Come On Along And Work Out To The Lullaby Of Broadway

I'm really trying to give this fitness thing a go. But after only three weeks, I'm kind of running out of things to do at the gym.

I like the weight training, but for now, I really need my trainer beside me, telling me which machines to use in what order. And I love cycling and swimming, but I don't want to do the same things over and over, lest I get bored with them, or my body get used to them, rendering them unaffective. (The trainers at the gym are really big on mixing it up -- I was told not to do the same workout more than once within three weeks.) I need to try some new things, mix it up a little bit.

In that spirit, last night, I took a sampler class which was comprised of small bits of basic step, kickboxing and Latin dance. I'd done a little of the step and the kickboxing before, but the Latin dance was new to me. And I really liked the small bit we did. Of the three, it was the dance that was my favorite.

I like doing the kind of exercise that makes me forget I'm exercising. For many people, that means playing a sport. But since I am not at all athletic, sports have no allure for me and usually don't give me that great a workout -- why bother trying to chase around a ball I know I have no chance of hitting? (That said, I did sign up for a raquetball clinic. I don't know what I was thinking.) I'm not that graceful either, but with dance, you're not really competing with anyone, and I can follow basic instructions, so even if I look stupid, I can still have fun and get a good workout.

The instructor who ran last night's session said there will be a Latin class starting up next week, but it's kind of early in the evening, so I'm not sure I'd be able to make it in time after work. Still, I'd like to try, because it seems to be the only dance-y class offered there. Plus I think with the music, it would be fun and different. I'm tired of working out to crappy Top 40 hits remixed with a fast beat.

On the way home, I got to thinking what kind of exercise class I'd really like to attend. Since I really enjoy the dance-y stuff (so long as it's not too complicated -- I remember stumbling all over myself trying to do the Paula Abdul dance workout tape in high school), I was thinking a good one would be a workout to Broadway tunes.

Richard Simmons and a few others have put out workout tapes with Broadway music, but from what I can see, the songs are all really old. I can't really blame them for that -- the Broadway shows everyone knew during the workout tape heyday of the 80s and early 90s hardly provided good exercise songs. I can't imagine myself sweating to any of the songs from Les Miserables or anything from Andrew Lloyd Webber. (Can't you just see a room of people trying to do leg lifts to "Do You Hear The People Sing"?)

But I think that the shows that are popular on Broadway and on tour these days would provide some great workout tunes. I could see myself enjoying an exercise routine set to Urinetown's "Run Freedom Run," Hairspray's "Welcome to the 60s" or even the "Fisch Schlapping Song" from Spamalot. And I can only imagine the calorie-burning choreography that could be used for Avenue Q's "You Can Be As Loud As The Hell You Want (When You're Makin' Love).

So how about it?

Clowns To The Left Of Me, Jokers To The Right

Taking advantage of my Labor Day off, I took lunch to my husband (who, unfortunately, had to work) and then headed to Hobby Lobby to pick up some supplies for a few projects. I was waiting for an employee to cut some material for me when two women came up and interrupted.

"Excuse me," they said. The employee said nothing; she didn't even look up. I thought that was kind of rude, but it was none of my business, so I just waited while she kept cutting. They tried to get her attention again, and I could tell by her face she was purposely ignoring them (she had that same look most people have when they pass a panhandler on the street -- eyes down, pretending not to hear). After a few more attempts by the customers, she told them tersely, "just a minute." One of the women started to ask a question, and the employee told them again, "just a minute," and the customers upped the rude ante by telling her, "'I'll be with you in a moment.' That's what you're supposed to say." The employee and the customers argued for another minute, with the customers ultimately walking away, saying, "you serve the public, honey."

I thought that was the end of it, but as the employee finished cutting and folding my material, she started muttering, "I hate this job, I hate this job." Despite my best efforts to put on the same panhandler face she'd been wearing a minute before, the employee decided to tell me that she's worked at Hobby Lobby for seven and a half years and hates the job, then explain that she was busy helping me and didn't like customers interrupting to ask her a question. Then she told me that she plans to put in her two weeks notice. I'm not sure whether she was planning this before or if she had just decided. I thought it best not to ask, lest I get myself into an actual conversation. I felt it better just to nod and get the hell out of there.

I'm not sure who to side with here, because the customers were pretty rude, but she was rude first, and I really don't think it's good form to tell a customer "I hate my job." Plus, I really don't think counting to one yard and and cutting in a straight line could be all that difficult that she wouldn't be able to at least look up to acknowledge another customer who has a question. Then again, I wouldn't want to acknowledge any customer who tells me what my job is. I like to see customers standing up for themselves, but I have never so much as raised my voice in a store, and I've certainly never resorted to "you serve the public, honey." So I guess I will side with myself, the innocent bystander, who not only had to listen to the altercation but then had to listen to the employee ranting about the altercation.

I listened to her for as long as I could stand while still being polite, and, as soon as she broke for a breath, I said, "I hope your day gets better" and high-tailed it away from her.

Happy Labor Day to all.

The Power of Suggestion: Part II

I love it when people respond to things I write. Partly because that means someone is reading the things I write, and partly because sometimes it gets me candy.

My favorite piece of mail this week came from my friend Miranda, who, in response to a post I wrote, sent me the package in the photo. There was also a book inside of things to do before you turn 30. Many of them I've already done ("write a complaint letter" was one), but there are some I haven't. Perhaps I'll give a few a try before October 19.

After I finish my candy.

Whenever You're Near, I Hear A Symphony

I've really been enjoying my new gym.

I've had two sessions now with my personal trainer, Megan, who makes me work but ensures my ability to walk the next day. And I'm loving the pool. I've been swimming more times in the last two weeks than in the last seven years. I'm actually sorry I didn't switch gyms a long time ago.

What I was most excited about was that my new gym holds classes in separate rooms with doors, so that no matter what kind of yelling is going on, you can't hear it on the main floor. Unfortunately, I forgot about what might happen if I actually take a class.

Last night, I took an hour-long cycling class. I'd done the same one (but with a different instructor) last week and left sweaty, hungry and exhausted, so I was looking forward to another great workout last night. It's a good thing I went in so determined.

At the front of the class were three ladies who obviously knew each other and the instructor, at least from class. They bantered with each other, and it was entertaining for a minute, but about five seconds into the warm-up, it got ugly. Ugly and loud.

That's right, they began shrieking.

I thought The Shrieking Machine of my old gym was bad, but here there were three of them, plus the instructor! She would say something, and they would shriek in response. It was as if the instructor was Diana Ross and these three were her Supremes. Except instead of singing delightful Motown tunes, these three were just screaming. They weren't even saying words. I kind of wanted to get up and leave, but I would have felt self-conscious so I rode it out, literally.

Throughout the class, I got used to the shrieking. And to their credit, these ladies at least howled with the beat of the music. But I still don't understand the point. That class was tough; it took a lot of energy to do some of the stuff she was having us do, and all that yelling had to have taken up quite a bit of energy too, not to mention breath.

So I guess I won't let myself be deterred just yet. I got a great workout, so I think I'll continue taking the class. And who knows...maybe someday, I'll learn to accept the shrieking.

Or, I'll just switch to a class where the students are a little more reserved.

Pearly What? (A Confession)

Until recently, I had a blog with a list of 30 things I intended to do before I reached age 30 and entries about what I did to complete those goals. I deleted the blog when I realized two things. One, I'm probably not going to get them all done by my birthday, which is October 19. And two, I really don't care.

I'm a little disappointed that I didn't finish what I started, but the truth is, there weren't that many things on the list that I really, truly wanted to do. Many of them were just there because I needed 30 things and couldn't think of anything good to add to the list (which I only spent a week or so compiling). That said, I did learn a few things while I worked on ticking off the tasks I cared enough about to complete, or attempt to complete.

1. Donating to charities really does feel good, and what you give comes back to you in the way of address labels and solicitations for more money.

2. It's harder to come up with self-indulgent things to do than you would think.

3. Scrambled eggs with stuff in them is just as good as a well-made omelet.

4. The Montoursville Area School District failed me by not putting "The Catcher In The Rye" on its list of required literature. I should have read that book years ago.

5. The gym is NOT the place to work on learning the words to "Baby Got Back," particularly when your gym is full of ladies who pack much back.

6. There are things I care about a lot more than the things I used to care about, and there are things I want much more than the things I used to want.

That last one makes me feel like maybe I'm not such a failure at having abandoned my project and deleted the blog. I started the whole thing because I wanted to get myself ready for was to be the grown-up stage of my life -- the Summer, if you will. What I found out was that I'm already there. Some of the things I wanted to do were things I cared about a long time ago, but not now, and attempting to fulfill them made me feel like I was regressing, not moving forward.

So now, in the last not-quite-two-months before I turn 30, I plan to complete only the tasks I care enough about to remember what they are. For example, I fully intend to travel to the top of the Sears Tower, and I intend to (brag that I will) perform "Baby Got Back" while at the top (and completely chickening out once I'm up there).

And I WILL make it to Wisconsin. I had a dream last night that I actually got there. I was driving, but I'd missed my exit or something and had to turn around, but first, I decided to stop for fuel. I saw a gas station up ahead and, as I was getting ready to pull into the entrance, noticed a sign welcoming me to Wisconsin. I filled up my tank and congratulated myself on accidentally driving into the Badger State. Somewhere, I even picked up (well, stole from the side of the road, but I can admit it, because this was a dream and not real life) a gigantic three-dimensional Wisconsin-shaped road sign, which I intended to use as a mold for my 30th birthday cake.

Side note: I am thinking a Wisconsin-shaped birthday cake might actually be a fantastic idea, firstly because I've been talking for six years about traveling there, despite everyone I know telling me it's "only OK," and also because I would, in effect, be eating the dairy state to celebrate completing the year in which I stopped eating dairy. That kind of irony is usually only found in great works of literature or on Three's Company.

So I guess it has been a good year for learning life lessons. I am tinkering with the idea of making a 40 Things To Do Before I'm 40 list. With 10 years to complete the tasks, I'll be able to list things that are a little deeper than learning to cook something new or memorizing offensive novelty rap songs. Then again, I wonder if the things I would list today would still resonate with me in two, five, nine years. Still, I like the idea of having a long-term project and a milestone birthday as the day to launch it. So I guess the one big thing left for me to do before I turn 30 is something that wasn't even on my list before -- come up with a new project that I care enough about to complete.

Products I Would Totally Endorse If I Got Famous

1. Colgate Total -- I have long sung the praises of this fantastic toothpaste that not only makes my mouth feel clean but keeps it feeling clean until the next time I eat. I once wrote a letter to the company telling them how much I liked it (I write nice consumer letters too, you know). I was kind of hoping they'd send me some free toothpaste, but they didn't.

2. Tofutti products -- The company's founder, David Mintz, initially started working with tofu as a way to keep kosher, but the fruits of his labor have long benefited the lactose intolerant as well. All of the Tofutti products I've had have been pretty good, close enough to the real thing that in a few years I probably won't remember what the real thing tastes like anymore.

3. Pantene spray conditioner -- For years, I searched in vain for a product that made my hair soft and shiny. I asked a coworker, whose wife had lovely hair, if he knew what she used, and he told me about this product. Since then, even with my worst haircuts and dye jobs, I've had silky locks with a fabulous shine.

4. Mentos -- I don't think I've ever actually had Mentos, but I would like to do one of those commercials where I'm in a tough situation, pop a Mentos and quickly solve the problem, afterward turning to the camera with a triumphant smile.

5. Lion Brand Homespun Yarn -- It's a nice yarn, and since Vanna White has her own yarn, maybe it's time for other yarns to have spokespeople.

Shrieking Machine, I Think I'll Miss You Most Of All

It didn't hit me until the other night when I was leaving the gym and thought I caught a glimpse of Didn't-Bother-To-Brush-Her-Hair-But-Did-Take-
The-Time-To-Put-On-Tights-Yes, Tights Lady (turned out it wasn't her though) that I realized that the members of my new gym all seem pretty normal.

Sure, there are a couple of guys who wear Speedos in the pool, but they actually seem like athletic swimmer types.

Crap. I wonder if this means I'm going to be the one people make fun of at this gym. Guess I'd better go get myself some tights.

My Name Is Victoria Winters...

While perusing the Internet this morning looking for useless information, I came upon this tidbit: Johnny Depp and Tim Burton are rumored to have teamed up for a movie based on the 1960s TV show Dark Shadows. In the movie, set (well, rumored) for release in 2010, Depp will play the smooth yet deadly vampire Barnabas Collins.

I couldn't be more excited about this. It's about time Dark Shadows came back for another go-round, and Johnny Depp will make a great Barnabas. I just hope they keep the campy quality of the original show. They could do something about the costumes, though; some of the stuff people wore looked like someone's home economics project.

Stand In The Place Where You Are (Because It Hurts To Move)

Ow.

Earlier this week, my husband and I joined a gym. We've both belonged to separate gyms for years now, but since my gym was a bare bones women only facility and his had so few machines that he always had to wait for one, we decided to join a gym together that had everything we wanted.

With our membership, we each are entitled to one free session with a personal trainer, and yesterday, I went in for mine. After a brief question-and-answer period (When was the last time you had the ideal body you wanted? As if to say I ever did!) and a body fat analysis, we got to work. The trainer decided to start with my legs and threw me right into doing lunges while lifting weights over my head. From there, we moved on to squats, then squats with a bar, then to leg presses.

Side note: The trainer's name is Buddy. What a laugh that is.

When we sat down to discuss further training, I wasn't sure I would be able to get up. For the rest of yesterday, every time I had to stand up, sit down or go up or down stairs, I had to hold onto something. I went to get a manicure and almost fell out of the chair when I sat down. (In my defense, the chair was on wheels, and the floor was tile.) And today, I can't take a step without feeling like someone has removed all the muscles from my legs and replaced them with tree bark. I try to stay in one position as long as possible; if I'm standing, I stay standing, and if I'm sitting I don't get up till I know there's somewhere to go.

The truth is, I really do need the help. I'm not obese; I'm not unhealthy, but my body fat is higher than it should be, and besides, someday, I'd like to be able to have an answer for that ideal body question besides "infancy." But isn't exercise supposed to feel good? I hope that at some point it does, because my birthday is coming up, and it would really suck if, when people ask what I want, I'd have to say "one of those high toilet seats."

Human Error, Superhero Disgrace

It's a good thing I'm not really a customer service superhero, because the tabloids would be having a field day right now.

Yesterday, I was out shopping on my lunch hour and decided to buy a shirt. When the clerk rang it up, the price was about seven dollars more than the sale price I'd seen listed on the rack. That happens fairly often in this store, but the clerks never you give you a hard time when you bring it up, so I mentioned the price difference to him and he re-rang it at the lower price.

Today, I went back to the same store and, just for the heck of it, cruised by the rack where the shirt I bought was displayed and checked the price. It turns out, I was the one who had been wrong. The more expensive price had been correct; I must have been looking at the wrong sign or the wrong listed price.

The shirt was kind of overpriced even at what I paid, but I still felt bad. I guess if I felt bad enough, I would return the shirt, get what I paid back, then re-buy the same shirt at the more expensive price, but that would be a little excessive, I think. But I had to clear my shopping karma somehow, so I bought another shirt, this one also overpriced, and paid what it was actually supposed to cost.

The Power of Suggestion

My friend Miranda was telling me last week that she reads this blog often and started watching Dirty Sexy Money because I mentioned here that I was interested in watching it.

So I just wanted to take this opportunity to say hi to my good friend Miranda and also to point out that I've also been thinking of mailing me some candy, like an extra large bag of Starbursts.

Jobs I Am Glad Other People Are Willing To Do, Because I'm Sure As Hell Never Going To Do Them

This list was inspired by a photo a coworker's husband, who is an iron worker, sent her today from the top of the not-yet-finished third highest building in Chicago. I got to thinking how they couldn't pay me enough spend day after day up that high -- especially after my coworker told me they often have to climb ladders and scaffolds all the way up -- and decided to make a list (in no particular order) of other things I would never want to do for a living.

1. Police officer
2. Firefighter
3. Colonoscopy technician
4. Doctor of any sort, except maybe eye, because that's probably not too gross
5. Costumed character at Chuck E. Cheese or similar establishment
6. Kindergarten teacher (or basically anything to do with children, unless I could be Santa Claus, because if he outsources the whole mall thing, he doesn't have to see kids at all)
7. Amusement park worker (children again, and the possibility of having to clean up vomit)
8. Personal assistant
9. Nun (though I do like the idea of not having to decide what to wear every day)
10. Trash collector
11. Any math related job
12. Laundress, particularly for an athletic team
13. Gangsta rapper
14. Wedding coordinator (unless I could just do whatever I wanted without having to consult the happy couple)
15. Cab driver
16. Clown
17. Publicist
18. Port-a-Potty porter
19. Racecar driver/mechanic/anything to do with racing or cars in general
20. Clyde Peeling
21. Anyone who works at a mall kiosk and has to chase down unsuspecting shoppers in the name of selling cell phones/hair straighteners/skin care products/rice with stuff written on it/etc.
22. Beekeeper
23. Reality TV show host
24. Mover
25. Traffic reporter

Another Openin', Another Show

Thanks to social networking Web site (read: time suck) Facebook and its Stage Door application, I now have a running record of all the plays I've ever seen or worked on.

While I was going through the list of shows yesterday, however, I noticed quite a few I was cast in but had never made it to the stage for one reason or another. Since Stage Door has no "almost, but not quite" category, I thought I'd list them here.

Goin' Steady for Naught -- I was cast as the mayor's wife in "Bye Bye Birdie" when I was in high school, but right when rehearsals started, I had an out-of-town choir thing and a vacation pretty much back to back. I don't remember if I quit or was un-cast, but either way, I never got my big moment of fainting.

Farewell, Mein Lieber Show -- One of the shows I would absolutely love to act in is "Cabaret," and I almost got my chance in 2002 when I was offered the part of a Kit Kat Girl Unfortunately, rehearsals began at the exact same time I got off work, in a town 40 minutes away. I had to turn down the part, and while I was bummed to miss out on the show, I heard terrible things about it, so in retrospect I'm not all that sorry.

I Do...Not! -- Before I started hating weddings, I was cast in a production of "Tony 'n Tina's Wedding" in 2002 as the groom's father's girlfriend (who happened to be the star performer at the groom's father's strip club). The script called for me to dance on the bar and leave the wedding with the best man, really classy stuff. I'm not sure what happened, but after one or two rehearsals, the show fell apart. I think it had something to do with the venue falling through. Side note: The next wedding I attended, I actually did dance on the bar, with the bride and other bridesmaids. Not all it's cracked up to be. It was actually pretty scary, as the bar was shaky, and there were like five of us up there. But at least I could say I've danced on a bar. I did not, however, leave with the best man.

Some Doll -- In 2005, a friend and I auditioned for a production of "Guys and Dolls." Once I got to the audition, I found out that the rehearsal schedule conflicted with my work schedule. I auditioned anyway, and I was offered a part of "a Doll" (which I guess they just thought sounded better than ensemble). I'm not above being in the ensemble, but I wasn't going to mess with my work schedule so I could sing one song and walk across the stage a couple of times, so I declined. It ended up being a good thing, as within a month or so, I was starting to date my now-husband and wouldn't have wanted to devote all that time to a show when I could have been making googly eyes at my new boyfriend. It wasn't for nothing, however -- my friend was cast (and performed) as a Hot Box Dancer, and a group of us went to see the show. I told my beau about the whole casting thing, and to this day, he calls me Doll.

Never Before Has A Cast Wanted More -- Earlier this year, I auditioned for a production of "Oliver!" and was offered a part in the ensemble. Again, I'm not above being in the ensemble (goodness knows I'm not a fantastic singer), but for this particular production, I wasn't really interested in rehearsing two evenings and one weekend day every week to stand in the back. I turned down the part and, oddly, was then offered a better one. But I still wasn't interested, so the production went on without me.

I Am The Most Fascinating Person Ever -- Not All That Fascinating Edition

What is your occupation?
I am an editor for a publishing company and a freelance writer.

What color are your socks right now?
Each pair is the same color it's always been, but if you mean the socks that are currently on my feet, you're out of luck, because my feet are bare.

What are you listening to right now?
My husband commentate on the Sox/Cubs game.

What was the last thing you ate/drank?
Shortbread cookies and lemonade.

Can you drive a stick shift?
I learned how, but I haven't actually driven a stick shift on the road more than once, and that was six years ago, so I'm gonna go with no.

Last person you spoke to on the phone?
I'm going to ignore that that's not actually a question and answer the question it should be. The answer is Marla. I needed a good gift suggestion.

Do you like the person who sent this to you?
Very much.

How old are you today?
29, all day long.

What is your favorite sport to watch on TV?
Yeah, right.

What is your favorite drink?
Iced tea.

Have you ever dyed your hair?
Many times. And I'd like to extend a big thank-you to whoever wrote this survey and spelled dyed correctly.

Favorite Food?
Chicken paprikash.

What is the second to last movie you watched?
Love in the Time of Cholera

Favorite day of the year?
December 23

How do you vent anger?
I whine and bitch. But I know how annoying that is, so I think from now on, I'm going to dance Kevin Bacon style when I'm angry.

What was your favorite toy as a child?
I'd say my stuffed pig, Roger Bacon, but he wasn't so much of a toy as a friend. My favorite toys were probably my sister's. Her stuff always seemed way cooler than mine.

What is your favorite season?
Fall

Cherries or Blueberries?
Blueberries if we're talking actual fruit. But I like cherry flavored candy and prefer it when any liquid medicine I take is cherry flavored.

When was the last time you cried?
This afternoon.

What is on the floor of your closet?
Shoes and my laundry basket.

What did you do last night?
My husband and I went to a barbecue, which was super fun. And the best part was, it was close enough for us to ride our bikes, which was also super fun.

Nails painted or plain?
My toes are always painted, except sometimes in the winter if I'm lazy and no one will be seeing my feet. My fingers are painted probably half the time.

What are you most afraid of?
Being maimed.

Plain, cheese or spicy hamburgers?
Plain, but I enjoy spicy sometimes.

Favorite dog Breed?
Boston terriers, especially my peanut girl.

Favorite day of the week?
Friday, especially because I usually don't have to work.

How many states have you lived in?
Two

What makes you happy?
Stella

Favorite outfit right now?
I'm not at all good with clothes, and since I have a casual dress code for work, I pretty much wear jeans every day. I have nothing cute. So my favorite outfit is pajamas, because they are the most comfortable and I'm always relaxing at home when I have them on.

She Was Erika, A Mighty Consumer, Forged In The Heat of Battle

I think maybe I should change the name of this blog to The Angry Consumer, because I often find myself fighting the good fight in the name of not spending money on goods and services that were not up to par.

I see myself sort of like Xena, Warrior Princess, except with a pen instead of a sword (and we all know which of those is mightier) battling stores and services providers instead of Greek gods (or whatever it is Xena battled). I know I'm more like the annoying old lady people refund just to get her to shut up, but hey, whatever gets results is fine with me.

Here's a little about my current battle: Earlier this spring, my husband and I signed up for a dog park in our area. It cost $60 -- which seemed steep for the right to enter a fenced-in patch of grass, but whatever -- but we didn't mind paying it because we were really excited to have a safe place to let Stella run off-leash. We really enjoyed taking her there, and she seemed to enjoy going...until we took a good look around and noticed how badly the place is kept.

The problem, in a word, is poop. There are signs posted at the entrance telling dog owners to pick up after their pets, but never once have I actually seen someone doing so; most of the owners are too busy socializing with each other to notice what their dogs are leaving behind. The park district doesn't seem to care much either; I'm sure they would clean up whatever a picnicking family left behind at one of the people parks, but the keep-parks-clean rule apparently doesn't apply when it comes to dogs. Most of the times we've been there, we've spent more time chasing Stel away from droppings than actually playing with her.

I e-mailed the park district and very politely explained that a grassy patch full of dog poop and vomit (yes, vomit) was not what I was expecting for my sixty bucks and nicely asked for a refund, even if it was a partial one. Today (eight days later), they sent a curt reply telling me that the dog park is clean and we will not be refunded.

Well then. Thanks for the kind explanation, park district. I'm glad to know that the huge piles of poo were all in my imagination. I'm so embarrassed to have told you the park was poorly kept when it very clearly was not. I guess I'll just let the thing drop.

I don't know who these people think they're dealing with, but I've won battles against UPS and Sam's Club; I can certainly take down a park district. Yes, yes, it's sixty bucks, not a million, but I am so offended by their response to my (very polite) e-mail message that I'm even angrier than I was before.

Stay tuned for the next installment in this enthralling story.

I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream For Soy

Since I stopped eating dairy, I haven't missed all that many foods, thanks to fantastic substitutes.

There have been two things, however, that I love too much in the real form to be able to accept in any non-dairy form. The first thing is pizza, because soy and rice cheese tastes like glue, and because pizza without cheese doesn't taste enough like pizza to quell my craving. The other thing is ice cream. There are, of course, fine milk substitutes out there; I use soy milk on a daily basis. But it doesn't quite measure up when you're looking for the creamy, fatty goodness that real milk brings to ice cream.

As the days get sunnier and the weather gets warmer, I can't help but wish I could eat some ice cream. I've had soy ice cream before, and it was alright. It's decent as a frozen treat, but it offers about the same level of satisfaction as real ice cream that comes out of a container boasting "75% less fat."

But ice cream is part of summer, and if I'm going to enjoy my summer, I'm gonna need a scoop once in awhile. So I decided the other day to find out how to make non-dairy ice cream at home. After all, I have a hardly-used ice cream maker that I got as a wedding gift just waiting for its chance to please.

A quick Google search lead me to this blog, which features all sorts of ice cream recipes for vegans. I am not a vegan, of course, but I have become very grateful to those folks who are, because they provide me with some great recipes. The blog ended up being quite the jackpot for me and earned a coveted place among my bookmarks.

I decided to start with something relatively easy and go with cookies and cream. I altered it a little bit; it called for two tablespoons of arrowroot, and I wasn't quite sure what that was or where to find it, so instead, I used corn starch, which the blog owner had mentioned as a possible alternative. I also couldn't find soy coffee creamer, so I used coconut milk, which gives the soy ice cream that thick, creamy quality that you get in the real thing.

I was a little concerned about whether the stuff would freeze properly -- I've had trouble with that even when I've made real ice cream -- but it froze like a dream and tasted great too. My only complaint is that it tastes like coconut, which isn't necessarily what you want when you're eating cookies and cream, so I think I'll have to look a little harder for the soy creamer next time I make a flavor that doesn't lend itself to a coconutty taste.

All in all, however, I am very pleased at the way my experiment turned out, and even more pleased that my Hershey's syrup and sprinkles will not go to waste this summer.

Speaking of Summer Blockbusters...

I don't begrudge Harrison Ford and the rest of the Indiana Jones gang whatever success they may have, but I really wish that the release of the new movie didn't mean the theme song had to be played on every freakin' commercial.

I can't get the tune out of my head today, and it's driving me nuts. It would be fine if I had a cool, adventurous job, but it's not great background music for someone who spends her day writing letters and copyediting.

Semi-colons! Why did it have to be semi-colons?

Yeah, doesn't work.

My Must List For Summer

I have a thing about lists. Always have, really. I feel like it's a good way to take stock of things, or to plan things. When you have it all written out in front of you, you can't forget anything.

Every year when summer rolls around, I say I'm going to do wonderful, outdoorsy summer things and then never do. Summers in Chicago are hot, sticky and gross, and once the one week of nice weather is over, all I want to do is sit in an air conditioned room and read.

But if I make a list of things to do, I will most certainly do them. And after this past winter and all its cold and snow, I really need to get out. So here is my list of summery things that I will do this season.

1. Take many, many rides on my new bike. At least two a week.

2. Take Stella for a lot of walks and to the dog park at least once a week. This one will have to depend on weather, though, because with her smooshy face, Stel can't handle too much heat and humidity. Plus she's had a little tummy trouble lately, so she's laying low for a little while at least.

3. Eat at least one meal a month outside. This actually doesn't sound like much, but since I have no space to eat outside at home, it takes a special effort to do so.

4. Sit on my balcony with my husband, just like we say we will every nice day and then forget about when we get involved in doing other things.

5. Go to an outdoor event, like a concert or movie in the park.

6. Use my homegrown herbs in my cooking as much as possible.

7. Go to the local pool. I'm normally not a local pool kind of gal -- a backyard in-ground pool was the one big luxury I had growing up -- but it's half-price in the evenings, and I love to swim, so maybe it's time to get used to sharing water with other people.

8. Go hiking. My husband and I will be spending a week in the woods of Pennsylvania at the end of July, so that one shouldn't be a problem.

9. See a summer blockbuster when the weather gets unbearable.

10. Find a dairy-free alternative to ice cream that I can have as a refreshing summer treat.

I Rode My Bicycle Past Your Window Last Night

Last night, I bought my very first brand new bicycle.

After my shopping excursion and ride on Sunday, I was more convinced than ever that I should take the leap and buy a bike. I had found a few I really liked, but the price was just a tad high, and I could get virtually the same thing for less. Everyone was out of the lesser model but told me to check back in a few days, so yesterday, I made some calls and made an upsetting discovery.

Apparently, the reason everyone was out of the model I wanted was that a new 2009 model will be coming out in the next few months, and when they're gone, they're gone. (Why no one bothered to tell me that on Sunday, I'm not sure, but that's neither here nor there right now.) One store I called had a men's model of the bike I wanted, but no one had a women's in the right size. Another place told me I was welcome to place an order for the 2009 model; it will be coming out in a month or two, he said, and after that, it will be a five-to-six week wait. Well, by then, summer will be practically over. I decided to go back to the shop where I'd tried the more expensive bikes and simply buy one of those.

I was sharing my findings with my husband, and he asked why I didn't just buy the men's bike. "Don't most women buy men's bicycles anyway?" he asked. I brushed him off, partly because I didn't see any reason it would be true, and partly because I was already on the way to a different place. But out of curiosity, when I arrived at the bike shop, I asked the guy who was helping me.

Turns out my husband was right. Women do prefer men's bikes, the bike shop guy said, because the only difference is that the top bar goes straight across, and because it forms more of a triangle with the other pieces, it is more stable and makes for a better ride. And it just so happened that they, too, had the less expensive bicycle in a men's.

I took it. And I'm so glad I did. As soon as I got home from the shop, I took a short spin around my neighborhood, and I really enjoyed myself. It's much more comfortable than my husband's bike (probably because this one has been adjusted just for me), and it was a really smooth ride.

Unfortunately, there's rain in the weather forecast for the next several days, so I'm not sure how much time I will be spending with my new bike (who, by the way, has yet to be named). But just in case, I'm printing out maps of all the bike trails in my area so that as soon as it's dry, I can hit the ground pedaling.

Whenever I Want You, All I Have To Do Is Dream

I had the most delicious dream last night.

Every once in awhile, I have a dream that stays with me for a day or so, either because it's just so awful or just so wonderful. This was one of the latter. In this dream, I got to do something that I haven't been able to do for a very long time and may not be able to do again.

I ate thin, greasy pizza.

I know it sounds like a silly thing to dream, but since I cut back drastically on dairy almost a year ago, and cut it out completely soon thereafter, I have found that there's nothing I miss more than pizza. There are acceptable dairy-free substitutes for milk, butter and even sour cream, but I have not yet found a dairy-free cheese that I like. And even if I could find one, I'd have to make my pizza at home; I couldn't exactly take the stuff to my local pizza place and ask them for a large pie with pepperoni and soy.

And eating the real thing every once in awhile isn't really an option. Once a month or so, I'll allow myself a cookie made with real butter or a handful of milk chocolate candy, but pizza was almost too much for me even when I ate dairy regularly. I wouldn't dare touch the stuff now.

But in the dream, I dug right in. I heaped a plate with two gigantic pieces of pizza and took big, cheesy bites with reckless abandon. I kept explaining to people that eating this pizza didn't matter; I think I must have realized I was dreaming, and I'd better take the chance while I had it.

I feel a little silly (if not gluttonous) that a dream of eating pizza is the one I wish would come back. But hey, if delicious dairy is the thing I wish for most right now, I guess life can't be so bad, right?

WobbleSTRONG

Yesterday, I went for my first bicycle ride in approximately 15 years. Surprisingly, it wasn't quite as dicey (read: disastrous) as I thought it might be.

As I've shared before on this blog, I grew up in a house on a hill, on a road with no berm. It wasn't exactly the best place to be riding a bicycle. Hence, I never had a bike of my own; I rarely rode, so a hand-me-down bicycle* was good enough. The last time I remember riding a bike at all was when I was 14; I spent the summer babysitting two boys, ages 7 and 9. Their mother had bought us all passes to the local pool and offered up her bicycle for me to ride there. I took it once, but it was such an old, ugly, clunky thing that for the rest of the summer, I walked.

For the past few years, though, I've been thinking about getting a bike to ride around my neighborhood as a way to enjoy the summer sunshine. I went looking once last year, but nothing fruitful came of it, and I kind of set the idea aside until the weather got nice this spring.

Yesterday, I went out looking again. My sister-in-law had encouraged me to try a specialty bicycle shop, because although I may pay more than I'd pay at a chain store, I would get a better product and something more suited to my individual needs, as well. I visited two places, and it seems that all of their "entry level" bicycles had been moved the day before. (I guess I wasn't the only one motivated by the warm, sunny weather this weekend.) I went to a couple of chain stores too, but what I found wasn't a whole lot cheaper, and without someone telling me the difference between this model and that model, I didn't feel comfortable buying something I might not want to use just to save a little money.

Still, after a day of bicycle shopping, I was really in the mood for a ride, so I borrowed my husband's bike and took a half-hour spin around the neighborhood. I was pretty wobbly at first, and a little nervous about steering, braking, etc. I mean, I was half the age I am now last time I took a bike ride. But once I'd gone a block or so, I'd pretty much gotten the hang of things. I'm not exactly ready for the Tour de France (or even the Tour de Tinley), but I got home without cracking my skull, so I'm going to count the outing as a step in the right direction.

*My sister had a beautiful ten-speed racing bike that she got brand new, but the only reason for that was because she had won it in an essay contest. For her essay, she had written about why our family was the healthiest in our county. My parents -- who both smoked at the time -- laughed when our family made the finals, and probably laughed even harder when we won. I'm sure it was my mother's all-five-food-groups-at-the-dinner-table rule (the regular four food groups plus something that goes in a little dish beside your plate) that pushed us over the edge.

Gonna Make You Sweat Till You Bleed

I'm not normally one to condone violence, but I can't help siding with the man who took out his aggressions on a dude at the gym shouting things during a spin class. I want to write him a fan letter, I like him so much.

I hope The Shrieking Machine (who still visits my gym from time to time, but usually not when I'm there) took heed of this news story. When people work out, they want to be in their own worlds. They want to zone out from the rest of the world and concentrate on their bodies, to sweat away the stress of the everyday. Someone yelling "you go girl" during your workout does not lend itself to such zoning.

I would imagine, however, that kicking the ass of the person who is yelling "you go girl" is very satisfying, and probably a good workout to boot. The way I see it, it's a win-win for everyone but the person whose ass gets kicked, but let's face it, that person has it coming.

Biggest Disappointment Ever

I had a dream this morning that it was Saturday, and I was making cinnamon rolls for breakfast. Just after I closed the oven, my husband's alarm jerked me into the reality that it is Tuesday and there would be no cinnamon rolls.

I think I might have cried a little bit.

We Real Cool

The green movement has been around for years, but in the last few months, it's exploded. Every day, I see stories in the newspaper or online about ways to "go green." And while I think it's great that people are starting to pay more attention to taking care of the environment, I am pretty sick of hearing the phrase "go green." It's like somewhere, the Committee to Decide What Should Be Cool This Year voted that environmental responsibility is trendy, the word "green" shall be used when talking about it, and everyone must follow suit. It's annoying.

Besides, I fail to understand why slapping a trendy label on something should make people take responsibility for the things they should be taking responsibility for in the first place. The whole thing reminds me of when I was in elementary school and was constantly told by adults that the way to be "cool" was to do your homework, eat your vegetables and say no to drugs. Of course, in the same breath, these same adults would tell us kids that being cool isn't what is important and we shouldn't give into the pressure. However, that's another discussion for another time.

But if we have to endure this doing-what-you-should-do-anyway-is-cool phenomenon, I wouldn't mind if the Committee to Decide What Should Be Cool This Year decreed that using good grammar or wearing clothes that fit was the Next Big Thing.

Helicopter of Love

Today is my Stella's first day at doggie daycare. Naturally, I am both excited and nervous for her.

She's not unfamiliar with the place; my husband and I boarded her there two weeks ago when we went on vacation. But since she is afraid of other dogs, I worry about how she will handle things. Nevertheless, the fact is, her lack of social skills is principally why she needs to go to doggie daycare in the first place, along with the fact that she is on energy overload lately and all the activity will do her good.

The daycare has web cams, so as soon as I had a free moment, I checked them out. There was my Stella, standing regally in a corner while dogs played all around her. She actually reminded me of me on my elementary school playground, except that she wasn't carrying a book. I was a little bummed that she wasn't playing, but after awhile, she wasn't cowering either, so I figured that was some progress. But then something happened.

One of the employees came into the area to mop up what was presumably some pee on the floor. When she returned the mop to its bucket in a little gated cubby accessible from the play area, Stella, ever the velcro dog, followed the employee into the cubby. The employee, not noticing, came out and shut the door, locking Stel in.

I was conflicted. Should I call and tell them or not? I knew they would find her next time they went for the mop, but how long would that be? And would she spend that whole time drinking from the bucket? I wouldn't put it past her; she has been known to put anything and everything into her mouth. I waited a few minutes, and then I had to call. I just couldn't bear the thought of my dog drinking dirty mop water. She's eaten things way worse, but even so.

The woman who answered the phone was a little rude, I thought. The conversation went something like this.

Me: My Boston Terrier, Stella, is there today. I was just watching her on the web cam and think someone might have accidentally locked her in the little closet thing where the mop is.

Her: We've been watching her closely, because she's shy and the other dogs were barking at her. Don't worry, she's fine.

Me: OK, but I'm actually calling because someone just mopped the floor in there, and when they put the mop away, she ran into where the bucket was, and I'm pretty sure she's still in there. I don't want to be a pest or anything; I just wanted to let you know, I'm pretty sure she's locked in with the mop.

Her: OK, bye.

I wasn't expecting an apology or even a "thanks for letting us know," but I was hoping for at least a "whoops, we'll go check and let her out." I kept watching, and they did check and let her out, but even so, I was a little offended that this woman seemed so annoyed that I had called. I wasn't rude or anything; I just meant it as a sort of heads-up. My friend Marla teased me about being a "helicopter parent" for watching Stel so closely, and I had to wonder -- did I make a mistake by calling the daycare? Should I have let it go?

As a first-time dog owner, I know I have a tendency to be overprotective at times, but I'm not sure if this was one of those times. It's not like I was calling to tell them another dog was picking on Stella and needed to be punished or that she was sniffing around like she had to go potty and they ought to take her outside. This wasn't an overprotective puppy parent thing; they had locked my dog in what was basically a closet. Besides, why did they install web cams if they didn't want to hear people's comments on their dogs' activities?

I like this place; I really do. Stella was loved and pampered during her weekend stay, and even today, after she got out of the closet, she ran around and seemed to be having a decent time. So I don't want to make them mad at me...but at the same time, I really don't feel like I deserved the brush-off.

Goodbye Stranger

It's not often these days that I come across a movie that stays with me very long. I'm not sure if it's Hollywood, or me, or both, but most of what I see lately makes me laugh or cry and then forget about it as soon as I leave the theatre or return the DVD. But over the weekend, I saw a movie that, as much as I would like to, I just can't shake. And I don't think I'll be able to forget it for awhile.

I came across Into the Wild by way of its soundtrack; I had heard and loved Eddie Vedder's version of "Hard Sun," checked out the rest of the soundtrack and loved it and decided that a movie with such a good soundtrack is probably decent. A lifelong soundtrack hound, I've always been a firm believer in the importance of good music to a movie. And in this film, the music truly brought everything together. However, the story left me confused, disoriented and troubled.

Before I watched Into the Wild, I had never read Jon Krakauer's book of the same name or even heard of its real-life subject, Christopher McCandless. All I knew of McCandless' story was what I had read in a short description of the movie, that, upon graduating college, he had left his life behind to live for a time in the Alaskan wilderness. What I didn't know was why he went, or what happened to him later.

The basic facts are these -- after graduating in 1990 from Emory University, McCandless (played in the movie by Emile Hirsch) departed on a two-year journey across the country, surviving on whatever means he had and ultimately deciding to head to Alaska. He didn't tell friends or family of his plans; he had gotten rid of his identification; and he took on the pseudonym Alexander Supertramp (or Alex for short). Upon his arrival in Alaska in April 1992, he hitched and hiked to a remote location, living in an old bus that hunters used for shelter, and, lacking adequate survival materials, died in that same bus that August.

There are a few ways to tell McCandless' story, and I'm really not sure which way I think is most accurate. The movie portrays him as something of a hero, an idealist who was fed up with the pressures and ideals of the modern world and wished for a Tolstoyan adventure. There are narrations by McCandless' sister (played by Jena Malone) that tell about the family's life while the two were growing up, about the secrets their parents kept from them and the not-so-secret screaming and shoving matches they had while the children looked on in horror. He is seen as a daring and determined young man who wants nothing more than to get far away from the life he's known in search of something more substantial.

But I can't help but wonder, once Alex Supertramp is stripped away, who was the real Chris McCandless? I have no doubt that he was as daring and idealistic as the movie suggests, but I have to believe that he was also incredibly selfish and arrogant, qualities the movie repackages and sells as determination. It is no big surprise, considering the way his upbringing is portrayed, that McCandless wants to leave his family behind, at least until he collects his thoughts, but even the wonderful friends he meets along the way are pushed aside for Alaska. So did he truly touch and change lives, or did those who met and helped him see him simply as a nice kid whose family must be worried about him?

Whoever he was, I can't help but think of him as too smart to be that stupid. He was college educated, creative and driven, yet he went out into the wilderness with almost nothing. He meant to test himself but did so in a way akin to taking the SAT without a pencil. He had so much to offer the world but instead took his gifts somewhere they would not help him or anyone.

But I think what bothers me most about this whole story is the fact that Chris McCandless almost succeeded. As much as I shake my head at the hubris of this young man, I am also jealous. I have never been so adventuresome as to want to live off the land, and I've never felt as if I needed to get quite that far away from society. But I always have been somewhat of an own-drum-marcher and can certainly identify with the desire to go in search of something -- anything -- completely new. And while I've made a few leaps before looking, I've never landed without opening my eyes first.

So how is a person like me -- someone who is generally satisfied with life but never content to stop searching for something better -- to interpret the story of Chris McCandless? Should I be inspired by him, or should I feel that those who try to emulate him are foolhardy? I think maybe it's OK if it's both.

I Have Run Out Of UPS Slogans That I Can Turn Into Nasty Comments About The Company

If I leave any legacy at all, I would like it to be that I brought down the tyrannical power that is the United Parcel Service.

Yesterday, there was a notice on my door at home saying that UPS had come to deliver a package and missed us. I hadn't been expecting anything, so I had no idea what it might have been or if it was even for me; the notice just had our last name on it (well, our last name misspelled anyway).

I called UPS to re-route the package (which it turned out was from Williams-Sonoma and addressed to my husband and me) to my work address and was told it would be delivered today. Deliveries usually come mid-morning, so at 11:30, when no package had shown up, I went online to track my delivery.

The activity report said the package had been re-routed yesterday but then showed it was out for delivery to my home address this morning, then had been re-routed to my work address for tomorrow, because apparently, yesterday's change didn't stick.

So, whoever sent me something from Williams-Sonoma, thank you. I'm sure I would love whatever it is if UPS would actually bring it to me. And to UPS -- watch out. I will bring you down. Oh yes, I will.

Culture Shock

My husband and I love to travel. We don't have the time or money to do as much as we'd like, but we enjoy taking little getaways here and there. We love to learn about new places and people, but on our latest trip, we were surprised by both.

This past weekend, we drove down to Gatlinburg, Tennessee, for a stay in the Great Smoky Mountains. We didn't know much about the area, just that it was supposed to be pretty, and we were therefore not at all prepared for what we would find.

I was expecting a small town with a couple of B&Bs, some cabins and Dollywood, placed strangely in the midst of nature. As soon as we got off the highway, I realized how wrong I'd been. It turns out it is the mountains that look out of place in the midst of all the tourist attractions. Dinner theatres, hokey museums and wedding chapels covered the landscape. This was not the relaxing getaway I had envisioned.

The drive up the mountain to our lodge made things even more confusing. We saw ramshackle houses with junk littering the yard and hoped in vain that no one actually lived there. I wondered what sort of person would stay in a falling down house, without even trying to make it look nice or at the very least ensure that it was structurally sound. And less than a mile away stood our inn, with beautifully decorated rooms and gorgeous views of the mountains. And, as it turned out, the inn, the balcony hot tub and the CDs of soothing music that the owners had left in our suite made it possible for us to relax after all. And I can't say enough for the beauty of the natural landscape. Going to places like that make me realize just how ugly Illinois is.

Just when I was getting used to the strange duality of the tranquility on the mountain and the noise of the tourist trap below, one of the locals threw another surprise at me. On Saturday night, we went out to dinner, and our waiter saw us looking at a Gatlinburg travel guide. We happened to have it turned to a page on wedding chapels, and he asked about it. We laughed with him over the advertisement featuring a bearded man in overalls and a tuxedo jacket presiding over a "Hillbilly Wedding." Our waiter commented that he'd have to look into going to that place, and, asking what I thought was an obvious question, I inquired whether he was getting married.

"No," he said. "Well, sort of. I'm just helping out a friend. She works here, and she's from Russia, and if she doesn't get married, she'll have to go back."

I wasn't sure what to say. It wasn't my place to lecture this guy about how stupid and illegal this plan was, and though we were both wondering, neither my husband or I mentioned (until later, when we were alone) how weird it was that a foreigner would want to settle in Gatlinburg rather than a major city, or how horrible things must have been in Russia that marrying a dorky waiter and working in a brewery restaurant seems like a great idea. In the end, we laughed it off and pointed out the chapel whose advertisement said that Billy Ray Cyrus had gotten married there.

We escaped back to our tranquil inn, and the next day, to home, where things aren't nearly as interesting or beautiful, but at least they make sense.

Crate Training

I wouldn't call myself a defiant person, but I do believe it is pretty much human nature to feel the urge to do something you've been told not to do.

This is particularly troublesome for me today, as the water has been turned off in my office complex for the past two hours and will be off for another three. All I can think about is going to the bathroom. I don't even have to go, but I think I'm going to will myself to have to go with all this thinking. I wonder if this is how Stella feels when my husband and I leave for work in the morning, knowing we won't be home for several hours.

I guess I could pee in the woods behind the building, but they're also putting on a new roof, so I'm sure someone would see me.

When One Door Closes, Another Opens

My husband and I have reached another interesting point in our search for couple friends. Last week, he was taking Stella for a walk around the neighborhood and happened to meet another Boston Terrier.

Her name is Zoe, and she's about Stel's age. She saw my husband and Stel walking by and started barking, and her puppy parents came out to see what all the racket was. They had a brief exchange and parted ways.

Yesterday, Stella and I were walking past the same building, and it happened again. This time, though, Zoe came down to say hello. Zoe was a little more excited to meet Stella than Stella would have liked, but her puppy parents seem very nice, and they obviously have great taste in dogs. Plus, they live close.

All in all, I'd say these people have good couple friend potential. At least, as much as they could after a five-minute conversation about our dogs.

A Chance Encounter, A Missed Connection

My husband and I found the perfect couple friends, but we totally blew our chance.

On Monday evening, we were at PetSmart for obedience class, and my husband nudged me and pointed out a Boston Terrier shopping with his puppy parents. We had a few minutes before class, so Stella and I walked over to say hello.

The dog's name was Eddie, and he was exactly Stella's age. His parents were about the same age as my husband and me, and they were very nice, too. We had a pleasant chat about Boston Terriers, and then we parted ways, us for class and Eddie and his folks for parts unknown.

Later, we realized these people would have been the perfect friends for us. They were our age and nice and had an awesome dog, plus our pups could have been pals too.

I guess if we really wanted to, we could find them. I know they took obedience class at PetSmart at one point, because our trainer came by and said hi and asked how Eddie was doing. So conceivably, we could ask the trainer how to find them. But that would be creepy. So all we can hope is that we run into Eddie and his parents again.

That's What She Said

I know I'm really late to the party on this one, but I just had to write about my love of The Office.

As I've written here before, I have a problem trying to get into television shows that I haven't watched from the very beginning. You either have to find someone to explain what happened from the beginning, or you have to get the earlier seasons on DVD, and it seems like a big commitment to make to a TV show you're not sure you'll like anyway. The Office, however, is a little different for me, because I actually did see a few early episodes and just didn't have the time (or desire to commit to a show) to watch it for awhile. So after catching a few reruns on TBS, I was enjoying the show so much that I had to start Netflixing the DVDs. I'm pretty much caught up now and loving every minute I spend looking through the eyes of the employees at paper company Dunder Mifflin.

But I think my favorite thing about the show is its setting. It takes place in Scranton, Pennsylvania, which isn't all that far from where I grew up. And the folks on the show have really done their homework when it comes to Pennsylvania. There are references to many well-known Scranton destinations (like the Mall at Steamtown, where I have in fact been), and there's a lot of talk about hunting (mainly by office geek Dwight Shrute, who I swear had to have been based on a real person. I think I actually went to high school with the guy. Now I know how rock bands of the early 80s felt when This Is Spinal Tap came out).

Last night, I saw for the first time an episode that takes place on "take your daughter to work day" at Dunder Mifflin. In the episode, the boss, Michael, decides to show a video of a children's television show he was on as a kid. Called Fundle Bundle, the show is hosted by a ruffle-clad "Miss Trudy." When I saw her open a gate to welcome viewers into her magical happy land, I was immediately taken back to my own childhood.

When I was a kid (and for many years before my time as well), there was a show on a Scranton TV station called Hatchy Milatchy. It was hosted by a ruffle-clad "Miss Judy," and she also opened the show by opening a gate. I couldn't believe it. I hadn't thought of Miss Judy and Hatchy Milatchy in years, but there it was, right in front of my eyes, only slightly altered.

I can only hope that future episodes will see the Dunder Mifflin gang heading to Clyde Peeling's Reptiland or the Little League World Series.

Going Blind

I have a blind date tonight. Yes, I'm married, but it's not that kind of date.

See, a few weeks ago, my pal Anna e-mailed me and said she had met, through a mutual friend, a couple who lives in town, was recently married and is looking for friends. She said she immediately thought of my husband and me and just knew we would get along. So tonight, we and the other couple, along with a few others (so it doesn't look like a setup, I guess) are going for drinks.

I've never been set up before, even in the traditional single boy-single girl way. And finding friends can be as difficult as finding dates sometimes, so I'm a little nervous about meeting these new people. Will we like them? Will they like us? If they turn out to be totally lame, will we be upset with Anna for thinking they'd be good friends for us?

I think it will be fine, though. Anna is a nice person and I'm sure therefore befriends nice people. (She befriended us, after all.) And even if we don't hit it off with this other couple, I'm sure they'll turn out to be pleasant enough to spend an evening with. And who knows -- perhaps this will be the start of a beautiful friendship.

Elegy

My husband and I lost someone very special over the weekend.

We were both out of town; he had gone to a conference in Champaign, and I had taken Stella to my aunt's for the weekend, and we'd left our fish, Ivan, at home. He's been left alone before -- he even weathered a week by himself when my husband and I went on our honeymoon -- but this time, tragedy befell him.

I beat my husband home by an hour or two, and since Ivan hadn't been fed since Friday, the first thing I did was go to his bowl to give him some food. I didn't see him, although because of the shape of the bowl, he wasn't always visible. After a minute, however, I realized that I didn't see him because he wasn't in the bowl. He was on the floor. And he'd been there awhile.

I'm not sure if his death was an accident or if he jumped out on purpose -- either because he was upset that we all left him behind or maybe because he wanted to watch something on TV (he always was a fan of the tube) -- but there is definitely a void in our little family without him.

Godspeed, Ivan. Rest in peace, little buddy.

At Least ZZ Top Would Like Me

I've been foiled again by Christian Bale. And this time, he has company.

Today, a friend sent me this article about extras casting for the new Christian Bale/Johnny Depp movie, filming next weekend in Aurora. I was really excited about the prospect of being so close to all that hotness until I got to the part about size requirements. Women must wear a dress size of 10 or smaller and stand no taller than 5 feet, 8 inches. The dress size is fine, so long as they don't care if I look extra busty, but the height is definitely an issue. I am decidedly taller than 5'8".

I've always liked being a tall, long-legged gal, so this was a real blow. I would gladly have my femurs removed for a chance to appear on screen with Christian Bale and Johnny Depp, but the filming is next week, and I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be able to heal that quickly.

Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life

My efforts to be a more positive person were curbed this week when I was viciously attacked by the flu. It's hard to be happy when all of those things listed on the side of the NyQuil bottle are happening to you. Nevertheless, during my two days of confinement, I did find a few things to brighten my day.

1. I didn't have to cook or clean. In fact, when I offered to throw a load of laundry into the washer, my husband told me I should rest.

2. It didn't matter that there was nothing funny on TV, because laughing would have made me have a coughing fit, and those are painful.

3. I got some good mileage out of the blanket I crocheted for the couch earlier this winter.

4. I got a nice long nap with Stella. This was a positive thing for my husband, because I realized during this nap that there is zero chance I will ever kick him out of bed to make room for the dog, because she snores like nobody's business.

5. I could go to bed at 8 p.m. and sleep 11 hours straight. Most days I would never want to do this, but hey, if I gotta, I gotta.

You Spin Me Right Round

Saturday was an exciting day for my husband's family. My brother-in-law Mark had been chosen to appear on Wheel of Fortune during the show's college week, and several of us went to Navy Pier to see the taping.

They were taping five shows in two sessions that day -- three in the first, two in the second -- and my husband and I only had tickets to the first. Once we arrived, the guy in charge told us we could stay, that the second set of tickets was just so we could leave and come back, but we couldn't leave Stella that long anyway. Luckily, Mark made it on the second show.

They had seated us in the "contestant guest" section, which on a baseball or concert ticket would be described as "obstructed view." Guy-in-charge told us that was on purpose, because they didn't want anyone giving hints to the players they came to see. He also warned us that if we were caught saying answers, we ran the risk of being kicked out and having Mark disqualified. It made sense, I guess, but boy, I've left and re-entered the country under fewer rules.

It was an interesting experience, sitting in the audience, even if we didn't get to see anything. We spent the first 25 minutes of the taping smiling and applauding while the crew got audience shots. Our seats were beyond where lights or cameras went, but at least I got to add to the soundtrack by clapping and yelling "Wheel! Of! Fortune!"

We were right behind the roommates of the girl who won the first show, although no one was more excited than the random lady sitting next to them, who chatted with them throughout the entire show and kept turning around to tell her friends, who were sitting next to us, all about the girl's life. I admit, I thought it was cool the girl won, but only because her name was Erika, not because I knew her or anything about her, at least until I heard Excited-Lady-Who-Also-Didn't-Know-Her talking. When she found out the guy in the second game was related to us, I thought she'd explode.

I won't go into all the gory details of Mark's game (you can see it for yourself on April 29), but suffice it to say that he cleaned up, and I was very glad not only because he is my brother-in-law but also because the other two contestants were a squeaky girl and a letter shouter. Unfortunately, the bonus puzzle was too tough for him, but in the end, he took home (an affidavit that says Wheel of Fortune will, within 120 days of the air date, send him a check in the amount of) $33,650.

Not bad for a day's work. Or, you know, a year's.

Note on a completely unrelated topic: It didn't take me long to realize that chronicling good deeds is boring when your good deeds are all things like waiting for someone to leave the parking lot before pulling your car out. Rest assured, I'm still striving to do one every day, but unless I save a baby from a burning building, don't expect to hear about my good deeds.

Prescription: A Pedicure and New Shoes

For almost three weeks now, I've been having pain in my left foot. I didn't hurt myself, at least not that I can remember, so the cause of the pain was truly a mystery. I thought it might just be a wear-and-tear-from-the-gym situation, but when ice and elevation did nothing, I knew it was time to go to the doctor. So this morning, I did.

The doctor took an X-Ray, and apparently, I have some sort of bone growth. How it formed I don't know, but he has a feeling whatever is going on has something to do with the fact that I have flat feet and probably don't wear the right kind of shoes. I need to go to a podiatrist to get a better diagnosis and treatment, but in the meantime, the doctor told me that soaking my foot in hot water will help with the pain. I can't get into the podiatrist for a month, but I figure I can take care of the hot water part by going to get a pedicure at one of those places with the massage chair and the bubbly water tub. And once my feet are looking pretty, I can take care of the doctor's other order and buy some cute new shoes. OK, he didn't say "cute;" he said "good quality," but just because they're comfortable and well-made doesn't mean they have to be ugly, right?

On the down side, though, he prescribed me with a pain reliever that both he and the pharmacist warned me comes with numerous tummy troubling side effects. So even though my feet may look great, they probably won't be hitting the town for awhile.

Raindrops On Roses And Whiskers On Kittens...

Yesterday was a supremely awful one. It was one of those days where everything that could go wrong did, the kind of day that makes you just want to crawl under the covers as soon as you get home, even though it's still light out. (Which I did, actually).

Today, I awoke with a song in my heart and a smile on my face, thinking that as bad as yesterday was, today should probably be that good, to even things out. That feeling lasted for an hour or so, and then I got some bad news, and things went sour again. I guess it's just one of those weeks.

I was feeling really down, the kind of down where you don't even want to feel better, the kind where you just want to sit in a chair, stare into space and forget who you are for a week or so. That kind of down doesn't happen to me very often, but when it does, it scares me. And usually, it scares me into bringing myself back up. I knew that's what I had to do today.

Coincidentally (or not, if you've read The Celestine Prophecy), this quote popped up in my g-mail inbox today: "It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light." (Aristotle Onassis) The thought is not exactly earth-shattering, but today especially, it resonated with me. So I decided to take old Aristotle's advice, and also the advice of Julie Andrews, and think not of what was making my day so bad but what would make my day better.

So here are a few of my favorite things, with obvious things like friends, family and my puppy excluded...

- super cheesy 80s music
- super cheesy 90s music (you just can't be mad when you're listening to the Spice Girls)
- liquidy ink pens
- tea
- getting my hair washed at the salon
- massages
- great yarn sales
- a DVD from Netflix in the mail
- guacamole
- e-mail
- warm, clean jammies after a long, hot bath
- warm afghans
- soy butter
- new jeans
- big, old trees and that great flip-flap noise they make in the summer breeze
- reruns of old TV shows I've always liked
- the library
- Christopher Guest
- homemade fries
- the kind of laughing that makes you almost stop breathing

Tan Shoes With Pink Shoelaces

Yesterday, I did a good deed for both myself and someone else.

At my workplace, we have a very casual dress code -- my boss has even said we can wear pajamas to work if we want, although no one ever has -- so for the past two years, my wardrobe has mainly consisted of jeans, tee shirts and sweaters. I didn't even have a pair of khakis; the most dressy thing I ever wear to work is a denim skirt, and I look so out of place you'd think I wore a prom dress to the gym. And while it's kind of nice to be able to throw on jeans and a hoodie when I feel tired, and not having to trudge through snow in heels, wearing the same things day after day, week after week gets old. Plus, this has been a long, cold winter, so I've pretty much worn jeans and a sweater every day since Halloween.

The long and short of it is that my dressing habits are mundane. I've never been much of a clothes horse or a fashion risk taker (at least, not since third grade, when I fashioned myself a pair of capri pants about two decades after they were first popular and another decade before they came back into style), but in the past, I'd at least mixed colors and fabrics and rotated skirts, dresses and pants. The jeans-and-sweater-every-day routine was making me feel blah, bland, boring.

So yesterday, I cleaned out my closet. I got rid of four sweaters, a few long sleeved tee shirts and a few short sleeved tee shirts as well. Replacing them (so far) are a skirt, a button-down blouse, a nice pair of slacks and a cute little short-sleeved sweater designed not for warmth but for style. I may be the most dressy person at work, but at least I won't feel like such a slob anymore.

The good deed part of this, of course, is that I will donate the clothes I tossed to a worthy cause, and they will either be given to people who can't afford clothes or sold in a resale shop, with proceeds going to the less fortunate. I call that a win-win.

Humble and Home

As I wrote I would, I spent Friday evening volunteering at a homeless shelter. It wasn't my first time at a shelter (I wrote a newspaper story a few years ago about the new face of homelessness), but it was just as humbling the second time around.

There is no permanent shelter in this area, so the group that provides shelter throughout the cold months travels from church to church. As volunteers, it was our job to help prepare food, hand out blankets, clothes and toiletries and generally assist the shelter's guests with anything they needed. Just like the first time I visited a shelter, I was struck at the well-dressed and, for lack of a better word, normal looking people who came to stay.

Before dinner, the guests and volunteers formed a circle and said a prayer, and looking around, I truly couldn't tell one group from the other. Once again, it proves that it's not all that difficult to become homeless. For many people, all it would take is the loss of one paycheck. I'm lucky; I have my family and my husband's family, not to mention friends, who would help out. I left feeling very thankful for all I have, and thankful that there were so many volunteers at the shelter that night, too. As sad as it is to think about the bad in the world, it makes me even gladder to know there are so many good people who are working to help those in need.

Yesterday's good deed was far less interesting or important, but there are many more opportunities to do such a deed. I went to the bank, and, besides holding the door for a couple of gentlemen exiting just behind me, I waited for both of them to leave the parking lot before pulling my car out so as to avoid a jam and/or collision. And, in fact, everywhere I drove all day, I made it a point to relinquish the right-of-way to other drivers in parking lots.

Awesomely 80s

Yesterday, I did a fun good deed. After a conversation with a coworker about the very large number of 80s bands she's never heard of, I went home and made her a CD of fantastic music. Included were hits she didn't know from Devo, A Flock of Seagulls, The GoGos, Oingo Boingo and others.

She kind of hated it, because she hates 80s music. But she appreciated the gesture and decided to pay it forward by giving the CD to another of my coworkers.

(Another) Two for the Show

Yesterday's good deed was feeding Ivan (our pet fish) when it was my husband's turn, because he wasn't going to be around at dinner time.

I'm not sure about today's yet, but I have a special good deed on tap for tomorrow. I'll be volunteering at a homeless shelter. More on that later.

A Friend In Deed

During this Lenten season, I've learned that doing good deeds isn't difficult, but doing interesting good deeds often is.

Yesterday's good deed was keeping an eye on Stel while my hub was in another room and needing her away, because he had papers all over the floor that he didn't want her to eat.

I haven't figured one out for today yet, but I'm sure it will be equally as boring.

The one good thing I have found is that I'm more apt to notice and appreciate the good deeds others do for me. Whether it is my husband getting up with the dog on a day it is my turn or a clerk helping me find something in a store, I really appreciate those nice small things.

So Many Good Deeds, So Little Time To Write About Them

It's been awhile since I've updated my good deeds, so here's a rundown from the past week, going backwards.

Today's good deed was another pleasant conversation with someone I don't like. Not the same person as before though. This time, my pleasant conversation was with my downstairs neighbor, Mr. McCrochety. This was a very difficult good deed to do.

Yesterday's good deed was being patient with the hapless waitress who waited on me, my husband, three of his sisters and their significant others. She did fine, considering the largeness of the group, but she never did bring the water I asked for, and she had to talk to me three times about the kind of bread that would be used for the sandwich I ordered. But I went easy on her because I had deviated from the menu to begin with, and she seemed genuinely sorry about the whole bread thing.

Friday's good deed was a work thing, so I don't really want to talk about it, since I don't like to blog about my job.

Thursday, I made dinner, even though I hurt my foot somehow, and it was really killing me.

Wednesday was another work good deed.

Tuesday, I sent a birthday card and gift to a friend I don't talk to very often and haven't really exchanged gifts with since high school. But I thought she'd like both the card and the gift (she e-mailed me the other day to confirm this), so I thought it would be a nice thing to do.

Monday's was another work thing, and it kind of ended up backfiring. I did something I thought was above and beyond, and I ended up being asked why I didn't just do the minimum. My bad. But I still count it as a good deed because I thought I was doing something nice.

Last Sunday, I videotaped my husband shoveling water out of the garage so he can show it to the condo association people and get the flooding problem fixed.

Last Saturday, I saved a life. No, really. Stella got a hold of a plastic lei that was around the fishbowl where my betta, Ivan, lives, and she was pulling it -- and, consequently, the bowl -- to the edge of the coffee table. I got there just in time before Ivan and his bowl came crashing to the floor. I also did a good deed for myself by getting an 80 minute massage.

And finally, last Friday, I rearranged my day so that everyone who needed me for something would have me when they needed me, even if it was inconvenient for me.

O No

I promise to update my list of good deeds soon, but first, I must comment on a billboard I spotted over the weekend.

I was driving back to the suburbs after a lunch in the city, and near the exit for Harpo studios (where Oprah Winfrey tapes her show), there was a billboard that said, "Oprah, please do a show on puppy mills. The dogs need you!" There was a Web address too, of what I assume to be some animal rights organization.

Why is it that everyone turns to Oprah to solve their problems? I can't tell you how many times I heard as a newspaper reporter, "I don't know why Oprah doesn't do something about this."

In my most cynical moments, I often think that these people are everything that's wrong with the world. Granted, Oprah has done a lot of good things for people (and probably animals, too), but should we really be turning to her when we have a problem?

If these activists want something done about puppy mills, why don't they write to their state leaders? They're the people who make the laws, not Oprah, who is (sorry to break it to you, folks) an entertainer.

Why do people rely on entertainers to solve their problems? Oprah should do a show about that.

Good Takes Time

For yesterday's good deed, I served my community. I serve on a commission that puts on community events, gives scholarships to local high school students, etc. Last night was the monthly meeting, and I went, and when I was volunteered for a project, I didn't protest, even though I really have no time to do what they want me to do. I'll just make the time.

I'm not sure about my good deed for today, but my guess is it will have something to do with being nice to my puppy even though she's been eating all my yarn and toilet paper.

Sometime, Anytime, Sugar Me Sweet

Over the weekend, I was telling someone about my good deeds, and she said she did something similar a few years ago. Instead of good deeds, however, she made it a point to say nice things to people she disliked or who upset her. She said it made her more patient and tolerant.

I liked that idea. There aren't too many people in this world I genuinely dislike, but I'm not very good hiding my feelings for those few. I'm never rude, but it's hard for me to go beyond "not rude." One of the things I've always admired about my husband is his ability to be pleasant to anyone under any circumstances. He very rarely lets his feathers get ruffled, or, when he does, he finds a healthy way to vent and then goes right back to being pleasant. I would like to be able to do that.

So yesterday, I struck up a pleasant conversation with someone I dislike. It wasn't so bad. I don't know if it will really help us overcome our differences and become closer, but I think it was a good exercise for me nonetheless.

My good deed for today was bringing in a Wii game for a coworker to borrow.

Have You Had Your Sprinkle Today?

My good deed for today is a little weird, because it absolutely is something I would normally do in the course of a day, but I figure I can count it as a good deed because I did it today for a different reason than I normally do it.

The thing is, I spent all day playing Wii. Seriously all day -- I started somewhere between 10:30 and 11, and I stopped around 6. (I beat my first game ever, too.) So by that time, when it was dark and I was still sitting there in the pajamas I wore to bed last night, I figured there was really no reason to bother going through the motions of getting dressed, or even showering.

But in the end, I decided I probably should at least shower, because even though I'd just been sitting all day and probably didn't smell all that bad, my husband has to sleep right next to me. So out of respect for him (and myself, really, because I'd feel awful knowing my own husband thought I smelled bad) I bathed.

You're welcome, sweetheart.

A Little Cheese, A Little Whine

I did two good deeds today, although one was a good deed of omission, so it probably doesn't count.

The first good deed was, my husband and I helped stack chairs and collect trash after a wine tasting we attended.

The other good deed was not thinking mean thoughts about a lady at the wine tasting who told me congratulations because she'd heard that one of the women involved in the group that planned the wine tasting was pregnant and assumed it was me. In her (or my) defense, this lady has only met us a couple of times, never remembers names and didn't even recognize me the two times I've run into her in public, so it was definitely a mistaken identity thing, not a "she looks pregnant" thing. Even so, it made me want to work a little extra hard at the gym tomorrow.

Don't Sweat It

My good deed opportunity visited me at the gym today.

I usually sign up for one particular machine, and when I arrived, no one had yet signed up for it. I looked, and there was someone on it. I could have signed up for the time slot and kicked her off, but I didn't. I rode the bike instead.

An Open Letter To People Who Take Children To Target, Especially The Ladies Who Took The Kid I Encountered Today

Dear People Who Take Children To Target, Especially The Ladies Who Took The Kid I Encountered Today,

When the kid you've taken shopping is standing in the middle of the aisle yelling "Mom! Gramma! Mom! Gramma! Mom! Gramma! Where are you?" and you answer, "hiding from you," it makes the other shoppers hate you, because although you may think it's cute hearing the kid singing "Gramma, Gramma, Grammagrammagramma, Gramma, Gramma, Grammagrammagramma" over and over again, trust me, your feelings are not shared by your fellow Target shoppers.

Furthermore, playing hide and seek with a small child in the middle of Target is a really stupid idea.

Sincerely,
Erika

The Price Of Happiness? Seven Cents.

This morning, I was in a bad mood for no good reason, so to cheer myself up, I stopped at Starbucks for a latte. (I rarely have caffeine these days, so I when I do have it, it's a real treat.) My drink cost $4.07, and when I handed the guy five one-dollar bills, he handed one back to me and said, "I've got the seven cents."

I'm not sure if it's good deed karma coming back to me, or if he could just tell that I was feeling crabby, but it definitely brightened my day. It just goes to show that even the little things can make a big difference.

I'll Buy A Vowel...And A Hot Stone Massage

It's only my second day of good deeds, and this one isn't all that exciting, but it was kind of a slow day.

My husband is in desperate need of some pampering, so for his birthday in November, I gave him a gift certificate for a massage at the place I go. He's been saving it (and, I think, putting it off because he's uncertain about the whole massage thing), but today, I mentioned needing a massage myself, and he suggested going together.

There was no availability for me (different kind of massage, different appointment schedule), but while I was inquiring, I checked out times for him too.

He ended up chickening out again. But I think I deserve credit for looking.

In other news, my brother-in-law called tonight to tell us he's been chosen to appear on Wheel of Fortune. I'm really excited for him; I just hope he doesn't turn out to be one of those people who scream out the letters.

"L!"

Just talk like a normal person, okay?

40 Deeds and 40 Nights

Today is the first day of Lent, which for most people means the first day of depriving onesself of some pleasurable thing. Most people I know give up a food item, but I've also known a few who tried to give up bad habits like swearing.

I'm not what you'd call religious, although I do attend Mass. But the one religious tradition I do throw myself into is Lent. I like the idea of taking a period of time to improve something I don't like about myself. Giving up a food item or bad habit is pretty much a losing battle for me, though, plus when it comes to food especially, I'm pretty much trying to give up those bad habits all year long.

So this year, I've decided to do something different. I'm going to try to do one good deed every day. I like doing nice things for people, but the truth is, I rarely go the extra mile. So I think that doing a good deed every day will put me on the path to becoming a more helpful person.

The rules are simple: a good deed has to be something I wouldn't normally do, and I can't do the same good deed for the same person more than once.

For today's good deed, I did the same thing someone did for me the other day that I so appreciated: I cleaned the snow off all the cars of my coworkers when I left for the day. Two of them came out while I was working, and I think they thought it was a little weird when they saw me brushing snow off all their cars, but considering the inches of heavy, wet snow that had accumulated today, I think they appreciated it too.

A Neighborly Day In This Beauty Wood

It was a long, wearying weekend, to say the least. I had planned to hibernate this winter, but just over a month into 2008, I realize that's not going to happen.

Yesterday, I was so exhausted that I actually fell asleep in the car on the way home from my husband's parents' house. I'm not a napper; I actually don't have the ability to fall asleep in the middle of the day or anywhere except my bed unless I am sick or beyond tired, so I must be more worn down than I thought.

To top things off, it snowed again last night. Somewhere between the hours of 6 and 10, we got a couple more inches. The first thought I had when I awoke this morning was, ugh, I'm going to have to clean off my car. Imagine my surprise when I took Stella out for her morning pee and noticed that someone had already cleaned it for me.

I think it might have been the guy who lives upstairs from us; I came home while he was shoveling out his parking spot the other night and had a chat with him about the snow. I know for a fact it wasn't McCrochety; his own car was still covered, plus he's really not the type to do a nice thing for its own sake.

Whoever did it, I'm very grateful. It's a small thing, but it meant a lot to me that someone took the time. And I hope that knowing he or she committed a random act of kindness brightened his or her day as much as the act brightened mine.