Easter Bonnet

Isn't this the perfect Easter Bonnet?

Easter Bag

Isn't this the perfect Easter bag?

Got Ants?

I do and they are driving me crazy. Read that this stuff really works. Terro -- hope it's Latin for sending them back into the terra firm where they came from.

Big Summer Fashion

Little girl bobby socks and big girl high heels -- watch for them this summer everywhere. (They call them shortie socks here -- whatever.)

Bike Ride

Off for a bike ride. Gorgeous day. 60 degrees. I've been having a funny conversation with a friend in Florida about how 60 degrees is practically bikini weather for us in Boston and 60 degrees for him is "turn up the heat!" and throw an extra blanket on the bed weather.

All depends on what you're used to -- and after this bitterly cold winter, believe me this is hula skirt weather. Or at least thongs and flats weather.

Amanda Peet in Something's Gotta Give

I thought Amanda Peet was great in this and didn't get nearly enough credit what with Jack Nicholson and Diane Keaton being so much larger than life. Come to think of it Keanu Reeves was also great in Something's Gotta Give. Rent it if you didn't see it yet.

No South Beach Diet Miracle Here

I'm not on a diet really, but I'm watching out for Easter candy. Trying to keep myself from a sudden binge on fattening junk I don't need to be eating.

And I am thrilled to announce I have managed to avoid lavender, pink, yellow and green marshmellow peeps and have not eaten even ONE jellybean so far ... but it still is the day BEFORE Easter. Still, I plan to hold my ground!

Family Visits

Easter and Passover week. Time to visit the family. Admit it -- now that I don't have too many family visits to attend -- I'll come clean and tell the truth that sometimes visiting old relatives is so incredibly unpleasant.

We always had these old relatives that kept the house about 212 degrees.

They never wanted to go anywhere or do anything -- I used to find this insanely frustrating if you are used to a day with a lot of physical exercise, as I am. They hold you hostage and feed you horrible fattening food you would never eat anywhere else.

If you don't smoke -- chances are THEY SMOKE.

If you don't drink -- chances are THEY DRINK.

If you smoke -- "Not in the house, dear!"

If you do smoke dope and really want some, I guarantee you're visiting someone this weekend who would have a heart attack even KNOWING you want to smoke a J in their house.

If you do drink and would kill for a decent glass of wine -- they have some sweet shit you think they poured out of a Nyquil bottle by accident.

If you drink Pepsi, they have Coke.

If you drink Coke, they have Dr. Pepper.

If you drink Diet Coke, they have Regular Coke.

If you're on Atkins, they have a big pasta meal ready for you after a 10 hour drive.

If you don't eat meat, they give you a big slab of Easter ham and then yell at you for not eating it.

If you make the mistake of sleeping in their house, you get not a wink from all the weird noises, smells, midnight rambles of grandpa banging around in the kitchen downstairs.

If you are rational enough to book a hotel, your mother or step-mother, or some older matriarch in your family gets on her high horse, saying loudly in front of everyone at the table "What, my house isn't good enough for Ms. Goody Two Shoes?" when she knows you just want to spend the night with your new boyfriend and it's none of her business and she'd put you in separate rooms in her house in torture-chamber rack-type single beds.

And of course, twelve people make you wait to use the ONE bathroom after the big meal, and lucky you, with the 13th flush, it overflows all over your white satin Easter shoes.

Hot Cross Buns

Something I really like that I still haven't bitten into this season. Here's the idea behind them.

Hot Cross Buns!
Hot Cross Buns!
One a penny,
Two a penny,
Hot Cross Buns!

The math is a little sketchy -- wouldn't it be one a penny, two for two pennies? It's that odd old English nursery rhyme math. Never makes sense.

Easter A Total Rerun

With the overmarketing and in-your-face-every-day-since-the-beginning-of-Lent splash of the movie, The Passion, I tell you this Easter thing is like an overplayed hit record. Enough, enough! We get it -- cross, nails, mobs, torture, betrayal, blood, guts. yuck.

R.I.P.

Two years ago today.

William Wallace Suitt

November 29, 1918 - April 9, 2002

----------------------------------------

WHEN MY DAD WAKES UP TODAY

When my dad wakes up today, the first thing he will notice is that he is dead. But he'll take that in his stride, because my mom will be cooking bacon downstairs and getting the coffee ready and these divine smells will keep him from worrying too much about it. He will dance a jig as he jumps out of bed, to realize he's got his young healthy body back. He'll pant with excitement to find a Life Magazine on his nightstand. It will be 1948 and he will be 30 and he'll be in Youngstown, Ohio long before they had a zip code of 44444.

He'll dance a "ain't I cute" happy dance in the mirror to look at his strong, lanky, 6'4" body all dressed up in a perfectly well-worn pair of red plaid flannel pj's, size XL, his boyish dark brown hair thick and devilish. He'll marvel at his graceful dancing feet, like a baby in a crib discovering his own new toes, ready to do their entrancing steps. He'll fly downstairs to grab my mom for an impromptu kitchen Lindy, cranking the post-war Big Band music on the kitchen radio and arching her backwards into a ballroom swoon, safe in his steady, strong arms.

She will say with a sexy sneer, "What the hell's gotten into you?" And if the frying pan weren't full of hot, greasy bacon, crisping up perfectly -- even she can't burn the bacon in heaven -- she would take the pan and give him a whack on the butt with it, but instead a swipe with the spatula will have to do. He will yank her by the apron strings reeling her towards him, into a big hug and kiss. She'll finally just give in and let him mess up her pretty make-up. But then back to business, she'll push him away. "Get out of here," she'll warn with a phony sternness. "Go get the kids."

He'll stop dead in his tracks to realize he even HAS kids. She'll point out the kitchen window to the yard -- a green heaven of wavy, windy, grass and flowers, daffodils blooming, bending down to bow to him, on a perfect spring morning. Jean and Bill will be 10 and 8 and mucking about in a mud puddle with sticks and leaves, fascinated with the tiny boat they've built. My dad will choke up to see this, but my mom will have none of this early morning lollygagging, pushing him out the door.

The screen door will slam with a happy familiar whack, and my dad won't miss that often ignored sound of home. Look at him grin. He will relish it, but not for long, because he'll nearly fall over his old retriever dog, who will shoot from stage left to see if he can upend this happy man. The dog's got the paper in his mouth, and every damned story is good news, one better than the next, but he'll have no time to marvel at it. He'll run to his kids and scoop them up, squeeze them so hard they'll whine, "Dad!" They'll roll on the grass in a mock wrestling match, the two of them unable to keep a good man down.

When he drags them in the house, my mom will see two kids covered in mud, and her husband up to the usual malarkey. "March," she'll order, pointing towards the bathroom. Dad will supervise the soap and make the thing bubble, splash and spill all over the bathroom, making a bigger mess than either kid could muster, much to their delight. They'll be in giggles and my mom will hear them playing. She'll serve up the fried eggs, over-easy, just right and the perfectly crispy bacon, the A&P coffee will be dark and rich, she's pouring it now. She'll take her apron off slowly, hang it on the hook, sit at the table primly, a shapely wise and wonderful brunette, suppressing a grin as she hears them horsing around. And with a yell, she'll begin a new day, "Get in here you ruffians!"

They'll come flying in a pandemonium of boyish, girlish crewcut and braids, grins from ear to ear, trying not to laugh. But where's my dad? Obviously planning an entrance, the kids can barely control their giggles. My dad will turn the corner now, all eyes on him suddenly. He's still his pj's but now sports a porkpie hat, and has a beard of bubbles, "Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!" he sings out. The kids run to swipe the bubbles off his chin.

"Cut that out. Get over here and eat your breakfast," Mom gives Dad her best scowl, makes her "no-foolishness" face. They sit down to breakfast, she passes my dad the biscuits. He deftly applies butter and honey. "Katie, my girl," he says, with a smile that can never stop, "I've died and gone to heaven."

BloggerCon + JetBlue

If you STILL haven't decided whether or not to attend BloggerCon next Saturday -- JetBlue just made it even easier. Boston<--->Oakland and Boston<--->Long Beach -- just $99 each way. Check out these rock bottom rates.

Here's the schedule so far.

"I Sent You To MIT For THIS?!?!"

I can hear this poor kid's dad now, after sending his geeky boy to MIT for four years, what does he get -- an entrepreneurial gig at some start-up with VC's handing him and his buddies cash like the old go-go years? NO!

A consulting gig with Accenture? NO!

A fast-track job with the innovation team at Royal Dutch Shell? NO!

CIO for eBay? NO!

No, his kid's going to play baseball with the San Diego Padres!.

"Jason! Jason! Where did I go wrong?!"

Thursday Is A Good Day

Thursday is a good day because you can almost always get through it and know you'll likely find Friday at the end of it and who doesn't love Friday? Also Thursday is a good day because it looks rather serious and work-a-day and you can look quite efficient but you know that it's really like Friday Jr. -- a day to hack off and have fun. Also, they load up all the good TV into a big fattening Thursday night package and that's fun to look forward too. And of course, a lot of people and restaurants and bars and other places act very Fridayish on Thursday night -- watch out Thursday night Happy Hour can end some time on Saturday morning in bed with someone you could swear is named Chris ... or is it ... anyway, be careful. And a Thursday night party is really the coolest thing to have, because it says, "who cares how tired or hungover you are on Friday anyway?" and only very cool people throw a party on Thursday night -- so if you're invited to one you know you're only invited because you're cool too so you can smugly drag your tired butt into work the next day knowing you're much cooler than all the other dopes you work with.

And of course, Thursday is the ultimate day in the spring and summer because if you've got any good sense at all you take Friday off and so when everyone is saying their normal "bye! bye! bye! see you tomorrow!" stuff on Thursday night you can act like you'll be there the next day but HAZZZZAH! your friend is waiting on the curb with the car all loaded for a weekend in the mountains or by the beach or wherever and YOU'RE OUTTA HERE!!!

Happy Thursday!

Thank God For Ashcroft

I'm so glad he's busy winning the war on porn. But I get the distinct impression there's some other war going on somewhere ... that they're losing.

Ashcroft has already been so successful. Look at his reach -- THANK GOD he grabbed a hold of this ... I mean, rectified this disgusting situation and covered up Lady Justice's Bare Tit.

We've needed a leader who's so committed to Justice.

Bridges Burnt Big

I like this story my fellow blogger Kate Yandoh at Worthwhile posted about how an editorial assistant at a Hearst publication told the truth about how bad working there was on a chat board and got axed as a result. It does have a happy ending.

Jump Rope

Been having a lot of fun volunteering at my son's school for an early morning fitness program. I've been jumping rope like a boxer, fast and furiously. It's not easy and great aerobic exercise. Makes me sweat like a pig.

How Are You Supposed To Actually Hold Down A Job?

All you people without kids, go have a kid and then come back here and read this.

Here's the school calendar this week:

Monday -- 8:30am-3:00 (routine day)
Tuesday -- 8:30am-3:00 (routine day)
Wednesday -- half day (teacher's conferences? Anybody ask me if it's convenient? No, it's a little teacher holiday they scheduled all for themselves of which there seem to be about 500 a year. ) 8:30am - 12:00noon
Thursday -- half day (believe it or not it's 1/2 day every Thursday for my kid) 8:30am - 12:00noon
Friday -- no school

Explain how you are supposed to be in an office for more than 12 hours a week with a school calendar like this to deal with. It's amazing. Welcome to the world of working mom hell. Of course we love our kids and would love to be HOME with them every day. We need to work however, to pay for unimportant stuff like milk and bread and an occasional pair of sneakers for them.

Small People's Small Pieces

Where the heck have I been? John Porcaro just pointed out David Weinberger's kid's version of Small Pieces Loosely Joined, which I had NOT read. (Embarrassed blushing happening here.)

It's so cool and just right to read to my kid. Thanks David!

Waiting Eagerly For The Phone Not To Ring

So if they have BAD news for you at the Mammography Lab about the results of your mammogram, they call you by phone soon. If they have GOOD news for you, they DON'T call you and by Thursday evening (today's Tuesday) you can rest assured you're fine and they will mail you a letter confirming that.

Thursday come quick! Phone please don't ring!

[Editor's Update: Saturday morning -- no call and the doctor says I'm A+ healthy, all's well! Hurray!]

Daylight Savings Time The Death of Me

It's not MY problem adjusting to the one hour difference, it's my son's refusal to get with the program. He will NOT get to bed on time, just can't seem to get into the swing of it.

Tonight's the night.

We'll crack this nut -- 9PM and lights out OR BUST! Yes, we're on the road to an early night. Hosannah!

He Looked Good In Genes Too

Why do these sexy studs always end up in skirts?

Digital Pix of My Big Boobs

Oh, you were thinking about something like this?

I was thinking of something like this. And my boobs aren't that big, but they sure looked big up on the screen.

In fact, I just got back from having a mammogram and want to tell all the girls (of a certain age) to RUN don't walk to your local doctor to get a mammogram.

The new digital machines are so much better -- faster, less painful, and so much more accurate -- even a great mammogram-avoider like myself is keen on running right back in to get another pic taken ... well, not exactly, but honestly, they are a world apart from the other procedure.

In the old days (last year?) a mammogram took so long. You stood there with your tit in a vice essentially, being squeezed very hard and it was really painful, while they took plain old xrays, loaded the big heavy film cassettes, etc. It took forever.

And worse, then the films had to be developed and so you wouldn't get the results for awhile time -- and in some ways that was the most painful part -- waiting and waiting, your mind running wild at the possibility of having breast cancer. Now, the radiologist can read the digital pix this afternoon and let me know what's what. That is terrific.

Ask your doctor for "full field digital mammography" and if they don't have it, find a clinic that does.

And do what I do as a reward for getting a mammogram -- buy a sexy new bra!

First Album

Had a fun talk with a friend last night about the first album we owned -- by ourselves -- not bought by an older brother or sister, but really OURS. Both of us mentioned Beatles albums. Then we got on talking about old records we liked. I was nuts for Rubber Soul and Revolver.

Then I remembered this very early Elton John song. I used to wear white socks too.


First Episode At Hienton

--Elton John, music
--Bernie Taupin, lyrics

I was one as you were one
And we were two so much in love forever
I loved the white socks that you wore
But you don't wear white socks no more, now you're a woman
I joked about your turned-up nose
And criticized your school girl clothes
But would I then have paced these roads
to love you

For seasons come
and seasons go
Bring forth the rain the sun and snow
Make Valerie a woman
And Valerie is lonely

No more to roam on the snow hills of Hienton
Undecided with the guardians
of the older generation
A doormat was a sign of welcome
In the winter months to come
And in the summer laughing
Through the castle ruins
we'd run

For the quadrangle sang to the sun
And the grace of our feeling
And the candle burned low
as we talked of the future
Underneath the ceiling

There were tears in the sky
And the clouds in your eyes
were just cover
For your thighs were the cushions
Of my love and yours for each other

For seasons come
and seasons go
Bring forth the rain the sun and snow
Make Valerie a woman
And Valerie is lonely

The songs still are sung
It was fun to be young
But please don't be sad
where `ere you are
I am who I am
You are who you are
Now Valerie's a woman
Now Valerie's a woman
Now Valerie's a woman

Group Blogs: Four Corners

I've been hitting a treasure trove of group blogs today, ever since we launched ours today and Seth Godin pointed out that the blogosphere is changing the magazine world and group blogs are the thing to watch.

Check out Suw Charman's recommendation -- a new one she's writing for -- FOUR CORNERS.

Four Corners -- Living. Creating. Adventuring.

And who's doing all that fun stuff? These cool authors.

All You Ruggedly Handsome Programmers Out There

Hey, call me crazy but I'll bet you could use some new spring clothes from Land's End. Check out these duds for ruggedly handsome brainiacs like yourselves.

And they've got great chinos, jeans and shorts too. And they aren't very expensive. Get your credit cards ready. New clothes by the end of the week -- and what are you gonna wear to BloggerCon anyway??? Harvard Square here you come.

Thanks Seth

Seth Godin is speculating about the trends in blogs which look more and more like magazines. Thanks for mentioning Worthwhile. We are different from many magazines which also have websites or weblogs. We are starting with the weblog then adding the magazine, instead of the other way around.

Using our site meter, I can already see which writers on the new blog are getting hits and which are not ... will we keep them or dump them according to their numbers? That would be a little like a SURVIVOR Magazine Show -- horrors! But, don't worry, we won't use stats for that. Instead, we'll get a very up-to-the-minute reader feedback loop, telling us what people want to read about and what bores them. [Needless to say with 4 women writers and 4 men, we've been making bets! Go, girls, go!]

Last week I was talking to a friend over coffee who mentioned he likes the idea of Worthwhile a lot because he finds other monthly or weekly business magazines are too stale for him, even the day they are published, since paper just takes so long to write for, print, distribute and get into a reader's hands. He loved the idea that we could publish up-to-the-minute business blog posts on what's going on with a trial like Tyco or other business news hitting the wires right now.

Worthwhile Magazine Live Today

One of these days we'll tell the tale of how this baby got birthed with me here in Boston and Boris, our Ace Uber-Tech Webman in Tokyo and Kevin and Anita, our founders in Atlanta and the rest of us scattered from one end of the globe to the other, but not right now. It 5:25 am here, I'm still in my pj's and going back to bed and it's dinner in Tokyo and Boris has to grab a bite.

Too bad we didn't ask Ms. "Where In The World Is" Carmen Sandiego to write for us. Some of our bloggers, like Tom Peters, you actually can track worldwide.

Worthwhile Magazine -- easily found at www.worthwhilemag.com and we hope enjoyed by all today. It's a blog about ... read this.

I have to say, I didn't expect to read David Weinberger writing on hot stone reiki back massages. And now you can even subscribe to his own personal RSS feed.

1 Out Of 8,130,000

Tonight, in my referrer log for Halley's Comment, I found out that I am number 1 out of 8,130,000 results for the Google search:

what to say to a woman

which certainly made me laugh. I'm hardly an authority, but better me than anyone else. Actually I think some other people who spoofed my blog post had even better things to say than I did. Like this. Big thanks to the person who inspired that post -- little did they know what the result would be.

[Or maybe you'd prefer the number one "SPONSORED" link. Free of charge here on my blog. Conversation-King.com you gotta love it.]

Science Project

We've been working on a science project all afternoon about electromagnets. We need to explain how regular old magnets work and how electromagnets work with an experiment that's simple, obvious, fun and NOT dangerous. Sounds easier than it is.

Palm Sunday

It's Palm Sunday. Not Palm Sunday, not even Palm Sunday, but Palm Sunday. It's been an interesting one.

My son and I volunteered to help out with "coffee hour" in our church. Connie, who runs the coffee hour program and is an old hand at the business of setting out great cheese platters, vegetables, dips, cookies and everything else you'd love to eat at 11:30 when church is over. She did most of it. My kid and I set up the kids table with Dunkin Donuts munchkin donut holes and also big donuts -- glazed and chocolate glazed. We sure didn't have trouble getting rid of them.

For some unknown reason, and this continues to happen, my kid has decided wearing socks is not cool. He does anything to avoid wearing socks. So when we pulled up to church this morning, he gets out on the side where there are bushes and there are thorns and he's walking where his ankles are getting scratched by thorns and it hurts and he's making odd noises, torn between how it hurts and how he doesn't want me to know he was busy sneaking out of the house this morning with no socks on. Sometimes raising a boy is like raising an alien invader, I have absolutely NO CLUE why he does some of the weird things he does. And when I say "no socks" let me remind you it's cold and rainy here and may snow later. It's not Palm Beach, or Palm Springs, it's just Palm Sunday.

Two Years Ago

I was going to post some things about what was going on for me two years ago, but when I took a quick look, I've decided against it. My dad passed away April 9, 2002.

I can't decide what's worse, reading the passages written when I didn't know I would lose him within the week or reading the passages about losing him. Nothing good about either.

And even reading the stuff I wrote about getting ready for spring and setting the clocks ahead on this Sunday two years ago, to know that time for him was running down to a lifetime low, to know that the clocks were about to meltdown anyway, all so strange, this life. Leaves me with the paradoxical and unachieveable desire to have just one more hour with him. And what would I say in that hour? A lifetime of words, or just be silent and hold his hand? I don't have the answer.

In Another Language

"Et puis tiens, je viens de me rendre compte que tu as “switché” vers le français pour parler d’amour. Intéressant. ;-)"

"I Found The Ocean!"

My kid is playing a new videogame Test Drive Off Road Wide Open. He's in Hawaii in a Hummer that lets him drive up and down volcanos, through lava, after a while -- I've asked three times why his tires don't melt or catch on fire -- he says "they're modified" -- "for what?" I ask -- "they're modified for lava -- everything in my Hummer is modified." Okay, right sure. The graphics are gorgeous but taking the 45 degree angle up the side of a volcano and then rushing the rim to come plummeting down into a pool of boiling lava -- well, just not my idea of a good time.

A mom can breathe a little easier when he yells out, "I found the ocean!"

And considering it's Hawaii, I figured he'd have to find some water at some point. "Modified" or not, his tires can use the cooling off I figure.

But talk about "OFF ROAD!" He hits the beach and drives RIGHT ACROSS THE WATER, drives right up along side a sailboat and then veers off towards a glorious rocky beach where big waves hit big boulders with mile high spray.

I'm trying to imagine how I'll get him out of a Hummer that drives on the ocean, into church clothes and off to hear the oh-so-dull-now story of Jesus H. Christ who was just a guy who walked on water. In today's episode, Palm Sunday, he rides a mule into town and people make fun of him. Tough sell. Only a jerk would pick a mule for a vehicle, any gamer knows that.

Episode 1018 AABF14

"Simpsons Bible Stories"
1018 AABF14
Original Airdate: 4/04/99

"A particularly boring sermon by Reverend Lovejoy sends each member of the Simpson family into his or her own biblical fantasy. Marge imagines herself and Homer as Adam and Eve, living in harmony with the flora and fauna of the Garden of Eden until Homer stupidly eats from the Tree of Knowledge. Lisa dreams of herself and the other kids of Springfield Elementary as the Israelites in ancient Egypt. Principal Skinner is Pharaoh and it's up to a nervous Milhouse to act as Moses and free his people from bondage. In Homer's dream, he is King Solomon, solving every dispute by cutting the contested object in half. When Lenny and Carl bring a pie to the King, he cuts it in half and eats both pieces. In Bart's action-packed fantasy, he is David, fighting Nelson as Goliath's son, Goliath II. When the Simpsons awake from their dreams, they discover that Revelation has come and it's time for God's final judgment. Only Lisa is allowed into Heaven, but Homer drags her down into Hell with the rest of the family."

Sunday Morning With Reverend Lovejoy

And as we pass the collection plate, please give as though the person
next to you were watching.

-- Rev. Lovejoy, "Simpsons Bible Stories"