Potty Mouth

There's a line from "Meet Me in St Louis" that goes a little something like this: "There's the H to pay if my family ever finds out I called long distance."
What's that?
"I said, there's the H to pay if my family ever finds out I called long distance!"

In an attempt to curb our potty mouths, Alisa and I are inserting "H" for all swears. Allow me to illustrate:

H, man.
What the H?!
That's H'ed up the H.
Holy H.
You H H.
H no!
You H'in H H'er, you H'ed my H!!

I think it's been pretty effective so far. Feel free to give it a spin.

Shorty McShort Short

One recent Saturday I arose mid-morning to pay bills and watch a mix of cartoons and cooking shows. Since I'm only willing to pay for the very lowliest basic cable (which includes local channels 2-13, two redundant espn's, a Christian network, TBS, TNT, and about half a dozen foreign language stations) I have to settle for PBS cooking shows instead of their flashier Food Network rivals--truth be told I actually prefer Jacques Pepin to Rachel Ray, but to each their own. Anyway, at the tail end of Lidia's couscous episode, I was assaulted by this totally wretched Gloria Estefan PBS ad. I felt simultaneously betrayed and physically ill, and decided I wanted to share with my faithful readers (thanks Mom for reading this aloud to the rest of the fam--that makes about 9 then...) PBS' previously grand tradition of outstanding ads.

I spent many hours back in KBYU's master control watching a spot we called Shorty McShort Short (at one point the big whigs in Springville actually had to tell us to stop inserting it into the on-air interstitials). I want you to see it--I myself am aching to watch it right now--but it's nowhere to be found. I spent some serious time on this and am tremendously disappointed, but I won't cheapen it with a flawed description. May I please offer this in its place (a close runner up for what I inserted most into the playlist--I dare you to watch the pregnant mother and daughter, about 50 seconds from the end, at 3 in the morning when you're cold and alone and not cry your own eyes out).

Rock and Roll

It's been awhile and there's lots to talk about, but I don't want to waste any time with civilities so I'm just going to get to it...the second greatest moment of my life occurred two weeks ago: LIVE BAND ROCK AND ROLL KARAOKE!!! While I was down home for the 4th of July (what's more American than Claremont? Nothing. Nothing.) I found out from my friend Ben that this was going down at a bar in Long Beach while I was in town, so 63, Dale and I went to check it out. Hopes were high, and I was in no way disappointed. Here I am, somewhere in the middle of my performance of "Borderline" (I can think of only one other time when I've been caught anywhere close to this happy on film, and that was my second day in Italy, eating gelato on a street median near the Vatican--did you know they let you choose three kinds!?!?). Ben--the blond head in the bottom right corner--sang a smashing "Jump" (no matter what he thinks, I jumped every time), and Dale used his patented manyell to rock "Sister Christian" (motorin'!). 63, poor dear, had some decision-making issues and ran out of time, but life is full of second chances and I look forward to hearing his "Where the Streets Have No Name" one day soon. LIVE BAND KARAOKE is so awesome that writing about it makes me have to pee my pants a little. Here are the ways it tops your mom's karaoke:

1. the band is so loud you can't hear yourself, so when it's over you have no idea whether you were on tune--you only know that you rocked.
2. if you lose the rhythm or don't know when to come in, a member of the band will help you out for a bit.
3. you still have all the words in front of you, but they're on paper so no one has to watch them go by with a cheery but incongruous digital background that says "Happy Birthday!" or "Aloha!"
4. you're on stage with a whole band (Mr. Mister Miyagi was a 5-piece) so you don't have to worry about being the focal point.
5. it's like seeing a live band, so everyone is on their feet singing along instead of sitting at tables and casually appraising you, and...
6. it fulfills all your rock'n'roll fantasies.

I can't stress to you enough, dear reader, how fab this felt. As much as I love regular karaoke, I always have lingering feelings of foolishness and regret after an appearance--but LIVE BAND KARAOKE only left me feeling like the prettiest and rockin'est girl at the party. If you're in LA, please go (and tell me about it later). For those of you in the Bay, I've been doing some research and may have found a karaoke band in the Mission that plays every second Saturday--I'll pass along the info when I've got it. For now, go forth and rock.

BEST SUMMER EVER

I have a new policy.

I spent last summer in LA doing an internship at the California Science Center (where you can experience my handiwork right now). Before I began, however, I drove cross country with my friend Corby to move him to upstate New York where he is--even now, as you read this--mowing several acres of lawn for Academy Award winner Timothy Hutton. Sometime on our second run through Tennessee (we had to backtrack three hours from Nashville to Memphis in order to see Graceland--totally worth it) I got a call from my bumbling and irate landlord informing me that the girl I had found to sublet my place was certainly NOT allowed to live there, meaning I had to pay rent all summer for a place I wasn't living in. Poo. (By the by, Norman just sold the place...may the golden era of parking in the driveway and laundry after 9pm begin!).

When I got to LA, Renee, Joey, and Sandra graciously allowed me to stay on their couch for free during the weekdays (bless you all! i wish you much joy with the new season of SYTYCD--may it get better each time you rewatch it). Renee and I, finding ourselves under the same roof for the first time in six years, had decided that summer 2006 would undoubtedly be the BEST SUMMER EVER.

I can't speak for Renee, but I think summer 2006 certainly holds up with the best of them. And in the spirit of its success, I've decided on a new policy. Every summer shall henceforth be referred to as the BEST SUMMER EVER. Now, I know all you nitpickers and "best-of" listmakers out there will shudder at the thought of equally weighting all summers, but that's just not the case. Does it wrongfully diminish past summers to endow current summer with expectancy and hopefulness? I think not. The BEST SUMMER EVER is the summer you're in, and I'm in summer 2007 which, eleven days in, is indeed the BEST SUMMER EVER. My cruiser agrees, and she urges you to do the same.

Over and over and over again

I just finished watching the lovely film Gosford Park for probably the 37th time and I can't quite put my finger on why it is I never get tired of it. "It's a Robert Altman masterpiece," you tell me in a knowing tone, "of course you don't get sick of it. The layered dialogue, the brilliant acting, the elegant staging, hot hot hot Clive Owen (holy crap, I can't even talk about it)--there's so much to digest!" True, to be sure. The problem with all that is it doesn't quite explain away my ability to watch the following list of films over and over and over again:



Breathtaking, right? I absolutely could watch any one of these movies any time of any day and be completely content--try me sometime. You may have heard me refer to these four in particular as "Forester Family Favorites". Granted, I do have some more worthy selections in this over and over and over again category, like:



...but still, I can't come up with a common theme. I wouldn't call any of these "all time" favorites (actually, that was a lie--two of them are definitely on that list), yet there's something sweet and comforting and constantly renewable about them. Do other people have these? I think I can guess what Renee's is:

Miss Noel's House of Dreams

I'm not one for pomp and circumstance, but I do enjoy a good festivity now and again. Graduation at the Paramount Theater was all well and good, but what was really getting me through as I sweated over page 106 of my thesis was the after party I had planned with my family and friends at this pink anomaly:


T.J.s Ginger Bread House

I've been driving past this place on my way to the Webster tube for almost two years now and until three weeks ago it lived only in my dreams, shrouded in myth. What was a baby pink, heart-covered Victorian claiming to be a cajun restaurant doing wedged underneath the BART tracks and 880 south a mere stone's throw from blighted West Oakland? After a year of timid drive-bys I was tempted to drop in, but then a little birdie told me that besides needing a reservation waaaaaay in advance, you need to order your food ahead of time...what was this place?!

I knew wondrous things must be waiting for me inside, so I decided I'd wait and book an inaugural visit in honor of my graduation. A couple weeks before the date I called the number and spoke with a lovely woman who turned out to be Miss Noel (emphasis on the "Miss"): our hostess, server, quizmaster, entertainer and confidante for the evening. She asked me to come in as soon as possible to pick up menus (no place could be less online) so I could get everyone's order in ahead of time. I would have asked why this was necessary (out of curiosity--not contrariness) but she had just mentioned that she'd give me a cookie and a lemonade when I picked them up, so I hardly had time to hang up the phone before the screen door hit my bum on the way out to the car. I didn't get a cookie--but I did get a hug from Miss Noel and something that looked like this:



That's my sister holding a plate of "sassy" cornbread smothered in what can only be described as movie-theatre popcorn butter. Sensational.

Miss Noel and I quickly bonded and set our date for the 16th of June. It was one of the great events of my life--we were treated to fruit salad and fruit punch, games of chance and skill, and tips on life and love from Miss Noel herself. At one point she pulled a knife out of her apron--no joke!-- to show us how she protects a pretty little bit of a thing like herself. Here she is pulling out another recommendation:



Germs are nothing to kid about.

Miss Noel was one of those sweet people that talk like they've known you forever, which is very touching and sweet until you start to feel really awkward about nodding your head so much while they go on and on. Eventually you realize that you have nothing to say in return because you're not one of those people, so you just blather on with "thank you so much!" and "so true!" and my favorite: thhe upward sliding "ahhhh." The whole evening was this on-your-toes mix of being put at your ease without ever feeling easy. The highlights (sponsored by Ted on the Web, the West Coast's expert on "awkward") included a rope puzzle that kept Gnu and Alisa literally tied up for much longer than was entertaining for anyone (I won't post the pictures because I'm pretty sure Alisa and/or Whitney would kill me), and a 15 minute lecture Erica received extolling personal safety for the single woman. Also, there's this gem:



My pop ended up willingly posing for a picture with a flower in his hair (I told you wondrous things were waiting inside). We also snapped what is maybe the greatest ever photo of the grandmas:



A glorious time was had by all.

Victory

I graduated with my masters in museum studies last Saturday. Joy. May I never know the misery of a thesis project ever again.

I've not been myself since I started writing this thing last fall...and to prove it, here is a list of things I've lost in the last 10 months:

1. 12 lbs.

2. the screw that used to hold on the rear fender of my car (and paint in three places)

3. $40K

4. a Some Crust Bakery travel mug

5. my patience

Of course, I've gained some things as well. I tried to list them, but it wasn't funny--so let me just say this: I feel very blessed. Very loved. Very supported, encouraged and believed in. Thanks to anyone who has listened to me talk about learning theory or community collaboration or exhibition design. Thanks to everyone who came to the Europa show. Thanks to anyone who touched a cockroach at the Science Center last summer. Thanks to anyone who admitted they'd never heard of the Oakland Museum even though they've lived in the East Bay all their life. Thanks to the La Brea tarpits and the Hall of Health and the subway car they displayed at LACMA when I was a kid. Thanks to farmers' markets. Thanks to whoever organized the public pillow fight on Valentine's Day.

And more personally...thanks to my parents and their social liberalism (which is surprisingly not at odds with their moral conservativism). Thanks to my blind grandmas and my work-weary grandpas. Thanks to my stylish sister, and thanks to my ADD brothers. Everything I've learned has its source in all of you.

I love my job.