QUICK CHANGE ARTIST

I got to play with the little kids over the weekend. Maddie, 5, enjoyed putting on a fashion show while I served as her project runway announcer. Her bedroom is an explosion of taffeta, organza, and fancy netting, all dressy outfits that she can switch with the blink of a hurricane’s eye. Brother Boomer, 3, tried to get into the act by wearing old Halloween costumes. At one point, he took off with Maddie’s blonde wig, she grabbed it back, and the fight was on. Their slam down was reminiscent of my own long ago battles with Beans, except in this latest fracas the girl was the victor. This pissed off Boomer, and he stormed off crying, nursing his ego in his daddy’s arms.

I never was much for playing dress-up when I was a kid, but I still see a lot of Maddie in myself. She delights in irritating her brother, her mouth never shuts up, and when it comes to using coat hangers, she’s clueless. She’s a chip off the old auntie, if there ever was one!

PASS THE SALT AND PEPPER, PLEASE

When judging at a high school speech tournament Saturday, I had the misfortune to hear the world’s worst original oration, a persuasive speech with a 7-minute time limit. The competition started out innocently enough. One girl stated that the ACT test is not a valid predictor of success and should not be used by colleges to determine admissions. Another competitor discussed the need for national health coverage. Then….well, there was the “Don’t Eat Babies” girl.

This poor, misguided child discussed “….the eating of babies in 16th century Ireland” to combat starvation. No, there was not a reference made to Jonathan Swift’s scathing ironic essay, “A Modest Proposal,” which sarcastically advocates what she was presenting as a fact. But, it’s what followed that was even more ridiculous. “Some of our nation’s leaders are suggesting that eating babies may be the answer to our current economic problems.” On what planet is this girl living? “I think this is terrible and should not be done,” she remarked. “It’s just disgusting.” Well, duh! It doesn’t take much persuasion to convince me not to order "Toddler, medium rare," from the menu. Where’s the argument here?

Big Sis judged the same speaker during a different round and was equally bewildered. Why the heck was that girl’s teacher even allowing her to present such a dreadfully bad speech? We both gave her the lowest ranking possible, as in “poor.” Sis and I agreed that the best part of this so-called oration was that it mercifully only lasted for two minutes. Fortunately, that wasn’t long enough to ruin my appetite.

ON YOUR MARK, GET SET...

GROW!! I may be jumping the gun, but I spent a good part of the daylight hours yesterday soaking in the sun (80 degrees!) and playing in the yard. Actually, working is a better description. The result: three big bags of leaves and straw that had been blanketing various garden areas. Underneath were daffodils and tulips peeking into the world. I can’t wait to get annuals planted, but I don’t want to get too eager too early. A late freeze could be lurking. :(

GO!! I’m off to Pittsburg pretty soon to be a judge at the forensics tournament I blogged about last week. All of my great nephs and my great niece live in the ‘Burg, so I’m looking forward to acting silly with them and taking pictures. Big Bore has to work; he’s going to hold down the fort and do litter box patrol…I hope.

DON'T FORGET to spring forward Sunday. Get ready to set your clocks up a notch. Don’t you just love Daylight Savings Time?

THE RIGHT TO BARE ARMS

Well, the latest great debate out of Washington, D.C. isn’t about the economy or the war in Iraq. It’s Michelle Obama’s choice of attire for her “official White House portrait.” Last night when I saw the America On Line link that read Is First Lady’s Dress Too Risque?, I clicked on it faster than you can say, “Leather hot pants and a bare midriff.”

Man, what a letdown. Now, for those of you who haven’t yet seen the picture, she’s wearing a basic black dress. No, it’s not short, and it’s not low-cut, and it doesn’t have any peek-a-boo cutouts. It’s (for shame) sleeveless!!!! How dare she show off her bare arms! Where is her dignity? --the fashion critics ask.

Since I haven’t worn anything resembling a dress in four months, I don’t profess to be an expert on style, but I can’t, for the life of me, understand what’s wrong with Mrs. O’s choice. I love my scrawny, 11” biceps, and I have drawers full of summer tank tops to prove it. If I had well-toned arms like she has, I’d be showing off those babies every chance possible. It's not as though we're living in a Puritan society.

I could maybe understand the big to-do if her arms were bearing garish tattoos that say something like, “Born to Raise Hell,” “Democracy Sucks,“ or “Republicans Rock,” but it all looks pretty harmless to me. I think the D.C. Fashion Police need to calm down and make their citizens’ arrests elsewhere--perhaps look in the mirror and nitpick on themselves.

IS YOU SATISFIED?

Attention, class!! Today is National Grammar Day!! English teachers, unite! (Even the retired ones.) When I tuned in to the Rock Channel on TV this morning, though, the first song lyrics I heard were The Rolling Stones', “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction….” Agony. It’s going to be a long day. I hate it when people make millions from butchering our language!

I have to blame Mama Bore for turning me into a grammar geek. When I was a kid, she was forever correcting my speech. I had the tendency to end interrogative sentences with prepositions, as in: “Where are you going to?” “Where’s it at?” She would respond to such queries like so: “After the to.” and “After the at.” Jeesh! Give me a break! At least I wasn’t walking around constantly singing that old song, “Is You Is or Is You Ain’t My Baby?”!!

Once I became an English teacher, my whole perspective changed. The most despised mistake in my grammar book was (cringe) misplacing “saw” with “seen.” I always told my students on the first day of school that if one of them came up to me and said, “Hey, Ms. Evans, I seen you jogging last night,” I would flip. Some responded by committing the sin on purpose, just to make my blood pressure hit the roof. Hearing something like, "Me and Mom had a fight last night, so I didn't do my homework" hurt my ears, while that Stoned Mick Jagger and his use of double negatives caused heartburn. Aaaiiiiieeeee!

I must admit, though, that formal speech/writing in school is much different than scribbling out song lyrics. Lyricists may use poor grammar just to get the words to fit into a specific cadence or rhyme scheme. “I Can’t Get Any Satisfaction” or “I Have No Satisfaction” don’t work very well (not, good) with the beat of the song; thus, I’m going to chill out and give musicians special permission to continue mucking up the grammar in their songs. Mick, you preening loudmouth, you won’t get no flak from me today. Class dismissed.

Happy National Grammar Day to everyone else. May your participles never dangle!

'TWAS BEAUTY THRILLED THE BEAST

Early one morning last week, Big Bore and I caught the last 30 minutes or so of the updated version of the movie King Kong. We both recalled the original having the great ape smitten with Fay Wray, but we didn’t quite buy how this new Kong caused Naomi Watts, the object of the modern gorilla’s affection, to breathe hot and heavy in return. I haven’t seen such sexual tension between two movie characters since Kathleen Turner seduced William Hurt in Body Heat.

Naomi never muttered a single word during the entire grand finale, so her acting chops weren’t really tested. All she had to do was deeply sigh and make googly eyes at the ape. Talk about a tease. No wonder the poor creature had the hots for her.

Making the premise all the more ridiculous, the final setting is in the middle of a snowy New York City winter, and Naomi is running the streets in nothing but a clingy, nylon slip dress and high heels, chasing after our hairy escapee. I thought this was totally absurd, but Big Bore sort of liked the idea of her sliding on the ice at Central Park wearing only a negligee, as did Mr. Kong. They both appreciated the nipply, er, nippy special effects.

I guess one must suspend disbelief when watching such films. It just wouldn’t have been any fun if Naomi had used some common sense and dressed properly for the occasion. Who wants to see a woman wearing a parka climbing to the top of the Empire State Building to have a raging rendezvous with an oversized gorilla, anyway? It just isn’t done! One slip in that slip and she was practically a goner.

But, you know, Naomi has sort of inspired me. Next time I go outside to fetch the paper on a frigid morning, I think I’ll forego the bundled-up look and wear something short and slinky, instead, just to get a roaring reaction out of Big Bore…or the neighbors. It might be worth a few laughs. I promise to draw the line, though, at wearing high heels and climbing onto the roof.

CUTTING THE CHEESE

“Need anything at the grocery store?” I asked Big Bore the other day before I headed out to get some yogurt. It was on sale at the supermarket where he prefers NOT to shop ever since his big pork and beans meltdown last year over its “limit two cans” rule. I rarely make grocery gigs anymore, which is the way I like it, but I figured I’d spare him having to walk into enemy territory.

BB asked me to pick up a block of Kraft cheese, extra sharp. No sweat. I could do it. After all, it was in the same department as the yogurt, so I wouldn’t get lost. I plunked down what I thought was way too much money for a 10 oz. gold brick, over 5 bucks, got my bargain yogurt, and went on my merry way.

Well, the next day BB decided to dig into the cheese with some crackers when he got home from work, but his dining pleasure came to an immediate halt when he tore off the red Kraft wrapper. One end of the cheddar was a not-so-appetizing greenish-gray (above picture is the real deal). I disgustedly dug up the sales receipt and offered to make a return trip to the grocery store to take back the fuzzy stuff, but Big Bore insisted he would do it. I immediately became suspicious.

At first I figured he wanted to have the satisfaction of showing off the tainted product to all the customers around the checkout stand, just to agitate the manager. “Attention shoppers!” he’d shout. “There’s a special on moldy cheese at register two!”

Then it dawned on me the real reason why he was so intent on taking back the cheese himself. I’d mucked up by selecting the crappy Kraft in the first place, so he probably didn’t trust me to select a mold-free replacement. I just do not have the grocery shopping savvy of the resident expert at Casa de la Flaming Bore.

“You want to make sure you don’t get mold again. Right?” I asked.

He said nothing but smiled.

Yep. It’s true. When it comes to the art of choosing cheese, I just can’t cut it.