Category: Daily Life

I have watched “American Idol” exactly once, and I couldn’t make it through to the end. It was just too excruciating, and I’m not talking about listening to the poor, deluded unfortunates who provide the show’s cannon fodder. I can’t watch it because I was once a singer, too.

As a child, I always enjoyed singing. I learned “The B-I-B-L-E” song in bible school at the age of three and sang it incessantly. My mother’s note on the subject in the “Memorization” category of my baby book, “B-I-B-L-E drives us nuts.”

I sang in the choir in school (okay, I mainly just moved my lips and sang under my breath, but I had an interest!), and I sang to myself at home when I didn’t think anyone was listening.

From the time I was in high school until about five or six years ago, I sang in rock bands. Early on, it was “oldies” (at the time that meant ’60s and ’70s covers), then it was hard rock and heavy metal, and finally I sang in an alternative-y band that performed mainly original songs. (Oh, the hairdos I’ve had!)

Would I subject myself to “American Idol”? Absolutely not. Why? I know I’m just not good enough.

Even though I’ve been a professional singer (to the extent that I’ve drawn taxable income from singing), I have a realistic picture of my own abilities. I have had very limited training, I’ve hit plenty of flat notes in my day, my stage presence leaves a lot to be desired, and my range is only so-so. This isn’t false modesty, it’s just the way it is.

I can’t bear to watch people who believe that they’re good singers find out otherwise on national TV. I’ve blown a few auditions, too, but I was lucky enough not to be jeered and humiliated by judges hoping to score points with their audience.

Now there’s another show that’s even more unconscionable: “Superstar USA.” It’s an “American Idol” ripoff where the judges boot out the good singers and tell the awful singers that they’re great. I’m sure at the end everyone will have a big laugh, crushing the bad singers after all and blithely ignoring damage they’ve done to the good singers’ confidence and egos.

I’m disturbed by the casual cruelty that passes for entertainment on TV these days. (Don’t get me started on the plastic surgery shows!) I can’t imagine any sane person agreeing to be on a reality show of any kind these days, knowing the mean “twists” and lies that are perpetrated on most of the contestants. Is that fifteen minutes of fame really so desirable? Not for me, it isn’t.

[Postscript: If you’re wondering why I no longer sing in bands, it’s because I spent too many years spurning hearing protection at the height of the “big stacks of Marshall amps” era. My left ear buzzes unpleasantly at certain frequencies and volumes – even my own singing voice makes it happen – and I just can’t handle loud music anymore.]

Last night, my husband and I went to see “Shrek II,” which was fully as delightful as all the reviews suggest. Since the first “Shrek” (which I’ve seen a zillion times thanks to my four-year-old niece), the animation has gotten better and I think the writers were more comfortable playing to a grownup audience this time around. We saw it at 9:30 p.m., so there were no children present at all. Still, there were plenty of moments when everyone in the audience laughed out loud – and probably not at the same things that would tickle the kiddies’ funnybones.

Tonight we’re considering a trip back to the theater to see “Kill Bill II.” We finally got around to renting “Kill Bill” last weekend and we both enjoyed it a great deal. I wasn’t particularly put off by the violence because it was so over the top and cartoonish (sometimes literally) that it lost any power to disgust (unlike, say, “Pulp Fiction,” which contains several images I wish I’d never witnessed, or “Natural Born Killers,” which gave me a headache). I’m a sucker for cheesy martial arts movies, so I saw “Kill Bill” as the homage to them that it was intended to be.

This is shaping up to be a great summer for movies. The next “Harry Potter” movie comes out soon, as does the “Spiderman” sequel. I still want to see “Van Helsing” despite all the bad reviews, but I may wait for a matinee. Basically, if a movie includes lots of action, comedy or cartoon characters, count me in.

When I started this blog, I vowed to myself that I wasn’t going to discuss my cats. I feel that the Internet is already overflowing with too many stories about people’s precious little kitties, and that only MyCatHatesYou.com really captures the proper spirit of discourse about the beasts. (I even have one of their t-shirts.)

However, because I have four cats that demand a good deal of interaction when I’m home, I can’t help but bring them up now and then. Right now, their special little cat needs are beginning to consume more and more of my time in the morning and evening. Let me introduce you to the cast of feline characters. In the Average Jane spirit of anonymity, I’ll use their nicknames:

• The Possum – 17-year-old female cat. This was the sick cat from a few weeks ago. We inherited her when my husband’s mother died.
• The Weasel – 14-year-old female cat. She used to be an outdoor cat until someone shot her. Now she spends her time picking fights with the other cats and trying to sneak out when people open the door. Her mother was an alley cat, and that explains a lot about her.
• The Boy – 15-year-old male cat. Very good natured and talkative, he was the first cat I got when I moved out on my own.
• Chunky – 12- or 13-year-old female cat. When she was a kitten, she made the news because she was found in a charity donation bin, tied into a pillow case. The experience obviously warped her in many ways. She harbors a bitter hatred for all children and she seems to see things that nobody else can see. We inherited her when my mother died.

Wow, when I read that back it sounds rather Tarantino-esque. Sort of “Kill (Birdie With the Yellow) Bill.” Okay, I’m done now.

Here’s a typical cat-wrangling morning. The Boy needs special food or he gets thin and listless. We shut him in the bathroom to eat so the other cats don’t horn in on his food. The Possum now needs canned food to aid her digestion. I feed her in the kitchen and she dawdles around with her one tablespoon of food seemingly forever while I shout, “Weasel, come here. Weasel, stay in here. Come here, Weasel,” the entire time to give the Possum a fighting chance at her own grub.

Dry food is available at all times from a dispenser in the basement, but of course that’s not nearly as appealing as the special food. Chunky is the only one who doesn’t really care about other cats’ food (although she’ll mug you for your cereal mllk). Unfortunately, Chunky is the one who’s been throwing up all over the house for days. Sigh. Yesterday I made a vet appointment for her, but I couldn’t fit it around my work schedule until Saturday morning. I can tell that our vet’s office staff thinks we are The Worst Pet Owners Ever. Hey, I’m bringing the cat in. What more do you want?

I know I’m making it sound as though there are no advantages to cat ownership whatsoever. Actually they all have good cat temperaments. They’re cuddly, friendly and sociable with people. They love it when we have company. When we watch TV or read, we’ll often have all four cats on the couch next to us or on us. The companionship the cats offer makes the hassles fade into the background, at least for a while. Still, my sister’s predictions to the contrary, I’m in no danger of becoming the Crazy Cat Lady. I definitely know my limits!

I went to bed early and slept poorly, then overslept thanks to a thunderstorm that kept my bedroom from getting to the level of lightness that usually indicates “six o’clock.” That’s right, I try not to use an alarm clock. I sleep lightly enough to be able to hear my husband’s snoring despite all efforts to drown it out, yet I sleep deeply enough that the sound of an alarm clock rockets me to a seated position with a gasp of shock. That can’t be good for my heart.

One of the cats has thrown up on our bed every single day for the last four days. I am running out of patience and clean bedding. She seems fine except when she’s reenacting scenes from “The Exorcist,” but I suppose I’ll have to take her to the vet anyway. This isn’t the sick cat from a couple of weeks ago, by the way, it’s another one. I think it’s safe to say that when the number of cats in our household begins to eventually dwindle, we will not be restoring the population to its current level ever again. Then again, I’m feeling rather crabby this morning.

I saw the “What Not To Wear” gals on “Oprah” last night, and now I feel even more frumpy and unstylish than ever. Of course, if someone took me to Nordstrom’s and spent hundreds of dollars dressing me and fixing my hair and makeup, I’d look a lot better, too. Makeover shows never take their contestants to Marshall’s or Target and show them how to improve their look for $150. With $1,000 to spend on a new wardrobe, I think anybody’d look pretty darned improved. Okay, I feel better now.

Have a lovely Wednesday and don’t eat any cicadas.

With no supporting evidence whatsoever, I usually tend to think of myself as being “in pretty good shape.” Really, though, I’ve never been much of an exerciser. Oh, I’ll faithfully do yoga or Jazzercise or weights n’ aerobics for a year or so, then something will come up and I’ll never quite manage to get back to my workouts. I’m still foolishly paying $40 a month for aerobics classes I stopped attending months ago. Note to self: write letter today and cancel that payment…

Late last year I did a part-time merchandising job that was physical enough that I actually gained some exercise benefits from it. I’ve now been desk-bound for about six months and it’s starting to show. Weight gain? Check. Sore muscles from even the smallest bit of exertion? Check. Excessive panting after climbing more than two short flights of stairs? Check.

I woke up this morning experiencing Day Two of sore hamstrings from several hours of gardening I did on Sunday. Even in my overweening laziness, I recognized that this would only get worse if I were to painfully get dressed and then plant myself in an office chair again all day. Thus, I put on my only passable pair of athletic shoes (actually saying aloud, “Ow! Ow! Ow!” as I bent to tie them) and took a 30-minute walk through our very hilly neighborhood.

You know what? It helped! I think this “exercise” thing could actually catch on! I hate to try to speculate about my chances of making it part of what passes for my morning routine, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt. It gave me the chance to admire my neighbors’ landscaping, ready my mind for the day ahead, and – bonus! – I found a dime on the ground. Everything’s going my way today! So far…

I come from a long line of people with too much education to sit idly by and watch language standards deteriorate. Both my grandfather and my mother used to write letters signed “The Mad Grammarian” to editors and others, pointing out egregious grammar errors and giving little usage lessons. I believe this may be my calling as well.

Last week I stumbled across a hilarious blog entry listing three recent, separate instances on Salon where the word “grizzly” was used instead of “grisly.” I had noticed at least one of those myself, but the Mad Grammarian had not begun to rouse herself fully. Coincidentally, the edition of “Lady Chatterley’s Lover” I read recently had the same homophone error referring to a “grizzly skeleton.” I don’t know if the error originated with Lawrence or the editor of that edition, but it gave me a fleeting mental picture of a bear’s bones.

Yesterday I passed a sign that said “These premises monitored with close circuit television.” How is the circuit close? Is it nearby? Extremely chummy with other circuits? No, it’s a closed circuit. Think! Think!

That’s akin to my other pet peeve, “first come, first serve.” What, do they hand you a volleyball and let you lob it over a net? No, if you get there first, you shall be served first.

A lot of grammar errors stem from failure to consider what the words mean. Children do it all the time, even making up elaborate rationales for their misheard phrases. I remember the Beverly Cleary character Ramona and her conviction that the national anthem was about some kind of lamp called a “dawnzer” that gave a “lee light.” Grownups should be expected to think things through a little more, though.

I worked at Sears all through college and stood underneath a gigantic sign that read, “Lay-A-Way.” Aaaghh! Yet another term ripped apart and divorced from its meaning. There’s nothing difficult to comprehend about the idea of having the store “lay a purchase away” until you finish paying for it. I guess it’s just not “catchy” enough.

Now that my inner Mad Grammarian has been awakened, I vow to no longer sit idly by when I spot these kinds of errors. Sloppy editors and illiterate sign-makers beware! The War of the Apostrophe is at hand! Dictionary.com is there for a reason. Use it!

As much as I love my job, I’m obviously not used to all of its creative demands yet. I can tell this by the way I wake up almost every morning with my latest projects tumbling around in my near-conscious mind. This morning, for example, I woke up with my brain churning out little snippets of a series of audio scripts I need to write. They weren’t horrible, so the experience might actually help. However, it’s rather non-restful, to say the least.

This weekend and early next week are going to be choked with extracurricular deadlines. I do the newsletters (“do” being defined as “gather articles, write some stuff, edit, lay out and send to the printer”) for two different clubs. I am horrible about the deadlines. One of the clubs used to have a monthly newsletter, but now they’re lucky if it comes out bi-monthly. I’m planning to abandon these volunteer posts as soon as possible, but I know I’m going to feel guilty if/when they have trouble replacing me. My new motto: “Just say ‘sorry, I’m too busy with work.’” (You thought I was going to say, “Just say no,” but I couldn’t separate it from the ghastly flashback of Nancy Reagan that it forces upon the mind.)

Last night I actually had a couple of hours to hang out with the hubby, which was nice. We had Thai food and chatted for a while then cooled off our scalded and over-spiced palates with McDonald’s vanilla cones (you notice they don’t even try to label the frozen mixture in the cone anymore – it’s just identified as a “cone”). I think I fell asleep during “The Daily Show,” so I was obviously poor company once we got home. Oh well, we’ll have the chance to go out again tonight.

I apologize that this week’s blog entries were even more brain-crushingly trivial than usual. A little more sleep and some shorter workdays should bring next week’s output back to my standard level of mediocrity!

This is starting to feel like the longest work week in history. I’ve been way off my usual schedule, with the whole beer n’ bowling excursion on Monday and long meetings away from the office Tuesday and Wednesday. Today I woke up extra early with ideas for a work project stampeding through my brain. Make it stop!

As an added bonus, I either have the world’s worst immune system or I’m experiencing increasingly bad allergies as I get older. My sinuses are all snorky but I don’t necessarily feel ill, so I suspect allergies. I’ve been driving a car that was previously owned by a smoker (and it REEKS!), so I’m sure that isn’t helping. Man, I’m a whiner…

So anyway, I have a lot to catch up on at work today, which will be broken up by a charity luncheon and a relatively early hairdresser’s appointment. Maybe I could work in a pedicure and free up Friday evening to have a date night with the hubby. It never hurts to plan ahead.

That’s pretty much all I have to talk about today. Enjoy your Thursday and we’ll celebrate Friday tomorrow.

I looked out the window the other day to admire our newly-mowed yard and discovered that my backyard rose garden is in full bloom. Last year I moved more than a dozen mini rose bushes from a huge, empty-looking flower bed in the front of the house to a smaller, sunnier bed in the back. Almost all of them survived the move and are flourishing in their new location. If it weren’t still dark outside I’d post a picture. I’ll try to do that some other time.

The best part about this abundance of multi-colored blooms is that I have done nothing to encourage it this year. I still need to buy about 3-4 more mini roses to fill in the spots left by the bushes that did not live through the move. At some point I need to cut off the dead portions of the bushes from last season, but the roses don’t seem to care very much either way.

My perennial geranium plants are very healthy this year, too. They may be a little too healthy, in fact. I think I may divide them while the season is still early and spread them out a bit before they overwhelm the smallish trees that grow near them.

My goal for Sunday is to visit a garden store and finally buy some flowering plants for the empty bed in the front of the house. I’ve managed to reduce the size of the flower bed by planting grass over about half of it, but that leaves a big expanse of blank dirt punctuated with rather large weeds. A dozen or so annuals and some cypress mulch would go a long way toward making our house look more presentable from the street.

I’m also going to get some more hostas to plant under our oak tree in the back yard. Last year I ringed the oak with hostas and then neglected most of them to death during the summer. This year I hope that by starting early and giving the whole process a little more thought, I can achieve a better result. We’ll see…

Yesterday our day of corporate bonding went off as planned. All seventeen of us worked feverishly through the morning, ate at our desks (lunch was catered), and then piled on a bus for an afternoon of work-free enjoyment. We started with an IMAX movie and moved on to bowling. There was beer on the bus. There was beer at the bowling alley. There was beer on the bus again. The beer came back into the office.

As you can imagine, work did not resume when we returned to the office. It was the first time I’d ever seen anyone actually play with the office pool table and video games.

The whole day was a lot of fun, and I was in a silly mood before I ever even opened a beer. I’m a dotcom veteran, so the day’s activities were not without precedent for me. There was just something weird about them being on Monday.

Today I have a series of meetings that will last well into the evening. Thanks to the old “two aspirins and a big glass of water” pre-bedtime remedy, I’m feeling pretty well this morning. My shoulder is advising me that there’s a reason I don’t bowl very often, but I’m otherwise unscathed.

I’m running a trifle behind this morning, so I’ll cut this short. I have to tidy up for the cleaning lady and make myself presentable for today’s meetings. More tomorrow…