh*t out of candy." I'm always leery of the challenges that involve edibles or flowers or garbage (remember that?). The designers tend to get frustrated about the poor materials and it shows on the runway.

But tonight, the designers totally surprised me. With just five minutes to gather materials from the Hershey's store in Times Square, the designers came up with some pretty scrumptious garments. How brills was that skirt and corset top Jillian made out of Twizzlers? I was so impressed. And Rami's dress looked delicious - that shiny plastic with the paper skirt. So well made. And I concur with the judges that it fit the model impeccably. I give Michael Kors credit for recognizing the restraint that Chris showed - and I give Chris credit for not going totally Macy's Thanksgiving Day with this challenge.

And then there was Elisa...I kind of want to root for her in all her airy-fairyness, but, well, as Christian said, "And the sleeves? They looked like swimmies that you would go swimming with. That dress was a hot mess." I believe Kors referred to the sleeves as silver shower caps. And Heidi Klum called it a sad brown dress. (See how sad her model looks wearing it??) Truly, she wanted to send a deconstructed Gretel down the runway and out walked bad bridesmaid circa 1998.

Sweet Pea? Oh, dear, Sweet Pea. She's always running around in desperation. Flustered and down-to-the-wire. What was she thinking gluing pottery to that dress. Yelch. I'm glad she didn't get auffed, though. I love her soundbytes.

Victorya's ruffled mess, which she deemed an Ice Princess gown...well, I'm not even sure that Tonya Harding would be caught with the lead pipe on the ice in that dress. And the weird walk? How great was Zac Posen's face when the model turned the corner? It was stiff and distracting and didn't help the ruffled dress one bit. What did help was Michael Kors euphoric shout, "She works at Dairy Queen!"

And while I agree that Rami's garment and Jillian's were the front runners, I confess I truly loved Christian's. I love his snark, his sass, his hair and his style.

Also, Ricky didn't cry this week. But don't worry, kids. It appears that his runway meltdown is a-comin'. As predicted.

Auf wiedersehen. I'm out.

Sucked into an Alternate Universe?

It is 9:36 p.m. I hear the vacuum running. I peer up the stairs to see Dad pushing said vacuum down the hall. I look in their bedroom, where Mom's brushing her teeth. "What-?" I begin.

She shrugs. "I have no clue," she says, all frothy.

Dad reaches the end of the hall, looks back at me. "What?"

"Well, it's just...it's...what inspired this?"

"I don't know. I just saw some stuff in the floor, I guess."

I resist the urge to say anything else. Particularly, "I have never seen you thus inspired in my life."

A New Year's anomaly, it would seem.

Good Fortune vs. The Omen: A Collard Green Showdown

In this here southern part of the country, you're supposed to eat collard greens at the new year in order to boost your wealth and good fortune in the ensuing twelve-month. I'm not sure where this tradition stems from exactly - collard greens southern-style were introduced to high society by slave cooks who had learned to make do with the greens boiled in water and flavored with ham hock (a less than desirable part of the pig). But nowadays, collard greens are one of those delicacies we Southerners hold up with pride.

We had a late Christmas on Saturday to accommodate all families and in-laws and work schedules. Instead of the traditional holiday fare, we opted for soul food and our Christmas spread included collard greens, pinto beans, homemade cornbread, beet pickles and coleslaw.

Yesterday, at The Grit, vegetarian eating establishment of fame right next to The Office, I had lunch with family and had a little more collard greens. Last night at dinner, I had some of the leftovers from our Christmas meal.

So imagine my surprise, with all of this laying the groundwork for good fortune in '08, when I was awakened very early this morning by the unpleasant and all-too-familiar sensation in the pit of my stomach. After retrieving a crying Dillon from his crib (I mean, let the parents sleep. Only one of us should be up at such an ungodly hour) and administering his morning bottle, I passed him off to a just-waking Nana before heading upstairs to toss it all.

Perhaps it was just a pile up of holiday and year-end anxiety. Perhaps, as Eva suggested, it was as though my brain had been collecting these little pieces bit by bit until they became too much. Whatever the case, I was a bit discouraged by the inauspicious start to my new year. But, in the vein of being wholly optimistic about the delights of 2008, I'm going to look at it as a monumental last-minute purge of all the bad things about 2007. And hope that, with all my collard green eatin', this will be a year that I can stomach.