Stupid Music Video

I found this too funny not to share:

Afternoon with Dad

I spent today attending part of the Van Cliburn International Piano Competition with my Dad. He loves this competition. He loves this kind of music. He doesn't play an instrument but he immerses himself in the music of Chopin, Bach, Rachmaninoff and the other classical composers.

My Dad couldn't name any of the Beatles or their songs, but he could probably list all of Beethoven's symphonies and tell you which orchestras have the best recordings.

When the Van Cliburn Competition comes to town every four years, he buys a premium level ticket that gives him a seat for every performance from the preliminaries to the final. He used to buy two tickets but Mom isn't quite as into the competition as Dad.

Mom considers spending $1,400 for one ticket an excellent way to get Dad out from under foot for a few days.

Dad has made friends at the Cliburn over the years. There's the couple from South Africa he met during the 2001 competition. They have a daughter who lives not too far from my brother. They are lovely people who enjoy my Dad's nonsense and stay in touch throughout the years via e-mail. They're back again this year and have seats near Dad's.

There's also a cardiologist and his wife who sponsor one of the competitors, and another couple from nearby Arlington. Today one of the spouses couldn't attend and they generously offered the extra ticket to me. So I joined my Dad to watch and listen as three of the competitors played in the semi-finals.

I enjoy doing things with my Dad, especially when it's something that he's excited about. I met him for dinner downtown on Thursday and got tickled listening to him talk about his picks for the competition. Seems he correctly identified nine of the 12 semi-finalists.

Piano competitions aren't necessarily my cup of tea, but I can handle one afternoon of concertos and recitals. Today's performers were good to my untrained ear, but I learned afterwards that the Beethoven was lacking and the Prokofiev was a bit harsh.

I also learned that it's OK to nap during the performances. I guess even the trained ears need a rest every now and then.

Tomorrow is Mom's turn to join Dad at the competition (the same spouse who couldn't make today's performance will be busy again). She enjoys piano competitions about as much as I do, but she'll have fun for an afternoon.

I just need to let her know that snoring is discouraged.

Rough Morning

I got up early today to take Baby to the A/C doctor. I was running ahead of schedule and decided to stop for a Starbucks grande skinny vanilla latte. Two WW points of creamy deliciousness! Since I was heading into the financial unknown, I wanted a treat to ease the pain.

If I only knew the pain that was coming.

As I exited my car to traipse into the store, I tripped and body surfed across the pavement:

My knees hit the ground first. I threw my arms out to break the fall but they got tangled in my purse. The momentum from my arms and the weight of my purse catapulted me forward until my face hit the ground with a whack and skidded across the very rough concrete.

OUCH.

A good samaritan ran out of Starbucks to help me up and see if I was OK. I grunted something about hurting my pride while I checked myself over. Nothing seemed broken or ripped, although I could feel stinging on my knees and chin. I spotted my beloved iPhone upside down on the pavement and winced as I flipped it over, but it was unscathed.

Thank goodness! I don't think I could afford car repairs and a new phone this month.

A quick run to the ladies room to check my wounds revealed minor scrapes on both knees and this lovely road rash on my face:

I suppose it could've been worse, but man! It stings! And my back and neck feel like somebody clubbed me.

After I gathered my composure and a damp towel for my chin, I ordered my latte and then proceeded to the A/C doctor. I had planned to wait while they treated Baby, but she required several hours of surgery and they didn't have replacement parts in stock. I had to leave Baby in their care for the day.

I called The Professor and he came to my rescue. The site of my wounded face elicited concern that soon turned to amusement at my expense. The Professor is well aware of Dillypoo's lack of grace. I once broke my ankle falling up the stairs at home.

After heeding his warnings to "pick up my feet" when I walk, I took him home and headed off to work in his car. Concerned co-workers gave me a Hello Kitty bandage for my knee.

My co-workers are unaware of my innate clumsiness and were therefore much more sympathetic to my injuries.

I waited for the A/C doctor to call with his diagnosis. Baby wasn't terminal but she needed two new radiator fans, freon and comp oil. And since she was only 600 miles away from hitting 100,000 on the odometer, I treated her to an oil change and new air filter, too.

Final cost for my day: $898.65 (and $4 for the latte). The ice pack and Advil from the repair shop were free.

So long, new wardrobe.

10 Percent

The air conditioning in my car died today. Baby has been gasping for breath for several months but I've been too cheap to take her in for a check up.

Bad Dillypoo!

Today was sweltering as the temperature soared close to 100 and the humidity became oppressive as thunderstorms built throughout the day. The storms hit about 7:00 p.m. with a vengeance, but not before I had to drive all over creation this afternoon, sweating like a pig.

I haven't driven a car without A/C since college. And that was a looooong time ago. I hate sweating.

But let's not dwell on it. Let's dwell on this:

I can wear my ring again! I've actually been wearing it for a couple of weeks now but I've been saving the news until I reached my first big WW milestone, otherwise called "10%." Today was Weigh Day and I lost 1.6 pounds this week for a grand total of 20.4 pounds or 10% of my starting weight!

Two weekends ago I cleaned out my closet and donated five bags of clothes to charity. I may need to make another donation sooner rather than later. I'm quickly running out of pants and more and more of my tops are getting too big.

But Dillypoo will have to wait a little longer to go shopping. Baby needs more coolant.

I hope. Please, please let fixing my A/C not cost a fortune!

Personal Reading Challenge Update

I am amending Dillypoo's Personal Reading Challenge. I've decided to include audiobooks.

I've been listening to books on my iPod while I walk. I've completed Eragon and Eldest from The Inheritance Series and I just started the third book, Brisingr.

I admit it. I'm a fantasy fan. The His Dark Materials novels by Philip Pullman are queued up next.

The Professor is adding book books to my pile, too. He just finished Look Me In the Eye by John Elder Robison and Lulu Meets God and Doubts Him by Danielle Ganek.

The Professor prefers non-fiction (or fiction that centers around the art world).

Now that my TV distractions have ended for the year, I should have more time to actually pick up a book. I really want to finish that Doris Kearns Goodwin book.

Another Kind of Idol

The Thirteenth Van Cliburn International Piano Competition began this week. Dillypoo's Dad (DD) has tickets to all of the performances. The Van Cliburn is his Idol competition.

DD currently favors Di Wu. Although I wasn't in Bass Hall for the performance, thanks to YouTube we can still listen to her play:


DD asked me to post this. He doesn't have a blog of his own (but he should).

Dillypoo was supposed to attend the opening black tie gala with DD on Wednesday night. I'm a bad daughter, though. I turned him down so I could stay home and watch my Adam graciously lose the American Idol title.

I should've gone to the gala.

There are still tickets available for the competition. If you're in or near the Fort Worth area, you should spend an afternoon or evening listing to some pretty spectacular piano playing. I doubt Kiss, Queen or Santana will be there, but it'll be worth it anyway.

Fishy Playground

The Professor is a man of many talents, including making a garden oasis in our backyard. He has a very green thumb. Dillypoo, on the other hand, waters air ferns.

So when I suggested to The Professor over Easter weekend that we get a water lily for the fish in our pond to play with, he told me with some authority that we didn't have enough sunlight in our shady backyard for one to bloom.

I'm not that easily discouraged, though. I figured the fish could play under the big leaves even if we didn't get a pretty pink flower. Maybe a frog would move in. I bought the water lily.

This is our pond:

The Professor built this pond 10 years ago. It was supposed to be smaller, but our neighbors at the time brought over some shovels and beer and helped dig.

It's roughly 7' long, 4' wide and 4' deep. It's a decent size pond. Frida fell in once and we had to jump in to get her out. Well, The Professor had to. I was laughing too hard at the time.

The Professor poured the concrete slabs and built the water fall. He also made these concrete balls:

He does things like that.

That first year we bought all kinds of gold fish for the pond: shebunkins, comets, fantails (my favorites) and two small albino catfish. They co-existed happily for a couple of years until the gold fish began to disappear and the catfish began to grow.

I suggested a fish fry to solve the problem but The Professor decided to catch and release them into a local water way.

He does things like that, too.

When we brought home my water lily on Easter Sunday, The Professor set it at the bottom of the pond on the east end, which is sunnier than the west end. This morning I peeked out the window and noticed something blooming in the pond:

It was with love that I nudged The Professor and said, "I told you so!"

It'll Be Okay...

My devastation at Adam's loss last night has been tempered this morning by hot tea and lively discussion on Facebook and around the water cooler (metaphorically speaking - we don't really have a water cooler in the office).

Three things to be happy about last night's results:

1. Adam will be free to pursue any creative avenue he chooses without Idol haunting his every move (and I hope one of those moves includes a trip to the silver screen in a remake of Rocky Horror Picture Show).

2. No Boundaries will fade away from his repertoire because there's no chance in hell that he'll include it on his first album.

3. The world is now aware of Adam's delicious and glittery presence in it.

I was going to list five things but I couldn't come up with another two. I may need another day or three for my wounds to heal completely.

Lambalicious

This is what I wore to work today:

Dillypoo should not be left unsupervised with a package of do-it-yourself iron-on sheets.

I left my WW meeting early to dash home in time for American Idol tonight. The meeting was running long and Adam was singing first. What would you have done?

I made it home with two minutes to spare. I even introduced myself (albeit quickly) to our new neighbors before running inside.

The Professor was just finishing up his installation of surround sound! I'm beginning to think that aliens have switched places with him. First he starts making the bed (twice this week!), then he hooks the TV up to the stereo for me.

Bless those aliens!

Adam sounded even more fabulous dialed up to 60 on four speakers. If the neighborhood was unaware of my Glambert obsession before, they know about it now.

During the commercial breaks I inflated an exercise ball:

Sitting on it is supposed to make TV watching a work out. We'll see if I break a sweat tomorrow night. Idol will be two hours.

Weigh Day Update: I lost another 1.2 pounds for a total of 18.8 since January! I think there may be something to the exercise thing. I've lost close to 5.5 pounds in the four weeks that I've been walking.

Fire and Water

I went for another walk in the park on Saturday. It was raining so it was just me and the ducks braving the elements.

The park was green and lush and beautiful. It was very peaceful, except for the river, which was up really high.

There were people fishing at that spot last week.

The front that brought the rain also cooled things down quite a bit. We lit a fire in the backyard Saturday night.

Big Steve stopped by for a visit and beer.

I hold Big Steve responsible for getting me started on Facebook. I'm not sure I'll be able to forgive him for that.

We stayed up until after 1:00 a.m. talking and burning scraps from The Professor's wood shop. It was a perfect end to a wonderful day.

It Takes a Village

This was too sweet not to share:

It Must Be My Lucky Day

I don't eat oysters.

You can count on one hand the number of oysters I've eaten in my life and still have an extra digit or two free. Not liking something is an anomaly for Dillypoo. I'm not a fussy eater (I didn't end up at WW by saying "no" to food). My list of inedibles is short: okra, beets, breakfast sausage and oysters. (I do make exceptions for pickled okra and pickled beets. I've yet to meet a pickle I didn't like.)

But today I ate an oyster. Some good friends took me to one of the better restaurants in town for lunch and they ordered oysters Rockefeller. Not wanting to be rude or seem uncultured for a city girl, I ate one:

I have to admit that it was pretty tasty. Oysters Rockefeller is kind of the oyster equivalent of drowning broccoli in ranch dressing. The cheese and spinach and other gooey fabulousness completely hid the slimy goober buried underneath. If I hadn't promised myself to a bowl of cream of mushroom soup, I might have eaten another.

Now, as I mentioned earlier, this was maybe my third or fourth oyster EVER. So when I crunched on something I thought it was a piece of shell.

It wasn't. It was this:

A teeny, weeny pearl! If I'd been trying to gag down a non-oyster Rockerfeller I most certainly would've swallowed it.

I'm not sure what to do with my little treasure. It's really small:

I may make a velvet lined shadow box for it and hang it on my wall to commemorate my last oyster.

Because what are the odds that I would find a pearl in one of the three or four oysters I've ever encountered?

And my luck continued! When I got home this evening I saw this:

The Professor made the bed!!!

I'm a very lucky girl.

Attitude Adjustment

My weight loss journey is different this time. In the past, I concentrated on making better choices, which in theory is a good plan. Eat this, not that. Eat a banana, not a banana split.

Duh.

This time I realize there's more to it than that. The choice to make is a better attitude about eating in general.

I found myself at 200+ pounds because I ate every meal as if it were my last. Every bite needed to be special "because I'm worth it."

I should've just colored my hair. Ha ha.

I realize now that I don't need to make every meal a special occasion. I don't need creamed soups and dessert every day. I can save them for genuine special occasions and enjoy them every once in a while.

That's what makes them special.

The lunch pictured above is one of my favorites now. In WW terms, it's only five points. Compare that tuna salad made with fat-free mayo and a high fiber wheat pita pocket with the sandwich I had right before I joined Club WW in January:

That tuna sandwich and bag of chips were probably the WW equivalent of 15 points. And if I hadn't posted a photo of it on my blog, I never would've remembered it. It wasn't that special.

But my thighs sure took notice.

I'm still working on my attitude about exercising, though. I'm rising early most mornings to walk on my treadmill and I'm up to 30 minutes or 1.5 miles. I'm adding stretching, sit ups and push ups to my day, too. WW encourages weight lifting and I figure pushing my 185 pounds off the floor qualifies.

And in case you didn't catch that, I said 185 pounds. It's Weigh Day and I lost another 1.8 pounds this week! That's 17.6 since January. In the words of the late, great James Brown, I FEEL GOOD!

My Mom

My mom is the oldest of three girls raised in Southern California by a Philadelphia city girl and a rough-around-the-edges navy seaman from Texas. She didn't have a lot of things growing up, but she learned determination from her dad and an appreciation for finer things from her mom. She tells tales of running wild through the untamed areas of San Diego, spying on the fundamentalists in church, sneaking through graveyards at night and bringing home tadpoles to hide behind the couch until they grew into tiny frogs.


My grandmother was crazy nuts, especially as my mom grew older. This was problematic (to greatly simplify things) for her younger sisters, especially as my grandfather was seemingly oblivious to the nonsense in a household full of women, each in various stages of growth and mental stability. But they managed to instill in their eldest daughter a love of life and a thirst for greater things that makes her my amazing mom.

My mom is always in motion. When my brother and I were little and she was a stay-at-home mom, she planned birthday parties and trips to zoos, took us to gardens and museums, made sure we knew how to swim in pools and the ocean, and put up with our own menagerie of tadpoles, mice, cats and dogs.

Our home was always a hub of activity in the neighborhood because my mom didn't care if we got dirty making mud pies or ate nothing but mustard and white bread sandwiches. She let us use the dinner spoons to dig in the backyard and build forts in the living room. None of the other mothers on the block gave their kids that kind of freedom, and so our friends played at our house.

My mom reads constantly, although I'm not convinced she ever truly finishes all of the books and magazines on her table. I suspect she skims through and reads the juicy bits before moving on to the next. When I was in college, she would mail newspaper clippings and magazine articles to me with all of the important passages highlighted (just in case I was too busy to read the entire piece). These days she sends me email with links to interesting things she's found on the internet.

My mom is a foodie but she doesn't cook much. She loves to read recipes and collect cookbooks (an addiction she passed on to me) and she's very adept at creating menus and getting my dad to prepare them. She renovated her kitchen a few years ago and included a gourmet range that I drool over whenever I'm there.

My mom also loves to plan, whether it's a day trip to see wild flowers in East Texas or a three week visit to Europe. I've seen her pack an extra suitcase on trips just for her travel books, magazine articles and Googled lists of things to see and do.
My Mom is now a grandmother, and she is teaching her grandchildren to be fearless in their lives as well. As she did with me and my brother, she encourages them to get dirty and use spoons in the garden and adopt homeless, three-legged geckos.

My mom is the greatest mom in the world because she's MY mom. I love you, mom!

Saturday in the Park

Dillypoo went for a walk along the Trinity River this morning. The last time I hit that trail was in 1981 and I was on a bike with my best friends from high school.

I felt a bit out of place in my long blue shorts carrying a brown handbag with my bottled water and iPod, but people who exercise are a friendly bunch. There were bikers and joggers and walkers on the trail, and all of them smiled or said hello as they passed me.

The cartoon bubble floating above me that said "athlete impostor" didn't seem visible to anyone but me.

At first I wasn't sure which trail I was supposed to be on. What is proper walking etiquette? Was the paved trail just for bikes? The gravel trail looked like it could be rough to walk on and I noticed a third path worn in the grass. Not wanting to fall on the gravel or get grass stains on my $130 walking shoes, I choose the paved path. Turned out all three options were acceptable. I just needed to keep to one side of the trail to let the bikers and joggers pass.

I walked from the kiddie train's snack station to the 7th Street bridge and back. It took me 45 minutes. I think it was about 2.5 miles, but I'll need to take a pedometer with me if I decide to do it again.

Which I just might do. I'll take my camera, too. It really was a pretty way to exercise.

I Blogged Too Soon

Mother Nature is messing with me.

After posting last night's rant about the heat and humidity, I awoke this morning to a cool and breezy 68 degrees:

Cooler temperatures and rain are in the forecast for the next few days. Yay!

Rainy days make me happy. Dillypoo should live in Washington instead of Texas.

Seasonal Lament

Summer is creeping closer. I'm not a fan of summer. I like spring and winter. Fall is OK, too. Late fall, that is. Right before winter arrives.

Summer is hot and humid and sticky. My motivation to do things - like getting up each morning - is severely limited during the summer.

The Professor and I live in a 100 year old home. We don't have central heat and air. We have these:

We have two of these, actually. One in the bedroom and one in the upstairs living area. They do a respectable job of keeping those two areas of the house comfortable.

But we have other rooms (a whole other floor, even) that do not have air conditioners in them. Like the dining room where my treadmill lives. And the kitchen, which can be hotter than hell with just the pilot lights burning on the stove and water heater. And the bathroom that becomes a sauna every time the tub is filled.

We wait as long as possible to turn the air conditioners on each year. We made it to Memorial Day one year, but usually we close the windows and flip the switches sometime around Mother's Day, which is this coming Sunday.

It's hot and humid and sticky tonight. We turned the window units on this evening. They'll run until late October.

I miss winter already!

Obsessive Personality Disorder

I have an obsessive personality at times. It's something that endears me to The Professor...and annoys the hell out of him.

For example, I have read the Harry Potter books or listened to them on audiobook a dozen times (at least) over the past four years. I have four wands and a collection of Golden Snitches in my office. I even attended a HP conference last summer.

Harry Potter falls under the category of "annoying" for The Professor.

Blogging is rapidly becoming another obsession. I made business cards to hand out with my blog address on them. Only an obsessed blogger makes business cards for their blog.

The Professor is bemused and occasionally entertained by my blog.

I'm also obsessed with American Idol, which The Professor watches with me sometimes. I haven't missed an episode since the beginning of Season Two (I was on another planet during Season One and missed it completely). I was a Claymate (I still have the T-shirt somewhere), but not even Clay compares to my rapidly intensifying obsession with Adam Lambert.

That boy is HAWT! I'm one of the growing legions of female fans who wishes she was a 25 year old gay man instead of a lecherous 40-something woman.

Every Tuesday I go to my WW meeting and then dash home to see what Adam is going to perform that night. I'll probably get the DTs once he's either voted off (noooooooo!) or after the season ends in two weeks. I'm actually considering getting tickets to the Idol concert tour this summer if they come anywhere near Dallas, and I don't do concerts anymore because they hurt my ears. It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make to see Adam perform live.

Maybe. I'll have to see if The Professor finds this latest obsession endearing or not.

Weigh Day Update: I lost 1.2 pounds for a total of 15.8!

Big Boy Clothes

This weekend The Professor and I drove to Houston for the Hunting Art Prize gala. He was a finalist and we decided to make it a long weekend by driving down Friday afternoon and staying until Sunday. We wanted to visit The Menil and Cy Twombly Gallery, eat BBQ and maybe hit some art supply stores and antique shops. It was going to be a fun weekend, and I planned to blog all about it until the most remarkable thing happened on the drive down. Just as we hit a traffic jam about an hour outside of Houston, The Professor said, "I need to get a jacket."

I checked the battery in my hearing aid. It was working just fine.

Dillypoo: "You mean like a tweed jacket? A blazer?"

The Professor: "Yes. Thinking about it."

Mind you, the gala was in 24 hours and we were stuck on Interstate 45 in Conroe, Texas. I looked across the highway and saw a Men's Warehouse. Right there! Just opposite the Interstate 45 parking lot! I bellowed, "Take this exit!"

The Professor: "How much do you think a jacket will cost? I only want to spend about $76."

Dillypoo: "I bet you can get a nice one on sale for about $125."

The Professor: "Maybe we should wait and go to a thrift store in Houston."

Dillypoo: "You are NOT wearing a thrift store blazer to the Hunting Art Prize gala! Take this exit...NOW!"

For the past 18 years, The Professor's wardrobe has been very predictable. Depending on the season, he wears Levi's 505 jeans or Levi's shorts (the lighter denim, not the dark), T-shirts (usually solid with a daub of oil paint or gesso somewhere near his navel) and a long sleeved denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up. For dressier occasions, he'll don a button-down shirt, a pair of black Gap slacks and maybe a vintage tie (picked up at a thrift store or estate sale), depending on just how dressy the occasion is.

The button-down shirt with vintage tie and black Gap slacks were in the back of the car for Saturday night.

We pulled into The Men's Warehouse parking lot and went inside. I told the nice sales lady that we had no idea what size jacket we needed, but we wanted something that didn't need alterations and was maybe a nice tweed. The Professor mentioned his $76 budget.

We both ignored him.

The Professor loved the jacket, despite the $199 price tag. I ran out to the car and brought in his button-down shirt, which actually looked very nice with the jacket. The astute sales lady asked what color slacks he had and shook her head when we said "black."

She brought out a beautiful pair of tan Calvin Klein slacks. They were gorgeous and fit him perfectly, but his shoes, oh my! His shoes.

The Professor owns two identical pair of plain black Ecco dress shoes, and I packed the oldest, scruffiest, gesso-stained pair by mistake. Not that the other pair would have worked. If black slacks didn't go with the jacket, then neither did black shoes.

But The Professor was already in the early stages of shock at the cost of the jacket, slacks and tie (we slipped that in) and balked at the limited and somewhat pricey shoe selection they had. Not wanting to lose our momentum, I asked the sales lady where the nearest DSW Shoe Warehouse was located. Turns out there was one about five miles down the highway. Eureka! We found a pair of camel colored dress shoes on sale for about $45.

He didn't win the $50,000 prize Saturday night, but he looked like a million bucks to me:





He's asked to be buried in this jacket. Which may happen sooner rather than later if I find oil paint on it.