Home Is Where The Casserole Is

Mr. L & I are on day 6 of cohabitation. I will have to say, being a newbie to cohabitation; it is good and weird at the same time. Change in general causes me major inner turmoil, so considering the magnitude of this life change, I have a hard time feeling total peace. Mr. L has compared my attitude to that of my cat when faced with change; we both want to hide under the bed for a few days.

I felt particularly peculiar on Sunday night. Mr. L & I had worked our fingers to the bone all weekend long, and as the sun set on our little home, the weird feelings of ‘what do I do now,’ started to wash over me. Though all of my stuff was in the house, the house had yet to feel like home. I tried to relax, alone, in my room. I tried to watch tv and pretend it was just another Sunday night. I tried to do laundry. But, everything I tried to do felt insanely strange, after all, there was no going home because I was already there. I started to panic.

Many times when I am in panic mode, I feel the need to cook. Something about the process of preparing food is like taking a big dose of valium to me. Mr. L’s sister had given us a box of veggies earlier in the weekend, so I grabbed my ipod, took my place in the kitchen, and decided to whip up some squash casserole.

As I sliced the squash and onions and listened to one of my favorite albums, a familiar feeling poured over me. The action of cooking made me feel at home. After all, a woman’s home is where she cooks. As I sautéed, greased, pre-heated, and baked, my body familiarized itself with this new space. A woman who cooks moves in the kitchen as if it is her dance partner, and on Sunday night we performed a tentative, but tender routine.

Feeling uplifted after putting the squash in the oven, I jumped on the couch next to Mr. L and told him I was sorry for my strange mood earlier in the evening. He asked me if I was feeling better, to which I replied, “Yes. I just had to cook it out.”

And then a familiar smell drifted from the kitchen as the casserole began to bake. It smelled like home.

I Am The Hare

I am the hare. In the story of the tortoise and the hare…I am the hare. You see, the hare has a lot going for him in the story; he’s efficient, he’s talented, and he’s capable. He has so much potential, but even with all of those good qualities…at the end of the day, he’s the loser.

I’m not calling myself a loser per se, I’m just saying that the hare and I have more qualities in common than I am comfortable with. And in the spirit of public self-improvement, I’ll share them with you:

-I often start out too strong and don’t pace myself. This is classic Capable Girl stuff. For example, if I start a workout plan, I usually go ‘b’s’ to the ‘w’ and end up injuring myself or looking like an idiot.

-I am often overconfident in my ability to schedule the appropriate time it takes to successfully complete a task. For example, I’m the gal who has a two mile long ‘to do’ list and is delusional enough to believe that I can have it all done by morning. Like the time that I planned on making a from scratch cake, make the icing, ice it, embroider a gift, do my laundry, and clean my apartment all in the same night. Yeah right. At the end of that night, I accomplished nothing but making myself crazy.

-I love naps. (No example needed here)

As I reread the fable today, I made a promise to myself to take on some more tortoise-like behaviors. Pace myself, endure even when the competition is fierce, and don’t panic. Pretty good advice, if I do say so myself.

Off-Trackedness

Well, folks, it’s a sad but true fact that I think all of my slumpiness and bad mood business is due to getting off track diet-wise. It’s an easy thing to do, getting off track, and I am here to report that I am officially getting back on track as of today.

I would say the cause of my off-trackedness is overconfidence—which gets me every time. It’s all too easy to feel that you’ve made the changes you need to make, so now you can rest on your laurels. What I conveniently forgot is that change is an ongoing daily battle and you can’t take big breaks from it.

Real change is an accumulation of all of the micro decisions you make every day, and once you start making more bad micro decisions than good micro decisions, it sways the vote. If that pattern continues, before you know it, you’re back where you started, and where I started was uncomfortable, unattractive, and pretty depressing.

So, freshly humbled, I pick myself up and get back on track….hopefully with a bit more perspective this time.

It Ain't Pretty

Do you ever find yourself in a slump and before you know it, it’s so monumentally deep that you don’t ever think you’re gonna make it out? Well, I’m not quite there yet, but I do find myself feeling slumpish lately. What I hate about it more than anything is that I can’t (for the life of me) figure out why I am in this slumpy state.

Things are swell. Life is going in a good direction. Flowers are blooming. I am gainfully employed in a job that I actually kinda love. The grass is green—and on my side, not the other side. I’m in love. Birds are singing. Life is good.

So, what gives, man?

Not knowing the source is the most frustrating aspect of this particular, very peculiar slump. In the past when I’ve had a one-way ticket to Slumpville, the reason for my trip is quite clear—I’m in a bad relationship, my job sucks, my future is bleak, etc., etc. This time, however, I am perplexed as to why I find myself eating a slump sandwich.

Perhaps biorhythms? A medicinal haze (from 10,000 eye drops a day)? A hormonal misfire? Exposure to monumental amounts of pollen?

Whatever the cause, I pray the authorities of Slump City swiftly kick me out and change the locks. Slump sandwiches taste horrible.

I’ll keep you posted.

WARNING: Curmudgeon Blogging Ahead

Hello blog.

It's been a crazy week, so I haven't had a ton of time/energy/creative thinking/inspiration/et cetera/et cetera lately, so I have not been blogging. It feels weird not to blog, so I thought I would take a few moments to say hello and tell the world how freakin' frazzled I feel...just in case the world was wondering how I feel lately.

In addition to feeling frazzled, I feel hot (because it got so warm so quickly) and my eyes are itchy (because of the monstorous dust clouds of pollen). Oh yeah, and I have hormone-induced irritation that may thrust me into a full blown temper tantrum at any given time. And I have a headache.

Aren't you glad I'm not blogging everyday this week, world?

I thought so.

See you next week when I'm sweet again and have quit my bellyaching.

XOXO,

Capable "of a bad mood and general malcontentment" Girl

Don't Drink and Talk

Oh, alcohol. I hate you.

I hardly ever, ever drink. Truth be told, I don't really like to. Another truth be told, it makes me super stupid when I do. I make really awesome decisions like, tell co-workers (who I have to see every dang day) embarrassing stories about myself.

Though I'm always sober, I think I'm on the wagon indefinitely.

Call You Never

my shadow (picture taken yesterday at my apt building)

I have an embarrassing confession. It’s not funny-embarrassing; it’s more shameful-embarrassing. I have something very, very wrong with me. It has always been with me. I cannot keep in touch with people. I really don’t like this about myself. In fact, this might be my least favorite attribute.

I’m a happy person. A social person. I like people. I make friends easily. Why is it that I cannot force myself to keep in touch or reconnect with people? Is it a syndrome? A personality glitch caused by a brain defect?

I have a sneaking suspicion that it is a self-esteem thing. In my last post, I wrote about my self-esteem issues. I think I’m ready to address them. I mean, there is a theme that is starting to develop here, right?

The thing is this: I guess, in the past, I didn’t like myself. That led me to believe other people didn’t like me either. This then led to me being in disbelief that people actually wanted to hear from me. Now, I know that that thinking is phony bologna, but I thing that’s what’s been holding me back all of these years.

Now, since I have sucked at it for so long, I’m actually afraid of reaching out. Afraid, I say!

That’s poppycock. There is no reason to be afraid. If someone rejects me because I have not been in touch, I’ll be in no worse station that I am in now.

So this thought leads me to my new self-challenge. I am going to tackle this problem systematically. Here is my plan:

1. Contact all friends on facebook that have sent me unrequited messages
2. Then move on to non-facebook folks and actually call friends that I have not spoken to in awhile
3. Write letters to those who I don’t talk to and have received correspondence from.

I already feel better having made myself a plan. I will tackle step one this weekend. I plan to update my blog about my progress. I think I shall call this project: Operation Solidarity. Wish me luck.

Morning Person

It's a rainy, quiet morning here in Birmingham. Most sensible people are still in bed. This is my favorite time of the day. I have this strange love of early, early mornings...especially on days that I don't have to work.

I developed this love of early off days in college. I distinctly remember a Saturday in the beginning of my sophomore year. Strangely, I woke up really early, I guess around 5. I quietly got ready and tiptoed past the doors of sleeping roommates. I remember not knowing what I wanted to do, but I just felt a spark of adventure. My car led me to a coffee shop, where I had an early morning fix. The sensation of being super grown up invigorated me. I spent the remained of the morning driving around until other businesses were open, shopping at a thrift store, mozying the aisles of a cozy bookstore, and then home--all before my roommates arose from their slumber. I was hooked. That day I was a consecrated morning person.

Not all of my early mornings are adventurous. Many of them entail 1) coffee--strong & black, 2) reading, 3) snuggling my little black cat, and 4) maybe a little early morning news (on weekdays only! The news is forbidden on Saturday & Sunday mornings.) 5) a bit of a surf on the web.

My early morning habit is more than just a thing I like. It has become rather necessary. I am generally a real sourpuss when I have to start my day by jumping out of bed and immediately having to face my tasks.

I love the mornings because they feel full of possibility. Anything could happen. They're new, like babies. All is quiet and peace permeates. No one has had a bad day yet. It during these quiet mornings that you can sit and think, and be thankful. Your brain has not had a zillion thoughts yet; your feet have not taken thousands of steps, your eyes have on scanned the familiar, and your heart has yet to be lifted or crushed. Everything is idling. In neutral. Paused.

It is during those paused moments that you can truly reflect. My mornings are like my miniature adventures to Waldon Pond, and I wouldn't trade them in for anything.

It's Official

Once again, I am the author of a neglected blog. Why does neglecting my blog make me feel the same sort of guilt like I do when I forget to pay a bill, file my taxes, or schedule a dental cleaning? It's not mandatory that I blog, but mandatory-esque guilt does linger when Capable Girl is not capable of posting a measly weekly post.

What I'm really looking forward to is REGULARITY and AUTONOMY in my life. I shall have it in approximately 3 weeks. After my move, I'll have to come up with a whole host of other excuses about not blogging...

It Ain't No Thing, I'm

As you may recall, I have had my ups and downs since blogging. This season of my life has been, well, let's say...challenging. In challenging times, some people thrive, some people don't, and some people do both. I'm one of the latter. I face my challenges and stare them down like a matador to a bull. I wave my red flag at them and dare them to get in my way. This works for awhile, but going at problems this strong can become cripplingly exhausting, and I get tired, worn down, and depressed. Then, in a flash of genius, I remember that the best way to tackle anything is with moderation. I am one of those people who constantly needs to be reminded of this.

Now, having been through the depressive, self-loathing, pity party phase, I feel like I am starting to turn the corner & realize that I am not (and never will be) perfect. I am okay with this. And once you are okay with failure (in moderation), you feel free to break down your problems and fix what you can, and be okay with what you can't. I don't know why I use this philosophy all of the time, but I guess it's in my nature to approach things serious gusto.

Facing a move (and some other serious changes in my life) in 11 weeks has helped me re-learn the moderation philosophy. When you face changing nearly everything in you life; your job, your home, your friends, your family dynamics, it can be quite a daunting challenge. When I started thinking about all of the changes, all of the challenges, and all of the hard work I was facing, it almost made my head explode (and who really needs an exploded head on top of everything else?). So, I sat down with my thoughts, wrote everything out, put it on a calendar, and decided that perfection is not an option, and not really even a preference. After all, who wants to read a blog where all the stories are of how perfectly I executed everything?

So, with that, I'm feeling back. Back in the swing, back to life, back to me....and, I gotta tell you, it feels good.

Slug-ish

So it's been a few days since my last post, and my main excuse has been that I have been looking for a job. And these days, looking for a job is extremely time consuming.

I have to admit, though, this week I've been mostly just thinking about looking for a job. Though just thinking about looking for a job is also time consuming (more than one might think, I can do so for hours), it really doesn't give me a proper excuse for not blogging. And that made me think....what if I'm just being lazy? And then it occurred to me, I think laziness may really be taking a foothold in my life.

My excuse for not working out? Job search. How about not getting myself organized? Job search. We all know why I told myself I wasn't blogging....yep, you guessed it: job search. And since I'm not job searching this week, I think I may have found the real reason I've been absent from all things important: LAZINESS.

When did I get so lazy? Was it when I moved in with my Mom & she started cooking all of my meals? Could it have been when I accepted a non-challenging job so I do crossword & logic puzzles all day? What about when I started travelling most weekends, so I gave myself the excuse to have 'down time' instead of 'task time?'

After taking a little time to review my life, I realized that I have become really lazy in many different areas of my life. Here are a few examples:

a) I have 5 uber-drab mix and match outfits I wear to work. I never vary.....ever.
b) I have taken to wearing just one pair of earrings, because it feels too hard to pick another pair out.
c) I panic when my remote control slides off of my bed. You mean I have to get up and get it? I guess I'll just sleep with the TV on. (that is a slight exaggeration, but not too far off)
d) Blogging feels like having to write a 2000 word essay on the history of the lug bolt.
e) Rather than changing my purse to match my outfits, I just have a smaller neutral colored purse that fits inside a bigger black purse and never end up having to switch the contents.

Yikes! I need help! Somebody intervene me!! Lazy anonymous here I come.....

Absence

Dear Blog,

I want to apologize for my absence. It's just that I have been super busy lately. It's not you, it's me. I have been working on this website for work, trying to find a job in Birmingham, and endlessly editing and re-editing my resume(s), and there was a beach trip over Easter weekend with Mr. L's family.

I have some exciting news for you, though. Soon (hopefully), I will be writing about transitioning my life and a move to Birmingham! Blog, there are some crazy-exciting things that are happening in my life! I can't wait to share them with you as they happen. I am really in love with Mr. L and can't wait to see him more often. After I move, I'll have lots more time to spend with you because I won't be travelling as much.

For the time being, I may write you a little less. Please don't take this personally. I promise you that I will resume my daily(ish) posts very soon. You mean the world to me, and don't you forget it!!

Much love,

Capable Girl

The Tipping Point

We all get there...the point where you have to make a decision. You'll either be this way or that way, but you can't be both. You try to be both for a time, but it never works out for long and the point of decision always sucks. When you are at the point of decision, you start to mourn because you can't have it both ways. Ever heard of the old adage, 'You can't have your cake and eat it too?' I hate that it's so true. It's so true that it makes me want to throw a temper tantrum.

In this case, I have come to the decision that I can't be a healthy, slim person & eat like a hog and be as lazy as a cat. I tried wholeheartedly for awhile, but alas, I have eaten my cake and it's began to eat at me.

It started this weekend, while cleaning out my closet. I decided to really go for it this year and abide by a strict no mercy rule when it came time to pick through my clothes. If I hadn't worn it in the last year, sayonara sucker...to the 'give away' pile it was to go. It was during this process that I realised just how many clothes I had not worn in a year because I could not fit in them. Just exactly when had I gotten so much junk in my trunk?

After that eye-opening (and depressing) clothes ousting experience, I had to have a long sit down with myself and make some tough decisions. I work out, but in my heart of hearts know that I don't do enough and I miss far too many gym sessions for it to really count. So, you can either be fit or fat, I told myself and chose the former. To the gym I go! I am a semi-healthy eater, but indulge far, far too much to say that I am really making any effort. I guess my options here are healthy or sickly, and I choose healthy. Better eating, here I come!

After all that decision making, I was exhausted and hungry, and that's when it REALLY hit me: This. Is. Going. To. SUCK. The decision making sure is easier than the subsequent actions, but I reminded myself that I am at the tipping point.....which way do I want to tip?

Book Worm, With A Mean Streak

Hi. My name's Capable Girl, and I am a book abuser. (hi, capable girl)

I didn't even know I had a problem until recently. It only became apparent after meeting Mr. L, who has a pristine (I'm talking never look like they ever left the publishing house pristine) book collection.

We were leaving for the beach last Thursday and I left one of my paperbacks open, face down, on his coffee table. Scanning to make sure we didn't leave anything, he spotted my book and its unacceptable position. "You're going to ruin your book," he said. Ruin? A book? That thought never crossed my mind.

It's not that I don't love my books. Actually, I think I love them a little too much. They come with me everywhere....even to the most hostile of locations. Humid bathtubs? Yes. Sand-filled beaches? Yes. At the table during a potentially hazardous spaghetti dinner? Yes! Yes! Yes! As a result, my books all retain a 'well worn' feel to them. Think little kid's-teddy-bear-he-goes-nowhere-without-and-it gets-a-bit-grubby type of a thing.

Mr. L has a signed first edition collection that remains unread so the books retain their value. While I admire his self control & ability to take care of his books so well, I don't know if I have it in me to do the same. I kind of like re-reading old books with battle scars....it shows that they've been somewhere, had an adventure, and have a story to tell (pardon the pun). My Bram Stoker's Dracula, which has been read 1,452,897 times looks like it's been through a war, maybe even a couple of wars, but I like it that way.

To each his own, I say. At least we'll always be able to tell who's book is who's.

HIS:

clean pages, un-marred by turned down corners

covers shiny, no wrinkles or tears

that 'new book' smell

HERS:

pages: some possible soiled, some showing signs of exposure to humidity, and possible deposits of a) cat hair, b) sand, c) crumbs

hardbacks without covers (those have been long ago discarded), paperbacks with rips, wrinkles, and warping

a smell

Notice to all books: consider this fair warning...I am coming for you (except if you are a sci-fi novel with a big breasted super hero lady on the cover....you're safe)

A Four Letter Word That Begins With E

Envy is one of those totally useless emotions. I don't like when it comes a-knockin' on my door, but I have to admit, lately, it is a frequent visitor.

So, it's no secret that I don't love my job. It's basically a fine job, not hard, pay is decent, hours are regular, co-workers are basically non-existent (so no co-worker drama), but it bores the everliving hell out of me. Since I have so many unoccupied hours at my desk, I do a fair amount of blog surfing. It's a fun, voyeuristic (and who doesn't like a little voyeurism?), quiet, time-filling, seemingly innocent way to pass the time. But it has a dark side effect that I don't love so much. (a nasty word of the four-letter variety.....ENVY)

I have to admit that there are A LOT of blogs out there, and most of them seriously suck if you have no vested interest in the blogger or the minutiae of their family life. However, there are some very, very talented bloggers out there that have fabulous blogs about their fabulous lives. Herein lies the problem: I get jealous of the bloggers and their fantastic lives.

JEALOUS! How insane! Envious of these people who I have never, ever met. I'm not so much jealous of the people in particular, but of their life circumstances when I compare them to my own. Don't get me wrong, I love who I am and I wouldn't want to be anyone else if you paid me a gazillion dollars, but I would love to have the life of a stay at home mom, or an artist, or a wife that gets to see her husband everyday & share a life with him.

Who wouldn't want to have the time to whip up a fabulous batch of homemade cookies, or spend all afternoon creating crafts with your kids, or whole evenings with your awesome spouse, or travel all over the world, or have a huge family that all live in the same place? I think these are normal yearnings for a 32 (nearly 33-yikes!) year old, single woman who lives far away from her boyfriend and has a crappy job that she has no passion for, and whose siblings live out of state, and is living in a retirement community. But to envy is to err, and I don't want to be that girl.

I have contemplated ceasing my blog habit, quitting cold turkey, if I continue to slobber over strangers lives and wish I were in their place. Maybe a better solution would be to remind myself that a) my position in life right now isn't all that bad, b) the grass is always greener on the other side, c) my current circumstances are temporary, and d) God has given me a particular path in life for a reason (though I haven't figured that one out yet, Big Guy).

Whew! It felt good to get that one off my chest! It's tough to say, "Hey I am so totally jealous of this person. I wish I could be doing what they are doing." Tough, but honest, and being totally honest and vulnerable is my thing these days. The truth is that I am currently in a serious in-between stage and doing so tough work to give my life some forward momentum. I think that the kids call it 'finding yourself,' and, sister, it ain't easy.

Who knows, a year or 6 months from now I may be posting about my life (which will be awesome by then, I just know it!), and reading blogs and think, "Hey, I'm so totally NOT jealous of this person. I am so happy to be doing what I'M doing." And something tells me that that is exactly what I'll be doing.

A Desk With A View

I'm watching you. Yes, that's right, I do a fair amount of watching every work day. My workplace is located on the first floor of an office building. My desk faces an enormous glass window with reflective coating on the outside, but a nice clear view from the inside. I see everything that goes on in this little parking lot universe outside of my door. I am embarrassingly familiar with people's habits, rituals, schedules, and regular activities that work in this building. Mind you, these are people I have never met, spoken to, or even seen without a plate of glass between us.

Since my job is, well, rather boring, I have a lot of time to stare out of the window. It's kind of like being behind the one-way mirror in an interrogation room at the police station (you know, the one's you've see on Law & Order a gazillion times). And people fall for the concept that this glass is opaque, just like they do on Law & Order. I see them checking themselves out as they walk past my window. I can almost read their thoughts...."You're looking good today, man. Wait, is that a stray hair, hold on....let me fix it....perfect" or "Does this skirt make me look fat? Suck it in....now, that's better."

Anyway, I would like to share with my obviously large readership some of the more interesting regular occurrences in the parking lot before me:

Observation #1: Did you know that there are full-on bird gangs? I have seen, on more than one occasion, bird gangs gang up on a bird of a different color and peck the heck out of it. This is serious warfare, friends, and I, for one, feel that the bird gang activity needs to be held in check. How many innocent birds are we going to let perish before we do something to solve this problem?

Observation #2: There of those who save and those who spend. I call all of the folks who brown bag it to work "nifty thrifties." I fully expect to see them retire a full 10 years before the alternative group who go out to lunch everyday. (Though, I seriously hope I am not in this job long enough to actually observe this theory come to fruition)

Observation #3: "Mr. Denimed Man" is one of my favorite parking lot people. He wears not only denim jeans, but and acid washed jean jacket AND a denim fanny pack EVERYDAY OF THE WEEK. No matter how cold or how hot, the denim is in full effect.

Observation #4: There is a guy I call "Stripey," because of his enduring love affair with all striped shirts. I actually had a log book that I kept for the first few months to average how many days he wore striped shorts, but it got boring after awhile. He averages 3.78 days per week.

Observation #5: There is one lady who wears a full military uniform (Navy, I think?) everyday. This confuses me because I see no one else wearing uniforms and don't see any military offices located in the building. Hmmm.

Observation #6: Okay, confessing this observation may get me killed, but, this is what I do for my readers....I risk. I see a person (who is always carrying a 'package') make a regular exchange with another person who drives up in a car. The driver is always handing this person a package and he hands her a package. I'm no detective, but come on. I think we all know what is going on here. This is obviously a top secret recipe exchange, or even possibly--don't get too excited--tapes of new square dancing moves for the city's underground square dancing club. Yes, that's probably what it is.

Observation #7: Dandy Pastel Man. I don't really think this needs an explanation. Pastel sweater vests, bow ties, etc., etc. It's like a preppy explosion and it hurts my eyes.

Observation #8: There is this poor woman who huffs and puffs as she drags on her cigarette and hauls her 3 gallon cup and greasy bag from Hardee's EVERYDAY. Good thing I know CPR.

Observation #9: Who is it that you talk to at 7:45 am, and then again at 12:10pm, and then again at 1:05pm and then again at 4:50pm? There is one guy who, I swear, talks on the phone incessantly. I don't think I've ever actually seen his right ear.

Well, I hope you enjoyed your 'day in the life' tour of my work day. I know I live a pret-ty exciting life. Just remember the next time you're walking in front of a mirrored office building, you're being watched.....and possibly blogged about, so beware!

Guilty Pleasures

I, like many, like to consider myself a consumer of smart, savvy, thought-provoking entertainment. I like reading challenging books, watching culturally rich movies, and listen to educational pod casts. I'm not necessarily a snob about it, but I do like to think of myself as 'too smart' or 'too informed' to enjoy the entertainment for the masses. That is, until I get over myself and indulge in something that is not thought-provoking, lacks serious educational content, and is just plain fun.

Here are a few of my television guilty pleasures:

Food Network's Food Challenge

Seriously, who doesn't want to watch someone build a Simpson's cake with a phallic Marge on top of a huge doughnut? Guilty Pleasure Points: 5 (out of a possible 10)

MTV's America's Best Dance Crew
Okay, I don't watch 'Dancing with the Stars,' 'American Idol,' or any other "call in to vote for your favorite" shows. This one, however, is amazing! These kids can seriously move. I stop short at calling in to vote, though. I have my pride, you know. Guilty Pleasure Points: 8

Food Network's Ace of Cakes
Okay, I know that Duff's laugh is annoying and he makes some pretty stupid jokes, but this is a great show. I don't know what it is about sugar, cake, and fondant that relax me so much. Guilty Pleasure Points: 6

CMT's My Big Redneck Wedding

This has to be, by far, the guiltiest of my pleasures. Educational value: none. Culture: very, very little (unless you are looking at it from a social science perspective, and in that case: huge amounts of Rural American) Ability to provoke thought: zip. Hilarity: vast. Guilty Pleasure Points: 10

All in all, I am proud of my guilty pleasures. Sharing them with the world is freeing in a way. Now, if I get a phone call during one of these shows, I can be like "Hey, can I call you back, I'm watching America's Best Dance Crew," instead of my usual white lie response of "I'm getting to a really good part in this 3-part PBS Special on French Impressionist Painters." Ahhh, honesty. It is really the best policy. Oh, gotta go, I think there's a show on about the history of complex cell biology and it's contribution to twentieth century medicine and the subsequent cultural response....wink, wink.