Rentypoo: The Director's Cut

My Brilliant Career

Fri, 23 May 2008 21:36:59 GMT

I lost my job. I've been here for 15 years, and now there's no place for me any more. I'm trying to take it like a grownup, but it's going to be quite the transition (especially without those silly paychecks and health insurance benefits).

Oh, well. Told you I'd been battling dragons lately.

Anyhoo, just wanted to let everyone know that sending emails to my work address won't be useful after the 29th, and that you're welcome to send to my home address if you need me.

Wish me luck and send any spare vibes you may have.

Do Not Meddle in the Affairs of Dragons...

Thu, 24 Apr 2008 00:58:26 GMT

...for you are crunchy and good with ketchup.

I've been doing almost nothing except meddling in dragons' affairs all year, which has me a little burned and bruised (topped off by a massive back blowout; I said to my chiropractor, "What did I DO?" He said, "You messed up your back; that's the medical term for it.").

On the other hand, I finally got a new computer, with a whiz-bang DSL line that makes renty (and especially rentydaughter) much, much happier.

Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I'm not dead or anything; it's just been kind of, well, dragon-y around here lately. But Lionel is on the job, the burns will heal, and I've been stuffing ice packs down my pants per doctor's orders, to keep the swelling down.

The daughter caught me at it yesterday. She said, "I'm standing here, watching my mother...ice her butt."

Love and smooches to all.

The Good Luck Dress...A Drabble

Wed, 03 Oct 2007 16:24:00 GMT

I've had this drabble in my head for a while, but hadn't done anything with it until quaggy inspired me yesterday with her sweet AU story. This takes place on Inaguration Day, before the balls.

Josh snapped his cufflinks into place. There. He looked up into the mirror and saw himself in his new tuxedo, tie strung around his collar. He'd get Donna to fix his tie, she was much better at it than he was. He looked more closely. His hair was thinner, there were more wrinkles than there used to be, but still, damn! he looked good.

"Lyman. Josh Lyman."

He said the words aloud and posed a bit, imagining a martini glass in his hand. He grinned at himself, and then remembered. Sam would also be at the balls, in a tuxedo. Crap. Sam was going to look better, him and his touch of gray and his tan. Oh, well, Sam had always looked better.

Donna walked into the bedroom from the bathroom. "What do you think? Do I look okay?" she asked, a wrinkle furrowing her brow.

Josh chuckled. "You look...so beautiful. I'm going to have to beat them off with a stick tonight. Have I seen that dress before?"

Donna's hands ran over the black silk of her dress. "No. CJ gave it to me. She cleaned out her closet before she moved to California, and since she and I are pretty close to the same size, she gave me a few things. I couldn't believe she let go of this one, I mean, it's a Vera Wang, and I'd never seen her wear it. She said it was a bad luck dress for her, but if I wore it tonight, it would be a good luck dress for me." Donna shook her head. "I don't know what she meant by that."

"Well, here's hoping CJ's right. She usually is. God, you look good--do we really need to go to these things? We could just stay home..." Josh moved close, ran his hands up Donna's dress and tried to kiss her, but Donna deftly moved aside and grinned at him.

"Yes, I think our presence is required. Now hold still and I'll do your tie."

Josh put his head up obediently and stood still, and while Donna fussed with his tie, standing so close to him that he could smell her perfume, he put his hand in his pocket and closed it around the ring box there. This was going to be a good night.

Harry Potter Discussion Group Background Posting!

Wed, 14 Mar 2007 21:50:37 GMT

I've been promising to start a Harry Potter discussion group, and between stupid stupid work and stupider dial-up at home, I haven't done it. I'll begin the actual discussions on the Keytus site, but I wanted to start with some useful links and ideas for those who are interested...

First, some links:

If you haven't, you HAVE to go visit J.K. Rowling's own website

www.jkrowling.com

which is filled with tidbits, notes, scribbles, and a wonderful insight into the writer.

Next, my favorite Harry Potter website is

www.the-leaky-cauldron.org

which contains as much fanstuff as you could possibly imagine. While you're there, be sure to read

HarryPotterSeven.com

which is a wonderful series of essays that lay out exactly where everything is, from book one to book six. You'll find fascinating discussions of people, places, events, and hints about the future that really get you thinking.

I belong to this website, but I find it difficult to navigate in IE; Firefox works better. Also, the discussion groups are mostly for the kids, and lack the style we at LJ have come to expect. So be warned.

Next, some ideas:

I'd like to discuss these books in order, but I'd like to begin by discussing the book to come. Of course JKR knew better than anyone that she had a LOT of ends to tie, and we all have loads of questions, so if it's ok with everyone, I think I'll begin there.

After that, maybe we can discuss a book at a time, and work our way toward July.

Let me know what you think, and I'll see you over at Keytus sometime very soon!!!

My First Studio 60 fanfic (A Danny/Jordan story)

Fri, 06 Oct 2006 16:13:11 GMT

I don't know why I've become enamored with the idea of Danny and Jordan. It's probably some sort of deep-seated psychological problem on my end, and it'll probably never happen anyway. Wev.

Anyway, I got to thinking about Jordan and why she is the way she is. She's what, 35, and a pretty girl to boot, and here she is in a position of enormous power and influence. I wondered how she got there and how she deals with her essential womanhood in such a masculine profession. So I wrote this story as a tiny part of the answer.

Jordan's secretary heard, rather than saw, Danny storm into Jordan's office. No, that wasn't it either; she felt Danny's anger coming down the hall before she heard it. It bothered her not at all. She'd heard worse.

"Is she in there?!" he yelled as he passed from the outer door to the inner in two strides.

"Yes, but she-"

"Is she alone?!"

"She DOESN'T WISH TO BE DISTURBED-" The secretary made a move to intercept him, but Danny swept around her like a running back with the ball and threw open Jordan's door.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN BY-"

He stopped dead. Jordan was sitting on the floor, her shoes off, one leg stuck out from under her skirt. Tears rolled down her face.
"What do you mean by barging in here? GET OUT!" she yelled, throwing her arms around her chest. "OUT!"

Like Jordan's secretary, Danny had heard worse on a daily basis, and it didn't phase him either.

"Jordan, are you ok? What happened? Are you hurt?" He knelt beside her and took her shoulders, but she shook him off.

"I'm fine. Now get out of here." Her voice cracked, and her mouth thinned into a tight line.

"No, you're not fine. Now get up-" he grabbed her shoulders again and hauled her to her feet- "and tell me what happened."

He set her on the couch, sat down beside her, and pulled a white hankerchief from his jacket pocket. He put his head down a bit to peer into her face, and offered it to her.

Jordan put her hand out slowly. She took the proffered handkerchief, looked at Danny, and burst into tears. Danny put his arm around her and, with his free hand, guided her head to his shoulder. Suddenly she just gave up, buried her head in his jacket, and sobbed, clutching the handkerchief in her fist.

"It's ok. Shhhh..." Danny murmured. "I've never seen you cry before. But I bet nobody else has, either. It's ok..."

"Y-y-you can't tell anyone..." Jordan sobbed.

"Of course not. Shhhh..." Danny's fingers stroked her hair. "You know," he whispered, "you remind me of my mother. She was the toughest, smartest...prettiest woman I ever knew." He smiled at the thought. "But sometimes she'd just cry. That's how I acquired the habit of carrying around a handkerchief."

Jordan's sobs quieted a bit. She clutched the handkerchief and listened to his soothing whispers.

"She called it 'watering the tree.' Said if she didn't just cry from time to time, she'd, I don't know, kinda dry up."

"Did your mom work?" Jordan asked. She was still crying, but the sobbing had stopped.

"She was a high-school English teacher." Danny's voice never rose. It stayed soft, soothing, a voice for secrets. "She used to take me to plays. She made me read Shakespeare. I didn't want to--I mean, Shakespeare's hard! and I already got some in school, but she made me read Taming of the Shrew, and Lear, and Midsummer's. and once I got it, I started dreaming about how I'd do the plays."

"As an actor?"

"Noooo, as a director. That's how I knew I wanted to direct."

Jordan's tears had dried up; now she was hicupping. "So it was your mom who showed you what you should -hic- be. That's -hic- nice."

Danny smiled. "yeah. Like I said. So-" he looked down, into her eyes- "better? Now will you tell me what the hell happened?"

Jordan sat up, and dabbed at her eyes and nose. "Yeah, better. Thanks." She got up, put on her shoes, walked over to her desk, and sat down. She produced a purse from a drawer and pulled out a compact. She opened it and peered in. "Oh my god. I'm a mess." She used the handkerchief to wipe away the mascara from her cheeks.

"The reason I was, well, I mean-" she struggled for a moment. "I never told my dad."

Danny tried to parse this and failed. "Never told him about what?"

"About the DUI." Jordan was restoring her makeup now, purposefully not looking at Danny. "I never told him. Now he'll hear about it on tv."

"Well, that happened a long time ago, right? And it's not that big a deal, I'm sure if you just talk about it-"

Jordan looked at Danny then. Her blue eyes were large and sad. Danny felt something stir in his chest that he didn't understand.

"No. He won't talk about it. He'll never mention it if I don't. But it will be there, just...hanging. I'm not supposed to make mistakes, you see." She smiled a little, but it was a sad smile. "Anyway, I guess I am like your mother. Sometimes I just shut myself up in here and cry. I'll call my dad this weekend to see how much trouble-" her voice cracked, and she swallowed- "I'm in. It'll be ok."

Danny understood now. His respect for Jordan was growing, along with some astonishment. "So you're just going to call him and...take whatever it is he dishes out? Just walk into the lion's den?"

Jordan smiled at that. "Lions don't scare me," she said.

"What does?" he asked gently.

"Well," she said, looking away, "sometimes sitting in my office and crying all by myself scares me." Her voice dropped so low he leaned forward to hear her.

Danny thought about this for a second. Then he said, "Give me your Blackberry."

"What for?"

"Just give it."

Jordan got her Blackberry out of her pocket and gave it to him. He punched in some numbers and gave it back to her.

"There," he said, "now the next time you find yourself alone, you call me. People tell me I have a pretty good shoulder." He patted his shoulder and amiled. Jordan smiled back

"Ok," she said softly, and put the Blackberry back in her pocket. "So," she said, changing the subject, "How's your mom doing?"

Danny looked down. "She passed," he said, "about eleven years ago. The cancer, it turned out, was tougher than she was." He looked back up and smiled. "But I still have Shakespeare, right?"

Jordan nodded and said nothing.

He stood up and headed to the door. "Now, you're really ok, right? I don't need to check in again in ten minutes?"

Jordan laughed a little. "All better now. I'll be fine."

Danny nodded and started to walk out.

"Wait! Danny, what were you going to yell about when you came in?"

"Oh, I was..." Danny stopped. Then he laughed. "I can't remember. When I figure it out, I'll call, ok?"

"Deal."

The next day, Jordan walked into her office to find a tiny, perfect .....tree. The branches were woven together at the bottom and spread out at the top; it was beautiful. Hanging from the tree from a broad red ribbon was a little watering can of aluminum and brass.

There was no note.

On Its Way to Becoming a J/D Epic, Part V

Thu, 10 Aug 2006 15:59:20 GMT

Donna heard his whisper, and it worried her. She put her lips to his ear and said, very quietly, "Josh?"

Josh...

She was calling his name. They were in the White House, outside his old office, she was standing in the hallway, her face was cut in a dozen places, her blouse was torn and bloody, bits of broken glass in her hair sparkled under the flourescent lights.

Josh...

He couldn't reach her. He couldn't help her. It was too late. It was his fault. Donna...

Josh opened his eyes. He was in an airplane. Phew. God, he hated that dream. He'd had it before. He felt fingers on his face and turned to see Donna looking at him, concerned. Her face was clear, no trace of the accident remained unless you knew what to look for. There it was, on her right cheekbone, a tiny scar.

"Josh, you were asleep. You were dreaming. It's ok."

Josh tried to smile. "Yeah, it was just a dream." He took the hand on his face, wrapped it in his, and put his head on her shoulder. "You said I hadn't noticed your--what did you call it?--'minor car accident.' Sometimes I dream about it. I dream about you all...hurt...and it was my fault. I try not to think about it, but sometimes it...haunts me."

Donna was stunned. She always just assumed that he didn't really care all that much. Especially after Germany, she thought he cared then, it seemed like he did, but then he left and never spoke of it, never asked, she thought she had just read emotions into him that were never there. She closed her fingers around Josh's and sighed.

"I'm ok now. You don't have to have that dream any more. If it makes you feel any better, I used to have the same dream about you."

Josh looked up at her. Her eyes were full of pain and love. He touched the scar on her cheekbone. "God, Donna, we're just a mess, aren't we?"

She smiled and gave him a little kiss. "A big mess. It might take years of therapy. But this is a start, right?"

He kissed her back. "It's a start."

Quickly Becoming a J/D novel, part IV

Thu, 10 Aug 2006 02:11:52 GMT

"What? Oh...nothing."

Josh sat back and took a long drink of his beer. Donna peered at him; he looked flushed and nervous.

"Are you ok? You look kinda red." She put her hand up to his forehead. No fever, but a little clammy.

"I'm FINE. Just looking forward to having a beer. You know, vacation?" Josh didn't look at her. She was being nice again, and now he was afraid of the hidden claws. He took another drink, sighed, and burped.

"Excuse me."

Donna shook her head and said, "And if you'll excuse me, I'll be back." She got up and walked toward the back of the plane.

Josh kept his eyes closed. This trip was not getting off to a stellar beginning. He sat quietly, drinking his beer, and tried to think how he could make this right. A vision came to him of the California primary. They had been so incredibly lucky, Hoynes getting all that bad press right before the election. Reading the news accounts, Josh had noticed Donna's name all over them. Of course he knew where she was; whenever somebody gave him an update on where Russell was campaigning, he always thought of her there too. Donna had been the one to ferret out why Hoynes hadn't left New York. Damn, she was so smart. So fearless. She was right; Will had given her the chance and she ran with it.

Would he have given her that chance? Probably not. That's why she left in the first place. But now, she had so much confidence, so many opportunites. Hell, Mrs. Santos talked about her constantly.

How was he going to be able to keep her?

He finished his beer, put the bottle in the seat pocket, and leaned back. He dozed and thought of Donna. Her hair, her eyes, her smile, her skin, her perfume, the way her hands felt on him. He'd never known such a woman. He slipped deeper into sleep, she was naked, she was on him, whispering, moaning, her head thrown back. Her fingernails traced patterns on his back. God, Donna...

Donna walked down the aisle and looked down to see Josh, leaning at an odd angle, a bit of drool coming out of his mouth, sound asleep. He looked so sweet like that. He seldom let people see him vulnerable. He whispered, and she slid into the seat and leaned closer to hear.

"God, Donna..."

Well, It Used to Be A J/D Drabble: Part III

Fri, 28 Jul 2006 21:26:03 GMT

"Can I get you something to drink?"

Donna looked up at the flight attendant, smiled, and shook her head.

"And you, sir?"

"Do you have any Sam?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'll take one."

"That'll be four dollars, sir."

Oh, no. Did he even have any money? He scooted forward and contorted himself backward to try and reach his wallet. It wasn't in his back pocket. It was in his suit pocket. Which was in the overhead bin. Donna looked at him, rolled her eyes, and dove under the seat. She immediately came up with her wallet, fished out four singles, and handed them to the flight attendant.

"Oh. Thanks. I guess I owe you a beer now." He tried to grin, but his heart wasn't in it.

"Not a problem." Donna turned back to her magazine.

Feeling even more foolish than he had been, Josh sat back and closed his eyes. She'd been hurt. And angry.

Don't you dare start in on me...

Well, how the hell was he supposed to know? He'd been trying to hold the White House together, the President was flat on his back in China, an asteroid was going to hit the Astrodome (or was it as big as the Astrodome, and they didn't know where it was going to hit? Whatever...), Leo wasn't there, CJ wasn't there...and he was supposed to be all concerned about her precious feelings? Well, fuck that. Fuck her and the palamino pony she rode in on. He wasn't her mother.

"Those things only happened the week she quit. She was there for six months before that."

Josh's eyebrows shot up. Where did that come from? He was sure it was inside his own head, but it didn't sound like him. In fact, it sounded suspiciously like Sam. He had to remember to kill him when he got back; this was a bad idea.

"She came back in a wheelchair. After the wheelchair, she hobbled around on crutches. For months. A couple of times you got annoyed with her because she couldn't keep up with you."

Oh, God. He really had been pissed. He winced at the thought.

"Every time she said, 'We need to talk,' you found yourself more work to do. There's always work to do."

Josh didn't want to listen to this. He wished with all his heart that he could find this voice and murder it. With his bare hands.

"She'd asked about a thousand times if she could do more important work than your filing and typing."

But he needed her. Ok, that sounded pretty whiny. And selfish. Crap.

Donna looked up from her magazine and stared in front of her. "You know," she said, "it really wasn't about you. I really did need to try something new. And I got lucky; Will gave me a chance, and I think I did pretty well."

Josh jumped at the sound of her voice; he figured she wasn't going to talk to him for the rest of her life.

"Yeah," he said, "You did pretty well. And I... maybe I could have been a little more supportive. I was worried sick about you, you know that, right?"

Donna looked at him, surprised. "No, I didn't. But that's nice to know." She smiled a little bit. "I was worried about you too."

They looked at each other, and Josh thought wildly that maybe Donna would talk to him again, and maybe he might get some tonight after all...

"Here's your Sam, sir."

Josh's head jerked up. "Sam?"

There was the flight attendant standing over them with a cold bottle in her hands.

"Oh. Uh, thanks."

Donna watched the flight attendant inch her way up the aisle, and then turned back to Josh. "What did you think she meant?"

A J/D Drabble, post-Transition, part II

Thu, 27 Jul 2006 21:57:31 GMT

Donna, having finished her sandwich, was reading SkyMall magazine with great concentration. She didn't look up at his question.

"What, in the terminal? I had to go to the bathroom, and I hate the little ones on planes. Though, with this bottle of water..."

"No, not in the terminal." Josh couldn't believe he was even bringing it up, as this conversation had a good chance of ruining any hope of a restful vacation. Well, in for a penny.... He took a deep breath.

"I mean before. Last Christmas. You remember, an honor and a privilege and the next day there was a temp at your desk?"

Donna stopped reading her magazine and looked up at him. Her face was unreadable, even wary. Josh swallowed. There had to be marshalls on the flight, she wouldn't be allowed to kill him without somebody stepping in...

"Well, for one thing, I didn't leave you. I left a job. 'Leaving you' implies an 'us,' and there was never an us." She sighed and looked away, collecting her thoughts. "I was hurt and angry and I didn't want to be a secretary for the rest of my life. So I left."

"You were hurt and angry? At what? What did I do? Are you saying this was my fault?"

"Josh, keep your voice down, and don't you dare start in on me." Donna's eyes narrowed, and her voice became a hiss. "Yeah, I was hurt and angry. I had been in a minor car accident, remember? Probably not. You never once asked me how my physical therapy was going, never inquired after my mental state, or whether I was seeing a counselor--I was, by the way--or offered to help me in any way."

Josh's heart began to beat uncomfortably fast. He hadn't forgotten about her accident--how could he?--but he just assumed...

"I just thought...if you needed anything, you'd ask. You know...something like, 'hey, Josh, how about some help?' But you never said a word. I'm supposed to read your mind?"

Donna shook her head. "No, of course not. Well, it doesn't really matter any more, does it? We've both had PTSD, and we dealt with it in different ways. You put your hand through a window. I quit my job." She shrugged her shoulders and turned back to her magazine, but Josh could see her hand shaking as she turned the page.

To be continued...

A J/D Drabble, post-Transition

Wed, 26 Jul 2006 00:10:33 GMT

Josh settled into the chair. Donna settled her belongings under the seat in front of her, put on her seat belt, and then leaned her head back against the seat. The plane began to move, slowly, then a bit faster, then it seemed to find its reason for being and took off. Josh looked over at Donna, who had her head back and her eyes closed, willing herself to be weightless. He smiled at her; he couldn't help it. She was so beautiful, and she always did that.

"Are you hungry?"
"Wha?" Josh came out of his, wherever it was, and found her looking at him.
She sighed, and spoke clearly. "When. Was. The. Last. Time. You. Ate?"

He opened his mouth to give her a snappy retort, then thought about it for a minute. He remembered a bit of donut he stole from Otto, but other than that, when the hell WAS the last time he ate?

"I really don't remember." He looked at her, suddenly hungry and looking utterly pitiful.

She smiled and shook her head. "I brought sandwiches. Here." She bent down and rooted under the seat in front of her. She produced a couple of sandwiches, some chips, and (diving down again) two big bottles of water.

He took the proffered sandwich and opened it. Roast beef, swiss, everything he liked. His stomach rumbled audibly.

Donna looked over and smiled. "I asked for well-done beef. I think they cleaned out the oven for this sandwich."

He took a big bite and groaned with pleasure, with hunger, with happiness that he was here, with her, with this sandwich.

Donna turned away to keep him from seeing her laugh. She took her own sandwich, and for the next couple of minutes, they ate in companionable silence. Josh stole looks at her, and he was suddenly frightened of this woman, who anticipated his needs (all of them, oh my holy god) and didn't seem to mind doing it. She had never really told him what she was thinking.

He never knew if it was the altitude, the hunger and sleep deprivation, or the look of her sitting next to him like some damn kind of plane nymph. But before he could stop himself, he blurted out,

"So. Donna. Why did you leave me before?"

Ron and Hermione--No Way This Is Going to Work

Thu, 20 Jul 2006 21:57:10 GMT

My good friend caz brought up an excellent point in the comments to yesterday's Potter musing. The point is, what on earth does Hermione see in Ron, anyway?

I'll take it a step further and reverse it: What on earth does Ron see in her?

Well, of course, neither is perfect. Ron is thoughtless, rather dense, and has some serious esteem issues, no doubt brought on by the sad fact that he is fifth in a family of six boys, all of whom have proven exceptional in some way or another (Percy, too, let's give him credit where it's due!!).

Hermione is prissy, bossy, and obnoxious, and treats Ron pretty badly sometimes.

On the other hand, Ron is loyal, determined, and grateful to Hermione for pulling his academic bacon out of the flames so many times. Hermione likes doing this, despite her protests to the contrary. She defends him and takes care of him.

So maybe the mutual attraction is that she likes having Ron to take care of, and Ron likes being taken care of. Priest and goddess, if you will. Also, they're just kids, and have no clue about the kind of work that it takes to make a relationship a long-term thing, so we'll cut them some slack for that.

JKR has made it pretty clear that Hermione IS JKR, in a younger and more fictional form, so it begs the question, is Ron the kind of guy she likes, or the kind of guy she liked back then?

Another Harry Potter Musing

Wed, 19 Jul 2006 16:52:44 GMT

I've been on a bit of a Harry Potter kick the past week or so, thinking about the last book and looking up the release date of the next movie (I highly recommend the website leaky-cauldron.org, which has up a counter for the movie release. Lots of good stuff).

If you haven't read the sixth book, please stop reading now. I thank you.

Anyway, I was thinking about the end of the sixth book, and how at the funeral Hermione was sobbing on Ron's shoulder, and how he stroked her hair while tears ran down his own face.

Being a devotee of fanfic, I imagined that very soon after that, he'd have to get around to kissing her, right? I mean, come on, they're 17 and have been behaving like an old married couple ever since they met.

It amused me to ponder Ron's reaction to his own feelings. He of course has the emotional sensitivity of a teaspoon; love will be quite the shocker for him. In fact, I'd be willing to put down a couple of Galleons that he accuses Hermione of putting a spell on him. That's it, he'll say, you gave me some kind of love potion, it's not my fault, etc.

At which point Harry will have to sit him down, as friends must from time to time, and tell him that he's an idiot, it's just love and nothing to worry about.

Voldemort will look like a walk in the park next to that realization. Hee.

My daughter broke up with her LOSER boyfriend!

Sat, 15 Jul 2006 03:59:32 GMT

Yes, she called me just minutes ago to tell me she broke up with him. It seemed like something she had to do, she said.

Oh, frabjous day!
Calloo, callay!
We chortled in our joy.

It's not that I HATED the guy, it's just that he was holding her down. A real man, a man who loves her, will release her, will watch her soar to the heights she can achieve. And when she's weary, he'll be there to catch her when she falls, dry her tears, and take her home.

A man who loves can do this. A woman who loves can fall without fear.

This is my wish for her.

Happy Birthday, Sweetheart!

Tue, 11 Jul 2006 15:56:30 GMT

Today is my daughter's (not Liz, the other one) birthday. Seventeen years ago this very minute I was in the middle of my 15-hour labor session.

Giving birth was the most incredible experience of my life, indescribable, instinctive, transformative. And at the end I got a prize, an 8 lb 14 oz baby girl, who has become my jewel, my pearl of great price.

Many days I feel like I've done nothing worthwhile in my life. You know how it is; you get up, brush your teeth, go to work, eat, pay the bills, do it again.

But when I look at her, I feel like I've done something to make the world a better place.

Happy birthday, sweetie. Your mama loves you very much.

I'm Not Crazy After All (about this, anyway)!

Thu, 06 Jul 2006 15:39:42 GMT

For some time now, I've occasionally noticed an odor that I know isn't there. They're never good odors, either; I mean, smelling roses occasionally would be a good thing, right? No, the smells of which I catch a whiff are usually the ones that make my nose wrinkle.

For fun yesterday, I googled "phantom smells." I was surprised to see a large number of hits, and the first one is for a website called Dr. Hoffman

www.doctorhoffman.com

He said that this phenomenon is real, and his first admonition is that it is a common symptom of a brain tumor. All I could think of was the Ahnuld in Kindergarten Cop:

"Could be a tumor."
"It's NAHT a toomur."

This is what Dr. Hoffman said:

"In general, a variety of things can go wrong with one’s sense of smell. Another name for what you describe is "phantosmia" (phantom smells). Some folks suffer from "parosmia," which is a distortion of the sense of smell. In other words, there really is an odor present, but the patient does not perceive it correctly. A fresh bowl of strawberries may smell like garbage. In one particular form of parosmia, cacosmia, the patient frequently smells fecal matter when this odor is not actually present."

He went on to note that these can be caused by a trauma of the nasal passages, through accident or surgery, and discussed how the sense of smell actually works (which I never really thought about before).

This information was an epiphany to me. I had surgery on my sinuses about a year and a half ago. The results of the surgery were terrific, but it was AFTER THAT SURGERY that I started smelling stuff. So the surgery had one negative outcome.

Well, it could have been worse. At least I'm not crazy.

Things to Do, or Life Is An Exercise in Futility

Wed, 05 Jul 2006 20:34:34 GMT

Take responsibility.
Work hard.
Spend time with family.
Cultivate friends.
Network.
Exercise.
Support a political candidate.
Volunteer.
Give to charity.
Save for retirement.
Pursue hobbies.
Get eight hours of sleep.
Have the oil changed.
Pay bills.
Start working on that Christmas list.
Floss.
Lose twenty pounds.
Answer the phone.
Delete the spam.
Feed the cat.
Save ten percent on your auto insurance.
Get up tomorrow and do it again.

My Daughter Is Dating a Loser

Mon, 03 Jul 2006 15:55:05 GMT

My beloved daughter (not Liz, the other one) is almost 17. She's bright, ambitious, funny, and has legs that go all the way to the floor. She's going into her senior year of high school in the fall. She's got two jobs, one paid and one volunteer. She has a lot to offer, and I couldn't be prouder.

Then she started dating a loser.

I'm not kidding. This guy is 18, a high-school dropout who lives with his parents and can't keep a job. He plays the victim of the world, and she buys right into it. "Oh, mom, his parents don't understand him!" she wails. "He's trying to get a job, and they've threatened to kick him out of the house if he doesn't get one!"

So every night he cries on her shoulder about being kicked out on the streets. Every night she cries with him, and has scheduled her whole life around this guy. He needs her, see.

Oh, brother.

Now, don't get me wrong. I don't think he's an evil kid. He doesn't mistreat her, he doesn't beat her or steal her money. I just think he's a 6'2" baby who seriously doesn't have his act together, and I fear that he's going to drag her down with him.

On the other hand, he worships her. Camille Paglia said, "every god needs a priest," and I think the daughter has found hers. It must feel good to have someone so utterly dependent on her for reassurance.

I hope that she eventually tires of him. He's a black hole of need, and she'll never, ever be able to fill him up. She'll never be able to change him. That, he has to do himself. But that's a lesson that we women tend to learn later in life. In the meantime, I'm stuck watching the never-ending soap opera that has become her life. Bleh.

An Important Literary Question

Thu, 29 Jun 2006 15:15:32 GMT

I'd like to post about today's Supreme Court ruling that George Bush is not an emperor. But once I got started, I'd never stop, so I'll go with something a bit lighter.

Yesterday it was reported that J.K. Rowling, in an interview, said that two important characters would die in the last installment of the Harry Potter series.

Of course, she didn't divulge who, nor did she seem too upset about it. She hinted broadly that if she really wanted to keep her books to herself, she'd just kill off Harry, so that no more books could be written. Obviously she's never heard of fanfic. Besides, the characters are all magical, so the possibilities abound.

Nevertheless, I seriously doubt that she'd kill off Harry. So the questions are:

(1) Which two characters will die? (my guess: Snape and Hagrid)
(2) Why did she say this, and at this time? There was no mention of when the last book will be published. The last book was published only last summer, so I expect it will be another year at least before our questions are answered. This begs the last question...
(3) Why is it important for Ms. Rowling that she continue to make me her bitch? Aren't there enough people in the world who have done that to me (see West Wing, seasons six and seven).

A Lord of the Rings Post

Wed, 28 Jun 2006 15:46:37 GMT

What occurred, or didn't occur, in the movies, that you found odd or disconcerting when compared to the books?

Conversely, what happened in the movies that you liked better than in the books?

For me, the biggest missing piece was Tom Bombadil. I realize that he had no real import to the plot, and there was ample reason to dismiss him, but still I missed him so.

The thing that bothered me the most was the legion of elves that showed up at Helm's Deep. I actually stood up and yelled at the screen when that happened, much to the dismay of my long-suffering husband, who pulled me back down and shushed me severely.

What I liked best about the movies were the visuals: Rivendell (my fantasy retirement home), Cirith Ungol, Lorien.

Today's headlines, with addenda

Tue, 27 Jun 2006 16:34:39 GMT

Ok, here's an exercise in snark, using actual headlines pulled off the msnbc.com web page:

D.C. braces for more rain
(Congress passes law to fund ark)

Scoop: Lohan denies one-night stand with rocker
(she's not positive, but she's pretty sure it was a whole weekend)

Congress upset as Bush ignores laws he signs
(Lawmakers announce that he won't be invited to their birthday party and they're not BFF's any more)

Mon, 26 Jun 2006 19:49:32 GMT

This weekend I saw The Da Vinci Code (finally) and it was better than I thought it would be. I was totally against the casting of Tom Hanks in the lead, even though I adore Tom Hanks. I just thought he was too old for the role.

But as always, the man is mesmerizing on screen. I don't know what it is that attracts me, but I can't take my eyes off him.

I read the book some time ago, and thought it was an entertaining read but nothing earth-shattering; but ever since my experiences with the West Wing chat groups I've developed a very, very bad habit of writing fanfic in my head. So all weekend now I've been writing "what happened after" fanfic for this movie.

The hero and heroine are wildly romantic, so it's just too easy.

I got an email from the President

Fri, 23 Jun 2006 16:11:04 GMT

Opened up my emails this morning, and what to my wondering eyes should appear, but an email from Matt Santos.

I am not making this up.

It was spam, of course, and Matt apparently wanted to sell me fine replica watches. Honestly, if the President wants to make some money on the side, he should be a little more circumspect, don't you think?

For the Tolkien fans out there

Thu, 22 Jun 2006 17:39:08 GMT

Who knew that I'd begin a LOTR discussion?

I first read the books in 1977, I think, and have read them about once a year since then. I've even taken a class on fantasy in literature that included a few weeks on the series, and have lectured on it a time or two for my sister-in-law's English class.

The poster was a Christmas gift from the previously-mentioned boss (I TOLD you he loves me!). Yes, Orlando signed it, as did Peter Jackson, Cate Blanchett--now I own Ray-- Billy Boyd, Liv Tyler, Richard Taylor, Viggo, Elijah Wood; about thirty sigs altogether.

The poster itself is pretty manly, what with Aragorn riding his horse to the final battle and all, so I had it matted and framed in browns and bronze colors.

And in my honor, the last server to be hooked onto our system here was named Aragorn. Now when I log in, if I want to get to my own correspondence, I click on a link called, "*Rent* on Aragorn."

Yes, yes, they spoil me.

An Ode to My Office

Thu, 22 Jun 2006 15:00:35 GMT

I love my office. I really do. I've worked at the same company for almost 13 years, and we've been in the same location for ten, so I'm pretty comfortable here.

My company is not exactly what you'd call a small business. It's more of a micro-busniess. In the animal kingdom, we'd be krell. My boss has been a good friend to me for nigh on 20 years now and lets me know every day that he can't live without me. He told me that I had to give 30 years' notice if I wanted to quit, so naturally I gave notice some years ago. Only 23 more years, and I'm outta here.

I've moved around the building several times, depending on the ebb and flow of employees; I never really minded because I don't need much room, and I seldom felt put upon by anyone (everyone knows I'm the boss's golden girl and not to mess with me). But two years ago we downsized pretty dramatically and gave up half our office space.

I was willing to take a corner somewhere, no big deal, but the boss insisted that I take the corner office, which is as big as his, and in a prime location. He bought me leather chairs and a nice desk. I have all my favorite art on the walls (a couple of Georgia O'Keeffes, some R.C. Gormans, a lovely pair of blue and gold abstracts). The best piece is a huge poster of Viggo Mortenson as Aragorn, riding along with his new armor and his sword in his hand. It's signed by most of the cast and some of the crew, and I had it matted and framed. It's totally awesome.

To my left is an old kitchen table filled with plants. I can't have plants at home since the stupid cats like to eat them, so I keep them here. Employees over the years have left their plants and I adopt them. I have a regular conservatory next to my window.

My office is quiet and peaceful. My clients, though cranky from time to time, are all educated, well-travelled, and courteous, so very little yelling and foot-stomping goes on (unlike my home, don't get me started).

So I'm happy here.

Another Quote I Like

Wed, 21 Jun 2006 20:25:31 GMT

"...and if the world not merely accused but burned them alive in the tongues of indignant opinion, that was the price they must pay. It was fundamental and instinctive, it was womanly, to want to heal--to apply the poultice of acquiescent flesh to the wound of a man's desire, to give his closeted spirit the exaltation of seeing a witch slip out of her clothes and go skyclad in a room of tawdry motel furniture."

John Updike
The Witches of Eastwick