Jacquie And The Giant Peach

Time to go hop on the MARTA train to see the big ol' peach drop! I'll let you know if I survive.

(Insert douchey "hahahaha SEE YOU NEXT YEAR haha snort I'm so funny" statement)

Penultimation

Because I want to broaden my cultural horizons, I listen to a lot of NPR in the car. This, of course, enlightens me and, as a side effect, makes me talk smoother and smarmier. I get my Bach fix, my news fix, and my fix of pretention, all in one handy place. No, really. The worst part of all of it is that I love listening to NPR.

And I'm getting to a point, I swear.

A few months back, it was the last day before the last-day-of-the-year (i.e., say, September 29th). The radio announcer declared the date in a fashion something like, "Good morning. It's 9:15 on the penultimate day of September." Penultimate. Way to drop some ten-dollar words like they're common knowledge, Charles. Can't even say "Today is September 29th" like every other apple-pie-eating American in these here United States. Gotta show off all your danged book-learning.

Well, here we are, at the penultimate day of December. Oddly enough, I didn't hear anyone on NPR declare it as such. (Perhaps it's only penultimate when it's September?) New Year's Eve is upon us tomorrow, and I'm steeling myself to attend the Peach Drop downtown tomorrow night. The only other thing I watched drop as the clock struck twelve was last year's Possum Drop in Tallapoosa, GA. Yes, it's real, and the possum has a name. It's Spencer.

No, really. Why do things drop on December 31st?

I'll learn why a peach decides to do such things tomorrow night. In the meantime, I'm going to shower, snooze, and spend the last day of the year in abject peace and contentment with my husband at my side.

And then, THE GIANT PEACH. I'll be just like James, minus the enormous insects, and thank goodness for that.

Like Helena Rubenstein or Betty Crocker

Today, I made some brownies (thanks to a delicious recipe-in-a-jar from a very dear friend of mine!). Aside from the fact that I didn't spray the baking dish with enough Pam (causing my brownies to come down with an unfortunate case of stick-to-the-bottom-osis), I'm quite satisfied with the finished product.

Verdict? They were delicious.

I just might be a bit of a domestic goddess one of these days. 

And in unrelated, but still important for a few of us, news: With regards to a few terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad buzzings about certain changes to the cast of an upcoming spectacle on the Great White Way, I have only this to say:

If the Paper Mill Playhouse cast of Newsies doesn't become the Broadway cast of Newsies, and I mean the FULL cast, in its entirety... Nobody will.

NOBODY WILL.

Making up for lost time

I reckon the guilt has subsided since this morning, when I realized in a flight of panic that I'd skipped an entry last night. And here I am, as promised, writing two entries today to make up for it.

As a whole, I feel rotten about my efforts with this blog. Have I committed to my resolution for the past 41 days and blogged daily? Well, technically (if you don't count the skipped day yesterday and the almost-skipped-day last month). Have they been awesome, quality, make-you-think entries? Nope.

Guess I'm afraid of being too political, too polarizing, too vocal. What if I say something that someone doesn't like? Silly fears, really.

I think that, in the coming year, I need to be afraid to take those chances. Why not say what I think? Why not take a chance?

Until then, it's small goals for me. Like cutting up vegetables for pot roast and mastering the art of crackle nail polish.

In which Jacquie skipped a day

Guess that means I'll blog twice today to make up for it.

Did I disappoint you kids?

Fresh from the open road

Seeing as how I spent 90% of today in a car from Virginia to Georgia (driving during just a little over half that time), and seeing as how I'm just now settling back at home from two whirlwind (yet quite awesome) weekends in a row, I can't say that I've got the wherewithal to pen a really good blog entry.

Suffice it to say that I think part of my New Year's Resolution is going to involve some kind of substantial blogging. At least one heartfelt, thought-provoking, perhaps even funny addition once a week. The rest of the days, I'll slack off. Can't disappoint those fans, if I have any. Or, you know, if I have any at all.

God bless us, everyone

Hope everyone had a grand Christmas! I'm sure it was full of glitter, candy canes, and visions of sugarplums dancing in your heads.

Had a lot of fun and made a lot of memories with Mom, Dad, and David. The most notable of these was perusing Virginia neighborhoods in search of abundantly tacky Christmas lights. Attached are two such examples. Two different houses, two amazing vomit-inducing holiday glitz.

Rejoice, y'all.

Merry Christmas to all

...And to all a good night!

May your Christmas Eve be the ideal segue into the ideal Christmas Day. May it be happy, healthy, and fantastic.

And now, back to watching Miracle on 34th Street. (The good version, with William Frawley and Maureen O'Hara.)

On the road

Merry Christmas Eve-Eve to us. No In-N-Out Burger, but it's something new.

Christmas Day is in our grasp

"The nerve of those Whos. Inviting me down there - on such short notice! Even if I wanted to go my schedule wouldn't allow it. 4:00, wallow in self pity; 4:30, stare into the abyss; 5:00, solve world hunger, tell no one; 5:30, jazzercize; 6:30, dinner with me - I can't cancel that again; 7:00, wrestle with my self-loathing... I'm booked. Of course, if I bump the loathing to 9, I could still be done in time to lay in bed, stare at the ceiling and slip slowly into madness. But what would I wear?"

This right here is a darned good Christmas movie, boys and girls.

And everyone telling you be of good cheer

I must admit

It's a little tricky to find motivation and gather up creativity when I'm fairly certain doing these daily blogs bears a striking resemblance to driving a car into a brick wall, Roger Rabbit style, putting it in reverse, and then doing it again. Daily.

I tend to not have as much time for being creative/witty/entertaining in my writing as I want to be. I want to blow your mind, really, and I haven't been. It's hard blogging once a day, you guys - even when I'm posting just pictures. I've gotten 700+ views and I've nothing to show for it. C'est pathetique, fer sure.

That's all right. As Scarlett says, "Tomorrow is another day." And while she'll go after Rhett tomorrow, I'm going to go after some solid literary value tomorrow.

Perhaps.

Home.

After a wonderful few days at Disney, it feels good to come back to my own bed for a few days.

More substantial entries to follow later. For now, I'm freaking tired.

The angels all holler

Blog posts are difficult when I'm on vacation. In other news, my sister's Candlelight Processional was the bomb diggity.

Home sweet home

On our way

It's almost Awesome Disney Weekend time! I get to see my family so soon. :)

To commemorate the occasion, here's a recent shot of my awesome husband with an awesome hat that I awesomely bought him:

In preparation for tomorrow:

Yep. That hasn't changed.

Where dreams come true

Some folks could just pee their pants with happiness when they catch a glimpse of this, and I'm not ashamed to say that I'm one of them.

It's fine. Color me a Disney nut. Or, as some may put it, a Disnut.

In the course of my brief, 8-month long stint as a Cast Member at the Happiest Place On Earth, I've come to understand that there are two breeds of Disney Cast Member, where: (1) working at Disney has further bolstered an affinity for all things Mickey Mouse, or (2) being a Cast Member has jaded any previously rosy viewpoints on Disney culture.

I'm of the first school of thought. Working for the Mouse didn't corrupt my outlook. The magic wasn't ruined - if anything, it was enhanced because I knew what great lengths Cast Members went to in order to ensure quality and, yes, magical memories for guests of all ages. Maybe that's a very cutesy, warm-and-fuzzy approach to life, but I consider myself the better from it.

One of the best, still-makes-me-tear-up Disney memories is watching the "Wishes" fireworks show at Magic Kingdom.

The first time I watched it, I was a college senior on her epic Spring Break. The sorority sisters I traveled with wanted to get a good view of the castle, and I volunteered to watch their stuff and relegated myself to an obstructed view from beneath an overhang in Tomorrowland. I knew I had a very important audition coming up later that month - one that would determine whether or not I'd get to live a lifelong dream of working at Walt Disney World.

So, what did I do? I made a wish. Yes, this dumb old sap took Jiminy Cricket's words to heart:

"You see, the most fantastic, magical things can happen. And it all starts with a wish."

I made a wish harder than I'd ever wished for anything before. I wished that I would have a bajillion opportunities to see "Wishes." SPOILER ALERT: My wish came true. I spent the next eight months twirling around in beautiful dresses and bringing joy to guests from all over the world, smiling for pictures, telling stories about living in a castle, and even holding the Beast's paw every once in a while.

Months later, I met a boy named David for the very first time. As we all gathered around the castle one night to watch what must've been my bajillionth viewing of "Wishes," I made another wish - one that I wished for even harder.

Three years later, I've found myself married to that boy named David.

Now, I'm not saying these dreams coming true are solely the product of wishing on stars. Still, I can't help but wonder if there was just a little pinch of pixie dust involved.

Dang.

I missed a day. And for no good reason.

(Author's note from yours truly: At least Blogger somehow defaults a posting time/date that's a few hours behind me, so that's pretty sweet. I DIDN'T MISS A DAY. Technically. Life will continue to go on.)

And the world will know

That's what's up, you guys.

"What is it you want?" "Real estate."

Although I'm not one of those schmucks that plays Christmas entertainment in October, I do love a good yuletide movie, TV special, or song. (I also don't tolerate lousy ones, a fact that I'll expand upon in a future pre-Christmas blog post.)

It's very difficult to choose a favorite among them, but I can narrow the list down based on what was near and dear to me as a kid. We used to have this VHS tape that had three Christmas specials taped from some grainy-tastic early-'90s cable: How The Grinch Stole Christmas, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and Frosty the Snowman. I would watch it practically every Christmas Eve (most notably giggling with delight when the Grinch appropriately declared, "Tomorrow is Christmas. It's practically here!").

Those are all favorites, and I love them. But I also love A Charlie Brown Christmas.

The version we had wasn't a tidied-up, store-bought VHS. It was a hastily-taped endeavor that was an addendum to our taped-off-the-TV version of The Wizard of Oz (are you sensing a theme here?), but I watched it like it was my job, often incorporating it into the trilogy of also-taped-off-the-TV versions mentioned above on Christmas Eve.

You've got to love A Charlie Brown Christmas. There's something for everyone here, whether you like your Christmas specials to have a bit of scripture-reading going on, or whether you like the smooth, rich sounds of the Vince Guaraldi Trio rocking out some "Linus and Lucy."

Perhaps you just tend to identify with ol' Chuck, who has a chronic sense of emptiness regarding the holiday season.

"I don't know, Linus. I know it's all about the 'Christmas spirit,' but if I have to hear The Band Perry sing '25 Days of Christmas' one more time, I might hurt myself and everyone I care about."

Spoiler alert: Charlie Brown decides that Christmas is really all about all that awesome stuff Linus quoted from the book of Luke, Snoopy wins first prize in the lights and display contest, and the little scrubby tree Charlie Brown adopts suddenly grows a lot of branches and ornaments as soon as his "friends" realize he wasn't such a total blockhead after all. Cue a rousing rendition of "Hark the Herald Angels Sing," roll credits, and there you go.

Biblical citations, witticisms out of the mouths of kids ("If it seems too complicated, just make it easy on yourself. How about tens and twenties?"), jazz piano, warm fuzzies about being nice to people, down-with-hypercommercialized-America themes - there's something for everyone here.

Oh, and Snoopy. I can't forget Snoopy. His "bleah" noise will perk me out of any bad mood at any time, any day.

Watch A Charlie Brown Christmas when you get the opportunity. Don't overlook those little scrubby, unnoticed trees on the lot (and by "trees on the lot," I mean "people at the grocery store checkout"). Don't let the over-commercialized American Christmas get your spirits down. Don't forget to give your therapist a nickel.

And most importantly, don't forget to take the time for a DANCE BREAK WOOHOO.

Christmas, Tolkien Style

Did my Christmas tour at the Atlanta History Center and I wore the most awesome Frodo-y robe ever.

And I met the CUTEST guy on my tour. I kind of want to marry him. :]

It's a Christmas Smorgasbord, Charlie Brown

Because I haven't gotten much of an influx of reader responses to my previous blog entry, I'm going to withhold my own feedback about my favorite holiday programming by at least one more day. (That, and I still don't know what my favorite-favorite is.)

And so, to tide you over, I'm sharing a video with you that I found today and, if for some reason you didn't see it on my Facebook wall earlier, you can indulge now:

My favorite way to speak like K. Stew? "Suddenly notice your hair." On. Point.

Let's interact

Only because I know that I don't have all 500+ hits to this blog all by myself. Get out of them hermit huts, boys and girls! Time to comment with your input:

What's your favorite Christmas movie/TV special and why?


I'll think on this one, myself. Will deliver a full report tomorrow.

Quest for Self-Prettification

After a typical hump day at work which was neither here nor there, I scurried off - yes, scurried - to Nila's house. Nila is this absolutely dear woman that I met through my equally absolutely-dear mother-in-law that cuts hair in a very cute faux-salon set up in her house's Florida room.

She's cut my hair a few times, and I daresay she shall continue to do so, because she's the closest thing I'll ever have to a fairy godmother.

No, that's not a ghost you're seeing. It's just a trim. Reh heh heh. No really; I'm pale. Sorry.

As is painfully evident by my cadaverous pallor as evidenced above (that, and an unusually harsh "flash" on my MacBook's PhotoBooth), I could also stand to get a tan. Well, I listen to my readers, so hey, guess what? I got a membership at a tanning salon. All right, it was a little more premeditated than that. 

Gross factoid alert: I've had eczema since I was a wee jaundice-ridden baby. It kind of comes and goes, and it will magically decide to migrate to different areas of my skin every year. Last year, I did a little research about using tanning beds (specifically, the UVA/UVB rays therein) to treat eczema, and I ended up with a pretty successful few sessions at a tanning salon back in Virginia Beach. Seeing as how it went so well then, I figured I'd give it a go again in an effort to battle the crippling skin conditions that resurface during winter's dry, scratchy months.

So I've got that going for me. Which is nice.

Gentlemen, a bobsled is a very simple thing.

I've been copping out on posting anything of literary value recently, but one of the benefits of keeping up a daily non-handwritten journal is that I get to post multimedia awesomeness and call it an entry.

Today's whole-lotta-nothing is brought to you by the greatest underdog film in history. When you look in the mirror and tell me what you see, when you have ambitions of living in Buckingham Palace, when you want to name the bobsled Tallulah, when you're not smoking (you're breathing), when the sled god's on the air, you know what time it is.

It's time for some Cool Runnings.

To the man in the orange suit!

Word, Garfield.

And was today ever a Monday. Plus side: tomorrow's Tuesday. That much closer to Friday.

Sunday Sunday

God's intention:

Sunday is a day of rest. We observe the Sabbath and keep it holy. Life is good, because we rest. Also, no Chick-fil-A for you.


Our perspective:

Sunday is a day spent dreading the impending workweek and lamenting the fact that the weekend didn't even feel like it even happened. And, to top it all off, no Chick-fil-A for you.


That could also be just my perspective, because it's Monday tomorrow, and I simply don't want it to be.

Christmas Lights in Hotlanta

A few highlights from this evening's promenade at Atlanta Botanical Gardens, including, but not limited to, a special appearance from Santa Mantis.

Warms you heart and soul, don't it?

Confession Time

I do have an Internet vice, and it is I Can Has Cheezburger. Today, I found something rather poignant that I must needs share with the class.

This is me, you guys.

"Oh, hi, lovely house. I like your party and OH MY WORD THERE'S A FUZZY ANIMAL IN HERE I'M GOING TO BE FRIENDS WITH IT."

(Oh, and in case you were wondering: My affinity for lolcats extends to the pictures/captions only. I actually get kind of cheesed off when I read people actually typing in lolspeak. And being serious about it. Nope; no sir, I don't like it.)

LIKE A LIGHTBULB!

To celebrate the season (and because it's socially appropriate to do so, it being the first day of December and all), David and I watched some Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer tonight.

This movie's got a lot of sentimental value to me. When I was a kid, we had an old beat-up VHS tape that we used to tape some Christmas specials when they aired on TV: How The Grinch Stole Christmas, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and Frosty the Snowman. That puppy got popped into the ol' VCR every Christmas Eve, and even now, it draws up lots of pleasant nostalgia-y memories.

I hadn't seen Rudolph in a while, and I don't know if you have, either. But holy cow, the whole picture is a minefield of inappropriate social morals. I'm not just talking about the usual not letting poor Rudolph join in  any reindeer games business either. People are genuinely awful to social misfits.

Don't get me wrong, it's fully laughable.

Cherry on top: the folks at Cracked thought it was awful too.

Also: I want to adopt all the residents of the Island of Misfit Toys (especially the spotted pink elephant, and the dolly that has ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WRONG WITH HER WHATSOEVER).