After a Fun Night Capping Off a Crappy Week, I Am

beat

For more Singular Saturdays go visit Jenn in Holland.

La Vie en Rose

This post brought to you by Soccer Mom in Denial - posting every Monday on a different musical memory.

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Sunday was one of those days - when you feel fully transported to another place. I went to the farmers' market on a gray rainy day and picked up some fresh mache (salad) and tomatoes. I went home, put together a tomato tart and made homemade French onion soup (complete with toasted baguette slices topped with Gruyere!).

My husband picked up a bottle of Beaujolais Villages and we sat down to a lovely French lunch. With the pouring rain outside it reminded me of La Vie en Rose - the movie about Edith Piaf. Well, everything except the tragic part.

Growing up my dad would play Edith Piaf records endlessly. She had this strange, yet captivating voice. Made all the more interesting and heartfelt due to her excessive drinking and drug use. And difficult childhood.

Back to my transporting afternoon - a simple French meal, a lovely bottle of red wine, a wonderful husband. La Vie en Rose.

Quand il me prend dans ses bras
Il me parle tout bas,
Je vois la vie en rose.

Fresh Produce at the Farmer's

market

For more Singular Saturdays go visit Jenn in Holland.

Bordeaux

It's that time of the week - injecting a little geographic exploration into an otherwise sedentary life.

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There comes a time in everyone's life when they get that phone call from their parents. "We're retiring to..." Boca Raton? Warm weather. Early Bird Specials. There's something to be said for that.

My mother and stepfather who lived in England for several years (he's British) called me several years back to announce their plans.

"Bordeaux".
"As in France?".
"Yes, they have nice wine there. And good weather. And good health care."

Fine by me!

They have spent the past few years in their new home mostly renovating it. It's a nice old farmhouse that really reminded you of, well, a farmhouse. Rustic sink. Barn. That sort of stuff. It is now a lovely house with a gourmet kitchen and an upstairs suite for visitors.

Instead of the trek to the $5.95 buffet that I would be making if they lived in Florida, I'm trekking down the hill to the wine co-op to fill our 10 liter jug with the village red. Life is good!

The first time I met my husband he overheard me at a party talking about how my mother was moving to Bordeaux. He interrupted the conversation, injecting "what?! why aren't you there now?!".

A couple of years later when I brought him to meet my parents I thought he would dump me afterwards - he got his trip to Bordeaux, what did he need me for after that? Instead, he proposed. Guess he wasn't sufficiently scared off by my mother. Maybe he was too drunk to notice. Maybe he figured he could someday inherit a farmhouse in France and retire there.




Where will you be retiring to?

With All of My Tart

This post brought to you by Soccer Mom in Denial - posting every Monday on a different musical memory.

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I spent the weekend baking. HEAVEN.

I love nothing more than baking. Pie crusts excite me. Lemon curd makes my heart soar.

I don't know if there is a song about how much one can love baking. But I did find a Monty Python (LOVE them too!) song about rhubarb tarts. So, sing along, and check out my goodies.

I want another slice of rhubarb tart.
I want another lovely slice.
I'm not disparaging the blueberry pie
But rhubarb tart is oh so very nice.
A rhubarb what? A rhubarb tart!
A whatbarb tart? A rhubarb tart!
I want another slice of rhubarb tart!

Blueberry Muffins and Pain Aux Raisins

The principles of modern philosophy
Were postulated by Descartes.
Discarding everything he wasn't certain of
He said 'I think therefore I am a rhubarb tart.'
A rhubarb what? A rhubarb tart!
A Rene who? Rene Descartes!
Poor nut he thought he was a rhubarb tart!

Lemon Curd Tart with Swiss Meringue & Fruit Tart with Pastry Cream

Read all the existentialist philosophers,
Like Schopenhauer and Jean-Paul Sartre.
Even Martin Heidegger agrees on one thing:
Eternal happiness is rhubarb tart.
A rhubarb what? A rhubarb tart!
A Jean-Paul who? A Jean-Paul Sartre!
Eternal happiness is rhubarb tart.

Parisienne style Brioche

A rhubarb tart has fascinated all the poets.
Especially the immortal bard.
He caused Richard the Third to call on Bosworth Field:
'My kingdom for a slice of rhubarb tart!'
A rhubarb what? A rhubarb bard!
Immortal what? Immortal tart!
As rhymes go that is really pretty bard!

Vanilla Sponge Cake with Lemon Curd and Italian Meringue Buttercream Frosting

This Weekend I'm Rolling...

pastry

For more Singular Saturdays go visit Jenn in Holland.

South Beach Miami

It's that time of the week - injecting a little geographic exploration into an otherwise sedentary life.

On a lighter note than previous Wayfaring posts, I thought I'd blog about Miami this week.

For the big birthday weekend my husband wanted to take me somewhere - Paris? No, too cold, too far. What I wanted more than anything else was warm sand in my toes. Seriously, that was the exact criteria. Oh, and minimal travel time, no connections, and minimal time zone changes. Miami it was.

South Beach is a mixture of cultures - Cuban, art deco, funky - if you count those as separate cultures. Let me tell you a little about each of these.

Cuban - Miami has a large Cuban population and it was in full evidence this past weekend. As we were walking to Puerto Sagua for Cuban sandwiches (I love any sandwich with pickles) we kind of ran into Jon Secada, the Latin pop star. And his friends, one of whom invented the Macarena. They were filming something for someone (TV?) and somehow we we were asked if we wanted to meet Jon...and dance the Macarena. Here we are. I think I did pretty well.

Art Deco - At some point, someone had the good sense to preserve all the beautiful art deco buildings in the neighborhood. It's a wonderful place to walk around once you've spent enough time on the beach.

Funky - South Beach day and nightlife is a a motley collection of eccentricities. Our hotel had theme rooms - now I know you're thinking jungle or bordello - and you might be right. They also had rooms, such as ours, that was decorated based on a 50's car theme. The bathroom fixtures, the ceiling fan, everything. You can fight to get into a chi-chi club, watch scantily clad women parading down Ocean Drive, or get a temporary tattoo at midnight after too many mojitos.

Notice it's a flower - for Flower Child

It Was 40 Years Ago Today

This post brought to you by Soccer Mom in Denial - posting every Monday on a different musical memory.

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You say it's your birthday
It's my birthday too--yeah
They say it's your birthday
We're gonna have a good time
I'm glad it's your birthday
Happy birthday to you.

When I get older losing my hair,
Many years from now.
Will you still be sending me a Valentine
Birthday greetings bottle of wine.

What would you think if I sang out of tune,
Would you stand up and walk out on me.
Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song,
And I'll try not to sing out of key.

You say you want a revolution
Well, you know
We all want to change the world.
You tell me that it's evolution,
Well, you know
We all want to change the world.
But when you talk about destruction,
Don't you know that you can count me out.

There are places I remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I've loved them all

I'm in Miami, My Toes Are...

warm

For more Singular Saturdays go visit Jenn in Holland.

Burning My Brain

It's that time of the week - injecting a little geographic exploration into an otherwise sedentary life.

I was tossing around a bunch of ideas for this week's Wayfaring Wednesday and then I realized I was tossing them all around in my brain. Which 20 years ago, was on fire.

During college I became very interested in African studies - this was very exciting for me as I had spent a few years not really sure of what I wanted to do. I had a major but I didn't have a clear passion for the subject. After taking an African history course in which I hated the teaching assistant, but loved the class, I knew this was for me.

The summer between my junior and senior years of college I decided to go on a trip to Africa - keep in mind, this was the late 1980's - not everyone was doing it. The one program I found was 6 weeks in Nigeria studying at the University of Ibadan with other American students.

It was a great trip in many ways - I dove into the unknown, went to a country I'd barely heard of, with people I'd never met.

Upon my return to the U.S. I started to come down with weird symptoms. Blurred vision at first and then the fever hit - easily reaching 104 degrees. Ibuprofen would break it and soon it was back up again. My parents took me to my infectious disease specialist in NY City (doesn't everyone have one of those?) - and to make a long story short, I ended up hospitalized for a week with malaria. Later I would discover, cerebral malaria. Not good.

Fortunately for me, my mom is a critical care nurse and was able to take me home after the first week - I spent the second week housebound with round the clock supervision. The fevers had stopped but now I was experiencing severe shaking - my muscles were so out of whack that my arms and legs shook uncontrollably. Try eating like that! Getting fork to mouth was impossible.

After the end of two weeks, I was much improved. And at the end of it all, after the scorching fever, the vomiting, the uncontrollable shaking - the near-death experience, I wanted to go back to Africa.

So that's how I figured out my future career - took a bit of burning my brain to do it.

Did you ever go to a place which confirmed something for you?

These Hips Don't Lie

This post brought to you by Soccer Mom in Denial - posting every Monday on a different musical memory.

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About 6 months ago I took up running - decided that I really needed to get in shape and I clearly wasn't motivated to go to an aerobics class. At least I haven't been since the 1980's when Jane Fonda was all the rage.

My goal was to run a 5k before I turned 40. Literally starting from the couch I got better and better and had managed to run a 5k on the treadmill - with hills! However, winter set in and there weren't exactly any races going on. I kept it up a bit but it was still only me against the treadmill.

Spring came to Washington and I finally got my chance. Hadn't run in a month but I figured I could do it - with my 40th fast-approaching, I HAD to do it this weekend.

It was beautiful this morning down at the Tidal Basin - cherry blossoms all in bloom. And quite chilly. So for the first time ever, I ran in 3 layers of shirts and a hat. Cute thing with a tassel.

It was brutal. Did okay for the first couple of miles and then thought I was going to pass out. I started to walk for a little - about 1/4 mile. And then I hit the 3 mile marker and said f*%k it, I'm going to run across that line if it kills me. I cranked up the iPod and SPRINTED the last 1/4 mile. Finishing in less time than I ever had.

Thanks, Shakira.

My Husband and Friends Threw a Party for Me Last Night

SURPRISED

For more Singular Saturdays go visit Jenn in Holland.

Guantanamo Bay

It's that time of the week - injecting a little geographic exploration into an otherwise sedentary life.

In the past five years, the phrase "Guantanamo Bay" has taken on new connotations. I grew up knowing its nickname Gitmo, more recently it has been dubbed Camp X-Ray (one of three detention camps contained in the naval base).

To me it is terra firma - the place of my birth. During the Vietnam War, Dad was given the choice of a tour in Southeast Asia or a stint (with his family) at the naval hospital at Gitmo. Obviously he chose the latter. The better choice, anyone would agree. I am a US citizen by birth, eligible to run for President - as much as John McCain is.

My passport merely reads "Cuba" - no specific location that might explain the circumstances of my birth. Upon returning to the US from travels abroad I am occasionally asked how I obtained my citizenship, or for how long I've held it. Try answering that question intelligibly with jet lag.

The stories from those years were both humorous and scary. A sort of gallows humor I suppose. 98 degrees on Christmas Day, cockroaches nearly as big as your hand. Bored drunken soldiers driving over land crabs in a game called "crunch crunch".

These days the name doesn't conjure up quite the same feelings. While my curiosity about the place has not waned, it has taken on a new dimension. I no longer wear the cool t-shirt emblazoned with "Guantanamo" and a red star that my friend made for my birthday years ago.

I always got strange looks when I told people where I was born. The strange looks are now followed by a solemn, "oh".

Did you know they have a Starbucks? Seems prying detainees with a venti latte is an effective means of interrogation.

Easter Special

This post brought to you by Soccer Mom in Denial - posting every Monday on a different musical memory.

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For the better part of 40 years my family and I have attended the same church in the West Village in New York. Even through the years where we lived in Connecticut and had to drive an hour each way to attend, this was the place we always came back to. My brother and sister attended nursery school here, we protested the exclusion of gays in the clergy, we mourned members killed on September 11th .

Our sermons were full of anti-nuclear, care for the poor, anti-Reagan, pro-peace messages. It never occured to me that these were not the sermons everyone else heard on Sunday.

Being in Greenwich Village in the 1980's ours was also a place that saw AIDS early on. The first person interred in the columbarium was Louis who died from AIDS - one of the last times I saw him in the choir he was wearing a rainbow-colored wig to cover his bald head. Despite the death around us, this was a place full of life.

This Easter Sunday, we came back. Nearly all of us. My sister, little brother, Mom and Dad (who are divorced) - we were missing my older brother who lives just a little too far away. It was great. It was home.

And as on every Easter Sunday, the organist ended the service with the Toccata from Symphony 5 by Widor. Enjoy.

People Have Flown in from All Over the World for Me

Loved

For more Singular Saturdays go visit Jenn in Holland.

The Palace of the King of Pobe

It's that time of the week - injecting a little geographic exploration into an otherwise sedentary life.

I was in Benin for work and spent most of my time in the sort of capital, Cotonou, at the US government offices. As with any work trip I always try to fit in a site visit - staring at a computer all day doesn't exactly give you a sense of what you're doing - what is your purpose.

Fortunately a meeting of different partners (the US government term for grantees or contractors - doesn't it sound lovely? though misleading...) was taking place north of Cotonou in one of the provinces.

Several hours later by Range Rover (thank goodness for Beninoise drivers who can navigate potholes that would swallow a Mac truck) we arrived in the village of Pobe (pronounced Poe Bay). We toured around the village and checked out the building in which we were going to host our meeting. We had a concrete building with chairs etc - quite a nice village.

But before we could do anything, we had to visit with the King. It's his town, we had to pay our respects. We were ushered into the palace amongst a crowd of excited screaming children (all his I suspect) and were seated in some plush chairs to greet the King. As is custom, we removed our shoes and waited politely until he made his entrance. As is custom, he was wearing big sunglasses. Funny how even the most remote places have access to Ray-Bans.

Our meeting with the King was very pleasant. He thanked us for coming. We thanked him for hosting us. He hoped we would support his village financially, we chuckled. He was a pretty cool King.

Have you ever met royalty? Of the British or other variety? Perhaps a Kennedy?

(I'm the fourth from the left - in black)

Oy Danny Boy

This post brought to you by Soccer Mom in Denial - posting every Monday on a different musical memory.

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Mom is a huge James Galway fan. James and his Golden Flute. Sounds fairly pornographic to me.

A couple of years ago I had the opportunity to attend one of his concerts - my husband was reviewing and he always gets two tickets. I like James Galway enough - and it wasn't one of his Irish concerts, it was a Mozart flute concerto with the National Symphony Orchestra. Don't get me wrong - I like Irish music. I just tend to like it played in a smaller venue with beer and dancing.

The concert was wonderful. The crowd loved him. He came out to do an encore - and what should it be but "Danny Boy". My husband asked me what song it was (ironic since that's his name).

Like a dutiful daughter I stood in line after the concert to get an autographed CD for Mom - written out especially to Marilyn. She opened it up on Christmas Day, clearly excited with a squeal that crossed the ocean.

Thanks Mom for giving me the little bit of Irish that I have.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

It's in the 60's, I'm wearing Flip

Flops

For more Singular Saturdays go visit Jenn in Holland.

The Home of Dum Dum Pops and Etch-A-Sketch

It's that time of the week - injecting a little geographic exploration into an otherwise sedentary life.

I've had the pleasure of driving cross country twice. Once with mom and once with my sister. There's nothing like the thrill of seeing all the quirkiness that America has to offer. Jackalope in South Dakota, Dorothy's house in Kansas. A multitude of java huts scattered around the northern Nevada desert. That last one is just plain weird.

On one trip going west to east with my sister we stopped off in Chicago to meet one of her friends - and to take their car back east as a favor. They would be spending the summer there and since we were going that way - and had spent about 2 weeks sharing the same car, we were happy to oblige.

In Bryan, OH we pulled off the highway for lunch and hopped back on. And off. Seems that the timing chain on my car had died (broken? snapped?). The car basically came to a dead stop and I pulled over onto the shoulder. Having literally just gone through the entrance toll - and Bryan not being a particularly busy entrance, I was fine. Alas, my sister who was ahead of me in the other car got about 1/2 mile down the road before she realized I was no longer in her rearview mirror. She pulled off, came back around and found me. We called the police who came and took me away - I was literally sitting in the back seat of an Ohio State trooper's car - it would have made a great photo - while the tow truck took dear Sacajawea (we named the car that since she had taken my sister and brother - the "white men" - to the Pacific) away.

Since the car would be there overnight we checked into a hotel and went out looking for fun and adventure. You'd think a small town situated on the Ohio Turnpike between South Bend and Toledo would be hurting for activity. You'd be WRONG! Bryan, Ohio is home to both Etch-A-Sketch AND Dum Dum lollipops. Everybody knows Etch-A-Sketch and if you've ever spent anytime in a doctor's waiting room (or have a doctor for a dad) you know Dum Dum's.

We checked out the Etch-A-Sketch factory and asked to take a tour. No dice. No tours. Okay. So we went outside and took photos of us crying in front of the place. We then went over to Dum Dum's hoping for better luck. Alas, you had to be a school group to go on a tour. Bummer. Again, we took photos of ourselves crying outside the factory. Didn't they understand I had eaten every flavor at least 50 times?

So much for Bryan, OH. A sleepy town with such enormous potential for tourism.

Have you ever had your car break down somewhere? What did you do? Any adventure?

Dad and the Redhead

This post brought to you by Soccer Mom in Denial - posting every Monday on a different musical memory.

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It's my dad's birthday today so this post is a tribute to him. Lucky for me, he likes music.

He's a huge music fan which is great - the thing I love most is his love of jazz. Benny Goodman, Stan Getz, Bucky Pizzarelli, these are the records I remember. A jazz drummer is a sight to behold. A jazz guitarist or bassist is a marvel.

Dad is a clarinetist. It got him into medical school. (well sort of).

He's a pretty bright guy and managed to go to undergraduate on a full scholarship so the odds were in his favor anyway. He went to his medical school interview fully expecting a grilling on his qualifications. Instead what he got was a bizarre query from the interview panel.

Instead of questions about the biology of the cell, plasma membranes or the doppler effect, the panel noted that he played in the university band.

Well, yes he did.

At every home game, when a certain zaftig redhead walked by the band played a sort of belly dancer tune?

Yes, they did.

Why is that? they asked.

Well, seems she had something of a reputation (not that any of the band members had first hand knowledge given their doubly geeky status as both Hopkins students and band members).

Question answered. That was it. He got in.

30 Days Until I Turn 40, I Feel...

Intrepid

For more Singular Saturdays go visit Jenn in Holland.

My Morning Constitutional

It's beginning to look a lot like spring here - you can just see the buds on the trees just ready to come out. And the daffodil leaves are all up - you just know there's a flower coming soon.

I'm one of those lucky people who can walk to work. If I go by metro it's about 30 minutes in a crowded box, by foot I do it in 40. And I get some exercise. When the weather is nice, walking is clearly the better option.

My route takes me down a street full of restaurants and stores, eventually arriving in the more commercial area - DC's "downtown" as it were.

At the end of this area is the White House. I cut through Lafayette Park which fronts the President's residence and as I pass by I'm sure to give the 4-finger salute. Gets my day going better than a cup of coffee.

I love spring.

Wayfaring Wednesday

It's that time of the week - injecting a little geographic exploration into an otherwise sedentary life.

For this week, I'm going to ask the readers out there to tell me the wackiest place they've ever been (And if I can figure out that link thing too I'll start including that).

What is it? Tell me the wackiest place you've ever been. Think broadly - maybe the NYC subway in the 70's, Florida in a snowstorm, France during a rail strike (oh wait, that's normal)...


To get you started here are a few of mine:

1. The Home of Dum Dum Pops and Etch-A-Sketch
2. Guantanamo Bay
3. The Palace of the King of Pobe

More on each of these in later posts.

Inquiring minds want to know...

I Remember It Well

This post brought to you by Soccer Mom in Denial - posting every Monday on a different musical memory.

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My husband and I were having dinner with friends this weekend and the subject of our engagement came up. The actual moment when we became engaged. These friends know us well and have known us for sometime and yet had never heard the story. So we decided to tell them.

It had a romantic setting - Paris in June in front of the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel - on these things we agree. The other details are sort of in dispute. Well, not exactly in dispute - more like we remember them differently. I'm the first woman to go to Paris with her boyfriend who didn't expect a marriage proposal - so the moment itself was a bit discombobulating for me. In a good way. A very good way. I was definitely caught by surprise.

For me, seconds seemed like hours. My recollection of the events occurred in slow motion. My mind was going in six different directions so I can't say which thought preceded which. My husband recalls the details a bit differently - his mind was a bit more focused at the time. On this we can agree, we became engaged in front of one of the most beautiful views that Paris has to offer.

It reminded me of that song from Gigi - that's us, on our 50th wedding anniversary.

He: We met at nine.
She: We met at eight.
He: I was on time.
She: No, you were late.
He: Ah yes! I remember it well.

He: We dined with friends.
She: We dined alone.
He: A tenor sang.
She: A baritone.
He: Ah yes! I remember it well.

He: That dazzling April moon!
She: There was none that night,
And the month was June.
He: That's right! That's right!
She: It warms my heart to know that
you remember still the way you do.
He: Ah yes! I remember it well.

He: How often I've thought of that Friday,
She: Monday
He: night, when we had our last rendez-vous.
And somehow I've foolishly wondered
if you might by some chance be
thinking of it too?

He: That carriage ride.
She: You walked me home.
He: You lost a glove.
She: I lost a comb.
He: Ah yes! I remember it well.

He: That brilliant sky.
She: We had some rain.
He: Those Russian songs.
She: From sunny Spain.
He: Ah yes! I remember it well.

He: You wore a gown of gold.
She: I was all in blue.
He: Am I getting old? Oh no! Not you!
She: How strong you were,
how young and gay;
A prince of love in every way.
He: Ah yes! I remember it well.

On the First Day of March, Waiting for...

Spring

For more Singular Saturdays go visit Jenn in Holland.

A Little Geography Quiz

I got such a positive response to my geography post - half-joking - that I thought it was time for another geography teaching moment. Maybe I'll make this a regular thing.

For work and play I travel to lots of interesting places around the globe. Recently I started a new job where it is expected that I will be covering a few countries for our team. Every day I would come home from work and my husband would ask "what did you get? what did you get?" and I had to answer "I don't know yet".

Well now I know. Maybe you can guess:

1. You would never get a tourist visa for either of these countries.

2. Both countries' average highs hover around 90 degrees F - every month of the year.

3. One country requires French-speaking skills, but not so much the French spoken in Paris. Cross the border and you need to speak Spanish.

4. The other country has a name very similar to its neighbor to the north - which when mispronounced sounds like a racial slur (it's fun to watch people struggle with that one!)

5. I'll be taking malaria medication. And hopefully this time it will work.

Can you guess them?

Baby Beethoven

This post brought to you by Soccer Mom in Denial - posting every Monday on a different musical memory.

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Joyfully, I find myself spending a lot of time buying baby gifts these days. If you invite me to a shower or over to see the new one I'll bring books and clothes (for 18 months - thinking ahead to the time when the 600 onesies you got will be useless).

Lately I've also been thinking about Baby Beethoven. I think it's partly due to a dinner I went to where the hosts played their CD incessantly - the child was upstairs sleeping and somehow the CD playing in the living room on the other side of the house for hours after the kid had gone to bed was somehow going to keep her in bed. Rather than soothing, I found the plunk-plunk of the toy piano on the CD mind-numbing. Maybe it was hearing my wedding procession played like I was a toddler that finally got to me.

Partly inspired by SMID's constant introduction of music to her children - real musicians playing songs the way they were written (graphic lyrics and all) - I put together a CD for a friend of a great album by Leon Fleisher. "Two Hands" is Leon Fleisher's first recording in 40 years after he suffered from focal dystonia - he had lost the use of his right hand. Thankfully, he recovered to great success and even went on to receive a Kennedy Center honor.

Hopefully my friend's baby will find this music soothing, at a time when she's probably more focused on burping better.

(I apologize for the poor quality video - go out and buy the CD!)

On a cold gray day

Hibernating

For more Singular Saturdays go visit Jenn in Holland.

VaVoom!

Yesterday I posted on our attendance at one of LA's premiere entertainment activities - pro-wrestling mixed with striptease.

The VaVoom is all about the striptease. You'd think one would find this fascinating for the usual reason - women stripping - but there was so much more. Typically you have a woman using fans in a clever way to hide her body parts; if you haven't seen it in person you probably caught it in a movie like Victor, Victoria.

Here a few of the higlights of striptease brought to a whole other level:

It's hard to tell from the photo exactly what's going on - I'll do my best to describe it. There's a man dressed as a cowboy bouncing up and down continuously on a pogo stick with a plastic horse on it. Follow me? He's bouncing vigorously for what had to be 10 minutes (thighs of steel!) all the while taking off his clothes. Just when you think he's reached the end, wearing nothing but a stars and stripes decorated speedo he pulls at his last remaining piece of clothing (still hopping!) and a burst of silver glitter sprays from his crotch. Yes, a g-string! What ingenuity!

The best tease was the last one... a woman (or so it seems) using a feather fan eventually reveals herself to a be a himself. And then proceeds to perform the most acrobatic, beautiful, and truly impressive act with a hula hoop. Calves of steel! Brilliant!

The evening's finale was something called Sashay Gigante. You're watching a bunch of men onstage in various outfits (fireman, postman, etc) and they proceed to strip off their uniforms revealing a variety of speedos. Only this group seems off, they are not nearly as buff as the previous peformers - both wrestlers and strippers. You wonder what's going on as they proceed to gyrate. And then they run into the stands and hump various audience members. That's it. Nothing else to it - just a big ole Sashay Gigante.

Plates of steel? In their heads?

Lucha VaVoom!

This post brought to you by Soccer Mom in Denial - posting every Monday on a different musical memory.

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We just got back from LA where we hit both the high and low cultural points of this town.

For Valentine's day my husband and I joined my little brother and his girlfriend for Lucha VaVoom! A combination of Mexican masked wrestling and burlesque, this show was outstanding in its acrobatics and colorfulness. Wrestlers dressed as chickens and nurses, women (and sometimes men) performing denuding feats that only years of wasted time could produce. Truly astonishing. A memorable performance all around. And some heart-racing music played at full volume.

I leave you with this short clip of the night's festivities...

More on Lucha VaVoom! and other highlights later this week...

Valentine's Haiku

Flying to LA
Valentine's Day in the air
Join the Mile High Club...

Happy Valentine's Day everyone - we're off on vacation.

Visit My Mommy's Place for the Second Haiku Buckaroo Contest! You've got until Friday to enter your own poetry. And this time you'll win prizes.

Geography

I am a geography geek. I could peruse an atlas for hours. And so it was with great interest that I came upon this map.



Funny, they forgot to mark the Starbucks at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba.

Another Round!

This post brought to you by Soccer Mom in Denial - posting every Monday on a different musical memory.

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With SMID visiting Europe this weekend I was reminded of my travels there as a child and all of the music we took in. Mostly, we staged productions of ABBA songs - "Fernando" and "Dancing Queen" were favorites. Occasionally we would be exposed to other music.

For instance, Roger Whitaker. Popular amongst the German housewives at the time, and sung in English, we found more fodder for our dramatic talents. I recall vaguely something about a staging of "Yellow Bird" and "Let a Smile Be Your Umbrella" - maybe that was the Muppets. Not that you could tell the difference. English-speaking children spending the summer in Germany will take whatever they can get.

Finally, I distinctly recall a particular song we learned while touring around - "In Munchen steht ein Hofbrauhaus, eins, zwei, Hofbrau!". While other kids were learning "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" we were learning beer hall songs.

Oh, what an educational childhood!



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p.s. Watching the Grammys as I write this. Anyone else think the sound quality is sucky? Isn't exactly selling any tunes.

I don't know what to make of it.

Dick Cheney's dog, Dave, and Lucy, our beloved cat, have the same veterinarian. Good thing we didn't schedule our appointments at the same time.

Poor dog, such a shame his owner is heartless.

Posting at 11pm on Saturday Night

Late

For more Singular Saturdays go visit Jenn in Holland.

Kiss Them!

I came home today to this in my mailbox. Not only does it indicate that spring is a mere 6 weeks away, it shows last night's primary results.

I'm not going to promote one or the other - they are both clearly liked by a number of states and voters. In fact, one won more states, one won more delegates. Reminders of 2000.

Alas, I was not part of yesterday's frenzy - that is next week - but my family was! My dad tried to caucus in his new hometown but hadn't registered in time - but he really did try! And as luck would have it, the polling place was his favorite bookstore. Gotta love that.

My sister, brother, and mother all voted in the first ever global primary. Not sure how many delegates that is and who exactly those people are. And if any of them count. No matter, they voted! Kiss them!

Super Tuesday in Jakarta

(notice there are more cameras than voters)