I’ve Got a Secret!

Common sense says I should save this one for Halloween, but I just can’t wait that long. You see, I’ve been holding out on you, folks. That’s right, I have a secret. A deep, dark, sinister secret….

I’m a mom.

Except it’s not what you think. I do have a child. Six years old. Dark-haired, furry and very, very feline. Personally, I consider myself a dog lover. We always had dogs when I was a kid. Unfortunately, Fate has a sense of humor, so I ended up with a cat instead. Frankly, I think it was to teach me patience, because she is as strong-willed as I am. Maybe stronger.

My cat’s name is Chloe. She’s named after one of my Noo Yawk ancestors, Chloe Derby Darling – but she’s no darling. Not sure what great-great-great-great grandma’s disposition was like, but I bet it was a lot nicer than my cat’s. Chloe has acquired a few nicknames over the years. I call her “Silly Cat” while the rest of my family affectionately refers to her as “That Devil Cat” or “Satan.” Yeah, she’s a black cat. You could smell that one from a mile away, couldn’t you?

For the longest time my family didn’t believe me when I insisted that Chloe had a warm, loving side. She usually hissed and snarled at them. My parents have a white cat with a pink nose and a sweet, angelic temperament, which doesn’t help matters. Angel vs. Devil. Who do you think wins in that popularity contest, hmmm?

Given my fondness for all things Star Wars coupled with Chloe’s dark side, it was inevitable that her moniker would evolve into Darth Kitty. Which leads me to another confession: I have a life-size, cardboard standee of Hayden Anakin Skywalker. What was Chloe’s reaction the first time I set it up? She stared at him it for hours. It was hilarious. Honest to goodness, I really think she thought he it was real. Poor thing paced nervously, waiting for that lightsaber to twitch… so she could pounce. “Take that, you Jedi scum!” See, I know my baby so well that I can even read her thoughts. Huh, I wish!

Obviously, I won’t be up for any Mother of the Year awards having raised such a belligerent brat. Still, she adores that Anakin standee, so there is hope for her yet. She’s really drawn to him. She likes to rub up against him (like mother, like daughter, eh?). So what if she’s knocked him on his butt and bent his lightsaber a few times. That’s just her way of showing affection. Truthfully, I think they were meant for each other. Anyway, since you know my secret now, I thought I’d share a snapshot of Darth Kitty with y’all. I believe her resemblance to Vader will be evident. Photography and captioning courtesy of my dad.

 

[28 August 2006]

 

No Chemistry

Lately, I’ve been on sort of a psychology kick. I routinely read two blogs written by psychoanalysts in order to ascertain more about what makes people tick. So, you can imagine how my interest was piqued by this tidbit in Women’s Health magazine…

A study in the journal Psychology of Women Quarterly found that men are more likely than women to interpret ambiguous or friendly behavior as a come-on… If a man found a woman attractive, he was more likely to think she was flirting, regardless of her intentions.

This explains a lot. I could never understand why some guys — specifically those I am not the least bit attracted to — tend to ask me out. What kind of weird vibe am I sending to make them think “Oh, man, she wants me!”? I certainly do not flip my blonde tresses over my shoulder, wink saucily, or titter at their appalling jokes. Okay, maybe I do titter a little. But now I know. Merely smiling at and being polite to men is enough to trigger the mating instinct. Egads! I am so in trouble. Okay, no more Mr. Nice Guy… er, Ms. Nice Girl. I guess I’ll have to cut out the smiling crap, too. Nh-uh, no more of that.

This also explains why Mr. McDreamy Christensen never calls. Apparently, my wily, womanly charms do not sufficiently penetrate cyberspace. And blowing beaucoup kisses toward my computer screen (which sports a yummy photo of HC) similarly lacks the necessary wallop. Who knew?

[23 August 2006]

 

Sing Along With Hayden

Since I have a deep, abiding love for music and a deep, abiding affection for Hayden, and since I am excruciatingly bored because said Object of Affection hasn’t had a new film in the theaters for the past 10,872 hours (and counting)… I have concocted — for better or worse — a new serial muse, dubbed the Hayden Sing-A-Long™. It works like this: each sing-a-long consists of a rambling soliloquy or short snippets of fictitious (i.e., made-up, imaginary, not real) dialogue between Hayden and his cohorts. Cohorts may include family, friends, acquaintances, rivals, alter egos, celebrities, attorneys, ultra-talented webmistresses, as well as fictitious characters, especially those from galaxies far, far away. Generally anyone or anything — living, dead, comatose, inanimate, fictional, cellular organisms or subatomic particles — is fair game. Yes, that means Paris Hilton is eligible. The dialogue (or monologue) itself shall consist primarily of song titles from my iTunes Library. Further caveats:

• Song titles only.
• No lyrics allowed.
• Song titles cannot be reused in the same sing-a-long unless they appear more than once in my iTunes Library (e.g., same song by different artists, remixes, etc.).
• No fair downloading, importing, scouting, or recruiting tunes just for use in the Hayden Sing-A-Long™.
• Likewise, signing bonuses for tunes desiring to join the Hayden Sing-A-Long™ are strictly verboten.

Confused? Wonderful! Let’s proceed.

[16 August 2006]

 

Superficial

This may go down as one of my shallower musings. So be it.

I often ponder… what is Hayden’s most attractive physical feature? His eyes? his nose? lips? hair? shoulders? abs?

The correct answer is, of course, none of the above. We ladies are supposed to be attracted to more stable, age-resistant indicators of quality — like character. Yet our hearts are filled with lust and we believe we cannot help ourselves. This is wrong-headed thinking. Wrong-headed! We are not animals, my dears. We can control our thoughts, our actions. We just don’t want to. Am I right? It feels goooood to be baaaaad. And if a guy is perceived to be bad for us in some way… well, we just seem to want him even more. We are seduced by the dark side (heh, heh, inescapable Star Wars reference).

That, my lovelies, is thinking with our emotions and not our brains. But isn’t true love based firstly and foremostly on an emotion? Doesn’t it start with LUST and build from there? We say we want a partner who is a great conversationalist. Mmmm-hmmm. How many of us are initially attracted to a guy for his cerebral qualities, then end up learning to appreciate him for his physical beauty? C’mon. Statistically, I think it averages out to about, oh… zero. Just like the men we pretend to loathe, we are looking for love in all the wrong places. We base our assessments on his desirability. His physical desirability: azure eyes, delectable lips, curly blond hair, velvety voice, etcetera, etcetera. Often, we are disappointed to find out that what lies beneath is not enough to sustain our initial passions.

And so it is with some measure of moroseness that I reflect upon Hayden’s most attractive physical feature. Morose, because deep down I don’t want Hayden to be “just another pretty face.” To me, he is talented, bright, hard-working, humble, kind-hearted, and a great many other things. Oh, yeah, and I mustn’t forget: suave and debonair (or, as my college buds used to say, “swave and deboner”). I don’t want to judge him on something as superficial as his looks.

And yet… judge him I must!

Are you ready? Do you really, really, truly want to know what I think is his most comely feature? Can you handle the truth?

 

 

 

 

 

Sideburns.

Yep, I looooove his sideburns. These days, most men don’t wear their sideburns that long. Now, I do hate the kind that go clear down to the jaw line. Blech! But most guys trim theirs fairly short while Hayden does not. It makes him unique. He stands out in a crowd for that feature alone. Personally, I think he is way ahead of his time in the hair grooming department. Soon, other guys will copy his look, just like they copied Edd Byrnes’ ducktail in the ’50s. Edd, who??

So, there it is in a nutshell. Sideburns. Pardon me while I swoon. (heavy sigh)

[08 August 2006]

 

Roadtripping Without Hayden

Vacations are usually fun times and, Lord knows, I don’t get enough of them. Vacations, that is. My sis and I are both single and regrettably unattached, so we occasionally vacation together. Oddly enough, our joint sibling trek coincided with the Christensen brothers’ participation in an invitation-only road rally known as Bullrun ’06. Their trip was cross-country (New York to Los Angeles) while ours was across states. Ohio and Pennsylvania, to be exact. In yet another coincidence, both of our trips began inauspiciously — with car trouble. Apparently Hayden’s Ferrari 360 Modena and my sister’s less exotic mode of transportation broke down during their respective first legs. Hayden’s transmission reportedly failed (been there, done that). Our initial “checkpoint” was supposed to be Findlay, Ohio — midway between our households — but sis’s car broke down before she even left town. However, once our on-call mechanic, otherwise known as dear ol’ Dad, replaced her alternator, everything was copacetic. Since we had planned to take the Hayden-mobile (my car) anyway, it delayed the start of our trip by only a few hours.

When we weren’t driving, we were walking — and vice versa. We logged 1,597 miles (2,570 km) by car and I personally trekked about 35 miles (56 km) on foot. Still, I concede Hayden surpassed me in the distance accrued department. Since I was incommunicado throughout my trip — sans Internet access — I had no inkling where Hayden’s checkpoints would be and desperately fervently hoped an early checkpoint might occur in Philadelphia, a stop early in my own itinerary. Alas, the Bullrun planners were not similarly inclined. Philly was the one and only place during the entire trip where I uttered Hayden’s name aloud. Believe me, it was an exercise in self-control and self-preservation. Had I mentioned his name more than once, my sister would have mercilessly flogged me with a gooey Philly cheesesteak. Suffice it to say we have philosophical differences regarding my choices in men.

Since Hayden was a no-show in Philly I knew it was unlikely we’d cross paths elsewhere, especially given that our tour stops included Valley Forge, Harrisburg, Hershey (chocolate, yum!), Somerset, and Intercourse, Pa. Bwa-ha-ha! Sorry, I can’t say that last one with a straight face. Seriously, we visited Intercourse, near Lancaster, and purchased an indecent amount of Amish-made victuals. Nearly wiped out a few Amish buggies along Route 340, too. Actually, the Intercourse name might have had its genesis in racing terminology, but that’s another story.

I have to hand it to Hayden. Sports car aside, driving cross-country in a week — even with two drivers — seems like an arduous task. For the first time in my life, I fell asleep at the wheel while taking my turn. Drifted over to the left by half a lane. Thankfully, it was unoccupied and disaster was averted, but it scares the bejeebers out of you. In my case, lack of sleep and medication may have been contributing factors.

I can boast about besting Hayden in at least one category. I got zero/nada/zip/zilch speeding tickets. According to his blabbermouth brother, Hayden got five in one day alone! Hayden, Hayden, Hayden. Tsk, tsk. Why didn’t he employ his Jedi mind tricks? (“You don’t want to write me that ticket, officer….”) Obviously Tove was feeling a tad superior because he and teammate Peter Michels were named quasi-champions of this year’s race rally with their Porsche 996 Turbo. For more juicy details about Hayden’s and Tove’s Excellent Adventure, check out the indefatigable Jen’s newest creation, GoTeamChristensen.com, a website officially sanctioned by Team Christensen and Forest Park Pictures.

My fave Bullrun anecdote about Hayden was shared by DH.net reader sith_wench, who ogled saw him July 25 at the Kansas City, Missouri checkpoint. She observed that he was the only driver who carried and packed his own gear. Everyone else had their crew or the hotel staff do it for them. His proclivity towards humility truly astounds me. Steve Burdick’s encounter typifies our boy’s nonchalance about his celebrity. Poor chap barely surmised that Lord Vader was his riding companion!

Almost forgot to relate an incident that happened on the first day of my trip. While driving in northern Ohio, a car pulled alongside of me and tooted its horn repeatedly. Glancing over, I saw 5 or 6 guys — of the twentysomething male variety — packed in it like sardines. Were they trying to alert me to some sinister calamity that had befallen my vehicle? Not being especially adept at interpreting their hand signals and out of practice with my flirty ways, I’m afraid I glowered at them instead. They quickly sped away, weaving in and out of traffic, so I gathered it wasn’t my welfare that concerned them. Ah, one of the great mysteries of life. Perhaps they were diehard Darth Vader fans who spied the Hayden-mobile’s license plate.

So, who’s my boyfriend in the picture? That’s Alexander Hamilton, our nation’s first treasury secretary. I decided to hang with him because (a) he knows where all the money is stashed and (b) we are roughly the same height. Unfortunately, Hammy’s a little too uppity and stiff for my tastes. ####### When they say the camera adds 10 pounds (4.5 kg), they weren’t kidding. Cripes, I look positively burly in this photograph — like I could bench press the Hamster there next to me. If it were taken from a different angle… or maybe the design in my top distorts the… OK, I’m babbling….

[02 August 2006]

 

When Is ‘Art Fair’ A Verb?

Every time I go to the allergist I am reminded of Hayden. No, not because he’s allergic to bee stings. One of the doctors at the pain recovery clinic next-door to my allergist is C. CHRISTENSEN, MD, PhD. I always imagine he’s related to Hayden. Maybe Hayden will play a doctor someday rather than a patient, as he does in the forthcoming film Awake. “Paging Dr. Christensen” has a nice sound to it… except that it’s unlikely his character would also be named Christensen.

I work in Ann Arbor, home to the University of Michigan. The second thing Ann Arbor is most known for is the Ann Arbor Art Fair*, which is actually four separate art fairs held simultaneously. This is not your ordinary, podunk art fair, folks. Nearly half a million people show up for this four-day behemoth of an art fair. And even if quality art/photography/jewelry and sundry musical entertainment isn’t your thing, it is a great place to go people-gazing. Around here, “art fair” is fast becoming a verb.

I might art fair tomorrow afternoon.

I have art faired in past years.

I shall art fair in the future.

But not this year. I’m getting the heck out of Dodge. Yup, for a change I’m escaping the madness. Vacation beckons, so I’ll miss this week’s controlled chaos big event. I’ll especially miss Mark Sijan’s lifelike sculptures, which always draw a crowd (Hayden should get one of these to put in his foyer — they are so cool!).

Please don’t read anything into the fact that the dates of my vacation coincide exactly with Hayden’s participation in a road rally. Purely coincidental. I wish I could say I was riding shotgun with him, but I am not headed to New York for Bullrun USA ’06. My invite must’ve got lost in the mail (drat!). Instead, I’ll be sightseeing in Philadelphia and visiting other places of interest in the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. Since I will be computerless all next week, I am packing a photograph of Hayden to get me through the rough times. Just can’t quit cold turkey. I’ll also be praying that I have enough gas money to get home Hayden gets through Bullrun in one piece. See you in August!

Update: I couldn't help myself. I snuck a peek during my lunch hour today (7/20). Sijan has two semi-nude female sculptures this time. Also, I purchased a fabulous pendant & chain from metalsmith designer Shandor Edward Madjar (free plug).

*however this may change since Google recently announced it’s setting up “a major facility” in A-squared

[18 July 2006]

 

One Pink Paperclip

Some of you may have followed the strange odyssey of Kyle MacDonald, the world famous “Paper Clip Guy.” A soon-to-be-former resident of Montreal, Quebec (that’s in Canada, ya know), who started a blog called One Red Paperclip, MacDonald proposed to make a series of trades, starting with a single red paperclip, until he got a house. He started his venture 12 July 2005 and — exactly one year and 14 trades later — he made good on his wacky idea and completed the final trade, er… flip, er… whatever, of a movie role for a house in Kipling, Saskatchewan (that’s in Canada, ya know).

Naturally, I was intrigued by this clippy caper. How could I steal similar glory gingerly capitalize on this feel good story? And, more importantly, how could I tie this cheap publicity stunt in with my affinity for Hayden? There must be a way to… ah yes, I’ve got it!

I shall trade One Pink Paperclip for… um, well something Hayden-related of course.

Why a pink paperclip? Because I like the artist Pink, I wear a fair amount of pink, and I even own a pink iPod. Plus, I nicked a lovely pink paperclip (see photograph above) at work where there is always a plethora of paperclips. Love that word “plethora.” So, what do I want in exchange? Hayden’s autograph? Nah, too tame. A week on a tropical island with Hayden. Oooo, make that a deserted tropical island. Oh, but he’ll never go for that. How ’bout dinner with Hayden? Nh-uh. Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure he has terrific table manners and I’m already aware that he’s an impeccable conversationalist, it’s just that I’m… um, this is really embarrassing… but I’m kind of a messy eater. I try to be neat and all, but no matter how hard I try I tend to leave a trail of crumbs and tomato saucy stains just magically appear on my blouse. I can picture it now. Entertainment Tonight or MTV (take ur pick) is stalking trailing us and there’s nice-and-polite-Canadian Hayden, discreetly asking the wait staff to please mop up my mess. Quick, give the girl another napkin! No, no, no. I wouldn’t want to discompose the poor guy. Trust me, it would be a nightmare for both of us.

Okay, so what else? Did I hear someone say “a kiss from Hayden”? Bless you, child. We’re operating on the same wavelength. Unfortunately, my DS has informed me that just contemplating this smooch-fest would make her heave. Hey, maybe that’s worth… uh, never mind. Just between you and me, she’s a teeny bit discombobulated because her dream guy just tied the knot with someone who is… obviously not her. That would be Mr. Nicole Kidman, also known as awesome Aussie Keith Urban. Shhh, you did not hear that from me!

I’ve got it. Oooo, this is per-fect! And so tailor-made for him and me: lightsaber lessons! We can reenact The Duel — Obi-Wan vs. Anakin — from Revenge of the Sith. Needless to say, we’ll omit the limb-shearing finalé. I can do this. I used to be in a color guard: flag twirling, choreographed dance moves… think Broadway on a football field. Hayden could show me how to do that snazzy behind-the-back move that I still can’t figure out, even when I play the DVD in slo-mo. Of course, it will take an eternity for me to get the routine down. But I can live with eternity… eternity with Hayden is good. I suppose we’ll get real sweaty and there will be lots of heavy breathing from all the… physical exertion. But, as certain galactic characters are wont to say, “This is where the fun begins!” May the Force be with us. Yee-haw!!

If you’re beginning to sense that this is all just a shameless ploy to get up close and personal with Mr. Christensen, you’d be… so right!

[14 July 2006]

 

A Hockey Lament (1983-2006)

Alas, another musing that has only a tenuous connection to Hayden… but I think I am entitled (and Hayden will certainly forgive me). My sports idol, future NHL hall of famer Steve Yzerman, announced his retirement July 3. I am beside myself. While I knew this was a possibility, I tried to pretend it couldn’t, wouldn’t happen… not this year anyway. I cannot remember a time when Stevie wasn’t a babe “The Captain.” He’s always been there for me, er, for we Red Wings fans. He said he always loved playing hockey for Detroit, even when they were known as the “Dead Wings.” Okay, he left out the part about the Dead Wings. Hockeytown just ain’t going to be the same without number 19, goldurnit. I wish there was another hockey fan with whom I could commiserate. Ya know, maybe someone tall and blond [sniff] and handsome who is… not retired and… and currently has several films in post-production. Waaaahhh! For the unenlightened: Stevie Y. is so unselfish, so generous. He even retired now so the team would have extra money to spend on another (possibly free agent) player. How swell is that? Just a swelluva guy! The really ironic thing is that we need a new goalie and Toronto released Ed Belfour, so we could have our mortal enemy a former Leaf as our new net minder. Strange, huh? Stevie, thanks for the memories — the heartaches (Mnatsakanov’s & Konstantinov’s limo accident, Jiri Fischer’s heart attack) and the highpoints (three Cups, 10-time All-Star, longest serving NHL captain, Conn Smythe trophy, Pearson Award, even that 2002 Olympic gold for Team *cough* Canada, scoring three straight goals on three shots on 17 Nov 1990 against Toronto, heh, heh) — as well as putting up with all the cortisone injections, torn muscles, surgeries, etc. We were so lucky to have you for so long. Bon voyage, my friend!

[05 July 2006]