Confession Time

I'm in love.

With another man.

Who's not my husband.

And my husband doesn't care. Because when I asked him if he cared that I was in love with another man, he said, "I'm in love with him too."

But I think it's okay because he's a fictional character.

This one:

Source: bbc.co.uk via Randi on Pinterest

 


For the uninitiated, this is Sherlock Holmes--master of intrigue, grand poo-bah of crime scene investigation, oddball extraordinaire.

I've always loved Sherlock, because I am fascinated with mystery, especially when it's coupled with masterful deductive reasoning. The BBC version is everything you would expect from Sir Arthur's character, but with a modern twist. This Sherlock solves crimes using laptops, cell phones and the London taxi cab system. And get this: WITHOUT GRAPHIC GORE.

Okay, so there's a little blood here and there, but none of the hurl-your-dinner genre made famous by shows like CSI. No, this version focuses on the mentality of the crime suspect as well as the intellect of the crime solver, rather than on the severed body parts of the crime victim.

Last week, we had an evening long Sherlock fest, trying to catch up with past episodes. It was easy, because there aren't that many, only three so far (unless you live in England where they already got to view season 2. We lowly Americans have to wait until May. Torture, I tell ya.) The nice thing about those three episodes is that they are 90 minutes each. So for those of you with Netflix accounts, I've provided something for you to do this weekend.

Disclaimer: If you fall in love with Sherlock I am not responsible. Take that up with Sir Arthur.

Apology to Robert Downey, Jr.: You've been replaced. I'm sorry.

Government-forced hoo-hah: No one paid me to say any of these things, not the BBC, not Netflix, not the estate of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, not Benedict Cumberbatch. However, if you see a link like the one below that looks suspiciously like an "ad," rest assured it is an ad. The government thinks you are too stupid to know that it is an ad, so I must tell you that it is, indeed, an ad. Therefore, if you click on the ad, and then actually buy something attached to the link, I will get a commission. Blog owners do not put ads on their sites just because they think they enhance the look, although that's what the government thinks that you think, hence the obligatory blah blah blah.

In Which My Daughter Explains a Fashion Mystery

I'll admit it. I am not a fashion maven. My style of dress can best be described as "mom." That's not to say that if I had the right figure, income, and time on my hands I wouldn't be a fashionista. I totally would. However, there are elements of style that befuddle my middle-aged mind, notably this trend:

Source: shop.nordstrom.com via Elizabeth on Pinterest

Source: Uploaded by user via Bethany on Pinterest

Source: agjeans.com via Jordan on Pinterest

Get the picture? It's women standing pigeon-toed for photos!

This trend has perplexed me for a while. It seems I can hardly look at a fashion spread without seeing some evidence of this, and to be honest, I find it annoying, probably because I get annoyed when I fail to find logic in something. Is it supposed to somehow be more attractive? 

I guess I somehow failed to keep up with the times, because when I mentioned this irritation to my daughter, Em, she knew exactly why models stand like this.

"Mom, it's because when you stand pigeon-toed your thighs don't touch."

I tried it. It works!  And did you go back and look at the above photos? No thigh-touching to be seen!

So now when you see pictures of me and you you say, "Randi must have lost weight. Her thighs don't touch anymore," you will know my secret, fresh from the modeling world. Em, I owe you one.

Kids. Entertained so cheaply...Part II

Not knowing that I had just posted a picture about my grandson playing with his birthday box, Foreign Quang reader Jill coincidentally posted this picture of her daughter. "Little G" ( Daddy is Big G) turned nine yesterday and found a box just as intriguing as her gifts.

Jill writes: "All those gifts, and this is what the kids played with all day long."

Do you think children would rebel if we gave them only boxes on their birthdays? And isn't her #9 shirt fabulous? I'm sure her mother made it because she is all kinds of crafty like that. Happy Birthday, Little G!

photo used with permission

Kids. Entertained so cheaply...

 I hope to someday have it explained to me how time seems to accelerate the older I get. If you had told me at age ten that I would have to wait a year for something, it would have been agony. Yet my grandson, Avatar, turned eight last week, and I am positive it was only a couple of years ago that his father called me to tell me that my daughter had given birth a few moments ago.

I want to slow the passage of time because it does not seem real that he is sporting his adult teeth.

It doesn't help that he is only five years younger than my son. I feel like I miss so much, even though he lives only three blocks away.  

At his family birthday party I watched him open his gifts with gratitude. He seemed to genuinely love all his presents. But when all the unwrapping excitement was over, where did we find him?

You got it---playing with the box!

His uncle, my son, is also entertained cheaply. Nearly every place we go, Weston can be found doing a variation of this:

He delicately balances on the ground, his bed railing, stone benches, fire pits, logs--anything that will act as a fulcrum. He has been forbidden to balance on the arm of my couch, so he never balances there. Anymore. When I'm around. 

Last week, Weston came home from an evening gathering with a few friends. He looked like my son anyway.  After he had been home a few minutes, he asked me to come see him in his room. I quickly learned that although my son appeared to come home from the get-together unscathed, that was not the case.

 

As soon as he turned on the black light in his room I realized that he had been decorated. By a girl. The yellow marker didn't show during the course of normal conversation. I later discovered that this magic can only be performed by the neon yellow Sharpie highlighter.  How fun is that! So the next time you're looking for a cheap way to occupy kids, get out your black light and Sharpies.

And when your kids come home from a party looking normal, don't you believe it. Give 'em the old black light test first.

The Future of Glass

I just saw this and it was too amazing to not share it.

If you want to see it full screen (recommended) here is the link: