May the Force be with You

Every single morning, at least for the last month or so, I wake up at about 5:30am when Elliot does. I feed him, put him back down and then go downstairs to make sure that he has enough milk to mix with his cereal and various food stuffs for the day.

This may sound super early and it is, but it's not so bad.

Not when you consider that he's been in bed since 7:30 or 8pm the night before.

Also when you consider it's a tiny bit of complete quiet time, all by myself, while I take care of the business at hand.

So of course, I do not spend it improving my mind reading classic novels or even watching CNN. I browse my favorite websites* for editor-selected chunks of goodness.

And this morning, I saw a quote on Jezebel.com about what Carrie Fisher had to say about what she writes.**

I love Carrie Fisher. I think she is funny and smart and honest and doesn't have any phobias about embarrassment, either. ***

When I was little, we lived in Southwest Georgia on a farm**** about 20 miles outside of an 800-person town (Or thereabouts...). And every summer, BigD would drive us to North Georgia (where I grew up the rest of the time) to Nana and Papa's where we would stay for a good chunk of the summer.

We would spend the days swimming at the local pool with our cousins and eating the very best fresh sliced tomato and Durkee's sandwiches, ever.

Every now and again, Nana would hand each one of us a sandwich baggie filled with multicolored popcorn, a few of the small individual Hershey's chocolate bars and a can of Coke. Then she would load all of the cousins into her giant yellow Cadillac and take us to a matinee.

Sometimes it would be Pippi Longstocking or maybe The Apple Dumpling Gang, but one summer it was Star Wars. Like the vast majority of theatergoers that summer, we LOVED it. We begged and begged to go again and again.

And that summer, we must have seen it about three times.*****

When we got back to school that fall, playing Star Wars was all the rage. The Middle County Elementary School had a playground with some swings and a concrete area for Four Square and lots of room to run, but occasionally we'd have recess or PE across the street on the baseball field. They'd just let us loose.

As you may guess, I was not one of the ultra-popular kids. I was usually hanging out with one of my best friends or maybe over in the corner, reading a book. But this fall, every now and again, BigD would roll my hair up into those giant buns and when we all played outside at recess, I would get to be Princess Leia.******

And really, who wouldn't want to be? She was a awesome princess. Yeah, she needed a little assistance rescuing herself, but she shot a gun and smack-talked and figured out how to send R2D2 and C3Po out for help.

Cut to almost three decades later:

I'm back in Atlanta, at the Georgia Aquarium and I'm on assignment. Jane Fonda is being roasted for her charity, the Georgia Campaign for Adolescent Pregnancy Prevention. And the room is full of the celebrity types, all looking swanky.

Early in the evening, before I started to work, I found a place and perched at the top of the staircase, surveying the crowd of pretty people. After a few minutes, the crowd shifted, and I felt a touch on my shoulder and a woman said "Excuse me."

I turned around to face Carrie Fisher.*******

I had collided with the ex-Princess Leia, and now, even cooler, a hilarious writer.

We both offered apologies and then chit-chatted for a moment about the night.

After a moment, she stared at me up and down and said, "You look great, but I think you need one thing."

Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a little spray bottle, said, "May I?"

She reached into my hair, poofed it out just a bit and sprayed.

"It's glitter spray," she said and tilted her head down. "See, I'm wearing it, too. And, really, everything is better with a little bit of glitter."

THE END

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*Most of them are in the lists to the right. Good stuff, really.

**Scroll down to the bottom of the list for the quote and if you want to read the full Vanity Fair piece, click here.

***I am well aware I am no Carrie Fisher, for a variety of reasons. But if you count the good ones, she's a pretty good, even great example to have.

****Not a "momma go outside and pick up the eggs from the chickenhouse farm." It was/is a commercial farm where, back then, my dad grew peanuts and soybeans and corn. There was even some livestock in the back corner of the main field. (The livestock was really a bunch of pigs, but doesn't livestock sound less muddy?)

*****This was a VERY big deal. No joke. My grandparents grew up without much money and did not believe in wasting anything, not Christmas wrapping, not the crusts from the sandwich bread and certainly not money to see a movie more than once. But this summer, we did.

******They would also play Dallas. I wasn't allowed to watch soap operas, plus we couldn't get all channels on the tv at the farm because Big D thought satellite dishes were tacky.

*******No joke...she's not that tall. Neither am I.

Once Again, BigD Knows Stuff...****

We started Tuesday night at an election party hosted by Democrats Abroad.   

Our friend Erin rocked a panel...*

(from left: Academic view, Republican view, Queen of the Local Chapter of DA view, Sensible and Clever view.  Hosted by Norwegian Progressive Party moderator)

I asked two questions.  The first was about hosing the winner ("Should your particular party be psyched if they lose because whoever inherits this mess may be hosed for a second term?"). 

And my second question was about info gathering in a faraway time zone ("We're way off the American cycle of 24 hour newsgathering.  Has that affected where you get your political information?")

Not only was I interested in the answers, but also saw it as a multiple opportunity to:

A) Set up a forum for the Sensible and Clever View to speak up, but also to 

B) deflect from the questions along the lines of "Can you explain the American government?" and "Can you explain each candidate's energy policy?"

(Also, I really wanted to ask the Republican why he was so angry, but thought that would sound best coming from an accent other than American, but could find no willing volunteers.)

Then we watched the returns, or at least the coverage, until about midnight.  

(Kyrre, Phil and Bo focus, focus, focus. Check out the girl with the red hair on the left.  She and her cronies stole the last of the key lime pie. )

Then when I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer, Husband and I headed home, where we lounged** on the sofa until 5am watching.  Finally we went to bed, reasonably sure of what the outcome could be. 

When we woke up a few hours later, we saw the count, read the stats and watched the speeches. 

My faith in the American people, which was never gone completely, was bolstered and fully restored. 

Even if you remove the fact I just believe Obama is the best man for the job based on concrete reasons, I am exceedingly moved by the overall grace and goodness and forthright compassion in him. 

And, I think it really shows that "slow and steady" and --- most of important of all--- honor wins out in the end.*** 

It just makes it seem that there is potential to get the world back right and warms my tiny, little Pollyanna-ish heart.

________________________________

*This is the link to the English translation, which is a straight translation, so it's not edited for the language change, but still understandable and clear.  If you want to read it in Norwegian, click here.

**And by "we lounged," I really mean Husband watched intently, while I tried, but dozed intermittently. 

***Look Big D, you were right....

For everyone else, the Big D is full of good advice, even if we only recognize it in retrospect. One her mantras when we were growing up was "Don't worry about what anyone else is doing.  You just work hard and do the right thing. Then it will all work out in the end." 

(The D also said, "I don't care if you're a ditch digger, just be the very best ditch digger there is." So think on that, too.)

****This is not in any way to indicate who may or may not have gotten BigD's vote this election.  She made her own, secret informed decision.  This is merely to prove yet again, that the BigD has good sense. Obama used her rules and it worked for him.

Traveling 4,209.19 Miles of Makes No Dang Sense

As you may know, Husband and I got married almost six months ago.  

We had a very short engagement of only eight weeks.  In that time, Big D (my mother for those who just arrived) and our friends and family pulled together so we could have a wedding that was lovely, and, in record time. 

Overall, everyone was incredibly generous in myriad ways from events to gifts to all sorts of unexpected and lovely kindnesses, so naturally that means thank you notes should be soon on the way. 

We had our hands full with moving and getting settled and a few other family worries, so the notes did not go out absolutely immediately, but they did go out, well under the Emily Post-prescribed time period.  

Some were even written twice, but that is not the point of this missive...

What I mean to share today is a letter we received last week.  

You'll have to trust me on some of the following information because, in the interests of privacy---the intended recipients', not mine---you'll see I have shielded some of the information on the envelope...

This is a note that was posted from the Stavanger Post Office more than ten weeks ago.  

The problem is, apparently, the people to whom the note was addressed have moved.  And, in the time between sending my wedding invitation and sending the thank you note, their forwarding address has expired. 

So as a matter of protocol, the US Postal Service sent it back to us.  

As an American citizen, a long time resident and United States Postal Service user for more than 36 years, I understand this system. 

Someone in the Gainesvegas Post Office had to handle that note, look up the new address, print out a sticker, affix that sticker, flip over the letter for the return address, see the address in Norway and then toss it into the "international" or perhaps "Europe" bin. 

And then, some time later, that note arrived back to us, here in Stavanger, Norway.

What a giant waste, of time, resources and money. 

That $2.50US that we spent to mail it from Stavanger, Norway to Gainesvegas, Georgia, United States, is just a fraction of the roundtrip cost.

I also know from the time period, that, even if I missed the forwarding window of time, it was only by a few days, at most. 

The Gainesvegas Postal Service People know where this letter should have gone. Both the old and the new addresses are in the Gainesvegas city limits, exactly 3.81 miles from each other.  

So, really, Postal Service People, don't get me wrong.  I admire your "neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night..." brand of perseverance. I'm really sorry you sometimes have to deal with vicious dogs and that whole "going postal" reference is really bad PR.  

But let's be clear here:  I pay taxes to the US government.  The US government runs the US Postal Service.  So, even if it's just a teeny tiny portion, I pay your salary, so that kind of makes me your boss, even if it only works out to a fraction of a second of one day every few years.  

So, I'd like to use my moment of authority right now to say: What were you thinking?  How could it make ANY sense to send a letter back over the 4,213 miles it had just traveled instead of just forwarding it on 3.81 miles to its real destination?

Seriously, peoples. 

In Which I Explain Red Carpets and Introduce a Candidate Better Than the Wrinkly White Haired Guy

On red carpets, the order of celebrities is fixed and firm.* 

And how much control any reporter is allowed in their questioning is in direct inverse order to the particular celebrity's fame. 

The socialites, party girls and reality stars come first posing and preening, while the big circulation magazine reporters talk to each other instead of asking them even the most meager of questions.**  They usually don't have handlers or publicists.

Next are the up-and-comers, the kids who are debuting in the Next Big Show on the network. Often they will come in a group with one handler or they will each travel down the line of reporters, but their publicists will be junior.  (This will change over the course of the season according to the show's popularity, if one actor dates another in real life or if "secret" naked shots are "found.")

Then come the D listers, who were once on a  hit television show, but have been on hiatus or on an extended vacation. They will have publicists who will helpfully offer tips on lines of questioning and any access necessary.  Often the actor will be standing there looking a little plaintive, so you humor the publicist.  Plus, often you loved that actor in when you were in middle school, so it's kind of cool.

Then the C-listers, who are niche actors.  They are either eagerly clambering up the next two rungs of the alphabet ladder or are just confident and happy about where they are. Often, if they are well-managed and smart, they've have branched out into producing or writing.  

So really they just don't care a bit about this event and will love it if you've done your homework and know their resume.  They have slightly pushy publicists who will either stand back calmly and let you chat or will tap their foot smugly.

B-Listers and A-Listers often slip between the two levels depending on their visibility on any given day. Both have solid careers and name recognition, and the shift often comes when that actor has a project coming out.  (B-Listers come before the A-Listers on the red carpet, of course.)  

Both have toe-tapping publicists, but the real key comes with the amount of questions allowed.

The publicists of B-Listers, say "Two questions, ONLY." (Note: Be warned---If one of these is "Hi How are you today?" That counts.) 

Publicists of A-Listers, smile and say "Sorry, we're just doing photos today."

Then there are the ones that defy any category...the REALLY big stars.  They always have publicists who are cold, but friendly.  These stars talk all they'd like to the news outlets they like and to the journalists they know. 

Then when the doors to the event are almost closed, here comes another round of the socialites and party girls.

All this to say, that back when celebrity reporting was my full-time job, I remember when Paris was in the groups at the very beginning and at the very end, stopping in a few of the alphabet stations along the way.  If there were photographers, she would go to the opening of a window as well as the VH1 Music Awards After Party at the Four Seasons.  

Because those sorts of things were in my job description as well, I've interviewed her sporadically her over the years. (And once, after an interview, I ask her to give back the fuzzy fingerless gloves she wore for a photo shot.)  

While, I've always though she was more intelligent than her vapid onscreen persona would have you believe, I am impressed with her newly unveiled knowledge, grasp of politics and prowess in the matters of energy conservation.

So, while I am wholeheartedly supporting Obama, if for some reason you can't get behind him, Vote for Paris.  

I'm fairly certain she'd be better than the Wrinkly White Haired Guy.

Loves it.

See more funny videos at Funny or Die

(From Funny or Die via Gawker)

* This is merely the condensed version of the Red Carpet Rules.  There are many nuances and exceptions to each rule. Trade secrets, you understand.  I'd tell you, but you'd have to pay me. 

**Unless of course that socialite, party girl or reality star is dating or working on a "project" with a celebrity who ranks at least in the first three letter of the alphabet.

What I've been thinking on...

A cheerful heart is good medicine.
--Proverbs 17:22



That is all for now.

A Masters in Expat Housewifery*

Though we just got here eleven days ago and we've only been hitched for a little more than three weeks, I'd been researching the Expat life for months.

I'd been reading blogs written by Stavanger wives who had moved here for their husbands' careers...(look to the right for Victoria's Guide to Norway, for example.) I'd researched the Norwegian lifestyle. Husband had been prepping me and we came for the house-hunting visit. So I thought I was pretty versed up on the Expat aspect.

Then there was the marriage aspect of it all. I have been a bridesmaid 14 times, so that should count for something. I've been talking to my friends about it for years and finally found someone I wanted to marry.

And,most importantly, even with all the unknowns, I'd been gathering advice from all sorts of sources. And, the best advice of all, came from the infinitely wise DaAnne...

A few weeks before the hitching, she and I went shopping for the skinny jeans immortalized in the title of this blog. We were sitting in some restaurant outside of some giant mall outside of Atlanta, having a few glasses of wine, engaging in a little pre-shopping strategizing.

And, feeling a little sentimental, I said, "Mom, do you have any marriage advice for me?" It must have surprised her because she started laughing, even spewing a bit. Finally, after several long moments and attempts at humorous deflection, she said, "Why don't you two just try to always be nice to each other. Then see how it goes."

So, armed with my jeans and a resolve to always be nice, I thought I was about as ready as possible.

And, for variety of reasons, both personal and professional, I intended to take good notes about the experiences along the way.

And of course, I knew there would be challenges ahead, but that no matter what, Husband and I will handle it happily and well.

And we have and we will. It's been a great amount of fun, with more to come...

But just based on the sociological discoveries thus far, I suspect this experience is really the structure for a Masters Program...

Some planned core courses:

Get Your Mind Right, Girl 601
The Psychological Economics of Work In and Out of the House

Conversion 702
It's Not Just Fahrenheit to Celsius

Cultural Ideology 601
Just Because Your Bra Size is Now 75D Does Not Mean You are Fat

Anti-Math 508
You Just Might as Well Quite Converting Kroner to Dollars

I'm still working on the rest of the curriculum.


*hous wif-uh-ree, preferably pronounced with a Middle English accent.