In mint condition

A side effect of being lazy for an extended amount of time is that, eventually, Newton's law catches up to you and for every period of in-action there is an equal, productive re-action. This is how hobbies happen.

As for me, I happened to receive a couple of plants as gifts. Placing a life-form, however menial, in the hands of another is an interesting gift, isn't it? "Happy Birthday. Here's a chore that also turns a rather insignificant amount carbon dioxide into a small bit of oxygen."

As it so happens, I placed one of the plants next to the couch, on which I spend days napping and watching afternoon reruns of "Malcolm in the Middle." Then one day it happened. I looked over and had the burning idea it and the other two flowers in the apartment had to be repotted.

I took swift action. With that out of the way, each one snuggled in brand new pots with Miracle Grow soil out on the patio, I itched to plant more things. And I was armed with a whole extra bag of soil left over and a brand new watering can.

I've decided that I could get into this gardening thing. I went to a real garden center and bought two kinds of mint plants. One is called Mint Julep, which I like because it makes no bones about being almost exclusively for the making of a delicious alcoholic beverage. The other kind I've decided to try is called Kentucky Colonel, which I like because it sounds like a homage to KFC. If this works out, it may be a gateway to a fullblown herb garden. Or more flowers.

Or, the pendulum of laziness may swing in the other direction, particularly after a series of fresh Mojitos, and I'll return to a more relaxed state. Ready for a new hobby.

g-l-a-m-o-r-o-u-s is b-a-n-a-n-a-s

I'm going to be in a wedding next month, and for it, I had to buy a pair of silver, bride-approved high heels. To avoid teetering like a woman on stilts at the event, I decided to practice wearing them around the house. It's fun, because 1. they make that clicking sound when I walk across the kitchen, one that I always associate with adulthood, the sound of elementary school teachers curtly clicking down the tiled hallway, and 2. It's like playing dress-up while I empty the dishwasher.

The other day, though, I realized I was vacuuming the apartment in these glitzy shoes. How "Look" magazine is that? Maybe I'll put the dress on and clean the oven.

We're Norther than South Carolina

Yesterday a coworker and I drove to Clemson, S.C. to watch Syracuse take on the Tigers in NIT action. Or, as I call it, the only postseason basketball I can afford.

The whole experience was incredibly easy. We parked a very short walk from Littlejohn Coliseum for free. Picked up our 10 dollar tickets. Then went right to whatever seat we wanted - in our case, about 10 rows behind the Syracuse bench, directly behind an already drunk guy in a cat-in-the-hat style orange and blue hat. Though he was a sight obstruction, we agreed that this guy was potential energy, about to become kinetic at game time.

He didn't disappoint, almost getting thrown out by yelling "Go CUSE!" at quiet moments during Clemson's pregame Alma Mater dirge. They take this stuff seriously -it was as if the Tiger faithful were singing a hymn in church. So it goes in the South.

Almost as entertaining were the children behind us, wherein the kid-to-adult ratio was a teetering four-to-one. One lad in particular, probably about seven, kept shouting things he'd regurgitated from years of pee wee sports. "Show 'em the heat!" he'd yell as Clemson would pass the ball in bounds. "Take your time!" he'd helpfully offer before free throws.

Or, there's my personal favorite, and the reason we dubbed him "Opie" for the rest of the game:
"Come on, Clemson! What are you good for, anyway?!"
(This is the actual spelling, but what it sounded like was this:
"Kim awn, Climpsin! Whadderye gud fer, anyway?!")His pa must've been proud.

Sweep, Caroline

It was a wild one. I was in Target, one thing led to another, and I ended up buying a broom.

If you're wondering, there are about seven different brooms you can buy, ranging from a dollar to fifteen. If you want a broom that actually looks like what you think a broom should look like, and by that I mean the straw-like bristles and wooden handle, it's about 13 dollars.

I settled on a small, completely synthetic, Target brand model for a cool $3.50. After all, it's really just to tear up spider webs on my patio.

As soon as I got home, I gave the ol' patio a good sweeping, and, much to my chagrin, the broom I bought isn't worth more than $2.50. Regardless, I'm happy to have it. I feel like I can Shoo stuff now. You know, big bugs, stray dogs, neighborhood children...

Why?

Would anyone buy Hershey's Syrup light?

American Idle

Love or hate the show, put that aside. If ever you were curious about what Bert from Sesame Street would look like if he were black, and, you know, a real person, look no further: HEY BERT

My early favorites? Blake Lewis and Chris Sligh (also the closest to being Ernie)

Dear Papa John's,

Dear Papa John,

As a father, you must surely realize the importance of protecting your children from harm.

With that said, I beg you to stop heating your pizzas in those oven pouches the drivers carry.

While I appreciate this commitment to "hot" and "fresh," I will be frank. I burn the roof of my mouth on your still-too-bubbly cheese every time.

And the pizza is hot, yes, but it's also a bit overcooked. And I generally don't eat food prepared using the power from a car's cigarette lighter, if you must know. It's unnatural.

So, please, just return to the insulation method of yesteryear. My mouth thanks you.

Best wishes,
Lisa