Goat Thing of the Day: Haiti

Sometimes I just drown in the goat stuff you guys send me. So while I did save this first photo, I can't for the life of me find its source link, although I do know that it was in some Florida newspaper, it was about goats going to help Haiti and that the photo was taken by one David Tucker. Oh, and that it was sent to me by my friend Dane.

Hello there!

Goats sure like to ham, don't they? Or is it pigs?

Anyway, if we're on the subject of Haiti (and I believe we are), Owen from Magic Lantern went to Haiti in 1997 and showed me his goat photos like this piece of Haitian folk art made of iron:

I know what you're going to ask and I'm going to go with uh, a butterfly?

Owen also has a photo that's somewhat Halloween appropro (unless Haiti doesn't celebrate it), but who knew goats could be grave robbers, or grave grazers, or whatever it is they're doing playing around in a cemetery?

Of Grandmas and Chocolate

I was born with a plastic spoon in my mouth. So my palate wasn't exactly...evolved. When I was a kid I hated German chocolate cake. Actually, I didn't like chocolate at all, but add that funky coconut or whatever it was that made a cake German chocolate and.....BLEH! My favorite cake was yellow cake with vanilla frosting.

The same thing with ice cream. My favorite flavor was vanilla. Plain old vanilla. Or maybe sometimes strawberry. But never chocolate! And leave the nuts off the sundaes, please.

Also? I didn't like the taste of coffee as a kid. So forget coffee candy or the ick of icks: rum butterscotch. To me, that nastiness was adult candy, not meant for kids.

These preferences of mine were no secret. But you know what my grandmother served after dinner at her house on my birthday, EVERY. SINGLE. YEAR? German chocolate cake with coffee almond ice cream. What the hell, Grandma?

Here it was MY birthday, and I had to sit in front of a plate of this disgusting crap and force it down. As a child, I could never understand it, but it was just one more thing that contributed to the reason why this woman was not my favorite grandmother, if I were to choose one. And I did.

I never ever ate German chocolate cake any other time, why would I want it on my BIRTHDAY--the one day of the year it was supposed to be all about ME?

Of course, in retrospect, I suppose she may have served this brown coco nutty crap because it was also my Grandfather's birthday and my father's birthday and it was meant to be more of a group celebration, but to me it wasn't fair. I was the kid and really, aren't holidays for the children? I mean, would it have killed her to have a second option on the ice cream at least? I usually scraped off the cake frosting and accompanying that with a decent vintage vanilla would have made a world of difference. Birthdays were supposed to be special, and serving me food I hated didn't make me feel that way.

And don't get me started on what I got as a gift from dear old Grandma, either. I'm liable to split a seam.

I never felt very close to that woman. I carried her middle name, Isabel, but it didn't make me favor her more. In fact, my middle name embarrassed me as a kid because it wasn't "Ann" like EVERY OTHER GIRL I KNEW. Isabel sounded like an old ladies' name. It's not something I shared in public willingly.

Even though I never tested any boundaries with "Izzy", as Grandpa called her, I always felt like she occupied her time not approving of me. She was serious and authoritative. She never "played" with me. Children were to be seen and not heard. She was full of rules and standards. You dressed up (as in, you actually wore a dress) when you went to the grocery store. You took off your shoes in the service porch before coming into the house. Her couch was usually covered in creaky plastic. The house was constantly and immaculately clean. My mother obviously rebelled the second she moved out, got married and had us kids, so Grandma's rules seemed Draconian to me.

She spent the last few years of her life in a nursing home, suffering from dementia that would result in her refusing physical therapy for a broken hip. I was her conservator, so once when she hysterically demanded the phone from the staff, they called me and let her cry into the phone, demanding to "come home". I told her I would come right over and I did.

I arrived hoping she had calmed down and forgotten everything by the time I got there, but she was still panicky and wanted to "go home". Instead of telling her she was already home, or that she had to stay where she was, I asked her why. She said "the Germans" were coming to get her and they would kill her with a knife in court or something like that. A few minutes later, I picked up the paperback she was reading and realized she was reliving the last scene she had read in the book. Word for word. Weird that her memory was so good, yet served her so disastrously.


On a different visit, I asked her how she had met my grandfather. She told me this crazy story about how Grandpa was this leather jacket-wearing motorcycle-riding rebel. And how her family didn't approve of him. And how they ran up to Reno and got married while she was still in high school. It sounded romantic, but definitely not something Grandma would do, and I wondered what book she had taken that story from.

When she died, I gave her eulogy at the funeral. I had reflected on memories and gone through her belongings to construct an appropriate funeral for a woman I had never gotten to know. As I outlined the eulogy, I began to realize how much we had in common. Either her "rules" had an influence on me, or I was genetically destined to be like her in other ways not so obvious, regardless of my resistance.

However, my impression of her as a rule-following, properly-behaved woman melted away when I found a newspaper article in her scrapbook that announced the elopement to Reno of her and my grandfather while she was still attending Sacramento High School. In 1937. I thought that was fantastic and wished I could have hung out more with THAT woman.

It was such a revelation for me and I was disappointed that I missed out on that part of Grandma. I wish I had spent more time with her, particularly before the dementia. Instead I got to know her a little better by rummaging through all her stuff as I settled her estate. Now I'm proud of and even impressed by her. She didn't spend her time with me disapproving of everything I did, she was busy teaching me life lessons. And now I like my middle name and I love that it came from my Grandma Isabel. 

But I still don't like German chocolate cake.


* * *


(This post was inspired by, of all things, a recipe. For German chocolate cake. Over at Jan's Sushi Bar)

Goat Thing of the Day: Leavenworth

Mt Forest Pictures shows a picture from their trip to Leavenworth, Washington.

(via CashJockey and The Old Salt)

Ever been to Leavenworth? As in Leavenworth, Washington? Not as in Leavenworth the prison (although if you've been there, I'd like to hear about that, too). Anyway, this Leavenworth is one of those Dutch Villages. You know, like how Solvang is a Dutch Village.

Lacy, NGIP Mascot, Makes her Las Vegas Debut

Hello! And welcome to the scrollfest that is the rundown on my (er, Lacy's) trip to Vegas for SITScation, a blogger's conference last weekend. While the rest of the world was at Blog World Expo, seventy-five or so of us descended on a smaller, more intimate, less overwhelming blogging conference.

If there's one piece of advice I can give you about going to such an event, it's that you should bring a mascot. People love mascots, and pink-pantied Lacy was no exception. At the risk of allowing her to become more famous than I, I brought her to The Venetian in Vegas with me, and she rocked it.

Here she is delivering her keynote speech at SITScation in the Venetian conference center:

Lacy was accosted by fans all day long and it felt like being bombarded by the paparazzi (because I totally know what that feels like, me and Paris Hilton, yo.)

Anyway, people screamed and cried and begged to have their picture taken with Lacy, such as:

Bobbi (Bobbi in LaLaLand) and Connie (The Young and Relentless).

Bobbi and Connie are sisters, in case you didn't know. You may notice that Connie is wearing her pink and zebra print to go with the SITS theme of pink and leopard print, which is so funny because I was THIS close to wearing my pink and goat print outfit.

Also tripping over themselves to get a picture with Lacy were:

Kerri (Damn You Little Rock) and Amy (The Bee Dot)...two fabulous ladies from Arkansas. Is that tug-of-war they're playing?

Also? The infamous Jessica Gottleib. Lacy practically broke her neck, craning to give her a kiss.

And no star-studded photo album would be complete without a picture of SITScation's fearless leaders:

Tiffany (R Family Diaries) and Heather (Mindless Junque), the co-founders of SITS. I cannot recommend enough that you find a way to get to know these friendly, generous women, if you ever have the opportunity.

A big party transpired that night, complete with red carpet and step-and-repeat backdrop photographs. You probably already saw them in People magazine or something, since I'm a week late getting this report out.

Here's Tonya (This and That) posing for the photog on the red carpet.

And then it was Lacy's turn. Sadly, nobody asked her who she was wearing.

You may or may not recognize the arm assistance of Lara (Chicken Nuggets of Wisdom).

Two people we actually got to spend some time with during this whirlwhind of an event were two bloggers from Los Angeles. This is my favorite part of any conference: The connecting to people IRL (in real life).

Dale (Stroke of Living), Lacy and me

Kim (House of Prince) and Lacy

Then there was the after-party with many celebrities in their hotel rooms. This is the closest I could get to showing you the after-party, as the bodyguards slash bouncers just inside this door confiscated our cameras upon entry to ensure no leaks to TMZ.com.

We also had to sign a confidentiality agreement that said we would not divulge the party attendees. So I can't tell you who all I saw. What I can tell you, however, is that Kim Kardashian and Justin Timberlake were at the Venetian that weekend, but I cannot confirm or deny that they were in Suite 12-101. Because that would be wrong.

Lacy stayed only as long as was fashionable before she expressed a desire to hit the slots.

 

After a few speakers the next morning, Lacy lunched with fellow bloggers.

During dessert, she Twittered about the weekend's events. And since she has about 48 badrillion followers, pretty much everyone knew what we were doing.

After the final Blog and Nosh session, Lacy dragged me all over the Venetian for some more photo ops she'd promised some of her fans, most of whom I did not know. Like this blue guy.

 

On our way to another photo-op, we walked past this Venetian statue that lost its composure and screamed "OMG! Lacy! LACY! Can I get a picture with you? OMG, David will be soooo jealous!" Lacy rolled her eyes, but agreed. I mean, she does have her public to consider. And after all, she wouldn't be where she is without her fans, blue or white as they may be.

 

But it was Lacy who groveled at this next guy's feet when she stumbled upon him as we were on our way to some VIP goat blog event. Come on, I tried to tell her, the guy's a troll! But she couldn't help herself. It was embarrassing, really.

 

I don't know what she saw in him, when clearly Humpty Dumpty could provide so much better for her. And adore her like no other. Why are girls so attracted to the bad boys?

 

Granted, Humpty can be fragile at times, but doesn't that mean he's the real sensitive type?

I ducked into a bathroom just to catch my breath and escape all the testosterone, but when I snuck into a stall my eyes fell upon this necklace hanging from the stall door!

And speaking of penises, have I even mentioned all the swag from SITScation?

Even though it was an all-female conference, we were bedecked with male/double-entendre swag, like these little devices called "pokens"...

 

and vibrators...

 

Oops! That not a vibrator. I think.

But this is:

 

courtesy of Edens Fantasys

Lacy and I were exhausted and she insisted on returning to our room, where she sprawled on our tiny tiny hotel room couch. In the sunken living room.

And then it was back to the craps tables. Personally, I think she has a gambling problem.

This is my favorite picture from the weekend:

Venetian Statue Guy

I don't know if you've heard, whether it was on CNN, or the AP Newswire, but Nanny Goats in Panties is now available on Amazon's Kindle. Tell your Kindle-havin' friends. And you know what would really be cool? At least for me? If you went to the NGIP Kindle page and wrote a nice little review. You don't have to if you don't want to, or don't have an Amazon profile, or whatever, but I've heard it doesn't hurt to ask people for things. I think it was Renee J Ross (Cutie Booty Cakes) who said those very words when she spoke to us at SITScation.

Do I expect many Kindle subscribers? Heck no. But every little outlet helps. And now I can say I have published work available on Amazon.com - woo-hoo!

Goat Thing of the Day: Taking Billy for a Ride

So Echidne of the Snakes found this picture in her family photos and posted it recently on her blog...

picture lifted from Echidne of the Snakes (via Elmlish)

I asked her for the story but she couldn't recall if there was one. That's OK, leaving it up to the imagination might be even better.

Interview with Uma Thurman. Yes THAT Uma Thurman

When is someone going to expose the fact that Hillary Swank and Matt Damon are the same person? Have you ever seen them in the same room togther? Have they both ever starred in the same film?

Also? They BOTH have that same upside down smile. You know what I mean. Where the corners are turned down instead of up even though their teeth are showing.

Anyway, I'm not the only one who thinks this, and as usual, that's not why I brought you here.

No, I called this meeting today to discuss the right way and the wrong way to interview a celebrity. And those of you at home might want to call up your favorite celebrity now and follow along as I walk you through the proper steps.

First of all, be specific. I was on the phone with Uma Thurman the other day and I asked her if she had a funny story about the filming of Motherhood, an upcoming movie where she plays Eliza, a stay-at-home mother (SAHM) and mommyblogger. She said she didn't have a specific funny story, although she did say "I think I threw my lower back out doing those endless pounding up-and-down-the-stair shots with dogs and it had been a few years since I'd had that back pack on. And I never liked those either. They make you feel like the baby is a not-very-well-secured ball of ice cream on a somewhat broken wafer cone. It's quite nerve-wracking how spindly and top heavy you feel with that thing on."

So while she did say something, I didn't make it very easy for her and Uma had to work harder to come up with an answer. What I should have asked, obviously, is what she was wearing. Or how she was able to eat at the studio commissary with those big thumbs while shooting Even Cowgirls Get the Blues, although that would have been a little off-topic. But "off-topic" is my middle name.

So yeah, I was a dork and essentially asked, "Do you have anything funny to say, DERRRRRRRR???"

Luckily, some other bloggers were on the call and had the decency to ask intelligent, thoughtful questions.

Like Jennifer (Hip as I Wanna Be) who asked Uma how the audience would relate to her character, Eliza.

In response, Uma told us that "The character is someone who has chosen to be a stay-at-home-mother and yet she's struggling with that decision. She feels fulfilled, yet compromised by being in total babyland and not stimulating other sides of herself."

Lara (Chicken Nuggets of Wisdom) asked her if she felt motherhood had been overlooked by Hollywood. See what smart questions you can ask if you just think about it for a minute? Maybe I was blank because with no kids, I had nothing to draw on. In any event, Uma said she did believe that motherhood has been "put on the third shelf" in Hollywood.


Mary (Wired Moms) wanted to know if she was surprised by anything during the production. Uma said she was surprised how the children that she worked with were such good actors, having never played a realistic mom before.

Motherhood is one of the first films to tackle the subject of mommy-blogging. Uma's character Eliza is a writer who blogs for a creative outlet. Kacey (Chronicles of a Mommy) asked Uma if she'd researched blogs for her role, and Uma admitted that she hadn't, saying: "I feel so badly telling you that."

Motherhood opens Friday, October 23 in New York, LA, San Francisco, Boston, and Chicago. The rest of the country will have the chance to see it beginning on Friday, October 30.

For more information about Motherhood including a trailer, you can go to the Motherhood film website.

(All pics lifted from motherhoodthefilm.com)

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

Why yes, it was a little windy here the other day. Why do you ask?

On the side of our house

In front of our house

My husband walked outside during the storm and I watched one of those tree branches spear down and try to impale him, missing by maybe three feet.

Unfortunately, the other tree branch failed to miss my car.

So anyway, that's not why I called you here. I called you here to introduce you to the new NGIP mascot. Her name is Lacy (who may or may not be a cross-dressing Nanny goat trapped in a Billy goat's body).

Lacy, the Nanny Goats in Panties mascot

And I'm taking her to Vegas with me this weekend to introduce her to a bunch of bloggers at the SITScation blogger conference. And don't worry, what happens in Vegas, goes on the blog. And Twitter. And Facebook, etc.

Goat Thing of the Day: Dressing Up Your Goat

So, alert NGIP fan Alaine sent me a picture of this leopard print goat coat from someone's Etsy site.

Etsy, if you don't know, if a sort of store front for people's homemade items.

Of course, I thought this was so cool and couldn't wait to show it to you guys! However, not everyone thought it was as fabulous as I did and the next thing you know, Lisa from Condo Blues asked if I'd yet seen a picture of the same outfit featured on a parody site called Regretsy. The entry was filed under Pet Humiliation.

The question is, am I further humiliating this poor little goat? Or am I on the cutting edge of spreading the latest fad known as Goats and Coats (or GoCo) because there's no such thing as bad publicity?

Unconventional Movie Review: The Boys Are Back

My motto is: If it's free, it's for me. So when I was invited to a movie screening for The Boys are Back, starring Clive Owen, I jumped on it. Oh, excuse me: a FILM. I was going to see a FILM, because a FILM is what we movie snobs attend. We do not see MOVIES. MOVIES are so declasse.

Initially, I was looking forward to it. Then Pessimism and Neurosis showed up and did everything they could to ruin the night for me. I was worried about getting a bad seat. I was worried about jerks around me talking during the movie. I was worried about paying some ungodly sum for parking, since the only information I saw about prices was several dollars per half hour.

As I get older and my memory fades, I wonder if I was always like this, or if there is a reason why I can't just frickin' chill.

Anyway, my niece and I arrived an hour early to meet up with two other bloggers, Jane, who runs MidLifeBloggers, and Lena Loo, and a line had already begun to form for the mov--er... film, and even though I asked one of the theater employees about this line and even though I was told I would not have to wait in that line, I wondered whether or not to believe them and still figured we had to get there before they started letting people in and Oh My God, what if we walk in at the last minute? Will we even be able to sit together?

Apparently my fellow bloggers weren't the least bit concerned. They had what was called "experience" in this sort of thing and felt confident there would probably be seats set aside for us.

Yeah, right! As if! Not bloody likely! You have ME with you, and I am the Queen of Bad Karma and you will be lucky if you get to sit on the floor, wallowing in popcorn butter and sticky Milk Duds residue.

So I sat at a nearby Starbucks with my cohorts trying not to look at my watch every three minutes or utter things like, "So, do you think we should go now? Should we try to get a seat, do you think? Hey, what's say we beat the crowd?"

I'm pathetic, right? Don't ever ask me to go out with you, because I'm pathetic.

Now properly hopped-up on caffeine, I erratically dart over with my friends to the theater, where the line has disappeared, which means everyone already has a seat and we'll be lucky if we can stand in the back and somebody is checking our name on a list and another guy says, 'Right this way', and he leads us to three rows taped off for reserved guests.

Huzza! Huzza!

See? I may be a cynic, but I'm also easy to please. It falls under that set-your-expectations-low-and-you'll-always-be-pleasantly-surprised category.

So what else is there to worry about now? Well, let me tell you, because my worries knows no bounds. Jane was sitting behind some guy with a big head so we all scooted over one seat which left no extra seat for Lena Loo's not-yet-arrived guest and what if they showed up and asked us to scoot back over so she could sit down, but that would put Jane back behind the guy with the big head and if the lights were off by then we wouldn't be able to explain that to the late person without pissing people off around us because they're trying to watch the previews or the movie or whatever and I was totally stressing about that and why was I taking such responsibility for a person I did not know and do they have narcotics for this sort of thing and can I get them in pill form because I don't like needles very much.

But then it was revealed that the late person wasn't going to show up at all and I thought, WHY CAN'T I JUST FRICKIN' RELAX ALREADY??? Or should I merely lay off the lattes?

Here's what a freak I am about A-Holes in the movie theater: The best part of this whole evening happened BEFORE the movie started when some Miramax Studios guy came out and told everyone to turn off their phones and shut up during the movie and don't talk TO to the movie and don't ask their neighbor what's going on in the movie because chances are, they haven't seen the movie either, and I LOVED this guy. I could have kissed him for telling everyone to just shut the hell up for once in their lives while they watch a movie. And the most incredible part? Everyone heeded his words. Unbelievable. I got to enjoy the film because people around me weren't pissing me off. See what I mean about setting low expectations?

And enjoy the movie I did. It wasn't your typical Hollywood film in that they don't spell everything out for you. You have to bring a minimum amount of brain, not a lot, but a little, to this movie. They don't just shove fast cars and big boobs in your face for ninety minutes. It's a slightly unconventional drama with a moving story and touching humor.

"No cars and boobs? How unAmerican!" you might proclaim. Exactly. For one thing, it was filmed in Australia and the UK. And for another thing, it's about relationships and parenting and love, fierce and real love.

The Boys are Back, inspired by the same-named Simon Carr memoir, follows a sports writer (Clive Owen), who tries to grapple with single fatherhood after the loss of his wife. It's brilliantly acted, it's realistic, and it can be a bit of a tear jerker at times. The older son, Harry (George MacKay), looks like he could be Rupert Grint's (or Ron Weasley's, depending on how grounded in reality you are) younger brother. He's the one on the left below (in case it's not THAT obvious).

photo lifted from Miramax's Flickr Page

And since it's not a big car and fast-boobed American film, I'm lucky Sacramento is even showing it on one screen. (Quick--go see it at the Tower Theater before it goes away!) But enough about my views of the lacklusterness in my town; wanna see a trailer?



Click this blog link for The Boys Are Back if the above video isn't working.

It was a wonderful escape, but the black cloud of doom was waiting for me as we exited the theater to escort us to the parking garage. The walk back was long and dreary. I envisioned the parking booth guy refusing to lift the exit bar gate thingie until I coughed up 45 dollars for the use of his big cement box. I handed over my theater-validated ticket, hoping for a discount, any discount. My kingdom for a discount!

Man, I remember when you could park downtown for free on the weekends. What's this world coming to? I began rooting around in my purse for all the money it contained when the exit gate lifted and the booth guy called out, "Thank you."

I peeled out of there before he changed his mind and turned to my passengers with a "Woo hoo!" I'm almost sure they were laughing with me, rather than at me and my roller coaster of emotions that vacillated between despair and joy all night.

***

P.S. Thanks to Melissa over at Women & Hollywood for the opportunity to screen this film.




Got any scary food you want to share and potentially win a prize? I Hate My Message Board is hosting a contest where you send in photos of the scariest food you can find. Also? I'm going to be one of the contest judges. I would say I'm not above bribing, but something tells me that might be the most ethical thing to say.





Also? Vodka Mom is is having a giveaway that includes a $50 Fandango gift card and other paraphernalia from the upcoming movie The Vampire's Assistant.

Goat Thing of the Day: Sidehacking and a Street Sign

OK, but what is SHE riding? Is that a razor scooter?

By the way, I looked up "sidehacking" in the dictionary and I apologize for the double entendre. Sort of.

My thanks to Israel of Elmlish who found this on This Picture is Unrelated.


Also, Helen (Dog Nut Mom) of Luce and Blaze drives by this sign every day and snapped a picture for NGIP.

I don't know how her town manages to install signs without the posts, but I bet it saves the local government a ton on street sign maintenance costs.

Tacky Weddings

Do you ever go to a wedding and judge everything about it? Suddenly you're an event planner, criticizing everything, knowing you could have done it better. You look at the stringed popcorn hanging from the walls, or the cocktail weenies served with miniature toothpick flags that say 'Eat me!', or the pet goat acting as ring bearer and think: how tacky.

We attended a wedding in Solvang over the weekend and maybe you can tell me just what the coordinator (if they even had one) was thinking.

First we arrived near the groom parent's house where a team of valet guys swiped our cars and we were golfcarted up the hill...

On the way I noticed they had set up a tent or two in the backyard. Tents! As if, we were going to some campfire hoe-down.

And as we waited for the ceremony to begin, I was so bored, what with the 200+ people, the catered refreshments, the live band, and the view of nothing but rocks.

During the ceremony all I could think about was how these two poor people were getting married in his parent's driveway. I mean honestly! Who does that?

And whose idea was it to have indoor furniture outside? How inappropriate is that? Never mind the fact that someone had set the coffee table on fire. Barbarians!

Well, the reception was no better, what with those 30-foot long centerpieces constantly getting in the way.

Apples and pomegranates all over the table. You're probably wondering if that fruit was real. Oh yeah, they were real. And they were spectacular.

And all the interruptions during dinner! Hula dancers? Really? I'm trying eat here, people!

Also? We peasants weren't allowed to use the bathroom inside the house. No, we had to use the porta pottys.

I know! Gross, right?

And who can't be bothered to make a tiered wedding cake? I swear this country is going to hell in a hand basket.

Boy, talk about low-class. I don't know, what do you think? Am I being too harsh?








Not to brag or anything, but I got about a million awards this week, and I'd like to thank some people for bestowing them upon yours truly.

Thanks to Dawn of Peeling an Orange With a Screwdriver for this one.

Thank you Angela's Soliloquy, Shhh...don't tell the kids I'm here, and Growing Up...Townsend Style.

Thank you Badger Momma!

Goat Thing of the Day: Give Us a Kiss

For some reason I hear the voice of Pepe Le Pew...

smoochie-smoochie!

Thanks to Andy from Andy Megawan's Blog for showing me this photo seen on Break Media.

If Solvang Isn't Dutch, Then What Is It?

Last Friday I ignorantly wrote the following on my Facebook status...

...because somewhere in my online traipsing for maps of Solvang, CA, I read that it's a Dutch village.

Well, it's not. And what kind of journalist would I be if I let the mistake stand without correction? I have a dubious blogging responsibility to check my facts and report them to you, dear reader.

But here's the problem. I get so confused when it comes to distinguishing more than one country when referring to Denmark and The Netherlands and Holland. And if they speak Dutch in Holland, then what language do they speak in Denmark? And which one is in Scandinavia? And which one has windmills? And the wooden shoes?

And how could I be so confused when I'd actually BEEN to one of these countries (whichever one has Amsterdam in it)?

Solvang (circa 2009)

So after learning that Solvang is a Danish village which refers to Danish people who are from Denmark and only Denmark, a country that has Danes in it, I find that you can still be easily confused, because I thought Holland was a country known for its windmills and wooden shoes. But no, Solvang would have you believe that they are the symbol of the Danes as well:

And spotting The Belgian Cafe only complicates matters.

I mean, aren't Belgians from Belgia, or Bulgaria or somewhere?

And aren't trolleys from America? Specifically, San Francisco?

And when you see a sign for "Dogtoberfest" in a Solvang store front window, do you think "Danish Pointer"? Or "German Shepherd"?

Excuse me, but is that lederhosen?

Of course, nothing screams Danish culture like memorializing Michael Jackson's death and his virtually-foreclosed Peter Pan property, which I will grant is located within 150 miles of Solvang.

So, in summary and conclusion, I ask you: what is Danish? I'll tell you what it is. It's this bad boy from the Solvang Bakery...

 

And now if you'll excuse me, I've got some blood sugar to raise.






Some of you may recall that I wrote some content for a video game that was released in August called Coconut Queen. Gamezebo interviewed the game's creators who also mentioned me in the article which you can read on the Gamezebo website in this Behind The Scenes Interview.







From the Aww-You-Shouldn't-Have Department:
Some of you insist on upsetting the balance by one-upping me in the gift arena. I sent Paula (who writes a blog called How to be a Cat Lady Without all the Cats) a pen or two and she hurls THIS T-shirt back at me:

click to enlarge

Thank you, Paula! It is so goaty and bizarre and I love it! This shirt comes from the Bully Hill Winery in Hammondsport, New York, where even their mailing labels are crazy!

Also? I would like to thank Plain ol' Bob over at plainolebob answers for awarding me with his very own super customized Hot Dawg Blogger award. Thanks, Bob!

Goat Thing of the Day: The Sacred and the Crazy

NGIP correspondent Mike of Mike's Mixed Memories sent in this picture of the Temple of Sacred Goats in Israel:

And how do I know it's the Temple of the Sacred Goats? Because it says so on the sign:

You can read more about it on this page about the city of Banyas.

And I don't know what this guy's problem is, but I'd like to thank Debbie from A Tired Wife for showing it to me:

Marrying George Clooney With a Free Lunch

Someone once said that if you're going to San Francisco, be sure to wear some flowers in your hair. What they don't tell you is that if you do put flowers in your hair and they are two dozen long stem red roses, be sure and de-thorn them first. Well, live and learn, I guess. And hair grows back, right? Well, not if you're follicly challenged, but you know what I mean.

On one recent Sunday, a group blogger lunch was organized in San Francisco, about a two-hour podcast-filled drive from Sacramento. I was excited and nervous to meet and make new bloggy friends. Luckily, I arrived about half an hour early, because that's about how long it took to find a parking place since, you know, San Francisco.

The lunch (which was actually breakfast since I had an omelette, the restaurant being a crepe place and all) was delicious. And I connected with several smart and fabulous women who were excited about the blogosphere in northern California. A pile of books were produced and we were asked to take one and review it on our blogs if we could. I walked out with a free book (score!) and a better feeling about myself to meet new people.

I also walked out without paying for my lunch.

Yeah, I realized that about five minutes after I drove off in my car. I was mortified. So mortified that I broke the law and got on my phone while navigating the 45-degree hills to call one of the girls to profusely apologize, beg for forgiveness, and swear to make up for it when I saw them in Vegas later this month at SITScation, a blogger conference.

So let's see...for those of you keeping score at home, that's one free lunch and one free book. That puts me in the lead, doesn't it?


I'm a sucker for laugh-out-loud memoirs and that free book I got was one of them. Marrying George Clooney, which reads a bit like a blog, is written by Amy Ferris who somehow manages to make the hell that is menopause funny. She has insomnia and most of the chapters were written at 3am when the rest of the neighborhood, including her husband, are sound asleep.

And her mother has dementia, which is no laughing matter, except Ferris pulls it off anyway. While most of the people who can relate to this book would be midlife women who take care of their parents, Ferris' writing is poignant enough to pull in any member of the audience, whether young or male. She does not alienate; she sucks you in. And then makes you laugh.

I could have done without the whole preface, though. Seven pages of blah, blah, blah that I didn't need to know and was misled into thinking the book was going to be a dud, because she doesn't turn it on until Chapter 1 on page 16.

Also? She didn't need to change up the font all the time in order to emphasize what she was trying to say. Her writing was the most beautiful woman in the room who felt compelled to put on too much make-up when she could have arrived clean-faced. Her use of language is gorgeous; the important lines stand out all by themselves and don't need any help. In other words, don't put A1 Steak Sauce or ketchup on that filet mignon; it's delicious just the way it is.

But maybe that's just me and all those italic interruptions and ALL CAPS asides wouldn't bother you at all. I'm just barfing out my own opinion. Either way, I highly recommend this book for a touching and hilarious look at a midlife crisis.

AAAAAAAND.....it's available on Kindle.














THANK YOU to Lorie for throwing this at me during a recent awards ceremony on her blog, The Shewbridges of Celebration, FL.

And thank you to Phillipia who thinks this blog is fabulous!