if a tree falls

If you choose to read this post...

When I was a kid, I loved choose-your-own-adventure books. They were silly and gender neutral and always ended too quickly, but I remember some of the plots vividly. So I was more than super psyched (if that doesn't make me sound like a cheerleader, just wait another paragraph) to learn from a friend that there is a choose-your-own-adventure book that was created for grown women. I bought it the next day and read through six different life stories.

Pretty Little Mistakes starts on the last day of high school. The first decision to be made is whether to follow your boyfriend to college or travel. From there, you can end up anywhere. You're only in charge of the most basic decisions--to marry or not, to follow or stay--so the most fun can be had by letting go and enjoying the ride. So far, I've ridden through Europe with drug-dealing hippies, become a doctor helping the underpriviledged in the American South, had a wildly successful movie career, made controversial art and joined a cult. At the end of every story you die, whether it's happily in old age, in a car accident or at the hands of a murderer.

Am I gushing? I've had so much fun reading this book, and it's different every time. I highly recommend it for anyone looking for a juicy and quick summer read that you can read over and over again. It's definitely rated R, with swearing, sex and drug use, so it's not for everyone, but for now it's my obsession of the moment.

Wednesdays with Bob

That's what I'll call the parody of "Tuesdays with Morrie" that I write based on my interactions with my next door neighbor.

He just asked for permission to take our trash out on trash day if we're not home.

Then he acknowledged that he was being annoying and invited me over for a swim. He said he would stay at one end, I could stay at the other, and we wouldn't have to talk.

It'll be a real tear-jerker.

So, about those pictures

Yesterday I had a great morning.

Joe was home from a business trip to Chicago, we worked together in the attic all morning, then came downstairs for some lunch. I went to get the little beast a toy so that he would stay occupied while we ate. He tends to get obnoxious right before a meal. Maybe he was jealous that we were eating a gourmet meal of  leftover homemade Hamburger Helper, but I just wanted him to wait fifteen minutes before we could go out and play.

I saw his Kong next to the couch, picked it up, then turned around and stubbed my left pinky toe on our armchair. It popped. I strung some four-letter words together and got really hot. Deep down, I knew it was broken, and within five minutes, I was mentally planning a trip to the urgent care center.

The first two hours were very painful. I iced and cried, but after that, it hurt less, wasn't too swollen, and my major malfunction was a huge case of the munchies. I could limp around, and decided that I could wait to see a doctor. Conveniently, I had a podiatrist's appointment scheduled today for some skin-related issues on the other foot (ew, TMI), but I decided to wait and have a doctor I know and trust take a look in the morning.

In the meantime, Joe wanted to buy The Bigs, a new baseball game for the Wii, and I wanted some chocolate ice cream with M&Ms. We decided to run out after dinner, around 7:00. But the Mr. Plow episode of the Simpsons was on, so we hovered around the TV to sing along. *Mr. Plow, that's my name, that name again is Mr. Plow.*

Ten seconds later the power went out.

It was time for the second major judgement call of the day. We decided to bring the pup with us in the car, since the temperature was still in the 90s. The neighbors started coming out sans shirts, so we decided to get the hell out of Dodge. As we drove through the area, we could see the lines of the power outage, which seemed to be limited to our greater neighborhood area.

When we still had no power at 9:00, we decided to spend the night at Joe's parents' house, a chilly, roomy haven. As we drove there through our dark Bloomfield streets, WPLJ was playing '80s songs. Ironically, our travelling music was "Electric Avenue."

I went to the doctor this morning at 10 and left the office two hours, three sets of x-rays and one fashionable surgical boot later. Here is a close up of the problem area:

The medical drama-lover in me thinks this is so cool. I've never had a broken bone before, and I was too young to appreciate my appendix scar when I was five. Now that the pain has reduced and I'm back in my own air conditioning, it seems more like a crazy 24-hour adventure than a medical emergency. But still, when people ask how I'm doing, my response is, "I had a bad day yesterday."

Before and After: Story to come

WTF

A short Monday afternoon skit. This actually happened to me today and was recorded on my answering machine.

Caller ID displays the number of uncouth neighbor #1 (yes, there are multiple). He is a man who has talked at me in depth about his friend who "hates Arabs," told me that "for all I know, you could be a raging dyke" and insists on compensating for every minor neighborly favor with a case of iced tea from the dollar store. When we met, he said, looking at my college degree, "I'm going to assume by your last name and your alma mater that you are Jewish." He assumed wrongly and rather closed-mindedly. He could have just asked about my religion. Anyway, he has a tendency to get under my skin.

MELANIE delays picking up the phone, fearing the ensuing conversation. She recalls previous conversations and seriously considers letting the answering machine pick up, but realizes that he can see that she is home by looking into the kitchen window.

MELANIE: Hello.

NEIGHBOR: Oh, hello. (Sighs)

ANSWERING MACHINE: Hi, you've reached Joe and Melanie...

MELANIE: Oh, sorry.

ANSWERING MACHINE: Please leave a message and we'll get right back to you.

MELANIE: OK, sorry about that.

NEIGHBOR: I see. This is Bob.

MELANIE: I know. (rolls eyes) What's up?

NEIGHBOR: Well, I was scrolling through the address book in my phone, and I meant to call the entry below yours, but my finger must have slipped and...

MELANIE: (Interrupting) That's okay, I'll let you go.

NEIGHBOR: ...we're going tonight to the Meadowlands for the fair tonight. You know, my daughter has seven children and doesn't get to take them all to very many places. But it's only six dollars apiece, and that includes parking, so with her fifteen person van, it's a...

ANSWERING MACHINE: Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

NEIGHBOR: What was that in the background?

MELANIE: The answering machine must have been taping us this whole time.

NEIGHBOR: Well then it's a good thing we didn't say anything incriminating.

MELANIE: (Trying not to engage him.) Yup.

NEIGHBOR: So, do you have any interest in going to the fair?

MELANIE: Honestly, no. (Subtext: Please let me go on with my life)

NEIGHBOR: You probably don't believe in Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy either. You would shoot the Easter Bunny and

MELANIE: ???????

NEIGHBOR: Let me guess, you don't like the Magic Kingdom in Disney World.

MELANIE:  (Who honestly thinks that Disney is scary in its constant cheeriness) I plead the fifth.

NEIGHBOR: Okay, goodbye.

MELANIE: Bye. (Hangs up as quickly as possible.)

Friday fun links

Pirate Utkatasana (Yogabeans)

Muppet Pulp Fiction (Mom)

Fug on Earth (Go Fug Yourself)

Quote of the Day

"Perfection is the enemy of done."

-- Andrea

Coming out

Summertime TV sucks. It always has. While I wait for Weeds to come back and ease into the fall and new episodes of my favorite shows to return (though Gilmore Girls won't be back at all and 24 and Lost will be MIA until early 2008), I am left with one rather guilty Tivo appointment.

It's a guilgy pleasure no more. I'm coming out of the So You Think You Can Dance fan closet. I love it in the cheesiest and most devoted way. I love host Cat Deely, the way the judges make no secrets of their underlying producer-motives, the choreographers and the dancers themselves. It's a reality show based on actual talent, with drama kept to a relative minimum. Hard work, likability, creativity and versatility are rewarded. Attitude, defeatism and closed-mindedness are not. (My one gripe is that I wish the gay cast members felt free to be open and out.)

Anyway, it's on tonight, and I can't wait. Here's a clip of my favorite dance from last week, a creepy hobo jazz piece choreographed by Wade Robson. It's far from perfect-- they're not exactly together when dancing the same steps --but it shows that a b-girl and a lyrical guy can partner up and do a highly entertaining theatrical dance.

Metaphor

I've been in a lot of waiting rooms lately. I've been seeing a podiatrist every three weeks for the last two months and started with a new dentist last week. My general practitioner has been sending me to get regular bloodwork for hypothyroidism. On top of that, Gonzo had a vet's appointment on Friday to get some new vaccines. One of these was a Lyme vaccine, since the ticks seem to love his furry little self.

Imagine my pleasure when we found a strange red circle on his belly last night. Today we shlepped to the vet in the rain to find out what it was. A week of antibiotics, negative diagnosis and $68 later, I'm waiting to pay and get back to what was supposed to be a productive day, when the vet's cocker spaniel lifts his leg and pees on my jeans.

Honestly, I didn't need a metaphor to articulate how I was feeling.

Want closure from the Sopranos ending?

Here you go:

via Lindsayism and EW

(also see my link to the Shia LeBouef SNL digital short)