...for holiday flicks! Here are some my favorite non-Christmas "Christmas" movies:
1) The Family Stone
Dermot Mulroney, Sarah Jessica Parker, Claire Danes, Diane Keaton, Rachel McAdams, Luke Wilson. The all-star cast portrays the eccentric Stone family celebrating a holiday gathering full of surprises.
2) Stepmom
Julia Roberts, Susan Sarandon, Ed Harris, Jena Malone. I love almost any Julia Roberts movie. Humorous and poignant, this is a tale of an unlikely friendship between two extraordinary women.
3) Love Actually
Hugh Grant, Liam Neeson, Colin Firth, Laura Linney, Emma Thompson. It's coined the "ultimate" romantic comedy, but I didn't fall for it the first time. It is, however, a great and unique story depicting the twists and turns of love.
4) The Holiday
Cameron Diaz, Kate Winslet, Jude Law, Jack Black, Eli Wallach. Probably the most holiday-ish of the bunch, this is a charming love story that happens to take place during the most wonderful time of the year.
5) While You Were Sleeping
Sandra Bullock, Bill Pullman, Peter Gallagher. It's schmaltzy and sentimental, but it's a hilarious story of mix-ups and choices.
Happy Holidays to all!
Monday, December 22, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
everywhere I look, I see rain
I have recently discovered something new about myself.
If there is one pet peeve my friends and family know best of mine, it is that I hate wet socks! This is then followed by socks with holes in them. Apparently I am very picky about my feet.
Living in San Diego, there is not much in the way of "inclement" weather. This week, however, we have been doused with rain. It rained all day on Monday. While enjoying the seldom-heard pit-pat pit-pat of drops, I found there is something I really don't like about a rainy day. Something that irks me even more than a damp sock...and that...is a soggy hem. I hate it when the hem of your pants gets soaked. Not only does this increase the chance of acquiring a wet sock, but you cannot simply put your trousers away upon returning home and slipping into comfy-cozy sweats. They have to dry.
So, knowing full well that we were in for another rainy day today, I tried to devise the best possibly way to avoid the same mishap that befell my pants on Monday. I did not come up with anything clever...but I did decide to wear my boots today. So far...my pants are still dry. But I am not done going outside yet.
If there is one pet peeve my friends and family know best of mine, it is that I hate wet socks! This is then followed by socks with holes in them. Apparently I am very picky about my feet.
Living in San Diego, there is not much in the way of "inclement" weather. This week, however, we have been doused with rain. It rained all day on Monday. While enjoying the seldom-heard pit-pat pit-pat of drops, I found there is something I really don't like about a rainy day. Something that irks me even more than a damp sock...and that...is a soggy hem. I hate it when the hem of your pants gets soaked. Not only does this increase the chance of acquiring a wet sock, but you cannot simply put your trousers away upon returning home and slipping into comfy-cozy sweats. They have to dry.
So, knowing full well that we were in for another rainy day today, I tried to devise the best possibly way to avoid the same mishap that befell my pants on Monday. I did not come up with anything clever...but I did decide to wear my boots today. So far...my pants are still dry. But I am not done going outside yet.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
power
I tend to want to keep this blog free of posts that are seasoned and spun of politics, economics, and the like. But I feel I must say something in regards to this news article.
Over this 2008 year, I have loosely followed the string of news (mostly bad) coming out of Zimbabwe and its tyrannical leader, Robert Mugabe. Despite the increasingly rising number of deaths due to the recent cholera outbreak, still he insists things are under control.
Mugabe has been in control of the Zimbabwean government since the country took its independence from Britain in the early 80s. Since then, a spiral of disaster and strife has claimed hold on the country.
Because of one man's compulsion for total power, authority, and dominance, hundreds of people have been and are dying while that same man tells the rest of the world--anxious to help--that he has everything in hand.
Over this 2008 year, I have loosely followed the string of news (mostly bad) coming out of Zimbabwe and its tyrannical leader, Robert Mugabe. Despite the increasingly rising number of deaths due to the recent cholera outbreak, still he insists things are under control.
Mugabe has been in control of the Zimbabwean government since the country took its independence from Britain in the early 80s. Since then, a spiral of disaster and strife has claimed hold on the country.
Because of one man's compulsion for total power, authority, and dominance, hundreds of people have been and are dying while that same man tells the rest of the world--anxious to help--that he has everything in hand.
"Those who seek absolute power, even though they seek it to do what they regard as good, are simply demanding the right to enforce their own version of heaven on earth. And let me remind you, they are the very ones who almost always create the most hellish tyrannies. Absolute power does corrupt..."
-Barry Goldwater-
-Barry Goldwater-
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
the day has finally arrived...
When gas in San Diego dips below the $2.00/gallon mark. Yeah! I was waiting to turn right at a stoplight on my way to Target on Monday, and on the corner of the intersection, there was a guy with one of those ridiculously long gas-price-changer-rod-thingies pulling numbers down and putting numbers up.
He was working his way up from the diesel price up to the regular unleaded. When he pulled the number 2 away from the price, I was suddenly filled with a sense of anticipation. What was he doing with that number 2? Was it possible he was replacing it with a number 1? He stuck the new number on the end of his long stick. Began to raise it up, and it fell off. Come on, man! The light's not that long! What's it gonna be?
Replace the number. Raise the bar high. Aha! It is a number 1! Gas in San Diego (reportedly one of the most expensive cities in the United States) is now below $2.00. I truly never thought we would ever be able to purchase gas for less than $2.00 a gallon ever again anywhere in the U.S., much less Southern California.
My only regret was that I have a full tank of gas and do not need to purchase the cheap gas.
He was working his way up from the diesel price up to the regular unleaded. When he pulled the number 2 away from the price, I was suddenly filled with a sense of anticipation. What was he doing with that number 2? Was it possible he was replacing it with a number 1? He stuck the new number on the end of his long stick. Began to raise it up, and it fell off. Come on, man! The light's not that long! What's it gonna be?
Replace the number. Raise the bar high. Aha! It is a number 1! Gas in San Diego (reportedly one of the most expensive cities in the United States) is now below $2.00. I truly never thought we would ever be able to purchase gas for less than $2.00 a gallon ever again anywhere in the U.S., much less Southern California.
My only regret was that I have a full tank of gas and do not need to purchase the cheap gas.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
The Perfect Stranger
"We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken."
-Fyodr Dostoevky-
I like people. I like seeing the same people in the same places at the same time. It makes me feel the oneness with the rest of humanity--we're all here living our lives together.
There is a man who walks his dog up Gilman Drive. I often see him when I am heading to the freeway on my way to work. He always looks slightly disheveled--the I-just-got-out-of-bed-and-I'm-not-quite-awake-yet look. His brown hair will be mussed. The dog, on the other hand--the most adorable beagle--is always ready for the day. Alert, perky, and overjoyed to be out and about. They walk slowly, and the man is almost always wearing a blue or gray shirt. Recently, it has been a fleece pullover, as autumn brings on its damp morning chill.
Then there is the couple who I almost always see from my office window. They arrive in their red two-door car. He, driving, and reverse into the empty space across the lot from where my car is parked. They both get out. He pulls his plastic grocery bag containing lunch from the back seat. She is always wearing jeans and heels. They hug. He kisses her. He heads in to work, and she gets into the car and drives off. It's a sweet ritual.
Amazing how these people--these strangers--become a part of our lives, our daily routine, and when we find that they don't appear as scheduled, a twinge of disappointment floods the soul. There was a series of weeks when I did not see the Man Who Walks the Beagle. When he finally reappeared, this huge smile came to my face the morning I saw him again. I think I actually said out loud, "He's back!"
Cheers to all the unknown folks who surround us, knit us in to the never ending circle of humanity.
-Fyodr Dostoevky-
I like people. I like seeing the same people in the same places at the same time. It makes me feel the oneness with the rest of humanity--we're all here living our lives together.
There is a man who walks his dog up Gilman Drive. I often see him when I am heading to the freeway on my way to work. He always looks slightly disheveled--the I-just-got-out-of-bed-and-I'm-not-quite-awake-yet look. His brown hair will be mussed. The dog, on the other hand--the most adorable beagle--is always ready for the day. Alert, perky, and overjoyed to be out and about. They walk slowly, and the man is almost always wearing a blue or gray shirt. Recently, it has been a fleece pullover, as autumn brings on its damp morning chill.
Then there is the couple who I almost always see from my office window. They arrive in their red two-door car. He, driving, and reverse into the empty space across the lot from where my car is parked. They both get out. He pulls his plastic grocery bag containing lunch from the back seat. She is always wearing jeans and heels. They hug. He kisses her. He heads in to work, and she gets into the car and drives off. It's a sweet ritual.
Amazing how these people--these strangers--become a part of our lives, our daily routine, and when we find that they don't appear as scheduled, a twinge of disappointment floods the soul. There was a series of weeks when I did not see the Man Who Walks the Beagle. When he finally reappeared, this huge smile came to my face the morning I saw him again. I think I actually said out loud, "He's back!"
Cheers to all the unknown folks who surround us, knit us in to the never ending circle of humanity.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Age is something that doesn't matter, unless you are a cheese
Billie Burke said that (FYI: she was the actress who played Glinda, the good witch in The Wizard of Oz.).
Last week I went to a free concert at the Hard Rock Cafe in downtown San Diego. Justin Nozuka was playing. (Very talented young man--check him out!) It was a great free event, hosted by the radio station Sophie @ 103.7. It was low-key and Nozuka has this soulful voice that's so easy to listen to.
But the reason I'm posting this blog is not about the music, although I would recommend the artist. The reason I'm posting is the mid-life crisis lady in the women's restroom.
After the show ended, and before my friends and I headed out in the Gaslamp District to walk around, we hit the loo. There was a woman in one of the stalls chatting away--I assumed she was talking on the phone. No one else in the restroom was responding to her, or even seemed to be listening. But after she left the stall and went to the sink, she continued her ranting and raving about how she wished she was young again. "I wish I was young and beautiful again." It was so much more fun.
I peered through the crack behind the door of my own stall. No phone. No blue tooth attached to her ear. She was definitely talking to herself. For what seemed like endless minutes. I was afraid to come out. I didn't want to walk out in all of my twenty-three years while she bitterly commiserated about her lost (and apparently ancient) youth.
When I was a kid, my dad used to jokingly sing the golden ticket song from the old 1970s Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (which was, in fact a musical). Only he changed the words. Instead of singing "I've got a golden ticket, I've got a golden twinkle in my eye..." yada yada, he would sing, "I've got a golden ticket. Nobody else but me! I've got a golden ticket. Nee-ner, nee-ner, nee!"
That's what I felt like I would doing to this bitter, fifty-something woman if I walked out in my wrinkle-free, no gray-hairs, everything-sitting-exactly-where-it's supposed-to glory. Gallivanting about the restroom of the Hard Rock waving my beautiful youth in her face. So I waited until she finally left to emerge, her last remark to herself, "Well, at least I own my own home. At least I can say that."
I like Billie Burke's quirky comment about age and cheese. I hope that someday when I'm "old," I don't ever wish to be something else, or somewhere else in life. I like to think of old age as an award--gray hairs being the crown of glory, of course. Age demands respect, and that starts with the self.
Last week I went to a free concert at the Hard Rock Cafe in downtown San Diego. Justin Nozuka was playing. (Very talented young man--check him out!) It was a great free event, hosted by the radio station Sophie @ 103.7. It was low-key and Nozuka has this soulful voice that's so easy to listen to.
But the reason I'm posting this blog is not about the music, although I would recommend the artist. The reason I'm posting is the mid-life crisis lady in the women's restroom.
After the show ended, and before my friends and I headed out in the Gaslamp District to walk around, we hit the loo. There was a woman in one of the stalls chatting away--I assumed she was talking on the phone. No one else in the restroom was responding to her, or even seemed to be listening. But after she left the stall and went to the sink, she continued her ranting and raving about how she wished she was young again. "I wish I was young and beautiful again." It was so much more fun.
I peered through the crack behind the door of my own stall. No phone. No blue tooth attached to her ear. She was definitely talking to herself. For what seemed like endless minutes. I was afraid to come out. I didn't want to walk out in all of my twenty-three years while she bitterly commiserated about her lost (and apparently ancient) youth.
When I was a kid, my dad used to jokingly sing the golden ticket song from the old 1970s Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (which was, in fact a musical). Only he changed the words. Instead of singing "I've got a golden ticket, I've got a golden twinkle in my eye..." yada yada, he would sing, "I've got a golden ticket. Nobody else but me! I've got a golden ticket. Nee-ner, nee-ner, nee!"
That's what I felt like I would doing to this bitter, fifty-something woman if I walked out in my wrinkle-free, no gray-hairs, everything-sitting-exactly-where-it's supposed-to glory. Gallivanting about the restroom of the Hard Rock waving my beautiful youth in her face. So I waited until she finally left to emerge, her last remark to herself, "Well, at least I own my own home. At least I can say that."
I like Billie Burke's quirky comment about age and cheese. I hope that someday when I'm "old," I don't ever wish to be something else, or somewhere else in life. I like to think of old age as an award--gray hairs being the crown of glory, of course. Age demands respect, and that starts with the self.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
a haiku regarding the four day work week
Ah, the bliss of one
day less in the week of work.
My heart rejoiceth.
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