October 31, 2007

-image-singing with the banshee

On Sunday, we went up to visit my brother and his very-pregnant wife. Naturally, The Banshee, now 3, was there. At one point, she sang us a very loud, word-for-word perfect version of that kiddy-pleasing song from “Annie”: Tomorrow.

Then she looked at me and said, “Okay. Now you sing me a song you know, Tee Tee.”

Now I know lots of musicals. Lots. Still, the only thing that leapt to mind was:

Attend the tale of Sweeney Todd
His skin was pale and his eye was odd
He shaved the faces of gentlemen
Who never thereafter were heard of again

Okay. No, Tracey. She’s 3. Don’t sing that to her now. I mean, you gotta wait til she’s going to bed to get the full impact on that.

So I fast-forwarded my brain to the next musical:


Hm. Cheery. Your moodypants are showing, Trace.

The Banshee was staring at me, all blonde and big-eyed, so I just opened up my mouth and sang the first thing that came randomly into my morbid little head:

The moon’ll come out
Next Thursday
Betcher bottom penny
That next Thursday,
There’ll be moon.
Just thinkin’ about
Next Thursday
Clears away the dishes and the toothpaste
Til there’s none.
When I’m stuck with a day
(okay, I shoulda changed that noun, gimme a break)
That’s pink and purple
I just stick out my toe
And scowl

Then the big finale:


I thought The Banshee was gonna have a stroke from laughing. She loved it. “Sing it again, Tee Tee! Sing it again!”

I sang that damn thing 4 times. What have I done to her??

-image-don’t worry!

You guys are so funny. Several of you have written me for the password saying this, “Okay. I’m kinda freaked out. I think I’m the one you don’t want to have the password.”

All right. Here’s the thing: If you just THINK it’s you or are worried it’s you, it’s NOT. Someone who won’t get the password knows they won’t get the password.

So no more paranoia, peeps!

(Although it did make me laugh, because it just kept happening.)

-image-Protected: part 3

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October 30, 2007

-image-Protected: part 2

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If you haven’t emailed me yet for the password, you may want to do so now. If you’ve never commented on the blog before, please leave a comment here asking for the password. If you’re a de-lurker who just emails me, you won’t get the password. I’m sorry, but I have a very good reason for asking this. Be sure to fill out your email in the comment section for “email.”

-image-Protected: part 1

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October 29, 2007

-image-go help out the dame!

Movie quotes o’plenty to guess over at Marisa’s.

Don’t make me hog NO MORE THAN 3 of them all for myself. Come on!!

Go! GO!!

October 27, 2007

-image-I live-blog the 2007 quill awards

Okay. So I know you’re saying:


Yeah, me too. I don’t know. I was clicking around and it’s on NBC and I find that so …. weird. Like, Don’t read right now. No, instead, watch our awards show for books you haven’t read because you watch too much TV.

Still ….

Okay! I WILL! I am easily led! And Hota Kotb’s involved?! I am THERE, baby!!

Stephen Colbert gives out the first award for Best Humor Book.

The nominees arrrrre …… a number of Jewish folk and Amy Sedaris.

The winner is: My BFF, Amy Sedaris for I Like You, Hospitality Under the Influence. She reads her speech — which I find funny. Like, weird funny. Reading speeches is never funny, Amy Sedaris. So if you ever wanna win this bad boy again, I strongly suggest you STEP UP, Peaches: memorize/extemporize/satirize/before our eyes … uhm, okay, please shut up, Michael Hutchence. You are ruining this category with the dark cold specter of death, ‘mkay?


Now Brooke Shields and Tiki Barber are here to announce Best Romance Novel, but not before he’s done making cheesy jokes about scoring. See, he’s a football player and Romance Novels are about scoring! Lord. A roomful of writers and Tiki Barber is left to write his own jokes. Also of note: Brooke Shields has huge hamhock biceps, so clearly, she’s on steroids. Don’t tell Tom Cruise.

The nominess are: Honestly, I don’t know and I don’t care.

The winner is: Hey! My junior high gym teacher, Nora Roberts for Angel Falls. Wow. Small world. An aside from MB, “Is she a lesbian?” “Yesss, honey, she is. Weren’t you listening? This is the Lesbian Romance Novel category.” Sheesh. I hate having to explain the plot to people. AND I hated doing those four-count burpee things in gym class. Curse you, gym teacher!

Joan Allen is onstage now, instantly overwrought about piggly-wigglies and children who don’t have books. OR piggly-wigglies. Or black sparkly gowns cut deep to show the wide white valley between one’s teensy boobulahs.

Dan Rather and Catherine Cryer. Award for Best History, Current Events, or Politics.

The award goes to: My garbage man, Al Gore, for The Assault on Reason. He’s not there, thank God. But if he were, according to his daughter, he’d say, “Take that, Nobel Peace Prize.” No. She didn’t really say that. Forgive me. I made that up. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Oh, and, Karenna, will you please tell Alberto enough already with the can-banging every Thursday morning? Thannnks.

Okay. Now some dude — showing my ignorance here — some ventriloquist, it seems. Award for Children’s Picture Book. The old man dummy makes a joke as they go to tear the envelope: “We pre-opened this envelope because he can only use one hand ….. then again, he’s used to that.” Annd ….. there’s an image for your Children’s Picture Book, kiddos.

Oh, so the winner is: Wow, cool! My pool boy, David Weisner for Flotsam. Congratulations, Coco! But, look, I still need you next Tuesday. Those leaves in the drain won’t remove themselves.

Gay Talese and Lorraine Bracco, who — wow — is clearly in on this whole steroid scam with Brooke Shields because her arms are exacatackally the same as Brooke’s. Or else she just had some huge rowdydow with her backstage about — I don’t know, whose depression is worse — and then ripped Brooke’s hamhock arms off in a fury and jammed them into her own somehow pre-emptied arm sockets. At least, I hope it’s that one, because I just can’t bear the thought of our dear Miss Brooke on steroids. And don’t be glib, anyone. Don’t you dare be glib. You just don’t know the history of steroids like I do.

Oh, so …. Award for Best Fiction. There are 5 nominees, but only one is an Oprah’s Book Club selection. Hm.

The winner is … oh, who will it be? Surprise! It’s my hairdresser, Cormac McCarthy for The Road. He’s not there, but look under your seats, everyone — copies of the book, courtesy of Oprah! She’s the ginchiest. Even with a goiter. Cormac! Hi! I need a trim, hon!

Award for Best Biography or Memoir.

Annnd the winner is: Oh, my trainer, Walter Isaacson for Einstein, His Life and Universe. Ugh. He drones … on and on …. and on … he’s a ball of fire, that one. I only use him as a trainer to feel better about myself by comparison. No one does it better, Walter!

Joan Allen is back. If I had to venture a guess, she’s not involved in the massive Brooke-Bracco steriod scam. Maybe she should be. She’s like a praying mantis. That dress, though. You know, it’s an important dress, I think, so I’ve decided to give it a title: Maybe The Big Valley. Or The Valley of the Shadow of Nothing. Or Turns out, V is for Void, not Vendetta. This is all just spitballing, really. You know, I’ll have a teensy pow-wow with my editor and get back to you on that.

Now there’s a montage from all those Bourne movies. Because — did you know they came from books??? Well, quiver me quillies!! I am learning many things. Thank you, TV!

Oh, here’s Mary Higgins Clark. I read one of her books once. There was a portrait of a woman and a psychotic husband and snow, lots of snow. That’s all I remember and that’s fine with me.

Award for Best Mystery/Thriller.

Annnnd … the winner is: Oh, look, it’s my CPA, Laura Lippman for What the Dead Know. Still, that’s no excuse for not getting my taxes done on time. Thanks, Lippman.

Look. Now it’s Sarah Ferguson and that wanker-chef, Rocco DeSpirito. I hates him so much.

Best Cook Book. Okay. Pay attention to this one, my bunnies, so when I come over for din-din, you can make me something yummy.

Annnnnd …. the winner is: Oh, my dog groomer, Ethan Becker, for The Joy of Cooking, 75th edition. Now, please! Someone help him to the stage! Can’t you all tell he’s 157 years old? God bless ‘im! Look at you go, Beckie! You should call your next book The Joy of Walking. Oh, and, Beckie? Yeaah …. uh, this is awkward, but you know my new Labradoodle, Mr. Ripley? Yeah, uhm, he didn’t really seem to like that papier mache codpiece you made for him …. he ate it and barfed it up all over my Persian area rug. It was nice that you painted your portrait on it and all, but let’s just keep to the bathing next time, okay?

And last but not least, oh, no, not at all:

Award for BOOK OF THE YEAR!!

And …. the winner is: That Prolific Lesbian Romance author Nora Roberts for Angel Falls!!

Wow. The Secret got ROBBED, man!!

What are you still doing here? That’s the end. Now go read a book.

October 26, 2007

-image-forewarned is ….

ME: So I’m gonna be impossible and emotionally volatile this weekend.
HIM: Okay.

….. forearmed.


Twelve firefighters trapped atop a ridge off Santiago Canyon Road in Orange County after flames jumped the road. The blaze roared up the hillside and prompted the crew members to deploy their fire shelters. They were surrounded by burning brush, but they made it out alive. “We just remained calm, everyone did,” one firefighter said after he was checked out by paramedics. All of the firefighters were treated at the scene and did not want to go to the hospital.

Once the flames passed over, they all just got back into the fray. I cannot even imagine. It gives me chills.

Just …. heroes.

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