Guest Blogger: Woman by BrownSuga

Hello MGF Readers! It's Guest Blogger night! Before going on, I've noticed a few regulars have joined reading our humble little piece of internet vapor. Welcome to you all! We hope that we're at the very least entertaining and at best thought provoking. And as always, if you feel the itch to write...let us know! We're always looking for guests!

Tonight's Guest Blogger is from BrownSuga. She sent this to me a few months ago after the passing of Coretta Scott King. Yes, it's geared towards the ladies, but strength and pride in one's self (as I have found out) is crucial to everyone's human fabric. So, I felt that it was a good thing to share BrownSuga's point of view. Be safe and well, everyone! - Lily

What makes a woman, a woman?


Earlier this week, as I made my weekly drive to Florida to see about inventory, the question was posed to the listening audience of a radio station. That morning we lost a great woman, Coretta Scott King. At the age of 78, Mrs. King personified the word ‘woman’. As the widow of slain Civil Right’s Activist Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., she continued to carry out peaceful protests against injustice for many years.

The day before, I posed the same question to myself. What makes a woman a woman?

When woman are faced with the possibility of having their “womanhood” removed for medical reasons, a myriad of thoughts enters the mind. Survivors of breast cancer, ovarian cancer, cervical cancer and a host of other medical ailments, are sometimes faced with this loaded question. If the doctor has to remove one or both of my breasts, will men still find me desirable? If a total hysterectomy is my only choice for survival, will someone want to marry me, even though I can’t give him a child? If my body continually produces “abnormal” cells which can cause an STD in other people, will someone still love me sexually? Will any of those things stop me from being a woman?


NO!


I am a woman because:

I am strong
I love with my whole heart
I have grace
I have dignity
I have integrity
I am funny
I am intelligent
I am beautiful on the inside and out
I have survived the struggle
I protect my family
I defend my people
I raise leaders
I am somebody and I choose to be a woman
I SAID SO!


Many of us grew up as the local “tomboy”. We are more comfortable in jeans and t-shirts than skirts and high heels. The way we dressed didn’t make us any less of a woman. We might not be the “girly girl” but we were still girls. As we grow older, we get more comfortable in our skin. Yes, I am still more comfortable in a great pair of jeans and some Tim’s than I am in a form fitting dress. However, I can appreciate the power of that little black dress with 3 inch heels. And whichever outfit I chose, I will look good and still be a woman.

My point is you don’t have to be feminine to be a woman. India Arie sings:

“Sometimes I comb my hair and sometimes I won’tDepend on how the wind blows I might even paint my toesit really just depends on whatever feels good in my soulI’m not the average girl from your videoand I ain’t built like a supermodelBut, I learned to love myself unconditionallybecause I am a queen”

~excerpt from “Video”

“Breast Cancer and ChemotherapyTook away her crown and gloryShe promised God if she was to surviveShe would enjoy everyday of her life oohOn national televisionHer diamond eyes are sparklingBald headed like a full moon shiningSinging out to the whole wide world like HEY...

I am not my hairI am not this skinI am not your expectations no noI am not my hair I am not this skin I am a soul that lives within”

~except from “I am not my hair”


My ‘womanhood’ is a definition I CREATE! So ladies, let them take what they have to. Let them strip you of your ‘womanly’ organs. Do not, DO NOT let them strip you of your womanhood, because no one can take that away from you. You are woman. HEAR YOU ROAR!

Guest Blogger: Been There, Done That, Have the T-Shirt by Elusive Orchid

Today's post is by guest blogger Elusive Orchid. This is her shout out to those of you who are completely happy being single. She has nothing at all against marriage but feels that maybe it isn't for everyone, herself included. Orchid simply wishes other people would understand and not give the happily single crap for wanting to remain that way. She also says raises her glass and says "cheers" to Ms. Lillian T. White who thankfully never gives her shit about it. Hope you enjoy. ~ASilky

So, I’m single again and have been for about a year. Okay so the divorce isn’t final but it’s in its last stages. As far as I’m concerned I’ve been single since I told the ex I wanted the divorce over a year ago. What does this mean for me?

It means simply…I’m FREEEEEEEEEEEEE! I’ve always been an independent, confident woman as most of you can probably see from some of my previous posts. My guy friends tell me the independent and confident personality I exhibit is what tends to draw a man to me after the initial attraction. I however have found that it is also what ultimately drives them away.

I’ve dated a bit in the past year and I can honestly say these personality traits haven’t changed one iota. If anything, I am more fiercely independent now than when I was married and I don’t plan on changing it. I like it, as a matter of fact I love it! I can’t imagine being any other way. I find myself in an odd position because of this.

Men in my age group (the thirties) aren’t looking for a happy-go-lucky, just wanna have fun girl (As my previous post noted). They are looking for marriage material. They want someone to build a life with, have children with and grow old with. I am soooooo not going there again. I’ve been there, done that and I have the t-shirt.

Much as I love the opposite sex, I don’t plan on getting married again. I have simply found that it’s not for me. I feel too constrained, boxed in. I want to be able to do what I want, when I want without feeling like I have to answer to someone else. There are enough things in life I have to answer to, my education (and soon my job), my family and to some extent my one and only child.

Speaking of children, much as I love my daughter, I don’t plan on ever having another one. No one ever tells prospective parents how difficult it is to raise a child, especially if both parents aren’t equal partners in the child’s upbringing. For this and a myriad of other reasons I won’t go into, I can’t fathom ever having another one.

So, strikes against me in the dating pool are major, I don’t want to get married and I don’t want anymore children. But, why should this matter? Shouldn’t someone love me for who I am, not what I can give them? Why is society so hung up on marriage and family? In this day and age when almost 50% of marriages fail, did it occur to anyone that maybe this marriage thing isn’t working?

As for children, I really think they get the short end of the stick in today’s world. In a typical household, if these children are lucky enough to have two parents, both are typically working and don’t have time for their offspring. Life is so fast-paced these days, and sad to say it is normally our younger generations that pay the price of this.

I work in the education field and see this constantly. For the majority of the students I teach, their parents are not even involved enough to make sure they complete their homework. Nor do they bother to attend parent conferences even if their children are in danger of failing and being held back.

For me, I expend the majority of my free time taking care of my daughter, playing with her and teaching her new things. I love to spend time with her and I don’t ever regret having her. As she gets older, the constant interaction is starting to lessen as she goes off to explore on her own. I am both happy and sad to see this happen. I’m happy because I have raised a daughter that is independent and confident enough to want to go her own way, but sad because she is growing up. However, sad as I may be, I am not sad enough to want to have another child. Having one is more than enough to keep me busy and I can’t imagine trying to raise another one.

So back to the point at hand, I doubt I will get into a serious relationship again, as for marriage, I’m definitely not planning on it. I say not planning on it because all my friends tell me I can’t predict or control the future and they’re right. Children are a definite no. That I can control and I know I don’t want anymore.

Maybe as I get older I will find a man that has the same state of mind I do, happy with who he is, knows what he wants and doesn’t want to change me. I simply want to enjoy the company of someone who is content to just have fun and loves life for what it is. Until that time I am more than happy to be in my own company and the company of my friends. I can very easily enjoy my life as a single, independent and confident woman.

Marriage (including children) is not for everyone. I already have the t-shirt and I don’t want another.

On Lily's Bookshelf: Almost Like Being in Love by Steve Kluger

You never know what you’re going to find in the $1 bookshelf. At one of my favorite used bookstores, Half Price Books, they have their Dollar Bin towards the back of the store. When I peruse the books on that bin, I approach it with the acumen of a seasoned poker player.

Let’s face it…the books in the Dollar Bin are there for a reason. The store either has too many copies (which means you’ve probably read it) or the book bombed. So in essence, you’re gambling with your fist full of dollars. However, every once in awhile, you pick up something that sparks your interest and it ends up (in your mind) being frigging brilliant!

Such was the case for Steve Kluger’s second novel, Almost Like Being in Love. I had read parts of Kluger’s Baseball-centric first novel, Last Days of Summer and really enjoyed the easy going writing style that the author presented. When I saw Almost Like Being in Love, I recognized the name and flipped to the first page. Ten minutes later, Lenny was asking if I was ready to go and I was tossing the book into my basket and heading out to the checkout stand while asking him to drive so I could read!

NEVER in a million years would have thought that this book would end up in my Top Ten favorite books of all time. First of all, it was a dollar! How good can it be? Second, the story was not something that mainstream fiction is popular for. The novel is a romantic comedy. There is a wonderful cast of characters that grow near and dear to your heart. Great characters, great writing. So, what’s the big deal? The star-crossed lovers are both male.

Travis “Smerko” Puckett is the class nerd at The Beckley School in upstate New York. The year is 1978 and it’s his senior year of high school. He managed to spend four years in the shadow of his classmates mostly because his brilliance was the subject of ridicule. Craig McKenna is the BMOC at Beckley. All-star quarterback and shortstop, Craig was also the biggest catch in the area.

Craig asks Travis to assist him with an English assignment and then the unlikely duo are paired to help with the drama department’s staging of “Brigadoon.” A friendship starts up between the two, which blossoms into some odd feelings. By the end of their senior year, the two have cooked up a way to be together for the summer before Craig heads off to Harvard and Travis starts at USC. And as fate would have it, they drift apart.

Twenty years later, Travis (now a professor at USC) realizes that Craig is the love of his life. With the help of his longtime roommate, Gordo, Travis treks across the U.S. trying to find Craig who has settled down in Saratoga Springs, NY.

When I usually recommend this book to other people, they look at me sideways and say. “Lily…gay fiction?” Trust me on this one. Kluger’s writing in this book transcends the fact that it’s two guys falling in love. In the hands of another author, this book would fall on its face and remain forever in the Dollar Bin. But that’s how good a writer Kluger is. When reading his work in Last Days of Summer, I had no clue (nor did I care) that Kluger was gay. And in Almost Like Being in Love, he manages to get us to root for Travis and Craig to get back together.

The characterizations are phenomenal. Travis is so neurotic and spastic, you just want to reach out and hug him and say that everything is going to be okay! Craig, while the more confident of the two, shows that even the toughest guys have a soft spot for love. The supporting cast is numerous, but they are written richly and with lots of depth.

Another great feature of the book is the style that it has been written in. Unconventional love story has an unconventional format. Kluger tells the story not only in standard book narrative, but also in series of letters, notes, lists, and even court proceedings! The humor in the book was very spot on and very real in terms of emotion and relation.

I could go on and on about the book, but I’d be giving so much away! Almost Like Being in Love was a joy to read. Thanks to Kluger’s storytelling skills, it would have been a great book if it was about a man falling in love with a baboon. The characters and format make for a great read. So, either scour the Dollar Bin for this one or breakdown and buy it at full price! Either way, you will enjoy it!

Of Course We Couldn't Leave Like Regular Tourists Do!

It was inevitable. We had to leave. The three days whizzed by at the speed of light. On one hand, I was excited to get back to my own king-sized bed here in the States. But on the other…I DIDN’T WANT TO LEAVE! And I told Lenny of my intention. But alas, the time had come. So, reluctantly, we packed and headed back to Heathrow Airport.

We took a taxi back to Paddington Station, which was really neat. Our driver wove through several residential neighborhoods, so I had a chance to dream of living in one of them. Sure, I would have to win one helluva lottery jackpot…but I can dream.

The train ride back, as always, was easy as pie. We got to Heathrow in enough time to check in and get through security with ease. Or so we thought. When we hit the check-in terminal, we followed what we thought was the queue to check into British Airways. We kept walking looking for the end of the line…we didn’t find one! Finally an airport employee asked us if we had checked in (he must of seen the look of bemused terror on our faces). Lenny quipped that we were trying, if we could just find the end of the line.

Thankfully, the employee told us that we had to cut through this line to get to the “C” Check-in zone. We walked back from whence we came and found it. Whew. No line. It only took a few minutes to load up the suitcase for weighing and get our boarding passes. Finally through, we headed for security.

Remember that endless line we were talking about? Turns out, security was what the infinite queue was for. It was madness! It reminded me of the line for Space Mountain during the summer at Disneyland. Wall to wall people in a serpentine formation! There wasn’t anything to do but wait. Can’t blame the airport for wanting to be so careful. So for close to an hour and a half, we did.

One body scan (Lenny) and one random bag check (me) later, we cleared the security gates. I’ll give this to the airport employees…they’re a lot happier looking in Heathrow. It seems a lot easier to take the news that they had to dump out the bag you just neatly packed up when they say it with a smile. They seemed to mean it when they said, “I’m sorry to inconvenience you ma’am.” Maybe the TSA and the UK equivalent should do a trade. I’m sure I can fashion an argument of how that was going to ultimately help world peace. Let me work on that.

Lenny went to indulge in some duty free shopping. I found an internet terminal and sent word to the folks that we were alive, well, and heading home. When the flight called for boarding, we were raring to go. We settled into our seats and didn’t even mind that we were delayed on the ground for 45-minutes. Hey, these things happen. Besides, we were going to get back to Phoenix in the late afternoon. We would be fine.

Right. A funny thing happened just over the Isle of Man.

Okay...so I'm sitting in my seat 26A on the wing. We've been in the air for an hour or so. I'm grooving to my iPod and going through the manuscript revision of my novel. Then the plane starts to vibrate. It doesn’t vibrate in that “hey-this-is-turbulence” kind of way. It does it in that “oh-goodness-that's-not-good” kind of way. And mind you…all this is happening right under my feet.

I immediately take my headphones off and quietly asked Lenny, “Do you feel that?”

“Yeah,” he replied nonchalantly and returned to reading his magazine.

Okay. Maybe I was just dreaming. Lenny doesn’t seem worried. I was just overreacting. There’s no way the wing is going to break off and rip the plane in half and suck me out to the sky. There was no reason to even entertain that thought.

“This is your captain speaking. We apologize, but we are going to have to return to Heathrow….”

Don’t worry about it Lily. It’s nothing major…

“We have a mechanical problem…”

…did he say “problem” or did he say “failure?” Deep breaths, Lil. Nothing is wrong.

“Heathrow is aware of our situation and will be expecting us. We will have to circle over the Isle of Man so that we can dump some fuel…”

Of course you have to dump fuel. If we have too much, the plane will blow-up when we land!

“So, just sit back and relax…”

RELAX? Who can relax in this sardine can of a Boeing 747 with a bum wing! Damn you! Damn you and your heavenly accent, Captain!!!

“Our cabin crew will serve refreshments and we’ll keep you updated as information becomes available.”

Quit being so ridiculous Lily. Everything is fine. They would tell you if you were in any real danger. Sheesh, you’re starting to sound like a spaz.

THREE hours later (and possible knee damage from gripping it so hard), we landed safely back at Heathrow Airport. The cause of the vibration? As we filed out of our old plane, the lead steward was asked that question. He held out his hand and said, “The engineer just handed this to me.”

The best description I can say is that it was a metal pebble. A metal pebble no larger than a piece of gravel out of a fish tank. After seeing it, I can be perfectly honest with you. I HATED that pebble and everything it stood for. I wanted to grab it from the steward and chuck it off the plane! How DARE that pebble scare the crap out of me!

The food vouchers that British Airways provided us and a little more duty free shopping helped ease the sense of hatred and additional two hour wait for our new plane. I finally calmed down and convinced myself that the chances of our second plane being defective were minimal.

After eating a little dinner (we ate at 5pm…the last time we had eaten before that was 7:30am), I settled back into the internet kiosk and notified my family of the delay. Then I pecked out e-mails to FJ, Orchid, and BrownSuga. The day had flown by thanks to minor calamities. I chuckled as I wrote to FJ realizing that we had essentially spent an entire extra day in London. Be careful what you wish for indeed! As I closed out my e-mail to Fudgesicle Junkie, I typed out one final thought to him about the whole situation:

FJ, the delay did bring me to say this: When I said I could live in London...I meant living someplace like Bloomsbury, Kensington, or Belgravia. I DID NOT mean Heathrow Airport!

*sighs* Semantics sucks.

…but we’ll talk soon! Bye!
Lily

Lily's London Adventure: A Tourist's History Lesson, Part III

“I’m Never Stepping Foot Here Ever Again!”

After an hour and a half or so at the gigantic Harrods, Lenny and I made our way to Leicester Square. We met one of his teaching colleagues who we ran into at the airport on the way to London. Turns out, this is the week where he takes the high school drama kids to London to watch shows and see the sights (by the way…he’s a very brave man). We figured he needed time away from the little demons, so we said we’d meet him for lunch.

After a satisfying meal at St. Martin-in-the-Fields, we walked through Trafalgar Square (Which if you watched “The Great Muppet Caper” as a kid…you’d totally recognize it!). There we encountered an interesting piece of American-British History. As we all know, there was a “Skirmish in the Colonies” that ended with our independence in 1776. Sure there were hard feelings, but eventually the United Kingdom became our allies. So much so, that they decided to erect a statue of the first President of the United States, George Washington, in Trafalgar Square.



So the interesting piece of trivia is this: During or after the Revolutionary War, “the O.G. G-Dub” said he would never step foot on British soil ever again. Well, that presented a small problem to those wanting to erect the statue. Not that there was any hard feelings, but those involved wanted to good naturedly keep the President’s request. Those wild and crazy Virginians in the State Legislature finally came up with a solution. As a gift to Great Britain, they sent over a large amount of soil from the President’s home state. In turn, the British laid the soil on the patch of lawn that the statue would reside. Then, the base of the statue was placed on top of the soil. Voila! George’s wish was kept.

“Now I KNOW I Could Live Here.”

A short walk past Trafalgar Square, we ended up in Covent Garden. How did it get its name? Covent Garden resides on land that was originally a Catholic Nunnery. The land was lost in 1536 after the Dissolution of Monasteries Act (Long story short: King Henry VIII wanted a divorce. The Catholics said, “Are you kidding me?” Henry VIII said, “Fine. Get out of my country…I’m the new Defender of the Faith. Hey, that sounds cool…someone put that in the coronation ceremony!” Well…it didn’t go down EXACTLY like that…but you get the picture). Before being lost, the nuns grew their vegetables in the area, hence the name.

For those of you who have been to Boston, Covent Garden is reminiscent of the area near Faneuil Hall and Quincy Market. The highlight (for us at least) was St. Paul’s Church. Do not confuse this with St. Paul’s Cathedral. Fans of the play “Pygmalion” or the movie “My Fair Lady” would recognize it as Eliza Doolittle’s haunt at the beginning of the story. But what few people know is that St. Paul’s Church is often called “The Actor’s Church.” The neighboring theatre district made St. Paul’s a frequent house of worship for the theatre and movie greats. According to local history, actors often read during Sunday services. Today, the chapel has memorial plaques to the greats and favorites of British acting: Vivian Leigh, Noel Coward, and Edith Evans to name a few.

But the secret to the scruffy looking façade that is St. Paul’s is around back. Off to the left, there’s a black iron gate. Step through the gate, and you assume that the church is surrounded by the British version of brownstone houses on all four sides. If you didn’t go all the way in, you’d be right. But you’d be missing where you’d find me writing or reading on the weekends if I ever decide to move to London:



How can you turn down someplace like that? I’m born for it, I tell ya!

“See…Even London Has a Swap Meet. Yes, It’s Much Nicer Than Ours…”



When I first came to London, they gave us a whopping 1-hour to shop for stuff to take home. Thank goodness they took us to Covent Garden Marketplace. The group I was traveling with made out quite nicely. Someone even found a pair of Doc Martens at a thief’s price! But what struck me about Covent Garden Marketplace was that it was a mix of posh retail boutiques and open air market. All that combined made for a fabulous atmosphere.

It certainly did remind me of an upper class swap meet. There were street performers, but not the card shark or hustler kind. Covent Garden played stage to an opera soloist and a string quartet. In front of St. Paul’s Church, a magician played funky techno music to enhance his act. It was definitely a fun place to be.

As we were making plans for this trip, I was bound and determined to go back. Again, Covent Garden Marketplace didn’t disappoint. It was almost exactly as I remembered it! I didn’t bother with the retail shops; I’d already been to those. My main goal was to hit up Apple Market and Jubilee Market and finish up our gift shopping for friends and family.

Apple and Jubilee Market were home to many handcrafted goods. I strolled around twice before buying, simply because I knew I was missing seeing something as I browsed. And boy, was it hard not to pick up one of the fabulous hand-dyed silk scarves on the rack (I already had one and what do I need a scarf for in the desert?).

Other obstacles included jewelry, blankets, and purses. On Mondays, Apple Market is home to the antique sellers. Thank goodness it was Wednesday! When all was said and done, Lenny and I made out with some pretty cool gifts. I found a woman who hand painted designs on candles and candle holders at a steal of a deal. Lenny found our guy friends beer glasses by a guy who actually fashioned them out of the beer bottles of some famous brands! Sadly he was out of the Guinness ones, so the gang had to settle for Corona instead.

The thing that struck me about my re-visit to Covent Garden Marketplace was that, despite six years passing, not much of it had changed. Working from memory, I was able to navigate the marketplace and show Lenny everything that made it dear to me. In the biggest example of things not changing, we spent a few minutes wandering Jubilee Market.

Amongst the front street vendors, Lenny’s eye was caught by a football kit (soccer jersey to us Yanks) bearing the name of national sensation, David Beckham. Knowing full well that his father would appreciate it, Lenny bought the kit to take home. The funny thing? It was the EXACT same vendor that I seen six years earlier. I purchased two English National Team scarves for my in-laws!

I guess the old cliché is true. The more things change, the more they stay the same. At least in one corner of London, I know this to be the case.

Lily's London Adventure: Reasons Why I Love London

1. Lillywhite’s in Piccadilly Circus – DUH! Did you see the picture? I didn’t even SHOP in this store and I want to take it home with me!

2. Sense of History – Most of the buildings in London outdate my parents. Some even precede my grandparents! I rack my brain to see if any city here stateside has something like the Fountain of Eros (again in Piccadilly Circus) sitting in their downtown area. While most of America is demolishing classic design and architecture in their urban areas, London preserves and incorporates its history into the modern day landscape. The city is definitely not just boxes of glass. The soul of historic London is intact for future generations to see!

3. I *Heart* Public Transportation – I can’t say enough about the Tube. For six bucks, I could ride the subway all day, as many times as I want. And all I have to do is follow the colored lines on the maps. There is absolutely no reason you should rent a car in London. Why? There’s no freaking place to park! Even most of the commuters don’t have cars; they rely heavily on the trains and buses as well. I’m sure the locals would have some grumblings about the state of Public Transportation in London, but from someone who comes from a state where Public Transportation is sadly LACKING…London’s got it down pat.

4. Parks – I live in a desert. I come from a beach town. I can appreciate any patch of green in the middle of a huge city that I can find.

5. Food – A feast for all stomachs. Because of the cosmopolitan and immigrant nature of the city, you can find just about any cuisine you want in London. As mentioned before, high level chefs are celebrities in this country. But London is also home to the storefront restaurants that are run by families making their living. Whether it is a high class restaurant or a Mom & Pop joint, the one thing remains the same – because of the premium on space, an intimate atmosphere is always prevalent.

6. Dressing Up – Again, suits and accents. What more needs to be said?

7. Boots – No, I’m not talking about the footwear. Boots is the UK’s most popular drugstore. Think Walgreen’s, Osco, or CVS. The difference? Does your Walgreen’s carry Clinique, Chanel, or Elizabeth Arden cosmetics and fragrances? All of these brand name cosmetics are sold along side what you would find at your local 24-hour drugstore. High end products next to As Seen on TV gadgets and over the counter medicines. But Boot’s cranks it up another notch. Lenny and I actually went to the SECOND floor of the store down the street from our hotel. There, Boot’s gave us the option to purchase an X-Box or iPod Nano. Yeah, Boot’s is more than awesome.

8. Taxis – While in London, Lenny and I bought tickets to see “Phantom of the Opera” at Her Majesty’s Theatre. We could have taken the Tube from Kensington to Piccadilly…but we decided to cab it, since we were dressed up (Brit ladies can navigate the city in heels…Lily White has no delusions of such grandeur without weeks of practice). If you haven’t ridden one of the “Black Cabs” (ironic because they’re not all black anymore), do so. Especially when you’re dressed up and going out…you can pretend to be the rich. And trust your cabbies. Most cabbies spend two years preparing for a test fondly known as “The Knowledge” before becoming licensed. The two years is spent studying the streets and routes of London. So, don’t recommend a faster route…they probably know better.

On Lily's To Do List: Shopping at Harrods

Checking out two of London’s historic landmarks was cool. Having been to London before, I was more than happy to indulge Lenny’s whims as a first time visitor. However, I brokered a deal that allowed our final full day in London to concentrate on one of my favorite activities…shopping.

Matching Lenny’s tourist schedule one for one, I chose two venues at which I thought would be great experiences for both of us (I may be a shopaholic, but I understand my husband’s need for entertainment!). But of the two, there was one place that I had been wanting to go to since I first started learning about London.



“Omnia Omnibus Ubique - All Things, For All People, Everywhere.”

They weren’t kidding when Harrods decided that the above phrase was their store motto. From pets to cappuccino makers to luggage, Harrods seemingly does have ALL THINGS. But would the luxury items make the prices FOR ALL PEOPLE? Located in an area called Knightsbridge, the 1-million square foot shopping haven takes up an entire city block on Brompton Road.

It’s a five-floor feast for the eyes. We started in the house wares department. There were enough kitchen gadgets and necessities to make any one of my favorite Food Network chefs drool. We picked up espresso cups (for my sister-law and her husband), candle holders (for my mom), and wine paraphernalia (for some vino-loving friends). Best of all…we didn’t even flinch at the price. Mostly because Harrods gives you the option of paying for your purchase in U.S. dollars or British pounds. No converting here!

Next stop was Harrods’ world renowned Food Hall. This admitted foodie almost died just seeing what was in there. Counter after counter of ready made foods from different countries and cultures. Not only was there a Sushi Bar…oh no, there was also a Cheese Bar. What are you in the mood for lunch? Lobster salad? Hungry for a prime rib sandwich on cibatta? How about a stop at the Caviar Bar?

But nothing…and I mean NOTHING; prepared me for the surprise that was the Tea, Coffee, and Sweets section of the Food Hall. Every possible confection of sugar and chocolate was available. Luckily, I was able to summon the will power not to put my hand through the glass and eat every piece. Champagne truffles, marzipan in the shape of dragons, little personalized fondant covered birthday cakes. Mix that with the rich smell of the coffee beans and tea leaves, I honestly didn’t want to leave!

I know shopping skeptics, “Lily…it’s just a store.” Sure it had clothes, cosmetics (Back, demon perfume maven, back!), and everything else you might find in one of our American department stores…but does Dillards have a pet store? Or a kick ass bathroom with a valet? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

There was way too much to do for just one visit. Looking at the little booklet/map of the store they gave me after picking up some coffee for my dad; there was no way we could cover the store in a few hours. So, gathering my green bags and walking out the doors, I made a very conscious decision heading back to the Tube Stop.

I’ll be back.

Lily's London Adventure: A Tourist's History Lesson, Part II

Before I graduated from my humble Catholic School, my 8th grade teacher, Sister Rose, insisted that I apply to Camp Orbit. Camp Orbit was a theatre education program held at one of San Diego’s premiere play companies, The Old Globe Theatre.

The intensive 5-week program encompassed everything about the theatre and its inner workings: Acting, writing, movement, costuming, marketing, advertising, stage combat, make-up, and tons more. I was fortunate enough to receive one of the scholarships that summer. From mid-June to July, the stages and innards of the Globe were my playground. And like all good theatre programs, performance night was what we were aiming for. During performance night, I performed with my troupe a portion of the “All the World’s a Stage” monologue from the play “As You Like It.”

And that’s where my fascination with Shakespeare began. Since then, I’ve enjoyed his other plays (most notably “MacBeth” and “Titus Andronicus.”). While my teenage classmates struggled with understanding Elizabethan English, I was busy finding the meaning behind the meanings. While they toiled away a few nights on their essays, my first draft 2-hour efforts were getting the highest grades in the class.

Yeah, I was the typical nerd…but I liked the man’s work!

So it was with great pleasure that our next stop on the tourist route was Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre and Exhibition across the river in Bankside. Admittedly, this was Lenny’s gig – being the English teacher between us (and scheduled to teach the History of Theatre upon our return). But I also felt like I had a stake in this visit too.

“You Mean This Isn’t the REAL Globe?”

When you go someplace historically inclined like London, you kind of take things as the truth. It being the modern day and age, we really should know better. Thank goodness Stephanie was our tour guide. Our one hour tour of the theatre itself was informative and fun. Most of all, we were able to get some misinformation out of the way.

First of all…this isn’t THE Globe. That honor goes to the one built 200-yards down the road in 1599. The original Globe unfortunately burned down in 1613 in a special effects accident. The thatch roof caught on fire when a cannon that was used for sound effects shot some of the gun powder on the roof. The theatre burned completely to the ground one hour later. It was rebuilt a year later, but was destroyed as years went on.

Funnily enough, the drive to begin building a new Globe Theatre was not started by venerable Englishmen. The current Globe effort was spearheaded by an American actor name Sam Wanamaker. The dream started in 1949 when the young actor went to the Bankside location looking for a monument for Shakespeare’s theatre. What he found was a blackened bronze plaque in a pub. But it wasn’t until 1995, after decades of fundraising, legal battles, and suspense (sounds like a good Shakespeare play), that the new Globe Theatre open its doors.



“All the World’s a Stage.”

When the tour started, we were asked to stand outside of the structure. There we got some hard facts on the theatre. The building is made completely out of wood; oak to be exact. We were told by Stephanie that each one of the support beams that ran from top to bottom of the Globe was ONE tree. Except for a few windows to keep the noise out of the theatre, there was nothing but wood to hold it together! Wood pegs and bricks (for the foundation) were the materials that were used. “If Shakespeare would arrive right now,” commented our tour guide, “He would probably say ‘Yep. Just as I left it.’”

Finally, the moment we’d all been waiting for had come. Stephanie opened up the big wood double door of the building and let us through into the theatre itself. I can tell you, the moment I stepped into the center of the theatre was amazing. Anyone with one ounce of theatre in their blood can tell the rush of the moment standing there. Sappily, it was a religious experience for me. As everyone filed in, I stood in my spot looking upward and started whispering the verses I learned long ago at theatre camp:

“All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages…”

I couldn’t help it. It just felt right. Perhaps a bit melodramatic…but it felt right.



“The Queen Didn’t Go To the Theatre!”

Our theatre history lesson continued with a detailed explanation of the beautifully built stage and seating area. Once again, our tour guide emphasized that everything we saw was made of wood. The stage itself was awesome. It was oak…but it was painted to look like marble! And from where we stood, you really couldn’t tell the difference.

The artwork was FABULOUS. I especially loved the ceiling of the stage, which symbolically represented the sky (see above photo). You had the sun, the stars, the moon, and the zodiac signs. Everything you need for the heavens!

We also learned that back in Shakespeare’s time, where you sat was a sign of your socio-economic status. What we would consider bad seats, were the most prized seats of the time. You see, back in Elizabethan England, the rich were treated like celebrities. They sat in the second and third tier of the theatre, mostly off too the side. But from these seats, you really couldn’t see anything. The REALLY rich and famous actually sat on stage in the balcony that overlooked the action.

Funny…all that money and all you could see was the back of the actor’s head!

Finally, there were the Groundlings. These were the poor people and they stood or sat on the ground in front of the stage during the play, hence their nickname. They paid a penny to get in…but they got to bring their own feed. The tradition of the Groundlings lives on in today’s Globe. While admission has gone up a bit (darn you inflation!), you are still allowed to bring your own food and drink to the theatre. But as Stephanie put it, “But why would you? It’d just distract from the play!”

As we sat in the second tier, the question of where the royal box was came up. Surprisingly, we were told that Queen Elizabeth didn’t have special seats. The dramatization in the movie “Shakespeare in Love” was completely fictional. Q.E. the First never went to the theatre. The theatre came to HER.

See…it’s good to be the Queen. And for these two theatre wonks, today…it was great to be a tourist!

Lily's London Adventure: A Tourist's History Lesson, Part I

“That’s One HUGE Bridge.”

Now, I’ve watched a lot of movies and TV shows that have been filmed in London. They tend to show all the popular landmarks, so I was familiar with the London landscape. I don’t know how many times I’ve seen the Tower Bridge during a movie, but I’ve always been impressed with it. In my previous trip to London, I didn’t get to see it. As you can imagine, I was quite excited that my chance was finally going to come as we made our way to The Tower of London.

My literal first thought: DAMN. That’s one HUGE Bridge.

Now, I’ve seen the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. That one stretches 4,200 feet across the bay. The Tower Bridge spans a mere 880 feet over the Thames River. But when you’re standing in plain sight of it, you can’t help but feel really, really small. And I was standing at least a mile away from it! Truly, the Tower Bridge is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The two main towers poking into the gray sky make it look more like a castle than a bridge. And the peacock blue that colors the suspension and railing don’t seem at all out of place with the city surroundings of London.

Yeah, I geeked out about a bridge. I am the most obvious tourist EVER.

“Yeoman, Yo.”

If you’re seeing the Tower Bridge, you simply MUST go see The Tower of London. William the Conqueror started building the defensive aspect of London with the White Tower in 1066. Since then, additions and roles have changed over its storied history.

Most infamously known as a place of imprisonment and execution, the Tower of London has also been a barracks, royal residence, zoo, royal mint, and (surprise) allegedly a scene of the crime (two boy princes were murdered by their power-hungry uncle dramatic fashion).

The Tower is also imbedded forever in the monarchy’s history. Most notably, this is true with King Henry VIII. He had a thing for women (heck, he married six times). And he loved them so much; he had two of them executed at the Tower so he could marry more. A bit much, you say? This is the same man who dissolved the Catholic Church in England so he could legally divorce. Ah, but more on our boisterous King Hank later.

Nowadays, the Tower is home to several museums including the one that houses the Crown Jewels. It is guarded by the Yeoman Warders, a.k.a. the Beefeaters (Yes, same as the gin you lushes). The Yeoman now lead most of the tours in the general area of the Tower and probably know more about the place than some anglophile college professors.

Our tour guide, Richard, was an awesome guy. He’d served in Her Majesty’s military over 23-years and became decorated enough that he was permanently stationed at the Tower. He and his wife actually lived there with their daughters until his wee lasses grew up and got married. He’s a heck of a talker for a military guy. Not stuffy at all. Some of the best one liners on the trip were given by Richard (“I’m conducting the tour in English. Don’t worry; I’ll speak slow for our American friends.”). Hopefully when we go back, we’ll get the privilege of being toured by the Yeoman again.



“Big Pimpin’, Norman Style.”

We departed after Richard’s short tour to explore the rest of the Tower. After seeing the “royal ice” at the Crown Jewels exhibit, Lenny and I wandered to the White Tower, which was the main portion of the fort when it was first built. The White Tower is now a museum dedicated to the Armory and Living Quarters display. We climbed a spiraling staircase (32 steps, I am told) up to the second floor. There, we walked around the main room that comprised the Royal Suite.

Although, truth be told, it was really just a big room in all of its austere Norman Glory (to quote Richard, “Normans, that’s just a nice word for ‘French.’”). Despite the comparative primitiveness to today’s palaces, for the time it was built, the White Tower was pretty luxurious digs. There were four private toilets in this one room! As recently praised in Fudgesicle Junkie’s latest guest blog, the importance of a bathroom cannot be underestimated. But even as Norman royalty, I’m not sure how useful these particular bathrooms would be. First of all, they were constructed of the same stone used on the castle walls. Even the toilet itself. And you thought your toilet seat was cold in the morning? Second, the facility was so tiny; it makes the bravest of people claustrophobic. But it was pretty surreal to actually get in LINE to see the inside of this thing!

“Honey, THREE Guesses as to What Henry VIII Thought Was Important.”

Heading downstairs again, we viewed the Armory. This had to be my favorite part of the whole tour at the Tower. Talk about heavy metal. Just about every piece of armor for the many Kings of England were polished and displayed in two rooms. It was just display after display of different suits and the history of war in England. As the years got closer to the present, the armor shrank. Downstairs, there statues of the King’s Stables. Each statue was the horse that carried each King into battle. Next to them, were the equestrian armor that the King’s had made for them. Once again, the whole history was mind-boggling.

It was interesting to see hard evidence of a human being as a King. Their armor, in essence, is a legacy of their physicality. And if that’s the case…I could totally take King Charles I down! Even on a raised platform, his suit of armor showed us that Kings were diminutive too. Look at this picture and tell me I don’t have a solid case to my claim:



But the piece de la resistance of the Armory was, of course, the glory that was King Henry VIII. Other than being an Anglo Casanova, Henry also had a yen for the good living. Let’s face it; King Henry was a big boy. Okay…I’ll go as far to say that EVERYTHING about Henry VIII is big. Big libido, big appetite, and a…um. Hmmm. How to put this last one? Ah…a big EGO. Witness King Henry VIII and his armor.



The irony is…what he chose to highlight the most, is what ended up killing him in the end!

Onward to the Globe Theatre!

Lily's London Adventure: Of Food and Observation

(Picture: The Sunken Garden at Kensington Palace)

“Hmm…When WAS the Last Time We Ate?”

Kensington Garden was beautiful, but Lenny and I had to get back to the hotel to grab a quick shower and a change of clothes before heading out to meet my friend Ian for dinner. I was excited because we were going to eat French food. That soon gave way to being excited just because we were going to eat.

As I finished getting dressed, I realized that we hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast had been served on the airplane at 11:00a.m., GMT. For a little math thrill (don’t get all excited FJ…it’s not real math) that works out to:

9-hour flight + 7-hour time difference + 1 Body not realizing it’s in another country = Hungry Lily

Thankfully, Ian did not disappoint with the choice of restaurant that evening. His first choice being booked, a French-Japanese fusion locale called L’Entranger, served as viable replacement. He fully admitted to Lenny and I, “My friend sold me on this place because he said on a good day, we could run into George Michael.”

Well, no George Michael this night, but some fabulous food. London is one of the epicenters of modern cuisine. This city treats its chefs like rock stars! Restaurants are big business and by about 8:00 p.m. each night, they are all packed. I can’t complain…any country that can turn out someone like Jamie “The Naked Chef” Oliver is okay by me! But I digress. For Lenny and me, it was a great culinary experience of scallops (Lenny) and charolais peppered steak (me). The best part, naturally, was the dessert. I feasted on a chocolate sampler that included a mini-soufflé, two dollops of ice cream, and a chocolate/fruit concoction. Lenny was the bravest of the three of us. He had a small sampler of crème brulee in the most unique flavors we’ve encountered: Lavender, saffron, and (hold on to your hats) wasabi.

Good food, a great red wine, fun conversation, and a taxi ride back to the hotel. What better way to close out your first day in London?

“What Else Am I Supposed to Do in a Subway?”

The next morning, we were up and raring to go. We fueled up on the hotel’s hearty English Breakfast and marched out of the hotel, ready to conquer the city. Well…we’d start the conquering after we bought our Tube Day Passes (Worth double their weight in gold, I tell you!).

It was towards the end of the morning rush hour when we hopped on the Circle Line out to Tower Hill tube station. Being a number of stops from our starting point on High Street, I took the opportunity to sit down and gather my senses. People in a confined space is a great show if you’re a people watcher. It’s also a great way to view a cross section of London society. On my 15-minute journey, I made a few observations about Londoners.

Observation #1: London is the iPod capital of the world. I’m not kidding. Everywhere I turned, those little, white headphones were weaving their way out of coat pockets and scarves. If it wasn’t an iPod, it was another form of MP3 player. I can appreciate their obsession. I’m having an affair with my iPod (joking Lenny!).

Observation #2: Those aren’t “cankles” on British women. When I used to work in the hotel call center, we always had visitors come from England to present their hotels. Well, the phone agents I worked with made the observation that many of the British ladies had what they affectionately called “Popeye Legs.” You know – calves are larger, ankles a bit squat. I did notice that this was a common physical trait. However, it wasn’t until I had to navigate the Tube stop stations did I realize that those weren’t “cankles.” Brit women walk so much (most of them in heels mind you), that they had well developed leg muscles! They could probably beat someone over the head with their own leg if they had too! More power to you ladies…don’t know how you do it!

Observation #3: Londoners have a great sense of physical balance. Okay, the tube was packed. A guy hopped on at the Gloucester stop and there were no seats and no space to hold on the hand rail. He carried a briefcase and was very well dressed. Shrugging slightly, I watched him pull out a paperback book from his trench coat pocket as the train started to move again. I watched him for FOUR stops. He stood in the middle of the car, holding a book in one hand, his briefcase in another! He didn’t budge an inch! This may not seem exciting to you, but I was forced to do a little subway surfing before he got on the train…and I was jostled around at every bump on the track!

Observation #4: Starbucks is out to take over the world! When I first traveled to London six years ago, I learned that thanks to World War II, the English had developed an affinity for instant coffee (shudder). This affinity had extended to the point that when coffee shops became all the rage, Nestle decided to capitalize on the trend and opened up “Nes Cafes.” Basically, it was all the coffee drinks you could imagine, but made with instant coffee. I saw ONE Starbucks on that trip. This time around, apparently that one Starbucks found a mate and spawned like bunnies! Like in the U.S., they’re everywhere! On the subway, I counted no less than 10 people in our car holding a Starbucks drink in one way, shape, or form. Is there ANYWHERE in this world without at least three Starbucks?

Observation #5: The “City British” know how to dress. As we all know, I LOVE LOVE LOVE clothes. I enjoy dressing up as well. But sampling of Londoners on the train, I immediately felt jealous. Everyone was decked out in fabulous suits and awesome shoes. The women were perfectly finished and the guys flaunted the pinstripes. Even on my dressiest days at work, standing next to one of these people made me look like an amateur! My mind was especially going haywire. Another simple math thrill:

1 Black suit + 1 Lavender shirt+ 1 Lavender and black tie + 1 Accent + 1 British Male = Drooling Lily

I am thankfully allowed to look…but not touch. But geeze…I told you I could live there! And lucky for Lenny, I love him dearly. That and the Tower Hill tube stop station had finally come up.

Next stop: Touristy things.

Lily's London Adventure: Hitting the Ground Running

Hey there, MFG Faithful (all six or seven of you)! I’m back from a short trip across “The Pond.” And let me tell you…London as a tourist is a ton of fun! I haven’t been back to one of my favorite cities since I went there on business in 2000. Back then, I saw London from a cab as I toured 12 hotels in two or three days. Not much fun and not very educational. When Lenny and I were given the opportunity to spend his Spring Break there, we jumped.

Being a complete “Experience-phile,” I could not wait to soak in what London had to offer. And who really could blame me? It’s one of the world’s oldest cities. It was a chance to people watch in a whole different venue. Despite the vast similarities of western cultures – it was a whole new football pitch.

In short: We weren’t in Kansas anymore!

This week’s entries will be a little travelogue of my vacation in London. I saw and experienced just a taste of what London has to offer in the few days that I was there. But for a curious observer of life like me, it was the experience of a lifetime! So, I hope that you enjoy these entries as much as I enjoyed the trip!

(Picture: Me in awe of Kensington Palace)

After the 9-hour, overnight flight, Lenny and I hit the ground running at Heathrow Airport. Almost immediately, we were immersed in the joy that is London Public Transportation. Taking a cab into London proper is travel budget suicide. Most travelers know that the best way into town is taking the Heathrow Express to Paddington Station in Central London. The short 20-minute journey gave Lenny and I glimpse at what “real life” in London is really like.

“Graffiti is a Universal Thing.”

The area surrounding London is a mix of England’s version of suburbia, dotted with urban decay. Once the train left the confines of the airport, the first things I saw were rolling hills of green. The houses were tightly knit together, but the spaces in between were huge! To me it was like a rolling countryside as a number of cottages and brownstones whizzed by.

But then, as we got closer to the edge of the city and the industrial area, the urbanity of the location started to set in. Just like here in the U.S., graffiti is the media of choice for the urban rebel. The walls lining the railway were riddled with a myriad of tags and signs. As I looked out the window, I kind of chuckled that youthful aggression was the same no matter where I went.

The trained slowed and pulled into Paddington Station. Having never been to New York, my mind figured that this is what going to Grand Central Station must be like. Stepping off the train, I looked up at the gorgeous frosted glass and wrought iron ceiling. The station itself was modern and sleek. Travelers and business persons alike rushed about the station trying to get to various platforms. Normally, I shrink at huge crowds and busy areas. But somehow, this was an easy fit for me. We maneuvered about easily and made our way to the main concourse.

Because of the station name, I immediately thought about my two nephews. I joked to Lenny, “We should get the boys little Paddington Bears.” In an incredible piece of timing (and great positioning), Lenny pointed a short distance away. Paddington Station had a Paddington Bear Cart! I picked up two little keepsake bears that I hope the boys will enjoy for years. Tucking those away, we caught a cab to our hotel.

“Did I Warn You About the Rooms?”

Thanks to a sweet package deal, Lenny and I were staying in a section of London called Kensington. Having worked in the hotel industry, I knew what we were in for was not a typical American experience. Man, I hate it when I’m right!

(Picture: The view from the door of the hotel room)

This room (minus the bathroom space) was smaller than my guest room here in my house! I called housekeeping to borrow an iron and ironing board, and that took up half the free space! But, since a vacation hotel is merely someplace to crash at the end of the night…it was perfect. After figuring out where to put the luggage, we headed right back out to walk the neighborhood.

“It’s Like Boston, Except Way Older.”

If the name Kensington sounds familiar, you’re probably remembering Kensington Palace. This is where Princess Diana lived when she divorced Charles. But the palace is merely a footnote in Kensington Gardens. This 260 acre park is home not only to Kensington Palace, but too many monuments and hidden treasures.

Lenny and I spent about two and a half hours walking the grounds. It was a very crisp winter-like day…the kind I enjoy. I was so happy that I could wear my scarf, gloves, and pea coat. You just don’t get to do those things very often in Arizona.

As we walked through the park, I couldn’t help but compare London to one of my other favorite cities, Boston. All the buildings had wonderful architecture. The crown moldings, the bricks, and classic design. There’s just something about being surrounded by things that have a historical value. You don’t get this kind stuff in the U.S. unless you’re on the East Coast, where the pioneering of our country began. But even then, half the buildings I saw on my walk were older than cities here in the U.S.

While walking, we strolled through the Italian Fountains, found the Peter Pan statue, stopped by the Prince Albert Memorial, were accosted by pan-handling squirrels, and pretty much just enjoyed the scenery. It was great to know that all of the pains and hassles of work and our regular lives were 5,000-plus miles away. And we could really just enjoy ourselves. It was just really refreshing.

(Picture: Peter Pan and one of his many fans)

“We’ve Heard More French Here…”

The walk back to the hotel in the middle of rush hour was a learning experience. Well, heck…crossing the street was an experience. Since they British drive on the other side of the road, we had to remember to look the OTHER direction before crossing the street. Luckily, the British paint “Look to the right/left” on the ground. They figure tourists getting hit by double-decker buses is a bad thing.

But the walk also provided Lenny and me with an interesting observation. London is more of a melting pot than any city we’ve every seen. In two blocks, we heard more languages than either of us could fathom. There was Indian, Italian, Spanish, German, and more French than you could shake a stick at! Even the restaurants we passed by were a line of international choices! I wondered how we would ever decide where or what to eat!

However, on this night…we didn’t have to. French-Japanese fusion cuisine...here we come! But that’s another blog for another night!

Guest Blogger: Dr. Strangefood (or How I Learned to Love McDonalds) by FudgesicleJunkie

It's FRIDAY!!! TGIF MGF's. So tonight is the regular guest blogger night. We're proud to have another contribution by FudgesicleJunkie. Here is his view on Morgan Spurlock's documentary (or should I say docudrama?) about McDonalds and the effect it has on its consumers. With great wit and sarcasm...take it away FJ. ~ASilky

I’ve lived in England for almost ten years now, but I’m pleased to report that I haven’t picked up the accent. There are, however, some distinctly English words that have wormed their way into my vocabulary. I sometimes say “cheers” instead of thank you. I use the word “brilliant” as an all-purpose adjective. How’s the weather? Brilliant! How are you feeling? Brilliant!

But my favourite has to be “rubbish”. Rubbish is, of course, the English word for garbage. I don’t use it for garbage though. I still call my garbage garbage. I use rubbish where I would have once used the word “shit” to describe shit movies like Supersize Me, which really was a big pile of rubbish. It’s handy, because Supersize Me was all that the chattering classes could talk about for a while, so it was coming up a lot at dinner parties. It helps in that situation to have a comparatively polite word that you can use in mixed company to really rubbish a shit movie (see, it works as a verb too).

If you haven’t seen Supersize Me, you’ve no doubt heard about it. It is a documentary that follows Morgan Spurlock as he tries to prove how unhealthy McDonalds is by eating nothing else for 30 days. Sure enough, over the course of the film we see his health rapidly deteriorate to the point that doctors issue dire warnings about liver damage and death.

“Two thumbs up,” said Ebert & Roeper (as if Roger Ebert hasn’t enjoyed the odd Big Mac or two … or three … per day).

“A necessary wake-up call for both adults and children”.

“Your life depends on seeing this movie”.

“A social document of such importance that it should be required viewing in schools”.

Rubbish, rubbish, rubbish. Demonstrating that eating only McDonalds for a month causes ill-health is about as significant a scientific discovery as proof that inhaling water causes drowning. Was that the “necessary wake-up call” we were waiting for? McDonalds is unhealthy? I’m hitting the snooze and going back to bed. Somebody wake me when the world has smartened up.

Morgan Spurlock strikes me as the type of loser who would sit next to you in the sauna and complain about the heat. There is nothing remotely entertaining about Supersize Me, unless you enjoy the spectacle of a man systematically wrecking his health in a masochistic display of the bleeding obvious. Was there ever any doubt? Was there any suspense at all? Was anybody, anywhere thinking, “hmmm, this seems like an interesting experiment. I wonder what’ll happen?”

Even if you were daft enough to think that McDonalds might somehow come out of this rolling in clover, any such illusions were shattered the first time you were told that Spurlock’s girlfriend was a vegan chef. There is no way that McDonalds is going to get a fair shake out of a documentary when the director is shacked up with a militant, granola-eating wholemeal breadhead.

Not that I have anything against vegans, mind you. If you get your kicks from alfalfa sprouts, who am I to complain? What I object to is that rising band of proselytising, evangelical health food advocates, with suspect degrees from Happy Clappy University, who have turned my morning breakfast into a chilling game of Russian Roulette.

Wholemeal toast? <click>
Glass of milk? <click>
Oat bran cereal? <click>
Scrambled egg? You're dead! A fucking egg!? You must be crazy!

I actually do believe there is a place for documentaries that relay important truths about the food we eat. Celebrity chef Jamie Oliver recently aired Jamie’s School Dinners, in which he went behind the scenes at English public schools to reveal that children were being fed a daily diet of recycled pub snacks. That was something we needed to now. When you send your kid to public school, you expect him to come home hooked on phonics, not on pork scratchings.

What great truth did Spurlock uncover? That McDonalds is fattening? I already knew that! And I didn’t have to subject myself to a life threatening experiment to figure it out. That’s how clever I am. I pretty much guessed it the first time somebody charged me 99¢ for a quarter-pound of beef served in less than 30 seconds. Nothing served that quickly and that cheap is ever going to be good for you, is it?

And that’s all I really want from my McDonalds: fast and cheap. That’s what it’s for. You’d think all the hippie druids would appreciate it too. It leaves them all with more time and money to spend hanging out in the Brazilian rainforest having tantric sex with Sting.

But no. Thanks to movies like Supersize Me, it has become the most vilified corporation in the world. Every anti-globalisation gathering now ends with a peace-loving mob of drippy liberals lobbing a park bench through the window of the nearest McDonalds. If there isn’t one nearby, they will re-route the march just to find it. We used to go to San Francisco with flowers in our hair. But now a protest just ain’t a protest unless McDonalds gets a right pasting.

McDonalds, admittedly, can be accused of many things, but I don’t think the Iraq War is one of them. Yet anti-war protesters in London even trashed the McDonalds on Whitehall, which is just up the road from the Prime Minister’s house. The police in London, these days, will shoot you for wearing long sleeves in July, so no one is crazy enough to vandalise 10 Downing Street. Instead, those cuddly doves – so incensed by the needless slaughter of the innocent – turned their sanctimonious rage on a poor, defenceless McDonalds. Come to think of it, there’s a health benefit that Spurlock failed to mention – McDonalds’ staff will not shoot you: FACT.

Here’s another one: McDonalds will let you use their bathroom without making you buy anything. Anyone who doesn’t recognise that as a major health benefit has never been stuck on the streets of Paris or Rome or Beijing or New York in urgent need of a whizz. Caught in that predicament, you’d sing hosannas at the sight of a giant yellow M. A McDonalds bathroom isn’t especially luxurious either, but compared to the public facilities in Paris, it’s a five-star health spa. In London, Her Majesty’s lavatories are decked out with blacklights that make your teeth glow and give the décor that eerie feel of an 80’s nightclub. I am told that this makes it impossible for intravenous drug users to find their veins. Lovely. Thankfully, you don’t get that at McDonalds. Heroin addicts hate McDonalds. Too unhealthy.

Fast, cheap and free bathrooms with no syringes – I would die for that restaurant!

If we really must go on these anti-fast-food witch hunts, couldn’t we at least pick on someone more deserving of our bile? You know who I’m talking about. That Colonel Sanders needs to be dunked in a giant vat of grease and fat. How can we condemn McDonalds while this wicked dealer of Death In A Bucket carries on like some loveable southern gent? So vile is the very atmosphere inside Kentucky Fried Chicken that when I have the misfortune of being in one, I half-expect Charlton Heston to come barging in after me screaming “popcorn chicken is people! Popcorn chicken is people!”

In fact, I’d like to see Morgan Spurlock do a sequel where he only eats KFC for a month. He’ll be dead before the premiere. Kentucky Fried Chicken? Rubbish!

Guest Blogger: Codependent R Us by L.S.

Tonight we have a new guest blogger, L.S. It's always great to get a new perspective on issues that are relevant in today's modern world. We MGF's love to see a fresh outlook and strive to get as many opinions as possible. Hope you enjoy. ~ASilky

So, here is some more fresh blood for this blog. Who is this stranger, L.S. you may ask. In short, I was born and I grew up. If you must know more, I am a romantic cynic who is trying to make a little sense of this insane world. In between times I am doing various things to have fun anyways. If you have to know more, that is Tough. Be patient and read my blogs. You will find out.

What’s their name, your friend who always needs to be in a relationship whether or not it is a good one? We all know someone like that. It starts from when they first start dating. In high school, they bounce around between people like a pinball. And adults do not think you are any better. If you do not have a date for a month, you are in a dry spell right. How about that friend who just got divorced and is already engaged to be married? Some people live by the buddy system gone horribly wrong.

How many times have you just wanted to reach out and slap them when they come running up to you to let you know they have a new “someone”? So bubbly and excited like they just won the freaking lottery. Personally, it makes me want to gag. “So, who is the next ex Mr. or Mrs. _____?” One night stands are one thing, but revolving door significant others is a disease. If it is not, it very well should be.

The sad part about it is that it is spreading. We cannot stand the thought of being single. I know people are a social animal, but this is ridiculous. Whatever happened to being happy for yourself? Do we really need dating site commercials and to pay $300 to get set up on dates online? I hope we are not that desperate. Maybe we are. Maybe we are becoming so sad that we really need to read the nutritional facts printed on water bottles to make sure they fit in our diets. It is not healthy people! We all remember our first relationships. Does anyone remember the times they were single? Have we become so codependent that we absolutely have to be with someone?

For those of you who know people with this affliction or think they maybe catching this disease themselves (if you think you might, you have it), here are some tips. First, take a walk. It does not matter where you go as long as you avoid the endless sea of strip malls if you are in the U.S. (I have more complaints about that but I will save that for another day). Look around as you walk; look for something you find interesting. More importantly, think about something you would like to do as you browse about. You might surprise yourself and come up with something new.

Second, start up a new hobby. Take a dance class, aerobics, etc, anything that you want to do. If you do not have much time, try reading your favorite type of book just before you go to sleep to relax. Make sure it is something light though. Jude the Obscure is not what I am talking about here. And if you relax to that type of book, there is no help for you. Whatever it is, just do something. Get in the routine of doing things you like for yourself.

And do it by yourself. Third, and probably most importantly, do it alone; not with a group of friends. If you have this disease you need to start making decisions for yourself not follow a pack. Making choices to do things that you like for yourself is probably the best habit you can pick up to fight this disease. Start small if you have to by going to dinner and a movie you want to see by yourself. Just start doing things you want to because they make you happy. It is a novel concept for some people. Me, me, me is not a bad thing as long as it is not the only thing.

If you follow these tips, I guarantee that you will be happier and healthier. And by the way, that relationship you are craving, I bet the next one you have will be a lot better if you do.

Guest Blogger: On BrownSuga's TiVo: Grey's Anatomy by BrownSuga

Tonight, BrownSuga has graciously agreed to review what is on her TiVo. So here is her opinion on why she loves Grey's Anatomy and makes sure her TiVo faithfully records it every week. For those of you who haven't watched this show perhaps this post will peak your interest. ~ASilky

In the 1980s I was a certifiable “couch potato”. Yes, if you do the math I was under the age of 10 BUT there wasn’t a show on network television that I didn’t know. I could sing theme songs, I could answer trivia questions, I was the TV queen. Thank goodness in 2006 I am not like that. Not only do I not have the time to sit and watch TV but who remembers when things come on? Not me. Then the world became a better, happier place when the TiVo was invented. And although I don’t watch nearly as much television as I used to there are 3 shows I must watch. My trusty TiVo makes sure I never miss an episode. This week I’ll tell about my favorite hospital show, Grey’s Anatomy.

Every Sunday night at 10pm we enter the halls of Seattle Grace Hospital. There, we follow the lives of five interns (Meredith Grey, Izzy Stephens, Christina Yang, Alex Karev, George O’Malley), one resident (Miranda “the Nazi” Bailey), the neurosurgeon (Derek “McDreamy” Shepherd), the cardiac surgeon (Preston Burke), and the chief of surgery (Richard Webber). This show will not make you into a doctor. But it does entertain.

The best part of the show is not the bloody surgeries; it’s the wonderful relationships between the characters. Here is a rundown of the (supposed) hookups:
Meredith and Derek (no longer together)
Cristina and Burke (living together)
Izzy and Alex (on again off again)
Meredith and George (we HOPE it was a one time thing)
Richard and Meredith’s mother 20 years ago (obviously no longer together BUT can and will cause drama in the future)

Meredith – 9 times out of 10 does the voiceovers for the show. One the very first episode she picked up a man in a bar brought him home and had sex with him. The next morning she kicked him out cause she was late for work, only to find out he was her new boss.
Cristina – the arrogant cut throat intern who wants in on EVERY surgery possible. She’s a walking medical textbook with a dry and sarcastic sense of humor. Not one to show emotions in ANYTHING, we were surprised and ecstatic when she finally told Burke that she loved him.
George – the best friend and brother you forget is a guy. He moved in with Meredith and Izzy at the beginning of the first season only to be treated like one of the girls. He has been lusting after Meredith since day one only she never pays attention to him in that way. Well to our horror (ok maybe just mine) they slept together a few weeks ago. Thank goodness the writers have sent another female to occupy his thoughts.
Izzy – The pretty girl, whom we find out, took some not fully clothed pictures in order to pay for medical school. She is always happy very nice understanding just the kind of girl you love to hate. What you don’t see is how her childhood truly affected her today. She was raised in a trailer park by a mother who is addicted to call in psychics. We also learned that she gave her daughter up for adoption 8 (I think) years ago.
Alex – The cocky know it all who thinks he is God’s gift to women. We all felt sorry for him when he almost got kicked out of the program for failing his psych board (like my medical jargon *smiles*), we didn’t feel sorry for him when George punched him out for giving him syphilis.
Bailey – the Nazi, the best resident at the hospital she intimidates she scares she makes grown men cry. WE LOVE MIRANDA BAILEY.
Derek – He’s so cute we want him to be with Meredith BUT his wife (yes his wife) just came to Seattle to fix their marriage (he caught her in bed with his best friend). He is also competing with Burke to be next in line as chief of surgery after Richard retires (we hope he retires and doesn’t have some horrible medical thing!)
Burke – he loves Cristina! He can cook, he cleans, he works out, he’s a doctor….d*mn why does he have to be a freaking character????
Richard – we’re learning about Richard. Apparently he and Meredith’s mom had a hot affair when Meredith was five. And he was the reason Meredith’s parents divorced (can we say DRAMA).

Why should you watch my new favorite show? Honestly I have no idea. I started watching because of Sandra Oh, she plays Cristina Yang. I loved her in Sideways and I loved her in Under the Tuscan Sun (for those that liked that movie go check out her lesbian lover, she now plays Dr. Addison Shepherd). I knew that I would love her in just about anything she played in. And it is still her humor, the dry sarcastic one-liners that she’s known for, that keeps me watching. And my childhood crush on Patrick Dempsey has reemerged. I learned not too long ago that the show was created by an African American female (an MGF’er in her on right). And we Modern Girl Friday’s always support our fellow sisters!

So ladies and gentlemen set your TiVo’s for Sunday nights at 10pm on ABC. Give it a chance you might just become a….TiVo potato?

http://abc.go.com/primetime/greysanatomy/index.html

Guest Blogger: On Orchid's Dinner Table: Korean Beef Bulgogi by Elusive Orchid

So since tonight is Tuesday and it's normally a review or recipe night, Orchid has contributed a recipe pulled from her Korean heritage. Here's to hoping some of you adventurous people out there try it. *Raises wine glass* Cheers ~ASilky

As I’ve mentioned in previous guest posts, I am an amalgam of my heritage, both natural and adopted. When it comes to food, this blend is very evident. I love to cook and along with photography and writing, cooking is on my top ten ways to relax. I can cook anything from good hearty American cuisine to authentic Italian and of course Asian. Asian includes Japanese, Chinese, some Indian and of course my favorite, Korean.

So as a Modern Girl Friday who barely has time to eat, let alone cook, I thought I would share a favorite quick and easy recipe from my Korean heritage. Bulgogi (Bull-go-ghee) is a national Korean dish almost as popular as the spicy pickled cabbage dish Kimchi. Though it is not eaten nearly as often as Kimchi, it is a favorite nevertheless.

Now for those of you who have eaten or heard about Korean food, the general consensus seems to be that all Korean food is spicy. This is not the case with bulgogi. Bulgogi is a flavorful dish that is both sweet and savory at the same time. There is no “heat” to this dish unless you add the optional fermented soybean paste before you eat it.

As with all my cooking, I’m sorry to say there are no measurements, you’ll have to adjust the amounts to the number of people you are feeding and to your taste, depending on whether you prefer saltier or sweeter.

So for those of you adventurous enough to try this recipe, here it is:

1. Thinly sliced beef steak, or you can buy bulgogi meat at your local Asian market if you’re lucky enough to have access to one.
2. Soy sauce
3. Sesame Oil, be aware this is pretty potent stuff, one whiff and you’ll get my drift.
4. White Sugar
5. Green Scallions
6. Garlic cloves, crushed
7. Rice wine vinegar
8. Black pepper, preferably freshly ground
9. Toasted sesame seeds (optional)

Take ingredients 2-9 and mix to taste. I advise you taste the mixture before you add the beef so you can adjust to your palate.

Place all of the ingredients in a Ziploc bag and marinate at minimum three hours. I prefer to mix it all the night before and let it sit in the refrigerator until the next day when I am ready to cook it. Honestly, with the beef, the longer it marinates the better it will taste.

When you are ready to cook, heat a griddle, indoor grill or even a heavy frying pan and cook the strips of meat to desired doneness. This is a very short process that needs to be watched carefully as the meat will cook quickly. This can also be done over an outdoor grill but in that case I would suggest soaking wooden skewers and placing the meat on them so it doesn’t fall through the grate.

Serve over steaming white rice and serve. For those of you who want the “authentic” experience, you can wrap the meat in a soft leaf lettuce (bib or butter). If you can find the fermented, spicy soybean paste, even better. Smear a bit of the paste on the lettuce leaf, insert beef, wrap and enjoy.

Hope you enjoy this recipe and if you try it out I would appreciate hearing from you, no matter whether you loved or hated it.

*Notes: this recipe can be used with chicken, pork and even tofu for those of you who prefer these to beef. The marinating time will be shorter though, especially for the tofu. For those of you who want measurements I am including the following link. In the end you may still want to adjust the amounts to taste as you experiment further.

http://bbq.about.com/od/marinaderecipes/r/bl20209a.htm

Guest Blogger: What I've Learned From My Daddy by BrownSuga

Tonight's post is by BrownSuga, this is her call out to her father, a man of few words but who possesses infinite wisdom. He may not say much but what he says has had an impact on Suga's life and will continue to do so throughout. Enjoy ~ASilky

I am a daddy’s girl. I have always been a daddy’s girl and I will always be a daddy’s girl. As a child, I knew if I wanted anything my best bet would be to ask my daddy. I remember one time (actually this happened a lot of times) I asked my dad for ten bucks of course he said no. He always says no at first. He claimed he didn’t have any money. So usually I would say ok, leave and go figure out another way to get the money (no I didn’t sell myself on the streets J ). However, like clockwork, 20 minutes later, my dad would appear in my doorway with a $10 bill, because he just happened to need to go to the store (and ATM). My dad wasn’t one to ever really say no to me.

I grew up with 2 brothers and a sister and our favorite pastime, to this day, is to sit around the kitchen table with our mom and laugh about all the idiotic things my dad does and says. There are numerous stories I could tell but Lily might hurt me for writing 20 pages on my dad. However here are a few just so you can see why we enjoy retelling the various stories about my dad. He is hilarious because 9 times out of 10, he is as serious as a heart attack when saying these things.

When I was about 7, before the internet, a door-to-door encyclopedia salesperson came to sell us the current edition of the World Book Encyclopedia. My mom was all ready to write a check. She figured with me in the third grade, my older brother in the 5th grade, my little brother in kindergarten and my little sister soon to start school; the encyclopedias would come in handy for reports and school projects. My father’s response, with the salesperson in the same room was

“I have a Master’s degree. I know everything my children will need to know.”
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At the age of 16 just about every child swears they need a car and I was no different. I knew I wouldn’t get one but I figured there was no harm in asking at least. So I go to my dad to plead my case. I explained how helpful I could be if I had a car. I could drive around my siblings; with 4 kids in the house I knew they could appreciate that. I ended with “But daddy I NEED a car. I have to have a way to get around this horrible city we live in.” My dad’s response:

“The only thing you have to do is stay black and die.”
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No one in my family ever really needed an alarm clock. Why? We had my dad. He felt it was and still is his responsibility to make sure we all get up for whatever reason. If you don’t live with him, he will call. If you do live with him he has different ways of waking you up. As a child, he would wake each of us up with a warm washcloth on our face. Looking back, that had to be one of the best ways to be woken up. When we got a bit older he stopped coming in our rooms and would yell through the door that it was time to get up. This happened EVERY MORNING we had to get up for school. School started at 7:45am. We lived less than a mile from school and he would drive us every morning (he stopped once we all had friends who had cars to come get us). We had to be up at 6:45am in order to get to school on time. He would ALWAYS and I do mean ALWAYS wake us up at 6:45am. But every morning at 6:45am he would yell through the door:

“Get up you’re going to be late it’s already 7:40 school is about to start.”
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Leaving for college is a big step in a person’s life. For me, I wasn’t going far from home but I was leaving none the less and I was happy about it. I enjoy moving because it’s the start of something new. My dad has always been the quiet type. He doesn’t say “I love you” much, which is fine and isn’t the type to talk to strangers, so I didn’t expect him to say anything in the area of ‘advice’ when I left for college. But one day, a few days before leaving we were sitting at the kitchen table and he said to me, out of the blue:

“Remember, boys don’t want to be your friend.”
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The one thing about my dad that most people would not realize when looking at him is he is the biggest gossip I know. And my dad has a career where he is privy to private areas of people’s lives. His favorite thing to do is call up each of his children and tell any new gossip. He’s called to tell me he knew the details of Martha Stewart’s life while in prison or when some childhood acquaintance of my siblings or I gets into trouble with the law. I’ve asked him about this little habit of his and his response to me was:

“I’m in the ‘in’ crowd.”
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I own a store. Currently my dad spends his evenings and weekends helping me out in the store. He will do just about any job. The one thing he claims not to do is deal with customers. He prefers to handle the “behind the scenes” jobs, which would be great if that is all he did. But my dad doesn’t like to be left out. When a customer pulls into the parking lot he will give me my warning “Customer Coming!” He will then proceed to go to the back and let me greet the customer. In the middle of me handling the customer out pops my dad, at first it’s just a presence. But within 30 seconds he’s taken over the conversation. When we’re alone I always bring it up, the fact that he doesn’t want to deal with customers but he always deals with the customers. He says

“You look like you didn’t want to deal with them.”
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My dad keeps us in stitches. He doesn’t mean to be funny most of the time but he is. He exaggerates, he worries, and he thinks the world can’t function properly unless he knows everything that is going on. He absolutely hates not to be in on everything that is being done and said. Many times my family specifically won’t tell him something because we know he will worry us to death. But of all the weird idiosyncrasies of my dad, he is a good man. He is descent, hardworking, loving, supportive, protective, a provider the ultimate fighter for his family. I will always be his little girl. And I love him.