WHAT I MISS ABOUT THE 80'S: TODAY, QUANTUM LEAP

Remember Dr. Sam Beckett's weekly adventures as he randomly leapt across space and time to inhabit the bodies of various individuals, helping them right their wrongs for the greater good?

I loved this show in 1989. It was quirky, there was always a moral, and you never knew what kind of situation (or body) Sam would find himself in. The only thing you could be sure of is that the next leap would not be the one home and that Sam would always utter the requisite "Oh, boy" and see himself in the mirror so you'd get a little teaser for coming episode. You knew Sam would bounce to the next situation and uncover the obscure dilemma, with the help of his sidekick Al (who appeared only to Sam as a hologram) and Al's little gizmo Ziggy.

The plots were fresh and the show had a conscience-- something that seems to be missing from a lot of tv shows today.

MY DIET IS FAILING, AND I BLAME GERRY RAFFERTY

Well, I feel the need for a mid-month post about my dieting struggles. Mid-month, heck... we're only 8 days in. The ship may not be sinking, but it's taking on water (and carbs) at an alarming rate.

Let me start at the beginning. Last night, Mark and I went to feed the wild kitties. We discovered them back in the fall, one night when we drove past the old IBM building in Fayetteville. There were seven of them, playing in the parking lot, until we drove up and they scattered. Ever since then, we've gotten into this routine of taking them treats and catfood... and last night, it was some leftover chicken I'd cooked and not eaten. So we sat there for about half an hour, trying to build up some mutual trust as we coaxed them toward us with pieces of baked chicken breast. It's always fun feeding the wild cats. But it's amazing how you can work up an appetite. And in retrospect, I would have been better off sampling the kitties' baked chicken, because Applebee's was looming just up the hill. Like a carb-laden spectre of doom.

We walk into Applebee's, get seated, wash our hands and order. So far, so good. I stick with an order of a salad with grilled chicken. I'm hanging tough... no way I'll succumb to temptation tonight. And then Applebee's lulls me into submission with their feel-good 70's music. Have you ever noticed the music at Applebee's? It's insanely good. Much better than the food. I spend as much time singing along as I do eating, which is a winning combination, up to a point. And that point comes when you find yourself singing along to "Right Down The Line" and waxing philosophical over the musical genius that was Gerry Rafferty. No sooner than I'd said, "Remember Baker Street and Stuck In The Middle With You?", the words "I'll have a Maple Butter Blondie, please" tumbled right out. Suddenly, I didn't mind being 30 lbs overweight. Gerry Rafferty made me feel like a million bucks, and in an instant I was ordering a dessert with 71 carbs! That's, like, two whole days worth!

What am I going to do on vacation next week? My self-control is MIA. I've embarked on a spree that I can't seem to get a handle on. I don't have all the answers, but I think my TimeLife CD's had better not make the trip. I think there's some serious backmasking going on in restaurants. That's why all the tv's are set to closed-captioning... the music tracks contain some Svengali-like magic that stimulates dessert sales. I'm convinced that if you play "Right Down The Line" at just the proper speed, it says "Order the 71-carb dessert, Julie". Where is Tipper Gore and the PMRC when I need them? Can't they form the DMRC-- the Dieter's Music Resource Center-- to help combat the restaurants' musical voodoo I've fallen victim to?

Maybe this is all in my head. Maybe it's time to invest in a noise-blocking aparatus or some headphones I'd be too embarrassed to wear in public. Maybe it's time to stop dining out altogether. Maybe it's time to eat the catfood instead. Maybe Gerry Rafferty isn't enemy #1. Maybe it's time to stop making excuses.

Hmmm. I think I'll put on my Soft Rock CD's and ponder this conundrum.

THINGS I MISS ABOUT THE 80'S

2008 RESOLUTIONS... TESTING. TESTING.

Well, as much as I hate to admit it, my resolve took a bit of a dive in March. I definitely followed the old, familiar adage about March: in like a lion, out like a lamb. Quite possibly the most passive lamb in the whole darn herd.

So in true-Ju form, I must commemorate this post with another loser-themed tune, and this time it's Little River Band's Lonesome Loser. See, just like the dude in the song, I'm a loser but I still keep on trying!

Sit down, take a look at yourself
Don't you want to be somebody?
Someday somebody's gonna see inside
You have to face up, you can't run and hide.

I know, I'm kinda showing my age again on this one. But LRB was awesome... I could just as easily apply the words to Cool Change here, too. But that would just rate me another point on the cheese-o-meter. So let's get down to brass tacks. How did I really do in March?

I set a goal to lose 7 lbs, which I didn't reach. I only dropped 6 lbs, bringing my total to 27 lbs for the year. I had several hurdles along the way: Corned beef sandwiches at Oaklawn, birthday cake (carrot cake from a fantastic bakery, nonetheless), Easter candy, and one absurdly carb-laden trip to Johnny Carino's that dang-near laid me up for 24 hours. And my Stamina In-Stride XL also got very lonely.

Now, onto the fiscal goals, which moved at an even more glacial pace than their physical counterparts. I only paid $500 toward my credit bills. I know, I feel just rotten about it. I don't know what got into me... all month long, I shelled it out like I'd just won the lotto or struck Texas tea. First, I went to buy the iPhone that I was strong enough to resist last month. I was hoodwinked by the slick-talking AT&T guy and instead got a Moto Q, which set me back almost as much except for the $50 rebate I'll supposedly receive before I die.

The second temptation was lurking just around the corner, assuming the form of custom-framework. I know framing doesn't sound all that glamorous, but this was my biggest splurge, dollar-wise: I broke down and got the autographed Rolling Stones poster framed... now, since it's a one-of-a-kind piece of rock 'n roll memorabilia, I just couldn't skimp on it. We're talking velvet double-matting and a gorgeous frame that would make Mick Jagger change the words to "I Can't Get No Satisfaction". I'm oh-so-satisfied. Guilty, but pleased. It turned out beautifully and looks great in the office.

And last but not least, I dropped a bundle on bundles. Bundles of hair, that is. Yes, Spring is in the hair (I mean in the air) and it seemed an appropriate time for extensions. I don't know what to say. My priorities are all outta whack? I totally reverted back to my redneck roots. And in the interest of full disclosure, I'll also 'fess up and tell you that I've been cruising car lots again (well, just one... it beckoned me from the road) and fell in love with a sporty little navy blue BMW 325Ci. I have a terrible crush on it, but we will have to remain star-crossed lovers for now. A convertible is just not in my budget. Period. Nay, exclamation point. Get thee behind.

Fortunately, though, it's a new month and I've rallied. Back to Earth. I'm feeling strong once again. I've heaved up all of my misdeeds for all of blogdom to judge me, but my resolve is firm. I will lose 7 lbs and $1,000 of debt in April. I do have a mid-month vacation in Florida, and I'm sure there will be indulgences, both budgetary and dietary, but I have a good feeling.

Rome wasn't built in a day... and neither is a Goddess!

BACKSTREET'S BACK, ALRIGHT

"Omigod, we're back again... brothers, sisters, everybody sing"... Oh, yes, they are back and this time, the Backstreet Boys demand wheatgrass. To answer the next question in the song, Trace Adkins would definitely affirm that the Backstreet Boys are indeed "original". Yea-ahhh.

If you missed the last episode of Celebrity Apprentice, you missed one of the truly golden moments of reality TV. In the final showdown and two-hour finale this week, Piers and Trace will square off in a charity auction / concert. And when Trace, who's in charge of the entertainment, met with the BSBs to discuss their greenroom requests, his facial expression pretty much summed it up: total disbelief that the "Backstreet Old Guys" (as he dubbed them) would make such an absurd request as wheatgrass, amid a lengthy list of other demands. Trace was respectful to the BSBs in the moment, saying "I've never heard of it"and "I'm happy for ya, brother... I'm glad you found something that works for ya." But later in a confessional aside, Trace was more honest: "What? Are you punkin' me, man?? Is this a joke... Really?" Thank goodness it's not far from my couch to the floor, or I could've injured myself... this is the kind of reality nugget that keeps me hanging on all season! Check out the clip here: "Talkin' to the Backstreet Boys is time out of my life that I'll never get back... talkin' about wheatgrass juice..."

I'm the first to admit that I still like BSB. There, I've said it. I think their songs still hold up better than most from the boy band era. And I'm sure The Donald instructed them to soup it up a little and make the task more challenging for Trace... or I'd like to think so. If not, they made total boobs out of themselves for nothing. And that's no way to squirm your way back into America's hearts, BSOGs. A teaser-for tomorrow's ep showed that one of the boys goes into a tizzy over forgetting his black nail polish. Huh? Show me the meaning of being lame-o.

So the countdown is officially on... just 24 hours to go until the Celebrity Apprentice finale! I'm pumped! But am also a little worried. I'm supposed to be getting my hair extensions tomorrow night, so I can only hope that the process goes quickly and my long-haired butt (uh, not literally, of course!) is at home on the couch in time to catch the whole spectacle. If not, I'll have to fake an excuse... "I left something turned on at home" might work!

Go, Trace!

AH, THE WONDER OF IT ALL

How does one pass the time on a four-hour car ride to Hot Springs? Well, by making up songs, of course. I got the inspiration for this one while listening to "Wonderwall", the 1995 hit from Oasis. Suddenly, it struck me that I should rename it to reflect my feelings about the torture chamber we call the brassiere.

I give you... [drumroll, please]...

"Wonderbra".

Today is gonna be the day

That I'm gonna go shop for you

By now I've psyched myself out

Found a cup size I think will do

I don't believe that anybody

Sags the way I do, without you now

Bad news, thought I was double-D

But the measurements I took were whack

I need Tim Gunn's expertise

And Victoria's Secret for my rack

I don't believe that anybody

Droops the way I do, without you now

My sportsbra's 18-hour strap's unwinding

And all the hooks that hold me in are binding

There are many things that I would

Like to say to you But I can't breathe now

'Cause maybe

You're gonna be the one that shapes me

After all You're my Wonderbra

Today was gonna be the day

That I would find the perfect fit

But one boob's a triple D

And the other is a B-plus tit

I don't believe that anybody

Makes a freakin' sling To fit me now

And all the wires within these cups are binding

And as the high-beams light my way, they're blinding

There are many bras that I would like to burn for you

So I don't have one now

I said maybe

You're gonna be the one that chafes me

But after all You're my Wonderbra

I said maybe

You're gonna be the one that chafes me

But after all You're my Wonderbra

Said maybe

You're gonna be the one that chafes me

You're gonna be the one that chafes me

You're gonna be the one that chafes me

A FACE TO GO WITH THE NAME

For those who have wondered (and those who haven't)... Guess who.
Yes, it's the face of evil.

MARY POPPINS IS PISSED!

Well, I gotta tell you... Mary Poppins ain't dancing on rooftops or taking carousel rides through the countryside today. Uh-uh. That's 'cause Mary is 15 kinds of PO'd.

Getting this fired up is pretty out of character for me-- hence the comparisons people make between me and the irrepressible nanny. I normally take things in stride. Heck, I wasn't this flabbergasted when my ex-husband got his egg on with a coworker. I guess it's a good thing he decided to mess with another woman instead of my Ebay rating. One's Ebay rating is pretty serious stuff...

So let me start from the beginning. Brittnee turned me on to this awesome Giorgio Armani foundation and was kind enough to bring me a sample back from Neiman-Marcus in Dallas so I could ensure a match to my skintone. It's exclusive to certain stores, though, and can't be purchased anywhere in the state of Arkansas; so being the card-carrying redneck that I so proudly am, ol' Mary Poppins here decided to buy it on Ebay. Fast. Convenient. And cheaper than the $55 per fluid ounce price on the Armani website. So far, so good. I always have great luck on Ebay.

With eager anticipation, I checked every evening to see if my little miracle-bottle had arrived. A week passed. But that's ok, it mailed from Throop, Pennsylvania. 10 days. I'm starting to get a little concerned... I mean, I usually get any purchase within this length of time. 11... 12... and on day 13, it arrives! So it's exactly what I expected (plus I saved an Andrew Jackson), so other than the delivery-time, I'm thrilled. And like a good little Ebayer, I log on to leave feedback for Diva Cosmetics and I give Diva a positive score. I also leave the following comment: "Delivery not prompt, but pleased w/ item... Good value. Will buy again! Thanks!!" I thought that was the end of an overall favorable transaction. It never dawned on me that Diva would use the "delivery not prompt" part as a reason to crucify me.

So a week and a half goes by before I log into Ebay again, and I notice something I've never seen before. The little feedback icon on the listing looks a little different than it ever has. It has a " - " in it. So I click on over to see what Diva has to say... And lo and behold, it's my first negative feedback! What? Me? Mary Poppins?? With a besmirched feedback rating??? It just can't be. Ebayers live and die by their feedback scores! And to add insult to this grave injury, Diva wrote "Paid 2/7. Shipped 2/8. What more do you want?Unrealistic Buyer! Sellers Beware!!" Ya'll, my heart just stopped. As I stared in disbelief at the monitor, I thought Ashton Kutcher was going to jump out from behind it and yell "Ahhh... You've been Punk'd!" But there was no Ashton. Only Mary Poppins, whose happy little umbrella just bit the asphalt. 0 to 60 in less than four seconds. Thud.

I'm now a 99.1% on feedback.

So I fire off a quick message to my Ebay sensei, Mark, to explain the situation and ask, "If I send a strongly worded message to the seller, will I get in trouble?" I was hot, but didn't want to place my newly-lowered standing in further jeopardy. He was the voice of reason, though, which is just what I needed in that moment. My whole problem was that I knew exactly what I wanted to say; in my mind, I had already composed an artfully-worded message telling the Diva herself (who at this point, I've determined is very aptly named) that her petty retaliation is mighty unseemly behavior for a PowerSeller... and that I wish her "legions of terrible customers like me who 'Buy It Now', pay immediately upon clicking the 'Buy' button, then leave her positive feedback." What's negative about that, for crying out loud? Isn't that what every seller wants? After all, I didn't blame her for being slow to ship, I said "delivery not prompt". Plus I said I would buy from Divacos again (which at the time was true)... so how bad could it have been?

See, this whole feedback/reputation thing is of the utmost importance to me. Ebay was genius in setting it up that way... it keeps people honest because it's personal. Very personal. Under Ebay's own bylaws, feedback is to be honest, fair and factual. Ergo, my Ebay score is proof that I'm a good person. I could have used that as a defense the next time I'm pulled over for speeding... "Oh, but officer, my Ebay feedback is 100%... there must be a misunderstanding." I might have had it chiseled as an epitaph on my tombstone... "Julie Mannon: 100% Feedback from all Ebay buyers and sellers". I believe the Lord probably had it written next to my name in the Book of Life. But now it's in strikethrough font. Only kidding. But a good feedback score builds good karma. See, to build good karma, there are four things you always-always do in life:

• Tip your waitstaff generously.
• Hold the elevator door for others.
• Salute the flag.
• And at all costs, you make nice on Ebay.

That fourth one should be mandatory curriculum in kindergarten, along with sharing, washing your hands and saying "please" and "thank you".

So where we are now is that I filed a request for feedback withdrawal and/or reversal to a neutral rating. And Ebay has responded, saying that they don't do that. I understand, they get a lot of cranks who take this stuff way too seriously (uh, present company excluded). So Mary Poppins has to suck it up and live with 99.1% for now. Look at me... do I look like I'm nine-tenths of a percent shy of being a worthy citizen? Don't answer that... I don't really want to know the answer. But I do thank you for letting me vent.

I'll be over this little tiff before you can say "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious". I'm not capable of keeping up this kind of angst for long. But I guess it just goes to show that even Mary Poppins can get blown around by the winds of fate once in a while. And Diva, if you're out there... Lightning wants to come stay at your crib for a while (you may recall from my previous posts that dog-boarding is infinitely more torturous than waterboarding.) Here's a-wishing a little of both on Diva Cosmetics (AKA: "Divacos"). ha! If you're contemplating a purchase, I highly recommend the Armani foundation... but pony up the extra $20 and buy it at giorgioarmanibeauty.com. Nobody likes a Diva. Or a cheapskate... Lesson learned here.

Round 2: You'll get a kick out of this... I messaged Diva to ask if she would be willing to "mutually withdraw" our feedback on this transaction. And despite the fact that my "negative" score is much worse than her "positive", even with my casual comment about delivery-time, I thought it was a reasonable suggestion. I mean, she'd gotten worked up enough to nail me, so it seemed like a win-win for both of us. Apparently, la Diva is not prone to acts of reason, however. I should have known. She not only messaged back to tell me "Absolutely not!", she proceeded to tell me that I need to learn the definitions of slander and libel (poor Diva doesn't realize they aren't applicable to this situation; but how can you expect someone to know the ins and outs of the law, when she's sooo busy manipulating and intimidating hapless Ebayers?) Anyhoo... she actually said her attorney "would be glad to explain it to me... in court", because she has forwarded my comment, message and IP address to him. ha! And I thought I took my feedback seriously! It was just the perfect example to show me how petty I was betting, getting all het up over nine-tenths of a percentage point. Suing someone for leaving positive feedback... Is that a hoot, or what? I thought I might laugh until I cried-- but that would streak my fabulous Armani makeup! And even if Mary Poppins doesn't act like a Diva, she'll die tryin' to look like one!

IN KEEPING WITH THE MAGNET METAPHOR...

Dear World,

This is pretty much the view from where I sit.

Yours in perpetual annoyance and dismay over the powers of attraction,

Julie

THIS IMAGE IS A METAPHOR FOR MY LIFE

I have a lot more to say on this topic... Volumes, in fact. The photo is just a teaser. Replace the paperclips with the oddities of all mankind, and you have me in a nutshell.

If you know me like I think you know me, you know that I think that whole crock of hooey called "The Secret" is just a lot of bunk. There's no way I could possibly be beckoning for the universe to send me a relentless throng of freaks, geeks, kooks, bores and wannabe-comedians... Is the world really in that desperate a need for a friendly face?

Oops, I almost forgot. This month I'm supposed to "make it work". Dang.

ABSURD MOMENT #22

I really don't know what I was thinking when I purchased these. I mean, it's not my most ridiculous purchase ever... The magenta leg warmers with the gold-metallic flecks that I wore over my jeans in 1981 would probably take that prize, but these are right up there.

Now, I'm not sure if you can make them out from the lousy photo, but these are NailSavers. For fourteen bucks at your friendly neighborhood tanning salon, you get eleven protective little stobs for your fingertips. Why eleven, I'm not sure... value-added, I suppose? I could spend the rest of the evening pondering that. Our friend Carrie at work knows someone who was born with two buttholes, and polydactylism is pretty common in cats, so I suppose anything's possible...

Anyway, back to NailSavers. They're these pink rubber jobbies that protect your manicure from UV discoloration in the tanning bed. See, I'm forever trapped in a freaky 1988/2008 limbo... a kind of purgatory between the "Me" decade and present day, where tanning and fake nails are still permissible. And if you've ever combined the two, you know it's a disastrous marriage... of Paul McCartney / Heather Mills proportions. But for the uninitiated (AKA those too classy to wear fake nails and lie in age-accelerating coffins), I'll explain. See, the lights in the tanning bed play havoc with french tips, causing the nails to turn a ghastly yellow hue. And since I don't enjoy going through life looking like I have a 3-pack habit and a motel tan, I decided that finger condoms were the perfect remedy.

While the NailSavers work (so far no tan lines at the knuckle, knock on acryllic-- I mean wood) I feel like an absolute stooge wearing them. I have this paralyzing fear that there will be a natural disaster at the tanning salon... instead of worrying about the rescue teams and bystanders seeing me run out the door, buck naked, I have an irrational concern that they will all be splitting a gut over my sassy-pink finger condoms. Frankly, it's gotten so I can't relax and unwind while bronzing myself anymore. That could also be due to the fact that my fingers continually fall asleep while wearing the things... they're like little vises. It's hard to nap when you have no blood circulating to your apendages.

So tonight as I'm laying there, wondering if the ends of my fingers are still attached below the third knuckle, it hits me: "This is perfect blog fodder. I must save the world from NailSavers!" So there you have it, 80's Ladies... I'll leave it in your capable, un-condomed hands to decide whether this product is right for you.

MAKE IT WORK

In the immortal words of Tim Gunn, I've decided my March motto will be "Make It Work". Three little words that pack a wallop, don't you think?

Did anyone catch the next-to-last episode of this season's Project Runway where Tim gave Chris March the analogy about the monkey house? Puh-riceless... one of those things I wish I had thought of. And quite apropros (along with the trigger of his gag-reflex) in responding to a 400-lb drag queen with a goatee who has just used human hair as a material in constructing apparel.

Well, that's all I really have to say for now... just "Make It Work". I've never been one to be impressed by economy of words, but somehow, it's enough.

Very well, then.

Carry on.

THIS WILL FALL AWAY... AND BY "THIS" I MEAN "POUNDS"!

Well, here's the February update on my New Year's resolutions... still plugging away, still putting it in black and white as a measure of accountability for my actions.

Remember last month's "Soy Un Perdedor" entry? Well, I've decided to keep with the rock theme and snag this month's title from "Loser" by 3 Doors Down:

Breathe in right away (reminds me of buttoning my jeans!)
Nothing seems to fill this place (except my big ol' rear)
I need this everytime (clearly, a shout out to Chick-Fil-A)
So take your lies, get off my case
Someday I will find
A love that flows through me like this
This will fall away, this will fall away (pounds!)

Ahhh... 3 Doors Down... fantastic little Mississippi band. I caught them when they toured with Fuel in 2001 and again at Memphis In May in 2003. Good times. Plus you know I can't resist throwing in a dash of musical flair everytime I blog... but I do digress. And yes, I realize these lyrics are a little dark as a weight loss booyah... "I'm a loser, and sooner or later you know I'll be dead"? Let's hope not! I'm just a little thin on loser-oriented lyrics. And I hope to get thinner yet-- on both lyrics and body weight.

I'm down a total of 21 lbs to date. Specifically, that's 8 lbs for February, and on top of my monthly benchmark for paying off the plastic, I included 100% of my state and federal income tax refunds. I wanted to buy an iPhone and a Francesco Biasia bag, so that part took a little willpower. So did resisting my Nana's coconut cream pie this past weekend... Some sacrifices are so worth it!

I read about this Mayo Clinic study that determined how much weight you can lose, just doing a little bit of "effortless exercise" while watching tv or checking e-mail or whatever... it's something astounding like 44 lbs a year if you do the anti-workout frequently enough. So I bought one of those little portable exercisers with pedals. It's amazing how fast 30 minutes goes by, pedaling through a sitcom or whatever. It takes the guilt out of watching TV, too. Don't ask me why my trusty treadmill doesn't do the same thing; it would if I would let it. I think it's just the novelty of a new gadget.

Mark suggested I bring the Instride Stamina XL (funny name, eh?) to work and put it under my desk... sounds good in theory. But I was reminded of an erstwhile co-worker who used to keep a ThighMaster under her desk, using it throughout the day, and that was enough to squelch the thought. We got so much mileage out of anyone vain enough to firm their thighs in front of their co-workers... it's like picking your nose in public. You lose all credibility forever. Plus, with the half-walled "viewbicles" we have now, there would be like 300 people watching my head bob up and down with every turn of the pedal. Some sacrifices are so NOT worth it!

But I'll keep pedaling and low-carbing the next 30 days and will weigh in with you, my super-support team, this time next month. Here's hoping the pounds, as the song says, "will fall away"... I'd like to shuck off seven more in March. But as long as the progress continues, I'll be happy. So far, I'm enjoying the ride!

LET'S LEAP ON OUTTA WORK EARLY THIS FRIDAY

Ok, so this Friday is Leap Day... and I'm taking it kinda hard this year. I never really gave it much thought, except for the fact that the people who are born on February 29 have it even worse than those born on Christmas Day. What a buzzkill... a birthday that comes around once every four years? That would royally stink. Plus, persons born on this day are referred to as leaplings. "Nanu-Nanu." Now, please follow me into Mork's egg-shaped spaceship for a little more kvetching about Leap Year... I'm just getting started.

See, this year, I'm feeling a little gypped by the whole Leap Day thing. Sure it's great to get an extra day... I'm 37 now, so believe me I want as many days as I can get. And at least it is a Friday-- the most welcomed workday of all. But if you take out all the scientific reasons for Leap Day (balancing the vernal equinoxes, keeping the calendar-year aligned with the Earth's revolutions around the sun, astronomy, algorithms, blah-blah-blah) what you're left with is a corporate conspiracy. I find it highly suspect that we are working on this "freebie" day. My point being that if you're going to get an extra day in the year, shouldn't you be able to sleep in, for crying out loud?

Let's band together, Working Grunts, and leap the Shazbot out of here early on Friday the 29th... get our Ork on like it's 1978. I'm feelin' froggy... Whaddya say?

TOO OLD TO KID, TOO SOFT TO ROCK? NEVER!

I thought I might be able to resist posting a concert review... I thought wrong. Suffice it to say, I'm still thinking about this rock-bender nine days later, so I gotta give Kid Rock two high-flying thumbs up. I mean, my thumbs aren't even big enough to express what a showman this guy is. It was an amazing ride... An an amazing three-hour ride. Who gives their fans 100% for three full hours anymore? That's a rock-bargain, my friends.

Kid took the stage of the Scottrade Center in a white polyester suit (à la Elvis), belting out the words to "Rock and Roll Jesus". About midway through the song, these long white shrouds hanging vertically on the back of the stage unfurled in unison, revealing the words "Rock and Roll Jesus". The stage had been set to resemble a church, white candles placed throughout, so the banners completed the look. Sacrilegious though it may sound, it somehow managed not to offend. Honestly, this concert felt like an old-fashioned tent revival, anyway; it's even called the "Rock and Roll Revival Tour". I didn't make the connection at first, but it's aptly named.

The show was billed "Kid Rock with Rev Run and Surprise Guests". I honestly thought Run had no-showed since there was no opener. Later on, we would all realize that this was Kid Rock's way of giving props to those joining him on stage-- not as openers, but as respected peers. In fact, I'd say that "respect" was a central (though understated) theme of the show... more on that later.

Not only did Rev Run eventually join Kid on stage, but Dickie Betts of Allman Brothers fame also stepped up for some southern rock funk. Needless to say, this three-hour jamfest had a lot of twists and turns, covering a multitude of diverse musical genres on the way: everything from the Allmans' "Ramblin' Man" to David Allan Coe's "You Never Even Called Me By My Name" to Run DMC's "Walk This Way" and Sunday School favorite "This Little Light of Mine". There was even a subtle homage to Frampton when Kid used a voice box. And interspersed with all the old-school banging Kid Rock faves like "Cowboy", "Bawitdaba", "Welcome To the Party" and "Devil Without a Cause" were new songs like "Amen", "So Hott" and "All Summer Long". The crowd remained on their feet the entire three hours.

Except for a brief intermission, Kid Rock was performing the whole time. He played a host of different instruments and even attempted a scratch solo that sounded great until the turntables malfunctioned. Not to be deterred, he climbed down into the drum set and rocked the house, throwing his sticks into the crowd with true rockstar flair. Some rock cliches still deliver.

Overall, there was a lot more soul and a lot less skank than I expected. No bikini-clad dancers in cages. No American flags. Not a lot of blatant sexual reference, save lyrically. It was a more subdued, more respectful Kid Rock that came to town. Don't get me wrong, there was still some of the "in your face" attitude that you expect (I mean, you want some of that from Kid Rock!) but The Man was downright humble-- even telling the audience that he knows times are tough and how much he appreciated everyone spending their hard-earned dollars on tickets to the show.

So if I had to recreate the formula? I'd say you take one part Ronnie Van Zant. Add equal parts of Hank Jr., Steven Tyler and BB King. Throw in a dash of Bob Seger, sprinkle liberally with AC/DC and end with a little ZZ (on) Top. Blend until smooth and serve cool. Very cool. The Kid Rock cocktail satisfies a lot of different tastes. But you may not be able to walk the next day.

A SHOUT-OUT TO DEAD COMEDIANS, LEPERS AND THE GIN BLOSSOMS

So does everyone remember the Gin Blossoms? Sure you do... awesome alternative band from the '90's. They had some really great songs: Follow You Down (But Not That Far). Found Out About You. Allison Road. 'Til I Hear It From You. Sound familiar now?

Well, we warped Office Spacers are still on the leprosy kick. We haven't heard any more about it in the news or anything; it's just that we can't quite give it up. It's rife with possibilities; frankly, we haven't exhausted them yet and will continue to run it in the ground until we do. In fact, Brittnee went to a party this weekend and a new DJ friend of hers, who happens to read our blogs, commented on the "I'm Bringing Leprosy Back" lyrics. And apparently after they enjoyed a few rousing choruses, the guy proposes a new version... set to the tune of "Hey Jealousy" by the Gin Blossoms.

You guessed it... it's "Hey Leprosy". I'm kinda miffed that we didn't think of it first; the cadence is perfect. Thanks for the idea, Will!

Tell me do you think it'd be all right
If I could just discuss my plight
You can see I have open lesions
And anyway I've got no place to go
You know it might not be that bad
If you gave me a skin graft
If I didn't root with armadillos
I might still have a nose

Tomorrow we can drive around this town
CDC chasin' us around
See if a prosthesis for my claw-hand can't be found
To scratch my face... Hey, Leprosy

You can trust me not to wink
And not to sleep around
I have no eyelashes anyway
And my face is turning brown
'Cause all I really want is a new skin
Feeling like I just can't win
If I hadn't lived in the Marshall Islands
I'd still have my hands… Hey, Leprosy

Tomorrow we can drive around this town
CDC chasin' us around
My arm's gone but something might be found
To take its place... Hey, Leprosy

So this is about the most inappropriate subject-matter ever... I'll give you that. But it's also a glaring example of the sophormoric behavior that somehow keeps me functioning as a (mostly) sane adult. Plus, you have to appreciate the certain irony of lyrics about a deforming disease, set to a tune written by a band that took their name from the broken capillaries found on the rosacea-ridden, bulbous nose of an alcoholic (namely, W.C. Fields). Rather poetic, isn't it?


"There comes a time in the affairs of a man, when he has to take the bull by the tail and face the situation." - W.C. Fields

BILLY JOEL, ST. VALENTINE AND KID ROCK

This sounds like the start of a really bad joke... "Billy Joel, St. Valentine and Kid Rock walk into a bar... " But it's actually a wistful look forward to the week ahead.

See, another of my 2008 resolutions includes just "doing more". Since I bought my house, I've turned into a terrible homebody. A sedentary, couch-loving housefly. And as much as I adore the comforts of home, I also miss the days when I was very active-- traveling, adventuring and just doing stuff nearby in Arkansas. But since the weather is so cold and it gets dark so early this time of year, spending time outdoors isn't much of an option. So until Spring arrives, "doing more" will really be about "doing more inside". Hey, not what you're thinking... get your mind out of the gutter.

I'm not always great about organizing all the things I want to do, though, and so my weeks tend to end up a little lopsided: a lot going on one week, nothing going on for two weeks, and then back to cram-packed again. And the coming week will be one of the latter. I'm not complaining... it may be a real test of willpower for my diet, but I'm really looking forward to it.

• Wednesday will be the Walton Arts Center for the Billy Joel/Twyla Tharp Broadway musical "Movin' Out". Somehow, I hit the ticket-buying just right, and scored front row/center tix. I've been immersing myself in old Billy Joel CD's in preparation.
  
• Thursday I'll be spending St. Valentine's Day with the one I love: Celebrity Apprentice. I hate to admit it, but The Apprentice is something of an event at my house; Thursday is the only night of the week I allow myself the luxury of planning my life around television; and since TiVo presents a bit of a moral conundrum for me, watching in real-time is my only option.
  
• Friday, I'm taking a vacay day, and it's off to St. Louis for the weekend. I've pulled out the "Trails & Treks of Missouri and Northern Arkansas" book, trying to find some places to stop and get some good exercise, coming and going. Burning some cals on the way is a must, because the first order of business in St. Louis will be Morton's. I do love me some Morton's steak... mmm-mmm. They set the hook with the Valentine's Special e-mail last week... filet and lobster, too divine to pass up!
  
• And Saturday is Kid Rock at the Scottrade Center. I've never seen him live, so it should be an experience. I happen to really like his soft-spoken alter ego, Rob Ritchie... plus his musical interests are so diverse, I'm not really sure what to expect. Probably a little pimp sleaze juxtaposed with American flags... and a whole lot of bluesy rock/rap.

It should be an interesting week, to say the least! And my mind is swirling with so many things I want to plan within the next two or three months: A few days at Big Cedar. Diamond-mining in Murfreesboro. A weekend in Chicago. And hopefully, lots of hiking when the weather warms up just a little. Wish me luck with "doing more" in 2008. It goes hand-in-hand with my other resolutions for this year. I hope to see all of you out there, too!

IT'S SUPER TUESDAY AND "THE WORLD IS BURNING TO THE GROUND"

We've been watching 20/20 tonight on ABC, and naturally there have many promos featuring ABC's election coverage since tomorrow is Super Tuesday. One thing we've been baffled over is the selection of music in the background: "How Far We've Come" by Matchbox Twenty. It seems like a good election season song, right? It's a peppy, upbeat tune with a rousing chorus about how far we've come... It sounds unified. Optimistic. Inspiring, right?

Wrong-O. Check out the apocalyptic message in these lyrics...

I'm waking up at the start of the end of the world,
But it's feeling just like every other morning before,
Now I wonder what my life is going to mean if it's gone,
The cars are moving like a half a mile an hour if that
And I started staring at the passengers who're waving goodbye
Can you tell me what was ever really special about me all this time?

[Chorus]But I believe the world is burning to the ground
Oh well I guess we're gonna find out
Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come
Well I, believe, it all, is coming to an end
Oh well, I guess, we're gonna pretend,
Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come

I think it turned ten o'clock but I don't really know
Then I can't remember caring for an hour or so
Started crying and I couldn't stop myself
I started running but there's no where to run to
I sat down on the street and took a look at myself
Said where you going man you know the world is headed for Hell
Say your goodbyes if you've got someone you can say goodbye to

[Chorus]

It's gone gone baby it's all gone
There is no one on the corner and there's no one at home
It was cool cool, it was just all cool
Now it's over for me and it's over for you
Well it's gone gone baby it's all gone
There is no one on the corner and there's no one at home
Well it was cool cool, it was just all cool
Now it's over for me and it's over for you

[Chorus]
Let's see how far we've come (repeat)

Don't get me wrong... I love-love-love-me some Matchbox Twenty, and I think Rob Thomas is one of the most proflific songwriters of our generation. Seriously. His lyrics are brutally honest, edgy and angst-filled but also soulful and vulnerable at the same time. I've been a ridiculous fan since "Long Day" became a radio favorite back in 1997. But "How Far We've Come" as an election day anthem? I ain't buyin' it. Unless... Oh, God help us... Could this be a pop-music harbinger of Doomsday? If Hillary should somehow take the oval office, I could legitmately see the world burning to the ground... Gulp. I think I'll start eating carbs again... I mean, what's the harm if the world is coming to and end?

NORTHWEST ARKANSAS HEART WALK

You don't have to be a doctor to save lives! The American Heart Association's "Start! Heart Walk" is coming up, and your involvement is the key to advancing the cure for heart disease and stroke.

The corporation I've worked for the past 14 years is a proud participant in this year's Northwest Arkansas Heart Walk. The walk takes place in some 500 locations, nationwide, and is the Heart Association's hallmark fund-raiser each year. This year, more than one million walkers will step out, raising funds to save lives from our country's #1 and #3 killers: Heart disease and stroke. The NWA event will take place Saturday, March 29, at Bud Walton Arena in Fayetteville, with an event goal of $473,000. Our corporate goal is $7,500 and our department goal is $4,000.

Each of us knows someone, perhaps a loved-one or family member, who has been affected by heart disease. In my case, my grandfathers passed away within a year of each other, both suffering from cardiovascular-related diseases. So this is very close to... well, my heart!

Still wondering where you come in?

Any and all are welcomed to join the walk... And even if you aren't a "walker" at heart, you can still get involved with your encouragement and advocacy... and of course, a monetary donation to help me reach my personal donation goal. Pretty please?

To simplify the collection of donations, the American Heart Association's fund-raising website has made it easy to donate online by credit card. I even have a personal webpage for making secure donations. There is a minimum donation of $25 by credit card, but any amount is appreciated; so if you're interested in sending a check, just message me and I'll give you the address to send your donation.

In coming weeks, I'll be posting updates to show the progress we're making in reaching our team donation goals. Wish me luck... and thanks for your kind support!

CHOOSE YOUR TORTURE: WATERBOARDING OR DOG BOARDING?

So I've spent the last two weeks boarding a dog while Mark is out of town... and I gotta tell you, I'll take the waterboarding.

That sounds pretty dramatic, I know. There's been so much media attention on waterboarding as an interrogation technique in recent months. Is it an acceptable form of intimidation to be used in coercing confessions from terrorists? I don't know, but no coercion is needed to prompt this confession: Julie Mannon is a cat person all the way.

As I understand it, waterboarding , when done "properly", is supposed to be very controlled. The intent is not to inflict lasting physical damage on the receiver, but to systematically apply enough water to elicit the physiological effects of drowing. Most importantly, the receiver experiences the mental anguish of feeling that death is imminent, and therefore offers a confession to bring an end to the punishment. I can imagine there's a lot of gasping, choking and trying to control the gag-reflex... all of which, ironically, are my reaction to "dog smell". More on that later.

You see, I didn't mind fostering Lightning the bird-dog for a little while. In fact, I suggested it; having her at my place would be a lot easier than constantly running up to Rogers to care for her. So Mark bought her a swank, new doghouse (make that "dogpalace", complete with doggie-door) and placed it in the interior of my covered patio for further insulation from the elements. The only exposed side of her new digs would still be wind-proof and have the door to ensure coziness. Perfect! Not only would this temporary home provide more comfort than she normally has, it also offered me some comfort and assuaged my guilt when a severe cold-front blew in. That was before I knew she wasn't smart enough to figure out the mechanics of the doggie-door on her palace.

Now, I have a cat-door leading out to my garage... and even though it has been locked for the past year and a half, Sydney and Spencer still check it almost every day; they discovered it about 60 seconds after we moved into the house and are still fascinated by it, even though they've only used it a handful of times. I guess I'm just used to the natural curiosity of cats, so I never guessed that this dog wouldn't learn how to use the door on her house. Hello? The lights are on but no one's home in the dogpalace, if you know what I mean...

So it was about 24 hours into her stay that I realized Lightning thinks she's under house arrest in the dogpalace when the door is down. Nevermind that it's clear plastic with a top-to-bottom slit in the middle... she also has no clue that she can push through the door to get inside. My remedy was to secure the door to the open position so she can come and go as she pleases. So she lost a little warmth inside the house when she lost the door, but it's a good alternative to the house becoming totally obsolete. After a few days, we settled into a routine: at night, she's invited to come inside for treats before bedding down on her big fluffy cushion in my utility room. In the morning, she has a hot breakfast and goes back outside for the day. So far, so good.

Then on day #5, I found the card from Animal Control: "Call Officer Jones ASAP".

Like I said, the weather turned really cold here. We're talking teens and twenties some mornings when I leave for work. So already I had some guilt over leaving the poor dumb thing outside during the day. I even took to warming her blankie in the dryer before putting her out in the morning. But apparently, one of my neighbors felt sorry for her, too... sorry enough to call Animal Control. And the story sounded grave enough for them to dispatch an officer to my home to inspect the situation. "No food, water or shelter" was the report Officer Jones had received. Puh-lease. The dogpalace is nicer than my first apartment.

Just as I was justifying my dog-boarding skills to a sworn officer of the law, I realized, unequivocally, that I am a cat person. My whole opinion of the canine species shifted in that moment. I appreciate the laid back, mellow attitude of my feline companions. They're always excited to see me when I come home; and when I sit down in the evening, one if not both, will soon be perched on my lap. They love attention, but not in an overbearing sort of way... they rub against your ankles to let you know they're in the mood. They express their pleasure by purring as opposed to drooling. They have enough decorum to keep themselves clean, which makes the occasional hairball a pretty fair trade. I don't have to deal with cold weather, walks or obnoxious barking. And best of all, I can go away for the weekend without asking my neighhbors to look after them-- which is a really good thing, since I don't know which of my neighbors considers me an animal-neglecting monster these days.

And you know what I like best about cats? If one of them spends the night in an enclosed space, it doesn't smell like a 700-acre landfill when I open the door the next morning.

So I propose this: Let's give dog boarding a shot as a strategy for gaining intel from hardened terrorists. The way I see it, unlike the murky classification of waterboarding, dog boarding doesn't possess the necessary combination of physical and mental agony to meet the legal definition of "torture". But trust me, it'll do the trick. I'll even sweeten the pot and throw in the dogpalace, the treats, the cushion, the blankie, and a 20-lb bag of Beneful. A two-week stint with Lightning should do it... And in case our government needs to really up the ante, I'll throw in a pack of Bar S hotdogs. Who knew an 88-cent pack of weinies could be the tipping point in the war against terror?