I'll even admit it in public!

I downloaded two songs from the American Idol Season 5 Encores. Yes I did. (and yes, I did watch this season, thank you very much. Heck, if they had this show when I was in my 20's you can bet your bottom dollar that I'd have been waiting in the long audition line!)
Of course, one was Chris Daughtry. Rowr!
(with many thanks to Nonanon for the wonderful new word. Rowr, indeed!)

I was somewhat disappointed in Chris's song--a cover of Bon Jovi's Wanted Dead or Alive. Not disappointed in his performance, which was great, but there were so many better songs he did during the show. But I suppose they don't really have control over which songs go on the album, in fact I don't think the contestants have control over much, unfortunately.

But the other song that caught my ear was Elliot Yamin's cover of Moody's Mood For Love. This is an old and storied song, covered by everyone from Tito Puente and Sarah Vaughn to Queen Latifah (on The Dana Owens Album, which is excellent, by the way).

It is a tricky, vocalese song--and though I have a Large Love for Jason Mraz, I'm not generally a fan of vocalese-ish stuff. But Elliot Yamin has a voice so smooth and sweet that I am hopelessly hooked. Hopelessly. If you have iTunes, and love a great romantic tune...it is worth all 99 cents!

Having issues

With publishing, etc.
So, while it may appear that I was extremely productive this morning, I was just finally getting some posts to publish. There are still a few left from last week that I can't get to work...
Whew!

Melting away....

It is 875 million degrees* already this morning. It is only 7 am.
Yesterday, it was 90 degrees in International Falls.
90!
Above zero!
It was only 89 in Phonenix!

If only I could sweat away the extra pounds, I'd be almost normal-sized by now...

*temperature reading approximate. The time-temperature phone says it is only 78, but they obviously need to re-calibrate their equipmment.

Strange day...

Mr. Ameliabee and I went to the Mayfair Mall in Milwaukee to hide from the heat. We were there for a few hours, and the emergency broadcast system (you know, the "Breep, Breep, Breep, this is a test of the emergency broadcast system..." thing that you hear on the radio? They apparently have them in malls too.) kept sounding about some guy they were looking to arrest. It gave the whole afternoon a sort of Department of Homeland Security feel to it. At least I felt like my threat level had been raised. Definitely felt more Orange than Yellow.


Anyway. We were also in Milwaukee to snap a photo of yet another great sign--from a 24 hour restaurant in West Allis.
When are they open? I don't know. I suppose we'll ask Mr. Alway, he owns the place, after all.


So a good portion of the day spent in Milwaukee. When we got back to Madison, we decided to go to the Culver's in Middleton. Which is where I ran into someone from my high school class.

This might not sound remarkable, but keep in mind that I attended a very small (about 350 kids) school, in a small-ish town which is located approximated 450 miles from Madison. Of my graduating class of 100 I'd say about 40 left town after graduation. Also, that I graduated 2o years ago.

It was the weirdest thing. We walked into Culver's, and I noticed him as I was going in to wash my hands. This is a fairly distinctive looking guy--we always thought he looked like David Letterman--so I was stopped dead in my tracks. I tried not to look like I was staring while we ate, but I finally got my nerve up to go say hi. He recognized me right away, and said that I hadn't changed a bit since school. All those years ago, we weren't friends really, but it was a small school so you ended up being kind of friendly with everyone by default. He has lived here for about 3 years now, and his parents were visiting from home. We chatted briefly about jobs, and classmates (neither of us really kept in touch with much of anyone) and then we both went to eat our custards.

Of course, my crazy brain started in the moment I sat back down.
This is so embarrassing...you don't have any makeup on, your hair looks like Nick Nolte's, and you have no fewer than 3 spots of ketchup on your shirt. You look like you crawled out from under a truck stop. Haven't changed since school? What did he mean by that? Is he trying to say you were fat in high school? Cause you are fat now, darlin. F-A-T. You know, that reunion is this summer...and you better start working on it Right Now if intend to weigh less than a baby rhino by August. Let's see, if you could lose 5 pounds a week by the reunion you could probably lose enough to look like a single person instead of triplets sharing a dress. And how are you going to get your Ph.D before August?

And then, I stopped myself. I realized he might have actually meant that I looked good, and that he was glad to see me. He might not be, at this very moment, on the cell phone to every single person in our class, wheezing with laughter at what a fat loser I was, and sending them a cameraphone picture of my ass waddling back to eat my custard. He might have just been glad to see me.

For about 15 minutes, I managed to stay right there in the moment and enjoy the weirdness of the universe that brought us together in Culver's. And I was glad to see him too.

I am proud of myself for making this much progress, and for being able to step out of the crazy cycle this way. I hope that it is a sign of mental health to come. To come in baby steps...

New Blog on the Block

I think that you should check out this blog:

Maundering

by none other than my dear husband.
Some interesting political commentary, reviews of Sci-Fi and Fantasy fiction, as well as some original short fiction.
Good stuff!

The GIANT CORN of Dublin

As advertised!

Whilst in Columbus, we visited the GIANT CORN of Dublin. I'd seen this art installation many times before, but never stopped to get a closer look--but digital camera (with dying battery) in hand I stopped this time!

Sam Frantz was an agricultural engineer who invented the first hybrid corn. This art installation is on the site of his former farm on...Frantz Road, of course. An interesting way to honor both his memory, and Dublin's (recent) history as an farming community.

I've looked around the internet for a little more information about this, and have discovered that there are apparently quite a few people who Hate The Corn. They truly hate it. A just a few samples of the corn hate (unattributed, of course)

"that atrocity is only a coupla miles from my house i specifically don't go that way as often as i can just to avoid it."

"I'm embarassed to say I live very near this monstrosity. It's like a big crop of man parts attacking!!! Quite scary up close!"

"The corn is a huge embarassment and a complete pisser of wasted tax dolllars."

Now. Please. As the photo attests, we've been rather close up to the corn, and I wasn't scared. And honey, if you are mistaking corn for a field of giant "man parts" I don't want to know about your dating life. In fact, if you refer to them as "man parts" I think you might need to take remedial Sex Ed. But... if the good folks of Dublin are running around thinking that this is a giant field of penii, that explains why they are so "embarassed." And while we're talking about wastes of the taxpayer's money...I could think of a quite few that cost considerably more than the Giant Corn. But we won't get started on that. (note: the Corn was not funded by tax revenue per se, partially from a grant from the city--taken from the hotel bed tax revenue--and partially from private sources. There was no Corn Tax, in case you were wondering)

Far from being scared by my close-up view of the corn, I was intrigued. Each ear is, like real corn, subtly different, but taken in the wide view seem identical. It takes enlarging something as simple and common as corn for us to see it as something more than a collective noun: corn. Perhaps that is the point here. What else are we missing, in our blurry world of driving past and skimming over? What else are we reducing to a collective noun--lives, joys, people?

To quote William Blake:

"To see a world in a grain of sand and a heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour." (from Auguries of Innocence)

Sadly, for those who are Corn Haters, not even 109, eight foot tall ears of corn can show them the infinities in their hands.

News I can use

We have returned from the Heart of Ohio with one mission accomplished, and a whole lot more to accomplish. (and no, none of them had to do with Tom Cruise. Amen, hallelujah.)

First, the accomplished mission--we found a house! A duplex really, in our old neighborhood. It is about twice the size of our current place, at about $50 more a month. Three bedrooms, front and back porch, yard...really just exactly what we were looking for. Sadly, I only have this one photo of the outside as I didn't charge the camera before we left, and it ran out of juice early in the trip.

As I predicted, it was indeed the second place we looked at--although if it had been first we'd have taken it right away too. I'm glad it wasn't 4th or who knows?

The big mission Un-accomplished (and no dearies, I'm not talking about Iraq) was getting a job. I'd seen an open position with an environmental non-profit, and a co-worker who knew the executive director emailed an introduction for me. As it turns out, they already filled the position, and were gearing up for their Really Really Big Membership Meeting on Saturday. The fellow was out of the office both times I called to introduce myself, and they don't have normal voice-mail--in order to leave a voice-mail message for anyone it has to ring through everyone in the office's phones first. I called twice and finally gave in an left my number, as I was starting to feel like I was stalking the guy.

So, it was really weird and awkward--I reverted into my normal southern Yes Sir-Mr. Smith, formality of meeting someone new and important, and he seemed to think I was calling to sell him something, like a vacuum cleaner or Scientology. I was selling something--myself--but badly, and long story short, no job for me. I did find several other options and currently have resumes floating around. If nothing materializes, I could always go back to retail.

And there is plenty of retail for everyone in Columbus. Since we left 7 years ago, there are two HUGE new malls--Polaris Fashion Place and Easton Town Center. When I say Huge, you really have no idea how huge I mean. Huge. We visited both, and spent several hours in each--without actually seeing more than 5%. So, I'm pretty sure that if all else fails, and my arches hold out, I could always resume my retail career...

More on fun doings in a bit, (including THE GIANT CORN!) for now I'm off to unpack suitcases, and well...start to pack boxes...

Last Chance, Last Dance...

So the day has finally come (and gone, it was actually last Friday, I'm just a bit behind on the blogging here...) for the Official End of My Job.

There were times I dreamed of that day--generally in the middle of the State Fair or some truly awful meeting where I was getting yelled at by a roomful of people. But for some reason, I just wasn't ready for it at all. I'm horrible, horrible, horrible at these sorts of situations. I'm a cryer. Hello, my name is Ameliabee and after I saw The Color Purple in the theatre, I had to sit on the curb next to my car until my weeping got down to an acceptable level for driving--and it took 45 minutes.

To say that I got a little sentimental would be like saying that Robert Downey Jr. has a little problem with impulse control. I cried all morning before I left for work, I cried while sending my goodbye email, every time someone new came to my office, on the phone with contractors, the last time I used the copy machine (okay, I'm lying. That was more a dance of joy, but you get the overall picture.) The wonderful folks I work with had a party for me, complete with songs, skits, electric guitars (really!) a funny, funny powerpoint, a t-shirt and poster and other lovely parting gifts. I'll post some photos as soon as I get home--the poster and shirt in particular are terrific. I think I can do that without crying now, but I'm not making any promises.

What you probably won't see are ANY photos of me from that day. As I was getting ready for work, I thought to myself..."People are going to want to take pictures of you today (which I Generally Dislike) so you'd better make sure your hair looks okay and wear your contacts. You look much better without your glasses." Ah, vanity. Of course, I neglected this equation: Contacts+hours of crying=looking like Every Allergy Known to Mankind had been visited upon you. Or like someone who lost a really long fight with, say, Rocky.

So, the whole photo thing didn't work out too well for me. It was only helped by the fact that in most of the photos I am actively crying, and I'm one ugly cryer. I know some women who look so beautiful when they cry... one tear after another sliding down their faces, eyes wide and lips trembling. I get red, and blotchy and my face screws up like someone who just snorted sauerkraut. Not Pretty.

But enough about my splotchiness. It was (despite all my crying) a wonderful, bittersweet day. I'm looking forward to some of the changes in my life, but I will miss many of the wonderful people I've been working with. If any of y'all are reading this, thanks for making me feel more loved, honored and accepted than I've ever felt anywhere before. From one who is currently Sleepless in the Heart of Ohio...

The Coolest

The coolest thing I've purchased on eBay is, as of right now my new Wonder Woman clock. It is shiny red, and has an alarm that sounds like, well...Justice.

Getting Close

Wow. I can't believe that I have only 4 days left at work! While I'm nervous about moving, finding an apartment, getting a new job, finding new radio pre-sets--I'm beginning to get to the Glad Place about leaving my current job.

This is only helped by phone conversations such as this, from my wonderful afternoon:

Contractor: I went to your website, and my company isn't listed.
Me: Did you go to whereameliabeeworks.com?
Contractor:No, I went to notwhereameliabeeworks.com, and I'm not listed.
Me: Um, well, that isn't our website. So...you wouldn't be listed there.
Contractor:Well, how do I get listed?
Me...getting more confused: On our website?
Contractor: No--on notwhereameliabeeworks.com
Me...wishing I had some sedatives in my desk drawer: I don't know because... see, that isn't our website. I just checked our website and you are indeed listed.
Contractor:Well..I want to be listed on the other site. Can you fix that?
Me...deciding that in lieu of sedatives, I could just drink white out: No, I can't because that isn't our company. You'd have to call or email them--I really don't know anything about them. I'm not even sure what kind of business they are.
Contactor: Well, what is their phone number? Can you at least tell me that?
Me...downing a big swig of white out: *Sigh...*

Devil in the Details, by Jennifer Traig

I feel like I'm cheating on fiction, somehow...

But my husband bought me this book, and it was so great I had to share. I'm not a great one for memoirs (but Ms. Nonanon is a memoirs fan, as well as all other things nonfiction. You really should check our her site if you haven't already!) but as Traig writes about a subject near and dear to my heart, I couldn't resist.

Anne Lamott once said that what the world needed were more funny books about dealing with serious subjects (her book Hard Laughter is a case in point) Thankfully, Jennifer Traig has come along with just the funny book I needed.

As the subtitle "scenes from an obsessive girlhood" implies, Jennifer Traig has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD). She has bouts with a particularly nasty strain--scrupulosity, which is driven by severe and rigorous religious standards.
From several whirls with anorexia, to a personal strain of Judaism so strict she can't bathe for three weeks, eat meat and milk on the same day, or use the letter x (it's a cross, and to touch it means you've converted to Christianity) Traig describes it all from the inside. You wouldn't expect the next words out of my mouth to be "I laughed so hard my chest hurt" but that is in fact the truth.

With her ever changing compulsions, Traig gets herself into some pretty ridiculous situations, and she laughs right along with us. She hints at the unhappiness that (I can assure you) a teenager with OCD feels, and at family strife over her ever changing illness, but she doesn't dwell on it. Far from making fun of OCD, or glossing over the very real consequences of her behavior, Traig is looking fondly at her childhood--as any woman in her thirties would. The only difference is that most women in their thirties don't have memories of compulsory, hours-long, desperate tea rituals with stuffed animals. She is tender with both herself and her family, and the mistakes that, with the gift of hindsight, we can see they made in dealing with her disease. As she points out though, it was the mid-70's and OCD wasn't widely recognized. Through all the hand-washing, rituals, and miles and miles of paper towels the Traigs are held together by love.

As someone who lives with OCD, I know it is difficult to handle, and even harder to explain. Why am I tying and re-tying my shoes 15 times? I have no idea, but believe me, it looks more fun than it is. One of my own personal best answers to the persistent musical question: "Why don't you just stop that?" has always been "Sure. Just as soon as you just stop growing." Now I think I'll give this book to some people in my life, and maybe we can finally laugh our way to understanding each other.

Overheard whilst shopping

Visited a tony housewares store this afternoon--more to look and dream than to actually buy anything. I found the Davenport of My Dreams, and several other things I'll never afford, and in the process overheard a truly strange customer interaction.

The other patrons of the small shop were a middle-aged woman and man. They were very high maintenance--running the very nice clerk to the back every 3 minutes or so, asking the clerk if he could get her a soda, loudly saying things like "What I'm trying to do, is match this to our crystal chandelier. The one in the living room, not the foyer." (which made me think of this skit from SNL)

What they ended up buying were large-ish decorative ceramic balls, the kind you display in a bowl. While the clerk was wrapping them, she asked "So, the warranty from the company is for 30 days, what kind of warranty do you offer or is the 30 days from your company?"
Somewhat confused, the clerk asked her, "We do have a 30 day return policy, is that what you mean?"
"No a warranty." slight eye rolling from customer, "I mean, if they break--is the warranty only for 30 days?"
Yes, you read correctly. A warranty on ceramic spheres. Kind of like for say, computer equipment or a car.

The clerk said, "Well...um, I suppose if they just were sitting the the bowl and broke because of, um, bad um, workmanship..."
Customer, impatiently "I mean, if when I put them in the dishwasher they break..."

Okay. Here is where I was so startled that I let out a little chortle and had to leave the store before I dissolved into giggling. Thinking there was a warranty on what was basically a high-class tchotchke, that is silly enough. But for the love of sweet baby Jesus--why would you put them in the Dishwasher? You are not going to serve food on them. I'd think a little light dusting and the occasional swipe with a damp cloth should do it.

But the dishwasher? How clean do they need to get? And once these are clean, what next?

"Hmmm. You know, my crystal bell collection is looking a little dusty. Better throw it in the clothes washer! That cat looks a little shabby too, better get out the carpet steamer!"

What I did this weekend, by Amy Bee

This weekend, Lisa and I got our pimp on. Snackwise, that is!
Inspired by http://pimpmysnack.com/ we decided to make a Giant Swiss Roll, which we christened Big Debbie.

Here is a sneak peek of what I hope you'll see soon on PimpMySnack!

Big and Little Debbies, side by side:

Next a cutaway view...Mmmmm the Goodness is in the Filling!