SassyBlonde

I'm surfacing from the muddy bliss of gardening to exhort y'all once again to watch Planet Earth on Discovery Channel. Right now I'm recovering from one of the most immense cases of the giggles I've ever had from watching the first shot of the male ibexes in the "Deserts" episode. Seriously, it's the best definition of "smackdown" I've ever seen. I defy the WWE to do any better.

Just so you know, it's not all fun and games-- Hubby and I were so depressed after the polar bear/walrus segment in the "Ice Worlds" episode that we had to make therapeutic brownies. You've been warned.

And on a side note, Deadliest Catch is completely worth all of the ads stuck in the middle of this series.

Go. Watch.

I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree

-Joyce Kilmer (1886–1918)

Especially when said tree was once a pest and is now lying in a bundle on the curb waiting for the mulch truck pickup on Thursday.

D and I spent all morning wreaking havoc on what we, ahem, fondly refer to as our "mulch pile" in the backyard-- basically the repository of four years of yard detritus. It was a five foot tall pile of leaves, grass clippings and large branches, a monument to our gardening laziness, safely out of sight behind the neighbor's fence. So well forgotten that small trees had grown up through it to about ten feet high. Now?? It's gone.

Happy happy, joy joy.

And now I have a potting corner, where there will shortly be a table and all manner of fun pots and accoutrements. I also have a place for a real compost heap once I rake out some of the leaves and grass clippings as well-- Aunt C would be proud. Yay!!!

Apparently I have been spending way too much time in my recliner late at night.

Supposedly if you've seen over 85 movies, you have no life. Mark the ones you've seen. There are 239 movies on this list. Copy this list, then put x's next to the movies you've seen, add them up, change the header adding your number, and click post at the bottom. Have fun!

**Disclaimer** Just because I've seen the following checked movies, does NOT mean that I like them all. (I second this idea-- KK)

The evil Easter Bunny. Classic.

More evil bunny homage:

The Killer Bunny from Monty Python
Don't Mess With The Bunny

I always love watching artists who are totally and utterly committed to the voice of the piece they're playing for an audience.

Tonight I went to hear a performace by a friend of mine. It was the last in a series of recitals she's using to prepare for the Gaudeamus Interpreters competition, for which she leaves this week. This competition brings together people from across the globe who are deeply committed and passionate about new music (yes, that burp-fart stuff that so many of you, and I, detest about modern classical). From a field of about 120 they whittle away until only the best and brightest remain, and the winners takes home a tidy but substantial nest egg to keep their passion going.

A small disclaimer before I continue to sing her praises-- I don't usually choose to listen to this type of music. Ever. Most of the time I entertain humorous thoughts of composers with way too much time on their hands when I listen to or play this sort of thing, so when I find someone who can jar those thoughts out of my head for the duration of a performace I sit up and take notice.

Forget the diet today and tomorrow... Chipotle's giving away free food. Check it out.

If you've never seen Kitty Victorian perform, you've truly missed out. The force behind much of DC's burlesque scene, she's also the headmistress of Burlesque University, where girls (and guys) can go to learn the art of the tease. I swear, I'm in for the next round of classes if my gym habit keeps up. Below is a preview (NSFW) of the Purrrrfect Ecdysiast for your enjoyment:

I loves, loves, LOVES me some classic burlesque. There's nothing better than real women with real curves showing their stuff. Not just tawdry "strippers", these-- good burlesque artists are right up there with the best performers of any Broadway stage (I'll share more examples of my favorite lovely ladies on Friday's YouTube Roundup this week). For now you can get your fix by going to the DC Gurly Show on Wednesday at Chaos. Go forth and see pasties!!!

In case you didn't know, today is Free Cone Day at Ben & Jerry's stores. The Muse has been hyped up about this for weeks... What's your favorite?.

UPDATE: Well, The Muse dragged me out to get my free scoop tonight, even though I was crabby with her when she called earlier today. Mmmmm-- Strawberry Cheesecake. Totally worth going out. (Especially since we got out to McGinty's for dinner. (Totally kick-ass shepherd's pie and beef & Guinness stew.) Hope you all got yours!!!!

So here I sit at the wine bar, awaiting Red's emancipation from work. Red is my newly-minted lovely and sassy friend, who I met through the new project last year. Sassariffic. Remember the old layout? Yeah, she's the poster-child for sassy redhead.

Anyway, on a totally different subject, I've been very enthralled with the history of burlesque lately. Especially after watching Michelle L'amour's fan and balloon dances. It got me thinking... wha's the real difference between just "stripping" and "burlesque"? I mean, both basically equate to the removal of clothes, right?

But honestly, it comes down to art at the end, I think. It's like being a musician: there are people who present the work and people who embody the art. Just taking off your clothes is one thing, but I don't think anyone would have called Sally Rand simply a "stripper". Michelle L'amour definitely qualifies as a true artist of the stage, I think, no matter what Brandy may have thought. Anyway, I'd love to go see her dance any day of the week and twice on Sunday, no matter what people might classify her as out of hand. I think it has more to do with who has the power in the room-- your average stripper is at the mercy of the crowd: dollar bills in the G-string and all. Good burlesque dancers hold the audience in the palm of their hands and are (rightly so) viewed as paragons on a pedestal by the crowd. At any rate, more to come on Friday's RoundUp.

I came home from hanging with Red to find that a lovely dove with beautiful aqua eyeliner has made a nest in the hanging basket by my back door. She sat still and quiet as I opened the door to come in the house, simply looking at me from one calm eye as I snapped a picture or twelve. One luminous egg underneath her as she shifted to better see me through the screen. Now what do I do? I have students coming and going through that door all day... any advice anyone? Can I move the basket if I don't touch the nest? Maybe to a planter hook down to the side of the porch? Oy vey.

UPDATE: Well, she's here to stay, folks. I can't move her basket and she seems utterly unperturbed by the comings and goings of our back porch. The Muse has named her Bella, and we have immense amounts of fun just looking out the screen door at her perched on her little nest.

All week I've been promising you a Round Up of the lovely ladies of burlesque, and finally, here they are!

The first and biggest shout-out goes to one of my favorite performers in the neo-burlesque world, the lovely and talented Michelle L'amour. Her balloon routine and fan dance are probably my favorite routines I've ever seen. For your enjoyment, here they are (links only, as the vids are not work safe):

• Les Balloons (Serge Gainsbourg tune!!!)
• Your Biggest Fan

Miss L'amour is the latest in a long line of showgirls who practice "the art of the tease". As I've said before, the art of the tease is not simply the act of taking off one's clothes-- it involves a lot more artistry than that. To quote one of my favorite shows "Anyone can take their clothes off, but to do it in front of a thousand people, well, that really takes something."

This isn't a new art, by any means. Salome did it with the Dance of the Seven Veils, and more recently the burlesque queens of the early film era had the art locked and loaded. Acts like Lily St.Cyr, Tempest Storm, Sandra Storm, and Cherry Knight lit up the silver screen with acts ranging from artistic to downright lewd. Then there's also the fan and bubble dancer Sally Rand (I don't care if she was a "class act", she still made people think she was dancing nude-- that's the art of the tease all right.) This "Chinese Joy Dance" video makes no pretense-- she's working it out pasties and all as a member of the famed Follies Bergere. Enjoy these lovely ladies, and have a happy weekend!

One of my favorite things about my recent trip to China was reading the translated signs in public places. This is one of my favorite examples. Just thought you'd enjoy seeing it. (And for my esteemed brother-in-law, that's No Smorking!)

*vi·res·cence (v-rsns, v-) n. The state or process of becoming green, especially the abnormal development of green coloration in plant parts normally not green.

Found over at Mad About Shanghai.

I'd like to announce a new arrival at our house-- I'm now the proud owner of a beautiful new (old) flute!!!! It came to me in an auction yesterday and I'm so excited I just had to share! It's a gorgeous J.C. Haynes Boehm system wood flute, and it plays like a dream, or at least it will once I get a few pads replaced. For a flute probably made in 1894, it's pretty well-kept, eh? Lovely, lovely, happy birthday to me!

This has been a public service message brought to you by the color green and the letter G. Happy belated Earth Day.

Found over at Frank Notes.

For a while now, I've been reading a lot of entries by people who have had problems with getting Dooced or outed or embarrassed or yelled at over the things they have to say on their blogs. It's made me more than a little nervous about what I have to say on some of the subjects I talk about a lot, so therefore I'll be password protecting the entries that I feel are a little sensitive or personal.

I fully realize that there are a lot of you who read, comment, and lurk who are encouraged and entitled to read this stuff, so if you come across something you can't see but would like to read, email me at (sassy{at}sassyblonde{dot}net) with SassyPassword in the subject line for the password. I mean it now-- if you're a regular reader, email and ask already. I know most of you well through your own blogs, and you're entitled.

If I don't know or read you, just because you ask doesn't mean I'll fork it over, but feel free to ask. Nothing personal if I don't. It just cuts down on the possibility that I'll get goosed and ensures that you get unvarnished and uninhibited sassiness. Thanks for your patience.

Speaking of free speech and all, have you guys heard what happened to Mike Daisey this past week? Watch the video (NSFW beacuse of his use of the F-bomb at the beginning). It's one of the most ballsy and good-humored recoveries from this sort of thing I've ever seen.

Mike Daisey was performing his monologue INVINCIBLE SUMMER at American Repertory Theatre on April 19th when the show was disrupted by eighty seven members of a Christian group who walked out of the show en masse to protest the content, and chose to physically attack the work by pouring water on and destroying the original of his show outline.

Just for good measure, to anyone who may be reading: FUCK. Throw some water on that if you dare.

(Thanks to Solonor for the heads-up.)

UPDATE: Apparently the group in question was not, in fact, a "Christian group" as such, even though the water-pourer identified himself that way. Anyway, Daisey' s update is here. This doesn't change how I feel about this, by the way. There's a way to deal with disapproval of a performance, and this was not it. If they were even slightly concerned about possible objectionable content (seriously people, who buys tickets to a Mike Daisey performance without expecting at least some pretty offensive stuff), all they would have had to do was contact the box or business office for a content sheet or consultation. Every theater I've ever worked for provides them to potential audience members on request, containing listings of objectionable language and plot material. Again, I say in his defense, FUCK. So there.

Look out-- Pearl wants her money now, bitch!

I swear, I snarfed my soda when she said she wanted to get her drink on.

(From Jen Lemen.)

I'm so tired tonight. Tired.

Every so often, I get really really fed up with all the stuff I have to do, particularly all of the things I have to do to control the D-Monster. All of the testing and counting and reconciliation and most of all, the honesty.

When you have to account for every single morsel that goes in your mouth, the honesty quotient you have with yourself is really really brutal. There's no fudging on little bites of brownie batter-- your numbers pop up later on the meter to say "Liar, liar!!" and beat you about the ego. I used to enjoy tasting lots of little things in between meals ("Liar, liar!") and having the occasional drink before dinner ("Liar, liar!"), but now the guilt that comes with the brutal honesty of constant vigilance is really starting to get old.

The problem comes in that if I ignore that obnoxious little voice ("Liar, li-- oof!" Sounds of a struggle ending in a muffled thump) it comes back with a bullhorn later during my blood tests. It's like having someone constantly looking over your shoulder to pass judgement on every decision you make. It's unnerving and anxiety-inducing, especially for someone who likes being a wallflower in large public gatherings when she's not onstage. It makes me want to crawl in a hole and hide.

And the worst part? I'm so tired of having no one to talk to who understands me on this. None of my good friends have this disease. They don't understand, and I don't mean just in the larger sense-- they just don't get it on a visceral level. Not even my fabulous husband, who lives with me daily, can really understand. They don't understand how mentally tired I am every day just from having to juggle all of this information. They don't understand how physically exhausted my body is from the constant up-and-down pitch of a blood-level element that in normal people is relatively unchangeable. Some days I'm good on six or eight hours of sleep. Other days I can't sleep enough. There have been nights that I've been so tired I was literally weeping, but couldn't sleep because a common cold kept my levels so erratic that I'd wake up every five minutes.

I'm even more tired of trying to explain it to people who don't understand. So many of them think they do, but then they kind of devolve into this skeptical haze when I talk about it. I'm tired of having to introduce my pump to people when they ask me what it is and seeing their crestfallen, embarassed faces when I tell them. The uncomfortable grimace they get while they're trying to figure out if they've asked an inappropriate or embarassing question is really starting to piss me off. I try to be good about talking about it-- I'm open and honest about it if they ask and try to let them know I'm comfortable talking about it. It gets really old though, to the point that I was almost ready to hurl when one of my new students asked today.

I'm just tired. Too tried to sleep. Too tired to care. Too tired to talk anymore.

Nearby the Jell-O box pyramids and just out of range of the flying whiffle golf balls that pass near the kitchen of senior Adam Boorstein's off-campus rental, sits a stinky, lonely, gallon-sized jar of grease.

For more than a year, that grease container, formerly a restaurant-sized pickle jar, sat near the stove, its owners slowly filling its belly with goopy cooking residue until it was oozing with the gelatinous, oily remains of a college diet. And all that time, its keepers were oblivious of the fact that they were sitting on an absolute gold mine. Imagine their ignorance.

But Boorstein and his four other roommates, being the tech-saavy college students they are, decided that instead of throwing the yellowish layers of bottled grease away, why not see if there was an Internet market for it? There was. Two weeks ago, the jar sold on eBay for a whopping $305. And the jar has even raked in almost $400 from a website where people sympathetic to poor college students can wire money.

About $700. For a jar of grease.

I can officially say that there is now a pack of Diet Coke Plus in my house, and I would like to put forth the question to the Coca-Cola Company: What in the world possessed you people?

Diet Coke Plus is everything you love about Diet Coke products, plus several essential nutrients you want and your body needs. Each 8-ounce serving of Diet Coke Plus provides 15% of your Daily Value for Niacin and vitamins B6 and B12, and 10% for Zinc and Magnesium.

Yeah, I know, I bought it, didn't I? But I was curious, okay?

First of all, vitamins in diet soda* is no new thing, but come on-- they're not supposed to be healthy. They're supposed to be placeholders for things that are even more unhealthy. I seriously shudder to think of what would happen if my Mom got a case of these in her hands.

My mother is probably the biggest Diet Coke addict I have ever met. Throughout the course of a day, she's been known to drink up to eight (EIGHT!) Diet Cokes, and I've never seen a smoker with a worse Jones than when my mom is soda-deprived. She'll seriously leave the house and drive a couple of miles just to get a soda, then come back and be about her business. Not that I have much room to talk-- my fridge is always packed with diet sodas of some type.

At least it's Diet Coke she's addicted to, right? Could be worse.

P.S. Diet Coke Plus is seriously nasty. Too sweet and almost flat. Yecch. Do not, repeat, do not try this at home.

*Yes, I realize that I, as a Southern girl, am not referring to all sodas in question as "Cokes". It weirded me out too when I realized it, but that would be too confusing in this context I think.

Yeah, just so y'all know, I'm officially old today. But still Sassy as ever. Woohoo!!

Can I please have on of these for my birthday? Please?

Sometimes it's better to just be quiet and remember. No finger pointing, no assigning blame. I'm sick of all the talking, which is why you haven't seen me doing it here myself about this. Join me or not, it's your choice.