Quotable Curry

Does anyone say dumber things than Ann Curry? Aside from George Bush, no one comes to mind. Every day she throws out a doozy. It continues to amaze me why they let this gal read the news when she can't ever get through a segment without stumbling over her words. But she's even worse when she's ad-libbing. Stick to the script, Ann!

This morning, after a segment on the ritzy and expensive new Frank Gehry building in Manhattan, which included information on rental pricing:

Curry: "Rent! Gosh, it looks like people'd want to buy one. Okay, thanks so much, Natalie, this morning. If we could all afford it." Ah, she must have remembered that pesky recession.

Smooth, Ann. Well said.

Here was yesterday:

"The economy is such a huge, we talk about this every day, issue."

Insightful!

Funny of the Day

Like people who've just left the asylum, we decided to drive from Seattle to LA for the holidays instead of driving. We've got the kids all set up in the back with pillows, blankets, lap desks and DVD players. We've got snacks, scooters, and Christmas gifts. We're ready to roll.

It's an 18 hour drive which we've decided to split up over 3 days. We've prepared the kids for spending a long time in the car and they're on board with the idea. Or at least we thought.

Just an hour and a half into the first leg of the drive, Mopsy asks -- with all seriousness --

"Are we in LA yet?"

Not quite, kiddo. But almost.

Insult of the Day

So Mopsy is climbing over my legs the other day and says,

"Mom, your legs are itching me! The fur!"

FUR? My one-day-old leg stubble qualifies as FUR? I"ll be making a laser hair removal appointment in the morning.

Cheerios Overload

When I saw QB surrounded by a pile of the beloved breakfast Os the other day, I got a strange feeling of deja vu.

Then I found this old picture.

Some things never change. The kid loves his morning cereal.

Boots on the Ground

I'm back to writing for Patch again, but this time it's Mercer Island Patch. Same site, different coast.  (These new Patch sites seem to be popping up every day...)

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It was raining the night we arrived in Seattle in late August. We'd been back and forth between the Puget Sound area and our previous home in Westport, Conn., but this was the final leg of our extended relocation process. We had officially moved.

We'd been out to Mercer Island to visit and house hunt a few times over the summer. It had been sunny, sparkling, even hot. We spent more than one night longing for our high-powered east coast A/C system. What was all this brouhaha about the weather, we wondered? It seemed pretty fantastic to us.

It wasn't long after we left the Delta terminal that first night in August that we started feeling nervous about this monumental decision.

"Connecticut license plates!" the guy manning the airport parking toll booth called out as we pulled up. "Why did you move out here? It rains all the time and there's no good pro sports teams," he lamented, adding that he'd be moving back to Boston next year.

Okay, we thought. Not the warmest welcome. And it continued on.

"You moved here from the East Coast?" people would ask. "That's really hard. Enjoy the sun now. You won't see it again for eight months."

My husband's co-workers weren't all that encouraging either. One told him she couldn't muster the courage to visit relatives in Southern California or she feared she wouldn't be able to get herself on a plane back to Sea-Tac.

"Stock up on Vitamin D," a few people advised us in early September. And it wasn't until we were permanent Island residents that we heard the inside joke that summer doesn't start until July 5. It reminds me of the childbirth phenomenon: people who've gone before you don't want to tell you what it's really like until it's too late to back out.

All the doom and gloom made us feel, well, a bit gloomy. Was it just Seattle's snarky underbelly we were beginning to see? Could there be some tacit understanding around here among residents to manage newcomers' expectations so that if we got, say, a partly sunny day in November, it would be a delightful and unexpected bonus?

In the midst of all this, I remembered some friends of friends who moved to the area. They loved it here, and still do: the lakes, the creativity, the people – even the weather. But instead of broadcasting all the positives about living in this corner of the Pacific Northwest, they kept it on the DL, not minding that other people primarily associate Seattle with rain, and lots of it.

"We don't want everyone to realize how great Seattle is and move here," they said, by way of explanation.  

I'm going to just assume that's what all these little comments have been about: that this area is a bit of an undiscovered treasure, known to a relatively small group who'd like it to stay that way. It's Seattleites' way of watching each other's backs.

So the grumbling: it's actually a good thing.

At least, that's what I'm hoping.

I must have wax in my ears

Did this actually happen: CNN reported on Twitter comments as part of their election coverage package? Last night they surveyed what was happening in the "Twitterverse" to conclude that most Americans oppose the Tea Party. Who needs scientific polling when we can just take a glance at the feeds? What's next, using Facebook to conduct the Census?

Speaking of crazy: Sarah Palin is now getting her own TV show!? She just had to upstage poor Bristol, didn't she? So now we get to watch dear Sarah, tromping around in the wilderness, showing us how she shoots wolves? I particularly like the part of the promo when she says "I'd much rather be out here being free than stuck in some political office." Makes sense, since she quit her job as governor. I hope people are taking note of that comment should she ever decide to run for office again. (Please God, no!)

As much as I'm nauseous over the thought of this Palin show, I might have to tune in just to enjoy watching her embarrass herself.

Speaking of the Palins, who can believe that Bristol is one of the final five dancers on DWTS? The fact that Audrina Patridge (who could have taken the crown, er, trophy) was voted off instead of the clunky Bristol is a travesty. This is the contestant who danced in a gorilla suit a few weeks back and entirely forgot the first 10 seconds of her routine. How she's made it this far is beyond comprehension. (I blame her mother.) And that's not even getting into the issue of why she's on the show in the first place. She is not a celebrity. Infamous, maybe. She's a teenage mother. The producers might have to rename the show Dancing with the Tabloid Fodder.

Oh, Deer

A recent Sunday column, now dubbed "Post It Notes" on Westport Patch:

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They look so adorable, with their gentle faces and the babies trailing behind. What harm could they possibly do?

A lot, I've discovered. Looks can be deceiving.

I'm speaking of the deer, of course, and the devastation they wreck in summer time when every garden offers them plenty of pickens. My grandmother used to gripe about her deer and I thought she was nuts. "But they're so cute!" I'd argue. So what if they nibbled on a  few leaves here and there?

Now that I live here, where the deer may just have us outnumbered, I get it. And I don't know why, but for some reason, my garden seems to be a prime destination for all the four-legged creatures around.

I've got a row of lovely purple roses. They put on an abundant display of color about a month ago, and were preparing for a second burst — until yesterday. I went outside and discovered that deer had chomped off every single rose bud on all nine plants. I nearly cried.

And in the backyard, I've got what's trying to be a vegetable patch. I've already lost two huge clusters of fat tomatoes to the greedy buggers. It's as if the head deer calls all his buddies to say, "Hey fellas, the salad bar's open again! The nice lady even planted swiss chard for us this year!"

They mow down the lettuce, shear off the tops of the broccoli. They even eat the flowers and leaves off a patch of hostas — plants that they bypass in almost every yard on the street.

I'm a pretty fair person, generally speaking. And I'm willing to share. If the deer need some snacks, they're welcome to the pine trees, a little holly, maybe even some boxwood. I'd even be willing to donate my roses to the cause, if they'd just eat the blooms that are already on their way out.

But noooo.

They've got to have the baby blossoms just days away from opening, the ones that I've nurtured and cultivated and anticipated for weeks. It's downright rude.

This is the thanks I get for stocking the salad bar?

I've tried everything to dissuade the deer. Malorgonite scattered around the base of the roses. Planting lavender. Wolf urine. Last summer my neighbor told me a friend of hers scattered bars of Irish Spring around her garden and she stayed deer-free. So she and I bought a lifetime supply of the stuff and dangled bars of soap on fences and trees. It looked completely crazy. And after a few weeks, the deer decided they didn't mind the chipper Irish Spring scent so much after all.

Then there are the various sprays. The one I tried smells like vomit mixed with rotten eggs – a combination which the beasts supposedly find unappetizing. It does seem to keep them away for a week or so, but if I don't reapply it religiously, I end up with shorn rose bushes. And the problem is, I've got to smell it, too.

What really gets my goat is that my Irish Spring friend across the street has roses, hostas and utterly unprotected rows of tomato plants, which the deer leave alone. Why? Why?

I don't wish the monsters on her or anyone else, but I'd be more than thrilled if the darn deer would saunter right past my yard the next time they go grazing.

This salad bar is closed.

School's Out. Compo's Open.

Last Sunday's article for Westport Patch

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The season of sweat and mosquitoes appears to be upon us.

Rumor has it the longest day of the year just came and went and a new season has officially begun. If the solstice hadn't clued me in, I suppose there have been a few other seasonal reminders. 

Here's what makes me think it just might be summer:

• Two words: reality TV.
• Somehow it seems perfectly reasonable to go to the ice cream shop about four times a week. (In fact, ice cream sounds pretty good right about now.)
•  I'm spending more at Joey's by the Shore than at Trader Joe's.
• Bedtime? What's bedtime? Why should the kids go to bed when everyone's outside riding bikes at 8:30 pm or jumping on the trampoline? Even weirder: I've stopped caring if they stay up till 9:30.
• Shopping – once an entirely enjoyable activity -- has become a horrendous chore thanks to a certain seasonal garment: the swimsuit.
• Waxing has taken on a new, sudden urgency.
• It's all about the creams these days: sunblock, spray sunblock, solid sunblock, bug repellent. And when those don't work, it's aloe gel and calamine lotion.
• Cocktails with mint sound really refreshing.
• It's only been a few days since school let out, and already I've heard, "Mom, I'm bored!" more times than I can count.
• Back-to-school merchandise will surely be on shelves in a week or so.
• My kids are around everywhere, 24/7. I mean we love the little buggers and everything but don't these little people have anywhere else to be?
• The inside of the car is already filled with a few pounds of sand.
• The sprinklers and hoses are now used more for dousing neighborhood kids and siblings than for anything lawn-related.
• There's really no reason to wear anything other than flip-flops anymore.

And the final reason I'm pretty sure it's summer is:

• It's hotter than all hell outside. And humid, just to add to the fun.

So that proves it. Summer must be here.

Everyone in the pool! 

westport.patch.com