It's a...

Every girl needs great shoes.

Vampires are Dreamy

Sugar and Spice or Snakes and Snails?

Please do not be deceived by its less-than-recent mention here at the Jungle: a new niece or nephew is well on her/his way. Eva's sporting a lovely bump, the greenness has subsided, and she's starting to eat again. It's hard to believe that the arrival is just five months away.

Monday is the big day for discovering the nieceness or nephewness of the new baby - provided that her/his modesty doesn't overcome the power of the ultrasound.

That being said...any guesses on the identity of my new lambie?

Perfect Happiness: In Pictures

Tumbled Thoughts from the Shoreline

Right now, I'm sitting on the, well, we'll call it a balcony of my hotel room and listening to the Atlantic fall on the sand again and again. There's enough of a breeze that it's sort of chilly in a way that simultaneously makes me want to go inside and want to sit here shivering just to feel alive. It could be that I'm tired - I was up til 2 a.m. working on our project and then up at 6:45 to get back to it - but I find myself staring into the inky darkness and thinking harder than I want to...

* About working too much. There was the trip to Orlando. And then another to Atlanta after that. I left yesterday morning to be on J.I. now. I'm headed back tomorrow, and then early Wednesday, I'll get up and head to Atlanta. And it's good...I'm proud of myself. But I wonder, what about everything else?

* I'm on this trip with two guys who have kids, and they're always talking about their kids. And I have nothing. I mean, I tell my Dillon stories like a good auntie and laughingly interject something about Kudzu, but sometimes, it just feels empty.

* I feel sad about The Professor and his ex. I feel sorry for her. And I feel sorry for me. It's just a weird place to be in for both of us - me and this girl I don't even know. I feel like she's having to go through the place I just was, and I'm looking at the situation, and thinking, "I'm glad that's not me."

* There's a quiet right now - besides the constancy of the ocean - that makes me feel so solitary. I can't hear anyone else talking, no signs of life. The quiet is almost eerie, and far more lonely than soothing.

* Lately, I've been thinking a lot about how we all think that happily ever after will happen to us. But the truth is, there are so many people who don't have it. For every happily-ever-after is an also-ran. I'm not condemning myself as an also ran yet - and this really isn't the part where I want everyone to tell me that my day will come. This is the part where I face the reality that you don't get everything. And I have stellar friends and a fabulous family life and a good career...and lots of wonderful things. I spend entirely too much time thinking about the missing pieces...especially in light of the fact that maybe - just maybe - they were never meant to be part of the whole.

Gettin' Down to Biz-ness

* With the fancy schmancy cocktail party at the Atlanta office tomorrow. Rah.

* With the college homecoming festivities - I can hardly wait for fried chicken on the hill. And I've charged my camera battery so that I can take approximately 800 photos.

* With yet another business trip to J. Island that promises to be...interesting. Leaving Sunday and gone on Monday and Tuesday. And packing my flack jacket for the angry mobs that are likely to be staking out our meeting.

* With yet another big opportunity at work in Atlanta on Wednesday - again, hand-picked by the creative director. And he reviewed my work from last week's meeting today and said he was so proud that he nearly teared up. And then I nearly did in turn.

* With a less fancy schmancy cocktail party next Thursday hosted by a friend of mine at a downtown hotel. And despite its lesser level of schmancy, I'm looking forward to time with friends.

* With pondering items about The Professor...the significance of the fine line between "when" and "if"...i.e. remarks like "When you meet my parents who live in a far distant state on the other side of the country" as oppose to if. Like it's a done deal. Like yesterday, he said "when" in reference to a family reunion. And then there's the EX Factor. As in his ex is coming for a visit - a closure visit, I guess? So. Yeah. She's here all next week, and I'll just be...waiting??

* With subsequently considering when or if to pursue dating someone else (no one in particular - unless Christian Bale is available)...but just...someone to keep if from turning into when so fast. Plus, I'm a hot ticket - wildly successful in my career, fantastic taste in shoes, and I'm smokin'. So maybe I should share the wealth.

* And then with thinking, Who am I kidding? It's 10 o'clock and I just want to go to bed and finish Twilight.

What Do You Make of It?

Last night, I had two dreams that I can remember...

...in one, I was at the Capitol, and there was a lot of construction going on along the side of the building I was on. But I made it through the mud and the fences to where all the Young Republicans were gathered to see John McCain walk past. They were all jockeying for position, and I thought, I just want to get a look at the guy. When I did, he looked way younger and totally different than he does on TV. And then I looked around and wondered if any of the Young Republicans were single...

...in the other, I met a Pakistani guy named Banini on a bus. At first, we had a disagreement over political correctness. But then he told me I had a nice smile and asked me out on a date. I accepted and we went to a Mexican restaurant. He wasn't really my type, but I was really into him...

From the Barack-icades

Whatever your political persuasion, please watch this. The Goofball (who also happens to be a diehard Les Mis fan) shared it with me, and I'm returning the favor.

While You're There, Comb Your Hair - Don't Forget Your Underwear

* Getting ready to shower on Saturday morning at Anna's, I realized that I'd forgotten to pack any underwear. I had to borrow from Anna - and for those of you who know the difference between our body types, you can understand that even her granniest panties were my thongs.

* I saw Les Mis for the fourth time this weekend, and it threw me back to my insane theater freak days. I confess - "Bring Him Home" still gives me shivers, "The Final Confession" still makes me cry, and the smell of the Fox Theatre still makes me happy. Javert was out-of-this-world good, and Eponine's "On My Own" was perfection.

* On the way to Les Mis, Eva looked over my outfit - a black cropped swing jacket over a sheer cream colored ruffled blouse and black pants - and said, "Wow, you look fabulous." She thought for a minute and said, "I had forgotten what I used to be like - I would've planned what to wear today. Instead, I just threw something in the bag." She sighed a little, and I thought...there are two sides to everything.

* Dillon has gotten so big! And talkative! He now calls me "Ashley," although the "l" is pretty subtle. I'm amazed how much he can already communicate - and how much of a little boy he's become. (All 25 pounds of him!)

* Anna decided to let Zeke and Eli run free in her yard on Saturday. Only, they didn't - as she had hoped - merely frolick in the backyard where she and Dad were weeding. Instead, they took off like bullet trains through the woods. The recovery effort took about an hour. It made me feel slightly better to know that it isn't just me.

* While we sat on the back porch this afternoon and enjoyed the crisp mountain air tinged with fall, Anna did her Sunday coupon clipping. "I need new shampoo," I said, thumbing through one of the sales papers. She tossed me an envelope stuffed full of coupons to see if she had one for shampoo. I sorted through the massive pile, chuckling at the fact that she cuts and sorts every coupon. Including one for Durex condoms and two for Depends.

Wardrobe Malfunctions

I had a date with The Professor tonight. It's a long story why we planned a nice dinner on a Wednesday, so I won't bore you with the details - especially when I can offer you the following:

1) I was wearing a geometric-print tunic top over black pants - feeling pretty sassy. At some point during the day though, I sat on the tunic and pulled too much on the silk fabric and ripped a three-inch hole in the seam. And where was that hole? Approximately - no, directly - exposing my lovehandle every time I sat.

2) To finish off my sassy look, I wore black patent leather slingbacks. After dinner, we were walking through downtown and my heel wedged into a hole in a sewer cover. As I stepped forward and realized my foot was caught, I sort of fell into The Professor and grunted. He said, "Wow. That was kind of awesome. I've never actually seen that happen to anyone." And then - "That noise you made was...something. Really low." And then he reenacted it.

So much for bringing sexy back.

Meet the Parents (or My Not-So-Great Evil Plan)

So. I'm dating this guy.

Let's call him The Professor.

We've been seeing each other for a few weeks - dinners, lunches, drinks after work. That sort of thing. And of course, if you've been reading this blog for any amount of time, you can guess that my family is all kinds of curious about this guy.

I've tried to maintain some boundaries, but you know, it gets exhausting.

So on Saturday night, when Mom, Dad and Anna decided to go out for Chinese, and Anna and Dad mocked me and suggested I call The Professor, one would think I would've brushed them off and readied myself for an endless supply of Mongolian beef.

But then...I had an idea. A brilliant, wonderful, awful idea. If I invited The Professor to dinner, I could get it out of the way - they could meet him, he could meet them, and like ripping off a band-aid, it would be quick and painless. They wouldn't have any opportunity to plan something horribly embarrassing - like an interrogation that would make the Spanish Inquisition look like a Q&A.

I didn't think about the fact that I might scare the poor professor out of his wits when I rang him up and asked him straight out if he wanted to join us. Nor did I think about how he might feel when I poo-pooed him when he said he hadn't shaved. Or scoffed at his insistence that he needed to jump in the shower. Or sent him a text telling him to keep it cas and throw on jeans and a t-shirt. Or gave him just about 20 minutes to be there.

What I did think about was the smug relief I felt when he arrived, well-groomed but not overly much. And when he offered everyone a nice handshake and a smile, I thought my evil plan had worked. And when Anna struck up a conversation with him about college football, and he made her laugh, I thought, I am a genius.

Ah, pride goeth before the fall.

In the parking lot, my mom invites The Professor back to our house. And that's where my plan - quickly but precisely executed thus far - began to show signs of failure.

I rode to the house with him and tried to brief him on what was most pertinent. Dad will tell you an embarrassing story about me. Oh, and he can't always hear, although he refuses to acknowledge it, so be prepared to repeat yourself. Anna's dogs are going to bark at you a lot - don't take it personally. Have I mentioned that we have a feral cat that no one can touch living in our house?

And then we arrived. And the dogs barked relentlessly, and The Professor seated himself stiffly on the edge of the recliner (whose sides have been torn to shreds by the feral cat). We realize that the other cat, Ranger, isn't at the door waiting for his dinner - probably because one of the dogs chased him into the woods earlier that day. Stay here, I tell The Professor. And I leave him in the den in the tattered recliner to watch the beginning of the football game with my dad, and I take a Maglite and go into the woods with Mom to search for Ranger.

A few minutes in, Mom suggests we get a can of food. I breeze through the door, and he half rises, "Can I help you?"

"Um, no. Thanks. But, um, Ranger is, like, an autistic cat? He's special. You know, and he's a little bit skittish around strangers." I dash out again with a can of Fancy Feast.

And we find the cat at long last - Anna and I climbing through the underbrush to get him and carry him in with his solemn little face peering at The Professor like, "Who's that guy?"

Anna heads home and there's the awkward moment where we're all hugging her and telling her we love her and he steps forward and I cringe, thinking, Don't do it! Don't hug her. And he extends a hand and says it's nice to meet her.

Back inside, I tour him through the house - which, of course, was in no shape to receive visitors. When I flipped on the light in my room, I saw two things: the bra hanging on the bedpost and the tampon on the nightstand.

At halftime of the football game, I ask if he wants to take a walk. I take a deep breath, "I'm sorry about...well, the craziness," I say. "Welcome to the looney bin!"

He kind of laughs and I wonder what he really wants to say.

"I wish I could tell you that it's not usually like this." I pause. "But...you know, it kind of is."

He left shortly after that, and I closed the door behind me, leaned against it, shut my eyes and fully admitted that, in light of the control I lost over a simple evening's circumstances, there's no career for me in world domination.

Killer News

The Killers' newest studio album Day & Age will be out November 25. Check out the new single "Human" at the band's official site.

I'm Going to Disney World!

Okay, so not really. I am, however, going to the mouse city - if not the mouse house.

The occasion is that we got called in to do a branding session. I've played a supporting role in four or five of these for the creative director. But he can't go to this one, because it's such short notice. He tells the account lead, "Call Ashley."

I'm going to Orlando because the creative director, the man I aspire to be, says I can handle running the show. He even called me this morning, Jedi Master-style, and said, "I'm really excited for you to have this opportunity."

I fly out Sunday night with one of the management team who's going with me. Today I was on a conference call with Atlanta and San Diego. And there was this moment when it was all coming together, when I felt the adrenaline pumping as I made my check list and started the project research and recruited two juniors to help me, that I thought about how awesome it felt.

I love my job in the most nerdy, geeked-out, I-will-talk-about-marketing-on-a-date way, and I'm getting this opportunity to travel to and lead a big client meeting, and for a day, all modesty aside, I thought, I'm kicking ass and taking names - and I'm going to Disney World.

An Appeal to The Kurt

As those of us long in blogdom know, The Kurt possesses one quality in measure beyond any of the rest of us: mysteriousness. Though some have tried to unravel the innate mysteriousness of The Kurt, the man (men? pods?) remains shrouded in uncertainties, suppositions and theories. If he were still alive, Robert Stack would totally be standing in a misty alley somewhere talking about the supernatural phenomenon of The Kurt. Unfortunately for us all, it is unlikely that Robert Stack and a host of anonymous tipsters could pinpoint the whereabouts, vocation, truth of The Kurt. He's got one foot ahead of Bigfoot in that regard.

But, I am not here to appeal to The Kurt to reveal himself (herself? itself?) to me. Rather, I am here to beseech The Kurt to impart the wisdom of his ways. Because that quality which The Kurt possesses ad infinitum...well, I have ad zeronium. Help me, The Kurt. You're my only hope.

I am dating again, wandering around with the other singletons and trying to match up well. The problem is, I say too much. There's very little air of mystery around me after, oh, say thirty minutes. As you dear readers know, I'm quite proning to airing every last stitch of dirty laundry without a second thought. And I'm thinking that the male varietal might be more captivated by an air of mystery than the airing of my every thought. I try to hold my tongue. I try to consider how one would be mysterious, but it simply isn't an affectation I've mastered.

So, The Kurt, please consider a brief tutorial on mysteriousness. I'm quite sure you could get Time Life to publish it as an addendum to its Mysteries of the Unexplained series. Your guidance could be my ticket out of singledom. Please teach me how to hoodwink the boys into thinking I'm spectacularly mysterious - before I reveal my every waking-sleeping-eating-dreaming-breathing thought.

Thank you for your consideration.

Historia de un Letrero

Please watch this short film. I promise you'll be glad you did - you'll even forget that it's Monday.

untitled

At the Chase Street light, landing on the hood
legs delicately arced out, wings folded upward
a dusky beige underside hints at the topside pattern

On Boulevard, trees arch its width filtering sunlight
pinpoints fall on her windsurfing thirty-five miles an hour
bracing against metal, balancing on those spindly legs

Next right, I wonder at her reluctance to take flight
her patience to stay with me, to hold her position
those dun wings, one eye meets mine

and she vaults away in a jerk
landing on the sign to my right
blood orange fanning open on "twins."

Thursday Miscellany

* When I'm in the shower in the morning debating what to wear, I imagine my clothing options just like Cher's computer program in Clueless, sliding tops and bottoms back and forth for consideration in my mind.

* My mom has new glasses. This may explain why she purchased prune-flavored yogurt for me instead of mixed berry.

* Rumor has it that Johnny Depp is signing on to play The Riddler in the next installment of Batman. Oh please, oh please say it's true.

* NY Fashion Week purportedly featured models that demonstrated that "thin isn't so in" - several size 2s and 4s worked the runway this year. So go ahead and eat that ice cream, ladies.

* I sort of love my hairdryer. Like, it's been with me through a lot. It comforts me to count on it every morning.

* I'm going on a date tomorrow. A third date, actually.

* In one month? NEW Keane AND Ray LaMontagne. Perfect Symmetry and Gossip in the Grain drop Oct. 14.

* I can't believe Kenley got through with that abhorrent dress last night on ProRun. Although, Blayne's was an atrocity. I'm with Heidi, "Ooooh, that's bad."

* The debut of Fringe has me jonesing to pick up the Dawson's Creek series finale and watch it will eating a whole cookie cake by myself. I heart Pacey.

Peek-a-boo: A Series

On the Fringe

In case you missed the hour-forty-five premiere of J.J. Abram's Fringe on Fox tonight, there's an encore presentation on Sunday night. I found it...pretty riveting. Definitely kept me guessing, intrigued, questioning. And let's not forget about the eye candy. Here are some reasons you should watch:

1) Josh Jackson = hot, and I have a particularity to him since I once had my picture taken with him (true story)
2) Crazy mad scientists
3) There's science that you're pretty sure isn't real but then...you kind of wonder
4) Nobody ever has the right amount of clearance to get all the information
5) Josh Jackson = hot
6) For the few men who read this blog, there's a scene featuring the lead female in a rather scanty black bra & panty ensemble
7) The Pattern (the sinister puzzle we'll be puzzling out along the way)
8) Because it's J.J. Abrams and you know people are going to be talking about it around the water cooler
9) Josh Jackson = hot
10) For the love of God, haven't I killed enough TV shows? Help me boost the ratings, people.

Please Explain...

...Michael Phelps' facial hair in this photo.

Commentary from The Mike

Tonight on the phone, catching up with Mike, he says:

"So I was on a date with this girl last night - really attractive girl. But she smelled funny....She was hot, so I thought maybe I could get past it. But then I thought, thirty years down the road, I could be saying, 'My wife smells funny.'"

When asked how old she is:

"21."

"21??? Mike!"

"Yeah, but I'm a guy. I can get away with it."

"That makes me want to vomit."

"But you know it's true."

Tube Bits

As pointed out by the illustrious Pen, the fall TV season is upon us. I'm notorious for killing shows by liking them (like...Women's Murder Club, Studio 60, Carnivale...), but I remain undeterred and reviewed the fall lineup for this year's possibilities.

I will continue, of course, watching ProRun through the fall, and I confess, I got hooked into the premiere of Top Design the other night. Any show that includes the quote, "Every gay has a dog. Get over it." is one I'm likely to watch. Plus, they're going to be doing an episode where they design for former ProRun contestants including Santino and ANDRE!!! I can hardly wait to find out what happened to Andre!

I'll be adding to my regular ProRun viewing as other shows begin premiering - like HOUSE which premiers onthe 16th, and I AM STOKED - and I've decided to give a few new(er) shows a watch or two and see if they feel like regulars.

Fringe premieres this Tuesday at 9 p.m. on Fox. From J.J. Abrams of Lost and Alias fame, this is another puzzling conspiracy theory. And it includes the bonus of Josh Jackson - Pacey's all grown up y'all. I think I would've liked Lost if I had gotten hooked into it at the right time, so I'm going to be a good girl and watch the first ep and ride the wave with everybody else.

The Big Bang Theory starts on the 22nd at 8 on CBS. It's in its second season, so maybe I won't kill it just be checking on the first few eps of season 2. I need a little comedy in my life, and while House is hilarious, it's darkly so, and I hope maybe this will infuse a little light-hearted geek-omedy into my life.

Chuck, also in its second season, starts again on the 29th at 8 p.m. on NBC. The marketing team has done a stellar job on this one. The promos have me intrigued enough to tune in for the premiere. The question is will it deliver enough to keep me tuned in.

Big Bang and Chuck are in a competing time slot, as are Project Runway and Do Not Disturb, a new Fox comedy that I considered. Plus, I'll be picking up Grey's and possibly E.R. for old time's sake when they return, so it's questionable how many shows I'll really have the time and inclination to watch.

So much boob tube. So little time.

Voicemail of the Day

From STGD:
Okay, I'm officially changing my story. Hot dude behind me - out of frustration - just put his hands up to his face like MacCaulay Caulkin in Home Alone. And then I realized he's missing his front tooth. So...scratch everything I said earlier.

The Mysterious Allure of a Good Read

On Friday afternoon, when I left the office for a blissful three day weekend, I had three things on my mind: 1) football game traffic 2) sleep and 3) a good book. I was meeting Mom at the optical shop to pick up some new glasses. God bless her, she said she wanted me there to advise on her choice of frames so that she didn't walk out looking like a granny. Afterward, she wanted to stop by the library just down the street and pick up another title by the mystery author she's been reading, so I followed along behind her.

The week before, when roaming St. Louis, Jenn and I stopped into Left Bank, an independent bookstore. There, among the young adult staff picks was The Mysterious Benedict Society. The cover was intriguing and so I read over the dust jacket. I wrote down the title and author on a slip of paper in my purse so I wouldn't forget it.

So standing in the A-town library taking in that familiar smell that hadn't washed over me in more than a decade, I started digging through my bag for that errant scrap of paper. I looked it up, tracked it down and took home the almost-500-page tome.

And I just finished it. It reminded me a bit of Harry Potter - the way unlikely friendships are rendered, the inherent battle between good and evil and the position that children are far more clever and reliable than what they seem. (Now, Potter fans, I'm in no way indicating that the boy wizard has been equaled, but without any more trips to Hogwarts, I have to read something...). The great thing about The Mysterious Benedict Society is that it's got that same quality of an unlikely reality rendered in the real world - it's not a mystical fairy land. It also plays into - as I've discussed before - that secret hope we all harbor that we are more than we seem.

While some of the books themes read benignly enough in a children's book, they're positively ominous to me. A machine called the Whisperer that can control your thoughts? The Waiting Room, whose indescribable horror is never fully described. And the thought that - in order to be happy - we could ignore the world's problems, let go of hope, and embrace ambivalence. It's enough to make you think.

I thought it was a "stand-alone" but I just found out the sequel came out in May, so I'll be seeking that out in short order. Plus, Susan - whose book judgment I trust implicitly, since she also desperately loves Potter and hearts a good trashy romance - has gone so head over heels for Twilight that I'm going to pick it up, too - nothing like a good teenage girl falls in love with a vampire story to warm your heart.

Receptive: Pitcher Plant

Jubilance: Water Dance

Reflection: Angels and Lilies Among Glass

Accidental Serenity, Japanese Gardens

Gratitude: A Letter to the Universe

Dear Universe:
Thank you for the cool water trickling through my veins at last. Thank you for sending me the impulse to buy the Harper's Bazaar Fall Fashion issue so that I could read very nearly the whole four-pound book while waiting for a plane.

Thank you for an old, worn-in and wonderful friendship. For someone who cared enough to track down and drive to the only second-run theater in the St. Louis area still showing Sex & the City so that I could see it on the big screen. Thank you for the release mid-movie where I started to cry - and I so needed to. Thank you for a dream to own the Something Blue Satin Pump.

Thank you for time surrounded by flowers and plants of both the common and exotic variety. For time spent wandering through a woodland garden that transported my spirit to England. For the spontaneity to jump in a fountain and spend the rest of the afternoon slightly damp.

Thank you for chocolate - in martinis and cupcakes and mousse and truffle cake and plain old Hershey's chocolate bars eaten in a dark theater.

Thank you for art. For the burning red intensity of the Rothko. The charred haunting representation of Chernobyl in Burning Rods. For images and lines and color and textures that coalesced into visual emotion.

Thank you for a burst of laughter, for airplaning around a living room singing "That's How You Know" - badly. Thank you for turning laughter into giggles.

Thank you, Universe, for a little break. Thank you for the joy of hugs, the joy of words between friends. The joy of silence between friends. The joy of food shared with friends.

Thank you for friends. And thank you, friend.

Love,
Ashley

Silence

After yesterday's blissful nothingness, I'm going to embrace it for a few days. I'm going to dive into it like cool, blue undulating water and let it wash over me. In the ongoing dog days of summer, I'm going to live in deep water. I'm going to turn down the volume on life, let the waves mute the outside world and slice through the crystal-clean silence. I'm going to live in my head for a few days and make that a nice place to be. I'm going to see a friend and let that nourish my soul. I'll be back soon...until then, enjoy the silence.

Lazy Sunday

This morning, Mom made an executive decision: we'd all had enough.

Instead of getting up at the regular time for church on Sunday, she got up, let the Ranger cat out the door and went back to bed. I finally cracked an eyelid around 10 and ambled down the hall. Mom was still in her pajamas. Dad had just thrown on a shirt to go downstairs. I could hear the coffeepot downstairs was issuing the gurgles of its first round of percolation.

We all sat around drinking coffee in our PJs until almost noon, when we realized we were hungry. We had eggs, grits, toast and fresh sliced tomatoes. I indulged in a third cup of coffee.

I took a long, hot shower. I let my hair mostly air dry. I put on a cami-tank top and shorts. I read a book. About 2 o'clock, I fell asleep again on the couch in the living room.

Dad fell asleep watching today's NASCAR race. When I woke up, Mom was back in bed reading a book.

The phone didn't ring. We talked in snatches, but it was mostly quiet. Calm. Serene.

We had tomato sandwiches for dinner. And then retreated to our respective druthers - books and computer games. Catching up on emails.

And the sun fell below the horizon and night stole quietly across the lawn. And for the first time in weeks, I felt still inside. Instead of droning bees stinging every corner of my mind, it was whisper-quiet.

Even though the weekend is over, the Sunday Dread seems to be held at bay by - of all things - nothingness.

Separated by - Olympic Edition

Separated by the 9-0 Area Code
(Phelps' swimmer pal Ryan Lochte and Jason Priestly, aka Brendan Walsh)











Separated by a Cape & Kryptonite
(Amazingly strong and fascinating Chinese rings gymnast Chen Yibing and Superman)












Separated by the Mean Green
(Big-mouthed swaggering French swimmer Alain Bernard and Incredible Hulk Lou Ferrigno)













Separated by Slightly Annoying Scoring Tips
(Gymnastics gold medalist and commentator Tim Daggett and consumer advocate Clark Howard)













Separated by the West Water Wing
(Swimmer Aaron Piersol and Bradley Whitford)

Why So Scrunchious?

I understand that Olympic competition isn't about vanity. As noted by Nik, the swimsuits tend to make the women look, well, less than feminine. And let's face it - there's zero room for boobs at the Olympic games. But one thing I don't understand...is the scrunchy.

I know the gymnasts have to keep their hair out of their eyes. Whether for sheer aerodynamics or because a stray wisp will cost them a one one-hundredths deduction. But that's what hairspray is for. Don't have any? See the US Men's Gymnastics team.

The use of the scrunchy as an instrument of severe hairstyling doesn't even make sense. Back in fourth grade when I wore these - hey, hey, they were acceptable at the time - they were rather loose fitting and I always had to wear a rubberband under them. The scrunchy was simply for aesthetics.

And though I don't condone the millions of barrettes dotting the scalps of the competitors, I can see how these clips would keep the hair at bay. But the scrunchy - oh, odious scrunchy! Why dost thou plague the Olympians?

I find myself particularly surprised by the US athletes sporting them. Somehow, I can convince myself that in Eastern Europe, scrunchies are still partying like it's 1999. In China? Maybe it feng shui to wear a scrunchy. But in the good ol' U.S. of A.? I know it's simply not done. Low marks for the fashion faux pas.

An Addiction of Olympic Proportions

Last night, I crouched in our living room at 11:45, tense, coiled and watched Jason Lezak start to overtake Alain Borden. And then I leapt into the air and whisper screamed, “Go! Go! Go!” Lezak touched the wall just eight hundredths of a second ahead of Borden, who had bragged earlier in the day that the French team would “smash the Americans.” Michael Phelps let out what could only be described as a barbaric yelp – and took home his second gold of the ’08 summer Olympics in Beijing.

This is the confession of an Olympic junkie. So far, I have watched men’s and women’s gymnastics, beach volleyball, water polo, double scull rowing, badminton, weightlifting, swimming, synchronized diving – need I go on? Events I haven’t yet watched likely just haven’t happened yet. If it’s Olympic competition, I will watch it. (With one exception – I don’t enjoy watching Kobe rock his NBA star attitude during the Olympics, so I don’t watch men’s basketball…but that’s another story.)

I love the stories – the journeys from humble beginnings to greatness. I love the unbelievable feats – 41-year-old Dara Torres already taking silver; a 33-year-old woman competing on Germany’s gymnastics team. Michael Phelps and his quest for record gold. It makes me scream and cry and jump up and down. I want to hug someone. I want to call them heroes. I want to give the world a Coke. Go World!

P.S. I'm posting this in between watching the men's gymnastics finals - at quarter past midnight!

I...

...went to an event tonight that was outside. People. Come on now. It's August. In Georgia.

...want to post more than a list but it's like, my brain is too...humid?

...kind of love Paulo on Shear Genius

...loaned my intern my She's the Man DVD because she hadn't seen it. Criminal.

...can't stop listening to Adele's "Chasing Pavements" and Estelle's "American Boy" (featuring Kanye)

...have eaten nothing but tomato sandwiches all week. Seriously.

...am playing the world's longest game of phone tag with Kim Shable

...hate being disappointed in people

....think that Terry on Project Runway kinda looks like Michael Jackson, circa Thriller, but maybe it's just that red jacket she wore last week

....thought Paris Hilton's mock presidential ad was hilarious. Well done, Paris Hilton.

...have never before been reading so many books at one time

...bought a plane ticket to go see Jenn in St. Louis in two weeks!

...am tired. And going to bed now.

TTLY Syndrome

I've always had a particularly pronounced sense memory. Smells, sounds, even a certain atmosphere, light - all provoke the return of sharp visceral memories for me. This little trick came in handy at times during acting classes when I was in college. But on a day to day basis, this sensitivity piles up into what I refer to as TTLY Syndrome or "This Time Last Year Syndrome" (TTLYS).

The oppressive heat and humidity of the last fews days have thrown me into last year's frame of mind. Indeed, the past few weeks have brought on a bewildering myriad of memories. This time last year, I was interviewing for The Job. I was feeling bereft and rootless. I was waiting.

And inside, away from the shimmering heat, in the cool darkness of my brain, the chemicals were sliding out of the proper equation. My stomach was burning, turning itself inside out almost every night. The Panic was coming.

This time last year was a tipping point, away from what was and toward what is. It was a precarious lean into the unknown. Everything was tossed into the air, floating down in a slow-motion freefall with no end in sight. Everything was all questions and no answers. The unknown was my only friend.

It's back again, like a second wave. I am waiting. Waiting for a movement away from this stalemate of grief. This terrible endgame, all the pieces on the board and nowhere to go. The Panic is rising. I waffle on the edge of nausea, try to push it down, pray through it. The unknown is siddling up next to me...it's reminding me that in a year, I haven't made very many strides. I haven't built the life I envisioned.

The heat lashes down on me when I walk out of work each day. I stumble through the evenings, fight the TTLYS washing through my veins. I remind myself that I have moved down the road, made progress. That I'm waiting and panicking and befriending the unknown because I had not choice when life jumped the rails in February.

Tonight, Dad said to me, "I feel like...we're never going to be normal again." And somehow, seeing the weight of it on his face, hearing the crushing reality in his words, I thought, "Not any time soon."

As I stare down the barrel of TTLYS right now, I rue the next season of it - the last season where everything was normal. And that season followed by the one where everything fell apart.

The Breakfast Club: Now Requiring AARP Membership

I went to see The Dark Knight on Thursday with my intern, Kat. She's 21. Before the previews started, the new JC Penny back-to-school promo aired. It features a revved up version of "Don't You Forget About Me" and steals the general premise of The Breakfast Club, compacting it into one minute to sell jeans and other tween fashion sensations.

I leaned over to Kat. "You know, the funny thing about this is that the audience they're trying to appeal to wasn't even born when this movie came out."

"Oh," she said. "This is based on a movie?"

Potpourri

*Helped Mom and Justin can six gallon-sized freezer bags of fresh tomatoes today. Dad picked up two five-gallon buckets from a friend of his on Friday night. We've had tomatoes for every meal since - including Justin's and Mom's summer marinara pasta sauce with sausage. Deeelish.

* Went to see The Dark Knight with my dear intern on Thursday night. It was delightful to go with a 21-year-old who giggled every time I mentioned how hot Christian Bale is. Oh, and the movie lives up to the hype.

* Dreamed last night that I was at a conference (in Hotel Entrapment, as fate would have it) at which I was forced to attend a Civil War reenactment.

* Due to my father's weekly watching, I'm...um...kind of beginning to like NASCAR. And, for the record, Kasey Kahne is very cute.

* The Tales of Beetle the Bard will be available from Amazon in December. I reserve judgment. It's both thrilling and...well, also potentially a recipe for extreme disappointment. I hope it takes us back to a delicious, bittersweet bit of the Potterverse...and doesn't fall flatter than an overused Fanged Frisbee.

* I wish I could resist the urge to click on the People.com link and feed the Brangelina Baby frenzy. But...I...just...couldn't...not...click.

* Hired a real dynamo at the office last week. No really. She's conversational in 13 languages. I felt my job security slipping.

* School is starting this week. It makes me want to buy pencils. And a Trapper Keeper.

* Today we made blackberry cobbler out of the last of the summer blackberries, and it was August.