Slow to Spot Celebrity Sighting

Several years ago George, my father-in-law, who knows just enough about popular culture to get himself in trouble, was walking Main Street in downtown Park City, Utah. He saw this tall dark-haired young man with a curly blond male companion walk by. Immediately, he realized the brunet looked very familiar.

George turned around and shouted, "Hey! I know you!" Surprisingly, the two kept on walking without even flinching. George started after the young adults insisting, "Stop! You with the dark hair - I know you from somewhere." Not at all deterred by their refusal to slow down, let alone turn around, George continued now almost in a jog, chasing after the mysterious people. His rantings continued as well with, "I think I know your dad. What's your name? Hey! I'm talking to you! Who are you?"

Finally, Joey Slotnick turned around and revealed, "His name is David Schwimmer". George's eyes looked up and to the left as he scratched his chin, trying to recall any Schwimmers he might know. Joey, by now exasperated, added, "He's famous; he's on Friends." Shaking his head, the helpful friend turned around and ran to catch up with the Ross Geller look alike.

A few months after that David Schwimmer appeared on The Late Show with David Letterman. On late night television the Friends star complained about being harassed every where he went, including a trip to Utah for the Sundance Film Festival where this older guy would not stop insisting that he knew him somehow. Hmmmm....now who could that have been?

Fame and Fortune

A special thanks to McGlinch for today's graphic. I made a request on his blog for one of his doodles and while he has no idea who I am, and has no hope for any type of compensation, he did it! So here is my custom Cinco de Mayo Bajio Dude. Isn't he awesome? That'd be he as in both McGlinch and the Bajio Cinco de Mayo Dude.

Our lives may never be the same. DH was on the news. And no, the local burger joint did not report a missing mascot.

In celebration of Cinco de Mayo, DH was laughing it up with a local mid-morning news crew. Showing off some delicious shrimp tacos and tasty green chile chicken salads, we hope all of Utah's taste buds started watering for the fresh fare of Bajio Mexican Grill.

While I should be happy for the free advertising, I can't help but be a bit jealous. After all, DH has become famous. But I am still living in obscurity.

Several years ago, I really thought I had dreamed up an invention that would guarantee us incredible fame, as well as fortune. It was a Saturday night at dinner with our friends when, after securing iron clad promises of secrecy, I first divulged my incredible vision.

I described my idea for a piece of electronics for the television. It would be a computer of sorts, that connects to your TV. Using the remote control, you could access an interactive screen with television programming. Via the guide you could easily select shows to record to the unit's built-in hard drive. Then you could access them at any time from a menu listing all your recorded programs. Pure genius. I know.

But my friends, as well as DH, did not seem overly impressed. They kind of stared at me with confused faces. "What?" I insisted, "Don't you think we'd be rich? It's the best idea ever!"

What followed next was my dinner companions providing me with a brief explanation of a product called TiVo. Honestly, while I can't live without it today, I had never heard of such a thing before that evening.

I guess it's a good thing someone made my brilliant TV recording invention, because now, just in case we don't ever receive a fortune as proof, at least we'll always have the video recording of DH's 15 minutes of fame.

I Am Not Braver Than a 4th Grader

Have you watched that new game show, "Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader"? People come on the set trying to answer 1st through 5th grade text book questions for a shot at a million dollar prize. If they do not succeed at winning the grand prize, they are forced to admit on national television, "I am not smarter a fifth grader." We've watched it a couple times and get a bit of a kick out of how dumb people can be. And just like D2 thinks I should try out for American Idol, S2 thinks I need to go on the game show. Mainly, because like most of you, I am smarter than a 5th grader.

A couple days ago, S2 had a book report due. He needed some help making a poster and since reading is one of my assigned subjects, I was it. We believe in specialization in our home. DH tutors for Geography and Social Studies homework, S1 helps anyone needing assistance with Science, and I am the contact for English, Math, and all projects requiring creativity.

As it turns out the Reading assignment was more closely related to Science than English or the creativity parameter, so I should have passed it off onto S1. But at the time I had no idea it was going to be a problem.

S2's book report was based on a informational text about vipers. Not as in the sexy fast cars, but as in the slithering asps. So we wrote facts on paper strips, found pictures on the Internet, made a poster, used some craft paper, glue and scissors and had a grand ol' time.

Everything was hunky dorey until bedtime. As soon as my eyelids snapped shut, which they do about ten seconds after my head falls on a pillow, I began dreaming about vipers. Such visions continued all through the night. There were vipers sliding their way through my lawn, along my driveway, and up the sidewalk. The worst was when the venom spouting reptilia began closing in on my porch. Those viper facts about deadly poisoned fangs and quick-to-strike breeds were doing me no favors during my sleep. I was trying to crush the creepy killer snakes with a shovel. I pounded mercilessly, but the venomous creatures seemed unfazed by my powerful blows.

After waking up the next morning, I was completely exhausted, but relieved to be in suburbia where vipers do not typically reside. I resolved right then and there, I will not be doing any more 4th grade Reading homework. I asked S2 at breakfast if he slept okay, or if he had any bad dreams. "I was just fine, Mom," was his reply.

So apparently, while I may be smarter than a 5th grader, I am not braver than a 4th grader.

Accent Agitation

We have some family visiting this week and one such visitor is Frank from Massachusetts. He is as New Englander as they get. Well, there may be some Newer, but not more Englander. I love listening to Frank's accent. Maybe today, I'll ask him to say, "Park your car in the garage," just so I can get a kick out of hearing, "Pawk yer cawh in the gawrawge."

While I may find amusement in Franks accent now, when I spent a summer working at The Lobster Pound off Highway 1, a few miles outside of Camden, Maine, such an accent sometimes caused me grief. It would not have been so bad if Barb, the lead hostess, and Bob, the kitchen manager, were not both employed at the lovely tourist attraction where I had sought summer employment in between college semesters. In any other part of the world, Barb and Bob employees cause no problems for their coworkers. But for an outsider in New England, both names are seemingly pronounced the same: "Bawb".

One day, the owner of this beach side seafood serving establishment told me to take something urgent to "Bawb". I asked, "Is that Bob or Barb?" He repeated with disgust, "I said, Bawb!" I still did not move, and carefully emphasizing the subtle, or not so subtle, differences in the vowels of their names, I again asked for clarification, "As in Barb or Bob?" Not the least bit amused and losing he patience, he shouted, "Take this to Bawb! Now!" A little frightened, I was still honestly clueless as to who I was to go to and insisted, "I could take this to Bob," as I looked toward Bob's office. "Or I could take this to Barb," I continued, looking in the direction of the dining room. As I searched his expressions for some hint of which way I should go, he simply concluded, "Why doncha just take it to Bawb like I asked ya." And then he walked away.

Ah, don't you just love New Englanders?

Liza Look-alike

While I have suspected the resemblance for some time, these photos prove my suspicion. Born seven years after our "baby," last summer we were blessed with a new baby in the family. Just like Liza, our D3 is beautiful. And the similarities don't stop there. The most obvious, of course, is that each has a beautiful and famous mom. Okay, I admit, I'm no Judy Garland, not even close. But D3 is a deadringer for Liza, and like Liza, D3 is also the center of attention wherever she goes.

We have known D3 to be a show stopper almost since the day she was born. DH did not believe me one morning last June when I said today is the day I'm having this baby. He had a restaurant only one week from opening and knew the baby could wait until after opening day. So off he drove, 40 miles away. Thank goodness for a believing neighbor with a car that drove me to the hospital later that afternoon. And if DH was irritated and annoyed at having to leave contractors unsupervised, abandon a to-do list ten pages long, and then drive through rush hour traffic to come to the hospital for the baby's birth, I didn't notice it. Not at all.

My two rules are that he be present for conception and then again for the delivery. After all, that really isn't asking much.

As I reflect on the past 11 months, I've come to realize that D3 isn't so much of a show stopper as a show starter. It has been constant fanfare since that day last June, and I am happy just to be somewhere in the credits.

On Missing Out on All the Fun Stuff Like Speed Skating and Dirty Toilets

Do you see that lovely picture right there? Everyone is so happy. Obviously having the time of their lives. That is a picture of a once-in-a-lifetime event at the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City. DH, because he is the master of all relationships, scored us and our friends incredible tickets to a sold out speed skating event. Scored us tickets, as in for free! What an incredible day!

Or at least it would have been. If we had been there. As luck would have it, I landed an intense flat-on-my-back case of the 48 hour flu a mere 24 hours before the incredulous event. That's right, not a very favorable math equation.

So look at the picture again. Uh huh, you do notice, I am not there. And poor DH, so loyally stayed home to rub my back while I barfed, so he's not a part of the memorable festivities either.

That rare winter Olympic speed skating event happened to occur on one of the sickest days of my life. But then so did my wedding.

While such illnesses do not seem like ones worth dwelling upon, on a day like today, when I feel headachy, queezy and weak, it helps me. It is good to remind myself I could be missing more than just in-laws coming into town. That would be in-laws with multiple esses, as in DH's parents, and DH's birth mother and her husband.

Yes, you counted right, that is two mother-in-laws, not just one, that might see my dirty toilets, if I don't find a way to will myself out of bed to do some housework.

And if I don't find a way to get out of bed and clean? I'm sure, just like my loving friends at the Olympics, someone will take pictures of my dirty toilets and e-mail them to me. So it will be just like I didn't miss a thing.

Terror in the News

It is not often that reading the front page of my local paper puts a pain in the pit of my stomach. But yesterday morning, that is exactly what happened.

The title of the article read, "Google Deal to Tap into Public Records." I was immediately tense, and a brief glance confirmed my worst fear. California is one of four states to work with Google to remove technical barriers hindering the search of public records. While it seems legal records are not part of the deal, I'm afraid that day is inevitable. And I am terrified, because of the skeletons lurking in DH's closet.

You see, I would not want my friends and family to easily access the story of how in a botched high school prank, DH and his accomplices stole a twelve foot Bob's Big Boy statue and attempted to place the goofy icon atop the San Clemente High School. In their foolish, confused minds of youth, they thought that since their soon-to-be-alma-mater had prime freeway frontage, this would be the most hilarious joke ever.

Perhaps if they hadn't chosen the most policed night of the year, AKA graduation night...
Perhaps if they had not yet successfully placed the sculpture in the pickup truck...
Perhaps if they could have at least made it out of the restuarant parking lot...
Perhaps if Bob's Big Boy had not been valued over $2000 (making this more than just a misdemeanor)...
Perhaps if DH had not turned the legal age of 18 two short months prior to this stunt...
Perhaps if DH had not spent a terifying night in the Orange County Jail...
Perhaps if DH's parents had hired a high-powered attorney (like his buddies' parents did)...

Perhaps then this would be a fun, laughable memory.

Instead, the opportunity for this and more of DH's follies, to be readily visible on the Internet, causes my stomach ulcers to rekindle with firey strength.