Things I Think About During Church

– my grocery list for the week

– whether I can avoid shaking hands during the hand of fellowship with the person with the hacking, phlegmy cough and running nose

– a funny skit from last night’s SNL 

– the person’s ass in the row in front of me

– occasionally, my hangover

– who will win the Super Bowl (actually, I only think about this once a year)

– whether someone behind me is staring at my ass

–how happy I am that Sarah Palin revealed to us all, more than a year after the Katie Couric interview, what she does read—apparently, it’s     her hand

– changing the lyrics in certain hymns to amuse myself.  (For example, “Make Me a Servant” to “Make Me a Sandwich.“  I’ve got more.)

– the Sunday morning news programs I am missing

– my personal demons

Wainwright Wednesday

In the intro to this song, Loudon is talking about Sarajevo, but one could  compare the misery and suffering in Haiti today with that war-torn city from a few years back, or any other place on earth enduring either natural or man-made disaster.  When you think about it—and we should—we are all having a pretty good day, in comparison.  The song still works.

Pretty Good Day So Far

Please say a prayer for Haiti, if that’s what you do, and donate what you can to relief efforts.

And here’s another oldie but goodie that I saw Loudon perform recently.   I guess he didn’t always have good days: 

All budding songwriters take note.  Hearing this song is like taking a master class in songwriting.  Write what you know.

Edit. to add–Loudon Wainwright III recently became a grandfather for the first time.  It may be worth noting that the baby boy—born to his daughter Martha—was not named Loudon.

Also, one of my commenters alerted me that singer/songwriter, Kate McGarrigle, former wife of Loudon Wainwright, and mother of Rufus and Martha Wainwright, passed away on Monday at age 63.  Her talent and beautiful voice will be missed.

 

Top Searches That Brought You to My Blog

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Not the side-splitting humor, nor the riveting social commentary, nor the astute political analysis—not even the knowledgeable wine reviewing.  Nope.  None of these.  You came here for spam recipes.  

I will not disappoint.

New Year’s Resolutions–2010 Edition

Any blogger—even an imitation blogger like me—knows that at this time of year one must write the obligatory New Year’s Resolutions post.   So here it is—even if it’s five days late (proof that I have not yet broken my resolution to quit making resolutions to quit procrastinating.) 

2010 New Year’s Resolutions

1.  Gain weight.

2.  Start smoking.

3.  Spend more time on the Internets.

4.  Increase stress.

5.  Drink more.

6.  Sqander my money (time, youth, etc.)

I think I can live with these resolutions.  There is a good chance that I will accomplish most of them.  I was going to put as item #7—”Show Sarah Palin some love,” but this was supposed to be a list of resolutions I might actually be able to keep.

I think we can all agree that my 2010 resolutions are much better than last year’s, which were really lame.  Here they are again—keep in mind that I did not keep any of them (and once again, I’d like to apologize for their lameness):

2009 New Year’s Resolutions

1.  Will stop telling my husband that the reason I have to drink a glass of wine every night is because of the “incredible pressure and anxiety that volunteering to put out the church newsletter is causing me.”

2.  I will finally see what the inside of my gym looks like.

3.  Might actually see what the inside of my dishwasher looks like.

4.  I will plan meals in advance so I don’t find myself in the kitchen at 6:00 p.m., desperately eyeing the dog’s kibble and wondering how it would taste with some Rao’s spaghetti sauce and some grated cheese over it.  Because Rao’s spaghetti sauce can make anything taste good.

5.  Do not write while gooped up on gop. 

6.  I will quit telling everyone that I’m listening to cool bands on my iPod when I’m really listening to Glen Campbell singing “Wichita Lineman.”  That’s right, I said Glen Campbell.

7.  I will explain to my husband that it embarrasses me when he tells others that I requested the Frost-Nixon interviews as a Christmas gift.  Not the movie version.  The real ones.

8.  I will try to come up with a couple more resolutions to make it an even ten before the year is over. *

* Not accomplished.

So have a Happy New Year and try not to get all worked up about the fact that we are entering a NEW YEAR and you need some RESOLUTIONS, DAMMIT, because HECK, we are entering a new DECADE for chrissake, and you don’t enter a new DECADE without some freakin’ resolutions, now do you? 

(FYI–If you want to get technical, 2010 is not actually the start of the new decade; that would be 2011.  Ask any small child to begin counting and I guarantee you they will start with “1″ and not “0″.  We are still in the last year of the decade that began in 2001.  This same chicken-and-egg conundrum happened with Y2K—if anyone remembers back that far—so if it makes you feel any better not to have your resolutions ready for the new decade, you are off the hook.  I know I feel better!)

So sleep tight kiddies, and you can put off worrying about those new decade resolutions until NEXT year!  Works for me.

 

 

IF I Subscribed to Twitter…Christmas Edition

Just ran by the old Building and Loan and wished it a sucky Christmas.  It felt good!

Every time you check your FaceBook page, an angel gets his wings… ripped off horribly and painfully.

Nogging and logging–an annual Christmas tradition at our house.         Don’t ask.

Things My Sister’s Boyfriend Taught Me—Christmas Edition:  How to make infused whiskey (Crown Royal  Jack Daniels + cinnamon sticks + orange zest + raisins + three weeks time = delicious).  Have reconsidered my position on Manhattans.  (Edit–My sister’s boyfriend recommends Jack Daniels for his version of infused whiskey, and who am I to argue with genius?  Perhaps I was confused by the fact that this elixir was presented to me in the more attractive Crown Royal bottle.  My apologies for the error.  CR needs no enhancement.   OR SO I HAVE BEEN TOLD.)

Looking for that last-minute gift of AWESOME?  Buy YOURSELF a copy of Sarah Palin’s book of lies:  Going Rogue.  If you HATE yourself.

I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year in exactly the same proportion as certain U.S. legislators tried to deny us a fair health care bill.  Which is VERY MERRY indeed.

Was in Barnes and Noble’s day after Christmas spending my gift card.  Bought a calendar and turned all copies of Sarah Palin’s word salad book backwards on the shelves.  Immature?  Maybe.  Satisfying?  Definitely.

Weirdest Christmas gift: glass turkey baster.  So necessary at least once a year.

New Year’s Resolution:  Sending out a newsletter with my Christmas cards next year and only putting in sad, depressing stuff.

New Year’s Resolution #2:  To begin a rigorous diet and exercise regimen but not in years ending with a zero.

Resolution #3:  Write a real post.  Or possibly subscribe to Twitter.

Too Much Turkey

I know the title of this blog post is ridiculous but it’s the best I could come up with to explain the long hiatus between postings.  It is scientific FACT that the chemical in turkey—it’s tryptophan, right?—can cause bone-crushing weariness and almost coma-like somnolence, for, let’s say, the better part of a week.  Or more.  (A week?  Really?  Hyperbole much?)  But I did eat turkey.  Too much turkey.  Believe what you will, but the timeline fits, and I am just coming out of a carbohydrate-induced fog which lifted this week. 

While I was in this post-Thanksgiving stupor, unable to concentrate enough to post anything new, but able to sit upright (barely) and focus on a computer screen, I surfed the Internets for both amusement and information.  You would be amazed what you can find out there!  There is so much to know about Sarah Palin!  And spam.  I will elaborate more on this later.  I just thought I should get something posted today so all 3.7 of you who still read this blog would not assume I suffered a carb-induced blackout and did a face-plant into my stuffing. Which I most certainly DID NOT.   (For the record, the blackout was wine-induced.)  And the stuffing was delicious.

FUN FACT:  Did you know the freshest Internet of the day is delivered in the afternoon?  Anything you read earlier than noon is stale, left0ver news from the night before.  That is why the Internet beats the newspaper any day, except for the crossword puzzles.  Newspapers are like day-old bread; they are only good for making croutons.  It pays to wait for the fresh stuff! 

Some fresh stuff is coming.  Late but soon.  Sorry for all the croutons.

How It Works

As one of the commenters from my last post has noted–quite rightly–I have been procrastinating about writing my next post.  She should not have brought this to my attention, because before I read her comment I had not realized I was doing this.  I thought I was just waiting for the next idea for a topic to come and gobsmack me like it usually does.  But I know this about myself: once the spectre of procrastination is raised in regard to a task I should be performing, NOTHING CAN HAPPEN until a task I like even less rears its head, and it’s right then that I get the most interesting idea for a post and I sit down and write it straightaway, because I don’t want to do that other thing.  Does that make sense?  It’s pretty much how I operate.

 

So I started thinking about it this way, because I am a deep thinker with deeply analytical thinking skills (and a lot of caffeine in my system), and I thought: Why procrastinate now, when I can do it later?  In other words–and I’m really going down the rabbit hole with this–I have decided to procrastinate about procrastinating.  So I’m writing the blog now.  You see how it works?

 

I wish I could say that my motivation to write has nothing to do with how filthy my house is right now.  But it has EVERYTHING to do with that. 

 

Thanks, commenters! 

Now This Is a Job I Can Do!–Later

I saw this on craigslist the other day and, oh boy, was I excited!                   I CAN DO THIS!  Here is the job description, exactly as printed on craigslist:

_____________________________________________________

Writing coach to help with procrastination               

 please flag with care:

miscategorized
prohibited
spam/overpost
best of craigslist

---

Reply to:job-xsnty-1205493531@craigslist.org ^{[Errors when replying to ads?]}
Date: 2009-10-04, 3:59PM EDT

I need help with procrastination. I understand goal setting and motivation tactics, but I need some additional help keeping on task with the multiple writing projects I currently have. I need someone skilled — and hopefully experienced — with advising individuals with procrastination issues.

Please respond by email and let me know a little about your experience or special skills regarding procrastination.

Thanks!

• Compensation: negotiable
• Telecommuting is ok.
• This is a part-time job.
• This is a contract job.
• Principals only. Recruiters, please don’t contact this job poster.
• Please, no phone calls about this job!
• Please do not contact job poster about other services, products or commercial interests.

PostingID: 1205493531

_________________________________________________

OMG!  I can TOTALLY help with procrastination—this is the other job I was born to do!  (My original dream job is being paid to drink wine someday, but until I land that one, this sounds promising.)

Not to give too much away—in case I actually do get around to responding to this ad—here is what I would say to the person who posted this ad, to convince them to hire me as their writing/procrastinating coach:

As you can see, because I am using actual words to blog about this, I am a writer, dammit, so I have a ton of stuff I could teach you about writing and stuff.  Like how to get your stuff on paper and sprinkle it with some sparkly new stuff so you don’t keep saying the same stuff the same way.  So that’s the writing part of the equation.

As for procrastinating—this is where you will get your money’s worth—(there is money involved, right?):  I can also teach you about some websites to visit so you can more efficiently procrastinate, which is something all serious writers do (why stress out about writing bad crap today when you can do it tomorrow?).  And how to check your e-mail 17 times an hour.  And why playing around on Facebook can help take your mind off what a loser you are.  And aren’t you sitting there reading my blog right now?  Fantastic waste of time.  You’re already great at this.   Oh, and YouTube: Yes.

So, yep, I have loads of wisdom to share with you, so if you like what I am selling, meet me in the comments section and we’ll talk—eventually!

Again, With the Wine

As promised (because I sometimes keep my promises), here is part 2 of my 465-part series, Wine Baby.

II.  Time to Get Your Drink On!

In order to progress from wine baby to wine expert you have to taste the wines.  This may seem obvious, but at an honest-to-goodness, up-to-your-eyeballs-in-assholes Napa Valley wine tasting, it is not as much fun as you’d think.  This is mainly because the emphasis is on “tasting” rather than “drinking.”  I mean, when you put the words “wine” and “tasting” together, it sounds like fun, right?  Well, it didn’t take long for the smug attitudes of our wine instructor and fellow wine-tasters to put a major buzz-kill on this pleasant-sounding afternoon activity. 

I attended my first wine-tasting at a pretentiously decorated, somewhat cavelike tasting room.  For some reason, everyone wore sunglasses even though they were indoors, out of the sun, in a dark and cavernous space.  Clearly these West-coasters were not a sharp crowd.  I scanned the room for signs of intelligence and concluded I might be able to hold my own amongst them.  The dimly-lit room made it difficult for me to see the price list clearly, and this, coupled with my inability to look anyone directly in the eye (due to sunglasses), made me suspicious about the whole operation. 

Our wine-pourer—I had decided not to bestow the title of wine expert on him yet, reserving judgment until I had seen and heard more from him—passed out some handouts describing the wines we would be tasting.  There was also a worksheet on which we were to write our observations and impressions of the wine samplings.  Since this was like an essay portion of a college exam, as an English major, I had already proven I can BS with the best of them, so this was agreeable to me.  

The wine instructor began the session by informing us that true appreciation of wine involved all of the senses.  The color of the wine, the scent, the taste.  I took this information in, even while struggling to understand exactly how hearing would be involved.  He waxed poetic about wine.  I yawned, and hoped they would fill the glasses a little higher than they usually do.  I had heard wine tastings are notoriously stingy in that area. 

He brought out the first wine, a fruity Viognier, while describing the grape and the region from which it came.  We learned that swirling the wine around in the glass oxygenates it, which is necessary to release the full flavor and aromas.  He demonstrated the proper technique: wine glass base flat on the table, swirling in a circular manner, never lifting the glass from the table.  He guaranteed it would never splash over the sides that way.  I’m guessing this information would be helpful if one wanted to avoid the dry cleaning bills that could be incurred from over-zealous swirling.  I had a hunch this is why we started with the white wines. 

After the swirling, then comes the intense staring at the wine.  Yes, you must closely scrutinize every wine before you actually taste it to be taken as a serious wine connoisseur.  I imagine we are supposed to be contemplating the complexity of the wine, or the mysteries of the universe, or perhaps just looking for sediment, but I am distracted by the fact that my wine glass is about three-quarters empty.  There’s just a splash, barely lubricating the bottom!  Maybe the rest of the class were optimists and saw their glasses as one-quarter full, but I am quite the pessimist when faced with a mostly empty glass.  Especially when it’s mostly empty of wine that you are paying through the nose to taste. 

Speaking of nose, after the wine stare-down, now it’s time to stick your nose way down into that glass and vigorously sniff at the wine and notice all its subtle aromas.  This is what is called the wine’s “nose.”      Ha-ha.  That sounds funny to me until I notice no one else is laughing. 

Our wine instructor then took a slurpy sip that sounded a lot like how I used to drink chocolate milk in kindergarten and started in on something that looked almost like chewing the wine. 

“So, what is everyone getting here?” 

No one knew what to say, so we gazed into our wine glasses as if the answer lay somewhere in the liquid, like in some prescient Magic 8 Ball, where the answer might come floating up to the surface:  “My sources say fruity.”  Or “Ask again when you are sober.”  

With complete silence coming from his students, the pourer/instructor threw out this suggestion, asking, “Is anybody getting  a hint of grapefruit here?”  Everyone nodded in agreement.  Yes, definitely—grapefruit!   Yes.  Thank God.  I wrote “grapefruit” on my worksheet. 

We worked our way through the white wines.  While sniffing at the wine,  I almost wrote what I was actually thinking, which was, “this wine’s aroma reminds me of how my grandmother used to smell,” which was a combination of cigarette smoke, Nina Ricci’s “L’Air du Temps,” and pressed face powder.  I wondered, why would this wine remind me of my grandmother, anyway?  She was a scotch-drinker.  I worried this was not an adequate description.  And while I probably worry too much about things like this, I now had a new concern.  Actually, two. 

The first was the spit-bucket.  The idea behind the spit-bucket concept escapes me.  I have never had wine so awful that I’ve had to spit it out.  It’s just that I hate to part with something I’ve paid for.  But I noticed other people had no problem with this.  Then I realized they weren’t spitting it out because they didn’t like it; they spat it out because they were actually tasting the wine.  These people were serious about learning something.  I decided I would use the spit-bucket only enough to appear to be a serious wine student. 

Which brings me to my second concern:  Wasn’t the point of drinking wine to get a nice buzz on?  Weren’t any other folks in the room there for this reason?  Was I the only person there intent on getting drunk?  I worried that the wine instructor would see right through this—that I was someone more interested in drinking wine than in tasting it.  A philistine revealed! 

But I decided—as I had done in similar situations before—that getting tipsy might actually improve the situation.  Sad experience has shown that this is usually never the case, but at the time I thought being in this state might sharpen my perceptions about the wines.  I rationalized that I would get my money’s worth, and at the same time write much more imaginatively on my “Wine Notes” sheet.  This, unfortunately, works out much better with caffeine.  But since I have saved my wine tasting sheet as a souvenir, I now can look back proudly on some of my more florid, if not appetizing, descriptions of the wine selections.  Here are a few excerpts: 

The next wine, a hearty Medoc, I described on my wine-tasting sheet as “combustible.”  The red zin, to my palate, had a “baffling, yet intoxicating flavor of burnt rubber with black cherry notes.”  The pinot noir, I declared, had “spoiled to perfection and now had the tawny and foul-tasting tang of fear.”  I must have liked the Bordeaux, because I wrote: “This wine has overtones of musk, and something I cannot quite put my finger on—is it possum?  It has a peaty flavor with complex undertones of Brussels sprouts and sweat.  Very earthy!” 

Now I admit to being somewhat impaired while writing these descriptions, but upon rereading them later in a more, shall we say, lucid state, I noticed they were not much different from real ones I’ve read.  

I went on to create a special list in the margins of my “Wine Notes” (which by now was becoming alarmingly messy and wine-stained, as if some mental patient was scribbling down in a nervous, spiky hand her increasingly incoherent impressions after enjoying ten to twelve partially-filled glasses of wine).  I thought that in order for people to discern the difference between a real wine description—the sort done by serious winethusiasts, rather than non-sunglass-wearing impostors who never use the spit bucket–a  list like this might come in handy. 

Adjectives Not to Be Used In Describing Wine 

Chunky

Metallic

Swampy

Picante

Caffeine-free

Colon-cleansing

Grapealicious

If you see any of these words in a wine description, you can be reasonably sure the person writing it is either not a real wine connoisseur, or is a little bit drunk.  Or perhaps both. 

By now you may be wondering if I was accompanied by anyone on this little wine-tasting adventure.  Or you might be mildly concerned about how I made it back to my hotel safely after all my wine “research.”  I wouldn’t blame you, but you needn’t have worried, although it’s very kind of you.  The fact is, I was under the watchful eye and protective custody of my traveling companion, Jim.  He was in his full official capacity as designated adult.  While he shares my enthusiasm for wine, he has a certain sense of decorum that I sometimes lack, especially when I have been, as I like to call it, “over served.” 

Can I say that?  Yes.  I think I can.  At that particular wine-tasting venue, I can categorically state that I had been over served. It was the wine pourer’s lack of restraint that led to this sad end, and he should be held fully accountable for the consequences and repercussions that ensued from his total lack of judgment.  If you ever have the opportunity to go to a wine tasting, go to a reputable establishment and make sure the wine-pourer exercises some responsibility. 

You will notice that I am not referring to him as “wine expert” any more.  Please take this as both a sign of disrespect toward this individual, and a pointed reminder of my casual indifference toward traditional wine-tasting rituals that I chose to ignore. 

Which, do you suppose, would insult him more?

Seeing Some Old Friends

Went to see a couple of old friends in Tarrytown last night:

They were in fine voice and looking well.

And tonight, I will be driving up the turnpike to see THIS GUY.

It’s fun to catch up with old friends. 

(J., I’ll tell Bruce you said hi.)