Just when you thought this whole Michael Jackson madness couldn't get any weirder...

ACTOR Macaulay Culkin is the mystery dad of Michael Jackson's son Blanket, it was claimed last night.

W.T.F?

Can we get off this macabre Merry-Go-Round now, please? I think I'm going to hurl.

It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year!

which can mean only one thing...

It's the first day of school.

Okay, so Geo and I weren't blessed with children of our own, but September still reminds me of the start of a new school term. I can tell you I still get a charge from this time of year. There's a palatable shift in energy. A clear change from the carefree shuffle of summer to the audible buzz of a time-to-get-off-your-ass-and-get-back-to-work attitude. Facilitating this change is the noticeably cooler nights, earlier sunsets and reduced production of mint for my beloved Mojitos.

What?! Daaaaaaaammit!

But most of all this time of year reminds me of my Mom (Big Mar), her best friend Pat and the greatest First-Day-of-School tradition EVER.

When we (and by "we" I mean the five of us kids) would come home from our first day of school, Big Mar would always be on the couch napping...sometimes with a cool cloth on her head. Kinda unusual because she normally would be in the kitchen preparing some kick-ass, mouth-watering, so-delicious-your-taste-buds-would-dance dinner causing you to salivate all over the new shirt you just HAD TO HAVE so you could be as cool as Jennifer who was oh-so pretty and always had the hippest threads which she wore every day for the entire first week making you feel square and insignificant even though you tried really REALLY hard to find the signature shirt of the season and now it has this big nasty purplish pool of a stain because you just HAD to eat a grape flavored freeze pop on the way home making your spit all pinky-purple, didn't you, Asswipe and now the frock is ruined and you'll be ridiculed for being relegated to last year's fashions and...

Wait...what was I talking about?

Oh yeah. So my Mom who's usually in the kitchen cooking or baking is sleeping on the couch. Weird. It wasn't until we were adults she fessed up that once she and Pat watched the last of their broods walk up the hill and out of sight, they'd bust open the highballs (that 60s constant cocktail) and celebrate their sweet release from the long, cruel summer of offspring overload. I should note here that my Mom, like many women of that era, was a stay-at-home Mom which meant dealing 24/7--by herself--with all the crap we kids could dish out from June 6th until D-Day in September.

So, yeah. Turns out Big Mar was sleeping off a bender when we got home.

Seriously. Don't you just love that? If we had kids I'd be sooo down with that ritual.

I'm happy to say that ceremony has been adopted by many a mother with whom I have shared the tale. They call it "Mimosa Monday".

To all the mothers reading this...feel free to follow in this time-honored tradition. And please, pass it on to any woman struggling for a reason not to murder her progeny by summer's end.

They're gone, BABY! Cheers!

Friday Photo #30
Location Location Location

True in real estate... and Rhett Miller signatures. :D

The End Of An Era...

I was sincerely saddened this morning by the news of Ted Kennedy's death.

He was many things to many people. A crusader for civil rights. The champion of the underdog. The last true liberal in the Senate. The voice of the disenfranchised. And yes, to some a criminal.

First and foremost, he was human.

He drank too much. He made mistakes. He made a HUGE mistake way back when in the marshy waters of Chappaquiddick. Do I think he used his name and family connections to get away with manslaughter. Sure. Few wealthy and influential people don't. But I also believe he spent the rest of his life trying to atone for that sin so long ago, committed by a man of a certain age who should have known better than to run.

He's the only one of the dashing Kennedy boys who was spared an assassin's bullet and got to sport a thick shock of grey hair into his 70s. Perhaps that was karma's gift to him--affording him the opportunity to make right of his wrong.

And boy, did he.

Many of the great social programs which help the middle class as well as those less fortunate exist in large part because of the Liberal Lion. He understood what makes this country so special. The bounty of the American Dream is for everyone. We are all in this together, and together we can accomplish great things.

He was the only one left of our fabled Royal Family. The beastly burden of legacy was involuntarily thrust upon his shoulders. He was the baby, for God's sake. His brothers' short lives left gi-normous shoes he was expected to fill. No wonder he drank. Seriously! Good Lord! With that kind of pressure, who wouldn't need to crawl into the bottom of a bottle for comfort. He eventually got his shit together, got his head straight and became one of the most productive Senators in Congress.

I think his brothers would have been proud.

Once upon a time, there was an idyllic mind-set called Camelot wherein hope lived. Where we all believed the world was good and nothing was impossible. Teddy was the last and the loudest member. Even though the original cast of this fictitious Eden have all passed away, their ideals live on. For that we all owe him a tip of the hat and an enormous thank you.

Thank you for your courage. Thank you for your compassion. Thank you for your resolve. You have served your country and its people very well indeed.

Now go on. Have fun with your brothers.

Knock, Knock... Cable Guy
bow-chicka-chicka-bow-bow!!

Okay, so as you may have guessed from the title, I had a visit from the cable guy this week. After we had a cigarette and he put his pants back on, he hooked up our digital cable and installed our new... DVR!!!!

That's right. Fred and Wilma Flintstone have leapt into the 90s and are the proud owners of a hard drive, TiVoesque, program recording thingie. And we are digging it, BABY!!

No more missing critical content of a live program when the phone rings, or the kitchen buzzer goes off or someone's wife bursts into the house after an evening out with the girls, hopped up on chips, chocolate and cocktails gushing with the "greatest dish, evah!! OMG!" that really can't wait until the commericial break because it's waaaaay too hilarious and seriously she has to get this out before she forgets it because, you know, she's wacky on the firewater and thiiiiis close to passing out and besides, she reallyreallyREALLY HATES to be shushed mid-manic mode even though she knows it totally bugs her husband to have his viewing pleasure disturbed especially at the pivotal "Aha!" moment of the show, but, come on, it IS all about her and... Wait, what was my point?

Oh yeah. You can pause the LIVE stream and resume watching WHERE YOU LEFT OFF because it is always recording!! Awe-freaking-some!!

Wooo Hoooo!!

Mountains of VHS tapes, you are soooo.... last Wednesday!

We still can't get our beloved Picture-in-Picture (or PIP) to work yet (I wrote of this lamentable fact here.) But, Woooo Hoooo!! just the same.

Now excuse me whilst I go online and sign up for classes at YabbaDabbaDo U to get my Engineering degree to run this thing.

When The Reaper Comes A Little Too Close For Comfort

My first real long-term boyfriend died suddenly of a heart attack this week.

That is one of the eeriest statements I have said in my life to date. Geo spotted his obituary in the paper. I don't read the obits, myself. Of course I don't read much of the paper in general anyway. But the obits, rarely if ever.

There was a lovely write up. Jim was married with two children. He had apparently got out of the journalism business (smart man) to coach hockey and other sports at a local affluent school district. According to the article, he had made quite a positive impact on the lives of the children with whom he dealt. A life well spent.

He was only 50 years old.

Fifty. That's all. And now his wife's a widow. Heart attacks aren't supposed to happen until your, like, in your seventies. And not to someone who's in good shape. Life is so fragile...

I hadn't seen or heard from him since he graduated, but it's sad and unsettling just the same. His death is like a big, fat punch of mortality to the gut. A little too close for comfort.

"It's A Mistake..."

or spending a sleepless night with Colin Hay

Okay, so the first thought that ran through my mind this morning at 3AM was, "NOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!?!"

The second thought was, "Coffee! Coffee! I need the caffeine-fueled, life-giving, chemically-inducing rejuvenation properties of coffee! I wonder how badly disfigured my face will be if I just shove my mouth under the coffee maker while the black gold is brewing?"

The alarm clock is a cruel, cruel mistress when one's only been asleep for three hours and has a full day ahead.

You see last night Geo and I spent a lovely evening out...on a school night...specifically, MY school night. Okay, it was Geo's school night, too, but he didn't have to get up at 3AM.

Did..Did I tell you I had to get up at 3AM? I think I did tell you I had to rise at 3AM. No? Well, I had to get up at 3AM!! Yeah. Can you believe it? I know. I'm such a hero. My workplace is planning to erect a statue in honor of my bravery and self-sacrifice.

Anywho...Colin Hay, former lead singer of the 80s Australian band Men At Work was performing at a local, quasi-dive bar touring in support of his latest CD "American Sunshine" which is excellent, by the way. (You can sample it here.) The show started at 8:00PM. Not a good sign, especially when yours truly had to get up for work at 3AM.

Did I tell you I had to... oh, yeah. I did.

This club is standing room only except for a few couches on the outer perimeter of the balcony. So Geo and I placed ourselves in what we perceived as the optimum viewing spot against the railing upstairs, overlooking the left side of the stage.

The opening local act, Aviation Blondes, was good and brief. Still by the time the roadies scrambled to clear their gear from the stage, it was a little after 9PM when Colin and company (including a long, raven-haired chippie wearing tight-fitting clothing) descended the stairway of the staging area to the blare of Scottish bagpipes. Here I always thought he was Australian. Turns out he's a Scott who emigrated to the great southern continent.

They opened with the atmospheric "Down by the Sea" to which the chippie starts to channel her inner Solid Gold/pole dancer. Seriously. She had a lot of space on stage and she was working it--floating her arms up and down, spinning with abandon, kicking and leaping, at times singing bits of back-up. She was actually distracting. She was also the absolute opposite of Mr. Hay's stone-still stature. She was all movement and dramatic interpretive dance. He was completely still except for the bob back of his head when he hit the high notes.

After about three songs:

Geo: She had to have been a stripper.

Me: Oh yeah! She totally needs a pole. I hope he's at least schtuping her.

Colin Hay: I'd like to introduce you to my wife, Cecilia.

Us: Aaaaaaah...

Anyway, she grew on us throughout the evening. Her abandon and complete lack of self consciousness was engaging and made us chuckle in a good way. She helped get the crowd stirred up. Although one dude on the floor kinda turned into creepy, stalker guy by constantly shoving his camera in her face, recording her all evening.

At first Colin was telling stories in between songs, tuning his guitar, chatting, tuning his guitar, and tuning his guitar. We could see the lengthy set list of about 25 songs from our vantage point. With all the talking (which we love) and tuning (not so much with the love)--Ohmigod! I thought we were going to be there until 1AM. But the time flew by.

He was So. Good. His voice all crystal clear and perfect pitch as he effortlessly belted out one song after another. He played about five from his new work--all very good--before launching into the tried and true crowd pleasers. He played every song I wanted to hear over the 2 1/2 hour, no encore set:

Beautiful World

Waiting for my Real Life to Begin

I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You

Who Can It Be

It's a Mistake

Overkill (my absolute fave, complete with a kick-ass, crowd sing-a-long)

The start of the first three songs was just him and his guitar, before the band joined in. It was beautiful, and made us long for him to come back again as a solo act. Of course, his Peruvian chip of a wife might have trouble doing those high kicks to quiet renditions. :D

All in all an evening well spent and well worth the lack of zzzzz's this morning...despite my bitching.

Did I tell you had to get up at 3AM?

Beautiful World--Hey, check it out! That's his wife, Cecilia on the right.

My all-time fave, OverKill. Live in Belfast. A story up front and you can hear everyone singing along.