Alive in Wonderland

LOST without LOST? I'm here for you

 

 

I've never watched LOST.  I'm not some sort of social deviant.  I'm not out of step with the times--I really want an iPad just like everyone else.  I'm not against LOST.  I just never got into it.

It seemed to me from the beginning, based on my friends' conversations, the Facebook updates, the Tweets, that LOST was more like a dysfunctional relationship, than an enjoyable form of entertainment.  

Things like this:

"Argh! LOST! I don't understand what's going on!"

"LOST is driving me crazy!"  

"I just want some straight answers from LOST!"

" I totally blew off all my friends just to re-watch the last 4 seasons of LOST. So psyched!"

"LOST! How am I going to live without you?!"

I don't have the time or energy for that sort of thing anymore.  I learned my lesson years ago from Melrose Place that these relationships never work. It's all about them.

So I have been relegated to the loyal friend, just there to listen and comfort.  I made every effort to help my friends who were having LOST issues.  A couple them even swore off LOST; broke it off entirely.  When they did I told them they were doing the right thing and that I never liked it anyways. Then I found out from other friends that they were back on LOST a few days later and I couldn't get them to return my calls. 

Now that LOST is over I feel all the fans can finally have some closure.  They can move on.  Maybe start watching something else, like Rules of Engagement or 30 Rock.  I have been in a good, healthy DVR relationship with these shows for a while now.  They tell it like it is. They get to the point and don't string me out for days...weeks...years. They're also very, very funny and we all know laughter is one of the best remedies for a broken heart.  

If you need me, I'm here if you want to talk.  
 

Put down the Purell and go see the movie 'Babies'

 

Babies are resilient.  Babies are tough. Babies have a wicked sense of humor. Babies can spend the first year of their life licking dirt, spending time unsupervised, and cuddling with cows and still enter into the toddler stage healthy and happy. 

These are all things I learned after watching the brilliant documentary "Babies."  

Every parent should take the time to go see this movie. It follows the first year of life of four babies living in Africa, Mongolia, Tokyo and San Francisco.  It wasn't only the dramatic differences in the way the babies were being raised that was fascinating--the African baby has his 'hair cut' with a machete, the Mongolian baby taken home from the hospital on the back of a motorcycle--it was also the underlaying truth that babies are babies, no matter where they hang their...well, I would say diaper, but only two of the four ever wears one.

Take a look at this video about the movie with an interview with its French makers-- Thomas Balmes, Director and Alain Chabat, Producer. (Unrelated: Is there anything cuter than a French man saying the word "babies?") 

Click here.

 I think they hit on it in their interview, as long as there is love, the babies were happy and healthy.  So, put down the Purell and go give your baby a rock to play with, really, it's fine.  

 

There's a place for them...

 

They said it wouldn't last. 

They said they were too different. 

That they came from two different worlds.  

I don't know, call me a silly romantic, but I think these crazy kids have a chance.  

✻✻✻✻✻

This goes out to Blue Robot and Mimi.  

Romeo and Juliet cover

by The Killers.

"There's a place for us."

Halloween Dance Party!

Here is a silly little video Emily and and I made in our kitchen.  

(Music by Oingo Boingo, "Deadman's Party.")

Candy Corn: Oh, The Horror Of It!

 

The scariest part of Halloween for me is not the ghouls, or the weird costumes some parents choose for their babies, or even the thought that only one holiday separates us from Christmas, the scariest part is the constant appearance of the most foul and repulsive candy ever made: candy corn. Just writing the word makes me feel a little nauseated. 

I don't remember exactly when I started to despise these little atrocities, but they loom around the top three of my least favorite things to eat: peas, tuna melts, and candy corn. That's about the order of things. 

 I even devote a good portion of this Disney video about Mickey's Trick-or-Treat Halloween Party (which, in case you've never been,  is awesome) to the deceptively cheerful goodies. 

 (Remember this video starts off loud!) 

   

 

When my kids were little we used to watch Noggin (RIP) a lot--like, a lot, a lot--and Moose A. Moose had the same distain for candy corn as me. So, every year I sing this song "I don't like candy corn" as I walk through the candy aisles of Target, or pass a random candy bowl filled with candy corn by its misguided owner.  My kids join in now.  They like candy corn, but this has to be one of the most catchy songs ever--like Jingle Bells, but for Halloween. 

(Guaranteed to get stuck in your head.) 

I'm sorry if you love candy corn (Chris). You can leave your case for it in comments, but you'd have more luck talking me into dressing up like Beth from Dog The Bounty Hunter then to EVER get me to eat candy corn.  

✺✺✺✺✺

On another Halloween note, we're  headed to The Costume Castle today to find a costume for Ben, who wants to be "anything dead or mean."  You might remember this story about The Costume Castle from last year:

Okay kids!  Time to Break Out the French Maid Costumes!

I want to be The Goddess!!

I saw this video on LAMIA's blog and she and I have been in a heated argument over who is The Goddess ever since.  

This is a tragically true-life dating video from the early '80s--just in case the mustaches and Member's Only jacket didn't give it away.

 

✼✼✼✼✼✼

Other OC bloggers dishing out the funny:

Hippo Brigade's post about her latest purchase from Target: 

I bought something today. 

Blah, Blah Blahger's cousin on Conan. 

Marcy's always-funny Ad Talk.

Happy International Bacon Day!

 

This morning, I served my family low sodium bacon and it went over like a ton of bricks, which ironically is exactly what low sodium bacon tastes like.  To add to the fiasco, today is International Bacon Day.  So, it was kind of like culinary blasphemy.

Now, I have to preface this post by saying, The Broughtons love their bacon.  I was neutral on the bacon issue before I married Larry, but becoming a Broughton meant loving that particular part of the pig. Our wedding reception featured every sort of food wrapped in bacon imaginable (and a large swan carved out of butter, but that's a different story). This morning I knew I was in trouble the moment I threw the bacon in the pan and it started to turn a weird yellow/orange/brown.  "They're gonna know! I'm going down," I thought to myself--mild panic setting in.  This was bad.  No matter how good the cinnamon rolls or how scrumptious the eggs, if the bacon's not good, you might as well throw the whole breakfast out the window. (Which is strictly prohibited in our home owner's association rules and regs.)

When I served the "bacon" my family seemed to not suspect a thing. I felt devious, like slipping a cheating husband rat poison in his coffee, but my family did nothing to deserve this...this...What have I done? 

As soon as I took a bite I knew it was all over.  Darting my eyes from kid to husband to kid back to husband I could see the confusion on their faces as they ate their first piece.  It made an unnatural crunching sound that pierced the ears, and with each bite the noise became louder and louder until finally ending with a terrible crunchy crescendo, leaving me feeling guilty and...very thirsty.  

Emily picked up her remaining two pieces and threw them on to her dad's plate without saying a word. Larry, poor Larry, he would never say anything.  He is so sweet and supportive. He just kept eating, looking straight down at his plate.  I finally confessed, "The bacon is low sodium," and with that, a big sigh we let out by everyone.  

I think they were just happy I wasn't able to make regular bacon taste so awful--sealing my fate as a terrible cook. They all then downed their OJ's to get rid of the taste and tore into their cinnamon buns. "I just thought it would be healthier this way," I explained.  Thus, almost completing the transformation into my Mother.  

✭✭✭✭

In celebration, here is some bacon linkage: 

✭ My friend Andrea made Maple Bacon Cupcakes on her blog Bakers Love. 

✭ Kevin Bacon in the warehouse scene in Footloose, because nothing releases teenage angst like drinking beer,  a high-energy dance routine, and jazz hands.

✭ Jim Gaffigan talking about bacon.  "Even the frying of bacon sounds like applause..."

 

  

✭ Become my friend on Facebook and see all the comments on my status from this morning.

Julie & Julia plus my top five romantic comedies

I guess I consider myself a romantic comedy connoisseur.  Maybe even an expert or possibly an aficionado, for sure a snob. More than just casual 'date night' entertainment, I expect a lot from my romantic comedies and Nora Ephron (oh, add name dropper to the list), Julie & Julia's writer and director, almost always delivers.   

The worst thing about being an expert about anything is when it's done badly, it's pure torture to watch.  Let's say you were really, really into, I don't know, blowing bubble gum bubbles and you are forced to, no, have to pay to watch someone doing it all wrong, or not the way you would do it--making a sticky mess with small careless, unacceptable bubbles.  That is what it's like for me when I watch a bad romantic comedy (Like any movie Jennifer Aniston has made...pick anyone.) Luckily, Julie & Julia is a good movie. A great one, with exceptions. 

Larry was one of three men in the almost full theatre when we went to see it last week. I suppose being a chick movie about cooking gave this movie a one-two punch that even a cameo of Jason Bourne concocting a Molotov cocktail from one of Julia's discarded olive oil bottles couldn't dodge.  But, even without that, (I think brilliant image)  Larry enjoyed it. He's like that, all big and tough, but he will nudge me in a movie and say things like "That's just like you," "Cute dog," or "I like that kitchen."   

Nora Ephron is the master of romantic comedies: When Harry Met Sally, You've Got Mail, Sleepless in Seattle...you get the idea.  She is absolutely my romantic comedy idol (and very funny) and she has made this movie sweet and likable even with its flaws--like making Julie less adorable and more whiney and dreary. 

There were so many things in this movie that were so Ephron;  the way Julie holds her ranch-dipped carrot as she talked, the mix of '40s jazz and modern music, the manner that Paul (Julia's husband) asks her if she really wants to make hats, and even blatant lines from her other movies, "You're right. You're right. I know you're right" is straight out of "When Harry Met Sally."  

The best test of a good romantic comedy is if the next day you still feel a residual warm, golden, syrupy sweetness in your heart that you can't quite pinpoint, but makes you want to throw your arms around your husband and laugh at his silly ways when he forgets to run the dishwasher, again.  A great one should make you feel your heartbreak is part of some super corny, yet noble global sorority, not alone in your bedroom watching a movie on Lifetime at 1 a.m.  They should leave you happy, hopeful and quoting memorable lines for years to come. 

My top five romantic comedies:

When Harry Met Sally

His Girl Friday

Bridget Jones' Diary

Sleepless in Seattle

Roxanne

❅❅❅❅❅❅

Other Amateurish Reviews by Me:

Bustin' Down the Door

Atonement

Finally Finn!

Tonight I'm going to see Neil Finn in concert.  I have been a fan of his for over 20 years, but haven't ever seen him live.  You might remember him from the '80s band The Split Enz.  He was also the lead singer/songwriter for Crowded House and went on to have a small but wonderful solo career.  ( I featured his video here in my Mother's day post.)

He is truly a musical genius and I'm thankful to my blog and the internet for connecting me with someone who loves him even more than me.  She alerted me to the private show tonight and we are going together.... This is one of my favorite songs.

 

One of my favorites...

Alive in Wonderland is nominated for OC's Best Local Blog--please vote

When I started ALIVE IN WONDERLAND the idea was to show-off Orange County through stories, videos and photographs. The tagline is "Living the Nonsense Everyday" and I've been doing it for almost three years.  

That is why I am so happy to tell you I've been nominated for Best Local Blog by Just Spotted.  Please vote for me by clicking the circle below and choosing ALIVE IN WONDERLAND on the left side.  

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. 

RIP John Hughes. We won't forget about you.

When I heard the news (on Twitter) that legendary writer and director John Hughes had died I immediately went on YouTube to watch clips and montages from the enormous amount of movies he is responsible for making. 

I laughed as I watched them and I began to realize the impact his creative genius has had on my life from a young age – Breakfast Club, Sixteen Candles, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Pretty in Pink- and on through adulthood — Planes, Trains and Automobiles, Mr. Mom, She’s Having a Baby. Hughes’ list of classic movies is as long as your brother’s mullet in high school, and each is, if this is even possible, even more entertaining.

Starting with the perilous and often nauseating genre of teen movies, he was able to show us everything that was right about being a teenager. Everything that was fun, painful, weird, but ultimately good. Ultimately hopeful. His movies made us feel it was OK to be who we were because we saw a little bit of ourselves and our friends in his characters. 

From The Breakfast Club: Dear Mr. Vernon, we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong, but we think you're crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us ... In the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain, and an athlete, and a basket case,a princess, and a criminal. Does that answer your question? Sincerely yours, The Breakfast Club. 

Hughes mastered the nearly impossible task of writing for teenagers without coming across like, "Hey, kids, look at me. I'm 'Cool' just like you." Like in high school when your mom said you should buy a dress because it was "funky." (OK, thanks Mom, but "funky?" Nice try.) He never resorted to frat house raunchiness or lewd pranks, but frankly portrayed the undeniable truth that teenagers think and talk about, and sometimes even have, sex. 

His movies felt authentic. From the dialogue ( "I'm not THAT pristine." "You mess with the bull you'll get the horns.") to the wardrobe (Judd Nelson's trench coat and gloves; Anthony Hall's yellow button-down shirt) to the music (Simple Minds, Kate Bush, Psychedelic Furs), it all felt real and spoke to us as teenagers. 

In Hughes' movies that traipsed around the land of grown-ups, he continued to glint sweet little moments of life as he took on adult lives with the same honesty. Optimistic and funny, he had a knack for telling stories about people who were far from perfect, but find their way to happiness -- usually in a "What I was looking for was right here in front of me the whole time" epiphany. 

One of my favorite scenes ever, is from the movie "Planes, Trains and Automobiles." The tension, humor, and hostility in it makes it almost uncomfortable to watch. I love John Candy, and his portrayal of Del, the (secretly) widowed shower

curtain ring salesman is heartbreaking and inspiring all at the same time -- not an easy feat to write.

   

(This video is from one of my YouTube Channels. I copied it and uploaded it last year a few times because it is one of my favorites, but Paramount keeps taking it down. Watch it while you can.)

Now, looking back on the spectrum of his work, I feel a surprising loss personally , but I also feel a great gratitude to have been the generation he shined his brilliant, hopeful light on. We won't forget about you, John Hughes.

Other things out there written about John Hughes:

"We'll know when we get there" wrote "Sincerely, John Hughes."

Dan Taylor wrote this on his blog.

This is a quick montage of his movies: John Hughes "Teenage Wasteland."

Music critic Ben Wener about his impact on pop.

Is Michael Jackson our kids' Elvis?

As preparations are underway for Michael Jackson's funeral tomorrow, I've been hearing comparisons between the loss 30 years ago of The King of Rock Roll -- Elvis -- and the King of Pop. I began to wonder if losing Michael Jackson is the same to our kids as losing Elvis was to my generation. 

 

So I asked the kids around me and I've come to this conclusion -- it's not, at least not yet. The reason doesn't have anything to do with either artist's impact on music or their standing as the "king" of their respective musical genres, but more to do with how our kids get their influences now. I was 10 years old when Elvis died. 

 

I remember the moment I heard the news on the radio as I rode in my parent's car. I cried instantly and thought about how sad it was for Lisa Marie, who was my same age. That night my family went to a party at a friend's house and I remember the moms cried as they all talked about Elvis and watched the news on TV, and never being one to miss out on a good crying session, joined in. 

 

The day of Elvis' funeral, my Grandma told me about the first time she saw him on the Ed Sullivan show. She declared through her tears he sang better than Sinatra and was "better lookin', too" and once again, I cried. I knew something big had happened when he died, and I greived. Through his movies, his TV specials, and his music, Elvis was a part of my little life. 

 

I grew up listening to Michael Jackson on the AM radio of my parents' station wagon. I roller skated to "PYT" and "Rock with You" on Friday nights at the Holiday Roller Rink in Fountain Valley--every song on "Off the Wall" still takes me to my happy place. My friends and I were glued to the TV waiting for the premiere of the video "Thriller" on MTV. I peppered my daughters' playlists on her iPod with the music of the Jackson Five, but when he died last week, she didn't know who he was. I had to sing a little bit of "ABC" for her to finally nod her head and say "Oh, yeah, that's sad." 

 

I place the blame squarely on the back of the music and television industry that has manufactured an entire youth-oriented subculture that hardly existed when I was kid. My eight-year-old daughter has her own music artists, her own radio stations, her own TV stations--think Radio Disney, Nickelodeon, Noggin. 

 

Not to be all "when I was her age," but when I was her age my music was my mom's music. I listened to whatever she was listening to on the radio, whatever records she played are now the soundtrack to my childhood memories. OK, fine, we had the random teen heartthrob, Shaun Cassidy and Leif Garrett, but mostly Elvis, The Eagles, The Carpenters, and The Beach Boys were the musical fare in our house growing up and darn if I haven't tried to make that the way things go down in my home. 

 

I tell my kids all the time, "I listened to Grandma's music growing up, so you have to listen to mine!" as I crank up The Clash. I burn them CD's with Elvis Costello, Jason Mraz, and Crowded House. I show them Madness videos on YouTube -- but the mighty force of the Jonas Brothers and their cronies is just too intoxicating to her young mind. The proliferation of cable TV, satellite radio, and iTunes has given our kids choices where we had none. 

 

In some ways it makes me a little sad because it changes a big part of what being a kid was about 30 years ago -- like singing along to Bread with my parents from the back seat. The layers of media options that separate us from our kids has, I believe, made the death of someone from "our generation" have less of an impact on them and their world. There are other factors, too: MJ's recent legal troubles (and their nature), the lack of new material, and palpable, willowy weirdness also contribute to the disconnect with our kids, but I am hard-pressed to think of any artist that would die now and have the same overflow of grief from three generations like when Elvis died. 

 

I'm certain Michael Jackson will have his rightful place next to the iconic big hitters of our time, like Elvis, Marilyn, James Dean and Bogart. He can take his stool at the diner on "The Boulevard of Broken Dreams" and eventually his gloved, red-jacketed image will be on purses, t-shirts and black velvet murals throughout the OC Marketplace, and I will burn yet another CD for my daughter with his music, still hoping to have some influence on her music.

✻✻✻✻✻✻✻

Become of fan of MomCrush on Facebook.

Follow me on Twitter.

Listen to what I'm listening to (and my kids) on Blip.fm

I know, I'm flippin' everywhere...

Send in the clowns, really I'm fine

(I snapped this photo from the second row.)

I bet you never thought you'd see this picture on my blog! That's a clown from the Ringling Brothers Circus"Zing Zang Zoom" that's coming to Orange County in two weeks. 

My family and I went to a sneak peek show this weekend and I was fine with the clowns, really I was.  Seeing my kids busting up over their pratfalls and wacky antics smoothed over any weirdness I felt towards clowns. Kids can do that to you--make you brave.  

That's not a fake smile, I was totally fine standing right in between two heavily made-up, wig donning, giant shoe wearing, checkered nosed clowns.  

And speaking of their shoes, I had to clear one thing up while I was there. As you might know Larry, my husband, is a big guy--huge--and along with that comes some pretty big feet--size 16.  So I just had to know, does Larry really have "clown feet" as we all enjoy call them?  I mean, whose shoes are bigger--Larry or a real live clown? 

(Larry's is the shoe on the right.)

So, I guess that settles it.  

Bustin' Down the Door and The Surfer's Code: Awesome, even if you don't surf

This post is mostly about surfing.  I don't surf and never have, but I grew up in Huntington Beach immersed in the sport and attitude of surfing.  But, when Shaun Tomson, one of the greatest surfers who ever paddled out to catch a wave, walked into our cafe in Carpenteria 8 years ago, I didn't know who he was. 

Shaun and his wife Carla were friendly, gracious, loyal customers.  They would come in with their son, Mathew, sometimes and I would watch them sharing a meal and talking warmly to each other.  I was so saddened when I heard the news of their son's tragic death.  

I mean, really devastated.  

During the time we knew the Tomsons Larry and I were trying desperately to get pregnant, but with no success.  If you've ever struggled with infertility you know, it's pretty much all you can think about.  Babies are flippin' everywhere. Every women you see is pregnant.  Every family you lay eyes on is happy and contented.  

To me, the picture of their family, and especially Carla's tenderness toward her son, were inspiration to keep trying.  She would say things to me like "You're going to be a great mom" or give me the thumbs up when I would hold a customer's baby.  It was what I needed at that time in my life. It's not like we were all chummy or anything-- just casual acquaintances. But, their family was important to me in a way they probably didn't even know.

You know how life is, once I got pregnant (finally) and we moved back to Orange County, I didn't really think about them much...until I heard about Mathew.  I sent Carla a card, but I don't know if she ever received it, but I hope she did. 

❃❃❃❃❃❃❃

The other night Larry and I watched "Busting Down The Door," a surf documentary about how Shaun Tomson, Wayne "Rabbit" Bartholomew, and Mark Richards ignited a surf movement in the mid-'70s that has made surfing the professional sport it is today.  Even if you don't surf and know nothing about it, I would still recommend seeing it.    ( Watch the trailer here)  

The love these guys have for surfing, the tenacity they showed as young men pursuing their passion, and the hardships they have overcome, makes this documentary powerful with some intensely personal moments.  

Yes, it does have some pretty bitchin' surf sequences that will make you elbow the person next to you a million times to say, "Did you see that?"  It also will give you a heavy dose of retro '70s surf culture: Lighting Bolt surfboards and puka shells, that sort of thing.

In the last scene of the movie they show the three of them today--Shaun, Rabbit and MR--walking out to surf together again.  As they each ride a wave they cut seamlessly to video of them riding back in the '70s--chills, you'll get chills watching it.  

❃❃❃❃❃❃❃

This is The Surfer's Code, written by Shaun Tomson.  Now that you know a little of his story, you'll see it is meaningful to anyone, not just a surfer.

Surfer's Code:

I will never turn my back on the ocean

I will always paddle back out

I will take the drop with commitment

I will know that there will always be another wave

I will realize that all surfers are joined by one ocean

I will paddle around the impact zone

I will never fight a rip tide

I will watch out for other surfers after a big set

I will pass on my stoke to a non-surfer

I will ride, and not paddle in to shore

I will catch a wave every day, even in my mind

I will honor the sport of kings

❃❃❃❃❃❃

Leonard Cohen's "Who by Fire"

 plays at the beginning of "Bustin' Down The Door."

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

Things that make you go Eww

I spotted this at the cosmetic counter of Bloomingdales over the holidays. The Benefit's Justine Case Overnighter Kit is for that quaint "unexpected sleepover." 

Um, ewww!  

Never before has trampy tried so hard to be clever, cutesy, and efficient. The idea is you can pack this little kit in your Juicy bag (just guessing) and "just in case" you find someone really, really special and have an overnighter this "mini beautifying kit" will have everything you need in the morning to have you looking just as good to the guy as you did the night before--alrighty.

Here's the write-up of what's inside, though I can see some obvious omissions that would make the kit more...how can I say?...practical. Benefits has taken the pun-product name to a tragic degree.  It's getting to the point where descriptions hold zero clues to what the product is:

Product details (my notes in pink.)

exclusive (this is the ONLY time the word 'exclusive' will be used in relation to the "overnighter" situation)  hanky panky thong... seductively lacy in currant & black. (pay no attention to the random use of an ellipses...)                                                                                       

• california kissin': 2.50 g Net wt. 0.09 oz (no clue what this is...need  to cross reference with Benefits' dictionary.)
• eyecon: 2.50 g Net wt. 0.09 oz (guessing eye something or other...)
• benetint: 2.50 ml / 0.08 US fl oz (I use this. It's very good...)
• some kind-a gorgeous: 2.20 g Net wt. 0.08 oz (just can't figure out what "kina-a gorgeous"... just SOME kind...)

For only $35 this charming kit could be all yours.  It's a sad irony that is about the same amount as your co-pay for the antibiotics you will need after your "sleepover." 

The 10 all-time best make out songs, ever **

**Sort of. 

When I started to compile this list I thought it would be easy.  "The 10 all-time best make out songs, ever?"  No problem.   But, then, after firmly placing three songs on the list, the task became overwhelming to me. The gravity and importance of the chore became more than I could handle alone.

So I reached out--like most people do in time of need--to my friends on Facebook.  I asked my friends there to help me pick songs.  Then I asked my friends on Twitter to join in with their choices.

It became tragically clear to me after about twenty comments that none of my friends on either of the networks have had a proper make out session since 1991, or even before that time.  Not one song from the last decade and a half was offered--even by me.  Leaving me with a list of songs that could easily be a mixed tape made for you by your 11th-grade boyfriend (or girlfriend). 

This list is a generation thing--made-up of memories from a time when the words and music seemed like they were created just for us.  

So for me and my generation (35-45ish) this is the list I compiled with your help--thanks.  

1.) Led Zeppelin "Kashmir"

2.) Roxy Music  "More than this"

3.) Mazzy Star "Fade into you"

4.) When in Rome "The promise"

5.) Barry White "Never gonna give you up"

6.) Peter Gabriel "In your eyes"

7.) ELO "Telephone"

8.) Style Council "You're the best thing that ever happened"

9.) Squeeze "Tempted"

10.) Rod Stewart "Tonight's the night"

Click on this lovely arrow below to listen to all the songs.

I already see some obvious omissions and kind of regret ever taking this on...Ah,ha! I forgot "Take me on!" See!

Christian the Lion

If you haven't heard the story or watched the video about Christian the Lion, get ready to be totally blown away. Especially if you're an animal lover.

Briefly, these two hippies men bought a baby cub from Harrods Department Store in London in 1969 and brought it home to live with them.

Well, just like that waterbed your parents bought in 1969, this too turned out to be not such a great idea. Within a year their cute little cub, Christian, weighed 189 lbs, probably wasn't housebroken, and couldn't live in the city any longer.

They release Christian the Lion in Africa and then returned to see him a year later. This is their story, told by those wise old sages YouTube and Aerosmith.

Isn't that remarkable? I think so, too. What they didn't show in the video is all of them sitting down for afternoon tea and biscuits later that day. Just kidding.

Why we Twitter (part 2)

Foolery kicks it off with this: My hair is now long enough to stuff into a banana clip. I have nearly perfected my trashiness; now to go learn how to smoke heavily.

@Foolery Learning to smoke (heavily) WHILE folding your laundry, with hair in banana clip, that would be perfection

@suzbroughton Yeah, and @halushki just reminded me to go to the Wal-Mart to get stirrup pants. Maybe maternity ones, to hide my smokes in.

@Foolery But wouldn't be able to see the stirrups because you have your big white athletic sock on & pushed down to your Reeboks (w/velcro).

@suzbroughton Jeez, it's like you're hiding behind my mirrored closet door when I get dressed in the morning. Down to the pink Reeboks, Suz!

@Foolery I KNOW! Now, put down that Mountain Dew, turn off "Cheaters," and crawl into your sheet-less bed.

@suzbroughton Sheets! What kind of elitist do you think I am?

And there my friends who don't Twitter, is the perfect reason to start.

Monty Python + Emily Bronte = Something I have to share

Thanks to Hanan from Grow-a-Brain for sending me this clip. He knows about my immense love and adoration for all things Emily Bronte and Monte Python. Thanks for paying attention Hanan.

Finally, rain today

One of my favorite artists on Etsy (and elsewhere): Matte Stephens.