I never signed up for this...

Outrage Over Octuplets

I'm sure 8 babies make plenty of noise--but it doesn't begin to compare to the loud clamor over their births.  The blogosphere is buzzing.

Not surprisingly, mothers have especially strong opinions.  Lots of moms around the country write, as I do, for Silicon Valley Moms Blog.  Here's what they're saying about the California 8:

Amy Zimmerman,  50-Something Moms

Melissa Chapman,  NYC Moms

Florinda,  Los Angeles Moms

Jessica Gottlieb, Los Angeles Moms 

Jennifer Kamienski, New Jersey Moms

Alma, Chicago Moms

Jen, Deep South Moms.

A little over the top

So I went a little overboard.  The people closest to me are used to this.  With me, it's never over.  Even when it's over. 

After my description of yesterday's shopping trip for inauguration weather gear, you'd think I had reached the summit of  Mt. Kilimanjaro when it comes to arctic accessories.  But that was yesterday.  Today I came home with one last item.  Possibly the best of all.

Just in case I forget, it even tells me what's inside.

 

 

We've put a man on the moon...and now this.

You tuck your ears inside the little black rubbery covers, click them shut, and they stay there.  On your ears.   No one even has to know my secret.  I'll just keep it under my hat.  LOL.

I couldn't resist. 

In fact I bought an extra pair for Daniel.   And he was very appreciative.  Not for the earbags.  For the laughs.

We'll see who's laughing Tuesday when we're out in the cold. 

Maybe Barack would want the extra pair to wear while he makes his speech.

     

Climate Control

I'm worried about the frigid weather in Washington. 

Daniel isn't worried.   He's used to frigid weather-- he goes to college in Wisconsin.  My nephew Aaron isn't worried, either.  He also went to college in Wisconsin.

I went to college in cold weather, too.  I survived Ithaca, New York and several years in New England.  But since my mid-twenties, I've become a wuss. 

V says when it comes to temperature, I have a very narrow comfort range.  Kind of like a climate- controlled Goldilocks.  I don't like it too hot; I don't like it too cold; and most of all, I need to be dressed JUST RIGHT for the actual temperature.   

Even though my son and my nephew urged me to relax, I couldn't just "chill out" this time.  The inauguration sounds like too much "chill" and too much "out".

So I took myself to REI today and put myself in their hands. 

The manager set me up with the most knowledgable salesperson on arctic weather.  "She'll be really qualified to help you, " he told me.  "She's climbed Mount Kilimanjaro."  

If I ever decide to climb it myself, I now own a good portion of the gear.  Joan set me up from head (fleece headband with wool hat on top) to toe (liners, wool socks, and toe-warmers under my Uggs.)  

I'm all set for the inauguration.  Or the North Pole.

When I got home I checked the weather and they're predicting high temperatures in the 20's on Tuesday.  Suddenly that sounds almost tropical. 

So now I'm worried again.  I could potentially be outside my comfort range of JUST RIGHT for the weather.  Which means that everyone else will be hailing to the chief while I'll be inside my polar bear outfit having hot flashes.

What's wrong with this picture?

I didn't mean ME, I meant the picture.  And mostly what's wrong  with this picture is that it was taken today.   All these pictures were taken today.  In January.  When the average temperature here is normally 54 degrees.  

  It was almost 80 degrees.

 

Which makes it a little hard for me to think about earmuffs and handwarmers.  That's what they're recommending for people coming to the inauguration. 

My sister Carla has been watching the shows and reading articles about all the stuff I need to bring to Washington.  I'm really grateful she's looking out for me so I don't get frostbite.  Today I was more worried about getting a sunburn.

Local hero

I love watching the Golden Globes and this year didn't disappoint. Maybe that was due to some good movies, some good speeches (Spielberg), some satisfying moments(Slumdog Millionaire) and several surprises, including Kate Winslet winning twice.

Another surprise this year were two nominations for Clint Eastwood.  Not as usual for acting and directing, but, incredibly, in two music categories.  He was nominated for writing the music to the song, Gran Torino, and the musical score for The Changeling. 

And even though he didn't win at the Globes, he won this weekend at the box office.  I loved Gran Torino--- and amazingly,it's his biggest opening ever.  How often does a new comedy starring two young, hot A-list actresses get beaten by a movie starring a 78 year old man?

Onscreen he blows away the bad guys; in real life he blows me away.  With his sensitivity, his range of talents, his ability to grow at this point in life.  Most people, especially those with healthy bank balances and a string of achievements, would spent their seventies enjoying the rich rewards of a successful life.  Instead, Clint is working more than ever, branching out into new directions as an artist.  An actor, director, producer, politician, environmentalist, developer, musician--he even sings in the credits of his latest movie.  Who would have guessed that the Man with No Name---would turn out to be a renaissance man? 

Not me, even though I always admired him.  Aside from my father and brother, I think my completely one-sided fascination with Clint has to be the longest-lasting relationship I"ve ever had with a man.  When other pre-teens were obsessed by Frankie Avalon or Fabian, I adored JFK and Rowdy Yates, the scruffy handsome cowboy Clint played on Rawhide.  Maybe this started because our parents severely restricted our TV viewing. Rawhide was one of only two shows we were allowed to watch.  And it's unlikely I would have fallen for Raymond Burr as Perry Mason.

But Clint had charisma, and I thought he was my own private discovery.  Until he hit the big screen.  My college boyfriend shared my interest in Clint.  I'd go along with his group of guys who imitated his persona and  lived for the release of every new spaghetti western and endlessly played the soundtrack to The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.  

I can't tolerate most violent movies, but throughout his career, I always forgave Clint.  Maybe I suspected there was a sensitive soul under those chiseled cheekbones and steely eyes. 

How ironic that years later I'd end up in Carmel--where the first question every tourist always asks is whether Clint is still the mayor. 

He's not; and I moved here after he gave up electoral office.  But he's still the local hero.  And  when I watched him tonight on the Golden Globes, thinking about the incredible imagination, creativity, and scope of what he's achieved just since he turned 70, I was thinking, he's still my hero, too.

Venti: you heard it here first

WARNING: The following post may be offensive due to the nature of the subject matter--which involves immature potty humor and bodily functions.  Please proceed with caution.

I debated about whether to write this.  And then I debated about HOW to write this.  And then I decided to just describe exactly how it happened....

We are at Christmas dinner with my husband's family.  His parents are conservative and formal; and we are gathered in a fancy dining room at a fancy and exclusive resort.  This is ground zero.

Towards the end of dinner, my brother-in-law asks for our attention.  "I have a request," he announces to the family  (his parents, brother, wives and assorted offspring.)  V's brother John is 15 years younger than V--which puts him in his early 40's--but only chronologically.  This story gives a fairly accurate picture of John's creativity and sense of humor.

"There are two things I want to insert into the popular lexicon," he says.  "The first thing is that I want to get people to start using the word 'goonies' as a synonom for 'testicles.' Like if you say, 'Ow, I got kicked in the goonies.'"

We all know John well, so our reactions are not as surprised as you might be reading this right now.  There's some giggling, some eye-rolling (mostly by his teenage daughter), and a general feeling around the table that his idea has some merit.  And now we wait to hear part 2.

"The other thing is, you know there's no word for when you have a really big poop, like after Thanksgiving dinner.  So I want to introduce a word for this: a Venti."

This requires no further explanation.  But it did inspire further conversation and further eye-rolling and way more laughter than "goonies."  So I think John is onto something.

We try it out the next day--and discover that college kids and twenty-somethings are perfect audiences who instantly adopt this new term.   Apparently John's concept can bridge the generation gap.   You'd be surprised how many times the word "Venti" has come up since Christmas.  At least in our house.

So I am convinced that John has a winner--that the word "Venti" in this context has the potential to go viral.  I only decided to write this post to make sure that when it does, John gets proper credit.  So remember you heard it here first.

I wonder what they'll think at Starbucks.

give and take

I'm glad the holidays are over. Gift-giving is tricky and too much pressure. Still, I always believed it's better to give than receive. Until I saw this video.

Just one shopping day left

All signs point to a "Bah Humbug" Christmas for many people this year.  Even the ultra-rich are feeling the pinch, and the luxury market is taking a big hit--according to an article I read today.   Saks and Neiman Marcus are dropping discounts down as deep as Costco; and people aren't buying  many big ticket items.    Or if they are, they're embarrassed about it and believe they should be sensitive to the current economic crisis.

For those in the market for a special gift who also want to stay in touch with the times, this could be the ideal choice.

It's way ahead of the curve-- the Aptera is not even on the market but the aerodynamics are so revolutionary,  there are already blogs drooling over it. 

I'm not really a car person.  To me a car just needs to get you where you need to go.  I've never understood why so many people make such a big fuss about them.

But I do understand why the Aptera makes so much sense, and why it might change me into a car person someday soon.  100 Miles per gallon.  300 MPG for a version coming in the next few years.  

You can reserve one on the website for a $500 refundable deposit.  Just the thing for last minute Christmas shoppers.

In the meantime, whatever car you drive, stay safe, and Happy holidays.

Thanks Giving

When we go around the table today and say what we're thankful for this past year,  I won't have time to cover my whole list---or even my top 10.  So here it is, in no particular order:

A Year of Gratitude:

1.  Barack Obama

2. Good health for our family

3. My son-in-law home safe from Iraq

4. deciding against cosmetic surgery

5. Finding a new passion--for blogging

6. Tina Fey and Sarah Palin

7. the gift of wonderful friends

8. Sees Chocolate is not one of the companies filing for Chapter 11

9. Being alive to celebrate another Thanksgiving

10. The return of hope (video for Obama fans and sentimental slobs only) 

I'm also thankful for everyone who reads my blog--and hope you all have a Happy Thanksgiving !!

What's in a name?

I like having a blog because I like switching topics, and I usually don't harp on anything for two days in a row (how quickly I forget Sarah Palin).  Right now the  only subject I can handle on a constant basis is food.  There's not much else I'm thinking about this close to Thanksgiving--and tonight I originally planned to post something warm and fuzzy and food-oriented. 

If it sounds like I'm heading for the Sarah Palin turkey tragedy--forget it, that story is already beaten to death.  (sorry, it's late at night..)  I really was committed to food--until I got sidetracked by another story involving celebrities.

I might not know the names of the Sexiest Men Alive, but I do know the name Bronx Mowgli: the name of a baby just born to Ashlee Simpson and Pete Wentz.  I didn't mention if this baby is a boy or a girl.  As if that makes a difference when your name is Bronx Mowgli.

It's a boy, and his birth gave me a fleeting stab of empathy for Jessica Simpson.  It feels wierd when your younger sister becomes a mother first.   I lived that, too.  And again this year, when my younger sister Carla  became a grandmother.  This could possibly be the only thing I have in common with Jessica Simpson.

But I really feel for this baby.  Names are a big deal to kids.   It's trouble enough being the child of a celebrity wthout having a name that guarantees it.   Apple Martin---has a chance to be a normal kid.  Brooklyn Beckham--trendy, the borough is popular with young New Yorkers.  Zuma Rossdale---bizarre but at least conjures up a beach.  Naming your kid Bronx Mowgli Wentz?  Don't get me started.

His parents are too young to remember when Barbara Hershey changed her name to Barbara Seagull and named her son Free.  She quickly went back to Barbara Hershey; and when he got old enough, Free changed his name to Tom.  Probably after many years of therapy.