Christmas Break - Holiday Music

For those who are naughty:



And for those who are nice:

Eat, drink, be merry

Each year I have to post my favorite Thanksgiving comic:

And for those who get a long weekend away from work (you probably work for the government):

My baby's with the dingoes

My older daughter and husband arrived yesterday in Australia (or today in Australian time) for a three week vacation. Although I've never been there myself, I have viewed many Australian-made movies over the years. Here's a quick list of those I can recall (astericks indicated those I highly recommend):

Australia (2008)
The Piano (1993)*
The Castle (1997)
Dead Calm (1989)
A Cry in the Dark (1989)
Mad Max(1979)
Rabbit Proof Fence (2002)*
Strictly Ballroom (1992)
Dark City (1998)*
My Brilliant Career (1979)
The Man from Snowy River (1982)*
Lantana(2001)*
Gallipoli (1981)*
Crocodile Dundee (1986)
Breaker Morant (1980)*
The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert (1994)
Age of Consent (1969)
December Boys (2007)
Shine (1996)*
Moulin Rouge! (2001)
Romulus, My Father (2007)*
The Tracker (2002)*
The Proposition (2005)

Three in One

Just because I am fascinated with Auto-Tune and space and two scientists:

Speaking of mirrors

Not feeling like writing today so here's a repeat of an old post from a couple years ago:

Driving back from the bigger town Sunday morning, I glanced in my rear view mirror at a car behind me and caught a glimpse of it. I wasn't sure if it was real, so I looked in the mirror again. Because the sun was brightly shining, there was no mistake about it. That line just below my right lower lip wasn't a wrinkle as I had hoped. No, it was dark, and about an inch long, and it was back.

It all started with the sustenance of a mole that developed on my lower lip in high school.

Not like this one:

Similar to this:

The mole appeared during puberty, and in adolescence it was easy to dismiss it as a "beauty mark." But in my twenties, the mole started producing hair, especially a certain dark long one that seemed to stand out among the tiny blond fuzz around it. It was just screaming to be plucked and so began the battle.

A decade of plucking my uni-brow had yielded two separate eyebrows with no further yanking necessary. So, I thought, would be the demise of this renegade mole hair. Every six weeks I would pluck it out of the mole mound and six weeks later the strand would reappear, as long and dark as ever. It never seemed to have any sort of growing cycle. It simply reappeared fully grown at that entire inch size.

After fifteen years of unrelenting plucking and regeneration, the "aha" moment occurred. If the mole is providing fodder for the follicle, get rid of the mole. A 45 minute out-patient procedure with a plastic surgeon, five stitches, $2500 out of my pocket, and I was rid of the mole and the hair forever - or so I thought. Two weeks after the six week healing process, it returned.

For almost 40 years now, the war between stubborn hair and stubborn host continues. Neither will acquiesce. We both intend to win the war, despite each losing battles along the way. Both a little more gray and withered than our youth, our uncompromising determination is never shaken, although the battles have become fewer.

The hair has now changed tactics: it doesn't reappear quite so regularly and often at unsuspecting times, especially in the car or at a movie theater. Perhaps my eyesight just doesn't catch it nearly so soon, but when it is discovered, I've gotten considerably better at jerking the thing out with just my fingernails.

We've gotten a bit more comfortable with each other, but we're still not quite friends. It is truly a love-hate relationship. If I do win the war, and I fully plan to, I admit I'll miss tugging on that hair in moments of quiet desperation far away from tweezers. But not that much.

Today's update:

Here's recent picture of my older daughter. You can see that she has a much bigger problem than I have.

I really need to look in the mirror more often.

I've been on TV three times in my life. The first time I was in the audience of the local station's afternoon kids' show with Sheriff Sid . My brother was interviewed and I got just enough face time to show my smile, as my relatives told me.

The second time I was 25 years old and on a noon chat show of a Birmingham, AL station with three elders from my then hometown promoting a weekend centennial festival. I was assigned to speak about a specific part of the festival, but the mayor (as all politicians seem to do when on camera) talked and talked and talked and talked and they ran out of time before it was my turn, but I got enough face time to show my smile, as my friends told me.

So last night, at a press conference, I was around TV cameras again, this time in a pan of the speakers' table and milling around in the background. I've never actually seen myself on TV so I turned on the news when I got home and watched for the story. We were watching the coverage of the event, and my husband asked me who I was talking to. Who? "There, you're there on the left hand side." What? And it was over.

I saw that woman with long silver hair on the left hand side of the screen talking to some guy I know. It didn't register that that woman was me. I didn't recognize myself. But I got enough face time to show my smile, as my husband told me.

Censoring can change perception

Bleeping one innocent word gives a whole new meaning to this muppet song:



Thanks to my lovely daughter for sharing this.