Despite a quasi-career in the world of "alternative" music, I have always loved the genre of 50's and 60's cocktail jazz. There is something tittillating to me about those uptempo and occasionaly steamy tunes that exude a level of sexiness in direct correlation to the number martinis or tom collins' imbibed through the evening.

When I'm in a "lounge" situation in Philly or Atlantic City, inevitably the crooner on deck is Frank Sinatra, mixed on occassion with some Dino for campy variety. It is not often that the foxy females of that era get their equal time on the restaurant or bar sound system.

Imagine my surprise and thrill of showing up to make a Communion-to-the-homebound housecall on Thursday, only to open the door and hear what sounded like a bachelor party in the basement. I didn't see him dancing, but the octogenarian I was visiting was jamming out to arguably one of the most hip songstresses of the 60's, Ms. Della Reese.

Apparently he was so engrossed in the moment that he didn't hear me come in. I asked, "Were you playing a record?" He noted that yes, awhile back he was at a record sale and saw the hard-to-find album and snatched it up for his collection immediately.

I was stunned. And impressed. And mad at myself for not considering that despite an aging body and declining health, a person could be a youthful hep-cat underneath the wrinkles and bald head.

After we spent time time praying and chatting, I left his home and offered my heartfelt valediction, "Rock on!"

I have never hidden my tendency toward boy-craziness Crushes through the years have been both diverse and bizarre. And yet latety a mysterious "stranger" seems to visit  in my dreams every now and then. He's not tall, or possessing movie-star looks but he does have dark hair - somewhere between straight and wavy. The best I can describe him is like a young Robert DeNiro, but with a naive quality that eminates through his eyes. All I can ever recall of this dream-dude is a warm, caring smile, and soft, gentle hands.

Tonight as I was driving my daughter home from school we were chatting about boys, and who she thinks is cute. It made me shudder for a moment when she said, "Well I don't know exactly who, but in my mind's eye he has dark hair. Not curly like dad's but dark."

Weird.

Even though our tiny cottage is already at capacity for furry family members, we took in a needy "orphan" - a castoff from a non-feline-loving neighbor. He was in terrible shape when we got him but after 10 days of convalescing in our warm home, with plenty of delicious kibble and home-made "kitten glop" available to him 'round the clock, our new guy has grown into and has started USING those uncut little fuzzy dice on his backend. Since I am not fond of cat urine sprayed about my home like some skunky version of Febreze, I took him to the vet today to be transformed via scalpel and anethesia into a darling, cuddly, neutered lil' dude.

He is a black cat who came to us in the nick of time, so it seemed. Thus, we named him Lucky.

I'll post a pic once his new collar arrives - it has shamrocks on it - the only shamrocks he's going to have from now on!!!

After 5:30 Mass last night, hubby treated the family to dinner at one of our fave local "upscale" restaurants.

I was in the mood for "residual sugar" with my salad, so I tried a glass of the 2005 Jekel Riesling (Moterrrey, CA). My uninformed, inarticulate, but enthusiastic review:  Yeah, baby, YEAH!

I'm going out today to nab a few bottles of it for my private stash.

We got more snow and slush today and over the weekend. And my child contracted yet another school-borne virus. This one causes fever and headaches. Apparently its all over the neighborhood. The fever over 102 and headache combo made me wary of meningitis so I called the pediatrician, who noted that they are "seeing alot of this right now" and all she can do is rest, take children's tylenol, and drink fluids. She seems ok except that her cheeks are flushed from the fever and she's a bit lethargic. Hopefully this will pass soon - as well as this wintry weather.

In Chicago, the Tuesday before Lent is known as "Paczki Day" (pronounced Poonshkie) - named for a Polish filled-donut of the same name. If Homer Simpson lived in Chicago (or other enclave of Polish culture) you can imagine him fantasize, "mmmmm, paczki."

Despite the local hype and tradition surrounding these bakery treats, jelly-or custard-filled donuts aren't my fave.

Instead of decadent pastries, my family will indulge in homemade margaritas, and a menu of various fried foods and unreal "custard" (really, incredible semi-soft ice cream - thicker than DQ) with assorted sundae toppings from CULVERS.

Tomorrow begins fasting and abstainence for Ash Wednesday and 6 weeks of no meat on Friday - which I love because I can put together a really easy meal of frozen cheese pizza or grilled cheese sandwiches & tomato soup and no one complains because it's Lent! Thank you, Jesus, for a pious excuse to be lazy in the kitchen!

Hubby shocked me by stating last night, "I'm giving up alcohol for lent." Now, this is a guy who used to be a professional beer critic, as well as a semi-professional beer consumer! After his proclamation, he paused, waiting for me to offer my lenten sacrifice.

"Um, I guess I could give up sex," I offered with a smile.

He replied with a wide grin, "Haven't you already?"

Last night I told my Hallmark-Holiday-challenged husband, "Happy V Day!"

He looked at me and asked, quizzically, "Vagina day?!"

I'm just now getting over a stomach virus.

The worst part now is the recurrent stomach cramping. Luckily the excrement-related symptoms seem to have passed (no pun intended.)

Ain't nuthin' like a diet of dry toast and gatorade...

Yesterday I met with my new oprthopedist. New, meaning, new to me, although the guy WAS awfully young-looking. He was quite sweet, and sent me to get x-rays (which looked ok) and then an MRI (I still have to schedule it.)

I cannot imagine how many giggles echo through the halls of the hospital when he gets paged:

"Dr. Tingle, Paging Doctor Tom Tingle."

Yes, DR. TOM TINGLE is his real name! Maybe he should have been a neurologist. Thank heavens he didn't become a gynecologist! And then if he were a urologist, you know he'd be referred to as Dr. Tinkle.

I ADORE all this insane media hysteria about the innocent lite brite posters created to hype one of my favorite shows of all time, Aqua Teen Hunger Force.

Check out this video that shows how the guys created and distributed the (IMHO) totally freaking clever "advertisements".

http://www.austinswim.org/guerilla.html