The Iron Lady and Her Helmet

The Oscars are just around the corner and you might want to pay attention to a brilliant little film produced by the United British Metalworkers Union called

Iron Lady.

Iron Lady is the story of indomitable Margaret Thatcher, Britain's first and only woman prime minister.  One of the little known facts disclosed about Margaret Thatcher is the way she earned her tough moniker .  Some people think that she was dubbed the "Iron Lady" because she was a no holds barred negotiator with a take no prisoners style...au contraire.  Before she entered parliament Maggie had 93% of her skeleton reinforced with a iron/magnesium amalgam.  She also  began sporting a  coiffure that was actually a helmet made of thousands of strands of fine steel that could withstand the direct hit of a shoulder launched rocket.

 

Iron Lady was actually a prequel to another fine film about world history called Iron Man.

Stay tuned for the next installment in the "Iron" saga

IRON BABY!

(Excellent photo editing done by Maxwell Dean Eddington)

 

Arguing in Arizona

The semi-daily Republican presidential debate was held in Mesa, Arizona today because the candidates had worked their way through the states alphabetically back to front and it was finally our turn. 
 
It was hosted by our beautiful Mesa Arts Center which is adorned with sails in case the desert ever turns back into a lake and we need something to keep us afloat.

Local news anchors were on hand and we did our best to walk back and forth incessantly in back of them, smiling with charm and enthusiasm, with fond hopes to appear on television, be discovered and go on to fabulous careers with ridiculous salaries

 Max portrays his admiration for Lin Sue Cooney with a symbolic hand gesture

 Ron Paul brings out the most fans who loudly support a cessation of foreign aid and sometimes smell like medical marijuana

My visiting granddaughter became an inadvertent CNN advertisement when she was awarded a paper fan.

 

 She still doesn't know who to vote for

 

 Except Uncle Jeff.  

She definitely supports Jeff Flake for the United States Senate

 All the really cool people do

A Presidential Hike

My husband, otherwise known as "Mr. Backroads" loves nothing more than a bone jarring dirt road leading...

to a bone jarring hike...

leading to pools of clear fresh water...
 

(oh wait, that was the wrong pool)

leading to an mysterious cliff dwelling tucked in a beautiful canyon
 

leading us to wonder how these amazing cliff dwellers survived perched on this precarious canyon wall...

leading to twingy muscles this morning and appreciation that I didn't have to raise my children on a precipice.

Shopping Sassy at SAS

There is a magical store in a homely old building on Apache Trail in Tempe, AZ.

It goes by the name of SAS which stands for sass, but is so sassy it doesn't even care about adding a double "s".  It is full of wonders.

Millions of yards of lace, trim, elastic, sequins and feathery strips

Buckets of beads and buttons that look like cavemen, poisonous frogs, musical notes and Sponge Bob.

Boas

and wings

and flowery things

and sequins and chains to spice up your boring old underwear.  Don't even think of shopping there unless you are willing to create something fabulous for pennies on the dollar.

This is what my Mom created for me.

Valentine's Day: A Review

I was still lying supine in sweet slumber when my Valentine’s Day commenced.  A cunningly dressed, rented service monkey climbed onto my bed bearing a fresh croissant and strawberries on a silver tray.  As my lustrous lashes struggled to open, I heard the deep tones of a professional cowboy baritone on a bay quarterhorse singing “Oh What a Beautiful Morning” just outside my window. 

By the time I had consumed my delicious repast, my hot bath had been drawn, lightly scented with lavender, impossibly fluffy Turkish cotton towels laid by.  Later, hair styled by Nick and makeup artfully applied by Carmindy from TLC's "What Not to Wear", I slipped into my new Marc Jacob’s designed outfit before hopping in the limo that would take me to my massage appointment.

Relaxed and buoyed by the massage and 45 minutes of affirmation from a certified self-worth booster named Nigel, my sweetheart husband whisked me off to the Phoenician for the rest of the day/night activities which included but are not limited to:

•       Romantic ride in heart shaped hot air balloon
•       Gondola trip through the lagoon at the Hyatt amidst trained carp doing synchronized routine to Barry Manilow singing “Mandy”
•        Air force jet flyover that left contrails spelling out “Larainy” in the blue Arizona sky
•      Woven circlet of wildflowers placed on my flaxen curls
•      Dancing in the rain like nobody was watching
•     ???

Oh... and how was your Valentine’s Day?

Best of the Worst at the Grammys

I know that you were all sipping Earl Gray and eating crustless watercress sandwiches made of triangular wonder bread whilst watching Downton Abbey yesterday evening, so I will give you an update on the other side of the culture wars with a gander at the Grammys.

Ms. Minaj accessorized with a faux Pope in a vain attempt to stave off the hell fire that is licking at her red robes

How courageous to show up to the party after a feral cat attacked you in the alley and slashed your pretty black frock to smithereens

It is a relief to all America to know that although Snooki has shed excess pounds, she has not shed ability to wear an outfit that makes us all thank our lucky stars that we weren't born in New Jersey

Jane Seymour had planned on keeping her heart wide open but was forced to shut it when she couldn't zip up her dress

Sales of cotton candy spiked again when Katy Perry showed up with a stack of sugary blue floss on her noggin

Multi-tasker Fergie prepared for a post Grammy dip in ll Cool j's  party hot tub by wearing her black lycra two-piece under her formal neon orange lace mermaid gown

Moscow's Sasha Gravida signaled that Russia is ready to rev up the cold war in a pink confectionary gown with a fully armed sleeve

Undaunted by a rabid raven attack, Corinne Bailey Rae lost one of her hemispheres of hair, but won the battle of the birds, proudly wearing the feathers of her vanquished foes

Even an avowed germaphobe can attend public events wearing an outfit woven of microban fibers and a detachable sit-shield to protect against infectious chair surfaces

If you are looking for Lady Gaga you will not find her here.  Nothing makes the Gagster madder than not appearing on my blog.

image found here

Did you know that 3 out of 4 Grammy's love watching the Grammy's?

red carpet photos found here

Nixon and Lizzie: An Uncivil Union

In December of 2004 we caved in to the incessant torture that only five dog-starved children can administer and bought a cute little mostly-Beagle

which we named Nixon (after the watch, not the President.)

Soon our good friends gave in to similar excruciating juvenile pressure and bought a Beagle of their own which they named Lizzie (after the Queen, not the axe murderer.)

Immediately, every activity included Nixon and Lizzie.  They attended puppy training classes at Petco where they disgraced themselves week after week, and gnawed paths of destruction wherever they went.  They were thrown together every day by their enthusiastic mentors and loved each other with a love as white hot as hate.

They were illegally joined in canine matrimony one fine spring day in a ceremony performed by a 9 year old girl wearing a long black wig, robe and sunglasses.  Frank Sinatra was singing Fly Me to the Moon and someone brought a cake that said "Congratulations Nixon and Lizzie Dog".  The brief honeymoon was spent in a wading pool and then the young neutered lovers went their usual separate ways.

Nixon tried his best over the years to  wear the fur pants in the family but never could tame his sassy tri-color mate.  

And then, suddenly it was over.  Lizzie, with her purebred sensibilities, was always more delicate than her hardy mate, and she gradually she lost her sight, her smell...everything but a mournful howl when the piano was played.  

When Nixon heard the news he went through the usual stages of grief, beginning with anger, manifested in the death of a grackle who mocked his pain.  

The last stage, of grief is acceptance, but Nixon will never get there.  Every time he hears the back gate open, or hears a howl from a neighboring yard his hopeful tail wags and he waits for Lizzie to appear.

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