Coexist

So now it turns out there's some kind of federal law against elected officials taking money in exchange for political favors. Who knew?




On a more important note, every generation hopes the next generation goes even further. Or farther. Whatever - I'm too tired right now to reach for the dictionary. In my family, for example, my generation has been the first to have the opportunity to go to college. Continuing in that spirit, today my son James became the first in our family history to get a tattoo, a series of letters and religious symbols that, taken together, spell out "coexist." It's a pleasing message and, I suppose, not surprising given the diversity of religions, nationalities, races, sanity levels, etc. that my kids have had the advantage of knowing all their lives, at home as much as on the outside.

For some reason my kids' friends are surprised that my wife and I are ok with this. In my mind, as long as the tattoo is selected and placed such that it passes the "job interview" test, it shouldn't be a problem. It's not something I'd elect to do for myself - for some reason I'm just not comfortable doing anything that includes getting a reversed graphic image in blood on a large bandage - but I'm sure I've done a thing or two my kids wouldn't want to get near either. All I've ever really asked of my children is to be good people, respect themselves and others, and support their parents in grand style after retirement. (That would be the parents' retirement, not the kids'.) That's not too much to expect, is it?


Unrelated Item: Paradigm Shift Into Overdrive

For as long as anyone could remember, car salesmen were understood to be bottom-feeding, silver-tongued people-hating swindlers. A tough economy somehow has turned them into sympathetic characters. I'm not sure I can go along with that; I'll have to ok it with the manager.

Taking The Fourth

One of the problems with not posting often is that when posts do finally get written, they tend to be a bit on the long side. You've been warned. And at least this one has pictures. Color ones, even.

I love the Fourth of July. It is a wonderful opportunity to pause and remember the courageous men and women who bravely sacrificed so that future generations could live in a nation in which a qualified person of any race or belief system (except Libertarians) can be elected to the highest office in the land (and by this I mean First Lady); where, if you want your cheeseburger, fries and shake supersized it shall be so; and where a pathological self-mutilating pedophile who, if he couldn't sing and dance and were like the rest of us, would have been given a sequined straight-jacket and put in a padded hyperbaric chamber a long time ago, can become a candidate for sainthood.

By far, my favorite part of the Fourth of July celebration is our tradition of fireworks shows. For years, Macy's has put on a huge, world-class show in New York City that somehow manages to outdo the previous year's display. Normally I shy away from attending in person, remembering some years back when it took me two hours to get home from seeing them at a state park I live about ten minutes from. Feeling brave this year, we decided to try another location.

This year we tried Weehawken, a nearby city along the Hudson River with a great view of the New York City skyline. (The skyline is always kind of a mixed thing for me. I alternate between marveling, like everyone else, at its majestic beauty, and thinking, as a seasoned and occasionally jaded New Yorker, that it's too much packed into too small a space, but that's a post for another day.) We found a spot right by the bust of Alexander Hamilton and settled in. With a long wait between our arrival and the start of the fireworks, I spent a good bit of time looking into Mr. Hamilton's eyes and thinking, as many Americans surely would, "You frigging dummy."

Hamilton was,, of course, one of this nation's founding fathers. He served as the first Secretary of the Treasury, co-wrote The Federalist Papers, and did a whole lot of other things I'm never going to do. But the reason the statue was there at all was that the place we were standing is where Hamilton, along with Aaron Burr, the former vice-president, engaged in a "duel," a somewhat extreme case of "I'll see you in the schoolyard after 3:00" and, in the process, threw away his life and everything he'd ever accomplished. (Remember, this was before airplanes, when vice-presidents wanting to shoot things were limited to doing it from the ground.) What at the time may well have seemed a rite of being a gentleman is more easily understood today to be the supreme act of childishness. And when, like Hamilton, you can't hit the broad side of a barn from the inside to begin with, it's a particularly bad idea. (On the other hand, it did earn him a really cool statue.)

In a fitting, if unintended, tribute to this, a woman standing near us for the fireworks thought another woman was speaking too loud (she was) and responded by, of course, yelling at her. A third woman joined in, siding with the loud talker. None of this involved a lot of English, but it was kind of fun to witness. Unfortunately, it settled down before I was able to get out the pistols and clear out ten paces worth of open space.

Back to the fireworks. Here are some pictures I'd love to say I took, but the fact is that except for the Alexander Hamilton bust and the Dueling Grounds plaque, they're the work of my son Jacob. I think they provide a little bit of a feeling of what it was to see this year's fireworks show. The photos are mostly self-explanatory. There are just a couple of things I'd like to offer comment on:

• In the next-to-last photo, you'll see the top of the Empire State Building just to the right of the fireworks burst,. lit up red-white-and-blue for the occasion. (They've got a pretty impressive collection of lights up there and illuminate the building in different colors for a wide range of special occasions.)
• The last photo shows something that didn't get widely reported, a fire that broke out on one of the barges near the end of the display. A few fireworks on board were ignited, but damage was minimal and no injuries were reported.

Gratuitous Political Commentary

Item 1: I've Heard the Word "Minnesotans" More in the Last Week Than I Have in my Entire Life Preceeding That

You've got to admire Norm Coleman. After the Minnesota Supreme Court ruled earlier this week that he lost the election and had no more legal avenues left to continue contesting it, the former senator decided to concede. How gracious of him. Al Franken has now been sworn in as the new junior senator. Franken is ready for the challenge. He's prepared to work hard, he understands the issues and, doggone it, people like him.

Item 2: From Parts of Alaska You Can Actually See Political Obscurity

Sarah Palin is resigning as governor of Alaska (nickname: the "Oh Yeah, I Forgot That's a State" state). Her own words, from her Facebook page:

"How sad that Washington and the media will never understand; it's about country. And though it's honorable for countless others to leave their positions for a higher calling and without finishing a term, of course we know by now, for some reason a different standard applies for the decisions I make."

Those are not the words of a president. Memo to the governor: the first rule of being in a hole is to stop digging. Also, in this case, to stop pouting.

And, not for nothing, as we say here in the hood, but when I think of politicians who have left their positions without finishing their term, I'm remembering some who sneaked out the back door in disgrace, some who were led out in handcuffs, and some who, sad to say, were carried out on a gurney. I'm drawing a blank on any who left to pursue a higher calling. Maybe someone can help me here.

Lest I be misunderstood, let me make it clear that on a personal level, I have only the highest respect for Sarah Palin. Parenting is hard under the best of circumstances, and on the home front she's dealt pretty well, even admirably, with some very tough situations. And there are undoubtedly positions of leadership she's suited for. It's just that at this point, from stunningly poor campaign interviews to clumsy debate performance to pouty personal Facebood entries, I'm thinking Leader of the Free World is not one of them.

Item 3: Full-Court Press

I'm not too worried about Sonia Sotomayor's nomination to the Supreme Court. Clarence Thomas got confirmed, for goodness sake. How hard can it be?

Passing Thoughts

As we begin to see the onslaught of "All Michael, All The Time" programming, a few quickly-written thoughts before running out the door to get my cholesterol checked. (Following that, the rest of the morning will be spent eating all the things I avoided before the test so no one at the lab would know.)

Vacation Progress Report

Pretty productive week so far. A couple of things from the "do these or see your life as worthless" list mentioned in the previous post had to be put off, but for valid reasons. (I misplaced the charger for the tool I need to work on the magic case and am waiting for the new one I ordered, and yesterday was my sons' birthday and my wife, as is her custom every year, made them each their choice of yummy cake, so making the cupcakes as I'd first intended would have has us sitting here with more cake than any civilized family of four should ever have.) Other projects, of course, take their place seamlessly. Got some bank business tended to, survived both a colonoscopy and a dentist visit, finished what I hope is the final draft of the article I'd mentioned previously, got some weeds pulled, even put a converter box on the old black and white tv here in my office. (Be warned: if you're putting a converter box on an old tv, there's about $18 worth of parts you'll need in addition to the converter box itself. The upside is, it's so easy even I was able to figure it out.) It's been so productive one of the only things I haven't gotten around to doing this week is having a vacation. But it is on the list.

Not Meant to Seem Cynical, Just Honest

I'm haven't been what you'd consider a fan of either Farrah Fawcett or Michael Jackson over the years, but it seems impossible not to offer at least some brief thoughts on their passings yesterday.

For all she accomplished as a real actress - and she accomplished much - anyone who was aware of their surroundings in 1976 undoubtedly still remembers the famous Farrah swimsuit poster. Putting the show business stuff aside and seeing a human element in all of this, that moment-frozen-in-time image of a bright, attractive woman with a great smile makes her death, and the time-passes-and-we're all-mortal reminders that go with it, all the more poignant. By now it's probably fair to say everyone's life has been touched by cancer, and in that context Farrah impressed me greatly these past months. That thought would be incomplete without also mentioning Ryan O'neal, to whom I hadn't given a lot of thought before, and what a mensch he's been through the whole difficult process. I don't expect this to matter, except in some small cosmic way and probably not even that, but they both have my respect.

When I heard the first reports saying Michael Jackson had died, it was impossible for me not to think about the reports of Andy Kaufman's passing some years back. Hoping this doesn't read like a crude and inappropriate joke, because it is the absolute truth, Andy Kaufman was dead for two weeks before I believed it. If you remember the man's aggressively creative comic genius, you'll also remember it would not have been entirely out of character for him to release a story like that as an elaborate prank, a grand media nose-tweak.

In Michael Jackson's case, I was skeptical at first but within a few hours the reports did convince me. It goes without saying, of course, that the sudden death of a 50 year old guy, any 50 year old guy, is sad and a bit disturbing. And as a creative artist, Jackson really was amazing - it's not supposed to be possible for a human being to move like that. It's hard not let the personal wierdnesses - and that's the kindest way I can say it - cloud the view, especially since these were choices he made himself. I've heard moving, eloquent statements from members of his family, musicians he worked with, friends, etc. (I've been tuning in and out of the news, so I seem to have missed any endearing memories poured out by the kids and parents involved in the pedophilia accusations, including the one he settled out of court with. You would have thought that a $22 million settlement would have at least gotten the child to say something lovely now. People are just so ungrateful.)

As we prepare to endure several weeks of repetition of the same clips, stories, quotes, reports and, of course, rememberances (first from those who knew him, from those familiar with those who knew him, then - in the third and (hopefully) final wave, from those who went to nursery school with someone related to someone who knew him), I offer the following encouragement: it eventually settled down with Elvis, and it will eventually settle down with St. Michael.

Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch...

Back again, hopefully more regularly from now on. Yeah, yeah, I know I've said that before.

So what's been going on? The spring term of the course I was teaching is finished - anonymous student survey gave an instructor rating of 6.57 out of 7 and a course evaluation of 5.71 out of 7 (yea, me!). The summer course was canceled due to low enrollment - one of the hazards of retail education (as opposed to years spent teaching college students with guns to their heads taking a required course), but normal for this time of year - and I'm looking forward to the fall term. In the meantime, I've been tutoring a student who, I suppose, would have taken the summer course were it available. Because of time limitations - it's a prep course for an exam which will be offered in its current form for the last time at the end of June - the sessions have been pretty concentrated, covering what was 20 hours of classroom material in about a week and a half of after-work meetings. A pleasant experience - the student and I have gotten along well, she's worked hard and I love doing this stuff. Just a tiring and, for writing purposes, a time-consuming one.

And now I'm off for a few days. Considering the schedule for next week includes a colonoscopy (I picked up the gatorade-from-hell from the pharmacy yesterday), a dentist visit, and a checkup at my doctor's office, how much I'm looking forward to it says something about the current state of my tight-woundedness. A few other projects I wistfully hope to fit in include trying out a couple of cupcake icing recipes (Nigella's cupcake recipe worked great; the royal icing she used with it didn't appeal to us over here); finishing writing an article I hope to get published somewhere (faithful reader and all-around terrific person Oldhousegal will remember giving me some much-appreciated editing suggestions a couple of hundred years ago - yes, I finally hope to finish it); and finishing building a new case for my magic items. We'll see how many of those things actually got done by the end of the week. Pray for me.

No, Really, it is a Speaker

Since the last post I have gotten to fly to another state for a show, and learned an important lesson: if ever you're feeling in need of attention, put a wireless PA speaker in your carry-on bag. You'll get to meet lots of nice people from the TSA. Just be sure to allow extra time at the airport. (I did notice that they were so focused on the speaker, they didn't examine the battery-pack unit for the lapel mic. Tsk, tsk.)

The Sixteenth Minute

We're seeing a barrage of entertainment news: Jon and Kate, Rob and Kristen, Heidi's and Spencer's contentious interview with Al Roker, etc. etc. The nature of celebrity makes for a great study of the human thought process, and there are great debates to be had on things like the definition and importance of celebrity, its role in our culture, etc. Here's one thing I'd always thought there was no debate on: "celebrity" should, at some point, involve someone you've heard of. Who in the world ARE these people?

Hey, Cookie...

The radio is on as I write this, and as part of a news report about a product recall of packaged cookie dough I've just learned there are more than 40 groups on Facebook for people who love raw cookie dough. Who knew? I suspect a good number of folks who feel a need to be a member of one of those groups enjoy their cookie dough while watching entertainment news.

Go West, Young Man

The-bimbette-formerly-known-as-Miss-California has been back in the news again. Let's put aside for a moment our inexplicable penchant for putting a microphone in the face of some woman whose ambition is to be Miss Someplace-or-Other and being shocked - shocked! - when she says something less than insightful. Past entries have already made clear my disdain for beauty pageant perpetrators, so I won't repeat that here. Still, this latest episode is even more fun than usual because of her total, unabashed insistence that every aspect of this has been someone else's fault.

I'm reminded of a friend who served in the Marine Corps and was awarded their "Good Conduct" medal. He explained that, within the ranks, it's sometimes referred to as the "never-been-caught" medal. The real mystery about these beauty pageants is not why it seems as if some mis-guided contestant gets exposed - literally and figuratively - every year. It is by what public-relations miracle doesn't it happen to more of them?

Maybe it's a good thing there are people who think these contestants represent the feminine ideal. It means less competition for the women really worth sharing your life with for those who know better.

I Got You, Babe

One celebrity news item that did catch my interest this week was Cher's public statement concerning her daughter's sex-change operation. The matter of having to issue a public statement about something so private in the first place notwithstanding, I loved what she wrote. A stage persona is just that; in the clutch, Cher has once again shown herself to be the epitome of grace and dignity. If you've not seen it already:

"Chaz is embarking on a difficult journey, but one that I will support. I respect the courage it takes to go through this transition in the glare of public scrutiny and although I may not understand I will strive to be understanding. The one thing that will never change is my abiding love for my child."

"Although I may not understand I will strive to be understanding." Take that, Miss California.

Obligatory Cute Cat Picture

This is from this morning. Just a quick cel-phone picture, but I thought it was worth sharing. They do grow, don't they.

The Best Laid Plans

The Mission:
With final exams ending Wednesday at 7:00 pm, bring two college freshmen and the entire contents of their dorm rooms home by 10:00 am Thursday when their dorms will be closing.

The Plan:
After work on Wednesday, drive about 45 minutes to the campus, bring one of said freshmen and his possessions home. On Thursday, take the bus to work and let that freshman drive back down and bring back the other freshman and all his possessions, returning in time to make a 2:00 pm summer job interview.

The Reality:
On Wednesday after work, drive down about 40 minutes and, once near the campus, stop at a red light. When the light has turned green, find that the car has suddenly turned off and refuses to turn back on. After waving annoyed drivers past me, some using less than all fingers, make panic phone call to the two freshmen and ask them to take the bus to where I was and help me push the car to a less controversial part of the street. Make panic phone call to AAA. Passing tow truck from AAA comes by as the freshmen arrive. Freshmen get on bus back to their dorms without having had to push car. Make panic phone call to wife to try to arrange for a van rental tomorrow so the two freshmen will not be living in a refrigerator box outside their locked dorm. Tow truck brings car to the garage where, before going off duty, the driver transfers the car to another tow truck for the drive back home. Wife calls to say Rental Place "E" (nice people located up the street from the mechanic; preferred) was closed for the night so made on-line reservation with Rental Place "U" (nasty people located farther away; not preferred). Tip first driver. Make panic phone call to supervisor to say I won't be at work on Thursday. Along with wounded car, arrive back home with neither the freshmen nor any of their possessions. Tip second driver and reimburse turnpike tolls. Go inside, eat Chinese take-out.

Awake on Thursday, can't get mechanic on phone. Make reservation with Place "E" for cargo van; cancel reservation with Place "U." Pay a $50 cancellation fee. Take chance and drive to mechanic without appointment; he says no openings till next week. I leave car anyway. Not sure whether I'm more afraid he'll call and say it's a $2000 repair, or that he'll call and say he found nothing wrong. Thinking too how nice it's been the last couple of years no longer having to make car payments, and hoping I won't have to start up paying them again. Walk up the street, pick up the cargo van, drive down to college, the entire drive a reminder of how different, and therefore more difficult, vans are to drive when you're used to a regular car. Arrive at freshman 1 dorm, having figured out along the way where the turn signals and windshield wipers are on the van. Load up and drive him to the train so he can get back home in time for his interview. Drive to freshman 2 dorm, passing the spot at which I broke down the day before, load the freshman and all his possessions into the van. Get call from mechanic; repair can be done today and will cost about $280. I approve the work, trying to sound like I really know what a drive shaft is and why a damaged position sensor will cause the car to stall out. Arrive home, bring freshmen and their possessions into the house, wondering how their things grew so much from what we'd brought down back in August. Drive van to shopping mall where freshman 1 has interview. Drive back to Rental Place and return van. Walk down street to mechanic and pick up repaired vehicle. Drive back to shopping mall to pick up freshman 1 who, it turned out, never got to be interviewed because the manager hadn't shown up.

Return home, resolve to do nothing constructive tonight.

Editing Shakespeare

My, it's good to be back.

As I've noted previously, these past few weeks I've been reminded that writing new lectures takes a lot longer than putting a few updates into existing ones. I knew that, of course, but hadn't fully appreciated what "a lot longer" really means. It means "aaaaaaa llllllllllllot loooooooonger," so much so there's no time for writing anything else. With the new term now being over - and, I must mention, with my having been reminded why I like teaching so much (and, conversely, of how burnt out I'd become at my old teaching position without realizing it) - I can now ease myself back into what I pretend is a normal life. Your patience, dear readers, is very much appreciated.

Before today's main topic, I wanted to express a particular - and long overdue - thanks to loyal reader Lori for kindly including me as a recipient of her Kreativ Blogger award (http://lori-dustypages.blogspot.com/2009/04/passing-on-kreativ-blogger-award.html). Now that I've been so flattered, I should probably write something.


Way back...and I do mean way back (ok, it was the fall of 1973), I had my bar mitzvah. For those not familiar with it, a bar mitzvah is a ceremony in which a young Jewish boy celebrates his passage into manhood with two traditional parts: a beautiful religious service, and a reception during which his classmates mix Coca Cola into the cole slaw. It's an important time, probably more so than a 13 year old is likely to understand, and it brings many memories. One of them was a gift I received from my oldest brother, a gift that then, as now, has great meaning and importance in the process of accepting the responsibilities that come with maturity.

He gave me a rifle.

More important than the rifle, which I still have, was the box it came in, on which my brother wrote the following (from Shakespeare's King Henry VI, Part III):

"My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, Nor to be seen: my crown is called content: A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy."

This past Sunday, it was my privilege to be part of another important growth passage, serving as best man at the wedding of a dear friend I've known since the first grade. (Yes, he was at my bar mitzvah, though there is no evidence to indicate he was involved in the mixing of deli salads with soft drinks.)

The best man has certain responsibilities, and two of the most important are the bachelor party and the wedding toast. I went the middle-aged route on the bachelor party: men gathered together at a good steak restaurant, eating manly things and telling manly stories, with entertainment provided by a magician friend. Not the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the words "bachelor party" I suppose, and some of the men expressed some disappointment at that (my friend not being one of them), but it was self-preservation winning out over debauchery. And let's face it folks; at our age, given the choice between having a woman writhing on the table in front of us, and having a decent steak on the table in front of us, we're better off opting for the steak. (The evening was not without its wild side, of course. Most of us did wear Hawaiian shirts.)

In preparing the wedding toast, I remembered the Shakespeare quote and including it seemed wonderfully appropriate. The first draft said most of what I wanted to say, including the quote, but something seemed to drag in the reading. After a few more run-throughs, I realized it was the cherished quote. Not the quote itself, but my decidedly unexpert reading of it. Proclaiming the words of King Henry VI is one thing if you're Patrick Stewart in the Royal Shakespeare Company. It's quite another if you're Ben of Jersey City.

A second draft omitted the quote. Although the words read much more smoothly, they clearly lacked the soul I wanted them to have.

In the third draft, I gritted my teeth and did the unthinkable: I edited Shakespeare. My valued readers including several folks from Britain, a former actor, and other fine writers from here in the U.S., I am loath to admit committing so obvious an act of literary desecration, but I thought it better to 'fess up. In my defense, I offer that it was not done lightly, nor without good intent: better to edit and be understood than not to edit and not be understood. As Shakespeare would surely have said, "That be my story, a story it is to which I will stick.")

The toast, including my corrections to Mr. Shakespeare's writing, follows:

"They tell me there’s something like six billion people in the world. If one of life’s greatest joys is finding the one you want more than anything to spend the rest of your life with, I can tell you that it is a joy nearly as great to see it happen to a couple of wonderful people you care about a lot.

"In the course of getting to see each other grow up over the last 43 years, Tony and I have been through quite a few things, none of which we’re going to talk about right now. [pause] We don’t want the younger folks here to think we’re suggesting that sort of behavior is acceptable. [pause] It is not.

"I only know Jamie for a year or so. The difference – 43 years or 1 year – doesn’t matter. When two great people find that lightning strike of great compatibility, and then nurture it into a great love, it’s the easiest thing in the world to recognize. And when I met Jamie for the first time, my reaction was probably the same as that of most people here today. It took me about three and a half seconds, if that long, to say, “Man, they are so right together.”

"I think most of us know Tony is a goal-oriented guy, and one of the first goals I remember him setting for himself years ago was to make himself a millionaire. Keep in mind, in those days, two or three million dollars was considered a lot of money. It’s years later now and we’re all still working for a living, but I look around here today and see Maricel, and Marilyn [his daughters], their own beautiful families, and now Jamie, and I have to tell you something you no doubt already know. You made it. You are a wealthy man, my friend.

"Shakespeare once wrote, “My crown is in my heart, not on my head. Not decked with diamonds, not to be seen. My crown is called content and it is a crown that kings seldom enjoy.”

"Jamie, Anthony…in your new life together, every time you look at each other, every time you think of each other, every time your cel phone rings and you see from the caller id it’s the other calling, may you always, always, feel the crown of content, right there on those two beautiful, and now joined, hearts.

"Cento anni di salute e felicita!"

Here, though just barely, are a couple of photos that show both the fun, loving tone of the wedding, and the fact that you should never take wedding pictures with a cheap, disposable, camera. I call the first one, "Leave the gun; take the cannoli." The second is the toast itself.




Unrelated Item: "No, really, I AM running for re-election!"

Here in Jersey City we have an election for mayor coming up. (For my overseas friends, a "mayor" is something like a "queen," except a "mayor" doesn't do as much hard work.) Today at the train station I saw our Mayor Healy reaching out to voters at rush hour. I found it worth noting, and so share herewith in the video below, how the eager voters responded. (Remember, this is not some fringe candidate. This is the current mayor.) You can tell which one's the mayor. He's the one trying to get someone's, anyone's, attention.

Keep On Toque-ing

For a few hours today I got to emerge from the lecture-writing dungeon to attend a class in pasta-making at the local culinary arts school. (I also got to go to the supermarket for some over-due food shopping, but that was only interesting when I heard a guy insisting to a clerk that he knew oranges were buy-one-bag-get-one-bag- free, but how much for just one bag?. So help me, I 'm not making that up.) This was good stuff, and not all that hard: three eggs, two cups of flour, a little salt and a little elbow grease making that wonderful dough that somehow magically becomes fettucini, linquini, ravioli, and so many other members of the sixth major food group, comfort food. Ok, so the $1800 pasta rolling and cutting machine kept overheating and shutting down. Hand-rolling the dough gives it a better texture anyway, a rougher surface that retains more sauce. (While the pasta dough was resting - apparently it gets tired being rolled around like that - we also learned how to make a delicious vodka sauce. Major yum-o, and really cool when it flames up during cooking.) I ate about a week's worth of carbs by the time we were done.

Across the hall from our weekend-food-warriors class was a pastry kitchen the matriculated culinary arts students use to study cakes and such. There was no class in session at the time, but several of their projects were on display, demanding to be shared with an international audience. They sure beat the bicarbonate of soda volcano projects the people I knew did in school.



Tomorrow I'll be doing some cooking myself, including a feat of culinary daring never before attempted: making a Paula Deen recipe (in this case, a peach cobbler) with butter substitute. (We love Paula, but there are times I'm convinced she should be tried for crimes against humanity.)

Time to go to bed now. Let me say, for the record, that losing an hour tonight sucks big-time. Why don't they pull this daylight-savings-time stuff at a more convenient time, such as during the work day or when either "The Bachelor" or "American Idol" is about to start, when losing an hour wouldn't be such a bad thing?