micheleandtom.com

Yes, we’re back in the good ol’ US of A…so I ask you, do we keep blogging? Tom and I have given it some thought and have decided that we still have something to say…big surprise!!

We figure we have a lot of future fodder related to:

1. Did our sabbatical actually help us accomplish any life changes?
2. Sharing our experiences related to starting up a business.
3. The difficulties and joys of re-entry to living in the US.

And besides, Futból says we have to keep on writin’, so what else can we do?

I love the feel of ink flowing out on paper as my fountain pen tip glides, meeting just a hint of resistance — a sensation that is unique to this old-fashioned writing implement.

We Went. We Watched. We Enjoyed.

Observations:

• It is a blend of behind-the-scenes and concert film genres and it worked well.
• It was riveting to see him, and everyone else, at work…it was clear that Michael was very skilled at the business of entertainment. There were a lot of musician references about how unusual it was to work with a pop singer who knew their stuff! (A sad commentary on the state of the music industry, of course.)
• He has really big, rather masculine hands. Given how emaciated he was at that point in his life, I expected thin effeminate hands…
• There is a 24 year old Australian-Greek guitarist who solos with MJ for two songs during the movie and she was really rocking! Her name is Orianthi Panagaris, and she can fly on the strings and smack hard on some chewing gum at the same time. How does she do it?
• My heart broke for everyone who was in the show and never got to actually perform; and frankly, I feel he let them all down. I’m pleased there was a movie so their hard work can be rewarded and recognized.
• Costume-makers discussed plans to create clothes for the show that would involve a meld of textile and technology, the likes of which had yet to be made. Unfortunately, we never got to see any of them!
• The cattle call for the dancers’ auditions was crazy. A blessing to all artists who put themselves out there for rejection time and again.
• And lastly, I came away saddened that the aspects of his life that made him such a talented entertainer (a pushy and abusive stage father and a childhood spent honing his craft) are the very things that led him to hate himself (evident in his body and facial dysmorphia) and hastened his death. You get the sense that the only place he was truly home was on stage.

This is a heartfelt ode to vinegar!

If I had to reduce my cleaning cabinet down to one substance, it would be vinegar. It cleanses like a charm, isn’t poisonous, and has medical benefits as well!

Just in the last week, I used it to remove smeary kid fingerprints from the underside of our dining room table, which is etched glass (horrible design) and to wash some shirts to remove odors.

On the medicinal front, it cured my toe fungus!

About 3 months before I I had knee surgery last year, I somehow managed to bruise my right big toe, which led to my nail bed being susceptible to fungus, which I figured I picked up at the pool. *sigh* After a zillion hours of online research and a visit to the podiatrist, I was told that none of the home remedies would get rid of said fungus. Instead, the doctor told me that the drug Lamisil was the answer.

(Just so you know, Lamisil is evil incarnate. After 4 days, I had to stop because it gave me a funny taste in my mouth, I literally couldn’t sleep, and my joints hurt, blah blah blah. Death in a pill.)

Stopping the drug brought me back to square one, at which time I recalled the podiatrist saying, “…maybe some of the home remedies would work, but they’ll take 6 months to a year, and I don’t think people really stick with them.” Right then and there, I swore I would be the one to see it through. I filed down the surface of my entire infiltrated nail so it was very thin and then I taped a white vinegar-soaked cotton ball to my big toe for 20 minutes every morning and every night for over a year. (This digit was dubbed “cider toe.”)

While I missed the occasional day, I really rocked my schedule, for the most part. Now, this was not easy during all of the traveling we did last Dec/Jan/Feb. For instance, while we were in Nono, Argentina in the middle of nowhere at an estancia, there was nary a place to buy more vinegar when I ran out. Ian, dear brother that he is, went to the kitchen and asked for a container of vinegar to take back to my room (he’s still mad about having to do it). Anything for the cider toe!

I am happy to report that my home remedy and stubbornness worked — I stopped the cider toe regimen about 14 months after starting, and my nail looks perfect!

All Hail Vinegar.

Tom and I have this horrible habit of mirroring the speech of whatever characters are featured in our current book and/or iTunes TV obsession.

When we were reading the series of maritime novels by Patrick O’Brian that take place during the Napoleanic Wars, we ran around the house speaking a wretched approximation of the Queen’s English, utilizing more formal than necessary sentence structures.

During our watching of The Wire, we would attempt to work the theme of an episode into our everyday lives, such as “You come at the king, you best not miss.” (By the way, can you believe that this amazing show never won an Emmy or Golden Globe? My personal opinion: best TV series, ever.)

We have Deadwood to thank for introducing the word “cocksucker” into our everyday lexicon, which, as foulmouthed as I can be, had never been a word I used, either as a noun or an adjective. A few episodes in, and alas, I could no longer make that claim. Sadly, it was in heavy rotation for both of us for a few weeks (only with the older set, of course).

Our vulgar period has passed now that we’ve moved on to our current TV addiction — Mad Men, the series about 1960s Madison Avenue. One of our favorite characters is Roger Sterling, a partner in the advertising firm featured in the series. He has some gems, such as:

“You don’t know how to drink. Your whole generation…you drink for the wrong reasons. My generation, we drink because it’s good, because it feels better than unbuttoning your collar, because we deserve it. We drink because it’s what men do.”

“You know what my father used to say? Being with a client is like being in a marriage. Sometimes you get into it for the wrong reasons, and eventually, they hit you in the face.”

“I bet there were people walking around in the Bible complaining about kids today.”

Unfortunately, Tom and I have nothing to say that would be as cool as the writing on Mad Men, so Tom has suggested that we start drinking and smoking in the same copious amounts as the characters, really taking our emulation to a whole new level! (He’s willing to go the extra mile, my husband…)

One of the fun aspects of having wee copies of yourself running around the house is that you get to reread your favorite examples of children’s literature.

Lately, I have been performing Anne of Green Gables for the girls before bed, which has helped me crystallize my thoughts on another popular series for kids, Harry Potter.

The entire time that we read the magical tomes to the girls, I couldn’t escape the thought that while her world building and story arc were admirable, Ms. Rowling’s writing skills simply didn’t measure up to the classics that I enjoyed in younger days.

Of course, it was impossible not to wonder if I wasn’t biased, making the mistake of looking back with rose-colored glasses. But something has really struck me as we make progress with Ms. Montgomery’s story; I never change a word while I am reciting it to the Zs. With Harry Potter, I was constantly editing as I read out loud, such as rewriting the ridiculous boy-girl flirting dialog that peppered the later books. (And frankly, reading plucky Anne Shirley’s tale has made me mourn Hermione turning into a hormone-challenged, lovesick twit.)

LM Montgomery transforms Anne’s everyday life into an adventure that has the girls on the edge of their seat…well bed, and she does it with a flowing and poetic voice that is mesmerizing. It makes me admire her all the more that a book published in 1908 (it was her first novel) can capture my daughters’ imagination so completely, with nary an exploding wand to move the action along!

Bravo.

Below is an example of boy-girl interaction that I feel is suitable for the Zs. (I’m a bit bloodthirsty, I suppose!)

Mr. Phillips was back in the corner explaining a problem in algebra to Prissy Andrews and the rest of the scholars were doing pretty much as they pleased, eating green apples, whispering, drawing pictures on their slates, and driving crickets, harnessed to strings, up and down the aisle. Gilbert Blythe was trying to make Anne Shirley look at him and failing utterly, because Anne was at that moment totally oblivious, not only of the very existence of Gilbert Blythe, but of every other scholar in Avonlea school and of Avonlea school itself. With her chin propped on her hands and her eyes fixed on the blue glimpse of the Lake of Shining Waters that the west window afforded, she was far away in a gorgeous dreamland, hearing and seeing nothing save her own wonderful visions.

Gilbert Blythe wasn’t used to putting himself out to make a girl look at him and meeting with failure. She should look at him, that redhaired Shirley girl with the little pointed chin and the big eyes that weren’t like the eyes of any other girl in Avonlea school.

Gilbert reached across the aisle, picked up the end of Anne’s long red braid, held it out at arm’s length and said in a piercing whisper, “Carrots! Carrots!”

Then Anne looked at him with a vengeance!

She did more than look. She sprang to her feet, her bright fancies fallen into cureless ruin. She flashed one indignant glance at Gilbert from eyes whose angry sparkle was swiftly quenched in equally angry tears.

“You mean hateful boy!” she exclaimed passionately. “How dare you!”

And then — Thwack! Anne had brought her slate down on Gilbert’s head and cracked it — slate, not head — clear across.

As we continue our idyllic visit to the Oregon Coast, which has included more marshmallow roasting and the erection of a large tent in the backyard for gaggles of kids to stay in all night not sleeping, I realized that I had forgotten to share a singular triumph from our trip to Las Vegas — my two way parlay on the hard six that came in…twice!

For those of you not versed in craps terminology, let me illuminate you! On the craps table, the box in the middle is called the “proposition box,” which is filled with horrible bets that have a huge house edge.

Regardless of the fact that I know this, I still made a bet with two $1 chips called a two way (a bet for me and the dealers) parlay (we are both going to stack the winnings and let it ride if it hits) on the hard six (the dice will come as two 3s before a seven hits, or before a six comes the easy way, which would be 4-2 or 5-1).

Now, I made this fancy, completely long-shot wager while I was rolling the bones. And, when the two 3s hit the first time, my $1 bets became a $10 bet for me and a $10 bet for the dealers. Then, miracle of miracles, I hit the hard six two more times, which made me $180 richer. Pretty nice!

For some reason, my brother decided to let the girls work on his hair and buzz his beard with electric trimmers.

(Yes, more summer hijinks on the Oregon coast.)

Aside from Zelda accidentally removing too much of one of Ian’s sideburns, he came out of the experiment remarkably unscathed.

The girls, of course, had a delightful time.

In fact, Zelda was having so much fun, she didn’t want to relinquish the electric buzz cutters and got into a minor skirmish with Ian over who had a right to their possession. I’m happy to report that Ian came out on top and Zelda was not allowed to create any additional hair havoc.

I just fell back in love with the United States of America, and not for the reasons you might think. It was thanks to some amazing, hard-working, and dedicated city Mayors that I had the pleasure of getting to know this last week.

You see, my jetlagged, broken-backed, congested self just wrapped up an amazing and affirming professional experience as a part of the The Mayor’s Institute on City Design. For three days, we (a panel of architects, designers, planners, and real estate professionals) were locked in a room together with 8 mayors to discuss their cities and address their issues and concerns about their home towns.

I was energized by these leaders — they are willing to act as lightning rods on tough land-use issues that might be unpopular in the short term, but could improve their communities for decades to come.

This country was built on the backs of public service such as theirs — they generally make little money while often serving “part-time,” when in reality, they work full-time for their constituents. My interactions with these mayors showed me, in a tangible way, that livable places are the result of good governance, which is the result of ordinary people working hard and caring for their neighbors and families.

Kudos!

We just joined the group of people at Infinite Summer, devoting ourselves to reading David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest over the summer — about 75 pages a week. That meant a purchase at the Amazon store, downloads to the Kindles, and we were ready.

This book is giving us the opportunity to run the Kindle through its paces. The first thing I have LOVED is the built-in dictionary. DFW likes to use a lot of archaic and unusual words (concupiscence, festschrift, and deliquesce, to name three), so the Kindle dictionary has been a boon. Although, there have been a few words that we’ve had to look up online:

Kekulean Knot: which is how he described a tie, and is a reference to the scientist who discovered the structure of benzene and how he came upon his inspiration.

Incunabular: which means “extant copies of books produced in the earliest stages (before 1501) of printing from movable type.”

Infinite Jest also features a really long set of endnotes that you must read along with the book. Happily, the Kindle makes this easy; we can bip back and forth between the two seamlessly. It is pretty cool how it takes you exactly to the endnote specified and exactly back to where you were in the text. There is one problem though — last night, I wanted to go to bed, but was stuck in a 14-page endnote, and the Kindle wouldn’t let me go back to my spot in the book until I came to the termination point of the endnote. I grudgingly finished it so I could bookmark my page in the main book and get some rest!

And lastly, since we are doing this with each other, and as a part of the larger community, we have been taking notes on the Kindle as we’re reading so we can discuss items of interest together at a later date. After you are through gagging, you will be happy to know the thumb typing on the Qwerty keyboard is fine as long as you don’t want to write a thesis.

What do we think of the book so far? It’s complicated and intriguing…but we’ve only just begun. It is fair to say that we are enjoying it so far.