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14
Timestamp: 2008-05-23 20:54:17 UTC
Jackie of Our Moments, Our Memories is lucky number 14!
At 7:30 yesterday morning, my son Jordan who is on summer break from college started working at a local ticket manufacturing company. That is, they make tickets, as in raffle tickets, game tickets, ride tickets, redemption tickets, etc. I think this factory is the ticket-making capitol of the world. It's all they do--make tickets.
It was his first day, and somehow (jumbled communication) we thought he was supposed to take paper and pen to take notes during training. We asked him if he had those before he went out the door, and he said, "Yeah." Moms, the boy had a pad of Post-Its in his pocket and a pencil. Turns out he didn't need to take a single note--they just put him to work.
He called me on his lunch break while I was at work (I could have fallen out of my chair) to tell me how his day was going. He was uncharacteristically talkative.
I said, “Wow, That sounds great. So what exactly are you doing?”
He said, “I’m moving boxes, lifting boxes, organizing boxes, rearranging boxes and … moving boxes. Yeah, I'm basically moving boxes.”
I said, “Oh, I see. Are they heavy?”
He replied, “About 25-30 lbs. I think this is what I’m going to be doing all day long for the entire summer: rearranging boxes, moving boxes and ... moving boxes. That’s OK for a couple of months, but I wouldn’t want to do it the rest of my life.”
Cue the Hallelujah Chorus.
I said very nonchalantly, “Yeah, I guess that’s why college is so important.”
And he said, “Yes. It. Is.”
Thank you, ticket factory. Thank you, Lord.
My son may not know exactly what career path he wants to take yet, but I’m just so glad he is clear on not wanting to be a professional box mover when he grows up. I mean, I just can’t see myself saying at social gatherings saying, “Oh, you remember my son--the professional box mover. He has biceps like tree trunks and a broken back, but, hey, that’s why they pay him the big bucks!”
When I read this title, I had to smile. Regular readers, friends IRL and I have a running joke about how I don't care for the musical stylings Neil Diamond (there are only two camps: Camp Love Neil & Camp Loathe Neil), but I do love the title of this book, even though every time I picked it up I heard the chorus of a certain song in my head ....
I just finished Sweet Caroline, and I'd like to recommend it to you. Here's the backdrop on the story:
Caroline Sweeney has always done the right thing--the responsible, dependable thing--unlike her mother who abandoned her family. But when her best friend challenges her to accept an exciting job adventure in Barcelona, Spain, Caroline says "yes" to destiny.
Then, without warning, ownership of the run-down cafe where she's been waitressing falls right into Caroline's lap. While she's trying to determine the cafe's future, handsome Deputy Sheriff J.D. Rand captures Caroline's heart.
But when her first love, Mitch O'Neal, comes back to town, fresh from the heat of his newly-found fame as a country music singer in Nashville, Caroline must make some hard choices about love and the pursuit of the sweet life.
You gotta love the name "Frogmore Cafe."
Many chapters begin with the "Daily Special" of the Frogmore, and I believe that the cafe's special "Bubba's Buttery Biscuits," makes the menu every time. (More about those biscuits at the end of the post!)
That special menu touch is one way that author Rachel Hauck draws the reader in and makes her care about what's happening to the characters and how Caroline will make out in the end.
Caroline's chance to go to Barcelona is what George Bailey in "It's a Wonderful Life" called "the chance of a lifetime." But she'll have to choose between a man, another man, a cafe that has a presence like the island does in "LOST" and a bright future ... in another country.
Each of those three "characters" pulls at Caroline. Whom does she chose? You won't know until chapter 33, and even in 34 she questions whether the decision is right. You'll just have to hang on to the end to find out which heart-choice Caroline makes.
Until you pick up the book here, here's some fun stuff for you: The Sweet Life Contest! Enter to win a scrumptious baking basket from Rachel. The basket contains the apron shown here, a Low Country cook book signed by PAT CONROY, rolling pin, and a pie plate! All you have to do to enter is sign up for Rachel's newsletter here. Here are some links you might be interested in: Rachel's website and Rachel's My Book Therapy (a writing craft blog for writers).
And just in case you're a legitimate baker extraordinaire (or a wanna be), here is none other than than the recipe for Bubba's Buttery Biscuits, which I copied in another post to save space here.
Finally--if you'd like a chance to win this fun, "summer read," leave a comment at this post saying, "Count me in" or "Sweet Caroline/Good times never seemed so good/
I've been inclined/to believe they never would ...." or something to that effect, and I'll put your name in the loop.
People, is this the best show or what?! I am sappy for the big finale. It was great! And it had funny highlights!
However, my prognostication skilz have fizzled again. Looks like 80s hair will not be coming back soon, either. I'm sorry. Actually, as the weeks passed and I saw the tremendous loyalty of the Cook fans, I was pretty sure he would win in spite of my February prediction.
I have mixed feelings about how it all came down. One last time, I will say that I think both are talented, both sounded alike week after week, and both had a great fan base. I think Simon's comments Tuesday night raised the ire of the Cook fans, and they voted millions of times. Literally.
Proof? One of my friends texted for Cook 40 times. FORTY TIMES. But then again, this is a woman who really enjoys the whole idea and actual physical act of voting. She hearts voting, and employs it whenever she can, like making her family vote on which condiment they want on their burgers. She's also a political junkie. So, being an agitated "Cookie," she lost her mind and just kept voting. I think she played a large part in Cook's victory, or at least that's what she kept yelling over and over while she was jumping around celebrating her David Cook's triumph.
Highlights: The Risky Business spoof. That was a scream. I was watching the finale with my group of girlfriends that meet each Wednesday night in the texter's basement, and when I say "scream," that's what I mean. It was such a surprise when he turned around that everyone screamed and laughed. The texter's husband came downstairs to deliver popcorn, and he shamed us. We voted him out of the basement.
Gladys Knight - You won't believe this. I had a post planned for May 28 (Glady's birthday) to talk about the Pips, specifically. I am bedazzled by the Pips. I have loved memorizing their part in "Midnight Train to Georgia." The thing is, they were so smooth and suave. Ben Stiller, Jack Black and Robert Downey Jr. were hilarious, anything BUT suave. It was a great send-up.
Bringing back Renaldo Lapuz and Alexis Cohen.
Carried Underwood. It should be illegal to be that pretty. I vote her to be illegal and to be put away behind closed doors until she's 60. Then let her come out in that blouse-dress. That girl can sing, though.
Lowlights:
George Michael - That song, the sonorous lullabye that was dropped like a giant rain-soaked quilt on us in the middle of a party, lasted for...ev...er. That big red sun behind him? I kept thinking it meant he was going to do "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me" because he did that duet with Elton John. But alas, he just kept droning on and on so long that I could've sworn we watched that sun behind him rise and set and rise and set and burn all of its fuel out until it became a White Midget. I mean White Dwarf. I thought the term for a burned out star was White Giant, but Daughter's boyfriend says the term is "White Dwarf." And no, we're not referring to George Michael himself--but to the sun behind him. Nevermind.
Mike Meyers - Not very funny. And a little too sardonic and derisive with David A. for my taste.
What makes the show THE show:
Paula giving her final piece of advice to the Davids, which actually made sense for about a quarter of the way through until her brain pulled a Jason Castro and she battled "the brain dead." When she finished, no one in the room knew what she just said.
Big David being nice to Little David.
Ticker Tape.
Tears.
Brothers. Mothers.
Paula.
Oh, how I love American Idol. I vote to block out that little blue square with the stars on our flag and replace it with the American Idol logo, leaving the red and white stripes because they're "molten hot." And they should put the logo on those tacky British royal souvenirs to pay homage to Simon. Anyway, I pledge allegiance to American Idol--I'll be back for season 8.
Not much to say ... In my opinion: Little David took the night. I know, I know, you ALL want Cook to win, and I think he will, but I still think David the Younger came out stronger.
High thought of the night:
Clive Davis is to music what Clive Staples Lewis is to theology.
Funniest moment of the night:
Andrew Lloyd Webber saying, "Don't Let Your Eyes Go Shut On Me."
Season 7 highlights:
Behold the post (February 27, 2008) where I predicted David Archuleta will win. (Side note: I also predict every year that big 80's hair is going to come back, so we'll see if I'm consistent.)
Contestant who scared me the most this season:
Surprising break-out contestant of the season:
Contestant most out of place and uncomfortable and had to, in his own words, overcome "the being brain dead:"
Contestant who most resembles/has future in playing Disney character (tie):
Cruella De Ville and Aladdin
Chattiest contestant:
Contestant most quickly forgotten, almost while she was on stage:
Favorite audition (tie):
Saddest goodbye:
Most articulate person who is ... just ... I can't sit down ... most articulate ... clap, clap, clap.:
Least favorite contestant of all time and eternity:
Contestant who got ripped off:
Contestant made of kryptonite who was almost invincible:
Contestant who made best use of props, including her body:
Strangest song choice ever in the history of musicdom:
Former contestant and crazed fan that I missed this season:
That is enough of this silliness. I must go vote ... 1.866.Ivotedlike50,000timesforDavid.
PS: This is for all of you "Cookies"
The other day, I met someone for the first time who said, "You know, you're a lot different in person than you are on your blog. I'm kind of ... surprised."
Me: "Really? How so?"
New-Person: "You're much more bold and confident on your blog. I expected to meet someone with a BIG personality. You're much more ... subdued in person."
With a sudden, intense desire to appear confident, bold and more interesting than the wet tissue paper I had just pulled off my straw, I replied with BIG personality and tremendous wit: "Really?"
New-Person: "Yeah. You just come across so much ... more ... um, sure of yourself on your blog. I don't know. I just thought that when I met you, you'd be more ... nevermind."Mouse Me: "Oh. Sorry."
New Person: "That's OK. Don't apologize."
Me, pulling left contact out because it folded up and stuck to my eyeball like Saran wrap at exactly the moment I needed to feel confident: "OK. Sorry."
Question(s):
Do you think you have the same personality both on and off your blog?
Question 2: Have you ever made a less-than-stellar first impression?
Question C: I have an appointment next Tuesday for a new haircut. Should I cancel it?
Bonus Question for Extra Credit: If you and I met at She Speaks, and I appeared to be way, way, waaaay "less confident" in person than I am on this blog, would you dump me for Bambi?
So Saturday I spent four hours at the public libarry working on my book proposal for She Speaks.
Four hours.
I concentrated very hard most of the time, except when I was craving chocolate or when those little kids were confused and thought they were at recess, or when I was distracted by the men who were wandering through the books discussing every topic under the sun, mainly politics and history with an intermittent snippet of entertainment thrown in. "Oh, why don't they stop talking?" I asked myself. "Or maybe audition for Jeopardy, because they sure know a lot."
Then I realized that I was being distracted by a man, as in "singular." I thought I was listening to two men when in fact one man was having a conversation with himself. He chose to sit at the table next to me. I tried to concentrate on writing and ignore him, but I noticed he kept pulling very thick books from the shelves to pseudo-read; that is, he would turn the pages while looking around and chatting. Then he would stack that open book on top of the other open book and get another after consulting himself.
Just slightly distracting. But also kind of endearing. And I'm going to say it: funny. But I did not laugh, so you don't have to click away from here right now to get away from the mean lady.
It's just ironic that I went there to get away from distractions like teenagers and yappy dogs and lawn mowers and telephones and my fatal attraction, blogging.
So I ended up putting the earphones in just to block out noise because I don't listen to music if I am writing. I just want quiet. If I'm doing busy-work, I might listen to music, but not if I'm creating something. Wow, that sounds high-falutin': "If I'm creating something." (Like when I create my scientific analyses of which junk food goes best with American Idol.)
Anyway, after a while, Jorge joined me there, working across the table from me, just like we did in college. That's right. While you were out going to your parties in college, we were simultaneously smokin' the keyboards off of our graduation-present Brother electric typewriters, vibrating my mom's kitchen table's screws loose, which is probably a good metaphor for what we were doing to my parents' sanity, since they had to put up with that awful rat-a-tat machine-gun racket. Incredibly, they never once said, "Can ya give that a REST?!"
Anyway, I was trying to concentrate in spite of all that distraction when a very, very elderly lady passed my husband and me and virtually exploded a natural gas emission that was quite loud and quite protracted. To the point of breaching the noise blocking capability of the earphones. To the point of unbelievability.
Game over.
I dared not look at Jorge until she shuffled away, and then ...
I lost it.
So you may have to write me off after all.
People, if you want to work without being distracted, DON'T go to the public library. You'd be better off going to an auction or a riot or field day at your kid's school. But wherever you go, don't count on the library for quietness--they just don't shush 'em like they used to.
Recently, I explained the origin of a well-worn phrase in my verbiage: "Dumped for Bambi." We have another saying around our house which applies to many situations, especially when something has gone wrong, and you're the one to blame, but you don't want to take the blame, so you just shrug your shoulders and say, "Wha' happen?"
Also, I'll be off to the library to write today because "I can't do my werrrk" here at home.
Here is the incredibly hilarious Fred Willard explaining the origin of "Wha' happen?"
One of my best friends, Leslie, is known at a local yogurt drive-through as “The Pepsi Lady.”
Years ago, Leslie took advantage of the store’s offer that if customers bought one of their large tumblers, they could bring that cup in for a very cheap refill for a limited time. To a fountain Pepsi lover like Leslie, this was a sweet deal! So every day, Leslie pulled up to the window to get her giant refill.
Because of her huge smile and sociability, Leslie became a popular customer who was greeted with not one but several employee “hello's” whenever she appeared. To say that Leslie found favor at this place is an understatement. In fact, when the time limit ran out on the refill offer, Leslie was given special dispensation and was able to continue her daily fountain Pepsi quests at the discounted rate!
Follow the link to read the riveting conclusion to the Pepsi Lady story!
