I Heart Rumsfeld

I'm not a Republican. But, can't help but share these smile-worthy snippets. Brilliant or not, your call. At the very least, does make me appreciate that people -- regardless of silly party affiliations -- are what matter.

That, and a lovely ability to insert slivers of zany into otherwise mundane topics.

Oh, everything quoted is from "Pieces of Intelligence" compiled and edited by Hart Seely.

"It takes far too long for
Anything to happen, as
Far as I'm concerned."
-- Nov. 12, 2002, Pentagon town hall meeting

"Nothing we have,
Nothing in the defense establishment,
Nothing you own in your homes
Is perfect.
Your cars aren't perfect.
Your bikes aren't perfect.
Our eyeglasses aren't perfect.
We live with that all the time.
Does that --
If you cannot do everything,
Does that mean that you should not do anything?"
-- Dec. 13, 2001, Department of Defense news briefing

"Anyone who knows nothing isn't talking
And anyone with any sense isn't talking.
Therefore:
The people that are talking to the media,
By definition, people who don't know anything,
And people who don't have a hell of a lot of sense."
-- Sept. 22, 2002, media availability en route to Poland

"Anything that I say
That I shouldn't have
Is off the record.
I want you to
Understand that
Right now, up front."
-- Jan. 12, 2002, interview with the Washington Post

"I'm brusque.
I'm impatient.
It's genetic.
I can't help it."
-- Dec. 18, 2002, interview with Larry King, CNN

"Needless to say,
The president is correct.
Whatever it was he said."
-- Feb. 28, 2003, Department of Defense briefing

"Opinion polls go up and down,
They spin like weather vanes.
They're interesting, I suppose.
I don't happen to look."
-- Sept. 8, 2002, media stakeout following CBS's Face the Nation

"If you're walking towards a wall,
And you decide you want to go to the opposite wall,
The sooner you make the correction,
The easier it is.
If you wait until you're right face up against the wall,
Then you've got to make a sharp turn."
-- June 24, 2002, interview with Bloomberg News

Slivers of Time

830pm: Spend eight minutes reminding Oskar and Pippi that though they seemingly have an insatiable appetite, going after my luxuriously home-cooked meal is, quite frankly, simply rude.

1030pm: Dogs pass out after running around like maniacs for an hour.

1134pm: Oskar wakes me up. Despite my feeble, sleep-induced attempts to ignore him, I fumble my way to the kitchen assuming someone needs a potty break. Um, yeah. Ten seconds later my left foot steps into a pool of pee.

601am: Dogs are hungry.

805am: Dogs eat one of the bright yellow couch pillows.

Think they just didn't like the color?

Huh?

(insert radio jangle-ey tune)

"Stop by anytime for a $1.24 cheeseburger!"

(exit radio jangle-ey tune. insert uber-serious sounding, speed-talking voice-over)

"For a limited time only. While supplies last. Prices subject to change."

This, apparantley, is why we need lawyers.

Nothing -- not even slimey corner-store pre-packaged burgers -- is what it seems.

Let's Go

Red tail lights. Screeching halts. And out of the blue, we were crawling along at 20 mph.

Welcome to Los Angeles. Sadly, not unusual. But for whatever reason, the appealing scale never rises above a one point three. And that's only thanks to Shooter song number two.

As my Element's over-due-for-service little engine hob-knobbed with Hummers and sedans larger than my living room, I spotted it. A brand-spanking-new, shiny, silver Porche. Oddly crumpled in the car pool lane, it's bumper somehow cradling the divider.

The barely-old-enough-to-drive starlet was on her cellphone, still strapped in, calling either Daddy or Triple-A. Possibly both.

Thing is, nobody even batted an eye.

So where is that place? That simply divine spot where people wave and smile and amble down the road, instead of cursing when the light turns red. Where green means mosey and sunlit mornings translate to a luxuriously slow pace.

We have to find it. Immediately.

Pin-Point-ist-i-cally You

Maybe it's how you wear your jeans. Or prefer plain, old Ivory soap. Perhaps it's the glittery speckles you add to your cheeks, or the way you over-accessorize for no apparent reason other than the fact that you can.

Some people wear only black. Others romanticize the color pink. And then there's the mysterious crew who always seems to find the odd, the strange and the hypnotically appealing -- and wear it just so.

But that's neither here, nor there.

What is?

Herb butter. Secret ingredients, addictive results. Perfect for grilled filets, roasted chicken, sultry baked potatoes and red-pepper-flaked broccoli florets. A mere dab will transform your meal.

The little black dress, if you will, of the kitchen.

I'd share the recipe but that would be like divulging where to buy light-blue-seam 7s. Besides, it's more appealing to make up your own, anyway.

Confused

So I totally support airport security. Completely fine with removing shoes, unhooking belts and sending my fakey-pink-diamond covered watch through in a special plastic bin.

Every now and then there's some foolish peep who scribbles jokes about bombs and knives on the miniature cocktail napkins. Not funny.

But, this? Really?

Super disappointing. Makes me wonder if I should stop traveling in my 'You Can't Get This in the States' t-shirt. Or if blatantly flaunting 'Pippi Rules' is going to get me kicked off an airbus.

Lame.

Who We Are

Perhaps it's mostly chromosomes. Paired with continental exposure, translated convictions and assumptions that transcend generations.

In any case.

Sometimes brilliant moments arrive, that illuminate that which might seem odd or crazy or out-of-the-blue. And while many may opt to question your actions, the very core of your innermost being senses that you've been poised for this since the notions of a beginning.

Take Jacquelyn Sherman, for example.

Displaced by Katrina, she scrounged up all the spare change she could find and played the lottery. One point six million buckaroos later, she's happy as a clam. Think she's relocating to hurricane-free lands? Putting a massive downpayment on a mansion on the opposite end of the country?

Nope. She's going back to New Orleans. Because that's what's in her soul.

Seriously

Evidently, my dogs are sneaking around in the middle of the night, taking hot showers. That's clearly the only feasible explanation for why I have zero hot water on some mornings. Sound dubious? Consider a few other labrador-golden-retriever highlights:

• They've mastered the art of detecting a perfectly brewed cup of coffee, slurping most of it without a single spill.
• Every now and then, the paper is mysteriously missing from the driveway. Coincidentally -- or not -- those are the very mornings that Oskar chooses to sleep practically cradling the front door.
• Ghosts. They sense them. Why else would they make mad rushes for the back of the yard, barking at absolutely nothing?
• Just when I think I couldn't possibly time my departure any later, they sneak off with the pillows from the couches.

In related fabulous news: they're expert fly catchers and insects-in-the-house-detectors. Brilliantly luxurious. Especially in soon-to-be-cricket season.

Waffle Not

Epiphanies evidently arrive in taxi-cabs.

Last week, bustling toward LAX, I remembered what I'd filed away and forgotten:

You are your own CEO.

So, definitely ask. Inquire. Consider recommendations. Listen to analogies. Contemplate curious tidbits. And ponder perceived brilliance.

But ultimately, it's up to you.

As the inhabitants of the Magical Forest so eloquently put it: stop drowning your decisions in syrup -- if you remember what you love (a dab of butter and a hint of raspberry jam), you'll find what you're looking for.

Easy-Peasy

Matt doesn't really cook.

Toast and hard-boiled-eggs aside, his bachelor-hood days weren't necessarily filled with trips to the produce department at Ralph's or casual contemplation in front of the fresh seafood counter.

But a couple of weeks ago, Filippa was running late and he -- with the aid of the telephone and a couple, I'm sure, improvisational moments -- prepared pizza dough from scratch. Measured the yeast, added the water and flour, let it proof. Added the remaining goodies, covered with saran wrap and let it rise.

Honestly, I thought that would be it.

And then I got the phone call.

"Matt made stir-fried chicken with sugar-snap peas and pineapple salsa," Filippa practically chirped.

He found a cookbook. Pounced on a recipe. And followed it, step-by-magical-step.

So ... what is it you're saying you can't do?

Analyze This

I'm in Munich, staring at fresh-from-the-oven rolls.

Pumpernickel touched by sesame seeds, sourdough speckled with green and black olives, poppy-seed everythings, and loaves upon loaves of every possible heavenly combination.

It's almost my turn.

Everything is clearly and neatly labeled, block-letter-cards adorning each miniature shelf, heralding every item released from the oven's inferno.

Then it hits me.

The labels are all wrong. I don't know what anything is called. And though my German was once perfectly gut, that was 12 years ago.

So I panic. Stall. Try to eavesdrop as other natives place their orders.

The smells are intoxicating. My head begins to spin. I don't know what to do.

And then I woke up. Here's how I see it: I'm either a) overly-obsessed with really great bread; b) insanely excited about the prospect of an amazing sandwich; or c) have an inexplicably secret and hidden fear involving ordering in a bakery.

Sunday Night Luxuries

• An addictively fabulous novel.
• Two sleepy, snoozing dogs.
• Back-yard sprinklers.
• Orangina from the bottle.
• Salted almonds, peanuts and cashews.
• Italian parmesan, red and yellow cherry tomatoes, and yummie olive oil.
• Rose-scented candles.
• Open windows.
• Brand-new, super-cute, slightly funky black boots.
• Light-blue glitter-pocket jeans.
• Waiting for Altville.

Lightbulb-Like

In addition to having a fabulous first name and a knack for inventions, Mr. Einstein was also sagely wise:

"There are only two ways to live your life -- one is as though nothing is a miracle, the other is as though everything is a miracle."

Rocket-science knowledge isn't required to figure out which path is more appealing. Still, little-bitty reminders never hurt, even if your soul is magically drawn to things glamorously other-world-ly.

• Mozzarella never fails to perfectly melt on pizza.
• Sunshine usually finds a way to sneak itself in.
• You made it.
• Time has a way of stre-e-e-e-tching when you need it most.
• Wishing upon a star evidently works.

Idiom-atically Yours

Straightforwardness rules the universe. Speaking in circles only brings confusion and -- clearly -- never aided anyone trying to concisely capture a crystaline thought.

So if you'd like to add just a sliver of allure and mystique to your brilliant modes of expression, try a sprinkle of Euro-Thought. You know, bizarr-o expressions that appeal precisely because they're not possible to literally translate.

"She slipped in on a banana peel."

"I was working against the windmills."

"We were stuck in the yogurt."

Translations? Oh, use your imagination. It's time you added some rhetorical spice to your already-poignant persona.

Meine Schwester

Funny how five freezingly-sunny days can turn perspective on its pretty little princess head. But mostly, it's clear that a cross-Atlantic flight to the land of beer and bratwurst is as magical as swaying stars and purple moon-beams.

She's 30 and blonde and brilliant. She's patient and kind and perfectly coordinated. She glitters and sparkles and never leaves a soul untouched.

Clara. My middle sister. Here's but a sliver of her wisdom, which hopefully will osmosis-ti-cally stick with me.

• Persist. Never relent. Finish what you set out to do.
• If you're thinking it, speak it. At least most of the time.
• Always include.
• Stay true.
• Inquire. Figure out. And understand.
• Believe.
• Only do that which makes you feel like a princess.

Whatever Works

Depending on mood, moonlight and degree of magic, I might opt for honey-infused Earl Gray, a glass of favorite California Cabernet, or a teensy nugget of milk-chocolate covered Lubeck marzipan.

And while an early-morning run certainly does wonders for the soul, donning worn-in sneaks and pink-striped sweats isn't always an option.

But that's not really important.

Knowing how to bring sunlight to cloudy days, is.

"If you have your makeup, your cleanser, a razor and a gallon of water, everything will be OK," said Bonnie Irby, who despite Katrina, is trying to focus on life's little luxuries.

Wow.

Think about that, next time you're pining for gold. Clearly, it's at your fingertips.

Ticket-Less Travel

You don't really need a tropical island. And while cramming toiletries and pink bikinis in an overhead-compartment-friendly-bag is certainly compelling, it's much more luxurious to gingerly pack without worrying about airport security rummaging through your fancies.

Instead: vacation here. Now. Immediately. If you're confusingly impaired, select one of these pre-made itineraries. Magical moments guaranteed.

1. Lazy, lovely pool-side weekend. Comfy lounges and pina coladas are definite pluses. But anything garnished with orange slices or cherries will do just fine.
2. Cab it. Transform a regular middle-of-the-week-night into an immediate mini-get-away. Dine, drink and devour.
3. Pour your favorite red. Make easy-as-pie lasagna. If you add enough oregano & garlic you might trick yourself into thinking you're in Italy.

Never let a day go by without fun. Even better: sprinkle your days with fakey-vacations. It's deliciously addictive.

Lesson One

• Everyone wants to tackle the quarterback.
• Eleven players per side.
• New England is looking for a three-peat.
• The Raiders are a bunch of gangsters.
• Something about 10 yards and 4 downs.

That's pretty much all I know about football. Ever since college, I've tried to understand the cultural fascination with this weird-o game. Ask any Swedish ex-pat, and you'll quickly realize that I'm not the only one who has trouble keeping their eye on the ball.

But this year, things will change.

I'm delightfully determined to master -- or at least gain a perfunctory understanding of -- this Fall obsession. I want to know who to root for. What plays are tricksters and which ones are foul. Which teams are the underdogs and what the sports-punsters will predict and postulate in the morning's paper.

I am ready for pig-skin-related maven-hood.

What Do You Recommend?

Brewpub. San Jose-ish. Party of 16.

"So yes, I have a question. Is the 'spice rubbed whole chicken' really an entire chicken?"

"Yes."

"Um, OK. So it's insanely large, then?"

"Oh, well no. See it's actually a cornish hen. But when we described it that way on the menu, nobody ordered it. So we changed it to chicken."

Interesting.

Perception, in all it's glory, seemingly runs the world. Labels -- for all their fabulous pro-categorization appeal -- don't really mean a whole lot.

So go ahead. Sprinkle your days with 'magic' and 'dreamsicles' and 'sunlit-thoughts'. Make up words. Add alluringly appealing adjectives to your every-day prose.

But please. If it's miniature and marvelous, don't change it into something extra-large and mundane. Be pro-flair. If not clear, it's at least intriguing.

Say It

Remember the cliche that reverberates so well for anyone a little too addicted to work? The one that fittingly reminds us that once your hair turns gray and your birthday candles out-number 70, you'll look back and wish you'd spent more time with those you so adore?

Yeah.

So live it. Be it. Think it. Breathe it.

But most of all: whisper, shout, share and dream that which makes you -- so deliciously and fabulously -- you.

I promise, someone out there wants to hear.

Stay True

"We don't want to put any money down and we'd like the payments to stay below $400," said my sister and her ever-doting fiance.

As they sat in the spot we've all sat: window-esque office behind an-almost-sterile desk at a local dealership, the floor-guy "chatted" with his manager.

"OK," he finally, undoubtedly beamed. "Here's what we can do for you: $4,000 down and $601 a month."

Laughable? For sure. Ever-so-frequent of an occurrence? Pretty much.

Know what you want. And once you've deliberated, debated and decidedly made up your mind: waiver not.

Besides. Things -- even dreams of that new-car-smell -- have a delightful way of working themselves out.

Back-To-Remember

In the first grade, I learned that saying "thanks for the day, everyone" before piling flower-ey notebooks and glittery pencils into handy-dandy rucksacks, provided lovely and fitting closure.

Third grade translated to even more universally applicable lessons: "if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all." I think I was the only girlie girl not invited to Amy's birthday-party. Evidently she figured fakey-Americans wouldn't understand the games.

That first bell is about to ring, again.

Those miniature nuggets of elementary wisdom are still fittingly appropriate today.

Are you living by yours?

Hope

Samuel Thompson had a violin. Confined within the Superdome, surrounded by stench, chaos and profound sadness, he played.

Not sure what that was like.

But I'm hoping his notes somehow reached the shooters and looters and insanity-inspired actions taking place outside the arena.

Calling it a silver-lining seems much too sunlit. So instead let's pay tribute to the amazing resilience of the human spirit. To those that find the good amidst a down-pour. And especially the lucky few who experience -- if only for an instant -- a sliver of happy.

Free-For-All

Remember letters? Penmanship? Curly-queues and flower-ey stamps and Airmail-adorned shimmery envelopes?

Barely.

Instead, this:

1. Free dream angels heavenly .25 oz eau de parfum spray
2. American Mortgage Corp payment reduction notice: "Get an additional $35K unrestricted cash at close!"
3. Pope Mortgage offer: "A .5% payment program is now available!"
4. Local Money Mailer: "Like getting money in your mailbox!"
5. Ameriquest Mortgage offer: "Dear Princess Malin, I think we can really help. Give me a call at 800 ...."
6. Umpteen, endless coupons & flyers. (Best highlight: 99-cent Gatorade at Pavillions)
7. A "Have you seen me?" flyer for Robert Pillsen-Rahier. (Always study those photos. You never know.)
8. Macy's catalog
9. Charter communications ad
10. Capital One personal loan application: "Lock in this rate and it will never change. We guarantee it!"

At least Andy Manning got actual correspondence.

Apparent Edibles

• Light blue and yellow spaghetti strap top
• Various editions of The New Yorker
• A lovely placemat
• Antique tulip table-cloth
• Mis-matched socks
• A plastic tray
• Almost the entire Sunday paper
• An extra large, plaid dog bed
• Orange flip-flops

Iris DeMent and John Prine sang it best:

In spite of ourselves
We'll end up a' sittin' on a rainbow
Against all odds
Honey, we're the big door prize
We're gonna spite our noses
Right off of our faces
There won't be nothin' but big old hearts
Dancin' in our eyes.

Oskar and the Pippster, what would I do without you?

Let It Play

I'm clearly hooked on my pink iPod. Dog walks, early-morning-jogs, 4pm work-reprieves -- impossible not to salute the brilliance of the miniature device that holds thousands of favorites.

But, yeah.

When I flew to Sweden I judiciously paused and played for mere minutes in a row. I made up rules to save the battery life.

• No listening until after the first meal is served
• Pause it while reading
• And if sweet sleep seems seductively simple, use the airplane's radio channels instead

In happy news, it seems tunes they are-a-changing.

Apple Computer Inc. has fessed up. A judge recently approved a class-action settlement, related to the disappointing battery-life of the pods. If you own one of the first three models, you're entitled to $25 in cash, a $50-credit or a free replacement battery.

Details here.

Granted, it won't last the duration of a cross-Atlantic flight. But that would be too much to ask for, wouldn't it?

Transcripts

Hello, you have 16 new messages.

1. "Ja ma hon leva, ja ma hon leva" -- grandma singing birthday song.
2. Aloha! This is Julie at toll free ...
3. Hello, I am calling on behalf of World Savings Bank,
4. Hi, this is Kim calling from Macy's, wanted to make sure you got your sales catalog ...
5. "Hejsan gumman, ja du ar inte hemma" -- mom, cute & Swedish.
6. Hang-up.
7. Hello, this is an important message from Dish Network ...
8. Hang-up.
9. We've heard you're interested in buying a home, and ...
10. Hang-up.
11. Hello, this is an important message from Dish Network ...
12. Hang-up.
13. I wanted to let you know that you've been pre-qualified for a 1% mortgage rate!
14. Hello, this is Art with Ocean Pacific Capital,
15. Hang-up.
16. Hang-up.

And I haven't even gone through the mail yet.

A Thousand Words

Well I can't remember

But it still makes me laugh

When I see us together

In a photograph

Charlie Robison. Texas alt icon. Twangy, touchable lyrics. Down-home truth strummed -- eloquently or not -- with a twist of addictive sarcasm.

I've got my own picture. It's above my dresser. In my bedroom. Adorned with a strand of pearl-ey JazzFest beads. Gold, gilded, antique, over-sized frame. Miniature photo. And it's one of my favorites.

I'm two, maybe three. Having what appears to be tea out of pink and white porcelain cups with my mother's grandmother. Malin. My name-sake. It's summer. I'm holding a hat over my head -- possibly the first iteration of the happy dance.

Makes me smile every morning.

Moral of the story: find your photograph.

Dear Andy Manning:

I gave you quite a bit of leeway for the first year. Honestly, I kept thinking you'd just forgotten to forward your mail. So, as any upstanding fakey-American, I returned everything to sender. Letters from relatives. Junk mail. Credit card applications.

But seriously. Three years later and I'm still getting all kinds of envelopes: over-sized and miniature, from attorneys and collection agencies and every Better Business Bureau known to man. I'm OK with that.

Not cool with the grandma penmanship. The cutesey flower-adorned envelopes addressed to you in antique cursive, barely legible to the untrained eye. The ones with an angel sticker instead of a return address. The ones begging for a response.

A few months ago, I broke down and tracked down the owner of the gorgeous script. She was 83. You fixed her roof last year, but the early storms we had resulted in a leak. Which has caused extensive damage. She doesn't want money. She doesn't even want an apology. She just wants you to fix her home.

GLWT,
Princess Malin

ps. That one day you and your Brad-Pitt-blond-hair showed up in my driveway definitely freaked me out. I know you used to live here. Still. I'd prefer to keep my property creepy-karma-free.

Every-Where

Newspapers around the world lauded him as a musical genius. A piano whiz, mute, clad in a tattered suit and decidedly brilliant.

That was in April.

To the dismay of many, it appears none of that is true -- except the wardrobe description. German authorities have claimed the 20-year-old as one of their own: an apparent lost soul in search of something mysteriously ellusive, yet worth enough to jump ship.

The general global media consensus is captured snippet-like in today's LA Times:

"The e-mails, the radio banter, the perplexed news anchors, they all prattled through the day with subdued regret that sometimes magic just doesn't happen."

Sad isn't it?

Why does every-one always forget to remember that magic lives, breathes and sings -- daily? Granted, a Spielberg-like mystery-man would have made a lovely flick.

But seriously. Let's not lose hope. Instead, relish in that which resides before your very eyes.

Next Time You're In S.F.

Stay at the York Hotel. The windows actually open and the stairs are appealingly windy and creaky enough just to be mysterious.

Drink as many Bloody Mary's as possible at Balboa. Preferably during brunch.

Sit at a corner-window table at Mario's. Order the open-faced tuna focaccia and don't be afraid to eat copiously.

Take a picture in the throne chair at Vesuvios.

Make sure your cab driver knows where he's going. If not, immediately get out of the car.

Wait the necessary 50 minutes for the roasted chicken at Zuni Cafe. Try not to get Scott as your waiter. He frowns too much.

Try the apricot scone, orange juice and smoked, grilled chicken sausage at Dottie's True Blue Cafe. Don't worry about the line out the door. It's worth it.

Always remember that water is your friend.

If I Were A Jennings

I'd sing songs like Shooter. Wearing jeans and dusty boots, playing tributes to George and Willie, and remembering that the only way to keep your Savannah is to dance for today and remind her -- daily -- what's hidden in your heart.

So, it comes to the end of the day
And I’m checking out of my hotel room today
It’s been two years since I’ve seen your face
The girl beside me reminds me how you taste;

Since I’ve seen you, I’ve been beaten down and bruised
And every day I’m feeling more and more misused
I never thought that I would be without your love
Years gone by, you’re still the one I’m thinking of;

Sweet Savannah, you shine so bright
May the evening bring your favorite night
Sweet Savannah, you been gone so long
But I’ve got to move on;

It’s getting cold, I put my jacket on your back
And we smoke a cigarette, the last one in the pack
I still remember exactly what you said
That you had demons that you couldn’t put to bed;

Now I’m leaving, yeah, I’m moing out west
And it’s time for us to lay our history to rest
I still remember a tear drop in your eye
But you know I couldn’t stand to see you cry;

Sweet Savannah, you shine so bright
May the evening bring your favorite night
Sweet Savannah, you been gone so long
But I’ve got to move on;

So I close on this Hollywood night
Where this counter-culture cultivates an emptiness inside
Would it be different if you were still here in my life
Would I be sober, and would you be my wife?

Sweet Savannah, you shine so bright
May the evening be your favorite night
Sweet Savannah, you been gone so long
But I’ve got to be movin’ on ....

Midnight Lessons

It's no secret that moonlight makes you wise.

Add a comfy couch, lovely tunes and an open-minded soul and you've got ample opportunities for magic.

• Assumptions don't make the world go round.
• Loyalty does.
• Affectionate reminders of what is are never inappropriate.
• Herb butter perfects any meal.
• Learn enough about someone to trust them completely.
• But remember that everyone mis-steps, every now and then.
• Forgive if you can.
• Speak your mind.
• And always, always, put yourself out there.

Rule 11: Smile At Strangers

Yes. Doing your own thing, adding that little bit of personal-you-charm to your day-to-day clearly is preferred. It's like serving tomatoes and mozzarella au gratin instead of unadorned with basil -- differently addictive.

But honestly. A few things just .... are.

1. Don't speed driving by a school.
2. Pour wine for others before you refill your own glass.
3. Scones should not be the size of footballs.
4. It's OK to just eat the top part of the blueberry muffin.
5. Try not to skip breakfast.
6. Apologize.
7. Dance.
8. Buy organic produce.
9. Be the first to say hello.
10. When attending a group function, don't skip out on the bill.

Blissfully Quiet

Everyone needs an alone night.

It's not that you don't love to socialize. Or that your favorite peeps aren't addictively fabulous. But in addition to fancy, lotion-scented sleep and a dimly-lit, wine-kissed meal for one, it's important to remember what makes you tick when the day is done.

Like: carrots, green tomatoes and a miniature basket filled with figs from the Farmer's Market. Cheap-o red wine in a blue and green glass. Toasted home-baked bread with a touch of salted butter. Parmesan cheese, courtesy of a-dad-who-travels-to-Milan. Short stories. Candles. Ceiling fans.

And then. Right before your slumbery eyes call it a night: a date with heavenly cranberry sugar rub and bamboo lemongrass foaming body scrub. Favorite PJs. Night-lights.

You're out. And when the phone rings at 1030, you're already dreaming about whispering well-trained pooches and diamond-studded dog-leashes.

This Just In

I'm a creature of habit. But I have to break the one-post-a-day rule for this: an actual letter to the editor of an Arkansas daily.

"Observation on why George Bush was re-elected.

The Democrat Party's mistake was in supposing that a disastrous war, national bankruptcy, the loss of our liberties, a corporate takeover of the government, a conspiracy to sabotage Social Security and Medicare, the destruction of the environment, a systematic lying by the Administration on all levels, and the forfeiting of our economic and moral leadership in the world might be of some concern to the electorate.

The Republicans rightly perceived that the chief concern of the American people was how to keep gay couples from having an abortion."

Thank you, Anonymous.

But ...

I think it's because I walk fast. And am incapable of whispering.

Technically, it's not really interrupting. It's more enhancing an already intriguing conversation. You know, adding teensy nuances of girlie-girl commentary, that clearly can only elevate the understanding of everyone else.

Might also be because the story is so good, so compelling, fabulously fascinating, and I just can't wait for the punch-line.

OK, so there's that.

About the loud talking: Once there was a princess. She lived high up in the cloud-covered mountains, next to purple daisies and rain-drop-filled sunflowers. The rest of the village lived far, far below. Deep in the heart of a green-and-orange valley. The princess was very wise. And super-cute. Every morning, the valley peeps would gather at the base of the sunlit mountain, awaiting their sparkling & magical morning greeting.

Moments of silence.

Then, in the far, far remotest distance, way up high, they heard their glorious princess:

"Happy fabulous Monday!" she'd glitter.

The jubilant crowd would cheer. And everyone lived happily ever after.

Moral of the story: princesses are obligated to speak loudly. For how else can they make sure everyone gets to share in a slice of star-lit magic?

Twangy Truth

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder,
You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger,
May you never take one single breath for granted,
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed,
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.
I hope you dance....I hope you dance.

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance,
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Livin' might mean takin' chances but they're worth takin',
Lovin' might be a mistake but it's worth makin',
Don't let some hell bent heart leave you bitter,
When you come close to sellin' out reconsider,
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.
I hope you dance....I hope you dance.

You don't have to be in love with country charisma to appreciate that. Thank you, Lee Ann Womack.

Girlfriends

1. Understand the magic inherent in a great pair of black heels.
2. Let you know when you're being ridiculous and over-analytical.
3. Tell you how fabulous you look, always.
4. Immediately grasp why you're laughing, uncontrollably.
5. Share.
6. Inspire.
7. Remind you that boys are silly -- sometimes adorable-- but still, silly.
8. Know that John Frieda's Ocean Waves is a must-buy.
9. Give perfect cards.
10. Encourage, believe and mostly: love you unconditionally.

You're Already Running Late ...

... So why rush?

Slow down. Breathe. Sip coffee. Wave for the sunlight. Primp. Glamorize. Accessorize.

Funny how madness propels everything forward, but it's the less-than-speedy nuances of time that bring out the luxuries.

Like a good shower. Lavender. A blooming sunflower. A brilliant photograph. A favorite sparkly hair-clip. Long-forgotten winks. The hum-hum-humming of the dryer. Great, memorable, addictively-true song lyrics.

See? You would have missed all that if you didn't take the time to mosey.

Bye. Gotta run.

Poignantly So

My dad tells the story fabulously.

I was three, maybe four -- possibly even two. Wearing something super-cute-and-girlie, no doubt. On vacation with my parents deep in the Swedish heartland. Somehow, somewhere we entered a building. A theater? A museum? Or maybe it was less grandiose, just a room with an elevated part in the back.

They lost me.

Momentary panic. Frantic searching. Calling. Scrambling.

"Here I am!" I practically beamed, appearing -- of course -- in the middle of the stage.

Funny how circular that really is. Three decades later and I still crave the limelight. And yes -- definitely still plan on donning something insanely adorable.

When your day entails gulping wine and devouring fine foods, it's best to look the fancy part.

Je Voudrais

It's petite. Tote-able. Perfectly purse-sized. Translated from French into Swedish, the short stories as told by author Anna Gavalda are -- without sounding trite -- immaculate capsules of what is.

Slices of life, be they luxuriously Parisian or farm-fresh and jewel-free.

She crosses a street, glances over her shoulder and meets instant attraction. Hours later, she gazes into his eyes ensconced within a candle-lit corner bistro, sipping an '86 vintage, contemplating her luck.

When his cellphone rings, he mutes it quickly, apologetically. She shrugs it off. But then, what could have been a night of perfect beauty, makes a U-turn, as the would-be-suitor glances at his missed-calls-display, not realizing that she's watching his every move.

She leaves. Disappointed. But proud.

That's the entire opening novella. I'm hooked. Not sure I would have left attraction and appeal over a ringtone ... but still. Love that she did.

According to BB

Find your person. And make them smile.

Impossible not to immediately see the wisdom in that, especially when declared by an 80-year-old legend, who clearly has no doubts about the love of his life. Lucille may not be able to sip wine or chatter about current events, but she's always there, no matter what the blues extol.

As we sat in row GG, seat 106 & 107, nodding and swaying and feeling the tunes, it hit me.

It's not about giving so that you can receive. It's really just about finding your groove, being that which you always wish to be, and most importantly, singing for your one and only.

Oh yes. And realizing that there's never not a time to sit poolside sipping parrot-bedecked pina coladas ....

Suburbia, 8.30am

Neighbor Down the Street: Did you get a new dog?
Princess Malin: Yeah, she's a stray.
NDS: Wow. She looks really young.
PM: She's three.
NDS: Well, I am sure they're having fun.
PM: Yes. Especially since I'm at work all day.
NDS: You work?!?
PM: Um, yeah.
NDS: OH! I THOUGHT YOU WERE A HOUSEWIFE! When do you go to work?
PM: Oh, depends. Try to be in by 9.
NDS: OH! BANKER'S HOURS!

It's abundantly clear. I need an immediate, dramatic appearance change. Rockstar? Clearly. Hipster, cool, girl? Definitely. Super-fabulous and insanely interesting? For sure!

But housewife? Ohmygosh not yet.

Heavenly 'Cue

Friends. There's never really a time to not invite them over for dinner. All it takes is a super-speedy grocery venture, a few minutes of marinating prep and a good corkscrew.

1. Place the pork tenderloin in a deep dish. Add reckless amounts of olive oil and vinegar, as much minced garlic as you dare, red pepper flakes, salt and dash upon dash of thyme, oregano, paprika and Herbes de Provence.
2. Bake the potatoes. Halve lengthwise, scoop out the good stuff-ever-so-daintly (leaving the outside intact) and place in mixing bowl. Add a couple spoonfuls of sourcream, splashes of milk, more minced garlic, all appealing herbs from your spice rack, sharp cheddar, gobs of butter, and -- super-key -- Chipotle Tabasco sauce. Tons of it.

Grill the pork. Sprinkle the spuds with more cheese & place in oven until nice and bubbly.

Pour wine. Light candles. Play tunes. Devour.

Happy August.

Yes

Before I left for Madrid as a 20-year-old going on 16, I paused, if only for a moment. Slightly worried how I'd get around without really speaking the language, I had a slivery slice of second thoughts. Then my parents said, of course you can do it. It's no big deal. Go.

When my sister's dreams of dentistry led her to Witten-Herdecke -- deep in the unknown heart of Germany -- she clearly realized she didn't know anything about placing verbs at the end of sentences, much less the weight of the formal Sie. But of course she went. Why? Our parents always believed we could and should. And we all did.

So, wish. Believe. And always go.

Because those secrets that you've whispered only to falling stars really do translate to magic. But only if you stay true.

Pretty Much

• Pompeii Purple is your best bet for toe-nail-polish.
• When in doubt, play a Willie song.
• Try everything once before you make up your mind.
• Sometimes, try it again. And again. And again.
• Cereal really isn't a good breakfast on the run.
• Coffee is.
• A fabulous belt translates to fancier jeans.
• Smile.
• Remember.
• Drink good red wine.
• Act before you think.
• It's way more fun.

Bottle the Good

It would undoubtedly be one of the best inventions of all time. Shelves upon shelves of pink-or-blue-or-yellow-hued glass, each one containing a slivery slice of personalized magic.

The perfect run. Cheesy, oregano-kissed lasagna. Twenty-five seconds of dance-able bliss. The last chapter of your favorite book. Beach-flavored sunsets. Three soaring stars. Fields of tulips. Lemon butterflies. Clogs. Your favorite jeans.

As madness seems to circulate the globe, the super-smart and brilliantly savvy know that the best way to live is to do just that: live.

It's never too late to begin, by the way. If you're slightly hesitant, find that deliciously comfy T-shirt and worn-in pair of sneaks and take on the day.

Besides. It's August. Clearly the best month ever.

Pieces of Heaven

Stand by what you believe in.

Sometimes, easier said than done. But mostly, I think, forgotten along with whatever tricks-and-tips your 11th grade Algebra teacher tried to sneak into your mindly file-cabinets.

But if an 83-year-old little-bitty-lady can represent infront of Senators, wiry spectacles and all, then so can you.

Not saying you need to travel to D.C. to show support for your causes.

Just avoid compromising on that which would alter fundamental you. Besides, if we all did, then the fascinating fabulousness of convictions would disappear in plumes of smoke.

Sweet Tail Spots

His cat carrier was flawless. As Pippi and I waited our turn, he found three stray Calico hairs and immediately flicked them to the ground.

Samantha, the black lab to my left, had a funky spot on her belly. And an older man in Wranglers and crazy-big buckle cradled a miniature mutt with unusual freckles on her nose.

Two hours and $152 later, Oskar greeted us at the door. "One-hundred-and-twenty-minutes sure seemed like a life-time," he seemed to whisper to his golden-haired beauty, who immediately gave his left front paw a friendly nudge.

For all the whirl-winded-ness of chaotic days, our four-legged buddies always seem to remember the joys of routine. Calm. Predictability. Super-appealing same-ness.

Next time you're tempted to go-go-go, consider the wisdom of those who clearly appreciate the value of Iams-inspired sleep: there's nothing wrong with indulging in that which makes you smile. And if given a chance, pamper your fabulous friends.

They, too, love you unconditionally. You just have to figure out if they prefer tennis balls or the indestructible Kong.

Je Ne Sais Quois

I could probably have lived without "Blink."

And so, the fact that I'm slightly mesmerized by "The Tipping Point" either means that I, too, succumb to gas-station-literature -- or this time, Gladwell makes a few noteworthy points.

Consider this:

"There is a simple way to package information that, under the right circumstances, can make it irresistible. All you have to do is find it."

Ponder that. As you pour coffee, flip the radio dial, chitter-chatter at work, shop for jeans and train your uncontrollable pooch.

I'm not going to call it brilliant just yet. But it certainly made me think.

Dear Ralphs

Aside from a beat-up Dodge Caravan and a non-descript pick-up, I was the only car in the parking lot. Rushing past the baskets and carts, I glanced at my pink-and-glittering watch: 11:45pm.

Fifteen minutes til closing.

Moments later, clutching my morning-must-have: 2% milk for splashing coffee and dousing Grape Nuts, I checked out.

Sleepy. Dreading the 5am wake-up call. But mostly, oblivious to anyone.

"Well aren't you just a bright spot of sunshine?" chirped Norma as she counted my change.

"You just brightened our day," she continued to beam.

I'm clearly never shopping anywhere else.

Magical Medicine

Forget Advil and Band-Aids. And while there's certainly a time for lotions and potions and glittery powders, that's still pretty run-of-the-mill.

On those trickster days when the moon temporarily forgets to dance with the sun, focus on that which changes blues to polka-dotted-pinks.

• Running shoes
• A really good book
• Long-forgotten journals
• Swedish flower saft
• Cheese and raspberry jam
• Girlfriends
• Flip-flops & baseball caps
• Lucky stones
• Mellow melodies
• Reaching for the sky & touching your toes
• Circularity, not to be confused with clarity
• Crayolas
• Freckles

Once-In-A-Blue-Moon

1. Sometimes, what you think you want isn't necessarily what the stars have in mind for you.
2. Sometimes, you have to remember that a couple actually translates to two.
3. Sometimes, it's the little things that are the trickiest to forget.
4. Sometimes, it makes sense to take a step back instead of jumping ahead.
5. Sometimes, analyzing isn't the answer.
6. Sometimes, focusing on happy makes you sleepily sad.
7. Sometimes, it's OK to dream with your eyes open.
8. Sometimes, choices are the opposite of simple.
9. Sometimes, your best bet is to believe in the universe.
10. And most of the time? Most of the time, try to remember to stay true to who you are. Even if that means letting go.

When You're Three

• Little, plastic dinosaurs are more compelling than people.
• The best way to eat pizza is to shove the entire crust into your mouth, then wait a couple of minutes before attempting to swallow.
• Apple juice tastes way better from a juice box.
• A chef's uniform complete with plastic pots and pans is your favorite present.
• Wasps and bees are fascinating.
• You know exactly which kitchen drawer is hiding the screwdriver.
• You're really good at clutching a trapeze and not letting go.
• The top of your head emanates solar energy.
• You like to wave your hands and stomp your feet on your birthday.
• You get a blue, big-boy bed and un-baby haircut.

Appealing, isn't it? Why are you still sitting there? You're late for your meeting.

Sneak Peeks

I've always admired their flowers. It's the corner house, right next to the school. Blues, pinks, yellows and reds, perfectly aligned, never a blade of grass out of place. But the window screens are torn. And the hallway is littered with bits of paper.

Sunny and her family have lived here for 18 years. Their German Shepherd is always outside, in the back driveway. Within three minutes she'd asked me 50 questions and relayed snippets about most everyone on the block.

Which led us to the young couple across the street. The neighborhood newbies. I rang the doorbell at a quarter to seven in the evening, but the house was already pitch-black. The girl who answered was wearing my glasses. Identical, Chanel frames and all.

I never knew suburbia could be so fascinating. It's like my own little city, only filled with small-town intrigue. And the morning has just begun...

Everything But Mis-Matched Stockings

The microchip was the first clue. As I sat on the bench, straining every muscle in my right ear, the vet placed the call. Fifteen seconds later -- or an eternity -- Linda beamed.

"They say they have no idea whose Golden Retriever it might be."

Surprisingly, Albertsons provided the second hint. There, next to the cotton balls and shower gel, hung a matching green-and-paw-print leash and collar. Two bucks? Clearly a must-have.

But mostly, it was my 45-minute dog-walk that proved to be brilliantly karma-esque. Three porch-sitting peeps practically exclaimed: "Wow, you have your hands full!"

Yes, I do, I thought. And I'm loving every second.

Pippi and Oskar. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?

Driving by Postcards

Jetting down the refreshingly empty 210, I tried to lift my heart toward the sky, tuck in the tummy and grip the steering wheel with two hands -- allowing the lower back to straighten and muscles from finger-tips to pink-painted-toes to guide me home.

Yoga.

One class and I'm an addict.

Turning onto Second Avenue, I slowed down for a white-clad jogger darting early-evening sprinklers. A few blocks ahead, Mr. Dad was playing catch in the front yard with Little Miss and Jr. And rounding the corner to my tree-lined street, I waved to the obsessive-garage-sale-guy, no doubt contemplating what treasures to part with on Saturday morning.

Picture perfect? Perhaps. But definitely a magical slice of Americana, glittering in the 75-degree dusk.

Good Luck With That

Everyone mis-steps.

But when the California Supreme Court rules in super-broad strokes that can only prompt quizzical interpretations on an already sensitive topic -- well, then not sure that deserves anything more than an immediate 'oops' on the part of those with law-like powers.

And in case you're not up on the latest legislative efforts, then consider this simple analogy.

Next time you're a sip away from the insanely unhealthy Chiantico, or splurging on a carton of Half-Baked, make sure nobody's watching. Before you know it, you might get sued for inadvertently encouraging someone else to follow in your dietary-caution-to-the-wind whim.

Makes sense right? Clearly we can't assume that people should take responsibility for their own predicaments. That would be way too easy.

Observations at 4am

1. Do-overs are clearly allowed.
2. If it makes you smile, repeat.
3. A little wine always helps the medicine go down.
4. Sleep is not over-rated.
5. But sometimes, giving up on snoozing is so worth it.
6. Never cease communicating.
7. Try to have music playing at all times.
8. Share funny stories.
9. Take an extra minute to hug your dog.
10. Evidently, the ice-cream drumstick business is booming.

Phew!

Now's definitely not the time to give up. But after Bush adroitly described what he's looking for in a potential Supreme Court nominee, it's slightly challenging to remain chill as a cucumber.

"....a fair-minded individual who represents the mainstream of American law and American values."

Um. Please define 'mainstream.'

In addition to promising to choose someone that we can be proud of, Mr. President also vowed:

"....will meet the highest standards of intellect, character and ability and will pledge to faithfully interpret the Constitution and laws of our country."

Yeah. 'Faithfully interpret' clearly being an operative phrase.

Time to start crossing fingers and holding thumbs.

Six Degrees of Blogs

Cat Stevens Yusuf Islam Andersson?

Kidding.

He did have a Swedish mother. And spent some time being idolized in the booming metropolis of Gavle.

But that's beside the point.

What's not, is the circular notion to all things.

A profound passion for the lyrical Harold & Maude drove an Element down Foothill, "Where Do The Children Play?" blasting from unsophisticated speakers, crackling, as the hand of a ONE-braceleted arm turned the volume knob east. A few whimsically-inspired digits later, there it was:

"It's not time to make a change,
Just relax,
take it easy.
You're still young, that's your fault,
There's so much you
have to know.
Find a girl, settle down,
If you want you can marry.
Look at me, I am old, but I'm happy.

I was once like you are
now, and I know that it's not easy,
To be calm when you've found something
going on.
But take your time, think a lot,
Why, think of everything
you've got.
For you will still be here tomorrow, but your dreams may not. "
-- (Father and Son)

The '70s clearly ruled.

Will someone ever say that about the '00s?

Ancient Swedish Wisdom

They were *always* awake by the time my sisters and I rolled out of bed.

The house would be completely silent. Until you reached the living room. There, on two separate bath towels my grandparents would be doing their morning gymnastics. The every-day regimen differed slightly, but consisted basically of a variety of what today's gurus might loosely define as yoga. Interspersed with jumping jacks and a plethora of runner's stretches.

The TV was never on. I think the radio may have been, but it was barely audible at best.

And so it went. Every morning. Between 6 and 7.

I randomly remembered this last night, as I was engaged in various stretches on my patio. Waiting for my eggs to cool so I could peel them, paused on one leg, trying not to topple, I vowed to continue their magical moments of bodily peace.

Best part? The mug of honey water that always signalled the end of the routine & official start of the day. I'm thinking I may have to stick with coffee for now. But then again, I'm no sage 70-year-old.

Don't Walk and Chew Gum

Turns out people who feel compelled to chat on their phones while maneuvering in traffic, are more likely to find themselves tangled up in fender-benders.

Makes sense.

Super-trickster to make it through the day without multi-tasking. Conference calls & email. Folding laundry & brushing your teeth (yes, it's possible.) Jogging & dancing to iTunes (also quite do-able.)

So last night, when Oskar was just laying on the back steps of the patio, I was intrigued. Motionless for at least 30 minutes, he gazed out into the yard. His ears would pique ever-so-slightly to listen for cars and my neighbor's chitter-chatter -- but otherwise he didn't move a muscle.

An hour later, there we sat. My lovely lab and I. Taking it all in. Just sitting. Not reading, or whispering. Not over-analyzing or planning. We just were. Immobilized. And incredibly happy about nothing in particular.

Heavenly.

Pippi Was On To Something

My 'hood springs to life on Trash Day.

Friendly -- albeit stinky -- garbage guys boisterously pick their way through discarded couches, lopsided cans and pounds and pounds of cut grass. Night-crawlers get a head start, ravaging whatever's left outside by midnight before the sun decides to wake. And anything with wings clearly considers Wednesday mornings to be reason alone to chirp extra brightly.

Then there's the guy with the savage-looking Boxer. Actually, I think the dog is harmless, it's the heavy metal collar with daggers that's a little off-putting.

I thought he was my neighbor at first. The fact that he gingerly traversed the lawn across the street, let his dog pee on a shrub and then casually rambled over to the trash was pretty much a dead-give-away. Wrong.

His house is a few blocks away. But every week, as his Boxer peruses appealing cracks in the sidewalk, he makes his way from house-to-house with an enormous plastic bag. By the time he's done, it's filled with cans. Coke. Sunkist. Coors Light. He's apparently not so picky.

Bizarre? Slightly. Appealing? Completely.

Quirky rules.

Two Point Five Minutes

Evidently, I shop speedily.

• Dixie peach juice
• Organic OJ
• Two percent milk
• Compressed rawhide dog bones

"Wow, that was fast," said the always-chipper TJ-clerk.

"Yeah, just trying to get home as quickly as possible," I replied, punching in my four secret digits.

"Nice. A woman with a plan. I like that."

Small-talk aside, that's quite a statement. Not sure the 20-year-old behind the register realized what he was saying. Call it an epiphany or just regurgitating the decidedly obvious: people like people who know what they are doing.

So what are you waiting for? Go.

"Ma'am, You Need To Sit Down"

Completely understand the need for policies, rules -- even regulations. Anyone who's skimmed a history book can recite examples of chaos and madness (not counting the Boston Tea Party; that was far too fabulous to discount) erupting under times of distress.

But seriously. This?

" ... a policy of attrition that would impose more enforcement pressure on the border and at the workplace and also demand proof of citizenship at all the checkpoints of modern life .... getting a driver's license, opening a bank account ... and obtaining government services of any kind."

Mark Krikorian, executive director for the super-conservative Center for Immigration Studies proposed the above.

Imagining a world where bureaucrats and paper-pushing admins behind dated desktops control the reigns of the basics of American life is not only insanely frightening, but also, sadly, testament to the working minds of too many factions who make our laws.

So much for democracy.

Compromise Creep

It's necessary. Not sure it makes the world go round, but it certainly takes the edge off.

But as with timing souffles and presenting the perfect poached egg -- nuances are key. And a little stoicism followed by a healthy dose of self acknowledgement never hurt anyone.

CNN quoted Katie Holmes' Scientological hanger-on, a Ms. Rodriguez, amicably filling in for America's adorable girl next door during an apparent loss of words:

"You adore him."

The rosy-cheeked brunette just couldn't find the words to describe her love. Which certainly is magical. But tossing out everything you've ever known -- and replacing it with someone else's convictions -- just seems plain wrong.

Lights, Camera

Think it, speak it, be it.

Bagging groceries, applying mascara or contemplating inventing the world's tiniest eraser -- doesn't really matter.

What does?

• passion
• positivity
• pondering

And most of all, remembering the old truism: all the world's a stage.

I'm fairly certain you don't want to be left out of the curtain call through infinity. But if you do, then at least be convincingly compelling.

Resilience

Life always seems to find a way to go on.

Amidst the chaos, confusion and chasms of terror, Londoners remained in motion. Blankets were shared. Bottled water, distributed. And little tins of mints were passed through a stationary subway car.

"I don't plan to change anything," promised one recently evacuated passenger.

And that's just it. Across the globe nations mobilized, airport security tripled and local politicians clamored for quotable snippets.

The Windy City's reps prevailed with their Midwestern no-nonsense logic, advising its peeps: "If you see something, say something."

Support that.

But pretty please, consider pausing a moment to think, before pointing a finger. For all the bravery and patience exhibited by the UK's populace, it's the scared silly blindness that is the most frightening:

"Yeah, mate, where I am everyone looks like an Al Qaeda terrorist!"

Let's not go there.

House on Mango Street

It's suspended quite elaborately just to the right of the kitchen door, a few steps from the unusually green pool. About the size of a hard-cover bestseller, the white-painted shelf is impossible not to miss from the sidewalk.

The first time I spotted the add-on, the honorary plate in the center hosted a brilliantly-hued papaya. A few days later, a grapefruit. And this morning what appeared to be a collection of kumquats. The fruits vary, but the ornamental Shiva is always the same: a glossy enamel red creation covered in gold specks.

The power of projectivity. Hoping. Willing.

Something so centurious-ly old, must work.

Instead of convincing yourself that what you most desire is unusually attainable, try a simple day of believing it will happen. Or just open your eyes. And yes, I'm talking to you.

49 Hot Dogs In 12 Minutes

Of all things American, it's the bizarro that appeal most. Offbeat, eccentric -- call it what you may -- but to fake-ey foreigners like me, it's what keeps us coming back. Clearly, others have similar convictions.

"Hallo, are you from America?" said the British, robust and Burger-King-scarfing brunette in 37J.

"Yes, I live in LA," I replied, declining her french fry dunked-in-honey-mustard offering.

"We're going to get our boobs done."

Brilliant. But not nearly as fabulous as 27-year-old Takeru Kobayashi of Coney Island, who in addition to weighing in at a slight 144 pounds, shoved copious amounts of beef into his mouth to take home the illustrious title for the fifth straight year.

It's so good to be home.