Move Your Feet With Me

There's an African proverb that says, "When you pray, move your feet."

About 300 people lived this out on March 7th, 1965 when they marched across Selma, Alabama's Edmund Pettus Bridge. The day became known as "Bloody Sunday" and the bridge became a symbol for the civil rights movement, drew attention to the struggle, and eventually caused President Johnson to sign the Voting Rights Act.

Project Dance gives us a chance to "move our feet" again in Selma. The vision is to get as many people as possible together to dance to "Jai Ho" on the Edmund Pettus Bridge. It's an opportunity to give the bridge a new meaning--one of unity, hope and progress--and broadcast it to the world on YouTube.

The slogan is "Express, Progress, Believe."

I will, I must, I do.

Turtle Time

My mom made my day by sending me a photo of this little albino baby (and all his buddies) below:
There's a whole series of photos (all photos are from a Yahoo News slide show) of the Thai operation, where activists take special care of the babies as well as the injured or sick grownups.

They clean them,
feed them,and otherwise tend to the tiny turtle totsuntil they're ready to be released back into the ocean.
Maybe Yertle and Myrtle would like to adopt Alby?If they don't, I certainly will.

Star-Crossed Turtle Love

I found out who Yertle (the turtle I recently rescued from certain squishdom whose story you can find here) was so anxious to cross the highway to see. It turns out that it was indeed Myrtle. Myrtle the sea turtle.

She lives at the lovely beach with white, powdery sand and clear waters that I recently visited. I never would have met her but for the jellyfish sting and then the lifeguard, who gave me strong motivation to return to shore when he gave a sharp tweet on the whistle and made the universal symbol for !shark!--both hands on top of his head in the shape of a triangle. So I went for a long walk away from all the people, WAY down the beach to where there wasn't a single soul (unless crabs, jellyfish, sharks and turtles have souls).

And that's where I met Myrtle. She popped her head up out of the water and said, "Hey, tell Yertle I'll wait for him and that there's no amount of sand or vast forest that can separate us. He's my turtle and I'm his Myrtle."

The trouble is, she's three hours away, by car. What is that in turtle trekking time? I guess I need to find Yertle (he can't be too far from where I last saw him) and take another trip to the ocean.

I've always been a sucker for star-crossed turtle love.

Doctors and Yogis Agree

Doctors and yogis agree--yoga is good for you. It stretches and tones; and it's good for balance, circulation, flexibility and more. Not a bad deal for something so enjoyable.

Yogis do run some risks that folks on the treadmill don't--falling asleep with your feet straight up in the air is a recipe for serious pins and needles. For some, falling asleep may not be a risk at all, but just one more benefit to add to the list. But if you'd prefer to get on with your day, be aware that the relaxation pose is even more dangerous for inducing naps, especially if you're in the comfort of your own home.

You can lessen that risk by heading to the gym, recreation center, or yoga studio for your workout, where you have the added benefit of a guided instructor who can help you make sure you're doing the poses just right. Still, it's pretty fun when your DVD instructor addresses you directly with a calm, airy voice and says, "you should be proud of yourself and I'm proud of you too" or applauds you for breathing.

My favorite line from a DVD (I'm not making this up) is: "Imagine that you are being buffeted by clouds as you fly gracefully over fertile fields."

Some yoga poses are impossible to do while laughing.

Burning Ring of Fire

I have a burning ring of fire around my midsection.

I got burned during a day at the beach and there's one part, about an inch wide and all the way around my midsection. It's between where my shorts and top ended and I'm calling it my "Ring of Fire."

"Oh I'm burned, burned burned and it feels like fire. I put sunscreen on, but the sun was higher. And it burns, burns, burns...the ring of fire...the ring of fire."

Crazy Turtle Woman

Yertle the turtle was in only the first lane (the slow lane, as it were) of his four-lane journey across the highway to greener pastures when the car just ahead of us passed over him. We watched as the poor little guy pulled his head in, then popped it back out and kept waddling.

My friend screamed, "Oh Yertle! Don't get squished!" and whipped around at the nearest spot. I was shoving my feet back into my shoes and she was yelping each time a car zoomed past or over Yertle.

I stumbled out of the car before it had fully stopped and was running across the median with my heels hanging over the backs of my shoes. My friend yelled after me, "Is he squished? I can't handle it if he's squished!" Two more cars and a couple of honked horns later, I had Yertle in hand, unharmed.

We didn't want to just leave him right off the highway because we thought he might come right back, so we talked about taking him home to a pond (we had one picked out and everything), but I didn't want to separate him from his turtle family. Who knows who he was headed across the highway to see? Myrtle maybe?

As my friend and I discussed the options, Yertle jerked his head back and snapped at me. If only he could walk that fast.

He was not the sweet grandpa-looking kind of turtle. He could have done some serious damage to my finger (I know because I looked it up).

I didn't blame him (it's his snapping-turtle nature after all) but I did almost drop him. And then I noticed his claws. Serious claws. They never include those on the cartoons.

"Help, Lj. He tried to bite me. He's scared. I'm scared. Help."

I took him as far as the fence would let me go while planning my quick escape from his powerful jaws. And then I set him down and ran...from the turtle.

Here's another crazy turtle woman:

Open How Often?

I laughed so hard I cried. And then I just cried.

** K.L--thank you for the submission.

My Last Meal by Roboto

Forgive the morbidity of this post, but it's classic Roboto passion that I had to share:

Start with the Southwestern egg rolls from Chili's for my app. For a drink, it depends. On a cold day, I would have the caramel apple cider from Starbuck's. On a hot day, it would be this southern orange mint sweet tea thing that I first tried in Selma, Alabama.

For my salad, I would have the chopped salad from Maggiano's. If it were cold and I wanted soup, I would have my mom's Mexican chicken soup, which I make a knockoff version of.

For my entree, I would honestly say the Bowtie Festival from Carino's, sub Spicy Romano Sauce. I'd have to have it with the bread from Micci's here in Denver, which is actually a ciabatta from Udi's. To drink with my entree, I would have a cold, glass bottle of Coca Cola from Mexico with a little bit of frozen icicles, but not too much to where it blocks me from drinking it smoothly. If possible, I would ask that it be from Delicias, Mexico, specifically, as that is where one of the bottling factories is located.

Tiramisu from Carino's would be my dessert. My after dinner drink would have to be a warm hot chocolate made from whole milk with whipped cream. It has to be the packaged Swiss Miss kind though.

I guess that's a basic idea for now, since I haven't really thought about it much.

Billy and Tony

Billy Elliot was a big winner at the Tonys, racking up ten awards. I've only seen the film, but would love to see the musical, starring Susan Boyle as the teacher and any one of the three young men who received the Tony as Billy.

David Alvarez, Kiril Kulish, and Trent Kowalik stammered through an adorable acceptance speech. I'd expect them each to be just as charming as Billy.

A Pixar Post

It's not easy to make a someone cry in the first ten minutes of a film (and behind 3D glasses, no less) but if anyone could do it, Pixar could.

The folks at Pixar had me at Toy Story and they've taken me with them to infinity and beyond (sorry, couldn't resist) ever since.

After the two Toy Story installments (a third is coming!), Cars, Finding Nemo, Ratatouille, The Incredibles, Monsters Inc., A Bug's Life, and Wall*E, I am thoroughly convinced that I owe it to Pixar to see their films. They've proven that I will leave with no regret about spending $10 and two hours with their lovable characters, heartwarming plots and endless humor.

Up is no exception. The aforementioned weeping behind two sets of glasses occurred during what The Pixar blog (not endorsed by Pixar) dubs the "married life montage." And I cried twice more during the adventures of Carl, Russell, Kevin and Dug.

See Up for a picker upper. It's not getting 98% on Rotten Tomatoes for nothing.

Buttercup's Dairy Story

It's not every day that you see a cow getting milked at the library.

But yesterday, when I met Lucille the cow, was one of those days. While I was there, I picked up some literature on Buttercup (a different cow) and her dairy story.

It provided yet another example of everyday misuse: "The dairy farm family works long hours everyday of the year to care for their cows and their land."

As a refresher:
Every day describes how often. If you can substitute each day, use two words.
Everyday is an adjective. If you're describing a noun, use one word.

I'm not knocking Buttercup's people, I mean, even the president's people messed this one up.

That's Our Cow

Lucille the Jersey cow came to the library today. She was kind enough to let Amanda (the one on the left), milk her while we all watched.

I learned a lot about cows.

Holsteins are black and white (like the Chik-fil-a cows), Ayrshires are red and white (for the Bama fans), and Guernseys are orange (for the Auburn fans). Jerseys (like Lucille) are milk cows.

In the picture, Amanda is pointing out that you can see Lucille's ribs because milking cows are skinny (they produce milk, not hamburgers). I'd be skinny too if I had to do what Lucille does with her food.

She eats 60-80 pounds of feed every day and every bit of it goes through a rigorous digestion process. Lucille has four stomach compartments. In the first (the rumen), she makes grass loogies (about the size of golf balls and hereafter referred to as golf balls so as to avoid the word loogie). Then she sends the golf balls to the second compartment, which stores them until it's full and then passes them into the third. When the third compartment is full, she burps the food back up into the second compartment, then the first, then through the esophagus and back into the mouth.

There, she chews the golf balls (now called cud) again. After sufficient rumination, the cud is ready to go all the way through the first three compartments and into the fourth compartment, where it is finally digested.

Incidentally, this process is where we get the word ruminate, which means either to chew over and over again (like cud) or to ponder something repeatedly.

Cows use their long tongues primarily for moving the golf balls around, grinding the feed up, and picking their noses.

Ruminate on that.

Thank You, Susan

Rather than headlines that read "Diversity Wins," the headlines today say "Susan Boyle Defeated." Reminds me a bit of Kris Allen and Adam Lambert, whose post-performance headlines said "Adam Loses."

Yes, I am one of those people who has a tender spot for everyone who doesn't quite make it, but let's look at all those who won something because of Susan.

Let's start with everyone who watched her first performance. We won inspiration and goosebumps.

The producers: they won a massive audience for the chill-inducing clip of Susan, but it also had a ripple effect for the show in general and for contestants such as Shaheen Jafargholi and Shaun Smith.

The poor chaps across the pond (that's us): without Susan, we never would have seen the self-proclaimed "porgy fellows" of Stavros Flatley (here they are in their final act) or the aptly-named Diversity, which is made up of people of all different ages, careers and backgrounds.

And Susan, well let's hope she won something from this too. She's had a rough go of things since her quick rise to fame. I hope she's won something better than fame, or a record deal, or the approval of Simon Cowell. I hope Susan Boyle won some confidence.

Home Sick

Did you read that and wonder if I was longing for a place that's associated with the warm and fuzzy feelings of home? Or are you reading right now and thinking only a true geek would make a grammar lesson out of aches, pains and a fever? If you were thinking the latter, you were right, though sometimes the former is true too. But mostly the latter.

So, it's another one of those words that means something different when written as one word than it does when written as two:

homesick="sad or depressed from a longing for home or family while away from them for a long time"

home, sick=

1. at home, not out doing various desirable activities because you feel like your head is one giant nose (like that cold medication commercial guy).

2. at home, not doing various other undesirable activities (like working) because you are at home pretending to be sick.

Got it? If only sinuses were that easy to clear up.

Band Practice Blues

Uh, so I went to band (on time) and um, there's a bit of a rainstorm happening and I tried to get in and....well, see, the doors are locked and between running from the car to the first door and then to the second door and then back to the car through water up to my ankles (no exaggeration) and the three-minute monsoon that just happened, I am now soaked. Like can't-see-through-my-glasses and look-like-I-showered-in-all-my-clothes kind of soaked.

Moral of the story--it pays to be late for band?

A Little Perspective for Memorial Day

This video is about DJ, a man who was born with cerebral palsy and was told he'd never walk. But in 2008, he decided to walk every hole of every tournament with the PGA. It was a 900-mile journey. His toes overlap and he wears eight or more band-aids to minimize the blisters. When asked if it's painful, he says no. One of the golfers in the video says it's hard to complain about the walk when they see him at every tournament.

In the height of the current war, I visited a military base in southern Colorado for work. I was uncomfortable in my business suit and complained about the heat. The soldiers had just returned from Iraq, where temperatures regularly reach 115 degrees and sometimes boil to 125 degrees. They were returning to their families and enjoying their first sand-free meals in a year.

I didn't complain about the heat again...that day.

Boyle is Back

I can't imagine being Susan on her second performance. The first time she faced the audience she was the ultimate underdog. They laughed and jeered and were then humbled as she wildly exceeded their expectations. The second time she faced the audience, she was a symbol of hope. She'd given the whole world goosebumps 100 million+ times on YouTube.com. She had to know that the whole world would tune in again looking for those same goosebumps. Talk about high expectations.

I was on board with Amanda when she said that she was biting her nails for Susan in hopes that she would deliver another stunning performance. I can't say this performance wowed me like the first one (how could it?), but it was lovely and she still earned her place as a finalist on Britain's Got Talent.

My favorite part was the interview afterwards where she showed what we all fell in love with in the first place--her funny and quirky little self.

MacBook Boulevard or Windows Way?

I had the features chosen, the laptop in the cart and the credit card in hand, but I just couldn't go through with it. It's simple, clean and twice the price of a comparable PC. I love that little MacBook.

See, my desktop has been very good to me, but it's still a desktop which means I'm tethered to my desk. I type on a keyboard with most of the letters worn away and stare out the window longing for cordless freedom. I want to sit on the porch (or just in sunnier parts of the house) with laptop in lap, and take my business on the road and to cafes.

So I'll soon have to part from my middle-of-the-road stance on the Mac versus PC debate and fork over the money to walk that smooth, straight and litter-free boulevard of Mac-iness or save some dough and journey down the dark, mysterious, and bumpy Windows Way.

So I'm still in the market for a laptop and have created a playlist dedicated to the angst of the decision. I'm pretty sure U2's "With or Without You" is about the Mac and "Mysterious Ways" is about Windows Vista.

As for me, I still haven't found what I'm looking for.

Skipping School to Build a Limo from Toothpicks and Hot Dog Water by William P.

It's prom season and a lot of kids skip school in the days (and sometimes even weeks) leading up to it. I needed a student to help explain this phenomenon to me. William P. delivered, as he always does, with style:

I think the reason people skip school for prom is because they just want an excuse to miss school. It doesn't take twelve hours to get ready for anything.

On second thought, maybe it does. I mean, first you have to sew your tux or dress, then you have to kill a cow to get the leather to make your shoes. That alone would take like six hours. Then to top it all off, you have to build a limo from scratch using only toothpicks and a boiler full of old hot dog water. MacGyver could do this in fifteen minutes flat, but for the everyday person, it would most likely take one hour, twelve minutes and fifty four seconds.

After that, you have to drive all the way to school, which we all know takes at least four hours. And with gas prices the way they are now, many people had to sell their homes just to come to prom.

I feel bad for these people, they are Americans just like you and me. You are heartless for expecting them to go to school and I hope one day you realize it.

Would you visit space?

You never really know a person.

Take my roomie, for example. We've known each other for years and have lived together for two of them. I know that she can't spit her toothpaste out in a sink that still has water swirling in it. I know that she leaves cabinet doors open and sometimes leaves the house with food cooking on the stove. I know that she is cold-blooded (in the sense that she thinks an 80-degree day is freezing) but warm-hearted (she can't stand the thought of killing bumblebears).

But there's one thing I couldn't have guessed about her--she has no interest in visiting space. I would assume that 99 percent of people would want to experience weightlessness and frolic across the moon. But for her, it has zero appeal. Seeing the earth from space has zero appeal? Zero?? Actually, it has "negative five appeal...so many things could go wrong!" I'm still stunned.

It just goes to show that you really never know a person until you find out if they'd go to to space. Would you?

To Kill a Mockingbird--A Classic Comes to Life

To Kill a Mockingbird is a classic. We've all heard of it and we all read it in tenth grade or at least pretended to read it and watched Gregory Peck and crew in the movie instead.

It's one of those rare books dubbed classic by the literary bigwigs that has earned the same title in my own personal collection. I don't find myself slogging through with furrowed brow--looking for whatever it was that earned its place in that category. I love it. Every time I read it, I love it more. Like a handful of others that stick out in my mind (the Harry Potter books among them), the story unfolds effortlessly and even the moral lessons are woven into the story organically. I have to agree with Enrique Jardiel Poncela, though, who said, "When something can be read without effort, great effort has gone into its writing."

The story feels so real, you know the author is intimately familiar with the content and the ideas, even if it is going to have a the fiction label on the spine. Harper Lee grew up in Monroeville, a rural Alabama town now famous for its catfish and yearly production of To Kill a Mockingbird. Much speculation has gone into the inspiration for the story, but that's not my purpose here.

My purpose is to encourage people to attend the production if they have the chance. The actors are local volunteers--the drunkard father of Mayella Ewell, for example, is the town's District Attorney.

The first act takes place outside and includes those special touches that cause a thrill for the audience--like period clothing and even a period car that drives up next to the audience with the town drunks hanging off of it and stumbling out of it to confront Atticus.

The second act takes place in the courthouse. I wondered how they'd pull the scenes off that didn't take place in the courthouse, and I was pleasantly surprised by the clever effects.

This is a uniquely Alabama experience that makes it on the must do list for me. The production plays for a few weekends in the late spring each year. See the website for details.

There is one performance left this year--on May 16th. Bring some bug spray and some Kleenex.

What do potato chips and star crunches have in common?

Jamarcus, who plays the lead character in "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat," came over today to make a recording. He plans to send it off to a music academy, along with some clips from the shows. Perhaps this time next year, he'll be performing in California. So while the roomie worked on getting the "studio" ready, Jamarcus and I warmed up our vocal chords.

I asked him what he does to warm up. He opened a grocery bag full of potato chips and star crunches and start eating. I asked him what the chips and star crunches had to do with warming up. His response? They help him hit the high notes.


Jamarcus himself, backstage during the last performance (Seussical, the Musical)
Listen here to see if you think it worked (be sure to listen to the whole thing because Jamarcus gets to some lovely harmony after about 30 seconds):
Gabcast! Frontline Ink #1

Turn Around

An article on CNN states that "We will not turnaround this economy until we start to turn around housing."

Turnaround is a noun, turn around is an action. In this case, they got it right the second time around. It's the same pattern with workout and work out. One word is a noun: a good workout. Two words indicate an action: I'm going to go work out.

There are lots of words like this--words that mean one thing as one word and something else entirely as two words. It's really not fair, I know, but it's true.

Thankfully, the words from a song by Jonny Lang apply to editing and writing as well as to life: "The choices you make might be mistakes, but it's never too late to turn around."

"Crazy" Quotations

So, according to this sign "Popeyes" may or may not be the name of the establishment (should I be worried?) and they may or may not "open" at "10."

And maybe they never really "close" but I'm not so sure. And their "dining room" is apparently a dining room in name only.

Need I go on?

Maybe "Popeye's" should fix the sign and remove some of the ambiguity of the message.

Just a "thought."

From Cynicism to Stardom--Why We Adore Susan Boyle

If you're over five years old and have been awake anytime in the last week, you've heard of Susan Boyle--the quirky, middle-aged Scottish woman with the beautiful voice. The clip of her audition on Britain's Got Talent has been viewed 7 gazillion times (6 gazillion by myself alone) on YouTube.com, there's rumor that she's working on a record deal, and she's receiving fan mail from all over the world.

As I've mentioned before, I don't tend to jump on societal trends, but I've unabashedly embraced Susan Boyle.

Susan's story has been repeatedly compared to a fairy tale and it just happens to be one that plays out on screen in only seven minutes. Think of it--the fairy tale opens when we meet our heroine on stage in front of three judges who live up to the many meanings of their title (including "to pass sentence on; condemn") and an audience of snickering, eye-rolling critics for a day. Not unlike David and his Goliath, or Rudy of the 1976 Notre Dame football team, Susan faces off against a seemingly impenetrable foe. It's not Simon Cowell and his eye rolling or the audience's jeering and mocking whistles. Nope. Amanda identifies it best in her post-performance comments--Susan's villain is cynicism.

And Ms. Boyle's foe is banished within the first ten words of her performance, when the jaws of all three judges hit the floor and millions of goosebumps simultaneously pop up on audience members' arms.

But the victory isn't in those goosebumps or the long standing ovation our heroine receives. It isn't in the three emphatic yeses that allow her to go on to the next round. It isn't in our tears. It's in Susan Boyle being herself and knowing that was enough.

We cried (admit it) because we've all faced a similar foe (sometimes in ourselves and sometimes in others) and haven't always handled it with the "cheeky grin" and confidence of Susan Boyle.

The long-term victory for the world's sweetheart will be to remain exactly who she is no matter what--because we love her for it--and because in so doing, she gives us permission to do the same.

Bumblebears and the Tender-Hearted Roomie

It's Spring. Yeah, I know, it's not official until this Saturday but I know it's spring because I can barely breathe, I use the wipers to remove an inch of pollen from my windshield every morning, and the bumblebears are out. There's also, you know, the blooming of the dogwoods, the flowering of the azaleas, and the general feeling of whimsy in the air.

So, I was clipping the blooming bushes and sharing the space with the bumblebears (that's what I call the kind of bees with the rotund, bear-shaped, fuzzy-looking bodies) when one bumped into me. No big deal, he wasn't being aggressive, just clumsy. And his clumsiness made him that much more endearing. Bumblebears are endearing even without human qualities and the magic of DreamWorks animation--they're just cool little fellas. I suppose you could say I'm mostly indifferent to the little guys. Until they come in the house.

Now the roomie on the other hand, has a tender heart towards anything small and furry and she has a vague recollection of hearing or reading or imagining that modern-day bees are dying out. When we eat honey, she goes into monologues about how amazing bees are, how they work together to create the hives and the honeycomb and how sad the world would be without them. She's loved them even more since she saw The Bee Movie.

So, when Mr. Bumblebear came in the house we saw him differently. To me, he was an inconvenience. To her, he was a friend to save--even though she wasn't excited about his stinger.

I was happy to oblige her wishes and cheered her on as she got the tupperware and the piece of paper. After approaching him tupperware first, with a backwards leap at every twitch or buzz, she sprang for him. When she opened her eyes and saw him bumping into the tupperware walls, she did a joyful little jig. Mr. Bumblebear, however, was not so joyful. As she slipped the paper "lid" on, she consoled him saying, "Don't be mad, little guy, I'm just trying to save your life." She began to relax a little, feeling good about facing her fears while looking out for the bee population of the world.

Just one step left.

I opened the door for her and she opened the tupperware, flicked the paper, and pulled the trap back inside. I slammed the door shut and she leaned against the door smiling, "He's out!"

Bzzzzzz.

"He's in!" He'd resisted her flick and stayed on the paper. And that's when she ran into her room and slammed the door--a bee with a human target isn't nearly as endearing as a rambling bumblebear.

Now it was just me and the angry bumblebear and the would-be bee saver whimpering behind the door. So, you know, I took care of it.

She hasn't come out of her room yet.

A Skeleton in the Closet

Okay, so maybe it's not in the closet but on top of the ticket booth thing. But either way, here's a bird skeleton I had to remove before the big show.

Nobody told me this would be one of my band duties.

What do potato chips and star crunches have in common?

Jamarcus, who plays the lead character in "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat," came over today to make a recording. He plans to send it off to a music academy, along with some clips from the shows. Perhaps this time next year, he'll be performing in California. So while the roomie worked on getting the "studio" ready, Jamarcus and I warmed up our vocal chords.

I asked him what he does to warm up. He opened a grocery bag full of potato chips and star crunches and start eating. I asked him what the chips and star crunches had to do with warming up. His response? They help him hit the high notes.
Jamarcus himself, backstage during the last performance (Seussical, the Musical)

Another Noteworthy Performance from Britain's Got Talent

Two Greek dancers (a father and son pair) on Britain's Got Talent have a few things in common with fellow contestant, Susan Boyle:

1. They give an endearing example of being exactly who you are and being just fine with that.
2. Their audition will bring tears to your eyes (but for a very different reason).

Dream a Dream

1. Go to YouTube.com
2. Search Susan Boyle
3. Watch
4. Dream a Dream

The Queen's English or English in Queens?

Good ole' England is in the throes of a battle regarding the apostrophe.

An article called Its a catastrophe for the apostrophe in Britain (see what they did there?) explains that Birmingham's transport scrutiny committee (yes, that's for real) has settled the decades-old debate by removing apostrophes from street names and public places (like St. Pauls Square) saying they are confusing and unnecessary.

I beg to differ. Removing the apostrophe is what causes confusion. Even my spellchecker recognizes that St. Pauls Square is probably not a place with multiple Pauls and suggests an apostrophe. Some purists agree with my spellchecker and me and have engaged in public campaigns to insist that the helpful little apostrophe remain.

Take some time to understand the little chap, we say, and let him remain in his rightful place.

If you don't, you may find yourself wondering if you're speaking the Queen's English or English in Queens.

**Thank you, mama, for sending the article.

Chicken Thai Fusion (It's Fast, Frugal, and Funky)

This is a recipe for Thai chicken in a crock pot. It's fusion because it's not exactly authentic (when was the last time you saw the word crock on a Thai menu?), but it has the essence of Thai (it's spicy, has peanuts, and is served with rice).

I first tried this recipe at a friend's house and have since created two of my own versions--one in a crock pot and one in a frying pan. Each time has been scrumptalescent. That's not a word, but it's in my vocabulary anyway (thanks Mitch!) and describes this dish.

One roomie (the one who likes spicy foods) and the chef whose catering company specializes in "fusion" (Roboto) both love it.

As usual, I use the recipe as a guideline and can tell you from experience that adding too much peanut butter is a recipe for a very thick sauce and an even thicker stomachache. Besides that, it's probably fair game for some substitution and varying amounts to taste.

Happy Thai fusion to you!

Ingredients:
8 chicken breasts

Sauce:
3/4 cup hot salsa
1/4 cup peanut butter
2 tablespoons lime juice
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 teaspoon fresh ginger

Toppings:
1/4 cup chopped peanuts
2 tablespoons cilantro

Side:
3 cups rice
1 cup coconut

Put the chicken breasts in the pot. Mix the sauce ingredients and pour on top. Cook on low for 8-9 hours.

Top with peanuts and cilantro.

Prepare rice as directed. Add 1/4 cup of coconut after the rice is fully cooked.

"Shower Song" by guest writer

It is my pleasure to introduce a new guest writer who I will call the Voice from the West.

He is an artist, a film maker, and a real hip dude. He likes singing in the shower, unexpected metaphors, and making me laugh.

In his first submission, "The Shower Song," the Voice of the West combines all of those passions:

It's clear why the tradition of singing in the shower began--the bathtub's design provides the quintessential acoustics for song.

With three perfectly positioned walls and a shower curtain, you receive––while, say, humming a tune––a touch of reverberation, and just the right amount of bass. For background percussion, you're accompanied by the gentle pattering of water as it strikes the tub floor. Close your eyes for a moment in any household shower and listen to your voice echo. You can almost imagine standing in a small cathedral, or huddled in the depths of the Himalayas in spring.

Millions of shy performers (a.k.a. bathroom singers) find solace in the shower. I am unquestionably one of them. But there is a stigma attached to this tradition that I would like to shake. Singing in the shower is thought of, in the popular canon, as a bashful, "amateur" hobby, to be kept behind closed doors.

In response to this terrific slander, should we not embrace our bathroom voices with vigor, like a noble giraffe embraces the highest boughs of a tree, or a pioneer embraces the savage unknown?

Let us wrench the bathroom door from its hinges for the whole neighborhood to hear. Shatter the walls of linoleum and marble with bebop and bluegrass. Let the shampoo dance and conditioner resonate.

We must sing so the bars of soap at our hips flow into honey, so the shower curtains flutter in rhapsody, and pools of water droplets nestle about us like throngs of fans on the eve of a moonlit concert.

Then, our tongues will ignite the great spirituals, hymnals, and anthems of old, and summon a new music––one that honors the sacred bathroom-singing tradition, and runs uncivil judgment down the drain. May our chants fill the plumbing and pipes, and soar in harmony with the millions of other naked, belting voices.

Long for the day of a proud, aquatic chorus. And hopefully, save a little hot water for the next singer.

Do a little. Change a lot.

T-mobile recently introduced the green account with the following tag line: "Do a little. Change a lot." I bet they spent a lot of green for that, but I like it.

I like green--the color (which happens to be the color of the packaging for my favorite ice cream ever) and the concept. It can save money and save space. Oh yeah, and then there's the whole saving the environment part.

Signing up for paperless updates and automatic bill pay is satisfying and immediately rewarding. Then you can file things electronically rather than in boxes. Wow. Less paper, less waste, less clutter. That's a win/win, I'd say.

It doesn't take long to make a few changes with your bills and to be a small part of a big change.

Happy Birthday, We Made You a Cake!

When I was a kid, I hated that my birthday was just days before Halloween. I didn't invite ghosts and goblins, so I didn't want them to show up at my parties. I didn't want to go running into the house looking for a bandage for a guest's gushing wound and return to a cluster of laughing boys tossing the "fake wound kit" around. I just wanted to have a regular old birthday party, thank you very much.

Speaking of birthdays, we celebrated my mom's with a Styrofoam cake one year. We were just little tykes and covered a piece of Styrofoam in icing. Dad told her that we (the tykes) worked really hard on it. When she cut through it, it squeaked and flaked away bit by bit. See, her birthday is today, April Fools' Day (happy birthday, Mom!).

April Fools' Day has a long, rich history. Even media outlets and corporations get in on the joke. A "documentary" in 1957 discussed Swiss spaghetti crops and in 1996, Taco Bell took ads out stating that the company had bought the historic Liberty Bell in an effort to reduce national debt. The ad said they were renaming the national treasure to "Taco Liberty Bell" and encouraged other corporations to help out in similar ways.

This year, g-mail joined in by introducing CADIE technology, which allows you to put your email on autopilot so you'll never have to read or write another message.

It also reports that it matches your style and tone with the following autopilot settings:

The technology also promises to help manage relationships, as demonstrated below:

Somehow, the jokes never seem to get old. I wonder if Mom would agree?

Centennial Ice Cream

I buy ice cream about once a centennial, but I've been hearing about the famous Blue Bell brand since I first mentioned that I was moving to the South.

I wanted to see what the fuss was all about (when in Rome, you know) so I scanned the vanilla, chocolate and strawberry. *Yawn* Then something caught my eye--a green, four-leaf clover and the words "Centennial Cupcake."

Blue Bell's Centennial Ice Cream is cupcake batter ice cream with cake pieces, chocolate icing and sprinkles. Did you catch that? I said cake batter ice cream filled with a bunch of goodies. So many baked goods (cookies, brownies, cakes) are even gooder before they're baked. Totally worth the raw egg risk. Admit it--the spoon and bowl licking is your favorite part too.

Bracing myself for the disappointment that sometimes comes when foods sound better than they taste, I took a small bite. Then I upended the tub and polished it off in 35 seconds. Of course I went back to that aisle next time looking for another half gallon. Gone! This ice cream is special edition to celebrate 4H's centennial.

So if you're in the South, get it while you can at Wal-Mart, Publix and Winn Dixie. If you're not in the South, fly, drive or walk here and buy a half gallon.

After all, this is the kind of ice cream that only comes around once in a hundred years.

"April Showers Bring May Flowers" by William P.

We've had a bit of rain lately.

And by a bit of rain, I mean daily downpours. The kind that bring the phrases "sheets of rain" and "rolling thunder" to the English vernacular. You could swim in my backyard.

What's that saying about rainy days? Daily downpours bring delightful dogwoods? March monsoons bring magnificent blossoms? April showers bring awesome azaleas?

Whatever it is, I'll take those April showers. And I'll take my daily walks among those May flowers-- bumblebears and all.

William P., popular guest writer, weighs in on the subject below:

"April Showers Bring May Flowers" by William P.

If April showers bring May flowers, then May flowers bring pilgrims! Wow, that's a terrible joke. I guess that saying means that some bad things actually bring about better things.

Kevin Rose, for example, was a TV personality on Tech TV before the network was bought by G4. When G4 bought TechTV, they fired many of the people that worked there, including Kevin Rose.

Down on his luck and unemployed, Kevin used all of his savings to create the social networking news site known as Digg. Kevin had a decent size fan base, including me, that joined his site. The website used Google AdSense, so the more people that visited his site, the more money he made.

With the money he made from Digg, he started a sort of online video network known as Revision3. Digg is now the number one user submitted news site in the world. Revision 3 is one of the most viewed tech video sites, with shows such as Diggnation (number one tech video podcast according to iTunes).

And now Mr. Rose is a millionaire.

Tony

I was surprised at the emotion I felt from this short video so I wanted to share a father's journey for a teddy bear named Tony.

A Monkeychip Tale

You may recall the story about the bumblebears, but that isn't the first word I've made up. I renamed chipmunks "monkeychips" as a child. Like all furry creatures--I loved the little guys.

So of course when I found Pepper the dog barking at a monkeychip she'd chased and trapped in a bucket, I wanted to save it. The bucket was about half full of sand, so it was too full for Pepper to knock over, but not full enough for the monkeychip to be close to the rim (and within reach).

Pepper was strong, especially when in pursuit, and I was just a kid. I tried to pull her away, but couldn't overpower her. So I got a dog biscuit (always a surefire bribe) and tried to lure her away. She had none of it. She continued to bark, growl, and paw at the bucket.

My parents had enough sense to keep me from getting too close to the wild, even though I wanted to feed all the furry creatures by hands. I grew up in Colorado, see, where we often had wild bears and mountain lions in my backyard (literally) and where I'd hopped over my share of rattlers sunning themselves on hiking trails. You're liable to have some problems if you don't keep a proper distance.

So I was trying to think of another plan without getting too close and leaned over the bucket to assess the situation. I'd never seen a flying monkeychip before, but in an instant, all four monkeychip paws were clinging to my shirt. I felt the claws on my chest and saw the little guy looking up at me--inches away from my face. I screamed and shook my shirt like you do when you're trying to get crumbs off. That's what you call instinct.

When the monkeychip hit the ground, it made easy prey. I was left to watch Pepper chomp the monkeychip I'd tried to save. Pepper had instincts too.

The last thing I saw was its tail.

Frontline Ink Logo!

Thank you FHP! You do good work!

"The Irony of Hybrid Cars" by William P.

Most people that buy these "earth friendly" cars think they're doing the environment such a big favor. The truth is that the companies use tons of fuel just to make the batteries used in these cars. Then the cars are shipped out on eighteen wheelers, which also use a large amount of fuel.

With that said, there are also many benefits to owning a hybrid. They get way better gas mileage, which means less fuel to buy, so you can use all of the money you saved to buy more useless, overpriced, American junk. They also emit less pollution in the air. Great idea? Yes. The answer to global warming? No.

According to a new study, cows are now the number one reason for global warming. So what now? Are they going to make hybrid cows?

100 Words or Fewer

I'm writing a story in 100 words or fewer. It's harder than you'd think.

Saying You're Sorry in the 21st Century

The movie "Love Story" made this line famous: "Love means never having to say you're sorry." Of all the assinine love quotes, this one's gotta top the list.

I say I'm sorry to my friends, my roomies, my clients...I'd even say it to my dog if I had one.

This is where the text phenomenon comes in handy (pun intended). The text message eliminates the sweaty palms and stumbling first words: "Hey, ummmmmmm, well, see, the thing is. Yeah, hey, uhhhhh. Soooooo, uh, can we talk?"

No more working up the courage to knock on someone's door. You can apologize from the next room using carefully chosen words with exactly the right amount of humility and humor, "Srry I threw a pizza at ur face. bff 4evr? :)"

You can sit on the same couch and let your thumbs do all the work. You write "Hey, sorry I snapped at you earlier. It wasn't personal. Hugs!" Voila--reconciled.

Or, you can sit across the table from each other with a crowd of oblivious guests between. Eventually, you both look up, cell phones still glowing, give a wink or a smile, and move on.

God bless the text message for making it easier to say you're sorry--frequently and sincerely--in the 21st century.

T-Shirt Slogans

This is a cool site for t-shirts with witty slogans. I happen to enjoy the shirts, but I really like the fact that I can submit my own slogans and maybe even get paid for them.

Oddly enough, grammar seems to be my recurring theme. Unfortunately, grammar lessons don't seem to have the same appeal as Chuck Norris jokes.

"The Neverending Story" by guest writer, Roboto

When I was a kid, one of my favorite movies was "The Neverending Story." Brilliance! If you ask anyone if that's a good movie their response will be, "I LOVE that movie." Unless of course their response is, "Actually, I never saw it." Which is easily combated with, "WHAT?!?! Oh man, it's great! Let's watch it sometime!" Here's where the trouble begins.

I recently had the chance to watch that movie again with some friends--all of us in love with it except for one who hadn't seen it. Popcorn was popped, shoes thrown off, and couches circled. Everyone was nice and cozy. After we giggled about the cheesy 80s effects, we settled in for the long haul to greatness. During the following hour and a half, I realized that this was a terrible movie with some shining moments. I mean stinky terrible. Seriously, Bastion (main character and lovable loner reading in the school's attic), actually talks to his sandwich at one point. After two bites, he speaks to it as he puts it away, "No....we've got a looooong way to go."

Wow, it was a real stinker.

Now, that's not to say I don't still love the movie. I think it's actually cinematic gold. It did its job of entertaining children and leaving a long-lasting impression. Just the fact that we thought it was brilliant and lovingly remembered it proved what a great movie it truly is.

This retrospect started because I went to a Mexican restaurant this week...wait, I'm sorry, a "Mexican" restaurant which hardly any of my friends like. They all complain that it's not authentic Mexican food. I chuckle to myself a bit every time they say that because I was raised on rice and beans at least three times per week. I'm a for-real for-real Mexican. I love it too, but that's another day.

Anyway, I happen to really enjoy this restaurant. I have had good memories and great experiences. I can even say that I have always enjoyed their food. So I went there with a mission: to prove how authentic and delicious their food is and once and for all say it to all my friends. I wanted to stand up for their AUTHENTIC Mexican cooks and staff. By a friend's recommendation, I ordered the Mexican Chicken. Again, that's where the trouble began.

Let's just say that I have fond memories of this restaurant and that it's...pleasant. Americanized? Sure, but hey, we're in America and it's tough to find non-Americanized Mexican food. (*By the way, an enchirito from Taco Bell...NOT real Mexican food.) After going back and eating one more time to prove my point that it's good food, I've settled on simply saying that it's a Mexican restaurant...without the quotation marks.

The Neverending Story = (This unnamed) Mexican restaurant.

Two Things I Already Knew, but Confirmed by Experience Today

Trying to clear a yard and sidewalk of three inches of leaves with only a push broom and a rake that falls off its handle every few minutes is not very effective.

Savasana (relaxation pose) in yoga should be called nap-inducing pose.

Love Is the Sweetest Music

Love stories make for some great music. I'm thinking "Gift of a Thistle" from Braveheart and "Justin Returns to the House" from The Constant Gardener, among others. In Slumdog, it's "Latika's Theme" that strikes a chord and moves the soul.

But it's not the only noteworthy song on the Slumdog soundtrack. "Ringa Ringa" will make you want to paint your hands with henna and dance with your thumbs and middle fingers together.

And if it doesn't make you want to dance, it will at least make housecleaning go a bit quicker.

My Second Year Walking the Edmund Pettus Bridge

On March 7th, 1965, a crowd of civil rights marchers (led by John Lewis and Hosea Williams) walked over the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama. There, they were met by a sea of men in blue who beat them with billy clubs, chased them on horseback and temporarily blinded them with tear gas.

The day became known as Bloody Sunday and it brought national attention and support to the Voting Rights Movement.

Today, I joined the 44th annual celebration of the day that precipitated the passage of the Voting Rights Act of 1965.

Two years ago, Barack Obama spoke at Brown Chapel. Last year, t-shirts promoted his candidacy.

This year, t-shirts celebrated the election of America's 44th president.

A Dog's Life

This just in, your dog can now get "massages, happy hours, and monogrammed towels" at fine hotels everywhere. No seriously. Thank goodness, because I don't know what Fido would do if he didn't know which towel was his.

"Because It's Friday" by William P.

My only question about this post involves the title but we'll save the discussion on semantics for another day.

"Random Post that Makes No Sense Because It's Friday"

Tony ran 138,000 miles to the planet Mars to get a glass of lemonade. When he arrived he realized that he forgot to put his socks on so he ran all the way back to Earth and robbed a bank. With the money he stole, he bought the first season of Friends, a tiger, five hundred blank DVDs, a jar of peanut butter, 108 gallons of Pepto Bismol, and a single pair of tube socks.

He put on the socks, ran back to Mars, made a turkey sandwich and finally poured his glass of lemonade. Then he took a sip and realized that it was unsweetened. He was horrified. "Unsweetened, refreshing beverage? This is madness," he said as he clenched his fists with the great fury of a thousand lions. Then out of nowhere appeared a red Power Ranger. He looked at Tony and said, "No, THIS IS SPARTA!!!" They sat there looking at each other for about 35 minutes, then all of the sudden they were eaten by a wild pack of vicious dogs.

The End

Slumdog Millionaire

Since I tend to let societal fads pass by without notice, I was late to get on board the Slumdog train. I'm glad I didn't miss it altogether though because this is one craze worth its weight in Oscar gold.

I'll try to refrain from spoiling the story in my enthusiasm, but if my intentionally vague description isn't enough to convince you to see it, take the Academy Award folks at their word and give it a go anyway.

Slumdog Millionaire is about an orphan (Jamal) and his two companions (brother-- Salim and fellow orphan--Latika) who grow up in India surrounded by poverty and an unlimited supply of villains who want to exploit the kids for their selfish gain. The movie takes a front-row seat to life in the slums as the main characters face all the circumstances you'd expect for penniless and motherless children. And some you wouldn't expect too. These are the ones where you remind yourself that somehow, Jamal makes it to young adulthood and to the game show stage that provides the flashbacks to his life.

Jamal maintains a certain purity in his character--enough that he covers his eyes when Latika gets out of the shower, but not enough to keep him from swindling gullible Americans. He also maintains a clear conscience that allows him to give honest (and often cheeky) answers to inquisitor and game show host alike.

The characters' respective decisions--often heartbreaking, often surprising, and sometimes funny--separate and reunite the trio many times over. In the final reunion, you find the answer to the first question the movie presents:
"Jamal Malik is one question away from winning 20 million rupees. How did he do it?
a) He cheated
b) He is lucky
c) He's a genius
d) It is destiny"

Slumdog Millionaire reminds me of The Shawshank Redemption in that it earns its hope and the redemption for which it is named through the suffering, not in spite of it.

Slumdog offers hope, love and redemption. All three are well-earned.

Quirks

Roboto is one quirky fella', as demonstrated by yesterday's post. In addition to the thrill he gets from square roots, Roboto insists on having only white plastic hangers in his closet. I wonder if he has to count them for square root compliance? Any other color causes the same *shudder* as prime numbers and the mere suggestion of wire hangers is grounds for termination of friendship.

I find quirks endearing, puzzling and occasionally a bit inconvenient. Always though, they are fascinating. I'll now turn my writer's eye to the quirks around me and bring them to my beloved readers for future entertainment.

Stay tuned. And don't be surprised if Roboto's name continues to pop up.

Hooray for Square Root Day!!! by guest writer, Roboto

Do you know what bothers me most about flies? Not that they land on you and supposedly throw up or that they’re dirty and irritating. It’s not even that when one hovers around you it makes you all self conscious as if people are looking at you wondering, “Geez, I wonder why that guy didn’t shower today…”

Though irksome, those qualities pale in comparison with what bothers me most about flies– the randomness of their flight. There’s no pattern to what they do! Long flight, short flight, short, short, long, buzz, wing-flap, long, long, hidden somewhere, short, buzz, etc. GAHHHH!!!

It’s randomness that bothers me--when things don’t wrap themselves up into nice, neat little packages. It’s the wobbly stool or the lid that just doesn’t quite fit just right.

And then a gift such as today comes. I was reminded by two friends that today is Square Root Day. To put it plainly, 3 X 3 = 9 (today’s date: 3/3/09), or the square root of 9 is 3.

Now we’re talking perfection. Look at how perfect that is! The SAME number multiplied by ITSELF equals…well, it equals beauty, quite frankly. We’re talking division with no remainders. I mean three teams consisting of three people each. Nobody’s left out. No team resigned to say, “Fine, we’ll take the fourth person,” or opposition to say, “That’s not FAIR! Why do THEY get 4 people?!?” You couldn’t wipe the smile off my face today if you tried.

Square roots are mathematical beauty. They are the numeric equivalent of coloring inside the lines. Square roots, and conversely squared numbers, are like getting out of your car and realizing you parked perfectly…evenly spaced on both sides. Ever go to the store and get a thrill when they tell you your total is $12.00 EXACTLY, including tax? You know that little extra smile that brings you? Yeah, that’s what Square Root Day does for me.

Now, I know you might be thinking, wow, this guy really loves math. Yes, I do. I’ll own up to it. I’m an unabashed math nerd. And it’s days like today, and the other eight Square Root Days that happen every century, that make up for all the times someone leaves the radio or TV volume fixed on a prime number. *shudder*

HAPPY SQUARE ROOT DAY!!