14 - 0

Colts 35, Jaguars 31

Tis the Season for Snowmen...

13 - 0

Colts 28, Broncos 16

Courtesy of Peter King's MMQB

"Factoid of the Week That May Interest Only Me

The last time the Colts lost in the regular season came eight days before Barack Obama was elected president -- the night Tampa Bay and the Phillies tried, in vain, to finish the World Series in an insane frigid downpour in Philadelphia. In other words, not many people noticed a loss by the Colts on that Monday night.

But it's interesting looking back. That loss made the Colts 3-4. We all had serious questions about whether Peyton Manning was just too gimpy coming off his two knee procedures -- the first to remove his bursa sac, the second to deal with the staph infection that set in afterward. Marvin Harrison was a shell of himself. Austin Collie was playing at BYU. Pierre Garcon's head was swimming, trying to adjust to the jump from Mount Union (Ohio) College to the NFL. The Colts couldn't run. The Colts couldn't stop the run.

What a difference 58 weeks makes."

Read the full Monday Morning Quarterback report here.

12 - 0

Colts 27, Titans 17

Are we there yet?

Today, the headlines on MSNBC scream:

OFFICALS TRY TO SELL AFGHAN STRATEGY

I would imagine that it's difficult to sell a war strategy to anyone.

But then the article was accompanied by a picture of our officials, looking anything BUT engaged in the topic of converstion.

I mean, seriously. Have you ever seen a more bored looking group of people?

11 - 0

Colts 35, Texans 27

And the AFC South Division Title!!

Football...a metaphor for life?

- From the Comic "Betty," 11/25/09

10 - 0

Colts 17, Ravens 15

And HUGE props to the Defense for limiting the Ravens to a field goal when they were 1st and goal on the Indy 1. Three attempts to get into the end zone from a yard out and the defense shut them down!

9 - 0

Colts 35, Patriots 34

And it was a NAIL-BITER!!! Down by 17 at one point, 21 points in the last quarter.

8 - 0

Colts 20, Texans 17

The Path to Divinity is Not a Narrow One...

"The Indians around here tell a cautionary fable about a great saint who was always surrounded in his Ashram by loyal devotees. For hours a day, the saint and his followers would meditate on God. The only problem was that the saint had a young cat, an annoying creature, who used to walk through the temple, meowing and purring and bothering everyone during meditation. So the saint, in all his practical wisdom, commanded that the cat be tied to a pole outside for a few hours a day, only during meditation, so as to not disturb anyone. This became a habit - tying the cat to the pole and then meditating on God - but as years passed, the habit became hardened into religious ritual. Nobody could meditate unless the cat was tied to a pole first. Then one day the cat died. The saint's followers were panic-stricken. It was a major religious crisis - how could they meditate now, without a cat to tie to the pole? How would they reach God? In their minds, the cat had become the means.

Be very careful, warns this tale, not to get too obsessed with the repetition of religious ritual just for it own sake. Especially in this divided world, where the Taliban and the Christan Coalition continue to fight out their international trademark war over who owns the rights to the word 'God' and who has the proper rituals to reach God, it may be useful to remember that it is not the tying of the cat to the pole that has ever brought anyone transcendence, but only the constant desire of an individual seeker to experience the eternal compassion of the divine. Flexibility is just as essential for divinity as is discipline."

Eat, Pray, Love

Elizabeth Gilbert

7 - 0

Colts 18, 49ers 14

6 - 0

Colts 42, Rams 6

5 - 0

C0lts 31, Titans 9

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow...

It started out one day as a thought.

I could give it away.

My hair, that is.

I'm not sure where I heard about Locks of Love. But immediately, it sounded like a perfect fit for me. I don't have a lot of money. I haven't done a lot of volunteer work. I don't have a lot of special talents to offer the world. But hair? Hair I can grow. So I did.

First, I had to grow out the color. The bad color. Like a blonde that was so beyond nature and just not a good color for that lovely white skin I inherited for my mom's side of the family. And it wasn't a nice experience, this growing out the blonde. I didn't think it looked too bad - until I looked at pictures of our family vacation to Walt Disney World and saw that my DARK roots extended down to my chin. Yeah...nice, right?

But eventually my bad-blonde job turned into just blonde tips. Which is cool if you're a member of N*Sync. Which I'm not. But I did finally just get the blonde tips cut off.

Then, while I was growing it out, I wanted some shape and volume to my baby-fine dishwater yellow hair. So I added layers. Which, now that I think about it, may have been defeating the purposes of a) adding volume and b) growing my hair out to donate.

And then it was bangs.

I thought it would be hard to part with the hair that I've been growing for 6 years. I thought I would miss the length and cry least a little. But do you know what happens when you grow out baby-fine hair without any shape or style? It starts looking a little stringy. And even thinner. And you go through like 3 bottles of conditioner for every one bottle of shampoo, just trying to limit the tangles you're going to have to fight with. And hair drying becomes an ordeal. And you constantly find yourself without a rubber band, or a scruncy, or a hair clip...

So today, which I was having my hair washed before a trim, I got into a conversation with Stacy, the stylist.

"I'm trying to grow my hair out long enough to donate it."

"How long do you want it to be before you donate it?"

"Well, I won't go shorter than chin length."

"You're there."

And so, without any tears, or doubts, or hestitation, I said, "Let's go for it."

She brushed it out, she eye-balled it, then measured it to make sure. Two long side pony tails and then...

Snip. Snip.

And it was gone.

As she shaped and styled my hair, I looked at those two pony tails and felt...not remorse, not regret. Excitement. Reborn. Free!!!

4 - 0

Colts 34, Seahawks 17

3 - 0

Colts 31, Cardinals 10

2 - 0

Colts 27, Dolphins 23

And a few things to note:

First snap of the game, Peyton and Dallas hook up for a 80 yard touchdown. 12 seconds into the game.

The Colts offense have the ball only 14 minutes, 53 seconds, but they manage to win the game.

Dallas Clark - I knew he'd have a big year without Marvin Harrison lining up. He finished with seven receptions for 183 yards, the fourth highest total for a tight end in NFL history (according to NFL.com).

Peyton Manning - Finding new ways to win.

1 - 0

Colts 14, Jaguars 12

One Moment in Time

Do you remember where you were when...

As a child, I remember the adults of my world talking about Kennedy's assassination. It was one of those moments everyone remembers where they were. And this shared memory of one moment in time united a generation. On the anniversary of the Kennedy assassination, stories abound. People eagerly share with others their participation in that moment. Because it was a moment shared by more than just those waving at the President as his motorcade drove past before the fateful gunshot echoed through the streets. It was a moment shared by America.

And I used to wonder...what will be that moment for my generation?

There have been a few...

I remember a third grade lunch, a snowy day - too cold to play outside. That day, it was indoor lunch recess. Typically after eating on cold or rainy days, we would returned to the classroom to play games, or color or read. But this day, we tuned in to watch the news coverage - the space age claimed more victims. January 28, 1986.

I remember driving home from high school with my best friend, Jeff and our younger siblings, Donovan and Jon. I remember Jon getting in the car, all hopped up about the bombing of a building with a day care. I remember thinking how Jon exaggerated things, about how active his imagination must be. Bombings don't happen here. And even if they did, no one would attack a building with a day care. And I remember getting home to find my mom in front of the television, remote in hand as she scanned from one news station to the other. And all of a sudden, Jon's imagination wasn't so wild and we all were vulnerable. And forever the image of a firefighter, cradling the baby covered in blood. April 19, 1995.

In college, there was the Labor Day weekend at Aunt Trish and Uncle Barry's. Sending summer off within the warm embrace of our own ring of fire tribute. The one morning, standing in my aunt's kitchen and seeing the headline in the Detroit Free Press. High speed chase, paparazzi involved, car crash, minor injuries...only to find out later that the newspaper was right on only three of the four points. More than minor injuries. The tragic end of what had, at one point, been a fairy tale existence. August 31, 1997.

But I had no idea that those moments in time would pale in comparison to one warm day in the fall...

I had taken a week off from Family Video to visit my sister, brother-in-law and baby niece. Kaylee was 9 months old and I relished the idea of taking care of her while my sister worked. We were downstairs in the Potter family condo. Kaylee was entertaining herself with some toys on the floor while I watched "If Looks Could Kill" on HBO. Not a great movie, but slightly more entertaining than the usual round of morning talk shows and infomercials. My sister called, as had been her habit, to check on her first-born. But this call was different than the others.

"Are you okay?"

I was a little confused - it seemed like such an odd question for so early in the morning. Not, "How's your day?" or "How's the baby?" No questions about breakfast, or our plans for the day. Just the question...

"Are you okay?"

I don't remember my exact words - probably something like, Yeah, sure. Why?

"Planes are falling from the sky, crashing into buildings. Are you watching the news?"

And my thought - what is wrong with my sister? Seriously, did she smoke her breakfast? What kind of imagination must she have?

I flipped over to a news station and then I saw it, the smoke pouring from the second tower hit. I don't remember what I said to her, but all of a sudden...

I wasn't okay.

We couldn't talk, she had to run to a impromptu meeting where her bosses would tell her and her co-workers that it was okay for them to do what they needed to. Stay and work if you need to, go home and be with your families if you need to. Whatever you need...

I remember watching the news coverage and being, honest to God for the first time in my life awe-struck. Speechless. Terrified. Alone and so not alone. Scared of what lay outside the doors.

Frightened by the notion that if anything happened, I was the only thing standing between this precious baby girl and the world. That responsibility that I had relished suddenly seemed heavy and scary.

I wanted my sister to rush home and take over. I wanted to go back to bed and start the day over again. I wanted my Mom.

The rest of the week is surreal, even now. Pictures and imagines forever ingrained in my mind.

People pleading for word of loved ones, smoke drifting up from a once quiet field in Pennsylvania. The flag being unfurled from near the carnage at the Pentagon. President Bush receiving word that we were under attack while sitting in front of a room full of the nation's true innocents. Bent metal marking the final resting place of thousands.

In my own little world - fighter jets screaming overhead in a constant flight pattern, the sound so foreign in my homeland.

Moments that I will never forget. For I shall always remember where I was when...

9/11/2001

World Trade Center, 2,628 souls
American Flight 11, 87 souls
United Flight 175, 59 souls

Pentagon, 125 souls
American Flight 77, 59 souls

Shanksville -

United Flight 93, 40 souls

God Bless You All.

Forbidden Fruits

When I was growing up, we had a neighbor on North Towne Drive with a fairly substantial backyard garden. In it he grew the delights of summer and sometimes this homegrown bounty would end up magically appearing on our back deck. Primarily fresh grown tomatoes, with gritty bits of earth still clinging to the sun-ripened skins.

Backyard Farmer Bill grew all things in that backyard of his. He even raised chickens one year in pens back along the treeline of the creek - and hosted the neighborhood in a end of summer chicken barbecue. As a child, I didn't connect that the moist, flame grilled meat had once been the object of my curiosity and affection, or at least as much affection as you can give a chicken who is without remorse when plucking at tender human flesh.

For all the years that we lived on North Towne Drive, Bill and Yvonne's yard sat in the middle of a row of houses that were home to a dozen elementary school aged children. Never did we hear a disparaging remark while using their yard as a gateway to our friends' houses. Sidewalks didn't exist on our street, so we made paths across the bright green grass in games of Ghosts in the Graveyard (a kind of hide & go seek summer passion of ours played in the late evening hours). And sometimes we found ourselves following Bill around as he maintained his lawn, and he patiently let us explore our childhood curiosities.

But there was one fascination of our childhood minds that we believed was forbidden. Along the north side of Bill's backyard grew grapevines. Throughout the summer we would watch these bushes grow into this thick green wall. And as the wall grew, so did the bounty of grapes - fresh, purple globes of juicy goodness, calling to us like sirens. And when we didn't think anyone was looking, we would snatch a few of these precious gems. Plopping them into our mouths, we would peal back the tender sun warmed skins and sink our teeth into the meat of the fruit. The warm tart juices would fill our mouths, the tiny seeds would be captured and spit out and for a moment, we were victors in the war of forbidden pleasures.

And then one day, we were caught, not eating, but plotting a way to capture some of the summer goodness. Backyard Farmer Bill caught our stares upon his summer labors. And I remember clearly the worlds he said that brought the war-mongering to an end.

"You can eat as many grapes as you want - just leave me enough to make a bottle of wine."

And all of a sudden, the forbidden fruits were no longer sweet goodness, but just warm grapes. And in mouths that had once rejoiced and savored the victory, these grapes were more bitter than sweet, warm mush instead of tart bursts of flavor.

And the spoils of war became spoiled by the peace. Forbidden no longer.

A Flight to Remember

I'm not typically a nervous flyer. I've done it often enough over the years to actually look forward to the thrill of takeoff and the relief of touchdown.

That being said...it doesn't take a whole lot for me to become a nervous flyer.

I've experienced just about every sort of delay on the ground. Everything from hurricanes to lightning storms to, well, there was that one time when someone on the tarmac backed their truck into a plane. A big plane. A DC-10. How exactly does that happen? And how do you explain that on the insurance incidence report?

I could write a book about the hours I've spent visiting connection cities courtesy of the airlines. An extra night in Phoenix, another in Houston. A night in Chicago where I was greeted in the morning by a cockroach relaxing on the bristles of my toothbrush.

There was that time when Becky and I were coming back from Las Vegas. She was sure that she would break my run of bad airport luck. We boarded the plane on time, pushed away from the gate on schedule. Got in line for takeoff only to discover that one of the computers on the plane required rebooting. Simple enough, except if we went back to the gate, we've have to go through the security procedure. So it seemed like it would just be faster to find a quiet spot of runway to stop and reboot - but that's easier said than done in Sin City. Three hours later they finally got the computer rebooted - just in time to discover that we didn't have enough gas to get back to Cleveland. So in the end, we had to go to the gate anyways. So...four hours later...

Then how about the time my mom and I were flying back from Denver. We boarded on time, pushed back from the gate - even flew across the Midwest with time on our side. And then, on final approach, a snow storm closed the Cleveland airport. On final approach. As we were making our descent. Seriously? And to top that off, we couldn't gamble that we had enough gas to circle the airport until it reopened so we were re-routed to Detroit. Unbelievable, right?

But fortunately, all my airline adventures have happened on the ground. Knock on wood that this is a pattern that will continue.

Except...

I had one of those flights on final approach to DIA returning from vacation in Indiana. Nothing tragic, nothing too crazy - hardly worth mentioning except that it made for a flight to remember. And was enough to make me a nervous flyer, at least at the time.

It was a rather boring flight. I spent most of the time zoning out to Mark Harmon and NCIS (thank you USA Network for mini-NCIS marathons). And I was looking forward to landing and zooming home to my puppy dog. Captain announced final approach and I began to anticipate getting off the flying tin can.

As we made our descent into DIA, we hit a patch of turbulence. Not rock the plane violently turbulence, more like the small hills on a roller coaster. The kind that give you butterflies in your stomach - normally a good sensation, and not overly concerning though I did worry about hitting an air-pocket that would drop the plane further than we had to drop. And then...

All of a sudden, instead of descending into the airport, we started climbing. Engines screamed like on takeoff, which seemed a little odd, considering that we were coming in for a landing. And then we banked hard to the right. Definitely more of a bank that I've ever experienced in a plane. Enough that had I been standing up, there's a good chance I would've ended up sitting in 20F instead of 20A. And I'm not sure the gentleman already occupying that seat would have thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

At this point, I had a pretty nervous hold on the armrest and was trying to not get creative with my thought processes. Mark Harmon was gone from my screen in what the standard message assured me was due to normal aircraft movement. Except it's not really very reassuring, as I'm pretty sure that they don't have a standard message that reads "Signal lost due to extremely unusual and dangerous maneuvers - all hope is lost."

So to distract myself, I looked out the window. At the beautiful lightning display. Nice, right? But I'm sure it's heat lightning...oh, except for those giant bolts. Okay - looking out the window wasn't proving to be the distraction I was hoping for.

And now my thought process got creative. Why didn't we land? Are these evasive maneuvers? Does the pilot know something he's not sharing? How am I suppose to judge the mood of the flight attendants if I can't see them? How fast can I turn on my cell phone and text everyone I know? What would I say? Could I text a farewell message without feeling the need to use proper grammar and punctuation?

Oh, and why has the emergency lighting all of a sudden come on? Exit signs, floor lighting. I don't imagine the emergency slides at those emergency exits will do a whole lot of good if the plane isn't actually on the ground. Does my floatation device also double as a parachute? And seriously - if the oxygen masks drop from the ceiling, I'm totally going to pee my pants.

Turns out, in the end, that the flight pattern they had us approaching on didn't leave us with enough runway to actually stop the plane, so the landing was aborted and we had to come in on a different approach. In the end, my creative juices got flowing just enough to create borderline panic, though I managed to avoid crying, screaming, hyperventilating and rationalizing. I did, however, probably leave deep finger-shaped indentations in the armrest.

Words to Live By

Life is short,
Break the rules,
Forgive quickly,
Kiss slowly,
Love truly,
Laugh uncontrollably,
And never regret anything that made you smile.

Life may not be the party we hoped for,

but while we're here we should dance.

Heartache vs. Heartburn

I think I have reverse self-esteem issues.

In my mind, I'm prettier than I am in the mirror. Yeah, I have no delusions about my actual size - I'm fat and I get that. But in my mind, I'm a "pretty" fat girl. Long hair, fair skin, blue-green eyes. Pretty smile, soulful eyes.

Then I look in the mirror.

And somehow, even after all these years, it comes as a little bit of a shock.

I have fair skin, but it's not fair, porcelain skin. It's more like blotchy, pale skin with moles. Not like a grotesque amount of moles, but a few. My fair skin means that any blemish stands out like a a circus clown at a funeral.

I have long hair, but instead of honey gold, it's more dirty dish-water yellow.

My eyes - aren't bad. But they seem to get lost in the shape of my face. Which is round. Like...VERY round. Emphasized by the presence of an extra chin or two.

Sometimes, I look in the mirror, and am startled by the stranger staring back.

It's not that my appearance has changed over the years. It's the same face, the same shape, the same pale, blotchy skin. Except for a few coloring-experiments, my hair has always been this color.

Every time I look in the mirror, after a few minutes of trying to rectify my mental image with the image in the glass, my eyes slide down to size up the rest of this stranger looking back at me.

The news gets no better.

Fat arms. Like, upper arms that are larger (and flabbier) than most people's upper thighs.

Boobs that are two different sizes. And have never been described as perky. A bra is not just a fashion statement - it's a necessity to keep excessive amounts of sweat from forming below the "girls."

Hips that are wide. A belly button that gets lost in the extra fold of skin and fat.

Thighs that are dimpled. Thighs that really haven't spent all that much time apart. They're like Siamese twins (and that's not to be taken as an reflection on my sex life - or lack thereof - but more like a statement that I could power a small city from the friction of these Siamese twin thighs rubbing together when I do, well...anything).

Dimples are cute on the face - but a different story on the thighs.

And the ass. Oh, the ass...dimpled, pale white, GIANT. And, not at all perky. More like...end table. (I'm reminded here of Family Guy line here - "You like a little junk in the trunk? I'm a freakin' SUV").

Large calves. At least there is some muscle tone there, but it's getting buried under the fat. And in skirts, they look less like calves and more like tree trunks.

Cankles. Nice...cankles.

And feet that would make a circus clown jealous.

In the quest to match the "mental" me (mental in more ways than one) and the reflection in the mirror, there always seems to be this question....Am I am emotional eating? Do I eat to fill some void?

I don't know.

I can't deny that I love eating. Who wouldn't? I'm really good at it. Why wouldn't I enjoy doing something that I'm just this dang good at?

I know that there are times that I throw up my hands in the air and think, "If I'm destined to spend my life alone, I might as well enjoy Reese peanut butter cups after a gut-wrenching meal at Taco Bell."

So yes - there are times that I eat because despair can be overwhelming. And everyone knows that the best weapon against heartache is heartburn.

I study this stranger in the mirror and know that I could change it. A little hard work, a little discipline and a little bit of faith. And I could maybe become better acquainted with my reflection - or my reflection could become more of what I see in my mind.

Man in the Mirror

This week, three entertainment icons have passed on.

Ed McMahon

March 6, 1923 – June 23, 2009

Will always be remembered for
Heeeeeeerrrrrrreeeeeee's Johnny!

Farrah Fawcett

February 2, 1947 – June 25, 2009

Iconic pin-up "Angel" with the

much desired feathered tresses

Michael Jackson

August 29, 1958 – June 25, 2009

Michael Jackson is the one that gave me pause. And I don't think I can sum him up, as I have the other two.

You know, when someone passes away, even a celebrity, I think about how that person may have impacted my life. Farrah and the popularlity of Charlie's Angels was a little before my TV viewing days. And Ed McMahon's reign as Carson sidekick was pre-Leno, which was about the time I started watching the Tonight Show.

Somewhat ironically, after years of relativly quiet celebrity-hood, both Farrah and Ed have spent time in the headlines, for moments both would have certainly rather endured privately. Farrah for her battle with cancer, documented in "Farrah's Story", Ed for his bankruptcy.

Then there's Michael. At first, I thought his impact on my life was as his role in public tended to be in the later years - a punchline for jokes about plastic surgery, skin conditions, baby dangling and inappropriate relationships with small boys (there might even be a completely inappropriate version of "Rubber Ducky" floating around from my college days that was inspired by that last bit.) And for a moment, that's how I remembered him.

Then, on the way home from work, my carpool companions (Slacker & Steve) were taking calls from listeners who were sharing stories about Michael Jackson. Not Michael Jackson, the Headline. But Michael Jackson, the Headliner. The King of Pop. The voice of a new generation.

I was never a particularly huge Michael Jackson fan - I knew his stuff and I have his HIStory CD, but I wouldn't have gone to a concert, or actively sought out his new material. But when I got into the car, they were playing one of my favorite songs. And I remember, that for a lot of years - before the headlines and the surgeries and the unfortunate baby dangling - Michael sang for a better world. We Are the World, Earth Song, Man in the Mirror, Black & White and Heal the World.

So today, I choose to remember him as a voice that opened my eyes to the possibility that I can be an instrument for change.

I'm going to make a change for once in my life

It's gonna feel real good, Gonna make a Difference

Gonna make it right...

As I turn up the collar on my favorite winter coat

This wind is blowin' my mind

I see the kids in the street with not enough to eat

Who am I to be blind, pretending not to see their needs

A summer's disregard, a broken bottle top

And a one man's soul

They follow each other on the wind ya' know

'Cause they got nowhere to go

That why I want you to know

I'm starting with the man in the mirror

I'm asking him to change his ways

And no message could have been any clearer

If you wanna make the world a better place

Take a look at yourself and then

Make a Change

I've been a victim of a selfish kind of love

It's time that I realize

That there are some with no home, not a nickel to loan

Could it be really me, pretending that they're not alone

A willow deeply scarred, somebody's broken heart

And a washed-out dream

They follow the pattern of the wind, ya'see

Cause they got no place to be

That's why I'm starting with me

I'm starting with the man in the mirror

I'm asking him to change his way

And no message could have been any clearer

If you wanna make the world a better place

Take a look at yourself and

Make a change

You gotta get it right while you got the time

Cause when you close your heart

Then you close your mind!

Feed My Delusions...

Welcome to the new era of "fan-dom." Now it's even easier to stalk your favorite celebrity!

Welcome to the world of Twitter.

Here's how it works. If I had a life, I could post updates (or tweets) to my Twitter of what I was doing and my "followers" would be kept up to date. If I had a life...

I mean, obviously, I have a life. I just don't have a LIFE. Or at least, I don't have a LIFE where I could post interesting updates on a regular basis. I set up my Twitter account by accident, while trying to read a Twitter feed from Despair.com. And even though I didn't mean to establish a Twitter feed, I can't seem to help posting a random update.

Totally random updates. Kinda like this blog...

Then, one day at lunch with my "book club," someone mentioned following a celebrity on Twitter. And on a whim, I decided to see if Matthew Perry had a Twitter feed. And alas, he does. And there's this amazing option, where I can have his Twitter updates sent to my cell phone like text messages. So now...

I get text messages from Matthew Perry.

Well, me and 80,000 other people. Literally - 80,000 followers and counting. Can you even imagine 80,000+ people interested in you?

But regardless of how many other people read these "tweets," it's still unbelieveable to me, this real-time world of celebrity-fan connections. It's such a strange sensation, to get a tweet on my cell phone and know that right now, MP is settling in to watch a movie, or a hockey game. That just a few minutes ago, MP typed a message and hit send. And instantly, his fans know what he's up to.

Seriously - Does this make me a stalker?

Not that that would be a new role for me. I've always been somewhat of a stalker - just one that's been "locational-ly challenged."

Just kidding - I don't have stalker in me.

It takes too much initative.

(Also, I was thinking of adding a picture of MP to this post, but seriously...that makes me feel like "crazy stalker girl" and I just can't get myself to go there...)

Post-Edit (Like WAY post edit, like 2-17-10 post edit): So (speaking of MP), a few months ago he started this joke and asked his followers to tweet him a punch line. I sent him one and he re-tweeted it. Like seriously...I (stalker that I am), almost kinda had brief, technological encounter with MP. It was cool...well, that and for a short while, because he re-tweeted my post, I picked up some of his crazy stalker fans.

Seriously...Crazy. Stalkers.

Unlike me...Sane stalker who is geographically challenged (in other words, I live too far away to sit at the end of his driveway, looking into windows with night-vision goggles).

MP: "Having lunch with your trainer is comforting and not satisfying all at the same time. Kinda like...(insert joke here).

PH: "Like reality tv..."

Panic Ensues Again (As Does Another Thought...)

Speaking of flu panic...

A few years ago, there seemed to be a lot of news about the Avian, or bird, flu. Now, the threat certainly isn't over. It will someday mutant and spread human to human. I only hope that we have enough time and warning to have treatment options ready.

But right now I'm going with this philosophy: It you don't laugh, you cry.

So...someone sent me this picture, with this headline...

FIRST CONFIRMED BIRD FLU DEATH AT DISNEYLAND

Cause...if you don't laugh, you'll cry.

Panic Ensues

This year, the latest craze is swine flu.

I don't mean to make light of it. It's a scary situation - People have and will die from it. Although the deadly strains seem limited to Mexico, it does make me worry about the next pandemic that will wipe out a percentage of the population. It's coming - we just don't know when or what it will be.

But I do mean to make light of something - the media hype and ensuing public panic.

But regardless of whether you are or are not (I'm not) overly concerned about catching the swine flu, it's probably a good idea to avoid this, at least for now.

Simple Pleasures

Pride and Prejudice

"Confession. I have read Pride and Prejudice two hundred times. I get lost in the language, words like "thither, mischance, felicity." I'm always in agony over whether Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy are really going to get together. Ah! Read it. I know you'll love it!"

Kathleen Kelly, You've Got Mail

I just finished reading Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen and I'm in love. In love with it all - Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth Bennet, the grandeur, the romance, the misunderstandings and missed opportunities.

I'm not sure what persuaded me to read Pride and Prejudice, although it does qualify for my New Year's Resolutions, as it is one of those books I should have read in high school. And I have to agree with Kathleen Kelly - I, too, got lost in the language, though sometimes, more lost in the whole "what the heck are they talking about," as compared to being lost in the magic of it.

Seriously - I had to google more than one word along the way. And for the record, "felicity" is not just a Keri Russell TV show from the 90's, but is also "the state of being happy, esp. in a high degree; bliss."

There were so many things I loved about it - the charm, the agony, the wit. I was especially surprised by the wit. Two examples, both from Mr. Bennet, who couldn't be bothered with the raising of his girls. Upon Lizzy's refusal to marry Mr. Collins, Mrs. Bennet tries to get Mr. Bennet to intercede and convince Lizzy to say yes (chapter 20):

"Come here, child," cried her father as she appeared. "I have sent for you on an affair of importance. I understand that Mr. Collins has made you an offer of marriage. Is that true?"

Elizabeth replied that it was.

"Very well -- and this offer of marriage you have refused?"

"I have, Sir."

"Very well. We now come to the point. Your mother insists upon your accept it. Is not it so, Mrs. Bennet?"

"Yes, or I will never see her again."

"An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From this day you must be a stranger to one of your parents. --Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again if you do."

And again, wit from Mr. Bennet to Mrs. Bennet, as she laments the fact that Mr. Collins and wife (Charlotte) are to the inherit the family estate because of entail (to limit the passage of a landed estate to a specified line of heirs, so that it cannot be alienated, devised, or bequeathed - another one I had to look up) upon Mr. Bennet's passing (chapter 23):

"Indeed, Mr. Bennet,'' said she, "it is very hard to think that Charlotte Lucas should ever be mistress of this house, that I should be forced to make way for her, and live to see her take my place in it!''

"My dear, do not give way to such gloomy thoughts. Let us hope for better things. Let us flatter ourselves that I may be the survivor.''

As all great literature has at one point or another, this novel has inspired countless movies and books. Long before I read the book, one of my favorite movies was Bridget Jones' Diary, and one of my favorite male heroes was, of course, Mark Darcy. I knew that the character of Mark Darcy was inspired by Colin Firth's portrayal of Mr. Darcy in the BBC version of P&P. I had no idea that the rest of the book was a modernized version of Jane Austen's classic.

Let's take a moment to compare, shall we?

Elizabeth has an instant disliking to Mr. Darcy when first they meet. Bridget also has sour feelings for Mark Darcy.

Elizabeth is courted by Mr. Wickham, who has a tragic story of how Mr. Darcy did him wrong. Daniel Cleaver, too, has a tragic story of how Mark Darcy did him wrong, which, as with Elizabeth, feeds Bridget's dislike of Mark Darcy. In both cases, M. Darcy was the victim, not the perpetrator.

Elizabeth's mother is a rather shallow creature, interested only in marrying off her daughters to men of fame and fortune. Bridget's mother, though less overt in her actions, has the same desires.

Elizabeth is easily discarded by Mr. Wickham, as Bridget is easily discarded by Daniel.

Mr. Darcy, somewhat anonymously, rescues Elizabeth's family from social death when her little sister runs off with Mr. Wickham without the protection of marriage.

While the situation is different, Mark Darcy does, somewhat anonymously, come to Bridget's rescue. In the original book, the rescue is of Bridget's mother, who gets herself into somewhat of a pickle involving illegal drugs in a foreign land. This happened in the second movie, not to her mother but to Bridget herself.

And of course, Mr. Darcy loves Elizabeth as Mark Darcy loves Bridget - Just the way she is.

If only I could find a M. Darcy...