I Took The Road Less Traveled...

Or at least the one with the least amount of dog poop. SCOOP already, America!

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood so I finally managed to get my fat ass out of the office and on to the walking trail. It felt wonderful. The sun on my face, the sun on the river, the ducks on the river, the possibility of spring at long last. I was driving home just a few days ago thinking, jesus every little thing is gray: the sky, the trees, the cars, the grass, the pavement. Where is the the color? I found some today.

And it was soooo good for me, just walking and thinking idle thoughts. I came up with about 5,000 ideas for this blog. Meet the Fam, which is me describing my kids and the good traits they inherited from me and the bad traits they inherited from their father. Meet The Mom, which is me describing me and my rad mom skillz. Days of Dad, which is me describing life with my husband and his cluelessness. In other words, redundancy rules. It is *my* blog, after all. So, there I was soaking up sunshine, which has to be good for one's serotonin levels. Raising my heart rate above "comatose" for the first time this millennium. My imagination (or self-delusion - you decide) is so great, I feel like an Olympian after a quarter mile. The dormant competitive streak awakens. There's a little old man, possibly a stroke victim - he seems drawn to one side, doing his best Tim Conway. I can take him in three strides. That woman with the gimpy leg? Toast on the backstretch. I only give the right of way to seniors and women with children. If they smile first.

Here's hoping Spring has sprung. Don't want to go back in the closet with the Cheetos and the Jackson Browne album.

My 2007 MLS Wish List

1. For Eddie Gaven to have his breakout year. Or just to start having fun again like this Edward of yore.


2. For the New York Red Bulls to be ... contenders.

3. For the L.A. Galaxy to finish second. Or third. Not because I'm anti-Becks, but because I'm pro-MLS. I'm hoping The Acquisition brings everybody's game up and one dude does not a championship win. Even a 'fuckwit soccer' championship. As a corollary, I want a big year out of Landon. Now is the time for all good men, etc. Well, actually that was last year, but we can build on this year. Yes, we can.


That seems like enough.

For now.

Bradenton Bill Has Sniffed The Sweat Socks

and only six more weeks until the season starts! Major League Soccer, that is. We took some major steps over the winter and not all of them cost $250 million (which isn't really $250 million after all). Toronto F. C., in its debut year, has sold 12,500 season tickets. 12,500 season tickets, which is either Canada embracing the colors in a big bear hug or a nation desperate to distance themselves from the violent spectacle that is modern curling. American Idol: Chivas USA might just quench this nation of its endless thirst for reality programming. At least for the Spanish speaking portion. We'll have come full circle when Landon does Dancing With The Stars. And the trades! Alecko to Toronto, Krispy Kreme Kevin to Kansas City, little Freddie exiled to Real Salt Lake? The Return of the King starring Claudio Reyna? And then there's the Rumor That Refused To Die. Remember, it took two years for the Gals to reel in their big fish. It could happen. As long as Red Bull continues to be the beverage of choice amongst 18-24 year old trendsetters everywhere.

And that's the great thing about the preseason. An-ti-ci-pAAAAAAAAAAAA-a-tion. Anything is possible.

In the preseason.

You done too much

much too young.


And it speaks volumes about the depths of my own pettiness that I find this so amusing. If only it were happening to my arch-nemesis Paris. Yes, I should be concerned for her health and well-being, but that's not nearly as fun as watching the train wreck.

Personally, I'm hoping it's a trend.

No, not just celebrity implosions. The shaved head thing. I am a hairstyle half-wit. I rode the short bus to beauty school. The last time I used a curling iron, I burned my ear. Becoming a skinhead would not only simplify my morning routine, but finally get the stench of burned flesh out of my bathroom.

It's a thought. And maybe that's Britney's excuse: like the Julia Roberts character in Steel Magnolias, she felt the need to simplify her life. To really simplify her life.

Or she maybe she's just nucking futz.



Top Five Reasons Brit Shaved Her Head

5. Can't tell north from south.
4. Felt a growing kinship with Dustin Hoffman's character in Papillon.
3. Clippers #0 is Cajun for shampoo and set.
2. Was actually looking for a buzz after a tough 24 hour rehab.
1. Desperate to make the weight cut for Celebrity Boxing.


thank you, thank you, thank you. I'll be here all week.

Top 5 Guitar Solos

Never let a lack of knowledge or qualification stand in your way.

These are the best:


1. DJ DJ - Transplants. I picture weaving when I hear this. And the straight back wooden chairs in my grandmother's kitchen: the work of an artisan. This song is so minimalist it just barely qualifies as music. But that's almost beside the point. It sounds fat, it sounds tough, it's got muscle and it makes me smile. Every damn time.

2. The intro to Who Would've Thought - Rancid. 38 seconds of the most tenderly articulated musical love letter I've ever heard. Too bad it's not written for me. And no, I'm not THAT much of a fan girl. It's a sonic caress, and I'd love it even if, god forbid, Billy Joel had written it. Not that he could. So, technically it's not really a "solo." Get over it.

3. The intro to I Got The Love - Nick Lowe. A rare lead appearance from Brentford's Best Loved Bee. Heck, the whole dang song is an essay in understated swagger. I spent my commute trying to figure out how to separate the guitar from the bass. The bassman is doing a little bum-bu-bum into Nick's dowd-de-dow, and they become one funky animal.


4. Who Do You Love - George Thorogood and the Delaware Destroyers. Nothing understated about it. And, again, not exactly a solo. The gravelly growl + the Guitar That Eats Babies = roadhouse heaven. Lonesome George made the electric guitar interesting to me in the Age of the Disciples of Onan. If guitar players were automobiles, George would be that '66 Thunderbird Thelma and Louise drove into ... the sunset, and this song would be that desperate highway.


5. Taylor - Jack Johnson. I'm in two minds about whether this should be #5 or an honorable mention. I don't like the song that much - the lyrics are inane (Peter Patrick pitterpatters on the freaking window?), but I adore the beginning. Blues meets Jazz for a laid-back clambake on Sunset Beach: the quintessential Jack J sound.





Honorable Mention to Elvis Costello, for guitar coloratura on ...Dust

2007 Grammy Awards

Random observations:

Contrived mosh pits are stupid.

Justin Timberlake is a talented singer and a nice looking boy, but why go all YouTube on us? We don't worship celebrities because they're just like us, after all.

Natalie Cole or random drag queen?

I genuinely thought Shakira was wearing paint. Really, really sturdy paint.

Leann Rimes is Gwen Stefani's country cousin. No tits, and proud. Good for both of them! But if they can talk Dreamgirl Jennifer Hudson into balancing out her girls, I predict they can both start shopping Victoria's Secret. And speaking of tits, Samuel L. Jackson appears to be entering puberty. Again. But I'm not telling him.

And, finally, Flea.

Are you making a statement of solidarity with the L.A. Galaxy? Did you wake up, think 'banana' and plan your show duds accordingly? From the gap in your smile to the knobby knees, you're my favorite 40-something 11 year old boy. Note to AK: time to start working out, dude.

Top Five Englishters Living in America*

In response to a statement I heard on the radio. To wit, that with the Beckham Acquisition, Simon Cowell would no longer be the most popular Englishter in America.

Was he ever?

My list, in reverse order:


5. Richard Dawson. He brought sexy back to Nazi prison camp comedies. He undid most of that with his 20 year British Bob Barker imitation, but remember Running Man? He was smarm personified.

4. Malcolm Merriweather, ex-Coldstream Guard and sometime valet to Andy Griffith.

3. Keith Richards. Would he not be the coolest next door neighbor ever?

2. The Geico Gecko. Even if he bends 'em (his vowels) like Beckham.

and, naturally,

1. Elvis Costello. I'm sure he'd rather be called something else other than English. Anything else, probably.

Honorable Mention: Hugh Laurie, who can speak American like a real American. And he's cute, too.



*thanks, James Brown.

Promises, Promises: All (well, ok, some of what) I Want 2007

I am a person who lives for anticipation. Christmas Eve is waaaaaaaaaaay better than Christmas Day. The vacation is always the most fun right before you leave, because once you're on your way then you're already heading home, if you know what I mean. If I don't have something on the horizon to think about, to anticipate, I get depressed. I find myself in a dark closet, with a Jackson Browne album and a bag of Cheetos. And I listen to Fountain of Sorrow over and over while slowly devouring the Cheetos. One Cheeto at a time, in three measured bites. So, that's a place I don't wanna go. Here's my list of what I wanna see in the next 11.9 months. Excuse my inability to decimalize the calendar year.


1. A new Kings of Leon album. First one was good, second one was great. Could the third one be the difference between big in Japan and total world domination? But not before they return to the Tennessee Theatre. Sorry, but I'm not moving up to arenas with you, boys.

2. David Beckham doing the Galaxy thing. Talk about a freak show. 1,000 season tickets sold on the day The Aquisition was announced. Jerseys flying off the racks. Has a "super-club" been born? Stay tuned. There may be one or two morons who believe MLS measures up to any league in the world, but most fans are wondering just how well this is going to work. As long as he works. Preferably shirtless. I'm petitioning MLS and the Gals management to have them always play 'skins.' Let that be my legacy to the sport. P.S. I predict he'll be here before August.

3. Dear sweet beautiful Nick Lowe will finally, or should I say hopefully?, release a new album. The Convincer came out on 9/11, so he's perhaps understandably (I'm just full of adverbs today!) hesistant to put another one out there (be proud of me: I did not make the 'drop/bomb' reference bad taste and an utter lack of sensitivity were suggesting to me). He's a newish dad now, so I'm predicting some happier stuff, shades of Nick the Knife perhaps.

4. That long-promised, not even half-assedly released-for-free on the internet (two tracks? two? fuhgeddaboudit, Tim) solo album from Tim Armstrong AND a new one from Rancid. Does the delay on the downloads have something to do with the demise of the drummer? Not that he's dead, he just decided to decamp, but the alliteration is definitely delightful, don't you think? You guys tour close enough to me, I might just be there. Pressed to a wall, trying desperately not to catch anything or touch anybody yet still trying to look ... if not cool, how about anonymous?

5. The 3 sick, 2 personal and 10 vacation days I've got coming. And last year's leftovers! I've been dreaming of a day, a day to myself. Where I'm not somebody's mother, wife, neighbor or daughter. I might even forget I have friends (I love you! I do!). Where the only person I have to consider on any given decision is me. What I want to eat! Where I want to go! With the best darn companion in the whole wide world (cue Wreckless Eric)! Alone and content: the real Nirvana.


That'll keep me going, through the long cold trough of despair that is February.

And, oh yeah, there's the Grammys and the Oscars. Yes, sometimes boring, often predictable, but addictive as hell. And I get to make catty remarks!