Queen Nerd

A couple of friends of mine and I once held an informal contest to see which, among us, was the nerdiest. For the life of me, I can't remember why, but I ended up winning the title of Queen Nerd--though their attempts at dethroning me were formidable.

Anyway, in honor of that conversation--which just flashed into my head for some inexplicable reason--and my subsequent coronation, here's a list of the nerdiest things about me.

* I'm obsessed with figure skating, and I actually feel like doing violence over the cryptic new judging system.

* I own a Darth Tater. (*cough* It's Maggie's. * cough*) And I now want an Artoo Potatoo.

* I'm coveting the Jane Austen action figure that I saw in a catalog the other day. (Yes, I've read all of her books, including the unfinished ones. And her juvenalia. And her letters.)

* I have watched the entire five-hour BBC Pride & Prejudice miniseries on an annual basis for the last decade.

* I played the trombone in high school and actually won a first place medal with my trombone solo at a state competition. (Actually, I think that's what won me the Queen Nerd title.)

* I went to Girl Scout camp in junior high and performed a synchronized swim routine to the song "Greased Lightning." (And I'm pretty sure that cinched it.)

* I've seen the old school Star Wars trilogy way too many times.

* I dressed my husband and I as black and white film stars (with white body paint, black makeup, and black, white, and gray clothes) for Halloween a couple of years ago. Clever? Or nerdy? You decide.

* I like reading about politics.

* I know in gross detail why Jack Abramoff sucks and found it hilarious that his father took George Clooney to task for making fun of him at the Golden Globes.

* I own an ungodly amount of books. (Who doesn't?)

* I occasionally read feminist theory/literary criticism for fun.

* I hate it when I don't belong to a book club.

* I work for an environmental and social justice nonprofit.

* I once scared Clinton's Undersecretary of Commerce and Trade out of a press room by asking too many nerdy questions about the administration's free trade policy.

* I like karaoke.

* I still have a notebook full of deep and misunderstood poetry from college. (Kept as a reminder of why I should never, ever be a poet.)

* I do well enough on standardized tests that I could join MENSA--if I were willing to pay for it. (Note: I'm not bragging--I firmly believe that standardized tests are not an accurate measure of intelligence and have known plenty of incredibly smart people who either freeze or just bomb when they're tested.)

* I once took an adult education class in DC on FBI investigation techniques.

* I took flamenco lessons and would love to get back to it once I am able to sleep for a decent amount of time again. Although I still think flamenco is kinda cool and not nerdy....

And finally: I'm legally blind without my glasses/contacts, so I do the nerdy squint-and-crash-into-stuff thing really well.

Write It, Say It, Make It Happen

Call it superstition, call it reality. Whatever it is, I can't shake the notion that if I say something or write something down, I'm inviting it to happen. Therefore, I don't ever write or say things I don't want to come true, such as, "I wish that stupid goldfish would just die," because even though I'm probably just exaggerating my antipathy toward said goldfish, fate might take that as an invitation to off my poor, innocent pet.

(For the record, I don't have a goldfish.)

Words are powerful. I think that when we say stuff like, "I'm never going to sell my paintings," or "I'm a loser with no friends," we're inviting the universe to send us rejections or people who treat us like a loser. I had a major spaz attack on a friend of mine the other day who was upset that her excellent, award-winning manuscript hadn't sold to a publisher yet. So she tossed off a comment along the lines of, "This thing is never going to sell. Those other editors [currently looking at it] are just going to reject it."

So after I peeled myself off the ceiling and shrieked at her to never, ever say anything like that ever again (EVER!), I made her take it back OUT LOUD and nagged her into reciting a Stewart-Smalley-esque affirmation of her writing ("I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me."). ARRRRRRRGH! Why would anyone SAY something like this? (See? I'm doing it again. Think calm, healing thoughts, Tracy. You're lying on a beach in Maui....) I said it to my friend and I'll say it to everyone else: Do not invite rejection into your life. Do not invite loser-dom into your life. Negative thoughts and words turn into self-fulfilling prophecies, more often than not, so don't give them a voice. For that matter, positive words and thoughts can also be self-fulfilling prophecies, so isn't that enough to turn the cynics among us (like, oh, ME?) just a little bit positive from time to time?

Case in point: A couple weeks ago, I wrote a blog post about some TV shows I watch, saying that I was looking forward to Debbie Gibson being kicked off Skating with the Stars and to Johnny on the OC leaving the show in a tragic manner. So what happened the following week? Debbie Gibson was kicked off the show, and tragedy came to the OC when Johnny fell off a cliff (Huzzah!).

Coincidence? I think not. :::Cue Twilight Zone music::::

P.S. There's an entire book about this phenomenon called Write It Down, Make It Happen. I've never read it, because, uh, the title seems to say it all. ; D

My Name is (Not) Earl

While I was listing my favorite TV shows, I totally forgot my all-time favorite sitcom EVAH, My Name is Earl. Not only does the show genuinely make me laugh, but the acting is fab, and the show even leaves you with a warm fuzzy at the end of each episode when Earl rights a wrong from his list. (Not to mention, who can resist lines like, "Ain't no use running, fool. I know where your mama parks your house?") And, God bless the producers, there's no horrible, canned laugh track.

I've always liked Jason Lee, who generally looks like he's about to crack himself up in every role he plays--and rightfully so. Funny guy. I can see why he slowed down a promising movie career to star in Earl. Plus, you have to respect a good-looking man who grows the ugliest facial hair imaginable and sports terrible hair, all to bring a character to life.

Not to mention, the show has reportedly gotten people to think about their own karma and ways to right past wrongs that they've committed. As for me, if I had any sort of memory whatsoever after having two kids, I might think about my own, as well. But seriously, I seem to have just FORGOTTEN any past wrongs that I haven't atoned for. Well, except for this guy that I broke up with years ago by ignoring him and hoping he'd go away. (After a few rebuffed attempts at communication, he did.) Even though it was YEARS ago, I've always felt bad about that--ignoring someone and hoping they'd go away is not nice, and I wish I'd taken the non-cowardly route. On the other hand, the reason I started ignoring him and hoping he'd go away is because he was controlling (or, rather, he tried to be. SO doesn't work with me.), and he was imperious with and mean to people in customer service positions. Does it excuse ignoring him and hoping he'd go away? Probably not. So Dude whom I ignored and hoped would go away, I know you're not reading this, but maybe on a subconscious level you'll know that somewhere out in the ether, there's an apology floating out there telling you I've always felt guilty about not dumping you properly and with good manners.

And that's all the atonement on that one I can manage. I bet Earl would have done better. : /

Mindless Topic #1

I never used to watch all that much TV, but lately, I've been in front of the tube a lot more than usual--something I've found tends to happen when I have a nursing infant around. Long story short, I have carpal tunnel, it's sometimes hard for me to hold a book with one hand, and I need the other hand to keep poor Marin from rolling off my lap and onto the floor. Ergo, I watch TV while Marin nurses.

I was supposed to take an online BN.com readers' group class on Great Expectations this month to keep my mind from completely rotting away, but between the online class I'm giving, hanging out with the kids and Jose, work, and trying to at least make an attempt to pay attention to friends, I haven't gotten past the first chapter. (I've been meaning to read Great Expectations for-freaking-EVER. And given how much I love David Copperfield--the book, not the magician--this should not be a problem, other than that it's an oversized trade paperback I can't hold with one hand. This year, I am still resolved to read this book, despite the fact that I'm flunking the free BN.com online class at the moment.)

Anyway, since I'm busy allowing my brain to degenerate, here are my current guilty television pleasures:

* BONES: OK, I confess, I started watching this Fox forensic drama because I'm carrying over a mad-hot crush on David Boreanaz from Angel, which was tragically canceled. And, at first, his acting (and OK, his looks--color me superficial) was all that made me watch. With dull performances from the lead actress; an irritating, recurring line ("Don't call me 'Bones'"); and bizarre subplots including one revolving around a supporting cast member's indigestion; I wasn't sure how much longer my crush would allow me to waste away an hour of my life each week. If it weren't for Marin, I'd have given up after two episodes. However, I've kept watching, and it's grown on me.

Basically, the plot revolves around a group of forensic anthropologists who help Boreanaz's FBI agent solve homicides where the victim's body has become too decomposed or destroyed for standard methods to work. Yes, it's another CSI-like series, but it's slowly developed a heart and humor that most of its contemporaries seem to lack.

FAVORITE RANDOM MOMENT: The Christmas episode, where the cast was quarantined in their lab over Christmas eve after accidentally releases a potentially fatal virus into the air. They all were allowed a visitation (through plexiglass) with family members, and forensic artist Angela warned her colleagues that they would recognize her dad, but she didn't want to talk about it. So when one of the singers from ZZ Top walked in as her dad in what had to be the most random television moment I've ever seen, I nearly died laughing.

AMERICAN IDOL: Who's not watching this show? (OK, people with lives, probably, or more intellectually stimulating pastimes.) Anyway, I'm obsessed, and I pick Paris Bennett to walk away with the title or, at least, the most lucrative recording contract.

MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENT: This is for me, not the contestants. Because when blonde, pixie-voiced Kellie Pickler walked in and they did that shameless, manipulative montage about how her mother left her when she was two and her father is a drug addict and currently in jail, and then they showed her cute little smiling two-year-old face from a picture presumably from around the time her mother left her, I nearly lost it. OK, I did lose it. Seriously. American Idol made me cry, and during a sappy montage, no less. But you know, every little girl should be loved as much as mine are, and it hurts to think that there are some who aren't. I would love to see Kellie end up with a recording contract, even if she's destined to lose to Paris. She not only has a lovely voice, but she has nice manners--which is amazing since she had very little parental guidance. Good for her. (God, I'm SO turning into my mother.)

SKATING WITH THE STARS: Another mindless, guilty pleasure. But I'll watch anything that has to do with figure skating. However, I am so glad I have Tivo, because who wants to sit through Summer Sanders' incessant blathering and Scott Hamilton's shouting? (Is it because he's short that he feels he has to shout every word that comes out of his mouth? I'm short, and I don't shout. What's up with that?) Not to mention Debbie Gibson's whiny excuses whenever the judges comment on her less-than-stellar skating. Now I remember why Debbie Gibson used to irritate me.

You know what? I'm not a star, but they should have asked me to skate with Kurt Browning. Because really, I would have been the Best. Figure skater. EVAH. If I'd only had lessons.

That said, I'm enjoying Skating with the Stars, but not as much as I'll enjoy the real thing when the Winter Olympics start. Despite the new judging system that has unfairly handicapped Michelle Kwan by de-emphasizing the artistic element and relying too much on jumps. Stupid Marie Reine-LeGougne. (And if you know what I'm talking about, welcome to Nerd-dom.)

FAVORITE MOMENT: Don't have one yet, though it will be fun to watch Debbie Gibson get kicked off sometime in the near future. Or fall on her head--whichever comes first.

THE OC: The further I get down this list, the more I realize I need to watch something a little more edifying if I'm going to insist on spending this many hours in front of a TV. Anyway, I love the OC. It's completely mindless, but the dialogue is funny, and I've always loved the quirkiness Peter Gallagher brings to any character he plays. And it always provides good material for making fun of Mischa Barton with my brother Troy.

FAVORITE MOMENT: Watching Johnny get run over. Could the dude BE any more annoying? Unfortunately, this didn't result in the "Tragedy comes to the OC" storyline I was hoping for, but a Johnny-centric story arc where the actor shows his egregious lack of comedic timing and any acting talent whatsoever. Mr. One-trick-pony needs to go brood somewhere else, preferably on a show I don't watch, like Freddie.

Fat Woman Sad

Here's why today is probably going to suck:

Whenever I'm procrastinating, I have this ridiculous habit of either Googling myself (to see if there are any odd reviews of my books out there), or playing with the SiteMeter on my blog to see if anyone bothers to read this mess. (FYI, I'm not narcissistic, I swear! I'll do anything to avoid writing, and Googling yourself is fun when you have a weird last name, because all sorts of weird things come up.)

So I was checking out the Referral section of SiteMeter, and to my horror, I discovered that SOMEONE happened upon my blog while searching Blogspot for "fat woman sad."

FAT WOMAN SAD?!?!?!?! What the crunk is that? First of all, I'm not sad. Snarky by nature, yes, but I have a lot to be grateful for and I'm grateful for it every day. Given that, I couldn't be sad if I tried. Second, sure, I'm a woman, and sure, seven weeks after having baby number two, I could use an extreme stomach makeover. But does Blogspot have to slap me in the face with that fact by putting me high up on a list of sad fat women? For the record, Blogspot, I had a c-section and COULDN'T exercise for six of the past seven weeks. And I had to take that extra week to catalog my exercise video collection--because everyone knows you can't start exercising with an unalphabetized exercise video collection. It just wouldn't be right.

Not to mention, Blogspot, that playing upon the insecurities of a woman who's recently given birth and is dealing with enough post-partum crap is mean and not good business. And furthermore, Blogspot, segregating blogs by weight smacks of discrimination. You should be more preoccupied with my mind, Blogspot, my mind. Not the junk in my trunk.

Fat woman sad. Feh.

It's enough to make a girl switch to LiveJournal.

Seven and the Ragged Tiger

Mari LaCroix tagged me with this Seven Things thing, and as is the case with most surveys of this type, I feel compelled to fill it in. (BTW, there is no ragged tiger. The oddball title up there is the title of an old Duran Duran album--in which I don't believe there was a ragged tiger, either--in case you're not a huge groupie like I was. OK, still am. Because puffy hair and eye makeup or not, how hot was Simon in the "Hungry Like A Wolf" video?)

Seven things to do before I die:
1. Go to Africa
2. Scuba dive the Galapagos
3. Write and sell the big suspense and the big women's fiction books I have in my head.
4. See my girls settled and happy.
5. Go back to New Zealand and spend a few weeks there, if not build my summer house there once I find a pile of money.
6. Read all the books in my TBR pile (unless they suck, in which case I'm not reading past page 100).
7. Learn to do a lutz or a salchow, so I can continue to delude myself that I could have been the Best. Figure skater. EVAH. had I only had lessons.

Seven things I cannot do:
1. Ballet dance
2. Jump in the spider tank on Fear Factor without completely losing my mind.
3. The back of my hair. It simply will not cooperate.
4. Quantum physics. Physics frightens me.
5. Understand really complex mathematics. A Beautiful Mind frightened me. My brain is so little and simple.
6. Cook without a recipe. Well I CAN, but you wouldn't want to eat the results.
7. Stop being stubborn.

Seven things that attract me to my spouse:
1. His innate sweetness.
2. Watching him play with Maggie and Marin.
3. Those big brown eyes.
4. Listening to him speak Spanish, even if he gets things wrong from time to time.
5. His sense of humor. Because even when I don't get his jokes, watching him crack himself up is hilarious.
6. His intelligence. Even if we can't really discuss books because he'll only read sci-fi--and only a SPECIFIC type of sci-fi. No space opera, no fantasy elements, no weird aliens that look like animals, no cyberpunk, no humorous sci-fi, ad nauseum, ad infinitum. Must be Very Serious Sci-Fi with believable and intricate scientific explanations for the world that was built, and a storyline that is both edifying, suspenseful, and intriguing. Sigh.
7. Oh, and he's hot.

Seven Things I Say (or Write) Most Often:
1. Dude.
2. You're kidding me.
3. Whatever.
4. Jose, go get the baby.
5. Maggie, don't squash your sister.
6. Maggie! Rose! Fernandez!
7. I'm telling you....

Seven Books (or Series) I love:
1. Outlander by Diana Gabaldon
2. Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen
3. O Pioneers by Willa Cather
4. The Sevenwaters Trilogy by Juliet Marillier
5. Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card (Yeah, Jose made me read it. It rocked.)
6. Garden of Beasts by Jeffrey Deaver
7. The Eight by Katherine Neville

Seven Movies I Would Watch Over and Over Again:
1. The five-hour BBC version of Pride & Prejudice. (And don't tell me to get a life unless you've seen it. I dare you to start watching and not stay up until 3 am to finish it. Keira Knightley, I'm talking to you, you miserable excuse for an Elizabeth Bennett.)
2. Strictly Ballroom. In my next life, I want to be in a Baz Luhrmann film. (Just not Romeo + Juliet.)
3. Casablanca (I know, everyone loves Casablanca. But there's a reason for it.)
4. Rear Window
5. The Lord of the Rings trilogy. All hail the marvelous Peter Jackson.
6. The Saint. Sure it has plot holes and a million endings, but Val Kilmer is hot.
7. The old-school Star Wars trilogy, even if you won't release the final three parts, George, you wanker.

Seven People I Want to Join In (Be Tagged):
1. Oh, heck if I know. If you read this and feel moved to do your own version, consider yourself tagged!

One that I Finished

In my last books post, I forgot to mention that I also recently finished Patricia McLinn's THE GAMES, which centers around four women participating in the Winter Olympics. Given that Patricia writes a powerfully emotional book with spot-on research, and given that I am a Winter Olympics junkie, this book was like my own special brand of crack. Loved it, couldn't put it down until I finished it, highly recommend it. Though she's a long-time veteran of Silhouette Special Edition, Patricia published THE GAMES with independent Delphi Press, because the larger publisher she submitted to "didn't think anyone would care about the Olympics." Losers.

So if you've ever wanted to know what it would be like to be an Olympic-caliber biathlete, figure skater, or alpine skiier (while meeting the hockey-playing love of your life for the first time, reconciling with the former Soviet skating powerhouse who broke your heart after you won the gold medal in your own event, or avoiding verbal sparring with your prickly skiing coach with whom you might just be falling in love), then go here for information on ordering this fab book: http://www.thegames2006.com .

Speaking of books, WHY am I reading A YEAR OF MAGICAL THINKING? An attempt to appear literary? An experiment in mental masochism? Post-partum hormonal psychosis? Again, it's so well-written, but I have long been firmly in denial about my family's mortality, and I don't want to have to confront it like I'm finding myself doing while reading Didion's painfully sad memoir. We're immortal, my girls are going to have long and happy lives, and Jose and I are going to be together and healthy well past our hundredth birthdays (because, after all, medical science is making such huge advances, people of our generation should start routinely living past 100. I read that in Popular Science, so it must be true).

Maybe it's time to put AYOMT down and turn to some fluff. Mindless, shiny, happy, unadulterated fluff to read. Like Vanity Fair's interview with Lindsay Lohan, or the latest trivia-filled issue of Mental Floss magazine, or Curious George Lives Forever. Color me a coward, but I like denial.