Thursday, October 30, 2008

Obama Mama

It's no secret: I have voted for Obama. I think he is the best choice. Actually, I think he's more than that--I really love him. But if you are voting McCain, I know you're doing so because you think he's the better choice. So I can respect that, even though I (really) disagree. Anyway, my point is: I found these two great videos on Jezebel this morning.

This is the long version of Obama on the Daily Show with John Stewart. If you want to see just the shorter, funny part, Jezebel has edited it down, and you can view it here:

I was working last night so I missed Obama's 30 minute spot. Here it is, in case you did too:


In other news, I am leaving for New York tomorrow with my dad! I am scared of flying but excited for everything else. We have made some loose plans: On Saturday we are going to the Met and then walking down through Central Park and headed down toward Time Square, where the Theater District is. That night we see Harry Potter in Equus! I bet dad is thrilled to see the hero of the books he can't stand. I think Sunday we are thinking to do the Village and Chinatown. Monday we're hitting up the MOMA before heading a couple blocks over to Bobby Flay's Bar Americain for a late lunch. Somewhere in there we need to fit in the Guggenheim and take a stroll past the Academy of Dramatic Arts, where dad went to school.

I can't wait! I will miss you all. We're flying back on Election Day--hopefully we'll be celebrating!

Monday, October 27, 2008

Boo at the Zoo

Somewhere between trying to buy a new car and find a good loan and working and doing Boo at the Zoo and visiting Castle Rock, my Muse checked out. I think she hopped a plane to Dubai or Vienna or the south of France. I'm pretty sure she took along that next great book to read (because I can't find it in my house. I thought it might be World Without End or The Space Between Us, but it wasn't). She'll be back. But while she's gone, you get pictures, and pictures only:

Go ahead. Make my day.

Sister Hea and the Piggy, waking up from her long autum nap:

I swear, Papa did not look this angry the rest of the time. But the camera never lies, does it dad? Meanwhile Indy readies for her close-up.

Boys and girls:

Indy and her favorite, Papa (she wouldn't let anyone else touch her all day) head off into the sunset:

I love this picture. We took it before we piled into the car to head to the Piggy's baptism.

Monday, October 20, 2008

All right, all right

I thought it was time I posted some pictures on here for you. It's probably what most of you come for--cute shots of the girls. So without further ado:

Indiana Dylan
Somebody looks like dad.

Friday, October 17, 2008

October must read

I just finished The Lace Reader by Brunonia Barry. It was pretty good. Worth a read if you're looking for something book-cluby. But I am really excited to tell you about this: Tana French's debut novel, In The Woods.

It's a mystery/detective novel. Not the sort of thing I usually read. But the writing is great, and the story is so creepy. Just check this out, from the back cover:

"Three children leave their small Dublin neighborhood to play in the surrounding woods. Hours later, their mothers' calls go unanswered. When the police arrive, they find only one of the children, gripping a tree trunk in terror, wearing blood-filled sneakers, and unable to recall a single detail of the previous hours."

That child is the narrator of the book , Detective Rob Ryan, and he's working a case of a girl murdered in the same woods where he was found. It's a perfect read for October, cozy and eerie and just spooky enough. It won the Edgar Award (as in Allen Poe) for Best First Novel, and the jacket boasts blurbs from NPR and the New York Times Book Review--but unlike most books that boast good reviews from NPR and the NY Times, it's not stuffy and pretentious and self-satisfied.

I highly recommend it.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

An Open Letter, To my Beloved Fringe

No, not my bangs.

Dearest J.J. Abrams, all writers of Fringe, and yes, though it hurts me to say it, YOU, Joshua Jackson. This is for you too:

It had been crawling up on me for a few weeks now. That knowing, gnawing sense that something isn't right. It's the same feeling I get while dozing in bed at 8 am on a weekday and the house is quiet. It means the girls are getting in to something--eggs, marshmallows, pink frosting that is most good for painting all the walls. Yes, that same feeling has tickled and poked and buzzed at me for the last few weeks, from 8 pm to 9 pm, Tuesday nights.

Finally I had to say to. Husband, I said. There are three things that bother me about Fringe. Here they are, re-ordered from least important to most:

1. In that beautiful first episode with the airplane zombies, it was winter in Boston. Cold and snowy. According to the plot line in the show, no more than a few weeks could have passed. Yet in current episodes, it's springtime in Boston, folks. (Or Queens, where they actually shoot the show).

2. You give Pacey WAY to many one-liners. As a result of their sheer abundance, most of them aren't even funny. I get that when developing the show you imagined Pater would be the comic relief. I'm guessing you didn't know then just how hilarious John Noble as Walter Bishop would be. He's all the comic relief we need. Or at least the majority of it. Pater is supposed to be a genius. He has a dark past with some secret organazation that wants to hurt him and a tortured relationship with his father, or did in his childhood anyway. There's so much there! So many lost opportunities to give Pater depth. Work with that. Enough wise cracks about nutty daddy. We know daddy is nutty. We don't need Pater to point it out to us right before every commerical break in all his tenderly sarcastic glory (and that is your glory, Mr. Jackson. But only part of it).

3. This is the biggest problem. The show's Achilles heel. Pater and Olivia behave as if they aren't even in the same room. Does each even know the other is there? Anna Torv, I know you are busy saying all your clever lines as you figure out, via Paters interpretations of nutty daddy, what exactly is going on. You also manage to seem strong yet vulnerable while you do it and I'm sure it isn't easy. And Pater, your plate is full of the snappy dialogue, as stated above. But would it kill you two--surely not?--to just LOOK at eachother when you speak? Pater, I know you can do it. This is the other half of your glory. I spent six long years watching you give Joey meanigful, longing, loaded glances. I know you can do it! Last night you rattled of a line and then started into the distance as the camera focused to Olivia, in the foreground. You stood in the background with your arms crossed, gazing at god knows what. The cute chick holding the boom? I don't know. All I know is that you two have about as much chemistry as Ann Heche and Harrison Ford in that one painful movie that never should have been made and nearly robbed Harrison of all his sex appeal.

A lot of the fault for this lies in the writing. It's pretty obvious to have Pater and Olivia eventually hook up, I agree. But you need to decide whether you're going to do it or not so we can at least get a grip on how these two are supposed to relate to eachother. Do they tolerate eachother as a necessary means to their needed ends? Does each resent the other's position (Olivia gets the badge and the cred, Pacey gets all the smart-talk)? Do they like, even admire and respect, one another, although while knowing that romantically they could never work? Do they share a pint after torture? A cup of coffee before Walter? Or is there something there, something romantic waiting to spark to life? I don't really care what you pick. Just pick something! Right now they each sort of exist in a vaccuum. Remember Alias? Remember all those sweet and tender scenes when Alias talked to Vaughn in the back of the white van? They hashed out their day, how the mission went. What it's like being a double agent. Nothing deep. But for the love of god! It established some kind of chemistry.

I mean, seriously. ANYTHING would be better than Pater's weird and random touching of Liv's hand a few weeks ago (it came off creepy). And ANYTHING would beat Pater raising that tenderly sarcastic eyebrow and Liv and saying:

"I suppose I have you to thank for this (pigeon business), don't I?"

and Liv, not even looking at him while she replies, "Yep. That would be me."

With deepest love and hope,

certified Pater specialist.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Totalling up my losses

Let's see:

Car breaks down on I-25 haflway between Denver and Fort Collins: -30 points

Find out car that has 200,000 miles on it needs $2700 worth of work and you have no money for a down payment on a new car and bad credit: -50 points. Total: -80 points.

You make a banking mistake, overdraw your account, and bank pays the money and does not charge you an overdraft fee: +25 points. Total: -55 points

Salted Caramel Mocha at Starbucks: +1 point. Total: -54 points.

Chile Beer during Broncos game at Wynkoops: +20 points. Total: -34 points.

Broncos lose: -20 points. Total: -54 points.

Finding out that the next Bronco game which you were so excited to watch (vs. Pats!) is on MONDAY night and you have to work: -200 points. Total: -234 points.

New Fringe tonight: +75 points. Total:-159 points.

Watching this video 30 times in a row: +30 points. Total: -129 points.

Brother-in-law takes you out to the BEST. FREAKING. MEAL. You have ever had in your entire life. Too delicious for words: +400 points.

Grand Total: +271 points.

Guess I can't complain!

Friday, October 3, 2008

No comments for you!

I don't know why my blog is not allowing comments. Trying to fix it! Please remember what you wanted to say, and come back and say it later.

I'm not Supermom, so why do I work her hours?

Seriously guys, the paying job thing? Way over rated. I don't make enough to actually, you know, BUY things. I hang out in a bookstore all day staring at books I can't buy, surrounded by their scent. I'm like an alcoholic with a magic beer fridge. Except the beer costs money, and the alcoholic doesn't have any, even though she spends all her evenings selling other people beer, and watching them sit around a drink it. Oh it's god-awful. GOSH awful, mom. GOSH.

Last night I was so tired when I came home that I baked pumpkin bread without any flour. I didn't discover this til I went to check on what was supposed to be my fluffy loaf and found myself wondering if it was normal for the sugar to be crystallizing on the sides of the pan like that. And why does my bread look more like bread pudding? Or like somebody mixed together a bunch of sugar and water and butter and stuck it in a hot oven to burn?

At least I remembered to turn off the oven. When I got up to use the bathroom around 2 in the morning, the timer was buzzing. But the oven was off, folks!

Despite my better intentions (I am using the wrong phrase here, and am too tired to think up the right one), I took the girls to the zoo this morning. Oh, you can imagine. Indy had a major tantrum and we almost didn't make it out the door. I wish we hadn't. It was the worst day to go to the zoo ever. A sea of children clad in red and white shirts and blue and khaki pants greeted us at the door, a wide sargasso sea, stretching as far as the eye could reach. Despite the impression you might get from these pictures, we had a truly horrible time. Yes, there was cotton candy. And yes, there were rides on the carousel AND the choo-choo-train ( I know there's another non-mom word for this but all my exhausted brain can come up with is locomotion, and then I flash back to that episode of Full House, with DJ and Kimmy singing along, come on baby, do the locomotion? Are you with me here?) And yes there were not one, not two, but THREE baby snow leopards with skin furry and poofy as a -- you know the--those things from Harry Potter books, Ginny gets one for a pet and I think she names it Arnold? Puffy and fluffy as those guys--with bright blue eyes, leaping and (cajoling? caroling? there's a word here, people use it to describe what kittens do. Not carousing, not, um... hmmm. Well anyway.) Leaping and fluffing about. And yes, there was an elephant laying on his side getting a bath. And yes, the polar bear roared for us and the seals spalshed and the baby giraffe took a galumphing little run.

But I'm telling you folks. Readers, it harried me. (Jane Eyre, anyone?)

Two funny things did happen:

A little girl with pom-pom pig tails asked Ayla: "Is that lady right there your mom?"

Ayla looked at me, and said. "No." Then she said something to the girl I didn't hear.

Pom-pom pig tails looks at me: "Are you Britty?"

I know there was a second thing. But I can't think of it now.

I'll let you know when I do.

Oh! It just came to me. (Ten minutes later). The really sweet girl at the drive through Starbucks smiled at the girls and said "How's everyone doing today?!"

Indy grinned and began saying "Zoooo! Zoooo! Zooo!"

Ayla, inexplicably: "Spiderman. Spiderman. Spiderman! Spiderman."


Thursday, October 2, 2008

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Well. Yesterday. Yesterday was my dad's birthday. But I didn't have time to blog because I spent the day being completely stressed out over the lack of available, affordable hotels in NYC and then working at night.

I won't say how old my dad turned yesterday (and that's definitely NOT because I don't remember). I thought I would share some fun facts about dad--Bradford Karl Erickson.

Brad was born on October 1st. I have always been jealous of him for being born in the best month. I'm glad that Ayla was born in the best month. That makes up for it. A little.

Brad was born six weeks early which was a really big deal back then.

Growing up, Brad's family had german shepards.

Brad's middle name is a family tradition. His brother and father's middle names were Carl. And his grandfather was Raymond Carl as well.

Brad has performed in Godspell, Gaslight, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, and The Rainmaker, just to name a few.

Brad makes beautiful art. You can view it here. (Ok actually the site isn't loading. Can you fix it, Hea?)

Brad has snuck into Red Rocks Ampitheater to watch concerts hidden up in those rocks.

Dad took us camping and to the art museum a lot, and instilled in both his daughters a life long appreciation for fine arts and the outdoors.

Dad read us "The Hobbit" when we were young and did all the voices just right.

Dad used to let me pick out whatever book I wanted at the bookstore--be it Babysitter's Club, Sweet Valley High, or Dean Koontz and Mary Higgins Clark at the tender age of 10.

Dad is a great skiier. Unfortunately I did not inhierit that talent.

Dad is also a great fly-fisherman.

Dad is a beautiful writer. Seriously beautiful.

Dad once sculpted a giant dragon with fangs and claws and eyes and scales out of snow in our front yard and people stopped to take pictures.

Dad has heard a sasquatch.

Dad will pick up spiders with his bare hands.

My feminist leanings come from dad, whether or not he'll admit it.

Dad told great stories around the campfire.

When I was little, I wasn't scared to ride rollercoasters because I knew if I fell out, dad would catch me.

Happy Birthday, Dad!!

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