The Adventures of Mr. Snowman

He was born on the day after Christmas 2010 around 11:30 in the morning. He quickly grew to about two feet, a toothy grin on his face as he jauntily tipped his hat to the ladies (or lady, as it were). I ran inside to get my camera and came back out to find him so bereft at my departure that he was threatening drastic action by sliding perilously close to the edge of my truck hood.

"Don't do it, you cad," I said, shoving him back closer to the windshield. "There's no need to be so dramatic."

I formulated a quick relocation plan to which he responded by spitting a tooth out at me and losing an eyeball. "Mr. Snowman..." I warned. I safely deposited him in the nearby flower bed and performed a hasty reattachment procedure to restore him to his former health. He thanked me by tipping his pie pan hat to me once more. I left him there to stand guard over the foot path in my absence. Poor guy... kind of a rough first day in the world.

My ensuing snow-capped adventures included a brisk walk through our Winter Wonderland during which I discovered that while my snowball making skills have greatly improved, my snowball throwing skills still leave something to be desired. After numerous failed attempts to hit trees, realty postings, and a stop sign, I realized that my chances of being able to hit the broad side of a barn were slim. One would think having survived DC's epic blizzard earlier in the year, I would have honed such skills, but alas, my aim remains disastrous. I guess we can't be good at everything, can we, Mr. Snowman?

MOVIE REVIEW: Take Two

Someone please tell me why I only got around to watching Ironman two nights ago? People kept telling me it was awesome, but for some reason, I would always shrug it off. It's even been in my Netflix Watch Instantly queue for months now, and it's only because they're threatening to make it unavailable at the end of the year that I got my tail in gear and pressed play.

It. Was. Great. Outside of the most recent Batman movies, this is the only movie I've seen based on a comic book that never went Cheez Whiz on me. Robert Downey Jr. was perfect as Tony Stark. He was his usual quippy, sardonic self, but that's part of what I love about him. In contrast, it was also one of my reasons for originally not wanting to see the movie because it was hard to picture him as a super hero, but I LOVED him as this one. I lost count of the number of times I laughed out loud, especially during the beta trials of his new suit. I could rewatch the part where he slams himself into the wall eleventy times. He got his butt kicked often and actually came away from it bloody and worse for the wear. I do not like superheroes who get hurt and then two seconds later, their wounds have disappeared and they don't even have super healing.

The writing, plot, and casting were all right on, although I found the chemistry between Downey and Paltrow slightly lacking. It felt more like a friendship then anything, and while I enjoyed their interactions, I'm glad it never became a major focus. I hate it when the love interest feels forced for the purpose of appealing to a female audience. I appreciated, too, that the major conflict in the film paralleled current events, thereby giving it more relevance. It made a not so subtle point about the situation in the Middle East; a point easier to swallow because there was a hero who could effectively solve the combative problems that the US has encountered throughout. It makes me wish there really WAS an Ironman.

All in all, a really fun ride from start to finish. Yet another movie that's moving RDJ up in my list of favorites. Keep 'em comin'.

BOOK REVIEW: Water for Elephants

I hadn’t even read a summary of this book when I first picked up Sara Gruen’s recent bestseller, Water for Elephants, a cast-off from a former roommate, so I had no idea what I was in for. Several chapters through and I was having to force myself to put it down and jerk myself out of the world of early twentieth century Big Tops so I could get other things accomplished. Through Gruen’s understated, descriptive style, I could smell the popcorn, taste the cotton candy, and hear the snorts of animals and shouts of working men across miles of worn canvas.

The story moves at the pace of the circus train on which it is set through the flashback narration of the book’s protagonist, Jacob Jankowski; who in present day finds himself threatening to waste away in a nursing home. Gruen’s stark portrayal of Jacob’s current environs contrasts nicely with the brilliance and uncertainty of his days with the circus. It’s humming florescent lights versus wide open sky and flashy sequins. The plot is twisted and gritty and the portrayal of bosses and workers raw and unapologetic. Every scene is sometimes glamourous, sometimes brutal, but often a heady mix of both. The black and red striped cover of the book called to me like a drug whenever I was in the same room.

Yet in addition to the lovely undercurrent of tension, what breathes life into this story more than anything is Gruen’s meticulous research and attention to detail. The book is peppered with bright anecdotes, all the more fantastic because most of them are based on actual occurrences, but nonetheless woven seamlessly into the existing framework. I am at risk of sounding clichéd by calling this book a tour de force, but just like the circus it describes, so it is. A true case of one man’s junk is another man’s treasure, I’m all the richer for having nabbed this one from the donation pile.

Attic Treasures

Note to the world: I am at this very moment learning how to play the Ukelele. My friend Audrey bequeathed me hers as she was leaving Hawaii, and I'm just now, 7 years later, sliding it out of it's purple Aloha floral printed case to let it see the light of day. Or the light of the fire since the sun has already gone down, and I'm once again running up my mother's gas bill by enjoying the Insta-Flame. Bygones. Side note, I don't believe my Go Go Gadget fingers were created to play the Ukelele because my thumb is already cramping up, and I can't for the life of me seem to put enough pressure on the 1st fret to play a clean B Flat Minor chord. Frustration squiggle! I also need to develop fingertip calluses pronto. All of that said, I do believe it is break time.

But Baby it's Cold in Here

It's late, the house is dark, and I came into the living room because I think it rather romantic to write by the glow of the fire and the Christmas lights. I am by no means a pyromaniac, but I LOVE fires; so long as they are in places where fires are supposed to be ie: fireplaces, wood burning stoves, etc. There's just something about the smell and the sound of wood crackling and popping, or in the case of my mom's house, the constant woosh of gas. It is rather convenient to turn a fire off and on as easily as turning on the light. PRESS. Instant ambience. However, my plans have been somewhat thwarted as the timer on the Christmas tree just went off, and if I'm not careful and hurry this up, the reindeer standing eerily at attention beside me and the mantel lights are going to wink into darkness as well. Then it will just be me and the fire which I sometimes want to crawl into for warmth.

I have to point out here that my mother keeps the temperature of her house hovering somewhere between 60 and 65 degrees during the winter. Which, to those of you who aren't accustomed to this, is freakin' cold. I sleep with a heating blanket left on all night, and I'm not a cold sleeper. My body often heats up like a little thermostat and I'm good to go, if not sweating bullets and having to kick off sheets. In this house, however, I find myself burrowing into my self-made little bear cave, trying to drown out the sounds of the infernal bonging desk clock on the other side of my wall. It chimes every fifteen minutes in varying degrees of length. Thankfully I'm usually asleep by the time midnight rolls around, otherwise I'd be launching my stuffed Rudolph through the sheetrock at it. Not exactly the job position he signed up for. And for the record, I sleep late here, not because I'm tired and lazy, but because I'm putting off the dreaded meeting with the chilly air as long as possible. The bathroom is really far away, and I don't have my ski coat nearby...

Holiday Hijinks

My mom just beat me in Scrabble. What the flip. And not by a few points either, but by like 50. Me, with the extensive vocabulary. She then proceeded to wave her little wooden tile holder in my face like a jerk. I need not mention (although clearly I already am) that she gained her victory by piggy backing on my own brilliant, lengthy words, but the malicious laughter and gloating was entirely unnecessary. I know I've always been a bit of a sore loser, but I was hoping that my age and experience would have remedied that. No such luck. I left the couch feeling vaguely dissatisfied and grumbling to myself while my parents snickered in the background. I did not appreciate the peanut gallery commentary.

In other news, we did family Christmas early for the first time in my entire life. The holidays look a little different this year for reasons not the least of which is my recent propensity to bounce around the planet like a ping pong ball in as short a time frame as I can manage. Other reasons include family circumstances which cannot be helped, but Christmas feels odd. I'm not sure Santa will be able to find me. I guess it's a good thing he doesn't exist. It appears to be a great year to start remembering why we celebrate in the first place. Trust God to shake up the snow globe when things get a bit too comfortable.

Dear Life, Please Start Making Sense

China - South Carolina - Mexico - Chicago - Austria - California - Germany - Hawaii - Budapest

This, ladies and gents, is what my Christmas card list looks like. I mean, I'm not gonna toot my own horn or anything, but that's kinda cool. Ok, so maybe I am (toot, toot!).  There are times that I love my international lifestyle.  Other times, it just exhausts me. I had a friend ask me Saturday night if I was finding what I was looking for in all of my traveling. The momentum of my forthcoming response slammed into a concrete retaining wall. I'm not entirely sure, but if memory serves, I stared at the cement floor for a beat. I shrugged my shoulders, gave my 'whatever' face and said, "Yeah, I don't really know what I'm looking for. I figure one of these days I'll just trip over it and be irritated for a second that I stubbed my toe." Then I laughed a little, somewhat awkwardly.

I have to say, though, that two-second slice of conversation has had me moving through molasses ever since. Sometimes I feel like I'm the only person who thinks about life in such agonizing detail. It's as if I'm afraid one small, wrong decision is going to send me spiraling down into a dark abyss of unfulfillment. If I could describe my life in one word, it would be SIGH. Those four letters just about sum it up. I'm finding out there's a reason this is the road less traveled. Because it's freakin' hard! (whine, moan, complain). Alright, that's it, I'm done. I'm gonna go eat ice cream now and contemplate the color of the walls.

Best Month Ever? MARCH

Just found out I have the same birthday as Justin Bieber. How do I know this? Because the coolest person I know, JJ Lefors (she's making me type this), just bought his book First Step 2 Forever: My Story.

(We do not need to talk about how sad it is that this kid is not only just 16 years old, but in addition to having at least two multi-platinum albums out, has also managed to publish his first book. It's official, I'm a slacker.)