Tuesday, April 29, 2008


I was going to post something not related to my dads accident, but that is whats going on in my life right now.
Human brains are funny (at least mine is).

I can now talk about him and not tear up, but seeing his closet, or holding my dance teachers hand makes me sad. His closet just smells so much like him, it's like running into a wall of Dad. My dance teacher has hands the same size as Dad, so holding his hands is like holding Dads, which makes me miss him.

I really want him to wake up, not because I want to hug him, but I want him to hug me. Nobody else hugs like my dad, and its been a week since I've had a Dad hug.

Weird things make me think of him. When somebody talks about Myspace, I think of him. Rope, certain pillows, going to a restaurant and hearing someone ask for hot sauce, little quirks my uncles have that are exactly like Dads, all those things make my throat tighten.

Every time we eat out on the patio, my dad is the last one back in the house. So, last night when my uncle came through the door a couple minutes later than everybody else, I almost opened my mouth and fired out some witticism aimed at Dad. Then I saw it was Mark, not Matt. It was like missing the last step on a staircase. You step down and for a split second think you've got it, then comes the sick sensation of an unplanned drop, then the hit.

Everything is slowly going back to normal. The mail keeps coming, the paper continues to be delivered, and Mom still has to go to the grocery store. My brother still goes to school, I got spacers (in preparation for braces) on yesterday, and now my mouth hurts like nobody's business.

Apologies must be offered regarding the lack of posts this last week. It was pretty crazy, but I could have tossed out a short entry. So, I am sorry about that.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008


When I first saw Pirates of the Caribbean, I was terrified. It took me about a year and a half before I could really get over it and enjoy the movie.

But as scary as that was, it was nothing compared to getting a phone call from your mom, saying your dad got in a motorcycle accident, and is at the hospital.

Yesterday at 8:30am the phone rang, and it was Mom. She made some small talk, than dropped the bomb. "Honey, Dad got in a accident on the way to work. Someone wrecked into his motorcycle, but he's going to be okay." Even hearing "but he's going to be okay", I was scared. What if he wasn't? What if he couldn't walk again, or got hit hard in the head? An hour later, we went down to the hospital to see how he was.

First let me say, everything is fixable. He will eventually make a full recovery, according to what we know. He is going to be okay.

He had broken multiple ribs, twisted and broken at least one wrist, bruised his lung, broken his tibia, fractured his femur in 2 places, cracked where the femur meets the hip in 5 places and his kidneys have shut down right now (they don't like being in motorcycle accidents).

Yesterday afternoon we saw him, he talked to us for a little bit before his nurse told him to shut up and go to sleep. I really like her .He went into surgery a couple hours after we left, to fix his legs and wrists. The surgery went fine, and right now he is resting. When I called the hospital this morning, the nurse said he was on a ventilator and dialysis. The ventilator is because of the bruised lung; he can't yet oxygenate well enough on his own, the dialysis for the kidneys.

After my mom called, I called a bunch of friends and family, letting them now what happened. My uncle and three friends joined us at the hospital that afternoon, and when we went back later my uncle and another friend were there.

We just got home from the hospital, and there is no change really. He was hooked up to a bunch of tubes (including the dialysis and ventilator) and was lightly sedated. He couldn't talk, but he did open his eyes.

During the past 36 hours, we have received more phone calls than we would have gotten all week. People calling to make sure we were ok, did we need food, a ride, someone to talk to, anything at all. I cannot accurately describe how much that support was welcomed. It feels so good to know that everybody is hoping for the best, for him and us. You know who you are, and we cannot thank you enough.

Now we are to the waiting game.

I will post when we know something else. Thank you all so much for everything.

Sunday, April 20, 2008

These are a view of my favorite things...

Okay, I figure since I bemoaned the wind yesterday, today I shall give you happy things! This is but a small list of things I love, but a small contribution of joy is better than none (that or its then. I can never remember). This is in no particular order whatsoever. The only reason it is organized in such a fashion is because it popped into my head that way.

  1. Mexican cookies. I don't know if they actually came from Mexico, but they are beyond good.
  2. Mexican cookie dough.
  3. My moms perfume. It smells like vanilla.
  4. Remembering my friend convincing my other (apparently gullible) friend to try some straight vanilla.
  5. Remembering the time I spent in LA with my friends at a ballroom competition.
  6. My doggies.
  7. My Macbook.
  8. Harry Potter
  9. Star Wars
  10. Twilight (the book series)
  11. All my books, pretty much.
  12. Wearing mismatched socks.
  13. Painting my nails different colors.
  14. Shopping.
  15. Reading.
  16. Chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting.
  17. Reading.
  18. Talking to my friend about Dancing with the Stars and American Idol.
  19. Getting dressed up and going somewhere.
  20. Riding the motorcycle with my dad.
  21. This motorcycle.
  22. And this one.
  23. And this one.
  24. And maybe this one. Sorry mom.
  25. Dancing.
Well, that concludes the list - for now insert maniacal laughter here. Again a short post, but I am a bit sleepy (and now thinking of motorcycles) so my train of thought is going nowhere fast. Night night!

Saturday, April 19, 2008

An Epitome

As I vaguely mentioned in another post, I dislike the wind. Rather vehemently. But I could never figure out why. It was a little frustrating to know you abhor something, but not be able to put it into words. As much as I talk, not being able to put something into words is a serious tragedy.

But fear not! My intellect has pulled through (even if my humility could not) yet again, and I am now able to the fullest extent describe my passionate distaste for the element.

It's rude. The wind is ill-mannered and brusque. It pulls your hair, musses your picnic plans, makes a racket when you try to sleep, chucks dirt and other debris everywhere, makes swimming pretty miserable, blows your lawn furniture over and brings a sudden halt to your ping pong game.

Does it need to do that? No, it could just be a gentle breeze, but instead it chooses to rush through in spurts, leaving you indoors clutching your hands together, hoping fervently it goes away soon. It never does. Tricking you, it slows down for 3.46 minutes, than picks up again with a fevered frenzy.

It's like the person who puts gum on the underside of restaurant tables. No one will ever really know for sure who did it, so they never get punished. It irks me.

Also, it should be stated that I have no editor. Nobody except myself looks over the posts before I publish them, which is the reason for typos. I try to catch as many as I can, but it is inevitable that some slip through, especially on a large post, or one that I have rewritten frequently. I go over it so often the slip ups go unnoticed. I have been alerted by various people that I have made errors, and I appreciate that. Just remember I am the only editor.

And finally, the weirdest competition/sport I have ever seen: Worlds Strongest Man competition. It's just plain freaky.

Thursday, April 17, 2008

A short post

No time for another lengthy post, because Alvin and the Chipmunks is playing in the other room and it is imperative that I bang my head against the wall, repeatedly and with much vigor.

A thought briefly flitted through my head last night - "Should I beg pardon for yesterdays post? It was pretty lengthy, and most assuredly confusing to those unfamiliar with ancient Greek myths". Than I decided it was my blog, which gives me the right to talk about whatever I choose. So, if you were confused, sorry, but hey, your the one who typed in the address.

As this blog is solely maintained by yours truly, what ever I think about at that moment is what becomes published in cyberspace. It is inevitable that somethings come out garbled. The degree of difficultly which is required to translate thoughts on to paper (or computer) is somewhat higher then I anticipated. It did not occur to me that not everybody would understand each thing that popped out of my cranium.

But hey, you understand most of it (I assume), which excites me no end!

Now please excuse me while I go smash my brain pan against something very solid.


Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Dut-da-daa!! The Olympians!

Ok, today I am going to break down the Olympians (the 6 original gods and the 6 who came later), but first a little back story as to how they came into power.

To dumb it down somewhat, Uranus(the sky) and Gaia (the earth) had 12 children, the Titans. They also had the Cyclopes and the "Hundred Handed Ones", but they aren't crucial to the story.

While the Titans all married each other (I guess they didn't have much choice...), Cronus and Rhea were the "leaders". Cronus was told by his mother, Gaia, that he would sire a child who would overthrow him as ruler of earth.

Being tremendously opposed to that idea, the first time Rhea had a child, he swallowed it. And almost every time there after, he would swallow his children, ensuring he would remain 'king of the hill' forever.

After he swallowed 5 children, Rhea grew weary of watching her babies slide down her husbands throat, and asked her mother for help. Gaia told her next time she had a child, hide it on the far side of the world, and present her husband with a swaddled up rock. Rhea did just that, and thus Zeus was spared from having to slosh around in his fathers stomach acid (thats a wonderful image, isn't it?).

When Zeus grew strong enough, he decided it was time for him to reunite with his siblings and usurp his father. He asked Gaia and Rhea to help bring his siblings "back from the bile". Gaia gave Rhea a herb and told her to mix it into Cronus's drink, for the herb would make him regurgitate all his children right back out (whole new meaning to projectile vomit).

Rhea mixed the drink, and Cronus urped up his offspring. Following that, Zeus and his siblings engaged with the Titans in a battle, the winner gaining control of everything (fun), the loser spending the rest of eternity in Tartarus (not fun).

In the end, Cronus and the other Titans were defeated (except the few who helped the Olympians) and sent to Tartarus.

That was how the Olympians came into power. Now, for the promised break down (bom chika bom chika laka boo bang bop! get it? break down? beat boxing, break dancing? never mind...).

Zeus, King of the Universe, god of sky, thunder and justice. He honestly irks me no end. Yes, he over threw his evil father, rescued his sibs, blah blah blah. You read any tale or story about him, and he always has some consort or lover. Despite the fact he is married. He is also obnoxiously cantankerous, and if anybody so much as looks at him wrong (i.e. men don't worship him, women don't lust after him), he nails you with a thunderbolt. Thats just rude.

Hera, Queen of the Gods, goddess of women, marriage and motherhood. Became Zeus's bride when he created a thunderstorm and turned into a little cuckoo, flying right into her open arms. I don't know how that amounts to "Yes, I'll marry you!", but it apparently does. She has her bad moments, and the occasional good ones. She is pretty entertaining, however, and very creative when it comes to punishments for Zeus's various mistresses. Sometimes comes off as cruel, but I believe her to be intriguing.

Poseidon, god of the sea, horses and earthquakes. Shortly after the city was built, the came time for Athens to pick a patron god. Poseidon wanted it, but Athena also showed interest. It was decided the fairest way to determine who would become patron of the city was for each god to give the people something, and let them decide which was more useful. Poseidon struck the ground with is trident, and up came a spring of water, but it was salt water and had little use for the city. Athena gave the citizens an olive tree, from which they could gather food, oil and wood. It was decided by the people that Athena's gift was more useful, and she was named patron of the city. Poseidon is also believed to be father to the hero Theseus.

Demeter, goddess of agriculture, nature and the seasons. Mother of Persephone, Queen of the Underworld. I am pretty luke warm about her. The only story I can remember off the top of my head about her is when Persephone was kidnapped by Hades. She was depressed and distraught so much so that she neglected to help the crops grow, and as a result a famine settled across the world. Eventually the Earth was in such a state of disrepair that Zeus had to force Hades to give Demeter back her daughter to prevent human being wiped out by hunger. Hades agreed, but Persephone had to go and live with him for 6 months out of the year, because she ate while in the Underworld (if anybody ate in the Underworld, they would have to come back, rather snappish like). That, according to Greek myth, is why we have the seasons. Spring and summer is when Demeter is with her daughter, but in fall and winter Persephone is with Hades, while her mother mourns and neglects the earth above.

Hestia, goddess of the hearth and home. I love her. She is very quiet and calm, never doing crazy things like causing plagues and kidnapping people. Another point in her favor, she selflessly gave up her chair on Mount Olympus so Dionysus may sit among them, and took up her seat by the hearth.

Hades, Lord of the Dead, god of the Underworld and wealth. Husband of Persephone and all around awesome god. He has a bad reputation because of the whole "god of the Underworld" thing, which is often jumbled up, giving people the impression he is the god of death. That is erroneous, as Thanatos is the personification of Life and Death, not Hades. It has been asserted that he tricked Persephone into eating in the Underworld, while others argue that she fell in love and ate to ensure her return.

Well, now that I throughly and completely confused bored you all (I think there are six of you) and just generally ranted, I shall take my leave. Tomorrow (or the next day) I will finish up the Olympians, but at this moment I have developed a severe case of the hiccups, and this must be immediately remedied.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Orpheus and Eurydice

When we were little, my mother had a set of 4 tapes, on which classic Greek myths were recorded. My brother and I used to listen to those for hours on end. Everytime we got in the car, the tape of Greek myths was played. It was a ritual. As a result of that, I have the Greek gods, demi-gods and some very lucky (or unlucky mortals) ingrained upon my memory.

One of my most memorable stories was the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice.

(or-fi-us and yoo-RID-i-see)

Orpheus was the son of Calliope (the muse of epic poetry) and a mortal king. It was said that the music he played on his lyre, along with the songs he sang could make a rock weep with the beauty of it, and everywhere he went creatures would come to hear him play. The most famous of his exploits began on his wedding day.

He was married to Eurydice, the love of his life. He couldn't be happier, and neither could she. On that fateful day, they went to a meadow, where he sat and played his music, watching his lovely wife traipse around, dancing and laughing. In her joy, she never saw the snake that reached up and sank its poisonous jaws into her ankle. She died there, and Orpheus was alone and heartbroken.

Never again did a cheerful song soar forth from his lyre. A happy lyric never again left his lips. He mourned through his music, and the world mourned with him. So sad were he songs that all around him the nymphs and gods wept. When they could no longer stand the grief, they told him to go to the Underworld and beg Hades, lord of the dead and his Queen Persephone to allow Eurydice to come back.

Following their guidance, Orpheus traveled to the Underworld and by his music persuaded Hades to release Eurydice. Hades only had one condition: You may not look upon your wife until you have reached the land of the living, or else she stays forever. Orpheus agreed, and set off up the long dark passage, playing his music softly all the way. He could see the light from the outside world, and could feel a gentle puff of warm air, when he thought he heard somebody stumble. But when he turned to look, the only thing he saw was Eurydice, now slowly retreating back into the darkness, now forever lost to him.

According to some accounts, Orpheus later was ripped to pieces by followers of Dionysus (god of wine) when he scorned their rituals. I prefer to think that he wandered the world, forgetting to eat and drink, only playing his melancholy music until he wasted away. Not as dramatic, and perhaps more depressing, but more romantic.

There is also alternate beginnings and facts; Eurydice was fleeing from Aristaeus, and stumbled on a nest of snakes and Orpheus was the son of Apollo (god of music and healing) and Calliope. However, this is the version I have heard since I was 3, and it's my favorite.

Join me tomorrow for a break down of the Olympians!

Sunday, April 13, 2008

When it gets hot, I get cranky

Very, very cranky. Which is really stupid, considering that in the summer here it can easily get to 110 (F). But hey, I like my comfort. My ideal weather would be:
  • when I wake up, it should be cool, but not cold.
  • during the day, it can get anywhere between warm and hot. Outside. Inside, it must remain at the sweet spot of cool, but not cold.
  • when I go to bed, I want it to be cold. Cold, not cool. I want lots of big heavy blankets, so that way I am warm and cuddly while the rest of the world is cold.
  • then I wake up again, and it will be cool (but not cold) again.
Is that really to much to ask? I want that throughout most of the year, except in winter when its cold. Simple, really.

My room faces the southwest side of the house, which means that in the afternoon/late afternoon, it gets hot. And while that is great light for photography, it means that I have to leave my special black out shade up for the light to permeate my room. The heat also permeates, which is really obnoxious.

And that is why todays post is short. I am cranky and am shortly going to relocate my cranky little tokus into my bed, where I will put my fan on high and possibly get myself a cold compress.

I feel I must apologize for the lack of humor, pizazz, and over all entertainment in this post. But honestly, the only thing I can think of is rather creative insults for anybody in my general vicinity. Good night, and tomorrow I can give an iron clad guarantee I will be happier.

( dance lessons tomorrow)

Saturday, April 12, 2008


Due to an unknown error on behalf of Blogger, it published my post from today below the post from Thursday. I apologize for that, but cannot, as of yet, seem to remedy it. Please just scroll down to read todays post, or in the archive click on "Pretty Cars". Thank you, Alice

UPDATE I seem to have untangled the little snare, and the new post is where it should be.

Pretty Cars

I have a cousin who has his entire automobile life planned out. He knows where he wants to put his Ferrari's. He needs three (or two, I can't really remember) before he can get the Enzo Ferrari, which is the mother of all Ferrari's. I don't remember the names of the cars he wants, which is a shame cause now I would like to ask him.

As of late however, I have started noticing cars. I can discern which ones I like, and which I don't. A BMW now looks different from a Nissan (something I would never usually notice), and I can tell the difference between a Honda and a Toyota. Shocking, I know. What is more shocking is I know that I like BMWs. I like the Z4 Roadster 3.osi, and it wouldn't hurt to have an M3.

And if we start talking about virtually un-attainable cars, then I want a Lotus Elise SC and Exige S240, (ok, any car on that site would be wonderful), a Ferrari F 430 Spider, Lamborghini Murcielago LP640 (Roadster), Maserati Granturismo S, a Porsche 911 GT3 RS, and a 911 Targa 4S and maybe a Aston Martin Vanquish S. (you must excuse the haphazard hyper linking, it has some issues).

Now, please do not delude your selves into thinking I know something about the inside of those (and any) cars. I can't tell you what the "S" stands for, although I assume it means something technical. I merely yearn for them because they are very beautiful, and go extremely fast. Very, very very fast.

The reason I have begun watching cars, and have slowly become a teensy bit more knowledgeable about them, is purely aesthetic. I like the pretty and fast (and expensive) ones. I can't tell you squat about the tires, rims, engine, horse power, torque, or anything remotely technical. If you need pointed in the direction of someone how can, I might be able to help you. But don't ask me anything about a drive shaft or chassis. ( I got that word off the Lotus website, no clue what it might be related to)

I also like motorcycles. But another time, perhaps for the motorcycles. Now that I have released my list of cars, it might be considered prudent to wait until my mother comes down from the ceiling before I start taking about bikes. Just thinking of her health, you know.

Thursday, April 10, 2008

The bane of my existence

I attempt to be a very easy going person. Rarely do I try to force my views on people, and there are only a handful of things I really, really loathe.

Geese are at the very top of the list. Above spiders, heavy winds, Oreo's (thats a great story), and wearing shoes inside. I think my hatred spawns from emotional trauma at a young age. At least, thats what the shrink told me. (Kidding, only kidding. I don't go to a shrink, although anger management might be what I need in the case of those evil white avians.)

When we (my brother and I, along with the kids next door. During the early years we were raised less as humans and more like a small herd of sheep, always lumped together. Any way) were young, my mom used to take us to the park. At this park there was a man made lake, which was stocked with truly pathetic fish my brother used to catch. And where there are parks, water and small, easily frightened young children, there are geese.

I was probably around 3 or 4. I can't remember the exact age, only the mind numbing fear.

It had been decided that feeding the geese bread was the perfect activity with which the young should be entertained. So, our mothers corralled us into the Subaru and off we went, young eyes alight with the prospect of getting up close and personal with nature. If I knew just how close we were going to get, I would have pitched a fit and allowed my self to be sent away.

We arrived and began trundling along on our minuscule legs, thrilled to be at the park getting ready to feed birds. Subsequent to the moms rescue of the boys from a certain meltdown after nearly falling in the lake, we got out the bread and looked around for the (cough*cretinous*cough) geese. While we waited, we chucked little pieces of bread to the kindly pigeons.

And then, they came. Geese, it turns out, are very jealous of pigeons.

Being young and unexperienced in the evils of geese, I held out a piece of bread to the goose nearest me. It, being the epitome of all the is cruel and sadistic in this world, charged me. Maybe it thought I was a rival goose, mocking it (I was about as big as the beast). I don't know, and at that point I really didn't care, because I had a huge white bird with nasty beak that was my height (and probably weight) coming after me, wings aloft and squawking its death squawks. It might (read: mostly likely did not) have landed one peck before Mom came a scared it away, but if you asked me then (and now) I would say the thing mutilated me beyond recognition before it could be dragged away by 3 men who bore a strong resemblance to bouncers.

It might not have been as bad as I make it seem. I could possibly be a little biased. But I still abhor geese with all my heart and soul. Every time I drive by one I mutter profanities under my breath. Ok, I don't mutter profanities (I try very hard not to mutter profanities ever), but if I was that kind of person, I would. Bad ones.

My friend laughs at my absolute fear and hatred. She thinks it was just one little incident a long time ago, and I should just get over it. She doesn't have the image of a ticked off goose charging towards her 4 year old self burned in her mind.

Now that I have shoved my hatred unto you, I am going to play with my new awesometastical Canon Power Shot S5IS (camera). Yay!

I hate geese.

Tuesday, April 8, 2008


Ask and you shall receive!! I got 4 comments!!!!! Huzzuh!!

That really does exhilarate me, because that means that I have four readers! But according to the poll I have seven, which means some of you aren't commenting. Disappointing, but easily remedied.

I write this blog on the fly. I never really plan what I am going to write, just sit down at my beautiful computer and look around for outside stimulus. For instance, I wrote the "Dance" post after listening to Led Zeppelin. Which shows that I pretty much have ADOS.

Attention Deficit, Oh Shiny!

This post, as an example, is about to launch into why I love Pocahontas, only because "ask and you shall receive" reminded my of Aladdin, which reminded me of animated Disney movies, which reminded me of my favorite animated movies, which led to Pocahontas.

Do you know see the circular movements of my discombobulated train of thought? You should spend a day in my head. Entertainment.

Back to Pocahontas.

I have loved Pocahontas ever since I can remember.

I planted corn when I was four, so I could run through it like she did (it didn't work, for those of you who are curious.). I carried (and spilled rather spectacularly) clam sauce stuff on my head when I was 5. In roughly 3.2 out of every 5 pictures that exist of me, ages 1 - 7, I have something Pocahontas related on. Just yesterday I carried a bundle of office paper on my head. Come to find out, the skin on your head has a large range of motion.

The only thing I don't like about Pocahontas is John Smith. He's obnoxious, in the second movie he refuses to see she doesn't like him anymore, and dyes his hair. Lame.

Love Meeko (the raccoon) however. And the pug.

Also love the songs. Mine, Mine, Mine is the best one, with Colors of the Wind a close second. Another great song is Be Prepared, from the Lion King (another great movie).

Initially I was going to finish with a rousing reason for why I love the movie so much, but I don't think it can be put into a stirring and firery sentence. I just love it, same way I love Harry Potter, daffodils, my puppy and wearing miss-matched socks. It all just makes me happy.

Which is going to lead to tomorrows post, Harry Potter. See how this goes?

Sunday, April 6, 2008


It has been insinuated in other posts of yours truly that dancing is a part of my life. I now feel that it should be brought to light; freed it from its silence and let the full weight of your opinions come careening down on it. (In case nobody noticed, I feel very very dramatic today).

"But wait Alice," ye gentle readers might be saying, poor little souls tangled in webs of confusion, "we already knew you danced, so why do we need to be told again?". And my lusty retort to that little nugget of wisdom would be, "Because this is my blog, and I can say what ever I dern well want!".

I also take a deep, sadistic pleasure in sharing the trivial details of my life with all (cough-4-cough) of you.

I shall now digress. Maybe. I seem to be on a roll right now, creative brain cells firing on all cylinders, cranking out the goods.

Ok, now I will digress.

I am not a ballerina. Unless you took the 3 months of once a week lessons as qualification for the prima ballerina position.

I am not a jazz dancer. Lessons were taken at a young age, and then for a short time recently, but my asinine (right) knee decided pain was the way to go.

Tap is not up my alley. Used to be, but no longer.

Nay, my good people, I do not break dance, contemporary, lyrical, "pop", hip hop or square dance.

I ballroom dance.

Pretty good too, I am told. Although, it usually has to be stated that I ballroom and Latin dance, since the average citizen does not understand ballroom covers the whole lot of them. A list of the dances I participate in shall now be bestowed upon the readers of this blog, so is to better their understanding of the activity that has consumed, enlightened and brought joy to my life for the past 2 years.

  • International Standard Waltz, Foxtrot, Quickstep, Tango, Viennese Waltz
  • International Latin Cha Cha, Samba, Rumba, Paso Doble, Jive
  • American Smooth Waltz, Foxtrot and Tango
  • American Rhythm Cha Cha, Swing, Mambo/Salsa, Rumba, Bolero
  • West Coast Swing (the most recent addition, which technically is not a ballroom or Latin dance, but West Coast Swingers tend to to ballroom or Latin and vice versa. So it makes the list because of that and cause it is just plain awesome)
Please feel free to leave something in the comments (hinthinthint) about any questions you might have. Not that I am ever a little murky or vague in my explanations. Nope.

And there you have it, my dancing laid to bare in the presence of you readers scrutiny and subject to your judgment. I hope you have enjoyed this lecture, and come back real soon, ya hear?

To end this post on a comical note, you can Viennese Waltz to Led Zeppelins "Dazed and Confused". How weird is that?

asinine= extremely stupid or foolish
insinuated=imply, suggest, hint
lusty=healthy, robust, powerful
sadistic=brutal, callous, heartless

Saturday, April 5, 2008


I don't usually like to brag. When given a compliment, I generally say "thank you" and go on, not thinking I am queen of the world now that somebody thinks my cha cha can bring the room down.

It should be noted I utilized the words "usually" and "generally". By definition that means there is some skill or quirk that I am ludicrously proud of, bring up often, and win some bets with.

I'll give you a hint. It is connected to the number above.

Give up?

That is my average page per minute rate. (Ya, thats right, I did the math)

I read at 126.5 pages per hour, or 2.1083 pages per minute. Which is a pretty darn impressive average, if you were to ask my humble self.

There are very few things I take absurd pleasure in more than talking about how fast I read. I can finish almost any book in a day, easy. Most series (Harry Potter, Twilight, Series of Unfortunate Events) can be blown out in a week, more often less.

I say almost because I haven't read War and Peace, and hear it's a whopper.

Mind you, sometimes mediocre "real life" things enter the equation, things like eating, sleeping, school, work, ad nauseum. But I still spank-along pretty fast, and sometimes don't sleep so I can read.

Sometimes this greatness (thats darn right it's greatness) is a burden. It has it's ups and downs. As wonderful as it is to finish a book sometimes days before others, that means: a. You can't talk about it to them, because they are barely half way through. b. Sometimes it's nice just to savor the books, slowly and deliberately.

But mainly I love it (which is the reason for the bragging and strutting), because when it comes to knowing the end of a book, I get pretty impatient. Lest there is any confusion, I would never, ever ever ever skip to the end of a book to see the ending. I might ask a friend if its good or bad, but if I hear of any specifics, there is a one way ticket to Siberia for whoever told me.

The second read (or first re-read), I go more slowly. Just to soak it all up, get more little things that are embedded in the beautiful pages.

With that being said, the bet I won was regarding Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (the final book). A friend, who is a whole time zone ahead of me, bet he could finish before me. I laughed derisively and took the bet. I started reading at 1:30am (yes, I went to midnight release. I left dance and went to the bookstore for 3 hours with a bunch of other HP dorks. One of the best nights of my life, as of yet. But I digress), and finished at 7:30am. I called him to tell him I had completed it, and had to wait for him to awaken from his slumber to answer the phone. He was three chapters from conclusion of the book.

He had called me when I was still waiting to get the book to gloat he already had his copy, and there was no way I could possibly beat him!

I still rub it in his face, occasionally. Just to keep him humble.

Me, on the other hand? I am all the proud I want to be, until somebody usurps me from my position.

I'm not holding my breath.

*The data above is based on reading a 759 page book, Harry Potter 7, in 6 hours.*

Thursday, April 3, 2008

Dancing with the Stars!!!

Before I begin my analysis of this season, I must first say that I absolutely love the show. Without question. Well, enough of that, lets move on to nit picking.

Priscilla Presley and Louis Van Amstel. She really surprised me the first week. I thought that she would be one of the couples where you kinda say "Well, they aren't very good, but the are _____". But she was actually very graceful and looks very good on the floor. The thing that irks me about her is she does a funny thing with her head and neck; she pushes them forward a little bit to much for me. Other than that, I really enjoy watching her. Not one of the best, but doesn't make me cringe.

Adam Carrola and Julianne Hough. He makes me cringe. Not only is he awkward on the floor, he has a bad attitude. If you are really bad, but have a great attitude (anybody remember Jerry Springer? And more recently, Steve Gutenberg?), then you are forgiven. You love it, and we can see that. The only thing I see in Adam is the need of a serious Ego-Trimer 2000. I love her though.

Cristian De La Fuenta and Cheryl Burke. I like him more and more. Week One, when he did the cha cha, I had doubts because he had a serious shoulder problem, but he remarkably fixed that, and has been very good. I don't know that I would put him in the contender for the mirror ball class, but probably semi-final.

Shannon Elizabeth and Derek Hough. First week, didn't like her at all. Second week I was blown away by her quickstep. She had some very good moments, and continued to impress me with her jive. Needs to finish her lines a little better, but still very good.

Mario and Karina Smirnoff. Eh. I only like him okay, not nearly as much as I like Jason. He does have his merits (very dedicated, obviously loves it), but when he does the smooth/standard dances (quickstep, tango...) he does something funny with his arms.

Marlee Matlin and Fabian Sanchez. This woman is amazing. She has better timing and rhythm then most of the contestants on the show that can hear. Also, she gets along very well with her partner. I really enjoy watching her dance.

Jason Taylor and Edyta Sliwinska. I love him. For a football player, he has amazing posture. He started out better than I think Emmitt Smith and Jerry Rice ever got to be, even though they both made it to the finals (Emmitt won, and Jerry got third). Love love love him. Also, he isn't that hard to look at. Not that I noticed.

Marissa Jaret-Winokur and Tony Dovolani. She must sleep great. As bouncy and energetic as she is, when shes out she must be out. I love her attitude, and I love her enthusiasm, although it does sometimes mess with her ability to remember steps. Which is kinda bad. But still love her, especially with Tony. If she was with Max (who sadly isn't in this season), he would kill her; Tony just goes with the flow, which is a tribute to his ability to teach.

Kristi Yamaguchi and Mark Ballas. They are without a doubt my favorite couple. Utterly and completely. And not just because Mark Ballas is the hottest thing since ovens (ok, that was wimpy, but I was busy thinking about them, and it messes with my thought process). That girl can dance!! I have loved everyone of her dances (her mambo was amazing. YouTube it), and I think she should be this years winner. No question.

Well, there ya go. My thoughts on this years Dancing contestants.

Thats all the news that is news! Until later, Alice

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

What's on Alices iPod?

I obviously can't give you everything thats on my iPod, since I have 5547 songs stored on it. I can't even give you my Favorites playlist, because it is 389 songs. Which is a whole lot to write down. So, I will give you the top songs on my iTunes. Ready?

  • Imagine, sung by Eva Cassidy. I prefer this version to the Lennon version. Lennon's voice is a little to whiny/nasally for me. Also, Bryan Watson and Carmen once did a Rumba to Cassidy's version, which was amazing and beautiful.
  • I Will Follow You Into the Dark, by Death Cab for Cutie. Very romantic, and sometimes makes me cry. *sniff* So good. Love the lyrics.
  • How Sweet It Is, by Michael Buble (pronounced boo-blay). Another great dance song, this time a swing. It has a great jazzy beat and good vocals.
  • After the Goldrush, by Neil Young. I can't really explain why I love this song so much, but it really appeals to me.
  • T.N.T, by AC/DC. I like the OI! part at the beginning.
  • Romeo and Juliet, by the Indigo Girls. Absolutely and completely blows Dire Straits version out of the water. No question.
  • Fur Elise, written by Beethoven. Reminds me of the waltz, the way it goes and goes then pulls up, then falls down into the next notes. Which may or may not make any sense at all.
  • Someday You Will Be Loved, by Death Cab for Cutie. Another great song from their Plans album, except in this song he leaves her instead of staying. Still very good.
  • Temptation, by Diana Krall. Love her voice, love the song. A very good slow Rumba.
  • Princes of the Universe, by Queen. It's Queen. Nobody needs to say anything else about anything, just fall forward in admiration of the musical glory that is Queen.
And there you have it gentle people, the Top 10 songs on Alices iTunes/iPod. Tomorrow I will have something a little more exciting to report, since I will throw my 2 metaphorical cents in about this seasons Dancing with the Stars.

P.S. #11 is El Tango de Roxanne, the Moulin Rougue movie version. The guy in the beginning has the coolest voice ever.