1,001 books; or, for a while there, I thought I was illiterate

Well, people, I'm doing a meme. Again. Because I really am that desperate for something to say.

I mean, sure, I could write a blog post on how I find Sarah Palin eerily unlike myself, even though we're both brunettes who wear sexy librarian glasses and live in a cold climate. But you wouldn't want to read that.

You see, Palin has fans who are planning on voting for her because she's just like them.

And that's one reason I'm not voting for her. It's because--no. I can't say it. It would come across as egotistical, and I don't do egotistical. What I really do best is a kind of sprightly self-denigration.

But I can't talk about Sarah Palin without coming up with adjectives like provincial, tacky, uneducated, inarticulate, and bumptious. And this leads me to the inescapable conclusion that I think of myself as sophisticated, classy, educated, articulate, and socially aware.

And I simply can't go there.

So I'm going to talk about books.

***

OK, here is this 1,001 Books meme thing I grabbed from Jasmine. Except I did it my way. Instead of copying and pasting the entire list and then bolding and italic-ing and whatever, I just deleted all the books I hadn't read. So these are all books I've read, I just couldn't get rid of the bolding and italics and indenting and auto-numbering and such. (You simply would not believe what the html looks like beneath this smooth, dare I say it? Sophisticated facade.)

2000s

I have read exactly no books on the list of 69 titles from the 2000s.

1990s

I have read exactly no books from the 114 titles from the 1990s.

(Wait a minute. Maybe I'm less sophisticated than I thought.)

1900 - 1980s

1. Money: A Suicide Note – Martin Amis
2. Rabbit is Rich – John Updike
3. Confederacy of Dunces – John Kennedy Toole
4. The Name of the Rose – Umberto Eco
   
5. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy – Douglas Adams
6. The World According to Garp – John Irving
7. Interview With the Vampire – Anne Rice
8. Breakfast of Champions – Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
9. Fear of Flying – Erica Jong
10. Rabbit Redux – John Updike
    
11. Slaughterhouse-five – Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
12. Portnoy’s Complaint – Philip Roth
13. The Godfather – Mario Puzo
14. Wide Sargasso Sea – Jean Rhys
15. Cat’s Cradle – Kurt Vonnegut
16. The Bell Jar – Sylvia Plath
17. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest – Ken Kesey
18. Franny and Zooey – J.D. Salinger
19. To Kill a Mockingbird – Harper Lee
20. Rabbit, Run – John Updike
    
21. The Once and Future King – T.H. White
22. Lolita – Vladimir Nabokov
23. The Story of O – Pauline Réage
24. Lord of the Flies – William Golding
25. Lucky Jim – Kingsley Amis
26. Foundation – Isaac Asimov
27. The Catcher in the Rye – J.D. Salinger
28. The End of the Affair – Graham Greene 1940s
    
29. I, Robot – Isaac Asimov
30. Love in a Cold Climate – Nancy Mitford
31. Nineteen Eighty-Four – George Orwell
32. The Plague – Albert Camus
33. Brideshead Revisited – Evelyn Waugh
34. Animal Farm – George Orwell
35. The Pursuit of Love – Nancy Mitford
36. Native Son – Richard Wright
37. Good Morning, Midnight – Jean Rhys 1930s
    
38. Rebecca – Daphne du Maurier
39. The Hobbit – J.R.R. Tolkien
40. Gone With the Wind – Margaret Mitchell
41. Absalom, Absalom! – William Faulkner
42. The Nine Tailors – Dorothy L. Sayers
43. Thank You, Jeeves – P.G. Wodehouse
44. Miss Lonelyhearts – Nathanael West
45. Murder Must Advertise – Dorothy L. Sayers
46. Brave New World – Aldous Huxley
47. Cold Comfort Farm – Stella Gibbons
48. The Thin Man – Dashiell Hammett
49. The Glass Key – Dashiell Hammett
50. The Maltese Falcon – Dashiell Hammett
    
51. Look Homeward, Angel – Thomas Wolfe
52. Orlando – Virginia Woolf
53. Lady Chatterley’s Lover – D.H. Lawrence
54. Quartet – Jean Rhys
55. Remembrance of Things Past – Marcel Proust
56. The Great Gatsby – F. Scott Fitzgerald
57. The Magic Mountain – Thomas Mann
58. A Passage to India – E.M. Forster
59. Ulysses – James Joyce
60. The Fox – D.H. Lawrence
61. Women in Love – D.H. Lawrence
62. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man – James Joyce 1910s
    
63. Of Human Bondage – William Somerset Maugham
64. Tarzan of the Apes – Edgar Rice Burroughs
65. Sons and Lovers – D.H. Lawrence
66. Death in Venice – Thomas Mann
67. Howards End – E.M. Forster 1900s
    
68. A Room With a View – E.M. Forster
69. The Jungle – Upton Sinclair
70. Where Angels Fear to Tread – E.M. Forster
71. Heart of Darkness – Joseph Conrad
72. The Hound of the Baskervilles – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
73. Buddenbrooks – Thomas Mann

1800s

1. The Turn of the Screw – Henry James
2. Dracula – Bram Stoker
3. Jude the Obscure – Thomas Hardy
4. The Yellow Wallpaper – Charlotte Perkins Gilman
5. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
6. New Grub Street – George Gissing
7. Tess of the D’Urbervilles – Thomas Hardy
8. The Picture of Dorian Gray – Oscar Wilde
9. Hunger – Knut Hamsun
10. She – H. Rider Haggard
11. The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde – Robert Louis Stevenson
12. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn – Mark Twain
13. Against the Grain – Joris-Karl Huysmans
14. Ben-Hur – Lew Wallace
15. Nana – Émile Zola
16. The Brothers Karamazov – Fyodor Dostoevsky
17. Return of the Native – Thomas Hardy
18. Drunkard – Émile Zola
19. Middlemarch – George Eliot
20. Through the Looking Glass, and What Alice Found There – Lewis Carroll
21. Phineas Finn – Anthony Trollope
22. The Moonstone – Wilkie Collins
23. Little Women – Louisa May Alcott
24. The Last Chronicle of Barset – Anthony Trollope
25. Crime and Punishment – Fyodor Dostoevsky
26. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland – Lewis Carroll
27. Notes from the Underground – Fyodor Dostoevsky
28. The Water-Babies – Charles Kingsley
29. Great Expectations – Charles Dickens
30. The Woman in White – Wilkie Collins
31. A Tale of Two Cities – Charles Dickens
32. Adam Bede – George Eliot
33. Madame Bovary – Gustave Flaubert
34. North and South – Elizabeth Gaskell
35. Hard Times – Charles Dickens
36. Walden – Henry David Thoreau
37. Bleak House – Charles Dickens
38. Villette – Charlotte Brontë
39. Uncle Tom’s Cabin; or, Life Among the Lonely – Harriet Beecher Stowe
40. Moby-Dick – Herman Melville
41. The Scarlet Letter – Nathaniel Hawthorne
42. David Copperfield – Charles Dickens
43. Shirley – Charlotte Brontë
44. Mary Barton – Elizabeth Gaskell
45. Wuthering Heights – Emily Brontë
46. Jane Eyre – Charlotte Brontë
47. Vanity Fair – William Makepeace Thackeray
48. The Three Musketeers – Alexandre Dumas
49. The Purloined Letter – Edgar Allan Poe
50. The Pit and the Pendulum – Edgar Allan Poe
51. A Christmas Carol – Charles Dickens
52. The Fall of the House of Usher – Edgar Allan Poe
53. Oliver Twist – Charles Dickens
54. The Hunchback of Notre Dame – Victor Hugo
55. Last of the Mohicans – James Fenimore Cooper
56. Ivanhoe – Sir Walter Scott
57. Frankenstein – Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
58. Persuasion – Jane Austen
59. Emma – Jane Austen
60. Mansfield Park – Jane Austen
61. Pride and Prejudice – Jane Austen
62. Sense and Sensibility – Jane Austen

1700s

1. Evelina – Fanny Burney
2. Humphrey Clinker – Tobias George Smollett
3. Tristram Shandy – Laurence Sterne
4. Rasselas – Samuel Johnson
5. Fanny Hill – John Cleland
6. Tom Jones – Henry Fielding
7. Pamela – Samuel Richardson
8. A Modest Proposal – Jonathan Swift
9. Gulliver’s Travels – Jonathan Swift
10. Moll Flanders – Daniel Defoe
11. Robinson Crusoe – Daniel Defoe
12. A Tale of a Tub – Jonathan Swift

Pre-1700

1. The Pilgrim’s Progress – John Bunyan
2. The Thousand and One Nights – Anonymous;
   
3. Metamorphoses – Ovid
4. Aesop’s Fables – Aesopus

***

Still with me?

Perhaps later, gentle reader, I'll let you know what I actually thought of these books. But not now.

No, I'll save those ruminations for those long, cold winter evenings by the fire. Because nothing beats the warm glow you get as book after book is being lobbed onto the flames by a former beauty queen from Alaska.

Hee!

Drunk blogging a Girl Scout camp-out

Thank God for rain.

We had scheduled a Girl Scout camp out, sort of a gateway camp out, actually, which was to take place at one of our leader's houses, in her yard. There were going to be tents, and a campfire, and a walk to the beach for flashlight tag, and doughnuts the next morning.

Well, it poured rain all day. Which meant that we'd be sleeping on the very wet ground. And then there's that thing where tents leak wherever you touch the canvas.

So we had a pizza party at her house, instead. Indoors. And the girls watched a DVD down in her home theater. And then sang Karaoke.

And I? Ate pizza and salad and drank lots of wine. And sang a karaoke "Material Girl" with one of the other moms. And then came home and caught up with my husband. Instead of sleeping in a tent with a bunch of 6th grade girls.

It may be the wine speaking, but can I have an A-MEN for the rainy weather?

A-MEN!

I'd rate this entry M for "Mature Audiences"

except it's so obviously the product of an extremely immature person.

OK, this is dumb.

But sometimes when I'm bored, or I'm looking for a blog post idea (because I'm a member of Blog365 who has blogged every damned day since January 4th, and sometimes I'm kind of hard up for something to say) I go to a search engine or Amazon or YouTube and type something in--not just to see what I'm supposedly searching for, but the things that are kinda sorta related to what I'm looking for.

It's a sort of six degrees of separation, based, I suppose, on an algorithm that tracks what other people have searched for. So for example, a search for "peace signs" might eventually bring me to a biography of Winston Churchill.


Anyway, tonight I went to YouTube. Where I often find the most amazing things.

My latest YouTube thing is how-to videos. I discovered a link to one on a shopping blog--I clicked on the link, and the next thing I knew, I was watching a video of a woman demonstrating how to get the effect of the latest MAC makeup collection by using what she already had.

I watched this with a sort of amused fascination. I love makeup, and my first on-line community was a bunch of makeup freaks, so I certainly know a lot of women who are even more obsessed with makeup than I am. But we are amateur accumulators rather than quasi-professional makeup collectors or makeup artist wannabes.

I mean, uploading a video of yourself putting on makeup? Who knew anyone did this? And this woman was positively plastering herself with eyeshadow--and seemed very pleased with the effect, even though she ended up looking like a Manga character.

So anyway. Enough with the rambling self-justifications.

Tonight I went to YouTube and typed in "how to walk in high heels."

Well. You wouldn't believe the number of hits. And not just from trannies and fetishists, which of course, you'd expect to see. (There were plenty of them.)

But there were a surprising number of perfectly serious videos that purported to actually teach women how to walk in heels. What's next, how to put on a bra? How to brush your teeth?

And there were videos by people trying to teach fitness classes for women wearing high-heeled shoes. Which I guess would be strippers who need to get back in shape after too many evenings spent swilling "champagne cocktails."

But there were also sub-genres of film-making that I never knew existed. A reasonably sophisticated person could predict the existence of stiletto-wearing women fetish films. And we've all heard of snuff films, right?

But did you know there were snuff films for cell phones that feature stiletto-wearing women?



They seem to be very popular in Germany.

Silly Germans! I hate my cell phone, too, but when I get mad at it, I just let the battery run down until it dies.

A tale of two lunches

This was a hard week for me. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a jeans-wearing housewife with a bad case of blogger's butt and a closet full of clothes that are too tight. And yet, I needed to head into the city five times this week to go to some kind of glamorous event.

The strain almost killed me.

On top of which, two of the events were luncheons. As in ladies-who-luncheon.

Frankly, if you want me to have a rotten time, invite me to lunch and then call it a luncheon. I'll hate it.

Now, one of these luncheons was a program of a non-profit whose board I currently adorn. If not for that, I would have blown it off, and not just because of my enormous wardrobe challenges. It was one of those deals where there was a talk, then the luncheon. And the talk was going to be about 18th century furniture.

Here is a laboriously-produced Excel chart depicting my interest in antique furniture:






I knew the lecture itself would be less than fascinating and more of an opportunity for me to get into a Zen state and mentally alphabetize my spice rack. And I'm not whining about that. Advance notice does a great deal to mitigate the pain of 30 or 40 minutes of feeling bored, so my real problem was afterwards at the luncheon.

I think after sitting up straight and doing my best Nancy Reagan imitation, where I look like I've been paying all kinds of attention (and unfortunately, actually HAVE been paying attention so that I'll be going to my grave knowing way more than any sane person would ever want to know about the variations in carving on the feet of 18th century tables and chairs) I deserve to have a nice meal.

But this was just not my kind of meal. There was this salad of frisee (that bitter curly lettuce that doesn't appear to want to go into your mouth, and instead, wants to stick itself up your nose) with wobbly poached egg on top followed by huge plateful of salmon (which I don't like) and two tiny new potatoes and pureed butternut squash (which I do, but there wasn't enough of it. So I found myself looking hungrily at other peoples' plates, wondering whether it would seem really tacky to ask them whether they were planning on eating their puree.) And then there was a slice of some kind of awful dark chocolate tart flavored with orange, ew. And NO WINE. And then finally, blessedly, some coffee.

OK, the other luncheon was sponsored by Tiffany & Co. I have no idea how I ended up on the invitation list for this event, but this was the single most incredible luncheon I have ever attended, and not only was it free, but we walked out with all kinds of loot.

The Tiffany luncheon was to announce to launch of wowowow.com. It's a web site produced by Liz Smith, Candace Bergen, Whoopie Goldberg, Julia Reed, Judith Martin (a/k/a Miss Manners) and a bunch of other amazing women.

So guess who was at the luncheon?

I should say here that that at least in Chicago, if there is a big name on the invitation, there's a 95 percent chance that said big name is hanging around his chalet in Gstaad or his beach house in Malibu, or basically, is anywhere except at the benefit. And yet, at this luncheon for about 50 women, sponsored and paid for by Tiffany & Co., were

Judith Martin (Miss Manners), Julia Reed, and Liz Smith

And the tables were decorated with Tiffany jewelry. Diamonds? Check. Great big South Seas pearls the size of golf balls? Check. Those enamel Jean Schlumberger bracelets that sell for $18,000 each? There were piles of them on the tables for people to play with.

And everyone had a sterling silver "Return to Tiffany" book mark at their setting, as a party favor.

And the food was really good. OK, there was Caesar Salad and chicken with rice and sugar snap peas, which isn't all that exciting, but there were also individually-prepared chocolate souffles with crme anglaise and fresh raspberries.

And the authors were signing free books for us.

And it turns out that Miss Manners is a fan of Donna Leon, whom I adore.

More important, Miss Manners sat at my table at lunch, and just so you know, she rested her arms on the table. Which, OK, it wasn't her elbows, but still.

Honestly, people, this was heaven. I wish my wedding had been even half as luxurious and lovely. I don't even care that wowowow.com is a very slick website with high quality content that will keep readers away in droves from the penny-ante likes of this blog. That's how good this lunch was.

So, gentle readers, what have we learned? I can be bought. And don't make me sit through a slideshow of antique furniture again. I'm begging you.

Frequently Asked Questions

I'm really enjoying FaceBook. A bunch of my friends have joined, and there's always something new happening. Except over in the sidebars, where I keep getting asked the same questions, over and over. So I thought I'd put together a FAQ for FaceBook. Here you go:

1. Brian Wilson Live?
Actually, this looks like someone wearing a Barack Obama Halloween mask.

2. Muggle Quidditch 2.0?2.0? Please don't tell me there was a Muggle Quidditch 1.0

3. Monetize your blog

Oh, go verbatize yourself.

4. Interested in Fashion?

Well, yes. Yes I am.

5. House, M.D. Fan?
Yes I said yes I will Yes.

More political insights from Poppy Buxom

Good evening. This is an extraordinary period for Poppy Buxom's kitchen.

Over the past few weeks, many members of the Buxom family have felt anxiety about her cooking and her so-called "cleaning up." She understands their worry and their frustration.

So she proposes that the federal government hire an indefinite number of cooks and maids so that Buxoms and other lovers of fine food and wine can avoid food poisoning and resume eating.

This rescue effort is not aimed at preserving any individual person or family. It is aimed at preserving the Buxoms' overall health, as well as the health of their friends, relatives, contractors, lawn guys, and the guy who comes around quarterly to make sure mice don't move in.

How did her kitchen reach this point? Well, most Home Economists agree that the problems we're witnessing today developed over a long period of time. For more than a decade, a massive amount of internet technology has flowed into Poppy Buxom's kitchen from wireless DSL modems, making her kitchen into an attractive and secure place to blog, email, Twitter, FaceBook, and generally fritter away a lot of time.

Now, Poppy Buxom believes housewives who spend hours in front of their lap tops--who, in short, make bad decisions--should be allowed to end up overweight, depressed, and divorced.

And under normal circumstances, she would have followed this course. But these are not normal circumstances. The household is not functioning properly. There has been a widespread loss of cleanliness. Major sectors of the Buxoms' food-preparation system are at risk of shutting down.

The household's top home economic experts warn that, without immediate action by health inspectors, the Buxoms could slip into a culinary panic, and much projectile vomiting would occur.

The choice, therefore is clear. Spend the money on kitchen help now, or rack up a huge hospital bill. Poppy believes you should hire the kitchen help--regardless of what it costs you.

Together we will show the world once again what kind of family the Buxoms are: one that tackles problems head on, by going to the American taxpayer with their hands out. A family where Mr. and Mrs. Buxom come together to make huge messes for other people to clean up. And finally, a kitchen where bacteria of every background can work hard, develop their talents, and realize their dreams.

P. S. This is much funnier than anything I could write.

Political insights, courtesy of The Onion

McCain�s Economic Plan For Nation: "Everyone Marry A Beer Heiress"

Another blow to Ecumenism

Today my son and I went to church. My daughter is an irreligious heathen and my husband couldn't be bothered, but I managed to talk my son into joining the choir, so for a few weeks now we've had our Sunday morning routine: we get to church at 9:00, robe up, warm up, sing the 9:30 service, and then at 10:30 he has an hour-long confirmation class.

Now, I wasn't adamant about sending him to confirmation class. I figure a boy who has never gone to church regularly is already making a considerable lifestyle change in joining a choir.

Especially this choir. There are about 75 kids in the choir. It starts in third grade, and they go through a choir curriculum modeled on English cathedral and collegiate chapel choir curricula. As they progress, they wear slightly different vestments. The first year all you get is the basic choir robe. Your second year you get a surplice to wear on top (code name: the puff) and beginning with your third year, you add crosses, first silver, then gold, which go on different colored ribbons. I haven't figured out the ribbon thing. It's complicated. It reminds me of the belt system in karate.



Anyway, it's a huge choir, and it's serious. The kids stay in it through high school. I suspect this is partly because of the trips. Every other year they go to England where they're a resident choir at a cathedral.

Next August it will be Salisbury, and in August 2011, it will be Canterbury.

Now because I sing in the alto section, I get to go on the trips, too.

And this explains why I didn't put all that much pressure on my son to sign up for confirmation class. I was too busy wearing him down to a nubbin to make him agree to be in the choir.


But my friend Fiddledeedee shooed him up the stairs with her son in the beginning of September, and history was made. Now here he is getting his first formal religious education! And again, these people are serious. He came out of confirmation class today with all kinds of materials.


And how much fruit is it bearing? I'll let you be the judge.

He was telling me today about this fantasy world he's been creating for a few years now. Apparently, it's a very inclusive--you might even say politically-correct world. And he was telling me about the different kinds of characters he had invented for it:

Poppy: So, do you have any Asians?
Young Master Buxom: Yes, two.
Poppy: Blacks?
YMB: Four.
P: Any gay characters?
YMB: Yeah, main character's brother is gay. That way people will realize there's nothing wrong with being gay.
P: What about Jews?
YMB: The main character is Jewish.
P: OK. Now what about Catholics?
YMB: What's that?


All photos taken from the church website by disobeying the eighth commandment, unless you're Catholic (whatever that means) when it's the seventh.

Apparently, the call of my Mr. Rogers cardigan and sneakers was just too strong.

I feel old fartdom creeping up on me like mildew on a shower curtain. And this is why.

We went to a friend's 50th birthday party tonight. It was fun--lots of nibbles, lots of wine, tons of people packed into their apartment. Huge cake the size of a garbage can cover covered with candles.

Well, the party started at 6:00 and we got there around 6:30. And at one point, after we'd been at the party for a while, I found myself looking at my watch to see how we were doing. And it was only 8:30.

We had a babysitter and had told her we were planning on leaving the party at 10:00, which would get us home at 11:00.

But I found myself thinking--would it really make a difference to the success of this party if we stayed until 10:00? Not really. Not with 100 people in the apartment.

So I asked my husband what he thought about leaving at 9:00. He thought that would be fine.

And then I thought, why wait until 9:00? Why not leave now? Get an early start on the drive home? Get out of the party clothes and into something comfy?

People, this may have been our friend's 50th birthday party, but I swear, I feel old fartdom creeping up on me.

My only consolation was that we didn't ride down the elevator by ourselves. Other couples were also pooping out.

What's next? Pin the tail on the wheelchair?

I'm trying to finish a meme

and at the moment, it hasn't become all that fascinating. Perhaps my standards are too high, but its current incarnation hasn't reached that pitch of perfection that my readers have come to expect from me.

So I'll just point out that this morning I posted at Mamarazzi, where for once I wasn't making fun of Madonna, Brangelina, or Britney.

Want to guess who the target was this time?

Here's a hint: love means never having to put down the crack pipe.

I'm extremely grumpy

and tired.

More tomorrow.

Porn for Joke

1. She's young
2. She's rapier-smart
3. She's into marshmallows.

Live-blogging an 11-year-old TV program

Hey, I could have live-blogged the first episode of season five of House (which was awesome) but I had to record it because it's on ridiculously early here in the wholesome midwest.

And I didn't watch The Biggest Loser, either, even though last year at this time I was live-blogging about the man-boobs, or moobs.

So now I'm catching up with the 1990s, a period of time when I was either working on a Ph.D. or having babies and was basically too busy and/or brain-dead to watch a lot of television. I remember watching Northern Exposure and Third Rock from the Sun. And there was always MST3K. But I've never watched Buffy.

Not even one episode.

I know, right? The show that everyone says is the best show ever, and I've never seen it. Until now. Episode 1, Season 1 is playing--via Flixter--in a different window while I blog this.

So now you're dying to hear my reaction to this amazing cultural icon, right?

OK. I hate to say it, but horror is really not my thing. Call me crazy, but I tend to get creeped out by it. However, I'm a fairly adaptable curmudgeon, and I figure I'll get used to it. Vampires are way trendy right now. Again. I mean, they're sort of a classic ... Bela Lugosi, Dark Shadows, Anne Rice novels, Twilight ... it seems every decade has its vampire story.

But the Buffy seems so sort of ... well, simultaneously gory and stupid that I'm mostly watching the clothes.

I mean, come on, teenaged girls with pants that go all the way up to their waists? What could be more fascinating? They couldn't be more exotic if they were wearing Gibson Girl shirtwaists or bobby socks and poodle skirts.

So tell me. What's your take on Buffy?

Either my son has a secret life as a figure skater

or his school wants to completely incapacitate me.

Tomorrow I have to get up at 2:45 a.m. in order to get him out of bed and up the street to board the bus at 3:15 to go to the airport to fly to Washington, DC, where he'll be taking part in the school's annual four-day patriotic gruelathon.

I thought the only people who had to do things like this were the parents of wee little ice-mice who are the bottom of the barrel when it comes time for assigning rink time at the local ice rink.

You may remember that Saturday morning 6:00 a.m. departure for the Music in the Parks competition followed by hours and hours at Six Flags Great America. This was a twelve-hour day, and as everyone knows, a day spent chaperoning the sixth grade boys, is a day without sunshine. Now for you, this might be only a link you won't click on, or perhaps a dim memory of a blog entry. But to me, this is Post Amusement Park Chaperonage Stress Syndrome material.

So I thought the school could do no worse.

But I was wrong.

Two-effing-forty-five in the ack emma, people!

I'm going to bed now.

I've been neglecting my inner introvert

You know how most bloggers eventually get around to posting an entry about how they don't really feel like blogging any more, that real life is keeping them so busy they don't have time, and they've said it all, anyway, and who needs all this navel-gazing?

Well, not me.

People who know me in real life always burst out laughing when I describe myself as introverted. And that's probably because in real life, I'm following people around like the Ancient Mariner, talking at them until their ears run blood, force-feeding them witticisms (or fart jokes--after all, even Homer nods) and making them pay attention to ME, ME, ME.

But then I need to go home and hole up for a while. As what's his name--that French smartypants--might have said, "Cultivez vos lil Green Patches."

In case you don't know what I'm referring to, that's an idiotic Facebook application. That I've been known to play with for hours at a time. (While listening to an audiobook. It's not that fascinating.)

Anyway. I've decided I need to pay stricter attention to the huge part of my personality that doesn't like to talk on the phone, doesn't want to go out to lunch, doesn't want to go to black tie events, etc., etc., etc. I'm going to blow off every social engagement I can get away with, because I need to conserve my strength for other things, like my house, my children, my husband, my horrible volunteer jobs, and my sanity.

The good thing is the internet will probably be seeing more of me than usual. At least, I hope you'll be pleased.

In which I reveal myself as a crazed fan girl

So Friday night I had to go to this extremely deluxe benefit, the grand opening of the new building that will house Chicago's Joffrey Ballet.

Let me first set the record straight by informing you that to this party--the single most expensive benefit I've ever gone to--I wore a $40 dress I eBayed last year or maybe the year before--whenever I realized that I was not going to lose the twenty or so pounds I'd found.

So there were tours of the building and performances which I ignored, and drinking and eating which I did my best to do justice to. Especially the caviar.

Now, I had never seen so much press at a benefit. I mean, this was a party for about 200 people, and I spotted at least four different people taking pictures, as well as a videographer, and someone who was obviously a reporter (wearing street clothes, taking notes, asking questions.) And I realized that the person being interviewed was Harold Ramis.

Now, I knew he's a Chicagoan, and I'd noticed pictures of him in articles about various benefits, but you know, there he WAS. In person!

But I was good! Sure, I stared a bit--but very discretely. And I didn't get all weird and bounce up to him to say something stupid.

Until we were leaving the party. Then, because it was raining and people were huddling around under umbrellas, my husband was getting us a cab, and there was Harold Ramis AGAIN. Listen, if he wants crazed female Ghostbusters I and II, Meatballs, Caddyshack, and Groundhog Day fans to leave him alone, he shouldn't spend so much time standing on the sidewalk chatting with his friends waiting for his ride. I don't mean to blame the victim, but he has only himself to blame for the following encounter:

(Poppy Buxom spots Harold with his back to her, chatting with his friends. She approaches and taps him on the shoulder) Look, I'm sorry--but I just have to say this. I know everyone is always saying how much they love Groundhog Day, and so do I--but I really love Multiplicity, too.

Harold Ramis: Then I love you!

Poppy Buxom laughs, turns on her heel, and runs towards the cab her husband has snagged.

Worst clothes at New York Fashion Week, part 1

From Betsy Johnson, who apparently hasn't gotten the memo that maternity dresses are no longer in style, this combination of Gwen Stefani's new perfume bottles with out-takes from Little House on the Prairie:


From Marc Jacobs, who is apparently trying to resurrect the glory days of Lady Di in the early 1980s, proof that sometimes even an Earl's daughter gets dressed by digging through the dirty clothes hamper and throwing stuff on in the dark:


And from Philip Lim, a sad-faced Fashion Criminal realizes that the guards probably won't let her accessorize her prison jumpsuit with her kicky polka-dot handbag.

Running errands at 8:30 p.m.

I don't know about the rest of you, but when I'm so busy during the day that I find myself buying bread and milk at 8:45 p.m., I begin to develop an attitude.

Not that buying groceries at 8:45 is unpleasant. The store was almost empty, and there were no children around, which meant that it was a lot quieter and more orderly, and I didn't need to be paranoid that while wielding my heavily-laden grocery cart around the store, I was going to smack into a shorty with the equivalent of a food-filled SUV.

And of course, if you have an actual job, instead of being 98 percent housewife and 2 percent free-lance writer (more on that later) it's to be expected that you shop during off hours.

But I AM a housewife, and I'm SUPPOSED to be at the grocery store during the peak post-breakfast, pre-morning nap time slot. Either that or the pre-picking-the-kids-up mid-afternoon scrimmage.

And so I feel a sense of personal failure.

Now, why was I grocery shopping so late? Good question. It's because I had back-to-back volunteer meetings and was out of the house from 9:30 until around 4:00 p.m. And one of the meetings required that I show up showered, made up, and wearing halfway decent clothes. And you know what a challenge that is to a woman who lives in flipflops. So when I got home, it was to be greeted by unmade beds and copious evidence strewn all over the kitchen that someone (me) had been packing lunches.

Now, I signed up for Blog365 on January 4, 2008, which means that I blog every day. So where was yesterday's entry, hmmmm? Well, before I left at 9:30 (wearing a lovely ensemble and makeup) I had written this. Which is my insights on one particular fashion fad for Fall, 2008.

If you haven't already checked it out, please do! And I'll be your BFF if you leave a comment. Because the BlogHer powers believe in the power of community, so the more back-and-forth they see, the happier they'll be. I think. And I feel the same way, actually. So leave a comment--if not there, then here.

Or call me up and yell at me--whatever. I'm not particular.

And for tomorrow, I'll probably post all the knowledge I've gleaned from spending what feels like decades of my life attending board meetings.

I know I've mentioned this before,

but I'm an audiobook junky. My gateway drug was Harry Potter books read by Jim Dale.

You see, a couple of years ago, I bought Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone on CD to give to That Stud Muffin I Married for Christmas. I thought he might enjoy listening to the story during his morning train ride. Or perhaps during his afternoon train ride---I'm not particular.

At any rate, I forgot the important thing, which is that unlike me, my husband doesn't enjoy re-reading books. Yes, he loves Harry Potter, but he doesn't want to read all the books and then--for pure excitement! listen to the story all over again on CD.

Neither is he particularly crazy about watching the same movie over and over again.

This attitude of his--combined with his secondary sexual characteristics--provide me with all the proof I need that he is not me.

No, he's a one-time-through, read-for-the-plot kind of guy. Whereas I'm capable of re-reading my favorite books on an annual basis. After all, how else is a girl going to memorize the first page of Little Women? Need proof?

"Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents," grumbled Jo, lying on the rug."

This explains why I own all the Harry Potter books both on paper and as audiobooks. Ditto Patrick O'Brian's Aubrey/Maturin novels. And pretty soon, Anthony Trollope's Barchester novels.

So tonight, having finally realized that my iTunes audiobook expenses were getting a little ridiculous (with the Trollope novels running $30 a pop) I justified buying a year's subscription to Audible.com, which offers a couple of attractive packages that allow me to fill my crack pipe iPod with high-quality literature. I picked the deal where if I paid for a year's subscription in advance, I could get 24 prepaid audiobooks a year, plus a discount on any extras that I buy. In case 24 audiobooks a year isn't enough (And it isn't.)

And so I'm browsing through their catalog, which is much bigger than the audiobooks selection on iTunes. And the excerpts they offer are much longer, too, which means the books practically sell themselves. Which explains why after being an Audible member for a matter of minutes, I've already got The Three Musketeers, Queen Lucia, Psmith in the City, Psmith, Journalist, Sharpe's Tiger, and Sprig Muslin in my shopping basket.

The only thing that's dorkier than wearing a Girl Scout Leader uniform

is putting on your brand-new Girl Scout Leader uniform and walking to the meeting--in full view of the neighbors and the entire population of your children's school--only to find out that the other leaders canceled the meeting. And there was no real reason for you to look that stupid.

In other words, pity me, because this is what I was wearing today:

ADULT NAVY TWIN SET-CARDIGAN AND SHELL-OFFICIAL
Official Adult Cardigan and Shell sweater set. You can shoplift like crazy go almost anywhere is this hugely oversized, completely baggy easy-to-wear twin set. The navy twin set has a jewel neck cardigan and sleevless [sic] shell, gold buttons down the front with the words "I look like shit" "Girl Scouts" embroidered in gold. Made of soft cotton/polyester jersey. Machine washable. Produced by some poor starving child and Imported from the developing countries you do-goody volunteer ladies claim to want to help.

Do you think that making me wear this twinset was some kind of Girl Scout passive-aggression? You know, like the way they're always planting adorable cookie-peddling cherubs in front of the grocery store at 5:30 p.m. when you're starving and are on your third day of the South Beach Diet?

But if there's Girl Scout Passive-Aggressive, there must be Girl Scout Aggressive-Aggressive. Otherwise it's just a theory. An intriguing one, I admit, but still--just a theory. Is there cruel and unusual punishment, Girl Scout style?

Oh, yeah.

It's this:

OFFICIAL ADULT WOMEN'S ALTHOUGH WE SUPPOSE IT COULD WORK ON A GUY CLASSIC i.e., DESIGNED IN 1962 SHIRT DRESS
Utterly shapeless Easy fit styling with button front, back yoke and side seam pockets where you can hide the spoon you're using to dig your way out of Girl Scout prison. Matte gold buttons because shiny buttons are so 1964 trim mock breast pockets for trimming your mock breasts, shoulder epaulets for that all important very butch prison matron look and button cuffs. In evergreen. Polyester. Because nothing says "green" like a heaping helping of non-biodegradable polyester Available in Misses Sizes 4 to 20 and for the Leaders who can't seem to stay out of the cookies, Women's Sizes 20W to 28W. FINAL SALE - NO RETURNS - NO EXCHANGES
WAS: $65.00 to $75.00 NOW: ALL SIZES $15.99 Please, please take these bow-wows off our hands or no one will ever volunteer to be a leader.

It was late, and I was exhausted

so luckily, Joke had a meme for me to steal.

1. How do you like your eggs?
Scrambled--but softly. No little hard weeping yellow rabbit turds, s.v.p.

2. How do you take your coffee/tea?
Tea: PG Tips, boil the water, heat the pot, then steep five teabags in a big teapot for five minutes. Two percent milk and Splenda.

I'm not nearly as fussy about coffee. I prefer American coffee but will tolerate a latte or cappuccino. Occasionally I go wild with cream or even, if I'm at a rest stop and have no choice, creamer, but the usual 2 percent milk and sugar substitute is what I really prefer.

I don't like and won't drink either one black.

Oh, and caffeinated, for Christ's sake. Unless it's midnight.

3. Favorite breakfast food:

scrambled eggs with sauteed tomatoes and goat cheese or

a bowl of maple-flavored Weight Loss oatmeal with frozen blueberries or

Wheat Chex and a banana

always with

tea

and don't be stingy, baby.

4. Peanut butter:
Smucker's stir-up-the-oil, creamy not chunky--I hate those little peanut nibs. They get stuck in my teeth.

5. What kind of dressing on your salad?
There is only one dressing: home-made vinaigrette. That I made. According to my particular method. (That I think I ripped off from James Beard.)

6. Coke or Pepsi?
Diet Coke. In a can or a fountain one in a paper cup. I hate the way iced beverages weep water all over the place.

7. You’re feeling lazy. What do you make?
A toasted bagel with butter.

8. You’re feeling really lazy. What kind of pizza do you order?
Mixed vegetable. With broccoli if I can get it. But we make our own pizza, so I do better than that at home. Try sauteed shallots and blue cheese, or goat cheese and sauteed sweet red pepper, or lots of different kinds of sauteed mushrooms. Or anchovy. NO MEAT; I can't stand any of that greasy, sausage-y stuff.

9. You feel like cooking. What do you make?
Well, today I made a roast capon with stuffing, roast new potatoes, steamed broccoli, and a tossed green salad heavy on the cucumbers and sweet red pepper.

10. Do any foods bring back good memories?
Yes, lots.

11. Do any foods bring back bad memories?
Yes, lots. Any food with that cafeteria feeling brings back evil memories of feeling dorky in 5th and 6th grade.

12. Do any foods remind you of someone?
Anything flavored with bourbon reminds me of my mother, because she flavors all desserts with bourbon. I mean, you practicaly expect to find it in her chocolate chip cookies.

13. Is there a food you refuse to eat?
Prairie oysters. (They aren't oysters at all. They can't kid ME.)

14. What was your favorite food as a child?
Succotash. I never seemed to get enough lima beans.

15. Is there a food that you hated as a child but now like?
Yes, lots. Ham, cheese, and mustard are three that come immediately to mind. You can imagine what a joy I was whenever I was offered a ham and cheese sandwich. And with mustard? World War III probably seemed preferable. Now I love all three. Go figure.

16. Is there a food that you liked as a child but now hate?
Hi-C "fruit" "drink"

17. Favorite fruit and vegetable:
fruit--wow, that's a tough one, but I'd have to say oranges. Although there isn't anything better than a perfectly ripe pear.
vegetable--another tough one. I'd say tomatoes, closely followed by eggplant

18. Favorite junk food:
Skittles

19. Favorite between meal snack:
Anything not nailed down. If calories weren't an issue, I'd say nuts. Cashews, especially.

20. Do you have any weird food habits?
I tend to eat all of a food on my plate, then move to the next food.
I hate listening to people talk about food.
I especially hate listening to foodies talk about food. After about five minutes of listening to people discuss various kinds of salt or vinegar or whatever they're nattering on about, my hand moves unconsciously towards my not-very-impressive knife collection, because I need to jullienne their noses.

21. You’re on a diet. What food(s) do you fill up on?
Fruit, salads, those baby carrots that come in a bag, sugarless gum, Diet Coke, tea, miso soup

22. You’re off your diet. Now what would you like?
A margarita, one of those layered taco dips, and a bag of tortilla chips

23. How spicy do you order Indian/Thai?
Medium

24. Can I get you a drink?
Sure!

25. Red or White Wine?
White unless I'm eating red meat. Although I can tolerate a light red with fish (or turkey or whatever the fucking foodies tell me is OK and even preferable.) But between you and me, red wine is a pain in the ass. I only drink it because I don't like it that much, so I don't guzzle it and get drunk, and eventually, fat.

26. Favorite dessert?
Something made with fruit and not chocolate. Sweet baby Jebus when will people get over their obsession with chocolate? Oh, and all that crap about dark chocolate? Shut up. I mean it. That shit paid my college tuition. Don't start telling me you only like dark chocolate; that milk chocolate is crap; blah blah balh. I knew about real chocolate needing to contain chocolate liquor (what foodies call cacao) when I was 10 years old. So you can fucking bite me with your ooh-la-la chocolate. I can't stand it. Take that bar of Valrhona and put it where the sun don't shine.

27. The perfect nightcap?
I don't think I get this. It sounds like something Darrin would drink on Bewitched. Do people still do this? You mean, fixing yourself a drink right before you go to bed? This is not my thing at all. What a pain. I'd just have to go brush my teeth again.

Now, where did I leave those Spanx?

Tonight That Stud Muffin I Married and I are going to Yet Another Black Tie event. This is the cost of being friends with people who buy tables to these things; sometimes the bullet has our name on it.

Now, I don't know about you, but it's been a while since I had to get dressed up. So I have no idea where the usual suspects are: the long dresses, the gold shoes, the matching evening bag.

On top of which I just realized my jewelry is still away at summer camp, i.e., locked up at the bank.

So I need to stop blogging now. I'm obviously going to have skimp on jewelry, and I still need to locate the rest of my evening gear. I'm still going to have to find my contact lenses. And makeup.

And take a shower. Maybe even brush my teeth.

(Given my outlook and lack of preparation, I'm amazed anyone invites me to anything.)

Nation! Back-to-school is kicking my ass.

I keep thinking that I did nothing today. Zip. Zilch. Nada.

Then I remembered that--in addition to the usual cooking and washing dishes household crap--I made the school lunches and walked them to school, cleaned out my desk and paid school bills, went to my voice lesson, took my daughter to her voice lesson, helped my daughter with homework, read a folder full of material about being a room parent, went to choir practice, wrote a Mamarazzi post, and fell into bed.

And that during the summer, eight of the above things weren't necessary. Yes, from school lunches to choir practice, summer is an idyllic season.

Well, it's over, and I'm out.

How to write a compelling blog entry

Rule Number 1: Whine a lot

It's almost midnight. I'm in my workout clothes, but I never worked out today.

Rule Number 2: Make yourself sound like a complete loser

And I never took a shower.

Rule Number 3: Ask rhetorical questions

Am I suffering from debilitating depression? No.

Rule Number 4: Throw in some self-deprecating humor

This morning at 9:00 I was eating breakfast and getting ready to work out by stoking myself with massive amounts of caffeine.

Rule Number 5: Throw in some local color

The doorbell rang. There was a young man on the front step. I figured he was some high school kid looking to park in my driveway (this happens a lot at the beginning of the school year.)

Rule Number 6: Remind everyone what a loser you are

Turns out it was the roof cleaning guy. Apparently the company I'd made a few desultory inquiries from had actually gone ahead and scheduled our cleaning job. I was planning on calling them to come--I really was--it's on my to-do list---so I figured what the hell. Let them do it.

Rule Number 7: Make a big deal out of nothing much. Income taxes, hang nails, or power-washing your roof all make splendid blog fodder

Well. Do you know what happens when a couple of guys climb up onto your roof and start power-washing it? (Let me start by stating that in the 10 years we've lived in this house, we've never cleaned the gutters or done anything to the roof. It looked like a moss farm.)

First of all, the noise will drive you crazy.

Second, your front and back steps will be covered with a thick layer of composting dead leaves, sticks, and moss so you can't walk out the door unless you're wearing hip boots.

Third, they'll set up an extension ladder in the driveway, so you can't drive anywhere, either.

Rule Number 8: Be sure to include some political humor

Then they will interrupt you to ask whether you have a can of wasp spray because they found "the mother of all wasp nests under the eaves." I know what you're thinking--what nonsense! The mother of all wasp nests is in Minneapolis/St. Paul making fun of Barack Obama.

Rule Number 9: State the obvious

Well, I don't know about you, but that was a hell of a nine hours.

Rule Number 10: Say something to remind everyone of your puckish sense of humor

Of course, now everything is great. The mess is gone, the evil biting insects are dead, and my front steps are immaculate. Our roof looks like it had a spa day, with a wax job followed by a Mystic Tan.

Rule Number Lagniape

What this town needs is a mayor. Like Ray Nagin. And a national guard. I mean, seriously, today I suffered more than the average citizen of New Orleans. If I had had any clue that I was going to undergo a Category 3 powerwashing, I would have evacuated the premises. And I might even have gotten on T.V. After all, I was unshowered and daubed with mulch. I looked like a refugee from a hurricane.

Before you know it, those pesky high school kids? The ones who always want to park in my driveway? Would be passing Coke cans down the hall to raise funds to benefit ME.

Losing weight must be tiring

I can barely keep my eyes open. I'm blaming Weight Watcher's Core program.

Either that, or the effort of keeping up with the Sarah Palin gossip is too much for me.

The GOP has Swift-boated itself

Oh, dear.

Usually it's the opposing party that makes unsubstantiated claims about a Presidential nominee. You know, like John Kerry and the Swift Boat Veterans.

The idea, I think, is to start some rumors--nothing hard and fast, just rumors--that most people won't bother to investigate. But they'll succeed in tarnishing the reputation of the candidate, and that will turn off enough people to affect election results.

So all right, this sort of thing happens. I expected the Swift Boaties to start after the GOP convention was over.

But this weekend has been a revelation. A soap opera. Why, it seems like only yesterday that rumors were flying all over the internet that Sarah Palin's daughter, and not Sarah Palin, is the mother of four-month-old Trig. Which, let's face it, was bad enough.

But now Palin has announced that her 17-year-old daughter Bristol, is pregnant and is due in December.

So naturally, rumors are spreading that this child will be Bristol's second child.

Now, the problem with rumors like this is that they will continue to spread up to and following the time as the subject of the rumor provides proof that the rumor is false.

I mean, a little thing like Barack showing a certificate proving that he was baptized won't stop people from whispering that he's a Muslim. Would it?

And so, even if Mr. Governor of Alaska's paternity is proven--it won't stop people from making snarky remarks such as "so much for abstinence-only sex education."

And as one commenter over at the Huffington Post puts it "not only is she going for the womens vote, now she is trying to get the White Trash vote." And now another commenter linked to a story that Palin and her husband "had" to get married. Shotgun weddings run in the family? Apparently so.

And the Democrats don't need to do a thing. McCain has done this to himself by selecting an almost-unknown quantity for a running mate.

I feel so sorry for Bristol Palin. The whole world knows about her situation now--or thinks it does. Frankly, I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

But I do know this. Even if I adored John McCain, I wouldn't vote for him at this point. His choice for Veep is--sorry if this offends the egalitarians out there--just too tacky for words. Is Blair House going to be the site of a shotgun wedding, where the mother of the bride is holding the shotgun? And she one heartbeat from the Presidency?

Not if I can help it.