(Work on Your) Poker Face

There are several reasons I wish I could have watched the Grammys last night, and at the top of the list is a burning desire to have seen THIS moment live:

SOMEBODY lost a bet here, and I'm guessing Gaga thinks she knows who it was. (I'm also guessing she's not a fan of country music.)



Picture found here.

Reality Check

I love babysitting.



(I'm not kidding.)



I always feel so much better about my 'single and childless' life afterwards.




No matter how great the kids are (and they were) somebody absolutely refuses to brush their teeth, put on their pajamas, or get up off the floor and into bed. Fortunately, by 10:30 it's no longer my concern!

And I had to laugh to realize that I've 'graduated' from babysitting for money (which the family accurately assumed I would not accept) to babysitting for American junk food (which the family correctly perceived I would be too weak to turn down).



Would anybody like a Brown-Sugar-and-Cinnamon Pop Tart?

Stuff

I'm not sure how much more evidence I can take.

Seriously, though, the Angel Gabriel with the accordion was my favorite.

I just saw a funny, beautifully acted, incredibly well-crafted show that had been devised by marvelously talented, creative performers, and... nothing. I just didn't get it. I got the jokes, appreciated the clever twists, marveled at the ingenious staging, and I have no idea why they were doing what they were doing. I understood the basic story. I can't see why they produced it the way they did. I can't get my head around even possible interpretations for some of the movement patterns and music. Other people on my course saw the same show and loved it ("best bit of theatre I've seen in London!" "worth every penny!" etc...) but I didn't. I enjoyed it. Because I could make no real sense out of it, however, I did not love it.

I still have no desire to make experimental theatre, and it looks like that's not changing anytime soon.

* * * * *

This week, it's 6:40. No joke.

* * * * *

Walking down the street just now, I saw a well-dressed middle-aged Asian man coming up the (ugh, fine!) footpath with his coral-orange Polo shirt pulled out of his slacks and folded up around his pecs so that his stomach was bare. Just strolling up the street in dress shoes in Hampstead (not Soho!) sunning his midsection. People are so weird.

* * * * *

I AM excited about charting out a way to do Sophocles' Antigone with only three actors (since that's all the Greeks would have used, plus the Chorus). Apparently, when I say I'm more interested in 'traditional' theatre, I mean HARDCORE 'tradtional' theatre.

* * * * *

I, too, am looking for sense in the
BBC's programming. No luck.

I'm going to go build a website, apply for another MA program, prepare to teach a new song to the Primary, give myself a pedicure, and (soonishly) watch Doctor Who. Yep, it's Saturday!

Bottlenecking

Why is it that any time two cars are parked on opposite sides of a suburban street, they will be parked directly across from each other?

And why is it that, 7 times out of 10, when driving down that suburban street there will be a car coming in the opposite direction and the passing point between that car and yours will fall immediately between those two parked cars, creating a moment of "Nuts will we both fit? I don't think we'll both fit With the whole street to park along why are there TWO cars right there Doesn't anyone pay attention to these kinds of things when they park? Should I slow down and wait for them Are they waiting for me They're waiting for me/They're not waiting Whoa Watch the mirrors HONESTLY I can't believe we both fit I guess I'm glad I've got a small car Whew."

Seriously.

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Also:

Fry It Up

Yesterday I participated in a conversation about things that can be deep-fat fried (and whether or not they should be). Twinkies, brownies, sandwiches, candy bars, turkeys... our consensus was, if the Lord had meant for it to be deep-fat fried, He would have put a stick in it (hello, corndog). (Also, the other exception - I'm not into fried chicken, but I suppose there are fans out there.)

Tonight I was hit with an unavoidable craving for cinnamon-sugar tortilla chips. I fried (using canola oil), I sugared, I shared - and tomorrow's breakfast is going to be yum-eeeee. If the midnight snack doesn't do away with my supply first!

There are only a few things I cook - but when it comes to sugar, I cook them well.

* This picture looks to me a little more like pie cookies than tortilla chips, but that's OK - I'm good at pie dough, too!

Autumn Falling

I like my hair.

I've been trying to find something to blog about (I seriously have been attempting to get that promised video of the teepee and the quilts posted - SO CUTE - and it has NOT uploaded. Grrr) and it's been pretty foggy. Not literally - I was out walking in the beeyoutiful fall sunshine today (sorry, all you rained-out West-coasters) and the fog was all mental. Here's what I realized: I really dislike "crushing" on someone because it makes me all emotional and out of control and stupid, but it's easier to feel alive and sparkly and mentally active if you've got some outside source of energy feeding you. I HATE feeling addicted to someone (so not EVER trying drugs or alcohol), and I really am bitter about the apparent truth that chemistry really can be one-sided. Or two-thirds-sided, if I'm being optimistic. So why is that? How can love/infatuation/attraction be such a complete downer and yet still be the thing that makes life interesting and exciting? There just HAS to be some other way.

In the meantime, at least, I really do like my hair.

Status

... is missing him and wanting to talk to him and listen to him and can't believe she's writing about this on a public blog ("private" journal). really. she's been weaning herself (as if there was a choice) from him for months - surely it's been too long to actually suffer withdrawals. they're just imaginary symptoms now, the disease has long since died out. the ice cream is going cold (see what she did there?) turkey, but his final ties should be easy to cut (snip, snip). there are no more one last chances. it doesn't take a crystal ball or overdressed psychic or potter-esque centaur (though she is partial to tea leaves, but not for reading. words are for reading, people are for... being people) to see the signs.

Stop. not Yield. do not Proceed With Caution. Stop.


* * * * *

... has a 90's-era German band pop song stuck in her head. it opened up her mind.