10 "Holidays" Even Less Important Than Leap Day*

1. March 7: Middle Name Pride Day

2. April 4: Hospital Admitting Clerks Day

3. May 14: Root Canal Appreciation Day

4. July 24: National Drive-Thru Day

5. August 10: National Duran Duran Appreciation Day

6. August 29: More Herbs, Less Salt Day

7. October 12: International Moment of Frustration Scream Day

8. November 2: Plan Your Epitaph Day

9. December 6: National Pawnbrokers Day

10. December 26: National Whiner's Day


* These are real "holidays."

Contempt

Norman is facing the prospect of jury duty next week, and he's not too interested in participating in our nation's legal system. (Having walked away from what I'm sure was a thrilling career in litigation, I'd say he's already participated in the legal system and made his final statement as to what he thinks of it.) Yesterday he emailed me his fantasy scenario for getting excused:

Norman (screaming while going through the security checkpoint): Fry 'em. Fry 'em all!
Overeducated Civil Servant Wage Slave: Sir, notwithstanding your behavior, this is civil court.
Norman: Your point being? Give 'em all the chair. The lawyers and judge first.
OCSWS: Sir, if you don't calm down, you may be held in contempt.
Norman: I live in contempt.
OCSWS: Or even incarcerated.
Norman: That seems like an extreme reaction. I just wanna go home. To the prison that is my life.
OCSWS (melting w/ pity): OK, sir, we'll take care of this.
Norman: Oh, thank you, officer is it? You do know I always support the troops, police and whatever it is you are. Some kind of glorified security guard?

I think you have to agree I'll skate right out of there on charm alone.

I wished him the best of luck and advised him to bring a good book.

Feelin' mighty blue

It has been a long, unpleasant day. I'm hoping for deep and dreamless sleep tonight.

Today brought more details about the imminent closing of Dutton's Bookstore in Brentwood. Dutton's is a great old independent bookstore, owned by the charming Doug Dutton, with whom I have had the pleasure of dining and conversing on a number of occasions. Dutton's has always been considered one of L.A.'s best bookstores (and probably its most "literary"), and it's a sad day in the local bookselling world.

I also learned today that Bungalow News, Pasadena's biggest newsstand (and my only local source for Chunky candy bars), closed on Sunday. Where will I buy Countryside now?

One of my favorite coworkers has been unhappy with her job for a while, and today she told me she has started looking for new work. This news wasn't exactly a bolt from the blue, but hearing it in such stark terms made me sad. These days, a "seasoned" co-worker is one who has been with the bookstore for more than six months. My friend has been there for nearly five years, and I will miss her in a way I can't imagine missing all those short-timers. She's not my best friend, but she's a great work friend and I have trouble imagining someone else doing her job.

Finally -- and this is going to sound crazy, but it really affected me -- I read this depressing Rolling Stone article about Britney Spears. After reading it, I can say with assurance that I know Britney doesn't give a shit what I or anybody else thinks about her, but watching her decline makes me feel sick, not only for her but also for myself and everyone else who so casually watches a life sink and ebb away without being able to do anything. I know that I am not personally responsible for Britney Spears's fucked-up existence, but I am part of the audience that is quietly watching; it makes me hate myself a little.

Dammit!

How am I supposed to lose any weight with these things on the market?

I'm on the D list!

Welcome to my 15 seconds of fame! A couple of weeks ago I received a nice email from the folks at Schmap!, who produce nifty free online travel guides. They told me that one of my photos on Flickr had been shortlisted for inclusion in their updated guide to the Lake Tahoe region. Today I found out I made the cut! Click here to see my immortal photo. (I'm glad it was Donner Party-related and not, say, the shot of a T Rex devouring Norman.)

What's past is prologue . . . I hope

We're kinda getting down to the wire here, with my list of "The 25 Movies You Need to See Before Oscar Night" up against the Academy Awards ceremony on Sunday. Fortunately, I have but one film -- A Mighty Heart -- left to see, and I'll be getting that one out of the way this evening. As far as I know, A Mighty Heart did not earn a single Oscar nomination, but it's on The List, so I gotta watch it. Norman made a boo-boo face when I recently brought up our need to check it off, and I said, "Oh, come on. It won't be that bad. Maybe we can turn it into some kind of drinking game."

He feigned (I think) shock and said he thought my suggestion was in pretty poor taste, even by our standards. Nevertheless, vodka will be on hand just in case.

All in all, 2007 wasn't too bad a year for movies, even if some of my favorites (3:10 to Yuma, Before the Devil Knows You're Dead, Crazy Love, Zodiac, The King of Kong) didn't fare too well come awards season. I can't remember much that I saw during the first half of last year, though, which leads me to believe that the studios saved most of the good stuff for the fall and winter, presumably so that it would be fresh in voters' minds. Yesterday I bought the Spring Movie Preview edition of Entertainment Weekly, which confirmed my suspicion that Hollywood releases almost exclusively crap in the first six months of the year. Look at some of the garbage filmgoers have to look forward to in the next couple of months:

Semi-Pro (opens February 29)
How many arenas can Will Ferrell's schtick be transferred to? We've seen him ice skate, race cars, coach a soccer team... Do we really have to watch him play basketball? The guy is getting too old for this stuff, and he's not that funny, anyway. Stranger Than Fiction proved he can act; he should try doing that again, if for no other reason than to break up the monotony.

10,000 B.C. (opens March 7)
I am so tired of CG effects. If I want to watch a bunch of ones and zeros fight, I'll stay home and play Pong.

Prom Night (opens April 11)
No, I will not be spending my birthday at the theatre watching this horror remake. At least the original had Jamie Lee Curtis; here we have to settle for Brittany Snow, who played the mean girl in Hairspray.

Most of the other flicks featured in EW are just too dreary to mention. Not everything sounds horrible -- Leatherheads, the George Clooney flick about the early days of pro football, looks like fun, and I'm jonesing for the inevitable catfight between Natalie Portman and Scarlett Johansson in The Other Boleyn Girl -- but overall it looks like a dry moviegoing season. I'll have to cross my fingers for some solid, under-the-radar documentaries or even -- sacre bleu! -- resign myself to reading a good book instead.

Random and unrelated

Unexpected find of the week. Tracks include "I Need a Lover" by Pat Benatar, "Girl Talk" by Julie London, "One Less Bell to Answer" by The Fifth Dimension, "No Love, No Nothin'" by Mary Stallings, and (of course) "I Will Survive" by Gloria Gaynor.

***********

On Saturday night, Sean, Norman and I went to see the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre at the Aero Theatre. In itself that's no big deal, but director Tobe Hooper was there and provided live commentary throughout the screening! My favorite bit of TCM trivia: Hooper's original title for the movie was Head Cheese.

***********

Last night my friend Nikki called and told us she has breast cancer. She is going to have a double mastectomy in about a week. While I know she isn't happy about what's going on, Nikki is truly the type of person who can see the positive and humorous side of anything. When she told me about her upcoming operation, she said excitedly, "I'm going to get perky, brand-new breasts, and this time, they'll be the same size!"

Earlier, she had told her doctor that she had never before undergone any type of operation, and the surgeon was surprised. He asked her to think back to childhood: did she still have her tonsils, all of her wisdom teeth? Nikki thought hard, then announced, "I have everything I was born with, except my hymen."

I think she's going to be OK.

Again???

I couldn't commit to Blog365. Those people, who are going to update their blogs every single day in 2008, are crazy. Ambitious and wonderful and creative in ways I can't begin to imagine, but crazy nonetheless. I've been quietly proud that I managed to stick with NaBloPoMo for all of November last year, and I haven't had any more grandiose ambitions for How's Annie? than looking forward to this year's NaBloPoMo.

Until now. Damn you, Mrs. Kennedy! NaBloPoMo founder Eden Kennedy has come up with the (admittedly fun) idea of giving the post-every-day thing a whirl any old month of the year. November will remain the big, get-everyone-involved month, but bloggers can now commit to daily posting during any 30-day period in 2008. NaBloPoMo will kindly suggest an optional theme for every month (March's is LISTS), and any interested party can leap in and start writing.

I'm interested.

Look for lists every day in March. Feel free to suggest ideas for lists, or demand that I list things you're just dying to hear my opinion on. Fair warning, though: some days you may get a scan of my grocery shopping list. I'm just sayin'. So . . . ideas, please!

Love to love you, baby

Thanks for reading. Happy Valentine's Day!

Book of the week #2

Mmmmm, one of my favorite words: creamy. Recipes include Lime Tart with Brown Butter Crust, Chocolate Truffle Cake with Cardamom Praline, Venetian-style Fried Custard, and Creamy Rice Pudding Cake. Fear not: I will try them all for you and make sure they're truly luscious.

In fact, I found a huge array of dessert cookbooks on one of the to-be-shelved carts this morning, which is a difficult way to start the day. (Difficult because I don't have access to any of the wonders they are extolling.) Cupcakes, chocolate chip cookies, pies, and, weirdly enough, those dreadful Peeps were among the temptations featured on the dessert cart. Even a stack of Diablo Cody's memoir Candy Girl made my mouth water, though not for reasons you sickos might be imagining.

Book of the week

Sample wisdom: "A redshirt might treat [women] the same way other redshirts treat them, but a captain understands human nature. And alien nature. And robot nature . . ."

Huh?

Stevie Wonder: The final word

Norman just sent me this, along with the accusation, "I know you're somehow responsible for this. God, you're sick." Stevie, if you're reading this: Sorry, man.

Fictive flings

Last week I came across this entertaining look at "7 of Literature's Most Desirable Leading Men." I admit that I'm not terribly familiar with several of bookdom's hotties -- it is with shame, for instance, that I reveal that I've never cracked a book by Jane Austen or any of the Brontes. Still, having seen the movies based on their stories, I can agree that Mr. Darcy and Mr. Rochester seem like solid choices; and I know, from having read the books in which they appear, that Almanzo Wilder and George Emerson had to be included on the list.

My own additions to the leading man list would be Jamie Frasier, from Diana Gabaldon's delightful Outlander series, and P.I. Elvis Cole, the star of Robert Crais's entertaining mystery series. A few weeks ago, Sean asked me who was on my "freebie list" and I said nobody, but I kind of lied; in reality, fictional Elvis Cole (whom I imagine bears a strong physical resemblance to his creator) poses an enormous sexual threat to our marriage. One of the happiest days of my reading life occurred when Elvis and his girlfriend broke up.

In other media, Aragorn of The Lord of the Rings movies catches my fancy. I used to believe I had a bit of a crush on Viggo Mortensen, but I eventually realized that Viggo, while undoubtedly a lovely man, is a bit quiet and wan for my tastes. No, it's sweaty, dynamic, heroic yet sensitive Aragorn (in other words, a completely made-up creature) I have a thing for. I'd be afraid to put Aragorn on my freebie list, though; Aragorn would scorn a girl trivial enough to have a freebie list.

So . . . who's the fictional hero or heroine who most turns you on?

He saw what I did and he knows who I am!

Last night, as Curtis and I were heading out the door to meet up with Sean and Norman and to see Persepolis (a fantastic movie, by the way -- do see it if you get the chance), Curtis mentioned that he'd noticed the messages light blinking on the answering machine. I decided to give a listen before we left the house for the evening.

The first was a recording from the mayor of Pasadena, urging me to vote "yes" on -- DELETE! Man, I hate those prerecorded political messages and cannot clear them off my answering machine fast enough.

The second message, though, took me aback.

"Hi," said a vaguely familiar voice. "This is Stevie Wonder."

Stevie Wonder? Panic hit me. Oh my god, what was going on? Did he read the snarky post I wrote about him last week? Was he angry? How did he get my phone number? How could he possibly figure out who I am?

"I just called to say I love you," sang Stevie, "and to ask you to vote for my friend, Barack Obama."

Panic subsided and was replaced by mild irritation. Nothing but another political ad. DELETE! But I was glad I had voted for Obama . . . you know, just in case.

On books in the loo

This past weekend, I finally finished How to Hepburn, less a biography of Katharine Hepburn than an ode to her talent, flaws, and individuality. I started the book actually hoping it would be a sort of how-to manual, but I had to content myself with amusing anecdotes. It was a pleasant read, and although it was only 191 pages long (including 3 pages of "suggested reading," which, I admit, I did not look at very closely), and despite the fact that I picked it up and read some of it nearly every day, it took me close to six months to get through the thing. Why? Because I only read it when I was in the bathroom.

Sean and I have a well-equipped bathroom library, consisting of a three-shelf bookshelf and a magazine rack. Books, magazines and catalogs migrate in and out, depending on current moods and interests. At any given time you can probably find a copy or two of ReadyMade magazine, the latest King Arthur Flour Company and Northern Sun catalogs, and all of the Straight Dope books in our lavatory. The Leonard Maltin film guide used to live in there, too, until we finally got hip to the fact that 1) we were hauling him out to the TV room all the time to settle arguments, and 2) his guide just isn't fun bathroom browsing material. Now he lives on the arm of the couch and has been replaced in the bathroom by Retakes: Behind the Scenes of 500 Classic Movies (sadly out of print) and Created in Darkness by Troubled Americans: The Best of McSweeney's Humor Category, both of which contribute to quality time in the loo.

How does one create a bathroom library? you ask. (Maybe you don't ask. Maybe, like Norman, the thought of touching anything that has spent considerable time in the bathroom without being washed and towel-dried wigs you out so much you can barely think about it.) I suppose the answer varies from person to person. If you're my brother, for instance, lengthy tomes on Byzantine history would not be out of place in the loo library. (Oh, if only I were kidding.) For me, the best bathroom books need to meet three criteria:

1) They can be opened at random, dipped into and enjoyed at nearly any spot.
2) They should be broken into short sections that can be finished in a single, er, sitting.
3) They are ideally somewhat sensational in nature.

Catalogs and most magazines, by their very nature, meet these criteria easily. In fact, I might argue that Entertainment Weekly should only be read while one is seated on the toilet. The Straight Dope books are primo examples of the very best in bathroom reading material. (If you don't know the Straight Dope, shame on you and go visit the site. Right. Now. I have been on their mailing list since 1996 and look forward to every Friday morning when the latest update arrives and Unca Cecil reveals some new truth about the world.) I have purchased a few books with the express intent of adding them to our bathroom library, tomes such as The Grim Reaper's Book of Days (also sadly out of print) and the too-meta-by-half Bathroom Stuff (also OP, albeit not so sadly).

One lovely book I bought for the bathroom spent only an afternoon there; once I started reading it I couldn't put it down, and as I couldn't spend all day in the john, it made a quick journey back to my bedside stand, where it has lived ever since. If you ever come across Panati's Extraordinary Endings of Practically Everything & Everybody (a.k.a. The Browser's Book of Endings, both editions tragically out of print), snatch it up and add it to some bookshelf in your house, whether in the bathroom or your home office. Trust me, you'll enjoy learning about bubonic plague, prehistoric mass extinctions, the evolution of the graveyard to the modern-day memorial park, and the contents of Aristotle's will. Lesson learned: bathroom reading material should be delightful, but not too delightful lest you irritate others who may be waiting to use the facilities.

So... 'fess up. Do you read in the bathroom? If so, what? Whoever spills their guts first will win a FREE BOOK (chosen by me from my personal, non-bathroom [thus, non-cootied] library) guaranteed to provide hours of entertainment on or off the commode. So be sure to include some way for me to get in touch with you.

Just what the doctor ordered

I have had either a nasty cold or a touch of flu for the past few days, and I stayed home from work this morning in hopes of speeding up my recovery. Norman called me just before noon, sounding excited, and told me to turn to the Food Network.

I fumbled with the remote, trying to figure out which channel the Food Network is on. At last Paula Deen appeared on my screen. She was just about to drop a rectangular piece of something beige into a vat of boiling oil.

"What's she making?" I asked. "Fish and chips?"

"I think it's deep-fried cheesecake," Norman said in a hushed, reverent tone.

In silence we watched the dough-encrusted cheesecake sizzle away in its oil bath. Paula lifted it out and dusted it with powdered sugar, then sliced it in half with a big knife. Melted dark chocolate and gooey cheesecake oozed onto the plate.

"Oohhhh," I moaned. "I didn't know we get porn on our cable system."