The King: Today, Tomorrow and Forever In My Family

I wasn't even born until more than a year after Elvis Presley died, but I still can't believe it's been 30 years already.

And I really can't believe how nuts people still are for him. I've been reading some of the coverage of Elvis Week in Memphis (which this year, for the first time ever, includes a Graceland-sanctioned Elvis impersonator contest). There are some die-hard Elvis fans out there (one literally did die, in her trailer on a nearby campground -- it's sad, but you've got to wonder if part of her thought it was a fitting tribute).

I hesitate to call myself an "Elvis fan;" that title implies a bit more of a fervor than I've ever had for the King. I do enjoy his music -- fine, yes, and his movies too -- but I think what keeps me from being a true fan is the fact that when I think of Elvis, I don't gaze misty eyed into the past, wistfully wishing he were still with us; I usually end up giggling. And I blame that on my family, more specifically, my mother's side of the family.

It was an innocent enough beginning. The story goes that back in the day, when my parents were first married and living with my maternal grandfather, my mom and Aunt Shellie (who still lived at home) used to sit up watching late night Elvis movies, all the time telling each other, "I'm only watching this because you want to." I doubt either of them had any inkling then that a few sub-par movies would cause an Elvis explosion, the effects of which have touched not only the two of them, but their other sister (my Aunt Nancy) and the children of all three.

For years, my mom and Aunt Shellie sent each other every piece of inexpensive-enough-to-still-be-funny Elvis merchandise they could find. (Or, sometimes, simply altered their existing possessions to make them more Elvis-y, like when Aunt Shellie moved to California and my mom sent her car out to her covered in ads from the newspaper announcing a local event. When it arrived, all over it were newspaper clippings with phrases like, "See Elvis' Car! Elvis' Real Car!" Good one, Mom). A few items my mother received included a "find Elvis" keychain (filled with water and glitter as well as a small Elvis that you were supposed to find among the other stuff), a swinging leg clock and Christmas ornaments. Having all that kitschy stuff around was fun, and it was even more fun helping my mom look for kitschy stuff for Aunt Shellie, so my sister and I joined in the fun eventually.

Sadly, I didn't realize that collecting tacky Elvis merchandise wasn't funny for anyone I knew outside of my family and more than once wore an "I [heart] Elvis" tee shirt to school, a move that me a reputation with my classmates that probably still stands today. It didn't help, though, that I didn't care what they thought and throughout my schooling years took every opportunity to incorporate Elvis into my education, including making him the subject of my eighth grade term paper, making him a character in a short story I wrote that same year, making him a source in a spoof news story I wrote for my high school paper and insisting, when asked, that Elvis was alive and well, working at a sewing machine store in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.*

The best -- and most lasting -- piece of Elvis merchandise in the family was the Velvet Elvis. I remember the night we bought it. We were at the mall -- my mom, my sister and me -- and came upon a kiosk of high-quality artwork, including this Velvet Elvis, which probably cost less than $20 but was still overpriced, at least for quality. But whatever my mom ended up paying for the thing, we've all gotten it back a hundredfold in enjoyment of this beacon of artistic wonder. Aunt Shellie received the Velvet Elvis as a Christmas (or birthday, or something) gift that year. But she didn't have it for long.

From then on, every time Aunt Shellie (who by then lived in California) and my mom sent each other any sort of package in the mail, or whenever they saw each other, the Velvet Elvis changed hands. Aunt Shellie would leave it underneath some towels in our bathroom closet; my mom would find it and sneak it into Aunt Shellie's suitcase...it became a game for them to find a spot to hide the Velvet Elvis where the other wouldn't find it until it was too late to secretly pass it back to the other.

The game ended when my sister went to college and took the Velvet Elvis with her. It hung in the window of her dorm room for a good long time and then passed to Aunt Nancy's son Rob, who hung it in his college apartment, whereupon it went to college with me. I had hoped to pass it along to Aunt Shellie's son Erik when he went to college, but for some reason (which I doubt is Erik's sensible and normal persona -- he's as much of a nutbar as the rest of us) it has sat for the past several years collecting dust in my parents' cellar.

But that doesn't mean the Elvis tradition has died. As a matter of fact, it's spread. One of the first Christmas gifts I received from my sister's then-boyfriend, now-husband was a lamp featuring a scene from Jailhouse Rock. When switched on, a mechanism inside the lamp rotates, hurling odd-looking shadows on the wall.

And I'm sure it's no great coincidence that the man I ended up marrying has rather long sideburns and an affinity for 50s music. We went to Graceland together last fall and had Elvis lyrics on the front of our wedding invitations.

It's actually a bit depressing how large this Elvis phenomenon is, even today. On our trip to Graceland, my husband (then fiance) and I -- although highly entertained by the huge amount of crap with the King's face plastered on it -- actually left kind of sad that the life of this man has been reduced to a $250 mug in the shape of his head. I guess I thought it was funny for my family but not for the rest of the world.

I wonder how Elvis would feel if he knew this is what his legacy had become. From what I know of him, I don't know if he'd think it was all bad, actually -- he was, after all, a man of excess (and excessively tacky taste, although perhaps we could chalk some of that up to the 70s). But however he would feel, this is how he is remembered in 2007 -- and I guess that's fine.

Or, as the King himself said, "that's alright, mama."

___________

*This theory came about on a trip I took to visit my Aunt Nancy in eighth grade. We went shopping for a sewing machine for her and met with a man who looked vaguely like what the King might now, had he actually retired into the sewing machine biz. I'm not even entirely sure now that it wasn't him, but whether he -- or, indeed, the sewing machine store -- is there today I have no idea.

Puppy Parenting Lesson Number One: Go Straight To The Source

I'm turning into one of those people.

I've had a dog for two days, and already, I can't fathom having a conversation about anything other than her. I'm hoping it's just because of the newness of my status as a puppy parent and that I won't have to rename this blog something like, "A Dog's Life" or "Stella, Stella, Everything Stella." But right now, I can't help talking about her every chance I get and sharing what I've learned, which has been quite a bit in the last 24 hours. And the lessons came from someone I hadn't really considered consulting before -- Stella herself.

As I wrote yesterday, the night before last was pretty tough. The puppy kept crying in her crate, and we just didn't know what to do. Should we cuddle her so she knows she's loved and safe? Should we ignore her so she stops? Everyone had a different idea. Exasperated, we asked the vet last night, and although she urged us to speak to a behaviorist to get better information, she reiterated to us that Stella won't want to go potty where she sleeps and that perhaps when she was crying, she wasn't asking for attention; she was trying to tell us she needed to go out.

I hadn't really considered that before, although I'm mentally slapping my forehead now. I just sort of assumed that she was lonely and wanted to be picked up; I didn't think she would have understood the concept of where it was OK to go. But the vet's suggestion made a lot of sense, so last night, I decided to get up and take her outside whenever I heard her whimper. It happened twice, and both times, she had a successful trip outside. And compared to the night before, there was very little whining when she went back into her crate. Even when we have her out of the crate, she's much more willing and able to entertain herself, so I think she's feeling much more comfortable in her new home.

We still have some work to do. For example, we're still having a little trouble making the connection between potty and outside; right now, she only understands potty and not-in-the-crate. But I have confidence that we'll get there, and I'm pretty sure Stella does too. She's already proving herself eager to learn.

Late last night, she decided to try out the stairs. She's too little to climb them, so when we take her out, we've been carrying her up and down from our condo to the outside door, but when I brought her in the outside door last night, with no prompting at all, she bolted for the stairs. With a running start, she had just enough momentum to launch herself onto the first step. She wasn't able to hoist herself onto the next one, but each time we've taken her out, she's tried just a little harder. What made her want to do that I don't really know; I did sort of walk her up a stair or two once, just to see if she'd be willing to try, but when I did, she had no interest. I guess after she'd thought about it for awhile, she decided she was ready.

I am very encouraged today. I know we still have a long way to go, but with such vast improvements in just one day, I'm feeling good. My husband, who gets the "day shift" because he can more easily stop in at home, is still a bit nervous. I'm hoping Stella goes easy on him today. I know she'll do her best. She's a very smart girl, and she's turning out to be a fun little pup.

So maybe I am turning into "one of those people," but for now, I'm OK with that. Stella needs all the attention we can give her in these formative weeks and months, and if she continues to improve just a little each day, perhaps it won't be too long until I'm able to acknowledge that there is a world out there. I'm hoping the same is true for my husband, who has spent most of his time in the past two days worrying about the puppy. Yesterday, he was so exhausted that when I got home from work, I found him watching "Friends," a show he once insisted I never make him watch. The dog was sitting on a blanket at his feet, napping contentedly. I flopped down next to him and snuggled up to him, something I hadn't been able to do since we brought the puppy home, since one of us was always chasing after her. And for the first time in two days, I felt like we just might get to a "normal" place sooner than I'd thought. Then he said it.

"You smell like Stella."

Oh well. I guess all good things take time.

One Night With Stella, And I Have Separation Anxiety

I am a nervous wreck today. I thought yesterday couldn't go fast enough, but today, I find myself watching the clock even more intently, just waiting for the time I can leave and go home to my puppy.

Little Stella had a rough first night, but it was nothing compared to the trauma my husband and I suffered worrying about her.

It all started pretty well. She was nervous when we picked her up, but once we got her in the car and petted her and said some reassuring things to her, she seemed content. When we brought her into the condo and put her down, she began exploring and sniffing and making herself comfortable. We set up her crate with some toys and an old shirt of mine, and although she whined a little when we put her in there, she eventually cuddled up in the shirt and fell asleep. When she awoke a little later, we ventured outside (a place Stella does not like at all so far), brought her up, gave her a drink and tucked her back in.

She slept peacefully until about 11:45 p.m. When I awoke, she was whining so loud that I was sure the neighbors could hear. I knew I shouldn't immediately go to her, because it would teach her that whining achieves results, but I wanted to make sure she was OK. Sure enough, she'd had an accident in her crate. After going out and getting all cleaned up, she went back in with a clean shirt to cuddle and fell back asleep until about 6 a.m.

I barely slept a wink in those hours. Puppies are so fragile at this age; I was so afraid something had happened to her. I kept going out to the living room to make sure she was still breathing, tempted to wake her up just so I would know she was OK. I felt like Shirley MacLaine's character in Terms of Endearment, who, in the opening scenes, tiptoes into her sleeping newborn daughter's room and calls to her husband that she thinks the child fell victim to crib death. She pokes at the baby until it starts crying, then nods to herself and walks out of the room, saying, "that's better."

My husband was worse off than I was. I thought he was sleeping soundly, but every time I would come back into the room after checking on Stella, he'd ask how our girl was doing. This morning, I was hesitant to leave for work, because I was afraid he would start whimpering.

This is a big life change, and we're going into it somewhat blindly. We've been reading all we can and asking questions of people who should know, but when it's just us and her, and she's crying for attention, it's hard to resist picking her up and petting her till she falls asleep in our arms. We know we shouldn't do that; we don't want to encourage her to whimper, but we also want her to know that she's safe with us and that we love her. It's hard to know what to do in those circumstances. Most of the time, we just sit, staring at each other with broken-hearted looks on our faces.

I was worried about potty training her, but I think that will be easy compared to this. I'm sure the potty training will be hard and frustrating, but at least it won't make poor little Stella so upset.

I miss my sweet little girl. I only hope she's napping contently at home right now and will have an OK first day there by herself. My husband plans to check on her later, but I know I won't feel comforted until I actually get home at 6 and see her scamper over to me.

This is a rough time for all of us...but I just know that once we get past it, we're going to be a very happy family.

My Stella

Today can't go fast enough.

Tonight, my husband and I will bring home the newest member of our family, our new little puppy, Stella.

After finding Otis last month, we haven't had much time to go looking for a dog, so the whole dog-finding thing kind of got put on the back burner. But on Thursday night, we were out and about, and I suggested going to the pet store to take another look and get us back in dog-finding mode.

I half expected to see Otis still there, jumping up and down with joy to see us back again. He was gone, however, and I hope he's found a good home where he's well loved. What we did find, however, were four cute little Boston Terrier puppies. We took one out and played with her, and immediately, she began jumping and nipping at us. The pet store folks explained that she's teething and is likely to nip for awhile, and once they gave her a pig's ear to chew, she left our toes alone, but she was still a little jumpy for our taste. Still, she was cute enough for me to name her (Ora -- which I don't think is an actual name, but my friend English Kari named her car Ora, and this dog looked like an Ora to me), and once we got home and read up on the breed, we thought a Boston would be a good fit for our lifestyle.

The next day, I went back to the store by myself and took out a male from the same litter. He was a little nippy but not quite as bad; he even crawled into my lap and chewed on a bone for awhile. Eagerly, I told my husband about this new little Otis, and the next day, bought our Otis-to-be a toy when I was out shopping. Unfortunately, my husband didn't have an opportunity to go see the dog until Saturday afternoon, and by that time, he had been sold. We played with another of the girls, but we just didn't get that "this is my dog" feeling.

I was depressed. I had really liked this little Otis. But he wasn't meant to be my dog. Yesterday, I found out why.

After a trip to another store to see some other Bostons from the same litter as Otis and Ora, we were both feeling dejected. We were willing to deal with some of the puppy tendencies, like the chewing, but we just hadn't met that perfect dog yet, the one who looked into our eyes as if to say, "I am your dog. Take me home and love me."

On a whim, we stopped at a different pet store, where we remembered seeing a Boston terrier a few days before. When they brought her out to us, she was so scared that she was shaking. So I petted her and let her sniff and lick my hand, and she didn't even try to nibble it. In fact, she didn't nip at all; she was the perfect little lady of only 4.5 lbs. We played a little ball with her, and when she tired of that, she began whimpering for the pet store employee to pick her up. I picked her up and put her in my lap and petted her, and soon, she had fallen asleep.

I looked at my husband and said, "I think this is our dog." He agreed; her personality was so much better than any other dog we'd seen. I knew he was nervous about agreeing to buy her -- it is a big decision, after all, and all that puppy love doesn't come cheap, either -- but in the end, he couldn't deny that we wouldn't find a better dog than this little girl.

We put down a deposit, and tonight, we bring her home. It took awhile, but we finally agreed on a name for her -- Stella. I've already laid out a blanket for her, with the little toy I bought the other day. By the time she arrives, she'll also have a crate and some other toys waiting for her.

I hope she's happy with us. Like my husband, I'm a little nervous about bringing home a puppy for the first time. I'm sure we have some challenges ahead as we get to know her and begin to train her. But we'll get through it, because we're a family now.

A Surefire Way To Beat The Heat

I hate summer weather, especially when it gets humid, and today is my worst weather nightmare. It's nasty and muggy outside -- going into work, I felt like I was walking through the rainforest exhibit at an aquarium, although I doubt we will see any rain today. I much prefer fall, with its cool (but not cold) temperatures and pretty colors.

Although August is flying, I've still got several weeks before those colors appear. But I've found a great way to pass the time, and it doesn't even require air conditioning -- the magnificent, marvelous world of books.

Yesterday, I began to re-read one of my favorite books of all time, The Hidden Hand by E.D.E.N. Southworth. Originally published in 1859 as a magazine serial, the book is a page turner all the way through. And it doesn't read like a book that is nearly a century and a half old, so those who want a book they can breeze right through without having to sift through outdated language will find a friend in The Hidden Hand.

To tell much about the story would be too difficult, as it has so many twists and turns that even though I read the book only a year ago, I can barely remember how it all turns out. It's a mystery, an adventure and a romance all in one, with secrets, danger and intrigue around every corner -- not to mention some very colorful characters, including the heroine, Capitola, an adventurous girl whose pluck would be admired by any woman reading her story.

This is the kind of book you want to read while drinking tea by a crackling fire while it pours down rain outside; indeed, there's plenty of inclement weather in the story itself. It's not a great book for the beach or (more likely for me) the elliptical machine. And had I thought about it before tucking into the first chapter yesterday, I might have waited till fall to read this book again, just to get myself in the right mindset.

But as soon as I began, I was hooked yet again, and I found myself forgetting about the hot, steamy weather, my instincts telling me instead to put on my warmest fuzzy socks and curl up in an afghan. And I may yet.

It's the perfect way to get through this last, nasty part of summer.

More On Tummy Trouble...And A Bit On Jewelry

I couldn't help but smile today when I read this news story. I certainly hope this guy thinks twice before stealing again.

My sister swallowed a necklace too, once. Not because she had stolen it -- but why in the world she had it in her mouth in the first place I'll never know. Probably for some crazy reason, unlike the totally understandable reason I had for having a penny in my mouth when I swallowed it -- I was trying to clean it off.

Note to self: Don't eat chicken and rice for awhile.

Note to readers: I promise I'll write about something more pleasant soon.

Proceeding With Caution

It was a hell of a flashback.

The day before yesterday, I threw a party to mark my five year anniversary living in Illinois. Two hours into the party, I came down with a severe case of tummy trouble and spent the bulk of the evening hiding in my bedroom and the adjoining bathroom.

It was just like when I first moved here. Two weeks before I moved to Illinois, I came down with a very sudden and very bad case of the tummy trouble. No doctor was able to find a definitive cause of this trouble -- my best guess is a combination of lactose intolerance (which I hadn't known I had) and stress. It was so bad that I ended up more stressed as a result, so the whole episode continued into October.

I felt that way again on Sunday, and the horrible memories of my last two weeks in Pennsylvania, and my first few months in Illinois, came flooding back to me. The agony of feeling sick all the time but not knowing why, of never wanting to go anywhere because I knew I'd want to leave right away, of being too afraid to eat anything but white rice and Saltine crackers -- I know it sounds like I'm being dramatic, but I was miserable. Not wanting to go through that agony again, on Sunday, I made a drastic decision.

I'm instituting a dairy embargo.

Once I was well enough to think about the possibility of my eating again in this lifetime, I got to thinking about what that meant. So many of my favorite foods are dairy-laden. A complete dairy ban would mean no buttery delicious English muffins, no ice cream, no baked goods, no mashed potatoes, no sour cream -- but to be honest, if I never have to feel that way again, it would be totally worth it.

So today I'm off to Trader Joe's to see what kind of soy products they carry and ponder what I can slip into my cooking without my husband noticing. I've had soy cheese before, and it tastes like crap, but I'm sure there are other soy products that don't. I've had the soy ice cream, and although it's nothing like real ice cream, it tastes alright if you're looking for something cold and sweet.

I'm hopeful, but I honestly don't know how long the dairy embargo will last. It's a bit of tough love right now -- I'm going to hate it, but it's for my own good. I'm sure at some point I'll try to work the dairy back into my diet and hope for the best.

But for now, I'm proceeding with caution.

Songs I Wish Someone Would Put On A Mix CD For Me, Or, My Play-And-Replay Songs Of The Past, Plus A Few

"Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows" by Lesley Gore -- It's just so darn catchy.

"I Bet You They Won't Play This Song On The Radio" by the Monty Python gang -- Again, catchy.

"Baby Got Back" by Sir Mix-A-Lot -- I don't think I have enough serious music in my collection, and this one might impress people, especially if I learn all the words.

"You Spin Me Round" by Dead or Alive -- I used to have an awesome extended version on my iPod, but I lost it one of the times my iPod broke. I do have the Dope version though, and that's not bad.

"No Mermaid" by Sinead Lohan -- I had this on a mix tape once upon a time and just loved it. I still have a tape player, and I probably have the tape somewhere, but I'd like to be able to listen to the song on my computer like people in this century do.

"Don't" by Yve.N.Adam -- I believe this was on the same mix tape, and if I'm not mistaken, I copied both from the "Message In A Bottle" soundtrack a friend of mine owned. I used to listen to it over and over and over.

"Theme from The Greatest American Hero" by Joey Scarbury -- My sister tells me I used to love this show, or at least the song, when I was little. I don't remember that, but I do remember liking this catchy tune when it played on the sound system at the grocery store where I worked in high school.

"More More More" by whoever sang it first, not Rachel Stevens, who redid it, but all I know about the first lady was that she did porn -- I wish a knew another word for catchy, but I don't. So I'll just say that about this one too.

"Fields of Gold" by Sting -- This is another that I had on tape at one point. I saw Sting in concert for the first time in 1996, and that summer became the Summer of Sting. Everything he'd recorded up to that point made it into my (tape) collection, and this is one I'd really like to have in my iTunes as well.

"Somewhere Over The Rainbow" by Israel Kamakawiwo Ole' -- After I graduated college and was living alone, miserable, in Pittsburgh, my friend BJ made me a video of himself lip-synching to this song. The song is sweet, but the video was hysterical, and every time I needed to be cheered up, I would watch it. I also heard this song almost every day when I was on my honeymoon, so now, the song reminds me of happy Hawaiian days.

"Careless Whisper" by George Michael -- I never could resist the sultry sax of this song. This is another sense memory song for me; when I was in seventh grade (the best year of my life up to that point, and the best year I'd have till I was 15), we played it in jazz band (my favorite activity that year), so every time I hear it, I think of the fun times of my youth.

"I Got You Babe" by Sonny and Cher -- I just can't help liking this one, cheesy as it is. It's another I once had on tape. In fact, I even had the Beavis and Butthead version, courtesy of my freshman year college roommate.

"The Hustle" by Van McCoy -- Doing this dance was a tradition at parties thrown by my college friends. I'm not sure we did it right, but we sure enjoyed ourselves.

"Born To Be Alive" by Patrick Hernandez -- My sister and I like to play this game called Encore, which is played by rolling a die, landing on a colored space, choosing a card, reading the word in the color of your space and singing at least eight words of a song which include the word on your card. We're quite competitive. Anyway, once my brother-in-law entered the picture and started playing with us, he'd always sing this song. Neither of us had ever heard the song and thought he might have made it up. Finally, about a year after he'd first sung the song, I was in an aerobics class one day and lo and behold, this song came on. I laughed so hard I almost couldn't follow the instructor.

"Nothing's Gonna Change My Love For You" by Glenn Medeiros -- If this song came out today, I'd probably gag every time I heard it, but when I was in elementary school, I loved loved loved this song. I couldn't get enough of it. I haven't heard it in about 15 years, but for some reason, I still remember it as one of my absolute favorite songs of the past.

A Cookie Dream Come True

Someone sent me this link this morning.

In case anyone wanted to know what I want for my birthday...look no further.

Positive Law Enforcement

I heard on the news this morning that a police department in my area will be giving out gift cards to folks they see doing good deeds, such as picking up trash in parks.

I think this is a fine idea. I've long thought that our friends in law enforcement should give people an incentive to be good. I learned in high school psychology that studies have shown that positive reinforcement (rewarding for good behavior) works better than negative reinforcement (punishing for bad behavior). I wouldn't mind them taking it a step further, and I can't think of a better place to try this than our roadways.

We all see stupid drivers, probably every day we take to the roads. The ones who think they own the road, who drive 30 miles above the speed limit, run every red light, pass on the berm. Then there are the drivers who don't mind sharing the road but don't plan to make it any easier for other people. You know who I mean -- the ones who don't use their turn signals; the ones who insist on squeezing through after a yellow light turns red, the ones who talk on their cell phones and eat while navigating a busy parking lot.

With all of those bad drivers, it's not surprising that the law-abiding drivers often go unnoticed. But I propose to change that. I believe the good people of our police departments should take action to recognize safe drivers -- not just by not ticketing them for offenses but by rewarding good driving behavior. The only driver on the road using a turn signal, the person who stops at a yellow light if there isn't enough time to squeeze through, the one who actually observes the construction zone speed limit, even when there are no workers waving the "slow" signs. The cops could pull those people over and issue them reward checks for doing well (I propose the amount of the check be the same as the penalty for breaking the law, but in some cases, that's pretty steep, and really, I'd be happy with any small reward).

I have my doubts that this idea will ever take off, but on the off-chance that any police chiefs or community leaders are Stapling Jello readers, I thought I'd throw it out there.

Things That Just Have To Go

"I'm gonna party like it's _____." -- 1999 was almost a decade ago, and the song "1999" came out in the early 80s. I think we can stop using that lyric every time there's an event that has to do with another time period.

Palooza -- Made popular by music festival Lollapalooza, this suffix has been added to just about every word imaginable, and it's getting really old. Bingo-palooza. Birthday-palooza. Wedding-palooza. How about come-up-with-a-better-word-
for-it-palooza. Extravaganza is a good one. Or fest. Or even jamboree. Be a little creative.

Dancing animation on the internet -- Every time I go to one particular Web site, I see an ad for a mortgage company or something with a dancing alien. It's distracting and doesn't even have anything to do with the ad. I'll click on a clever ad, but if I'm shopping around for a mortgage, a dancing alien is pretty much going to make me avoid that company at all costs. A dancing alien doesn't exactly say to me, "do business with these people. You can trust them."

"____ and ____ and ____, oh my!" -- This Wizard of Oz reference is even older than the 1999 thing, yet people still haven't tired of it. Every time I have to say a list of three things, I cringe, because I know someone will inevitably follow it up with "oh my."

Traffic reports -- When I first lived in the city and commuted to the suburbs, I'd listen to them all the time, and never once did I hear anything that actually helped me. Most of the time, all you hear about are normal delays. You could pretty much copy today's traffic report and play it every day for the next three months and no one would notice. But when there's a crash or something that actually slows things down, you never hear about it. I can't count how many times I've sat in traffic, listening for the traffic reporter to tell me why I was idling on the highway, and no news ever came.

Oreo Balls

I've decided to start posting recipes here, since I like food so much and enjoy sharing it with people.

This is one of those things you can take to any party, there will be no leftovers and everyone will be asking for the recipe. So here it is.

1 package Oreo cookies
8 oz. cream cheese, softened
1 package chocolate almond bark

Smash cookies into the smallest bits you can (a food processor works great). Mix in cream cheese (I just smush it in with my hands). Roll into balls.

Melt almond bark in a double boiler and cover the balls in chocolate. Cool on wax paper. Refrigerate.

Warm And Fuzzy

I don't have too much to say when it comes to politics or politicians.

But I do have a lot to say about just about everything else, so I'd like to comment on an article I saw today about John and Elizabeth Edwards celebrating their anniversary at Wendy's.

As the story goes, the couple was so busy on their one-year anniversary that they didn't have time to eat a proper meal, so they went to Wendy's and decided to make it a tradition. Now, every year on their anniversary, they celebrate with a Wendy's meal.

I don't pay all that much attention to politics or politicians most of the time, but this is the second time I've heard a story about these two that just leaves me smiling. The other time was when someone told me that Elizabeth Edwards still wears the modest (read: cheap) ring her husband gave her 30 years ago when they married, rather than trading it in for a flashier piece once they had some money in the bank.

When I hear things like that about people, I just feel good. It's sweet. I once knew a woman who, even after a couple of decades of marriage, still celebrated with her husband the anniversary of their first date. I wonder if most couples married that long even remember the anniversary of their first date, let alone recognize it in any meaningful way.

In the thick of the early days of marriage myself, I find in these stories hope for the future. It's nice to know that couples married for many years can still enjoy the simple pleasures they did in their early days. And I have no doubt in my mind that someday, my husband and I will be one of those couples.

An Open Letter To My Tummy

Dear Tummy,

For the sake of those reading this blog, I won't go into details about what you've done to me over the past 18 hours, but I wanted to take this opportunity to publicly implore you to stop.

I've been good to you. I haven't eaten any greasy or spicy foods, or dairy. I haven't been consuming alcohol. I haven't taken you on any rollercoasters. And when you started to feel woogly yesterday, I was good to you. I gave you Pepto, I gave you water and I gave you rest. Yet today, you continue, even after that lovely cup of peppermint tea I sent down to you.

It's time to stop, Friend Tummy. You and I both love our new couch, but this isn't the way to get more time on it.

Sincerely,
Erika

Never Give Up On The Good Times

A few months ago, when I said I was happy about the news that the Spice Girls would reunite, I took some flack for it. I'm not surprised, really, and I'll admit that the Spice Girls are cheesy. Even so, every time I hear one of their songs, I can't help smiling.

My junior year of college, when the group was at the height of its popularity, a friend of mine decided to give her boyfriend (who was, like most guys our age, a fan of the scantily-clad ladies) a Spice Girls themed Valentine's Day gift. She dressed up as Ginger Spice and called upon four of her friends to play the parts of the other Girls and dance to "Spice Up Your Life" for him.

My roommate Miranda was chosen to play Scary Spice, and I was tapped to play Sporty Spice, which was funny because I was not at all sporty and she was not at all black. She did, however, have dark, curly hair, tons of leopard print clothing and access to plenty of theatre makeup to make herself look black. Luckily, we were "performing" at the guy's apartment, in the building right next to ours, so no one who might have been offended saw her -- not that anyone would have noticed anyway. She made a great looking black girl; even the guy whose gift this whole thing was didn't realize she was white for like a year after that.

Miranda, who recorded nearly every movie or special she watched on TV, had a video of a Spice Girls concert, and the two of us had nothing to do the day of the big performance, so we actually took the time to learn the "Spice Up Your Life" dance...alright, and maybe a few others too. At the time, we were making fun of it, but it was one of those things that's funnier if you do a good job. So we did.

The girl's boyfriend loved the dance -- or at least, loved the fact that five girls had dressed up to dance for him on Valentine's Day. The relationship didn't last, but the laughs we all had that night are something we aren't likely to forget.

About a year ago, during the run of "Grease," I was in the dressing room putting on my makeup, when someone popped in a CD with "Stop" on it. I hadn't heard the song in years but immediately started singing along, and somehow, I still knew the entire dance. Today, I was listening to a college-era mix tape (an actual tape, mind you) and heard "Stop" once again. And once again, I couldn't help singing and dancing along.

There's just something about the Spice Girls. Was their music groundbreaking? No. Did they inspire people to lead better lives and look inside themselves to find a deeper meaning? Um, probably not. But there was always a good beat and fun lyrics, and they didn't really take themselves too seriously (anyone who has seen Spice World -- and I have, thanks to Miranda -- can tell you that).

I doubt the Girls will go on to record umpteen more smash hit albums and achieve the fame and fortune they did in the 90s. I think their 15 minutes are pretty much over. But I'm glad they've returned for another fling.

Welcome back, Spice Girls.

You Don't Like The Sound of The Truth Coming From My Mouth

I heard a bit on the radio last week about some guy who is trying to start an honesty trend -- a total honesty trend in which even white lies are unacceptable. I've been pondering this for days now, and while I get where he's coming from, I just can't get on board to where he's going.

I didn't hear the whole bit, but from what I understand, the idea is to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, whether a person asks for your opinion or not. So if your friend's pants make her butt look fat, you're supposed to tell her, even if she hasn't asked what you think. In fact, the deejay who had read an article about this thing said the honesty guy had actually stopped his interviewer in the middle of the interview to say he was bored with the conversation.

I like the idea of being truthful, but only when it's my business to offer my opinion. If a friend asks, and her butt does indeed look big, I'm not going to lie and insist that any woman would be lucky to have a bottom so tiny as hers. But I won't be blunt and mean about it either. (A former coworker of mine used to say that when this happened with his wife, he'd tell her, "I think there's something else in your closet that would be more flattering." I think that's a good approach -- it's honest but has the least chance of hurting her feelings.)

But all truth, all the time sounds harsh to me. I get the idea that ultimately, your friend will be grateful that you made her go back and put on some more flattering pants, but I can't help feeling that people blurting out every opinion that they have, every moment that they have it is just going to make others think they're rude and too talkative to boot.

A few years ago, a woman I knew through work told me that a dress I'd been wearing the last time she'd seen me was a "granny dress" and that even she, a grandmother, wouldn't be caught dead wearing something like that. The funny thing was, I'd gotten the dress off the junior's rack and had worried that it was actually a little young for me. Even so, after she said that, I never wore the dress again.

The guy who is promoting this whole honesty thing thinks this will catch on in a domino effect fashion -- he starts it, others will join in and and pretty soon, everyone will be doing it and there won't be any more hurt feelings, because people will be used to hearing blunt truth. I get that too, on some level. There are certain people in my life who can blurt out most anything and not hurt my feelings. My mom, for example, in typical mom fashion, has always been pretty blunt with me. I'm used to hearing it from her, and I trust her opinion, so I'm not surprised or offended by things she says to me.

I'm pretty sure that the honesty promotion isn't going to go very far, given how easy it is to lie, or at least improve the truth. But because I do like the idea of being more honest than dishonest, I thought I'd share one small truth here.

Sometimes when I am in the middle of a conversation with someone I don't know all that well, especially in a situation in which one or both of us are trying to create a good impression, I can't help thinking to myself, how would this person react if I kicked her/him in the shin, as hard as I could? I believe this comes from Helen Hunt's line in 80s teen classic Girls Just Want To Have Fun, in which she shares that whenever she is alone in a room with a guy, she wonders if she would puke if he kissed her. This prospect is just too gross for me, and kicking would probably be more fun, so I go with that.

I hardly ever actually want to kick people; I think it's just my way of gauging how they act when not on their best behavior. Maybe I should just start telling them, "your ass looks big."

Simple Solutions

I'd heard good things about the magazine Real Simple but hadn't thought much about checking it out until today, when I stumbled on an online article from the magazine and subsequently went all over the Web site looking for more helpful tips.

I couldn't help thinking of time- or space-saving things I do already, or just small things that make my life easier.

To make sure I never lose a sock, I keep my socks safety pinned. When I put them on, the pin comes out, and when I take them off to throw in the laundry, the pin goes back in. My grandfather used to do this, and it's actually quite useful. I never have to worry about stray socks.

I keep my closet organized by hanging clothes by type of garment (going left to right, it's short-sleeved shirts, long-sleeved shirts, capri pants, long pants, short skirts, long skirts, dresses) hung from lightest to darkest. If I need a specific item, I always know right where to find it. It's also helpful when I'm considering a shopping trip, as I can look right in my closet and see what I have in abundance and what is lacking.

I don't like to take the time in the morning to make a lunch, so I've taken to making huge pots of chili or soup and freezing it in plastic single-serving containers. Each morning, I pull a container out, let it thaw throughout the morning and voila, I have a delicious lunch ready to go!

When I got my first apartment, I typed up all of my favorites of my mom's recipes and put them into a binder with clear protective covers on each page. Over the years, I've added, taken away and reorganized recipes, but it's always nice to have a handy book available with all of my favorite recipes. An added bonus is that my other recipe books don't get too greasy or messy, because after I've tried a recipe a few times and determined it a "keeper," it goes into my personal collection.

I'm a big fan of 100 calorie packs, and I always like to have a variety so I don't get tired of eating the same kind all the time. So instead of keeping four different boxes in the pantry, I put the little bags in a basket and recycle the boxes. It saves space, and when I just grab and go, the snack is always a surprise!

The Pizza Night Bonus

Pizza night took a new nostalgic twist last night.

A friend of my husband's (and mine, but he was my husband's friend first) came down our place last night. He didn't care to share our pizza and picked up some dinner for himself at Long John Silver's. As soon as I caught a whiff of it, I was taken back in time.

My sister worked at Long John Silver's when she was in high school, and her managers were pretty generous with the leftovers at the end of the night. I loved it when she had to close, because she'd almost always come home with a couple of takeout boxes in tow. The first time she brought hush puppies, I was in heaven. Hush puppies had always been my favorite LJS food (deep fried dough -- who couldn't love it?), and having access to so many was a dream come true. I told her so, so the next night, she brought a box full of nothing but hush puppies. I gobbled them up (not all in one sitting, but you know), so the next time she closed, she brought another box. Then another, then another....

It didn't take too long for me to have had my fill. I thought I'd never want to look at another hush puppy again, and for awhile, I didn't have to. After awhile, she didn't bring so many leftovers (although she always brought the free-or-cheap tsotskes from their promotions -- we still use the LJS holiday crystal every Christmas) and eventually, she stopped working at Long John Silver's. I hardly ever eat fast food now, and I haven't been to LJS for several years. But the smell of those hush puppies last night took me back to those days.

"Have as many as you want," my friend said. "They were 12 for 99 cents, so I thought I'd just go ahead and get some in case you guys wanted any."

I knew I shouldn't, but I couldn't help it. I had one. Then another, then another. It was like tasting childhood. I hadn't enjoyed this deep fried bliss in so long that I just couldn't help myself. I didn't eat the whole box, but I probably could have if I'd really wanted.

I don't really need to gain 10 lbs., so I'm going to try to forget that Long John Silver's is offering such a killer deal on those deep fried bits of heaven. But after rediscovering just how wonderful they are, it's going to be tough.

Viva La Holy Crap Like An Astronaut

In the past few days, I've read several blog entries about phrases various bloggers like to use.

My friend Marla wrote about her old favorite, "holy crap Batman" and new favorite, "crazy like an astronaut," which came from her friend Sam, who wrote about her friend Lisa's theory that you can't overuse the phrase, "viva la _____." She included a link to Lisa's blog with a post on this same theory.

Never wanting to be left out of the fun, I can't help jumping on the bandwagon here and sharing one of my favorite phrases.

Stupid stupid.

As one might guess, this phrase is best used to convey extreme displeasure. It's best if the emphasis is on the second "stupid," as if to say, this is so stupid that you just can't help saying the word twice. For example: I can't believe I have to work late tomorrow. Stupid stupid!

It's not a classic, like "holy crap Batman," and it lacks the current event-iness of "crazy like an astronaut" and the zing of "viva la _____." But I use it daily, and I like it.

My TV Pitch

Knowing that the Stapling Jello readership must include tons of television executives (or, at the very least, Marla, who watches television and who I think would get on board with this idea), I just had to share this.

I've been reading Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum series for about a year now, and I can't help thinking what a great TV series it would make. I've read all but the latest in the series -- One for the Money all the way through Twelve Sharp, including two "between the numbers" holiday books -- and every time I crack one open, I think to myself how enjoyable the adventures of bounty hunter Stephanie Plum would be on the small screen. Feisty women are big on TV these days; just ask Kyra Sedgwick.

These are my casting suggestions:

Stephanie Plum: Laura Prepon from That 70s Show, but she'd have to dye her hair I think. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that Broadway leading lady Sutton Foster would be a viable candidate for the role as well. She's got star power, but she's also got that Everywoman look. If they want to go older, maybe Tracey Gold.

Lula, a former prostitute who becomes Stephanie's friend and coworker: Sherri Shepherd. I hear everything Lula says in her voice.

Vinnie, Stephanie's cousin and boss: I'm gonna go with the majority on the Janet Evanovich website here and go with Steve Buscemi.

Joe, Stephanie's on-again-off-again boyfriend: Fifteen years ago, I would have said Scott Baio (to Molly Ringwald's Stephanie Plum, no doubt). Today, I really have no idea. But I'm sure they'll find someone. Maybe Fred Savage. I don't know if he's tough enough, but I like him and would like to see him getting some more work.

Ranger, Stephanie's mentor and on-again-off-again object of lust: Benjamin Bratt. It's not a very creative choice, but he's easy on the eye and looks like he could kick some ass if needed.

Grandma Mazur, Stephanie's feisty grandmother: I like Estelle Getty, but I hear she's not well, so I'm gonna say let's just slap a ton of aging makeup on Marla's mom and let 'er rip.

Valerie, Stephanie's sister: Maybe Tracey Gold could play this part instead of playing Stephanie. It would be cool, too, if they could get Abigail Breslin to play Valerie's daughter who thinks she's a horse.

And here's my list of possible cameos, mostly as people Stephanie must apprehend:
Coreys Feldman and Haim, together again
Gary Coleman and Todd Bridges, together again
Danny DeVito
Jason Mewes
Bruce Springsteen, because he's from Jersey, just like Stephanie Plum
And just because we need a woman in there...Marla's mom, again. I just think there's a ton of potential there.

Final note: I think a good theme song would be an abbreviated version of "Head Over Heels" by the Go-Gos. But I might just think that because I read a lot of Plum books at the gym and listen to my iPod at the same time, and that song is one of my favorites in my workout mix.

It's Not Easy Being Dead

While perusing the entertainment section of my local newspaper (online, of course), I saw a headline that read, "Kermit and friends headed to Atlanta." Next to the story was a picture of Kermit with creator Jim Henson, who died 17 years ago.

I certainly hope he's not one of the friends Kermit is bringing to Atlanta with him. Even the most zealous of Muppet fans would probably be creeped out by that.

It's Pizza Night!

When I was little, I thought of pizza as an extra special treat.

It's not like we only had it once a year or anything like that, but for a family that didn't go out to eat all that often, and never, ever, ever ate fast food, it was always a welcome break from the normal dinners my mom would cook (which were always fabulous, but let's be honest -- what sounds better -- pork chops and peas, or pizza?).

The added bonus was the beverage. We were a strictly water-with-dinner family. My sister and I never even drank milk with dinner; it was always water, except in the summer, when we occasionally drank iced tea. But on pizza night, we got to have soft drink.

I associated pizza with fun times. My friend Darcey's family got pizza every Friday night, when Little Caesar's did the two-for-one pizza deal, packaging their pies side-by-side on cardboard and wrapped in paper. Many a Friday night, I'd be invited to their house (many times, her three siblings would also have friends over) and life was a party. We played games, watched rented movies (also a special treat in those days) and had a wonderful time. I have so many great memories of time I spent at Darcey's, and pizza is somehow in the background of most of them.

Even though I'm grown up, I still think of pizza as a special treat. When a grocery store near me started promoting $5 pizza on Fridays a few years ago, I resurrected Darcey's family's tradition. Unfortunately, that ended when I moved and no longer went right by the place on my way home from work. But recently, I've felt the desire to bring it back once again.

A few weeks ago, I shared the story of the Friday night pizza tradition with my husband, who was all for the idea. It's tasty, inexpensive, can be reasonably healthy (depending where you go), and we wouldn't have to cook -- perfect! My sweetheart plays in a Friday night softball league, however, so we decided to make it a Thursday tradition instead. Tonight will be our second.

It's a small pleasure, but it's nice to be able to enjoy life's special treats now and then.

Songs I Could Listen To On Repeat, Over And Over And Over

"Brand New Key" by Melanie
"Karma Chameleon" by Culture Club
"You Are What You Love" by Jenny Lewis
"We Belong" by Pat Benetar
"Ring of Fire" by Johnny Cash
"Total Eclipse of the Heart" by Bonnie Tyler
"The Sign" by Ace of Base
"Why Can't I" by Liz Phair
"Great" by Brownie Mary
"Truth No. 2" by Dixie Chicks
"Waterloo" by Abba
"Portions for Foxes" by Rilo Kiley
"Green Eyes" by Coldplay
"More Than A Woman" by Tavares

Seeking The Perfect Otis

For as long as we've lived together, my husband and I have talked about getting a dog.

Until recently, we weren't actually allowed to have one, due to the bylaws of our condo association. In February, however, we learned that the rules had changed and dogs were now allowed, although there's a weight limit. For months, we went back and forth about getting a dog; it's a big decision, after all. They're a big responsibility; they have to be groomed, walked, trained, etc., and making sure they're healthy can get expensive, fast. Ultimately, we decided to hold off for a little while, simply because it wouldn't be fair to leave the dog home during the day while we're at work.

We already have a fish, Ivan, and we (alright, I) probably love him way more than anyone should love a fish. Sure, he's not cuddly or anything, but he's very friendly; he swims right up to the side of his bowl when I say hello to him, and he watches TV with me (he likes dramas best).

A few weeks ago, my husband gave me a card with a picture of a dog looking at a fish in a fish bowl. It was very cute and friendly-like, and on the inside, he wrote that he thought Ivan would like a four-legged pal. I had to agree. After all, Ivan can't enjoy being left at home alone all day. It would be nice if he had a friend to keep him company.

After having the discussion once again, we (my husband and I -- Ivan didn't really participate) realized that, because of our work schedules, the dog would only be left alone (well, with Ivan) a few days out of the week. And yes, a dog is a big responsibility, but we just couldn't deny that the pros of having a little furry friend far outweighed the cons.

The only problem, was finding a breed that fits our lifestyle (and condo association rules) and that both of us will like. On Sunday, we visited a pet store and a shelter in our area to get a feel for what's out there. We didn't find much. The weight limit enforced by the association is only 30 lbs. or so, which severely limits our options. Most dogs small enough are stupid, ugly step-on dogs.

So on Sunday, we went out on a fact-finding mission at our local pet store. We're not likely to pay hundreds of dollars for a pet store puppy when we can get a dog who really needs a home by visiting a shelter, one who has already been given his or her shots and has likely been spayed or neutered. But we thought that seeing different breeds might help us choose better once we get to the shelter.

We weren't expecting to fall in love.

He was a bulldog/beagle mix, and he was white with brown spots. He was little and squdgy and cute and looked at us as if to say, yes, please, take me home and love me. I am the dog for you. We even named him, Otis, the perfect name for such an adorable, floppy-eared, friendly, sweet dog. I began to think that buying a pet store dog might not be such a bad thing.

Then I looked at the price tag and found out that Otis costs $800. That's a bit steep for a mixed breed dog, I think, and while you can't put a price on love, Ivan cost about five bucks and I love him dearly. And even if we were willing to pay that much, an employee at the pet store told us that Otis is likely to grow to at least 45 lbs., so the condo association wouldn't let us have him anyway.

But I still can't stop thinking about that dog. The past two mornings, I've woken up early and lain in bed till my alarm went off. And both days, I couldn't help thinking, I could be taking little Otis for a walk right now. And yesterday, when I came home from work, I half expected him to come scampering up to say hello.

We'll find our Otis someday, I just know it. We'll keep looking, and we'll find him. But until then, I can't help thinking about that cute little pet store puppy, and wondering if he's thinking about me too.

The Boy Who Cried Gacy

Yesterday, I finished The Last Victim by Jason Moss, the supposedly true, autobiographical account of a young man's correspondence with famous criminals.

It was a very dramatic story -- but I'm not really buying that it's complete truth.

Moss, having a morbid fascination with criminals and a tendency to become obsessed with anything that interested him, began writing letters to John Wayne Gacy at age 18. In an effort to get Gacy to write back, he fashioned his letters to make it look like he was the murder's ideal victim -- young, sexually confused and vulnerable.

Gacy took the bait. He wrote back letter upon letter, usually about deviant sexual acts he thought Moss should try. Moss responded in character, telling Gacy he had tried this or that, making Gacy think himself a mentor for Moss's young mind. Eventually, the two began talking on the phone and developed a relationship with culminated in Moss visiting Gacy just a few weeks before he was executed.

High on his supposed easy manipulation of Gacy, Moss began writing to other famed criminals, including Night Stalker Richard Ramirez, Charles Manson and Jeffrey Dahmer. The aim, according to Moss, was to get inside the criminal mind, learn what made it tick. But of course, there was also the desire to manipulate, the desire to outwit the criminal mind. For Ramirez and Manson, he posed not as a victim but as a fan, someone on the outside who believed in the mission these men had begun and offering to help carry it out. For Dahmer, he made himself look like a lonely teen who thought the convicted murder might need a friend. They all wrote back, but the big one, the big prize, was always Gacy.

What Moss didn't realize was that Gacy was manipulating him just as much as he was manipulating Gacy, a fact that became crystal clear when, upon Gacy's invitation, he visited the clown killer in prison and, surprise, surprise, Gacy tried to kill him.

As I finished the book, I felt very much like Moss must have before he began his letter-writing project -- morbidly curious about what would make a person do such a thing, and simultaneously disgusted by what he did. But the overwhelming feeling is the urge to roll my eyes and say, "yeah right."

Moss boasts that he crafted the perfect stories to tell his victims, the serial killers, to make them interested enough to write back to him. He talks about things he told Gacy he had done, disgusting, unspeakable things, and in the next paragraph tells the reader a story about the day he and his brother narrowly escaped a kidnapper in a casino arcade. He tells the story of his visit with Gacy in intricate detail, including confession of his crimes and specific threats Gacy made to Moss. It's all very compelling, but I just don't buy it.

Did Gacy really threaten Moss? An admitted braggart and liar, Moss gives the reader reason to doubt his word. Conveniently, for the most dramatic events Moss describes, there was never anyone else around to corroborate his story. He claims he was left alone in an unguarded room with Gacy, and even in the casino kidnapping tale, his brother was too absorbed in a video game to know what was going on. And of course, he was always too scared to tell his parents, who he claims were unsupportive and teeters on the edge of saying they were emotionally abusive, but anecdotally, it sounds to me like they were ordinary parents. They just had an oddball kid.

Moss would have the reader believe that he could do no wrong. In every story he tells, he is the hero and never backs down. The one and only weakness he will admit is a weak stomach, which, of course, anyone could forgive of someone who has done such incredible things and shown such strength and fortitude. Give me a break.

Moss admits in his telling of the story that it was his own odd psychology that drove him to do what he did, and he even goes so far as to say that it's made him paranoid about trusting people. I believe that. Because after reading his tale of manipulation, I feel as if he's made a victim of me too. He tells his readers the most interesting story he could think to tell, expecting them to buy it, hook, line and sinker.

What's the truth? Moss made sure we'll never know; he shot and killed himself in the bathroom of his Nevada home on June 6, 2006 (6-6-06 -- coincidence? Again, we'll never know). It's a tragic end, certainly, and it's a shame that he was never able to come to terms with his actions, and that his friends and family were unable to help him.

Moss said in the book that Gacy had told him that one day, he'd take his own life, that he would know when the time was right. Did he think of that as he pulled the trigger? Had Gacy finally won the battle of manipulation? No one can be sure, but whatever Moss was thinking in those last few moments of his life, I can't help thinking he felt he was getting the last word.

My Buddies and Mii

After an exhaustive search, we finally found one.

Three nights ago, my husband announced to me that he had, that day, purchased a Wii. The next night, we hooked it up, and the fun began.

I hadn't actually played any Wii games before, because the only time I'd had an opportunity was when I was with my husband's family, and I have a strict rule not to play games with them. (They're ultra competitive. Monica Gellar has nothing on my family-in-law.) But I'd watched them play, and it looked like fun, so I was excited to try out the new system.

It was fun; for the past few days, I've really enjoyed playing the Wii Sports, which is the only game disk we have so far. I'm getting pretty good at the bowling (my personal best -- 194) and even though I've never played a real-life game, my Wii tennis skills aren't half bad. Indeed, this is probably the most sporty I've ever been.

But the most fun, at least in this beginning stage, is making Miis. For those who haven't seen the commercials, Miis are little characters you can make to look like yourself or your friends or anyone you want playing with you. My Mii is my favorite, because she's wearing makeup and has perfect hair, even after three innings of baseball. (I took a few liberties on the hair, though; I couldn't bring myself to subject my Mii to my current soccer mom cut.) But once I got started, I couldn't stop.

In the bowling game, the Miis you make show up to cheer you on, and in the baseball game, they play on your team. It's more fun to see your friends and family in your games than the default Wii Miis (although there is a great one who looks just like Rick James; I wouldn't mind seeing him more), so after my husband and I made ours, we proceeded to begin to make Miis of our families and friends. It's pretty fun seeing my sister's husband jump up and down when I get a strike in bowling, and it's even cooler seeing my mom hit a three-run homer in baseball.

But if I start talking about what the Miis are doing as if it's actually the real people doing these things, I hope someone will intervene and take me back out into the real world. Except for my perfect hair and makeup; I'd like to keep that. I need to look good in case Rick James ever wants to play baseball.

At Least My Mom Thinks I'm Hot

I know that with my hair cut short I look like a soccer mom, and I'm alright with that for now, but I still haven't felt all that attractive lately. But apparently I have nothing to worry about.

Not only did the nice maintenance man at my office call me beautiful yesterday, but today, my mom e-mailed me that it's too bad I'm not around where she lives anymore, because Girls Gone Wild is doing some filming tonight at a local bar. Apparently she thinks this could have been my big break.

With endorsements like that, I don't know how I couldn't feel like the most gorgeous woman in the world.

Notes From My World

Someone actually complained to me last week that I don't post enough on my blog. He was right; I've written a paltry four posts for the month of July so far, and the month is all but over.

So just to let my loyal readers (both of them) know that I have not abandoned my blogging duties, here's what's going on with me.

Aw, Nuts
In my never-ending quest to fool myself into thinking that I'm eating healthy, I decided to buy some almonds to snack on. Almonds are high in protein, fiber, calcium, magnesium, potassium, vitamin E, and other antioxidants, and they help prevent osteoporosis, which is particularly important to me, as I am lactose intolerant and don't get much calcium in my diet. However, I don't like regular almonds that much, so I bought ones that are covered in sesame seeds, which are held on by a glue of honey. Sesame seeds are also a good source of calcium, which is good, but I don't know if sesame seed and honey covered almonds could really be considered a health food.

But I like the way the sesame seeds do a little mini-crunch in my mouth before we move onto the big crunch of the almond.

The Great Tropical Punch Dive
Last night, I was sitting at the dining room table typing away on my laptop, when for some reason (it all happened very fast), my arm flew out and knocked over an entire glass of Kool-Aid. By some miracle, it went in the opposite direction of my computer (although that didn't stop my husband from giving me a lecture about how the warranty doesn't cover spilled drinks). It also didn't get on the carpet at all; the entire contents landed on a throw rug we have under the dining room table -- a rug which, incidentally, I have never liked.

When all was said and done, I was actually a little proud that if I had to spill, I spilled cleverly.

Thou Watchest The Latest Oozings, Hours by Hours
My local library has a decent selection, but there are several books I've been wanting to read lately that they either don't have, or the books are always out, so I've been reserving them. Once or twice a week, I'll get a call that a book has come in for me, and it's always a great surprise which book it is.

The latest, which arrived for me yesterday, is called The Last Victim, and it's the true story of a college student who corresponded with serial killers. The most notable of these was John Wayne Gacy, who ultimately invited the author to visit him in prison and subsequently tried to murder him.

I'm sure I'll have plenty to say once I've finished the book, but I very nearly didn't start, thanks to the asinine first sentence of the prologue, which was written by a former professor of the author's. I don't remember the exact wording, but it said something like, "it was autumn, but not the kind of autumn you would expect for that time of year."

When the hell else would you expect autumn but in autumn? What kind of autumn would you expect in another time of year? I have half a mind to write a letter to the man who wrote the prologue and complain, but he's actually written dozens of books and probably doesn't care what I think about his horribly written sentence, especially when I wasn't likely to read anything else he's written anyway.

Terrific If I'm Even Good

Now that I'm a glamorous would-be movie actress, I've been thinking about ways to capitalize on what I'm sure will become a hot streak in show business. So I've come up with some guest roles I could play on popular television shows. I figure it's inevitable that the phone calls will begin pouring in, if I actually get to be in Batman, and if I actually get to do something on camera.

Heroes -- I got into this show last year and can't wait for the new season to begin. When they come calling, I'd like to be a guest star hero. I don't really care what kind of power they want to give me, as long as I get to do a naked scene or two with Sendhil Ramamurthy.

Flight of the Conchords -- This is my new favorite TV show, about two guys from New Zealand who come to New York to make it big on the music scene with their two-man band. On the show, the guys have only one fan, this dorky girl/crazed lunatic (who reminds me of a girl I went to high school with, except she wasn't a crazed lunatic, but in case she grew up to become a crazed lunatic, I won't mention her name). Anyway, I figure when I do my guest spot on that show, I'll play the crazed lunatic's also crazed but much hotter cousin. Of course, I'll have to work on getting hot first, but I have a little time.

The Simpsons -- No star such as myself could pass up a chance to be on this hit show! I think for this one I'd probably pull out the voice formerly reserved for my stuffed pig friends. I'm sure my good pal Wayne Hamm would expect me to use that voice to play Barry White, but honestly,with that voice, I think I'd probably play one of Krusty the Clown's cartoon friends.

Alright, Hollywood. I await your call.

Rory's First Casting Call

Today, I entered the glamorous world of professional film acting.

Thirty seconds later, I exited. No word yet on whether I'll be back.

Until September, Warner Brothers is filming the new Batman movie in downtown Chicago, and a few days ago, I heard about a special casting call going on today. Having been in love with Christian Bale since I first saw his red hot dance moves in Newsies, I had to go. They were only casting extras, but if standing on the street for 10 hours doing nothing meant I might catch a glimpse of my favorite actor and maybe even see him act, in person, it would be totally worth it.

Side note: I won't tell the whole story of my love for Christian Bale, lest I look like an obsessed loon, but I will say that if I somehow manage to marry him before I turn 40, there's an ice cream maker in it for me, thanks to a bet I made with my college roommate.

Anyway, last night, I had my husband take a head shot of me, and this morning, I headed into the city to seek my fortune in the film industry. Armed with our photos and pens (the two required items listed on the casting call annoncement), two pals and I reported to the call, where we were welcomed by a casting agent who announced that we were here for the film Rory's First Kiss. He explained that Rory's First Kiss was a Warner Brothers film starring Christian Bale and directed by Christopher Nolan, whose other credits include Batman Begins.

Um...of course they do; this was a casting call for a new Batman movie.

I don't understand why they insisted on calling the movie by a fake name. It's been announced on the news for weeks now that they're filming Batman downtown, and it's even been announced that they're calling it Rory's First Kiss. So who they think they're fooling -- or who they're even trying to fool at this point, since they haven't really tried up to now -- I'm not entirely sure. Even as he made the announcement, the casting guy told us to talk to others in line with us to get the scoop on what was going on. It was all very strange.

After a few minutes in line, we filled out our forms and filed into a room where we handed our papers to people who took digital headshots of us and sent us on our way. I know it was just extras casting, but I was kind of hoping for more, since I could have just mailed in my headshot and contact information from home and not wasted the entire morning driving in the city.

So now I'm just waiting to see if they'll call. This post-audition waiting period is always hard, but I think this time, it will be even harder -- not only because this is a feature film starring my favorite actor of all time, but because they're looking for thousands of people for crowd scenes, and if they don't call, that means there must be something really wrong with me. Or it means that they've read this blog entry and are afraid that my standing within 100 feet of Mr. Bale will result in troublesome legal action.

In any case, I think it would be wonderfully fun to be a part of a major motion picture being filmed in my town. I'd be a part of history -- even if I was just a speck on the screen, it would be cool to say I was there.

Call Me Any Anytime

On a gym visit last week, I scanned my membership card and the computer told me to see a staff member before working out. The girl at the front desk looked up my file and saw that for some reason, my account was showing that I owed five dollars for something or other. She wrote down a phone number for me to call to get it straightened out.

When I called the number, an enthusiastic sounding recording informed me, "exciting local people want to talk to you!"

I hope that's not what the five bucks is supposed to be for.

Happy Birthday, Stapling Jello! Here's Your Present!

Today is the one year anniversary of Stapling Jello, and although it wasn't planned that way, I got a present for it!

When I got home from work today, I was walking into my building when my husband came bounding down the stairs.

"Honey," he said, "I couldn't get my car into the garage. Could you check it out for me; there's something in the way."

I had absolutely no idea what to expect. Obviously, there was some sort of a surprise in the garage for me, but what in the world could it be? I thought it might be the bicycle my sweetheart told me he wanted to get me for a wedding present, but I didn't think he'd actually buy me one without my picking it out. I thought it might be a Wii, because we'd been looking for one ever since my sister-in-law and her fiance brought theirs to a family get-together.

I was kind of right, but not really.

In the garage sat a small cardboard box. On it, my husband had taped a piece of paper with a drawing of a bicycle. (This is the part I was right about). Still thinking a Wii was inside, I carried the box upstairs, opened it and could not believe my eyes. It wasn't a Wii.

My husband had bought me a laptop. A beautiful, brand new MacBook.

I'd been wanting a laptop; I'd been talking about it, and saving for it, for a few months now. But never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine my husband would buy one for me.

I'm still in shock. It's such a thoughtful, generous gift -- then again, I guess in that case, I shouldn't be surprised. My husband is the most thoughtful, generous man I know. Except, of course, my dad, whose generosity knows no bounds, given the fact that he raised me. Or maybe that's patience, I don't know.

It's not even so much that he bought me a nice present -- it's the fact that he got me something he knew I really, really wanted, something it would take awhile for me to get on my own. It was a wonderful surprise, from a wonderful, wonderful man.

A Game After My Own Heart

A Stapling Jello reader sent me this link to a game that I think I should get.

It's a trivia game about all of my favorite things -- chocolate, candy, cookies, snacks, ice cream and desserts!

I feel a themed party coming on....

Happy Birthday, Big Sister

This story came to me out of the blue a month or so ago, but I saved it especially for today, my sister Jennifer's 34th birthday.

Happy Birthday, big sis.

When we were little, we had neighbors with a daughter Jen's age, and the two girls were best friends. They were together all the time...until they were in sixth grade, and our neighbors moved to Massachusetts. But Jen and her friend, Dani, remained close.

At some point, Dani came to visit and caught the eye of a young man named John Hall, an old classmate who was still a classmate of Jen's. John wasn't the most attractive guy, or the nicest, from what I recall, so the fact that he had a crush on Dani became fodder for Jen to make fun of him. Using her musical talent and creative energy, she composed a rap -- yes, a rap -- which was a love letter from John to Dani.

Lucky for Jen, I have a fantastic memory for lyrics and no problem sharing said lyrics here. It's no "Baby Got Back," but it's no worse than most of the stuff that came out in the 80s.

Ladies and gentlemen, The John and Dani Rap.

This is my rap, 'bout a gal named Danielle
She's the rapinest babe of which I ever did tell
And I hope she hears my rap; I pray that she do,
So if you're listening, babe, this bud's for you.

My dearest Danielle, I just wrote to say,
I gotta ask you a question, and this is the day.
I just need to know how you feel about me.
Is there a lock in my heart to which you hold the key?

Do you think I'm cute? Would you say I'm a fox?
Will you accept a ring in a little black box?
Will you give me your love, every bit you can spare?
If you do, I'll cuddle up and I'll be your teddy bear.

I wanna hold you tight, spend every Christmas with you.
And do all the things a boy and girlfriend do.
Do you think I'm sexy? Do you like my bod?
I hope you're impressed, 'cause I've been working real hard.

I wanna prove myself, show you that I'm true.
And I swear, someday, I'm gonna marry you.
I hope you write back; as for me, that's all.
I'll count the minutes till I hear from you -- love, John Hall.

(then Dani responds)

Yo, John, I was listening, and I heard your rap.
It was very sweet, but John, you're too much of a sap.
I wish you wouldn't call me babe. I hope you can dig.
'Cause I just can't see myself cuddlin' up to a pig.

As impressin' me goes, and workin' hard, I say huh
'Cause you never lift a finger and you're such a duh.
I wish you could know, John, I wish you could see
Just how repulsive you are to girls like me.

You want me to marry you. I gotta laugh at that,
'Cause you see, Mr. John, you're just too fat.
So won't you leave me alone? You're really quite rude.
Signed, Dani. P.S. You can go back to your food.

Killing Time By Talking About Me

I saw this on someone else's blog and always like an opportunity to talk about me, even if it is just a stupid survey thing.

What's your name spelled backwards? akire

What did you do last night? Drank wine, ate pizza and made a cake. Don't bake after you've had three glasses of wine.

The last thing you downloaded onto your computer? I don't actually remember. Probably a photo.

Have you ever licked a 9 volt battery? I think a better question is, who has done this, and why?

Last time you swam in a pool? Summer 2001, but I swam in the Pacific Ocean in April. (I highly recommend it, Marla).

What are you wearing? Black slacks and a black and white striped tee shirt.

How many cars have you owned? I've driven several but only actually owned (i.e. bought and made payments on) two. The first was Phoebe, my 1998 Mazda Protege, who bravely gave her life to save mine in May 2003, and now I have Zoe Zoom-Zoom, a 2002 Mazda Protege, who is wonderful and kicks ass.

Type of music you dislike most? Hip hop. I'm not cool enough for it.

Are you registered to vote? Sure am.

Do you have cable? For now.

What kind of computer do you use? A crappy slow one at work, a crappy bare bones one at home. I'm saving for a laptop though.

Ever made a prank phone call? Yeah, but only to people who were expecting prank calls.

Would you go bungee jumping or sky diving? Nah, I'm not a thrill seeker.

Furthest place you ever traveled? I'm not sure of the mileage here, but I took a trip from Pennsylvania to England and Ireland and I also took a trip from Illinois to Maui. It's one of those.

What's your favorite comic strip? Pearls Before Swine, because there's a cute, dim-witted little pig in it.

Do you know all the words to the national anthem? I know the first verse.

Shower, morning or night? Morning.

Best movie you've seen in the past month? The Prizewinner of Defiance, Ohio

Favorite pizza toppings? onions and green peppers

Chips or popcorn? I'm not a big salty snack person, so it would depend on my mood that day.

What cell phone provider do you have? Cingular/AT&T

Have you ever smoked peanut shells? No, but I have thrown a few on the floor at restaurants that encourage that sort of behavior.

Have you ever been in a beauty pageant? No, but I have had dreams of being Mount Rose's American Teen Princess.

Orange Juice or Apple? Orange

Who were the last people you had lunch with? I mostly have lunch by myself...probably my husband.

Favorite chocolate bar? Snickers. Or just a regular Hershey bar along with some graham crackers and toasted marshmallow. Mmm. Smores.

Who is your longest friend and how long? Darcey -- first day of first grade, baby.

Last time you ate a homegrown tomato? No idea, but that sounds really good.

Have you ever won a trophy? I have! I got second place in my age group for a series of races I ran in 2004. Sure, there were only two people in my age group, but the other person was like a real runner, so I couldn't really compete with her anyway. I also got a trophy (second or third place, I forget) for a bean bag tournament, but I think we (my husband and I) just got it because we were among the last people playing beanbags that night. It wasn't really a well defined tournament.

Favorite arcade game? Skee ball.

Ever ordered from an infomercial? No, but I did a Magic Bullet as a wedding shower gift.

Sprite or 7-UP? I don't drink either one very often, so I have no preference.

Have you ever had to wear a uniform to school/work? I had a uniform when I worked at Friendly's and a smock when I worked at Greco's grocery store, but never anything for school.

Last thing you bought at Walgreens? I've no idea.

Ever thrown up in public? Oh yeah...when I was a little kid, I threw up on the steps of the Big Wrangler steakhouse. We hadn't even eaten there; we'd just walked in when I decided I had to throw up. Some old lady handed me a tissue, as if that would help. The place closed a few months later, but I don't think it had anything to do with me.

Would you prefer being a millionaire or finding true love? I've got true love, so right now, my priority is becoming a millionaire. If you only get one, I'll stick with the true love.

Do you believe in love at first sight? I believe in something like it, but I don't think people recognize it most of the time, or they think they do but don't.

Did you have long hair as a young kid? Sure did.

What message is on your voicemail machine? Nothing exciting, just the standard spiel. At least, that's if we're talking outgoing message. If we're talking incoming message, then nothing.

Where would you like to go right now? Home, to spend some quality time with my new couch and loveseat.

Whats the name of your pet? Ivan

What do you think about most? Stuff.

Musical Roles I'd Like To Play

Velma Kelly in Chicago -- Maybe it's all part of my secret desire to be Catherine Zeta-Jones, but also, I like the song "All That Jazz," and maybe I could learn how to dance.

Sally Bowles in Cabaret -- I can do a decent English accent, and I am, after all, a perfectly marvelous girl.

Janet in The Rocky Horror Show -- I don't actually like Rocky Horror all that much, but I do like the song "Touch-A Touch-A Touch Me."

Eva Peron in Evita -- I think it would be cool to play a real person, even though a musical is not exactly a vehicle for a realistic portrayal. But ever since I did a research paper on her in high school (and went to see the show as "research") I've liked this show. Plus I think I would look good wearing my hair in a bun and holding my arms up while I sang into a microphone.

Aldonza in Man of La Mancha -- Mostly I just want to be a part of this show, because I love it. I wouldn't really care if I didn't play the female lead, but there aren't that many female parts in this show. I wouldn't mind playing one of the women who sings "I'm Only Thinking Of Him." That's a good song.

Fruma Sarah in Fiddler On The Roof -- This was probably the first role I really saw and said yes, I must play her someday. Even before I actually started doing any acting at all. It's a pretty small part, so I have a better chance of playing her than any of the others on my list, because when it comes right down to it, I don't actually sing all that well.

How I Learned To Drive

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, the caregiver of the year and her soul mate of the road.

This evening, my husband and I were on our way home from picking up dinner, when, as we came to a halt at a stoplight, we saw a woman in the lane next to us jump out of her car.

"Hey!" she yelled to the driver of the car behind her, which happened to be right next to our car. "I've got kids in the car, asshole!"

The driver she'd yelled at gave back a bewildered, "okay, bitch," as the woman got back into her car.

"Funny," I commented to my husband. "Whatever he was doing was so bad that she had to protect those kids from his actions but didn't think twice about jumping out of her vehicle in the middle of a busy street and screaming obscenities in front of those kids."

As we continued down the road, the driver of the second car, obviously over the surprise of the woman screaming at him, began to taunt her by riding as close to her back bumper as possible. I was glad when we were able to pass them, because whatever happened, I didn't want to be caught in the middle of it.

It's a good thing, too, because a few seconds later, I heard a loud screech behind me. I looked in my rearview mirror, and the man's car had either hit or nearly hit the woman's. Curiously, the car in front of the woman's was several car lengths ahead, meaning that she had stopped suddenly on purpose so the man would either hit or nearly hit her.

What a fine example to set for those kids in her car.

We went home, ate dinner and cleaned up, and about half an hour later, I drove back down that same road to run an errand. By the side of the road were the woman's car, the man's car and a police car. I didn't see any obvious damage to either vehicle, but whatever happened and whoever called the police, I hope both the woman and the man were cited for reckless driving.

I completely understand road rage; I've had it myself. But I have never even been tempted to jump out of my vehicle to yell at another driver. It's dangerous and stupid. At best, all it accomplishes is giving someone else fodder to laugh at you, and possibly blog about you. But to feed the fire of someone who has screamed at you is just as bad. This woman was obviously a loose cannon; the man would have done better to simply get out of her lane.

Then again, maybe these two drivers deserve to be on the road together. Let them battle it out and leave the highways free for the rest of us, and for those kids in that woman's car. After the lesson they learned today, they're gonna need all the help they can get.