Wow. It is Charles-Ingalls-would-have-to-chip-the-ice-from-the-horse's-nose-cold today. I read Melissa Gilbert's autobiography. not that she was any relation to Charles Ingalls per se, but she did play Half-Pint on T.V. And, hey, I forgot about her whole Tiger Beat with Rob Lowe relationship. And who knew she did drugs on the prairie?

My dad (abrupt subject change) always exchanges some type of acknowledgement with people who drive the same car as he. A lift of the index finger, a small nod. I used to think he knew all these people. Then I thought perhaps that was simply what one did when you spied someone with the same automobile. And then I chalked it up to just another random dad quirk. However, every morning I pass someone who drives the sedan version of the same car I drive. We both even picked the same color. And I'm beginning to think we should start with a finger lift salute or something. Because it seems like we should.

Abrupt subject change again. Mort has discovered "Smells Like Teen Spirit." (You would think I would know whether a song title should be italicized or in quotes, but I don't and I don't really feel like looking it up. We'll just have to deal with my decision to use quotation marks. )Except he does not call it that. He calls it the "Insert 5-year- old making guitar noise riff" song. (And again, can't recall if this is an instance where 5 year old is joined by hyphens or not. Good thing I'm not getting paid to write this.) I like Dave Grohl. Not that I know him, but speaking of Nirvana. Because he seems like he has a quick wit. And who wouldn't feel warmly towards someone that makes you laugh? I wonder if the Foo Fighters ever play Nirvana songs? Probably not.

I know this is not a popular view, but I didn't like Catcher in the Rye. I really really really wanted to. Who wouldn't want to love a book by someone who popularized the name Zooey? But I didn't love it. Or like it. I read it five or six times to make certain I wasn't missing something or that it wouldn't grow on me. I thought Holden was a bit of a whiny-pants ass. Along the train of thought of classics, I thought I would hate the The Sun Also Rises just because Hemingway was so heavily lauded. But that I ended-up really liking. We studied it in a class in college, and I was the only one who liked it. Everyone else thought Jake and co. were a bunch of self-indulgent drunk asshats. I guess it just goes to show that you like what you like and that's that. Or there's no accounting for taste. Or some other cliche. A stitch in time saves nine?

I read an article last night about a woman who was a reluctant stepmother. It musty have been fantastically written, because the author was a bit horrifying.(She flung cottage cheese in anger at her two-year-old stepson because he wanted Daddy to open it, not her.) And yet I found her to be sympathetic. And the only way that is possible is that she wrote so well that I found her more appealing than the helpless child. Interesting.

Neti-pot time.

I saw the documentary No Impact Man last night. In conclusion, I think it was a good documentary because I'm still thinking about it. However, I did find myself getting annoyed as I watched their journey and I think a conversation between Michelle(the wife) and a friend probably summed up part of it. As the project gathered steam and therefore press, Michelle was wondering why so many people hated them. Which is indeed a strange thing because after all, they weren't asking anyone else to make the choices they were making. They weren't preaching. They were just trying something out for themselves and if it inspired you to make changes in your own life, hey it was a bonus. Michelle's friend replied that she thought it was possibly because so many groups had been working to save the environment and promoting a sustainable way to live for a long time and yet Colin (the husband) seemed mainly to be doing it to write a book (and I'll fill in those blanks...become rich and famous?) Additionally, the friend suggested that people reading about this project felt guilty about their own lives. And i think that's true. Because I did. Which is good. Because it can lead to change and therefore a more sustainable lifestyle that benefits all. But I'll get back to that. Maybe.

I think another problem with the dislike towards the project was simply Colin, despite his all-over positive journey that he was undertaking.He just doesn't come across as a likable person. He seems very selfish. I'm going to go out on a limb and say that my guess is that Michelle's work makes it possible for them to afford their lives because Colin is a writer who hasn't written any blockbusters that Oprah has touted, and doesn't seem to have any other source of income as most writers do. And yet when Michelle wants to have a baby, he doesn't want to because it will negatively impact his time. I'm pretty sure they have someone who cares for their daughter as she wasn't in a lot of the scenes, so I would take that to mean he is not a stay-at-home-dad and therefore has the length of the workday to write, which again, I don't think most writers have that type of luxury of time. I'm not saying that wanting only one child isn't a legitimate choice, I'm just saying that in the context of the movie and their life and his wife's amazing willingness to give-up everything consumerism in order to embark on this experiment with him, discovering that she had to talk him into marrying her and talk him into having a child with her seems pretty what the what?

Because dude, she is a gem and a half. She is clearly not a crunchy granola type woman. She readily admits she doesn't like nature. This is a woman who can afford to buy boots that cost $950 and she does. She has a closet full of designer clothes. She can identify the name of a Marc Jacobs bag at 100 paces. And she gives up everything that hints at consumerism, including toilet paper, in order to support your project. Additionally, she does so with grace and humor. And perhaps the way the movie was edited has something to do with this, but Colin just does not seem to appreciate it or her. When she's suffering from caffeine withdrawal(and that really hurts--anyone who has given up caffeine can attest that it causes migraine like headaches that SUCK) he seems disgusted and annoyed that they are even conversing about her trivial pain.

Anyway, so it is an interesting documentary. And i hope that in their private lives, he recognizes what a wonderful partner he has. Gotta make the doughnuts.

A Story in three parts.

Part 1: I went out to breakfast with my girlfriends. Because it was at a diner, we all left happy, our hair smelling like bacon.

Part 2: On the way home, I stopped at the grocery store to buy bread because Mort has become finicky to the point where he can now tell if I am using the "wrong" brand of bread to make his sandwich, in which case he cannot eat it.

Part 3: A man in the bread aisle lifted his head sharply as I approached and smiled almost to himself. "That perfume smells great!" he exclaimed.

Conclusion: Men love the smell of bacon.

Much amusement and merriment is made at Stella's expense around these parts. I would therefore like to take this opportunity to let her know that I do appreciate her willingness to jump-up at 4:30 a.m. when the printer is resetting itself for reasons unknown to humankind, in order to go scope out the situation.

Some may shrug off this type of behavior because she is a dog. That's what dogs are supposed to do. I know that Stella would strongly disagree with that statement, however. She feels that dogs exist to put the color in an otherwise black and white existence. (No pun intended, seeing as how Stella is, y'know, black and white. Oh, and probably at least partially color blind, right? I forget what the latest thought is on that.)

And so when I'm woken to weird noises, it's nice to have a little ball of muscle go rushing past as a first line of defense to see whether the printer is spitting out a repeat for a fish taco recipe or directions to a place I've been many times, but can never find. Thank-you Stella.

So, I suspect that I have the "lob." Also known as the "long bob" the groundbreaking haircut that revolutionized the nation by the likes of Gwyenth Paltrow and maybe even someone else. To break it down, you take fairly long hair and cut it off to right below the shoulders. I know, I know, it's pretty dang radical. And while I generally think it looks fine on...Gwyneth Paltrow (the magazines tend to make it sound as though it's sweeping the country ala the Farrah or the Rachel but I think pretty much just Gwyneth Paltrow has it), I have suspected that on a civilian it looks like a mom cut. And yeah, it pretty much does.

And yet, I keep waiting for my shock and horror portion of my brain to kick in and notice that I'm not even close to being able to sit on my hair and that you can see my entire shirt from the back, unencumbered by a curtain of hair, and y'know I guess I just don't care. My hair was still damaged beyond belief from the blonde to black to copper to black to brown to brownish fiasco and now it seemingly so healthy that I can actually get a comb through it (okay, I don't use a comb. I use a pick. A giant pick. From 1982 when we used Dippity-do. I have a lot of hair. Combs break really easily. And quite frankly, my pick is missing a couple of teeth as well.) Huh. Maybe...I don't need quite THAT much hair to hide behind? Who knew? Or maybe I'm just really tired.

Five years ago...was it five years? Four and a half? Hmm. Anyway, I ended-up in an emergency room in excruciating pain and it turned out I had a good old-fashioned bulging disc. Thousands and thousands of dollars worth of out-of-pocket physical therapy sessions later, I hobbled on my way. Since that day, I have never, and I do mean never, nit when I have a raging fever, or am on vacation or just plain old don't feel like it, have I missed one day of doing the back exercises that will supposedly keep all and sundry in place. Like putting on a girdle (or Spanx for you young ones) of muscle for my back. I mention this because every doctor with whom I spoke or who wanted to see how I can't raise my leg or touch my toes kept murmuring that if I was diligent about my exercises, this shouldn't have happened.

And yet a couple of weeks ago, I leaned over to spit out my toothpaste foam and ta-da! My back went out. I tried the things that have worked in the past, absolute rest in the form of lying in a contorted position bolstered by cushions ala the physical therapist's suggestion for putting the least amount of pressure on it. I tried not driving, not walking, not lifting. But,dang. It was bad. So, I was forced to resort to the doctor prescribed anti-inflammitories and painkillers and class 3 narcotics. And still the pain persisted to the point that last weekend I found myself in a public place with a floor so filthy that had one of Mort's mittens fell upon it, I would not have let him pick it-up. We would have bought new ones. And yet my back gave me no choice.I laid on the floor. In the filth. No questions as to why I was out and about, because isn't it obvious? I was on medication. I was better.

And then the doctor tried to sell me on the wonders of another round of physical therapy. Which was fine the first time around. And helpful. But unless you are hurt on the job, insurance companies seem to deem all back problems pre-existing conditions. Even if you are relatively young and healthy. Bitter, party of one. And unless they've come up with some brand new exercises, I'd just as soon move on to something else.

So now I am on the juice. The steroids. And they seem to be working, thank you Jesus. The side effects are a bit interesting. As in, for someone with insomnia and various anxiety induced issues, probably not the best mix. But really, who knew I could talk this fast for this long? It's amazing! I feel like an after-school special warning against speed. In a point of interest, the steroids are the same ones our darling Stella had to take when it turned out she had hurt her back to the point that her discs were fused together. Stella's advice is, "Don't play fetch on the stairs."

And I don't know about you, but there are many the day that is so hectic that I sometimes long for just a teensy illlness that would require me to lay around all day, sniffling delicately and reading and watching crap television. In reality, that sucks. It is so boring you can't believe it.

Whoa--just big time excitement while we rushed to get Stella outside before she threw-up.

And so, while I was laid-up, I wrote. And I completed a piece. And I submitted it. And that is all I will say about that until I get my rejection letter. I'm big on the jinxing.