Dubya's a Chucker!

Last night we went to the new Nationals Stadium for the season opener. The Nats beat the Atlanta Braves in the bottom of the ninth and life is good!
The new stadium is absolutely gorgeous and the hoopla for the opening night was nothing short of spectacular! I snapped a great picture of our groovy mayor, Adrian Fenty, on the red carpet before we joined the oh-so-friendly folks in the holding queue. After our cavity search and delousing, we received our commemorative hand towels (aka beer koozies) and lanyards. We moved into the stadium and my mouth dropped as it did the first time I saw Times Square. There were restaurants, bars, food stands, beer stands, music .... it was a real dance potty (I like to say “party” as a Bostonian)!
Following some preliminary cocktails with friends, we found our seats right under the colossal video screen, and sat down to enjoy the fanfare!
After the National Guards and the Color Guards and the National Anthem and the Fighter Planes and the Fireworks ....
and when you’d almost bet you could hear yourself sweat ...
he walked in ...
okay, The Voices in My Head made me do that, it wasn’t nearly that dramatic, but George Bush did jump out of his fancy little golf cart and trot to the pitchers mound to throw out the first ball. I clicked a quick picture of him jogging out to the mound and while my camera gave me a couple of seconds to decide whether or not I liked the shot, he was trotting back! What?! Well, waddya know? Ever-lovin’ George W. Bush is a chucker! Who knew?!
So I studied the photo I did take and here’s what I think happened: Now, granted, the picture strongly resembles the grainy Bigfoot sighting snapshots you see sometimes and I was sitting in such a position that I couldn’t reasonably see the opening to anyone’s trousers (not for lack of trying, wink wink, nudge nudge), but I am pretty sure the president’s fly was down! So, as he’s jogging out there and he feels a little extra coolness in front, he’s thinking, “I’m just going to get out there, chuck the ball at the guy with the big hand, run back to my kick ass buggy, slam the barn door shut and get me a hot dog! You want a hot dog?” This followed by that nervous Muttley giggle he has, and we’re out!
I’m sorry, George Bush is funny! He cracks me up all the time! No wonder his daughter is always falling off her barstool! You know what my daddy said this morning? Ha ha ha ha ... splat!

Wait...
What?
Oh yeah, baseball! It was really, truly awesome! I can honestly see myself spending much more time with the boys of summer this season! What about you? You want a hot dog?!

All You Can Eat ... Meat!

Thursday night was a birthday celebration for our friend, B. A “B” Day Party, if you will! His girlfriend, Amanda, chose an interesting restaurant in Falls Church called Malibu Grill. (I do not blame Amanda at all for choosing this place ... how could she ever know what was to come?)
The concept or theme of this joint is: All You Can Eat Meat. Yes, you heard me correctly, as much Meat on a Stick as you can comfortably (or not so comfortably) pack into your tender tummy! I am not joking!
Sadly, no one took our drink orders or explained the process to us or held our hands through this cannibalistic journey, so we were left to blindly feed on Mystery Meat. Each table has a little wooden peg in the middle. One side is green for go and the other side is red for give me a freaking break I can’t possibly eat any more meat. When your peg is green, a little guy called a “gaucho” (their word, not mine) comes to your table with some charred somethings on a skewer which you are evidently supposed to gnaw off and enjoy as a meal. He steps up to the end of the table and says, “lambmonkeysquirrel?”
No poker face for me, I said, “WHAT?!” in sheer horror.
He took that as a no.
In fairness, I did eat something I am going to pretend was chicken and it wasn’t half bad. The rest of it reminded me of a story I heard when I was in the Air Force.
I was eating lunch one day with a couple of friends who both happened to be from Texas. One guy was telling us about a time when he and a buddy starting getting curious about what an Armadillo might taste like. Now, I’ve heard that an Armadillo is actually rather easy to catch, but they chose more of a hands-free approach and simply set up camp on the shoulder and waited for some fresh road kill. The “hunt” completed, they grilled it up over an open fire (or under the hood of their El Camino, more likely) and ate it!!!
And THAT, my friends, is what I suspect the gaucho was bringing to my table!
I don’t know what else to say!
Ummmm, Happy “B” Day?!

Angelica

I just finished a little chick flick of a book called Angelica by Arthur Phillips. It wasn't bad, it wasn't awesome. I certainly didn't hold it up high while riding the train, but I didn't honestly hate it. I suppose sometimes a gal just needs to read a girly book. I mean, it wasn't a romance novel or anything! But it also wasn't something I would be proud to say, "Hey! I am totally reading Angelica right now!"
It's part ghost story, part psychological ... not exactly thriller ... intrigue? The author, Arthur, told the same story from several perspectives, and I guess that is what I liked most about it. When reading the "other side of the story", I wanted to go back and reread the first side of the story. I'm sure it's never a bad idea to try to see things from another angle.
Hmmmmm.
Sorry, Mr. Phillips, I guess I can't really recommend this book to others. If a body ever spends the night at my house and can't sleep, they may feel free to peruse my bookshelves, it'll be there somewhere.....

Dad! Dad! Dad! Dad!

When a girl turns thirteen (or 91 if you believe all that "dog year" hooey), she should reasonably expect that her dad will start listening to her. She is nearly an adult, she has a fresh perspective, new ideas, OPINIONS, for crying out loud!!!
whew....

Happy Birthday, Borderline! May all your doggy dreams come true!!!

MIDDLESEX by Jeffrey Eugenides

I read almost exclusively in public places ... the Metro, the atrium in my building, a park bench, a bar stool. Recently I have noticed that I hold my book differently depending on my location, the people around me, and how much I like the book. People do comment on my choices from time to time while others pay no attention at all. But I catch myself holding each book in such a way that perhaps some really cool person would see it and think, "Ooooooh, she's reading a classic! She must be smart!"
You've heard that you should never judge a book by the cover? Well, that's precisely how I do choose my books! I don't even like to read the excerpts on the back. I like to get into each book with no expectations, as I assume the author would want. So it was the smoky black cover of MIDDLESEX by Jeffrey Eugenides that originally attracted me to the book (I had to scrape Oprah's stamp of approval off the cover so people wouldn't think I was a total girly girl.... while I love Oprah, I don't want total strangers to think I need her to choose my reading material). I wasn't sure I wanted to read a book about one of the 39 historic counties of England, so I did take a peek at the back cover. When I read The New York Times review stating, "Part Tristram Shandy, part Ishmael, part Holden Caulfield ....", I knew Middlesex was the book for me!
It is a breathtaking, entertaining journey through three generations of a very fallible family. And The New York Times was right, Cal is a wonderfully engaging narrator!!
While the subject matter is deeply sensitive, the main ribbon running throughout the entire account is that you can't judge a book by the cover! I found myself looking at people differently. The way someone might square his shoulders, or grow her hair into her eyes. The obnoxious public prankster, the shy ragamuffin ... each may have a secret. Each may be something much greater or more tragic than what we think when we see (or ignore) them on the street.
It is a beautiful story of finding oneself, of loving one's family, of fighting for a better way. When I finished the book, I was on the train. So, with tears streaming down my cheeks, and a smile filling my ample face, I cradled Middlesex in my arms like a baby, gazing at it adoringly, "Look what I just read! Isn't it beautiful?!"

Pain

My friend
Do you hurt so much inside
Do your wings bleed
From the feathers clipped
And your soul whisper
When the wind blows through
Is your heart a hardened morsel
For a predator to spring
And your mind an endless tunnel....
Somewhere in the darkness
Do you ache to see the light
Do your hands
Chilled from the coolness
Smear the paint upon your face
And do tears moisten the cracks in your flesh
Are you lonely, friend...
Do you weep

Woman on My Wall

There's a woman on my wall
I see her when the moon drifts through the trees to my window
Her face wrinkles when the wind blows
And she changes as often as the seasons
But she's always watching over me
At night
When I need her the most

Tracy

Sitting in the morning sun with a soft breeze tingling my rested cheeks, I would never see her turned up nose and freckled face. Her clear brown eyes are still buried in a dreamless sleep. I think about life, this time in the morning, and it's almost good.
I wake her sometimes, when the morning glory is too much for me to hold alone. "Come with me!", I sing, because the world is so big and we've seen so little.
But Tracy's bed is warm, safe. Her room is dark and womb-like. So I leave and the world is mine alone. I smile at the birds, the squirrels, the deer. The wind thrills me and the sun is my lover. The earth moves ever so slightly beneath my feet, and as I laugh, I wonder why Tracy refuses to be born.

You'll Get Used to Me

You can tell me anything, you know
And I won't tell
It's just these crazy eyes
And crazy dreams
A shock of wild hair
But you'll get used to me, one day
And you'll realize
I'm a good friend
I'm your best friend

There's a shadow in the sky
Something hanging over me
You think I'm dark and moody
But it's just a look I wear
You'll get used to me

I've been seein' a lot of stars fall
Lately
Makes me wonder, I guess
What's goin' on
What you think of me
But you'll get used to it, one day
And you'll realize
I'm a good friend
I'm your best friend

You can tell me anything, you know
I've heard a lot
It's just my strange ways
And strange face
A shock of wild hair
But you'll get use to me, one day
You'll get used to me

Folks ... We've Got a Jumper!!

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a ...

TREE!!