I just want to watch Richard Armitage act. That’s it. Oh, and an accidental “I Saw Something Fine”.

So, I’m going to just put this out there. Tonight, I am seriously jealous of the people hunkered down in NYC watching Mr. Armitage do what he does best (although I don’t know, maybe he makes an INSANE pico de gallo, but, you know, this is what I know about). And it’s not because they’re in The Presence, or might get to smell his manly pheremones, or comment on his shoes, or whatever. Or eat his pico de gallo (and no, I’m not euphemizing although I suppose I could be but no I really don’t think I am *concentrate* please!! lol).

I’m jealous because OH OK, this is going to be an “I saw something fine” post after all, isn’t it? And now I’m laughing because that is simply how today has been. I start out to do A but then I end up with a handful of Q instead (and please, Star Trek TNG fans, no jokes about a handful of Q). But I’m sorry. This is really disorganized. Let’s start over, and properly… or at least more properly. (ahem)


For those of you who don’t know, I saw something fine for the first time – specifically, Richard Armitage – in North and South while laid up on the couch with broken ribs in January of last year.

Good gravy god. It was last week of last year.

It was probably about seven days ago last year… because I saw the Hobbit for the first time Jan 14 2013, I think, and I saw that a few days after my first exposure to North and South.

Well. I guess this is also my “I Saw Something Fine One Year Ago Last Week” post. !!!

In any case, I saw Richard a year ago last week while I was out of my damn mind on Percocet and bewildered with pain. He charmed and disarmed me, and talked me into going to see the Hobbit despite the fact that I couldn’t actually sit up properly for three hours at a stretch yet. :} The ribs were not ready, but I made it work. I took a pillow into the theatre with my nose high in the air, like, “what? Did you guys forget to bring your pillows?” He provided me with many forms of solace, both aesthetic and emotional. As time wore on, he gave me an artistic and personal ideal to which I could aspire as I negotiated the gradual dissolution of my marriage, and tried to figure out what that would mean to my career as a dancer. 

In 2013, I was thrilled to watch his “older” performances and interviews, and The Hobbit AUJ press appearances. This year, I was slightly less thrilled by TH: DoS and the press junket (although immeasurably pleased to see his increasing comfort in interview situations). I even drove to NYC to see him at the fan event in November, and was very glad to have done so, although there was less of him than I’d like. (tongue tucked firmly in cheek: there’s always less of him than I’d like, somehow)

Forward to today, with its crummy wolf moon energy and a combination of many unfortunate events that culminated in me dissolving into tears at the bank – which is utterly unlike me – and when I got home, I needed a break. Just a break for one damn minute where something wasn’t going wrong. So I flipped open my computer and prepared to let one of my favorite Happy Richard interviews take me away and…

…thought: you know, I just want something new. Is that ungracious of me?

I just want to watch him act. I want to watch him do what he loves, what makes him happy. What he does well. What he does best. I don’t want to watch him be a talking head any longer, or not only that.

I want to watch him do what inspired me. What moved me. I want him to recreate the magic.

And could he please, please, please, for once, PLEASE not die, or not have the girl be in love with someone who commits suicide, or not be an ass who commits adultery, could he PLEASE JUST NOT DO THAT because I just got a divorce about that, so yeah NO let’s not, and then if he could actually play something where he’s a character who’s reasonably fulfilled and gets “the girl”? Or even just adopts a dog or maybe buys a pony for a kid who wants a pony? I don’t care.

(taking a deep breath) I know it’s a lot to ask. And OK, yes, that last paragraph is ALL about me.

But please, Richard Armitage, could you please act in something again? – I know you want to do theater, and I get that. I get it. But if you do theater in New York, only a couple hundred people a night can come and see you, and only if they live within reasonable distance or means of NYC and really I just can’t right now. So if you could find it in your heart to do something on a non-perishable medium, something new, that would be great.**

And don’t die in it.

And buy a kid a pony.

Ok, I’m kidding on that last one.


**NOTE: Dark Skies doesn’t really count because 1) it’s already in the can, so you’re not doing anything new on it; and 2) it doesn’t come out for ages yet, so TABA will almost be here; and 3) we have NO guarantee you’re not going to die in it, young man. You’ve shown a distinct interest in parts that kill you, maim you or those around you, and that will not fit the bill as per this rather bossy request. So as far as I’m concerned, Dark Skies is right out, unless it’s the surprise musical comedy hit of the autumn. With found footage of tornadoes. No? And no pony? Well, then. (nodding)

Thank you.


Bwahahahahahaaaa…. Legolas Mini-Butt?

My morning mis-read: 

New post on Hobbit Movie News and Rumors | TheOneRing.net™

Collecting The Precious – Gentle Giant’s Legolas Greenleaf Mini-Bust

— which my mind *totally* processed as “Legolas Mini-Butt”, no matter how many times I read it. And I thought, 1) “OOOOOOoooooooh” and then, 2) “wait. Did they make it smaller?”, then 3) “WAIT. Just the butt?!?!” And then I laughed really hard. 


Waiting to go on.

So this morning as I eat my breakfast cereal, I’m thinking about gestations. Those times in your life where you’re going through a process (you may not even realize it at the time), or completing a journey, or waiting for something to be finished so you can move on to the next step. I thought I’d had one, starting in Dec. 2011 when I took the “red pill” (actually, it was pink) and started my personal journey down the rabbit hole. It ended (I hoped) in January of 2014, newly divorced, hopefully healthier, mojo recaptured, new house new friends new lease on life. Done. Dusted. Hurrah!! Right?

Well, now I’m sitting in another of life’s waiting rooms, listening to the clock tick; breathing in the acrid scent of cold coffee and waiting for someone to come to the door and let everything start again. 

And as I’m waiting, I’m pondering the gestational periods, the waiting times, we go through in life. How they define us, shape our goals and our thoughts and our emotions. How some are so well known and others belong to those who are In The Know, In The Club. There’s 40 weeks, that’s a baby. 16 years before you get your coveted driver’s license. 12 years to graduate from high school. 

2 weeks for a biopsy. 1 of those left to go right now. 7 days. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. And in the meantime, I feel like my heart is raw hamburger in my chest. My tear ducts are spring-loaded. I am an agony of sadness and steely control, punctuated by surprising moments of delirious forgetfulness; but at the back of it all, the bitter aftertaste: 7 more days. And then, in the words of the doctor, we’ll do what we have to do. 

Such hard, utilitarian words, each word falling to the ground like a stone. I felt like looking down to make sure the floor tiles hadn’t actually cracked. We’ll do what we have to do. There is hope in those words, but also a sentence in them, beyond appeal. The decision has been made at a higher court. Now we can only wait until that decision is handed down. 

I am usually an optimistic person, but the birth of hope is beyond me at the moment for some reason. I can only sit, and wait, and pray.

(Perhaps this is when I should be reading JRR Tolkien, with his overarching themes of hope beyond hopelessness, love beyond despair, and the glory of the human spirit. I don’t mean watching the movies; for all that LotR were good movies, in this moment I need “Drink Entire, against the madness of the crowds”. I need Tolkien unblemished. I need the plaintiveness and pureness of his language, calling my soul back from this dark, strange place. I need his immaculate weavings of starlight and the awe-inspiring beauty that can come from pain and noble sacrifice, all underlain with the simple things that make life at once worthwhile and accessible… Hobbitty things like a good supper and singing regrettable songs with friends. I think people sometimes imagine Tolkien admired Elves the most. I think Tolkien’s true “children” were the Hobbits. Good food, a good chair by the fire, and a good scratch of your back while in a nice, hot bath.) 

Postscript: Sigh. :} I think too damn much. I know I wouldn’t be so gummed up about this whole thing if my mother – the biopsy is hers – hadn’t lost hope herself. We’re going to do this thing. God, more utilitarian, awful words. Words in starched nurses’ aprons. I think I’ll stop now. No wonder I’ve gained ten pounds over Christmas break. snort.

For my original entry about my mom’s condition, look here towards the middle.

In the words of Inigo Montoya, I sum up.

So I’m back, after three weeks in Florida with my parents. I had internet, but only kind of. I’d be in the middle of something and *poof!* no more Internet, sometimes for the rest of the day or night. I could say it was liberating and that I discovered a connection with Nature, but I’d be lying.

Instead, I learned to knit. I knitted (is that the word? I kniten? Knitae? I don’t know. Knitted will have to do) 13 scarves and part of a pillowcover while on vacation, and I actually gave myself knitter’s arm and had to take the middle week off. So that’s actually 13 scarves (and a partial pillowcover) in about 14 days. I’m knitting a scarf right now, well. Not right now, because I’m typing. But I’m working on scarf #15 and Snaps is starting to eye it rebelliously. He doesn’t even know I bought the yarn to knit him am adorable little sweater this week too…

So what else happened while I was on vacation? I rediscovered my mojo in some ways and that’s a very good thing. I’ll be watching that play out over the next few months, I hope – hopefully in a positive way. :}

***Cathy — if you’re reading this, brace up. This bit is about Mom. Just to let you know. xoxoxo***

Something came up that’s a negative. Possibly a big negative. Possibly the biggest negative I’ve ever faced in my life. My mom went in for a colonoscopy and they found two polyps; one normal one they just snipped, and one that was very large and that they had to try to take out piecemeal. The simple 30-minute procedure turned into an over 3-hour surgery, and they didn’t get all of it. The doctor talked to us, after, about some very scary concepts, and Mom was terrified when she came to. I think she still is, although she’s the sort to hide it and balls through (as am I). I’m glad I was there, but it was… it was serious. It is serious.

She looked at me at one point, shaking and with terror and tears in her eyes, and she said: “this could be it, Chris. This could be the start of the downhill slide. This could be the start of the end.” And I know what she meant.

When we were Christmas caroling for the retirement park she and Dad live in, we visited the shut-ins and, inevitably, those near death. She and I sat on the back of the golf cart together, shuttling from house to house, and with each stop, her grip on my arm grew tighter. She knew the colonoscopy was scheduled, she knew there was a problem, and she knew what it might mean. She would lean over to me sometimes, voice tight with strain, and say: “she’s lost so much weight since Thanksgiving. We don’t know if she’ll see New Year’s.” or, “He just lost his wife six months ago, and he’s stopped eating. He wants to go.”

They live among people for whom this is the beginning of the end, if not the middle or the end of it. They’ve buried more friends this year than any other – so many, in fact, that they are quite matter-of-fact about it. Fifteen years ago, it was a shock. Now, it’s a Thursday. It’s a huge wake-up call to me; it’s easy to see these seniors driving around in their golf carts, planning luncheons and planting gardens, and miss the way they check in with each other. Where’s Darlene? Have you seen her today? And did you hear there was an ambulance on the block last night? Oh, lord. Who was it?

For my mom, I fervently – and there is not enough emotion in that word, “fervently”, to convey how much I’m praying for this – hope that this is a close call, a nothing or a not-much. I want this NOT to be the beginning of any end.

But if it is, ah, God, if it is; well. As Dad said, “we’ll do what we have to do.” And we’ll do it together.

Favorite quote from last night’s Parks and Rec Beginner Dance Class

Said by one of my favorite students, whom I’ve nicknamed “Randy Turbana” (she knows this, because she’s awesome): “My body is just like a lava lamp!” 

I asked, “because once you plug it in, it takes a while to get working? Or are there weird globs of stuff moving around in there?” I should have resisted, but couldn’t. She laughed and then explained, and you know what? Her body *is* actually just like a lava lamp. 

This is why I love my job. 


That is all.

Oh. Except that this is also probably the most phallic piece of meat I’ve ever cooked. For reals.


As penises go, it’s not looking so good. But in ham terms… it’s glazed with crystallized ginger and honey and just did I say OMG I AM A GENIUS because I think I should say that.


Recipe (well, “recipe” schmecipe, I’ll just tell you how I made it 2% more awesome) coming up shortly on gfcookingforone.wordpress.com