We began our week by marrying Conan O'Brien to Mary Poppins.
So, I felt it only fitting that we end the week with a showcase of O'Brien's considerable dancing talent, with a Haiku! Enjoy.
Ode to Safety Dance
Known for comedy,
Host of late night laughs.
But underneath jokes,
Talents of writing and dance,
Suddenly shine through.
He wrote for Simpsons,
Saturday Night Live as well.
A genius of skits.
In skit of "Pale Force"
He fights with superpower,
Paleness vs. Crime.
And Finland President twin
He also dances.
But his secret wish
is for honor of street name
Like Oprah Winfrey...
WIP word count: 330.
It ain't much, but it's something.
A few days ago, Twitter lit up with progress reports from other writers making amazing progress. Thousands of words. Thousands upon thousands. Tapping of keyboards the world over could be heard at the space station. But not from me. The day job, that great enthusiasm sucker, took all my energy.
Oh, I typed. Believe me. As a medical transcriptionist for over 15 years, I've probably produced a bookmobile of work - just not MY work. I went to bed defeated and jealous and vaguely plotting evil towards all those happy tweeting writers.
Yesterday, I tried again. First, I celebrated my good intentions by meeting my girlfriend for coffee. Like how I reward myself before I've done anything? ha! Then last night, I climbed into bed with my laptop, determined... also, JP was working out of town. (see this-n-that)
Camille Noe Pagan, author of the upcoming "The Art of Forgetting," wrote a great blog post about goals. She works a day job and has two little kids! So her daily goal is just 250 words.
I like it.
Happy Anniversary to Amber & Jaycel West!! Check out the gorgeous photo.
Amber, Eden, and I all lived together that winter and spring. I was a bridesmaid and Eden, with help from many friends, did all her flowers. Spring in Seattle means LILACS, so the girls literally went down the street, knocking on doors and asking if they could harvest for a wedding. People happily came out and pointed to their best blossoms. As a result, their reception was a bower of lilacs. I can't believe that was nine years ago.
Nine years ago.... Let's see.
One thing that has NOT changed: A girl need her girlfriends, even if we're scattered across the country. SO!
My love to Amber! Celebrate those Nine!
My love to Eden, newlywed of three months and 13 days!
They are happy, so I am happy.
Well, I will be when JP gets back.
He had to work in Spokane yesterday and won't be back till this evening.
ALLLLL BY Myyyyyselllf...
Don't wanna be... ALL BY Myyyyself....
1. Mary Poppins, the stage show.
2. Terry Gross, host of Public Radio's Fresh Air.
3. Conan O'Brien, late night comic, ambassador of redheads the world over.
What could they possibly have in common?
Nothing, I thought. But two weeks ago, we went to see Mary Poppins at the Paramount Theater in Seattle. "Amazing" doesn't cover it. The story is much more developed, as it's based off of the actual Mary Poppins books.
So, I did a little poking around on the internet. (Of course, on my break! Why do you ask?) Did you know that the author, PL Travers, wrote EIGHT Mary Poppins books, between 1935 - 1988? I sure didn't.
Interesting facts about Pamela Travers, the author of Mary Poppins:
Now, Terry Gross wrote a book, published in 2004, called "All I Did Was Ask." It's a compilation of the many interviews she's done over this years for Fresh Air, this book focusing on the entertainers. One chapter particularly grabbed my attention.
"Mom, Dad, I Want To Be a Tap Dancer." -- Conan O'Brien
O'Brien: "I would watch these movies like Yankee Doodle Dandy with Jimmy Cagney, and he's singing and tap-dancing. I thought if you want to be in show business, you've got to be able to tell a joke, put a song across, but most importantly, you have to be able to break into a ten-minute tap dance at any moment. So I went to my parents and said, "I've got to take tap dancing lessons." ... They hooked me up with a guy named Stanley Brown. He was this older black gentleman who had been the protege of Bill "Bojangles" Robinson, the great tap dancer, who'd been in all those Shirley Temple movies... My dad would drop me off on his way to work Saturday mornings... I would walk up this rickety, old ten flights of steps into his dance studio. And it would be all 24-year-old black men and women, and then one orange-haired, freckled kid sitting there, holding his shoes in a box."
Terry Gross: "Did you have a nice sense of rhythm when you were nine?"
O'Brien: "Since we're on radio, I'll just say, yes, I did. And by the way, I"m extremely handsome right now, for those of you who can't see me."
So, when Mary Poppins hit Broadway, of course, it had to make the talk-show circuit rounds too. Of all the song-dance numbers to choose from, what do you think Conan O'Brien requested for his show? The one and only tap-dance number of the show, Step In Time. Enjoy. We sure did!
Warning: Do not read if you are dieting with success,
if your cholesterol matches that of Colonel Sanders,
or if you support the rice trade embargo against potatoes.
Ode to Kettle Chips
From the state of Idaho
Or the Emerald Isle
You offer yourself
so willingly to butter,
sour cream, and chives.
A graceful backdrop
for bacon bits, chili, cheese,
You blend with them all.
But without a doubt
Your uncluttered brilliance shines
As a Kettle Chip!
A quick dip in oil
and shaken down with sea salt,
The stage is all you!
No frills, no extras,
Just you, Mr. Potato,
Making my heart glad.
I love you deeply,
Small, hidden bags vital
for bad day coping.
But please understand
If I must ignore your call
Every now and then.
watching The Biggest Loser,
Scared they can see me.
Crisis in the Parker Home! Our freezer is so cold, it burns everything you put inside within a week. The nob is broken off. JP tried adjusting it once with pliers, but it didn't change. So he tried again.
Ahem. With Success.
We woke this morning to a completely thawed freezer. And the fridge above was warm too. The milk is bad and now my coffee is black.
And I'm starting my day to the smell of Trader Joe's Orange Chicken frying. To be followed by buffalo wings. Then chicken breasts. It's only 8:33 am. The big pink isn't helping me. JP is happily frying and singing, "Orange Chicken... In the Mornin!" He's a morning person.
So, if you're in the Seattle area and feel like bringing a tub of mashed potatoes or cole slaw over, breakfast is on the Parkers! Chicken n waffles? The door's open.
Share the winnings!
(If you haven't seen Waking Ned Devine, get your Netflix on. The chicken dinner is key.)
You've seen this photo. But indulge me, please. I'm setting the scene.
Us girls stayed at the Alla Porta Rossa, third row from the top, the rosy-colored building almost at the end. We were in the top apartment, called the Crem Caramel. It was as delicious as it sounds - a dreamy little studio with a tile balcony the size of the whole apartment.
(Now, before you decide to hate me, please understand that these days, I can't travel further than downtown for shoes. Shoes on sale. This was THE trip. Know what I mean?)
Anyhoo, the views. I'm not making this up. From the front balcony, I give you this...
And then to the left, down to the village...
We spent four days in complete bliss. Here we are, exhausted from swimming and hiking around, enjoying a wee scoop of gelato.
Our third night there, we heard voices carrying through the village. The sound rose and fell. We couldn't understand the words, of course, but figured it was just a television turned up too far. How Rude! In this paradise, someone had the nerve to shatter the peaceful evening with an Italian sitcom?!
Then we saw people gathering outside a restaurant or something. Over the next few minutes, the crowd grew. We decided walk down and investigate.
When we came around the corner, we discovered two rows of chairs outside a local bar, facing the opposite stone wall... where they were playing were playing a movie. We stood transfixed, vaguely disoriented, as we John Wayne ride up on his horse!
Heck yes! We arrived just in time to see The Duke swagger into a sick little boy's bedroom, looking distinctly uncomfortable. But as the sheriff, he bravely smiled and approached the boy's bed.
Then he took off his hat and growled, "Ciao."
We didn't stay long because we couldn't control our giggles. Back out on "our" balcony, we listened to Old West Italiano for the next hour and a half. Punctuated by gunfights, of course. And galloping hooves.
In my world, John Wayne will always be Italian.
Last night, I had a panic... I left a comment on a blog. As usual, I had to sign in by naming "typepad" as my platform and putting in my profile ID. No big deal... After it had posted, I clicked on my own comment to go check in at my blog and fiddle around. But the link didn't take me to my welcome page. It took me to an inside profile page. That page, besides the way-too-close picture of me, only features my latest comments and doesn't make sense if you don't know what you're looking at...
GRRRRrrrrr. Yes, Typepad, I'm irritated.
SO. My question to you, my fellow blogging friends:
Which platforms have you used and how do you like them?
My wish list includes:
In other concerning news, I have writers's block...
To quote my very thirsty, seven-year-old nephew on a road trip, and the next rest area is 32 miles away, "What's gunna happen to me?"