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I’m your dream gown

After getting up at 5am Sunday for a Seattle-to-Newark flight, I knew it would be nigh-impossible to make it through the end of the Oscars that evening. Luckily, Tivo came through for me and I got to see the last hour or so last night … but only because Gil helped me extend the programming time. I can be such a girl.

The main reason I tuned back in was to see the Dreamgirls medley — also, Peter O’Toole munching on tasty human brains. But PO’T exhausted himself with a vigorous round of blinking, Jennifer Hudson’s jiggle was more controlled than her singing, and Beyoncé didn’t have the oomph we’ve come to expect. Maybe she gets her verve from clingy fabrics, I dunno. Just as I was about to declare the whole thing a bust, Anika Noni Rose stepped up to show why she belongs on stage; she morphed into a diva and reminded us that there were THREE women in that movie anddon’tmakemetellyouagain.

I’m posting a clip of the segment so you can behold Ms. Rose’s gown — my favorite of the evening — as well as her performance. It’s a mystery to me that the dress didn’t get love […]

Greetings from sunny Seattle

Air travel can be so draining — dealing with rude people and their screaming kids, long waits at the airport, cramped quarters, and general inconveniences — but yesterday was filled with pleasant surprises. We arrived at the airport a little later than usual and walked right onto the plane without any pesky waiting around. Six hours later, Seattle rolled out the welcome mat with sunny skies, fairly balmy weather, and people so super-friendly and polite they won’t even jaywalk — freaky. Hertz upgraded us to a Grand (Biz) Marquis (sing it with me now: “Oh baby YOOOU! You got what I NEEEEED”), then the hotel moved us to a king suite with a supremely comfortable bed.

And then there’s Nordstrom, only a short walk from the hotel. Laura Mercier is supposed to be all that, especially for ever-so-slightly mature skin, so I hit the counter. I got my products and the (super-friendly) salesperson made a nice little commission; it’s my way of giving back to the city that already has made me feel so welcome. Product review tk, once I’ve had a chance to test drive them.

Today promises to be another good one. Gil and I […]

Happy Mardi Gras!

Egg Salad Sundays*: Super Mardi Gras Bowl edition

Throw me something, mister!

Show you my WHAT?! Absolutely not! I’m no tourist, and I’m old enough to be your mother, anyway, you little …!

A kiss for a long bead? Well … ok.

***

It’s carnival season again, folks. Time to drink heavily from dawn till dusk, dance in the streets, and chow down on some delicious Cajun/Creole cooking. When the Official MI Husband and I invited people over for the Super Bowl a couple of weeks ago, we decided to make it a Mardi Gras-themed evening, so I whipped up some traditional Louisiana dishes for the occasion: Pimento cheese for snacking, red beans & rice, and king cake for dessert.

While pimento cheese isn’t really Cajun — probably every Southern family has a version of the stuff they’re partial to — it served as the “trashy” element necessary for every Super Bowl gathering. Recipes abound, but they all involve the same three primary ingredients: Cheddar cheese, mayonnaise, and pimentos. I know, but before you turn up your nose at the very thought, you really should give it a try sometime. Not when you’re home alone, watching Lost or Grey’s Anatomy, but when you have people over and feel […]

Thou hast been served

Jane Galt’s open thread on her favorite poems got me thinking about how my taste has changed over the years. When I was young, poetry was something that really moved me, but I don’t get it the way I used to — is it something a person can outgrow? Maybe I’m just too crusty to appreciate its charms in the same way.

And yet, the final lines of Dylan Thomas’s Fern Hill still touch me. While I’m generally an optimist about the future and do my best to avoid wallowing in nostalgia, the way he portrayed the essence of dumb/blessed childhood before snapping shut the tomb door still gets me:

Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

John Donne remains my favorite poet, even though I can’t choose a single one of his poems to elevate above all others here. Like I’m not going to love an unrepentant smart-ass…

And even someone whose work is as familiar as air can surprise us with his lesser-known works. Robert Frost’s Acquainted With the Night fits the bill:

I have been one […]

Egg Salad Sundays*: I Hate My Grocery Store edition

For the past couple of days, I’ve had my eye on a recipe for boeuf bourguignon from Anthony Bourdain’s wonderful Les Halles Cookbook. It’s a classic recipe perfect for this ridiculous February deep freeze that keeps hanging around like a drunken dinner guest. Yaaaaawn. Is that the time? You wouldn’t believe how early my day begins! … Oh, you get to sleep in tomorrow? That’s … great. Heh-heh. It couldn’t be simpler — ten ingredients stew for two hours and emerge as fork-tender meat in a rich wine broth.

Or that was the plan, anyway. Gil picked up the beef, onions, and carrots for me last night while I took care of things around the house. The onions looked slightly better than the cancer-ward limes he brought back for his gin & tonic, so I figured they’d be ok. “Ha-HA,” fate, she does laugh.

We caught an early showing of Pan’s Labyrinth (terrific fairy tale movie, but not as fantasy-driven as I expected from the trailer) at the mall today and I hit the kitchen just as soon as we returned. I took out the cutting board and my lovely new santoku knife, ready to […]

A taste of spring

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West Coast Wedding, Pt. I

Hey, folks. As Gil promised, here are my photos from the San Diego trip last weekend. Sorry I’ve been out of touch, but I picked up a nasty bug from the SARS Family Robinson seated behind us on the flight. Bah!

Anyhoo, enjoy!

Define the word Oedipus

Back when The Anna Nicole Show was on the air, I couldn’t bring myself to watch it. Unlike the slightly less addled rocker on The Osbournes, she didn’t seem to be in on the joke or even get that there was a joke and I felt dirty for seeing her in such a state.

Given her fluctuating weight, substance abuse problems, and the recent death of her son, I’m sure no one was surprised by today’s news. But I think we should all reflect on happier times, before she started her final spiral, when she was really just a bosomy Dan Quayle.

Doing the Gunt

For the best weekly Idol recap since Dave White‘s, check out Briantologist’s photo study on Flickr.

Trust me.