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Keeping the 80’s alive.

Hubby is happiest when surrounded by the Golden Age of video games: the 80’s. Pac-Man, Mario, Link – these are his loves. I swear, if he was standing beteen Miss December and a hairy hag with a stack of vintage Nintendo games, there’d be no question whose merchandise he’d be ogling.

His lust for all things 16-bit (is that a vintage video game term?) makes it easy to buy presents, and with the help of e-bay & Hot Topic, I have managed to score some pretty cool gifts for him in the past: a pac-man lunchbox, phone, t.v. tray, DK toys from Japan, vintage collector’s cards – to name a few.

For something special for his b-day this year, my daughter and I plotted to come up with a surprise – a Nintedo themed cake: my daughter chose the character: Mario! A friend of mine who runs her own cake business created it for me, and IMO, she did a great job! So now we have to decide what next year will be, Link or Donkey Kong? Hmmmm.
Drumroll please…here it is: the awesome Super Mario Bros. Cake!

I might as well face it…

…I’m addicted to love blogs. It’s true, I can’t believe what a time snatcher reading blogs/message boards has become! I get up early (usually by 6am) and somehow manage to lose all track of time for at least 2 hours – Argh! Like any addiction, the more I read, the more pages and blogs I find to read, and the more time I spend reading them. It all started because I was looking for more info, contacts, etc for writing (since I really want to get moving on publishing my own stuff) but it seems I am spending a lot more time reading about other writers than doing any actual writing of my own. Not to mention my own blog – where I am now, obviously, instead of working on the novel.

So, what’s a girl to do? Some of my parenting magazines mention a technique to use on kids who watch too much t.v.  – to earn an hour of t.v., they first must do an hour of homework (or chores, or physical activity – you get the idea). I think I need to parent myself and do this: from now on, I must log an hour of writing before getting an hour to dig into e-mails, blogs, and my favorite message boards. It will still be 2 hours of computer time, but time better spent!
Now all I have to do is get an hour of exercise in after that and I will be a happy girl.

Princess College

Yep. That’s where my daughter told us she wants to go: Princess College. “And what will you learn at Princess College?” my husband asks. To which my daughter immediately replies, “The butt shake.”
Hm. So this is what our 529 $ is being saved for: butt shakes and tea parties at Princess College.

Dear God, we are in sooo much trouble.

A rose by any other name…

What’s in a name? I just finished reading The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri. Yes…for my book club. Yes…we are going out for margaritas to discuss it tomorrow night – but we don’t just get drunk – we really do talk about the book, REALLY!

The book was recently made into a movie, that’s out in theatres now, I think. Same director who did Monsoon Wedding – which I really enjoyed, so I’m hoping to go see with this flick with the book club gals, and maybe go for a drink afterwards.

Though the story itself wasn’t incredible, and actually was quite depressing, since you had to watch the protagonist go through a series of broken relationships – it was very interesting. I learned quite a bit about Bengali culture and tradition, and all the details about choosing names and the importance of names in their society was fascinating.

Lahiri’s focus on names, coupled with her main character’s struggle with his own name – made me remember my own issues with my name.

My mother is of Jewish heritage, and it is tradition to name the next born in the family after the most recently deceased – not the same name, exactly, but usually the same first initial. My mother’s Uncle Meyer passed away not long before I was born – so it was to be “Matthew” if I was a boy – and “Melissa” if I was a girl…however, there already was a Melissa in the family, so my parents decided on “Melanie.” But wait – my mom went to school with a girl named Melanie, and I guess they didn’t get along too well, because she couldn’t allow me to have the same name as this other girl – hence, I became “Melonie.”

Growing up, this alteration in spelling drove me crazy. When I did find bookmarks or stickers or little license plates with my name on it – it was of course, always spelled “Melanie.” The difference in spelling used to bother me – but as I grew older, I began to appreciate it – and its uniqueness. I also like the way it looks with my last name; creating a smooth conformity of vowels. My husband and I chose a unique name for our own daughter – and that was not any easy choice to make! I don’t regret it though.

That was another thing this book reminded me of – the whole process of choosing a name for your child. Sure – it’s easy to think up names you’d like to name your potential off-spring when they’re just a possibility – but when the actual event is imminent and you know you’re responsible for choosing the name that will identify, define, and shape another human being’s life – well, the task becomes more daunting. One of the first things a pregnant woman is asked is, “Do you have names picked out?” My husband and I refused to discuss our choices with anyone – we talked about it sure, and accepted suggestions with, what I hope was a decent amount of grace, but kept our decisions to ourselves. Too many people feel obligated to give their opinion on the choice of name – and, well – it’s not their kid! I really liked the name, “Aishling” a Gaelic name meaning “dreamer, poet.” Hubby wasn’t too keen on it, so between us, the name morphed into “Aishtyn” (like Ashton) and…you know, to us it seems perfect.

Maybe one day Aishtyn will go through a phase like I did in second grade, where I was in love with “K”names – and wanted to be called, “Katrina” or “Kathleen” or, Lord help me, “Kandy.” Maybe she will wish she was an “Emma” or an “Ashley” or something popular like the names of her cousins, but hopefully, she will come, as I have – to accept and love her name, as a part of herself – of who she is.

That, perhaps – is the most important question of Lahiri’s book: does your name help define who you are – what you become? It is an interesting thing to consider, if you lived your life under a different name – would you be the same person you are today? Live the same life you are living now?

Hmmm…I bet if I had been named Kandy, my life would pr-ooo-bably be different. Just a guess!

Romantic heroism starts early.

I guess the urge to protect fair damsels and defend the castle is instinctive. My daughter’s friend David, a sweet little boy who has yet to turn 4, demonstrated his manly courage with an endearing show of bravado at the park yesterday. He and my daughter had the playground to themselves until some ruffians (2 eight-year old boys on bikes) appeared to stir things up. One of the elder gentleman dared to engage my daughter in conversation, saying, “Wow, you’re fast!” as she zoomed by him. To which David shouted, “Hey! She’s MY friend!” He then moved to stand next to her and place a rather possessive hand on her back (which launched me into giggles, since this is exactly what my husband does when he suspects some guy is checking me out).

Well, it wasn’t long before the older boys decided to move on, and as they rode off, David stood on the top of the plastic hill and crowed, “I protected Aishtyn! I kept her safe!” Then he looked down to his damsel and said, “All aboard, ladies!” No strapping hero standing aboard some ship on the cover of a romance novel could have been more debonair.

Of course, on the walk back, our hero was crying in fits of rage because his lady fair was going to arrive at the car first…but hey, nobody’s perfect.

My daughter, the superstar with a string.

So, the little one had her stage debut this morning in a Young Performers version of High School Musical. My husband feared our only been 4 for two weeks child would stand off to the side, goofing around and picking her nose (or mooning the crowd). Thankfully, she did better than he expected. She only lifted her shirt a few times, and that was to check out the microphone pack she was wearing. She did find a piece of string onstage that fascinated her for the better part of a song, but she got through it and said all her lines! Luckily, she’s so freakin’ cute that the audience adored her (and no, that’s not just proud mama talk – really.)

Here a Boleyn, there a Boleyn, everywhere a Boleyn…

Just picked up Philppa Gregory’s newest novel at the library: The Boleyn Inheritance. It is a little different from her past work – the story is in first person, but it is broken down into sections, so that the reader alternates between three women: Jane Boleyn (married to Anne’s infamous brother), Anne of Cleves (Henry’s 4th wife), and Katherine Howard (Henry’s 5th wife). So far, I am enjoying the rotation of the characters’ voices – and seeing the story unfold like a patchwork quilt. Gregory is doing a nice job making each woman distinct from each other, and establishing their personalities from the very first paragraph.

The nature of Gregory’s historical fiction is inherently ripe with dramatic irony – it will be interesting to see how she uses this to her advantage.

The only thing I have found disturbing so far is the way her current depictions of Anne of Cleves and Jane Boleyn contradict the picture that characters in her previous novels have painted of them. I suppose the difference can be attributed to the fact that before – we met these women through the eyes of others (people who, for the most part, disliked them) and now, we are seeing them through their own eyes.  It’s always interesting to compare the way you view yourself, and how others view you. Interesting, and a little scary!

Rainy Days are for Romance

Novels that is. We’ve had rain here all week long – and soggy grey skies make me want to curl up with a mug of hot tea (or cocoa) and a hot romance novel. It feels so indulgent to lounge around and read. At least when it’s raining, I don’t feel guilty that I should be outside doing something. Of course, gorgeous warm summer days are also made for romance novels – this time on a blanket outside with an icy glass of lemonade (or some wine). Soaking up the heat of the sun makes me feel deliciously lazy.
You know, I guess anyday is a good day for reading a romance novel.

The Romance of Tragedy

So, one of my favorite sites posted a magazine article that endeavored to list the most romantic novels of all time and then went on to contest many of the selections; while encouraging suggestions for what should be on the list. I paid my 2 cents, of course – but I am sad to see how many people disagree with the choice of Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet.

Many comments were made to the effect that R&J was nothing more than two whiny teenagers who fell in love too fast for it to be real. R&J is all about true love, love at first sight, love that is worth dying for; isn’t this the stuff of romance?

The romance of that first moment Romeo sets his eyes on Juliet, and, breathless, watches her move through the room. Sure, he was your average teenage boy, who, seconds before was panting after some other chick – he even admits it to himself – and he understands the difference between the lust he felt for Rosaline, and the all-consuming passion he feels for Juliet. The film Shakespeare in Love capitalizes on this moment – mimicking it in the way Will sees Viola for the first time. I love that movie too, and am fully aware a great deal of the attraction lies in its playing out as the frame-story for the making of R&J (that, and damn Joseph Fiennes is fine!)

Yes, R&J are two head-strong teenagers who run full force into a reckless marriage – but, c’mon – we’ve all been teenagers, and that incredible rush of emotion, that insane need to be with the object of your desire every waking (and sleeping) moment is something we all have felt – if you didn’t, I’m so sorry. Running away and getting married may be just a childish fantasy in the minds of the modern teenage girl – but it was an attainable fantasy for R&J (hence, some of the appeal). Reckless hotheaded behavior is a trademark of new (and especially adolescent) love. Perhaps the families of R&J could have discovered the relationship and decided, it wasn’t such a bad thing – and then the teenagers could eventually mature and get bored with each other – but then, it wouldn’t be as romantic – would it?

I know this is one of the major arguments people have against R&J – that, if left alive long enough – the young couple would lose their passion for each other and move on – but hey, maybe we’re selling their love short…I’m married to a man I fell in love with when I was 16, and while our passion may not be as all-consuming as “I-will-die-to-be-with-you-forever”, it is a flame that has burned for 14+ years. Perhaps that is the tragedy here: that, dying in the early blossom of their love, the couple never had a chance to settle into their feelings and grow old together – leaving the world to dismiss their love as trivial.
I remember when I was first introduced to R&J – I was in 5th grade, and couldn’t sleep one night, so I ended up flipping channels. I happened upon Zefirelli’s 1968 film version – and was enraptured. I became obsessed with the story of R&J: I found copies of the play, I scoured the t.v. guide waiting for the movie to come on t.v. again and stayed up all night to record it (this was 1987, ok – no DVD’s, no tivo, no e-bay), then I set up my tape player and recorded the movie on audio cassette so I could listen to it on headphones at night. I harassed my parents with questions about the characters and their actions, I tried (unsuccessfully) to share my passion for this story with my friends, and above all – I read, watched, or listened to the story on a daily basis. I passed through this phase, eventually, but the impact this play had on me has endured. Even attempting to teach R&J to obnoxious apathetic high school freshman hasn’t dulled my love for this story.

The heartache of all the “what if’s” or “if only’s” in this tale are what do it for me – there are so many little moments, small steps, that – if one thing had been done differently – if one minute more had passed – then everything could have turned out alright. Life is like that – the worst heartache comes from the regret born of that burning question: “what if.” It is that question that kept me up so many nights as a star-eyed 10 year old; young enough to never have experienced such wrenching despair herself – but old enough to recognize it when I saw it – and for me – I don’t just read, see, or hear R&J I feel it.

I Go, You Go, We all Go for Bunco!

Yes, dare I admit it? I play Bunco. While part of me feels like a little old lady in a retirement home, I have to say – it’s a blast! You and 11 other gals get together, drink copious amounts of alcohol, eat all kinds of chick foods that are bad for you (translation – its got lots of chocolate or cheese), talk smack, and play for cash and prizes. It’s a blast. The Mom’s group I belong to started a Bunco night once a month in January, and it is a night I always look forward to. I just hosted this month’s Bunco at my house, and it was a great time. The daughter spent the night at a cousin’s – but poor hubby was sick with a bad cold (that he caught from me) and hid upstairs with his Ipod on. “It wasn’t too bad,” he said, when I asked him how loud we were, “Except I kept hearing a freaking bell ring every few minutes.”

So, yes, I play Bunco. Who knows – maybe I’ll become a BINGO junkie this summer too.