Wow! Last night before my evening bath, hubby came upstairs to inform me that my computer was fixed - and that he also threw in some extra RAM, too!! Yeah!

That was quite a thoughtful surprise -  especially since I hadn't mentioned it to him yesterday.  But anyway, here I am typing with no vision imparment as of yet, so hopefully I'll be visiting and commenting at my usual pace.

Just a quick note here to let anyone/everyone know that my laptop is goofed up again - something really wrong with the screen. Hubby can likely fix it but since he's pretty swamped w. other, more pressing items (earning $ for the household being the main one), I am not certain when it will get fixed. So I really can't use IM on this server (not allowed to load that app on here) plus this machine is frequently in use doing some sort of process or another so rather than hog the family bandwidth I'll just be abstaining from blogland and, for that matter, cyberuniverse, until my laptop ceases making my eyes hurt.

In previous years, I'd used upcoming triathlon events as my motivation for working out, keeping up with running, strength training, swimming, etc. I'd been hoping after last year's races that this year I'd be able to really "compete" - that is, that I'd have better split times for each event (my skills in running and swiming have gotten better) and, of even greater impact, that I'd have a "legit" racing bike to use and train on.

I cannot remotely justify the purchase of even a mid-range bike (approx. $1500 range) this year as we are really getting crowded out of our little house and hope to put on an addition perhaps as early as this summer - or even move to a location dictated by the results of the current job search. In my heart, I'd really rather put every penny saved toward opening up some space here and improving upon the space/furnishings we have, including our "outdoor area". (Last year we lost an Elm tree and thus have a big crater in the middle of the front yard that really needs some landscaping help.)

Knowing in my mind that the bike thang wasn't gonna happen. I have lost momentum in getting on my bike and indoor trainer. I've been opting for more "general" workouts, like pilates, ashtanga yoga (power yoga), and hope to also take a deep-water aqua-aerobics class that starts at the end of March. But what would serve as my carrot-on-the-stick?

I just happened to check out Self magazine's website last week and found that the annual Self Challenge just started, so I signed up to do it and keep an online log of my workouts. I am really excited about this as I've always kept a workout log/journal of some sort for the past 3-4 years. But this is even better as with each log entry, I get a chance to win a "prize of the day" - usually some sort of frilly bath product or similar.

Its not to late to sign up - and you can either follow the "prescribed" workouts or choose from a list of "general excercises" for both cardio and strength training. 

In just one week I've appreciably stepped-up my total workout minutes and intensity, as well as added more diversity to my routines. I'd recommend this plan to anyone - especially since it's been helping beat these late-winter blues.

I've nothing fun or interesting to discuss lately. My husband is getting to the end of his rope at work - he is just miserable there.

No, his job is not in jeopardy. Things have been hectic and nutso for some time, but its just been getting progessively worse for him. He got a promotion in December - and of course the new salary doesn't kick in untl APRIL which STINKS! Yeah, he's basically doing double work (new job responsibilities plus tying up the end of his current project) and isn't getting paid for it. Typical corporate BS.

He's putting in about 10-12 hours per day. Yesterday he went into work at 7am and got home at 10:15 pm - and its only a 20 minute commute! Friday night we were sound asleep on to be awakend at 12:05 am by the phone - from work, naturally, letting him know a certain process was finished and was ready for him to work with. He's not a friggin' OB/Gyne waiting for a baby to arrive in the middle of the night! He's an IT manager!!! If he had been expecting a call like that (Honey, programmer X may be calling me sometime tonight or tomorrow morning to let me know that yadda yadda yadda...) I wouldn't have been so angry. Maybe he did know and forgot to tell me?

When I was a kid my dad was frequently "on call" - especially during bad weather. He worked for a public utility and naturally, if service was interupted he needed to be in work to get it restored. That was part of the business. It was hard on my mom, being home sometimes for DAYS on end with three little kids and no dad (plus, she didn't drive at the time) but we got through it.

This situation though, somehow seems different. When my pop would jump into the trenches and figure out a way, with a crew, to stop a gas main explosion from destroying a neighborhood, naturally he felt GOOD. My husband is getting little to no satisfaction from his projects and their frantic pace, even though his individual contributions are often recognized and complimetned by those higher-up in the organization.

So I've taken time out of my daily job search and resume-updating for him to vent my frustrations here in blogville. We are scrambling together to find something else for him in the area. I am somewhat saddened about the prospect of change because he gets over 3 weeks of vacation with his current company since he has been there so long. But vacation time is pretty useless if you can never use it, I guess.

Before Buster Baxter had the opportunity to raise questions about homosexual relationships in my household, Homer J. and the Simpsons crew beat him to it. This week's episode featured a plot premise in which the charm-challeneged hamlet of Springfield legalized gay marriage in order to encourage gay tourism in town. Needless to say, before I could change the channel, my little one saw some exaggerated cartoon depictions of men holding hands and kissing thus prompting her to ask:

"Mommy, what do you call it when a man is in love with a man?"

The recent news story (see link HERE) of a Muslim woman wishing to take her daughters to a local public pool in Nebraska gave me a great idea. A few years ago, I recall a PBS documentary about everyday life in Iran (way before the recent crises between the US and that nation.) One of the more charming scenes was of two upper-middle class Iranian couples water skiing on a lake. Yes the women were in full Hijab (pardon any misspellings) AND were able to waterski! How? An ingenious company there produced quick-drying black nylon outfits and veils for women to wear swimming and for other recreational activities.

Why, I wonder couldn't people in the situation like this woman in Nebraska (not to mention others concerned with modesty - Orthodox Jews, Muslims, Mennonite, etc...) create a market for ultra-modest activewear? Long hiking skirts in ripstop fabric with plenty of cargo pockets, quick-drying, lightweight wrist and ankle-length bathing attire (not unlike a wetsuit but less buoyant), long split skirts with ankle ties for cycling, bicycle helmets with small built-in-veils in back... my idea stream for these items goes on and on.

Honestly, I'm not being sarcastic about this...I used to have a co-worker buddy who was orthodox Jewish. She used to fill me in, over lunches (Kosher, natch) about the ingenoius and creative ways that American Orthodox Jewish women could fulfill their modesty obligations while still feeling fashionable, living in a modern American city like Chicago.

For example, she stated (and I have seen it all over the country) that Orthodox women are obliged to have their heads covered. This was not such a problem when hats were worn everyday by both men and women. With the decline of the hat came...the rise of the wig! Thus some Orthodox women cut their natural hair very short and don a stylish wig - a sort of hair-hat, if you will.

For teenage girls wishing to be cool and casual like their gentile peers, the easiest solution was a long denim skirt for everyday wear. In fact, on casual fridays at work, she'd wear a long denim skirt with a longsleeve tshirt or sweatshirt, as opposed to the dresses she wore the rest of the week.

This year, my sister and her husband cleverly wore the following costume to a halloween party:

What are they supposed to be, you may ask? "THE DEATH OF HOCKEY" of course! Looks like they knew it was inevitable...

Buckle the heck up!!! (see story below.)

DENVER (AP) - Six people in a minivan survived a 400-foot plunge down a slope in the Colorado Rockies, apparently because they were wearing seat belts.

"I just remember as we were sliding, it seemed slow," Terry Holman said Tuesday on NBC's "Today" show. "I kept hoping it would grab and come back the other way. When it didn't and started to fall, I just thought we were done for."

Holman and the others were on 11,018-foot Red Mountain Pass in southwestern Colorado on Saturday when Joe Sullivan's minivan slid on a patch of ice. The van carried Sullivan, his wife, son and daughter as well as Holman and Holman's daughter, Stacia.

Sullivan recalls shouting as the vehicle tumbled down the 60-degree slope. It rolled twice, maybe more, before coming to rest with the driver's side facing down.

"As we first started down, we thought that was the end," Sullivan told "Today.""As we kept going further and further and realized nothing got us, nothing got us, there was a lot of hope and we just wanted to stop."

Sullivan's wife, Linda, had a head injury, but it was not life-threatening. Still, everyone was worried about getting help at the bottom of a hill on one the state's most treacherous passes.

Skip and Terri Garcia had been following the minivan in their SUV and pieced together what happened.

"We rounded a corner and the minivan was no longer in front of us," Skip Garcia told The Denver Post. "I glanced down and noticed tire tracks in the fresh, slushy snow headed over the embankment."

Terri Garcia used the Onstar feature of their SUV to call for help while her husband peered over the edge. "To our amazement people started to exit the vehicle," Skip Garcia said. "I yelled down for them to stay put, that help was on its way."

"Those folks are incredibly lucky that they survived," he said. "Amazing things happen."

Colorado State Patrol Sgt. Lawrence Oletski said the fact that all six people in the van were wearing seat belts was key.

"This is the first time I can remember something like this where someone wasn't hurt badly or didn't die," Oletski said. "It truly is a miracle."

I recently finished reading a biography on famed 90’s “foxcore” band Babes in Toyland by Neal Karlen. In mid-January, while browsing the nonfiction section of the library, I stumbled across this book propped up on a round platform as part of a monthly thematic display of suggested reading. The theme of this particular platform was “Rock & Roll” and was comprised largely of classic schlock, er, rock “behind-the-music”- type tomes. Spying this gem of a book among the rest made me first giggle, then thumb though, and finally check it out and spend night after night pouring over the details of the making (and disintegration) of a smaller-time major label act.

 

While I was never a Babes fan, this book drew me in deeply as it chronicled the inner-workings of both the music industry and the indie rock “scene” – the fans, musicians, alternative press, critics, club owners, and other characters that enter into the Big Picture. While offering an incredibly intimate portrait of the band, Karlen is also careful to be non-judgemental and is more than fair in his treatment of the “suits” who give the Babes their break into the Big Time.

 

While the so-called grunge “movement” was my era, I never fully identified myself with it (i.e. – I never wore flannel or doc martens.) Nonetheless I did adore many of the Sub-Pop-esque tunesmiths of the time (Mudhoney, The Fluid, etc.)  along with myriad other hipster bands, especially those generating a lot of positive energy in Chicago during those years (Jesus Lizard, Urge Overkill, Eleventh Dream Day, Poster Children.)

 

In my high school and early college years, I had a soft spot for so-called “garage punk”, as well as late 80’s “paisley underground”. In my mind, the sugary L.A. pop I adored by Three O’Clock, The Pandoras and the early Bangles was nicely balanced out in my record collection by the Dead Kennedys, Black Flag, Circle Jerks and anyone else who was part of the Repo Man soundtrack. Toss in there some Brit and Aussie gloom-miesters (Nick Cave, Jesus & Mary Chain, Spaceman 3) and my collection could be summed up as “poppy/punky/purgatory.”

 

Working at a college radio station I spent way more time at the types of dive-y clubs mentioned in Karlen’s book, than in the library! Thus my wardrobe priority was not comfy sweats for studying but fun and foxy vintage polyester minidresses – the louder the print, the better – for wearing to the sweat-and-beer-soaked nightclubs that gave me my real education. Since I so loved those “retro” Mod-look garage bands, I opted for acid-colored prints, short boots, colored tights and a hairdo that would make Marlo Thomas smile – the quintessential flip, straight bangs and all. Essentially I looked like a time-warped extra off the set of The Monkees’ tv show.

 

One of many themes that ran through Karlen’s book was the media-designated War of the Shmatte – a phrased attributed to Courtney Love to describe her falling out with former high school best friend Kat Bjelland (of Babes in Toyland.) Apparently each accused the other of stealing the babydoll dress and little girl barettes look. (Shmatte being Yiddish for “rag” – the raggedy old thrift store dresses favored by grunge goddeses at the time.)

I found this hype and anguish utterly ridiculous, as I recall gals in Chicago (myself included) sporting the altered 1960’s housedresses (I used to hem mine with Stich Witchery iron-on tape) in bars and clubs before I had ever heard of the aforementioned Ms. Love or Bjelland.

 

Not to mention that my “sisters” in the vibrant rockabilly revival scene in Chicago also favored little bangs, and tiny barettes or headscarves to accompany their goin’-out gear.

 

I loved this look because I felt cool and yet girly all at once. I didn’t grunge-up (or should that be grunge DOWN?) myself with frazzled hair or other signs of deliberate sloppiness. If the venue was crusty enough, I certainly had no issue popping on some combat boots with my daisy-print minidress, but only for the sheer practicality of the matter. Let’s face it: Robert Clergerie pancake heel go-go boots and puddles of beer and god-knows-what just don’t mix!

 

Of all of my old clothes, the few I have saved are the thrift store-purchased and home-altered shmattes that embarrassed the hell out of my parents, raised a few eyebrows on campus, and made me feel like Queen of the Scene in the early 90’s.

 

(me and best friend, "B", circa 1991, Rainbo Club, Chicago, housedresses in full effect.)  

 

                         

I spent some time this week loitering around the card aisle of a neighborhood drugstore searching for an appropriate Valentine for my husband. I am hardly one to be un-sentimental, but even I was audibly wretching after reading verse after verse of syrupy nonesense. Some of these cards literally embarassed me. My embarassment erupted into to annoyance as I realized that a flipping CARD was causing me to blush and sputter as I shoved each schmaltzy paper greeting back into its holder.

I have found the solution to this saccharin dilemma.

Although significantly less than in the spirit of the "holiday" (I give wide berth to that classification), some of these e-cards are pretty stinkin' amusing.

Hubby already sent me the one about dying in a room smelling of cat pee...how ROMANTIC! *sigh*