Month: April 2006

Dashing off a newsy post here — kinda disjointed. Bear with me!

So you know how, whatever sport you follow, you have your certain favorites, those players who have your diehard support, no matter what may come? There’s just something about them. Maybe it’s that singular way they play. Maybe it’s the way they comport themselves off the field. Or the way they graciously handle winning and losing. Maybe they love their mommas. Or do charity work. Or maybe they look especially saucy in their uniforms. Maybe it’s a combination, but it’s something. They are apart in your mind from other players.

I have several of those in the NFL, in baseball, and in tennis.

And it just so happens that …. in 2 weeks I will be teaching a home school drama class IN THE HOME of one of my NFL favorites. He’s fairly recently retired actually, but he was always one of those players for me.

LAWDY!!! I mean, LAAWWWDDY!!!

I mean, just how many opportunities does this life present to discover that you really ARE one of those people that you secretly fear you could be, given the right circumstances? You know, the ones who fawn and blush and stutter and trip over the famous, making themselves memorable in the most appalling way? I mean, that just might be me and I simply cannot go on living if that is me.

So how did this happen, you ask? Well, Mr. NFL’s wife — the nicest but biggest flake in the world — sent her kid to my drama camp last summer. In September, when the school year started, she called to ask me if I’d teach a home school drama session — for a rather obscene amount of money, frankly. Sure thing, nice ‘n’ flaky NFL wife! I’m there!!

Then I didn’t hear from her and I didn’t hear from her. Months went by. I worked a bit on it, dropped it. Then I DID hear from her, only to learn that it had been postponed. Maybe in April, she says. Okay, I say, just let me know by the beginning of March.

Then I didn’t hear from her and I didn’t hear from her. Again. Then I emailed her. Nothing. I put aside ANY planning I’d even done on the damn thing and kicked myself for not asking for a sizeable deposit up front. I’m one savvy laaady, my friends.

Then out of the blue, about 10 days ago, a phone call. Tracey, she says, we’re so excited to have you start on April 26th!

Um, HUH?? WHA??

(And by the way, you are not “so excited,” you are “so escited.” I thought we made that abundantly clear already.)

So back to my WHA?? I was in no way ready to start on April 26th. I didn’t even know it was still “on,” much less that it was starting on April 26th. I’m not even available April 26th! AND, oh, have I mentioned that I’m thoroughly UNPREPARED?

So I hear her message, which she whispers, actually, and I’m kinda annoyed, both by its content and by the fact I virtually have to lay my head down on my machine just for the privilege of being exasperated. I call her back, fully intent on — oh, showing her! — and telling her what an impossible, rich, NFL flake she is, but instead, end up talking in a sweety-sweet voice that cannot possibly be mine if I’m to remain unkilled by myself AND promising her I can start May 3rd! Ooooh, yeah, Tracey, ya showed her! Ya showed her real good! Nice job being shamelessly seduced by the glow of NFL bling and fame, you drama whore, and by her fluttery whispery voice that made you feel that you and only YOU could teach these poor deprived kids the drama they so desperately need.

And see how I’m diligently preparing right at this moment? Ranting about it, as I am? I guess this seems wise and good to me, you know, because of my overall savviness. Frankly, I’m overcome with slackassery about the whole thing because I’m just waiting for Flaky NFL wife to call up and say, Oh, Tracey, we’ve decided to take Fancy and Cubby and go to the south of France instead. Ta!!

So look, Tracey, old girl, you’d really better getcher pants on about this. Really. You think you perform better under pressure. And …. uh, that’s usually true, but did you even HEAR how you crumbled in the face of fluttery NFL bling and fame?? You were a total pie-face.

The reality is, Tracey, that barring yet another change of plans, in about 2 weeks you’ll be driving your humble, little black car into the lush, ridiculous environs of Rancho Santa Fe, winding around those hills, trying to find their tony, ridiculous mansion.

Which makes me wonder: How do you find a rich person’s mansion? Are the addresses on the front of the mansions? Are they on the street curbs?? I’m sure I won’t even be able to SEE the front of the mansion, so putting the address there is pointless, right?

So, really, where are the addresses??

Sweet Moses. Now I’m freaking out. Where ARE the addresses on rich people’s mansions?? Do you need them or is there some other method of finding them? Will they just have their personal Jeeves on the cul-de-sac waving me in? Look for the tall and angular Jeeves, dahling, with the salt-and-pepper hair, waggling his hanky at you, not that tubby and sweaty Jeeves down the street with the perpetual grimace on his face.

LAWDY!!

I don’t wanna keep a lookout for Jeeveses!!

Seriously, I can’t do it if I can’t find the address and if I can’t find the address that means I’m desperately stupid and if I’m desperately stupid then I certainly can’t find the address OR keep a lookout for Jeeveses and do you see how this all goes ’round in a pathetic little circle?

All right, Tracey. Calm down. Just go there and do your best Maria-von-Trapp-does-drama routine. You’ve sure got the clothes for it. And your car ain’t much better than a bike, that’s for damn sure.

Maybe make up a little ditty for the kiddos, like this:

Let’s stahht at the very beginning
A very good place to stahht
When you read, you begin with A-B-C
When you act, you begin with me-me-me!

Chirren, repeating, pointing to themselves like good little robots:

ME-ME-ME

Tracey von Trapp:

The first 3 things just happen to be — me-me-me!

Chirren, pointing again:

ME-ME-ME!

Tracey von Trapp:

ME-ME-ME-ME-ME-ME-MEEE!!!!

Okay. That’s it.

Perfect!

And I thought I wasn’t prepared.

“The American Songbook” American Idol.

I don’t really have a lot to say. I wasn’t holding out much hope tonight so I was doing dishes, actually, but I could still hear it. Let’s see. How’s this: Everyone was mostly good.

Except for …. KELLIE!

LORDDD!!! She’s so vapid, so empty. Can I just slap a blinking neon “VACANCY” sign on that bleach-blonde forehead?? Buh-BYE, Kellieeee! Enjoy your career a’pickin’ and a’grinnin’ at Dollywood.

Ace ….. um, that HAIR!! From the neck up, he looked like a member of the Ukrainian Women’s Gymastic Team. I mean, wha??? Gimme some balance beam, baby. NOW!!!

Katherine …. well, she FINALLY had her magic moment. She was a revelation.

And on an unrelated note: TomKat, your new baby girl is named Suri? Apparently, it means “princess” in Hebrew, chosen because … you’re both so Jewish?? And apparently, it means “red rose” in Persian, chosen because … you’re both so Iranian?? And how do you pronounce that, exactly? Is it “Sur-ee” as in “Surrey With the Fringe on Top”? Or is it “Sur-eye” as in “Sir, I need you to stop flashing your wee-wee at the kiddies”??

I mean, you REALLY named her Suri?!?

Xenu’s gonna be pissed, man.

AI does Queen. I’m very, very ….. concerned. Yes, concerned.

Well, nothin’ I can do about it. Here we go.

Hm…. Bucky is not really feelin’ the Fat-Bottomed Girls. He looks vaguely embarrassed to me, as if he’s thinking Hee hee …. I just said fat bottom. He doesn’t seem a real FAN of the Fat-Bottomed Girls, which I believe one truly needs to be to sing “Fat-Bottomed Girls, you make the rockin’ world go ’round.” I mean, just a thought.

Oh. You know which Fat-Bottomed Girl DID make the rockin’ world go ’round? MANDISA.

Ace (*KA-POWW*!): “We Will Rock You.” Sighhhh. You know that permanent scar baby-face Ace has? I’m pretty sure I now have one, too. On my eardrums. And …. um …. what was that let-me-walk-my-voice-down-the-stairs moment?? The bottom just fell out right there. Guess it was NOT a fat bottom — which is something he coulda used to cushion that spanking he got from the judges. (Simon: It was We Will Rock You Gently. Hahaha.)

Kellie: “Bohemian Rhapsody.” Aggghhh! The lighting on her!!! Sweet Moses!! You know, I once worked in a funeral home and, lemme tell ya, I’ve seen that face before. Blimey. All I can say is “Nothing really matters to meeeeee ……” And Simon’s comment is quite beyond her understanding so he has to simplify: “Okay, it worked.”

Chris: “Innuendo.” I didn’t like the song, but he sounded great. ‘Nuf said. Oh, wait. Not ‘nuf. May I say this? His voice could possibly get a bit wearing after a while. His vibrato-o-o-o-o-o is very wi-i-i-i-i-i-de. NOW ‘s ‘nuf.

Katherine: She loves herself, you know. “Who Wants to Live Forever.” Oh, my. She’s having a Celine Dion moment. And I. don’t. like. Celine Dion. I’m sorry. There’s just something about her. You know how we all have foods that we think we’re supposed to like, but we don’t, we JUST DON’T? No matter how hard you TRY to like that food, you just can’t? She’s that. And for me, it’s cheesecake. She’s my personal cheesecake. I feel I’m supposed to like it, people are surprised when I say I don’t like it because they LOOOVE it, but, well, too bad. More cheesecake for them, I guess.

Elliott: “Somebody to Love.” I love this song. And I like Elliott. Bring it, baby!! Oh, dear. I like his voice, but he just doesn’t have it for this song. Again, with the non-connection. But it sorta works, I guess.

Taylor: “Crazy Little Thing Called Love.” What’s happening?? He missed the mic kick-down. WHAT are you DOING, Salt’n’Peppa Elvis?? WHAT’S with the tippy toe on the stairs?? You know, lately, he’s begun to make me verrry uncomfortable. I’m constantly worrying that he’ll throw out his back with his cra-a-a-a-zy, hunchy monkeyshines. Or worse, that he’ll split his pants, revealing smiley face boxers. Stuff like that makes me wanna cry. Randy and Paula like it, but, thank God, Simon says, “Taylor, ARE YOU DRUNK??”

Which gives me an idea: Next week, maybe I’ll watch and blog while drunk. And I don’t really drink, so that’d be somepin’, I’m tellin’ ya. One glass of wine, basically, and I’d be “hee hee ….. he just said fat bottom ….. hee hee …..”

You know, I may be onto something here. What if we all blogged AI drunk? Just a thought, really. (No, don’t start drinking NOW.)

And last …. Li’l Hattie McDaniel: “The Show Must Go On.” (Okay. I gotta admit, this is the least Hattie McDanielly she’s looked.) I don’t like this song. Or her outfit. And I could swear those are her old-timey stable wench boots from last week. Oh, bleah. Let’s just go with Simon’s comment: “I found it all a little weeahhd.”

Oh, I don’t know. I’m tired and cranky. So, yeah. It was all a little weeahhd.

Update: Cullen give his thoughts.

Dear reader Lyn of New Things has lost her mother. For many months now, she has been by her mother’s bedside, caring for her, loving her, knowing this moment would come. But the story she tells of her mother’s homecoming is so tender and loving, I feel I must share part of it with you and then urge you to make haste to her site to read the rest of it. The note Lyn’s young daughter writes to her Grandma is particularly touching …. and wise. Here’s a brief excerpt of Lyn’s story:

The day before Mom’s homegoing, her nurse was in her room, and could see that she was getting close to that point. She told us that if we had anything we needed to tell her, we needed to do so, because she was very close. We all began blessing her with words that we had stored in our hearts. There were tears shed as we prepared ourselves to let go, but Mom was not ready. She held on, and even pulled out of her deep sleep to laugh and eat and hug her grandbabies goodnight one last time. So much better did she appear, that the nurse called off 24 hour care and went home. Momma said “tell him he can go home, we don’t need him here.“ He checked her lungs–miraculously clear, breathing wonderfully! Her color had returned, as did her strength and her wit. She spoke of how it was time now for her “Homecoming” and what a wonderful day it would be. She wondered aloud if there would be any pain when it came that time, and over and over again, she said “Wonderful Homecoming,” “Wonderful Day.”

Please go read the whole story. It is so moving.

This is Tyson, the skateboarding bulldog!!

(And I’ve never been more ashamed about not knowing how to skateboard. Sheez LOUISE!!)

Click on link below to see him in action — oh, and watch him manuever through a TURN at one point. I think I have a wee crush on him.