My brown thumb

I'm now one step closer to becoming my mother. I can no longer be trusted around plants.

I inherited an aloe plant with my office nearly three and a half years ago. Recently it took a turn for the worst.

Last week the state had to step in and take away my plant to put it in foster care. And by state, I mean my co-worker, the green thumb, who works three offices down. And by foster care, I mean she had to give it more soil and plant food before returning it to my window ledge.

I've always been very hands-off in terms of my plant. I did replant it in a nicer pot soon after I started working there. I give it water every once in a while but other than that, I try to leave it alone. Who knew plants like this need food? Not me, apparently.

This plant is just one in a line of my failures in growing green things. We suffered the loss of another plant at home a few months ago. Rich and I dug up our whole front lawn just last year, all in the hopes that something would grow. We're still waiting. We've also had to replant our front hedges twice since moving in.

Thankfully my work plant is starting to show signs of life again, as you can kinda see in the picture above. My co-worker even gave me a bottle of plant something-or-other to water it with next time it needs it. If that doesn't work, I'm just going to give it ice cream. That always helps me perk up.

Fiscal Fun on the Fourth

The Fourth of July has always been my favorite national holiday, next to my birthday. Every year I try to do something truly American to celebrate the day.

This year was no exception. This Fourth of July I decided to exercise my right as an American to act with great financial irresponsibility and gamble away my hard-earned dollars in Atlantic City.

Actually, let's back up a little. I really did partake in a bit of our county's rich history as we started out the long weekend in Philadelphia, with my first visit to the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall. I just love this history crap, so I got a kick out of seeing the very place where our forefathers signed the Declaration of Independence and where the Constitution was born.







With the historical part of the visit out of the way we switched gears and headed straight for authentic Philly Cheesesteaks at Pat's and Geno's. I'm really not sure what all the fuss is about. To be honest, the cheesesteaks were okay, but I've had better... and that was in my college's dining hall.





The next stop was at a little place called the Naked Chocolate Cafe, where we shared some kind of peanut butter and chocolate torte and a mini chocolate fudge cake. They were amazing and I'm thoroughly embarrassed to even admit this but we couldn't finish either of them.





We finished out our visit to Philadelphia by taking in a performance of Les Miserables at the Walnut Street Theater, the oldest continuously operating theater in the nation.

We left Philly and headed to Atlantic City on July 3rd, where we took in the pre-holiday fireworks from our hotel room in the new Waterfront Tower at Harrah's. The fireworks came so close that it reminded me of my days in Baghdad. (Or what I imagine Baghdad would be like, had I ever gone.)

Our actual Fourth got off to a nice start with a great breakfast and a trip to the beautiful pool area, complete with free drinks. In honor of the Fourth, Harrah's had this nifty giveaway every half hour. If your name was called, you had 15 minutes to claim you money. I thought you had to be playing at the time in order to win, so I was only half-listening to the names called while up in the hotel room.

It was then that I heard the most beautiful mispronunciation of my name ever. I'd won. I didn't know what I'd won, but I'd won something. I shot up out of bed and took off for the elevators, running across the casino floor. Simultaneously, Rich heard my name called and figured I was fast asleep and oblivious to my win. He tried calling my cell phone, which didn't work because apparently the one amenity lacking in the new hotel tower is cell phone service. He started and O.J. Simpson-style airport dash and eventually we met up at the prize table. I was the lucky recipient of $1000!


I can't even describe how good it feels to win. All I know is how much more fun an Atlantic City trip can be when you come home a winner.

Coming home, however, is always a treat in itself. There's no toilet paper like home.

The newest in old music

Come this fall I’ll once again be embracing my inner dork. I’m finally going to see the New Kids on the Block in concert.

The New Kids are a fitting addition to my summer concert lineup. Every other musical act I’ve seen so far or plan to see in the coming months has officially acquired has-been status. I'd say we're one step away from making an AARP membership or double hip replacement a prerequisite to seeing a band live.

We started the concert season with Van Halen – a performance that had to be postponed due to Eddie Van Halen's undisclosed health problems. Rich also wanted to get tickets to see Yes, but the band's front man went and suffered respiratory failure so that was a no-go.

This past weekend we went to see Lisa Loeb at the Recher Theater. At 40, she’s hardly old, but let’s be honest – she hasn’t had a hit since O.J. Simpson was just known as a good football player. I adore her and I’m very glad I went to the concert, but she's hardly a top heat seeker on the Billboard charts. (I don’t really know what that means, but I’m sure Adrian would be glad to explain.)

We’re going to Hershey in July to catch another Billy Joel concert. I feel like I can never get enough Billy Joel, especially when nobody really knows when he’ll wrap his car around another tree and be done for good.

In August we’re headed to Delaware for the Unicity Festival in Middletown. Rich hasn’t seen The Fixx since college and is very excited to go. And because John Waters, my favorite baby boomer, is speaking at the festival, I agreed to join him.

The following week we get a double dose of 70s and 80s goodness as both Boston and Styx perform at Pier Six. Pier Six has really cornered the market on aging musicians and their fans who aren’t quite up to a crazy evening at Merriweather. Sit on the lawn? Thanks, but no thanks.

I went to my first Pier Six concert last year where we saw Squeeze and we’ll we back later in the summer for George Thorogood of "Bad to the Bone" fame.

Sometimes I like to play a little game at these concerts and try to find the one person in the crowd who isn’t white, above 30, and investing at least 10 percent of their income in a solid mutual fund. I’m rarely successful in this endeavor. You know you’re dealing with a slightly more mature crowd – when the bathroom attendant notes that "Gosh, tonight’s crowd sure is polite."

Still, I wouldn't have it any other way. Give me a good reunion or comeback tour any day -- just as long as it doesn't go past 10 p.m. We do have to work in the morning, y'know.

Happy 70th Anniversary, Grandma and Grandpa!

I have the cutest grandparents in the world and today marks their 70th wedding anniversary.

I've previously detailed how they met and the other highlights of their lives so I won't repeat myself on that end.

What I will say is that I consider myself so lucky to still have my grandparents around and get to learn from their wisdom and the great example they set.

I wore my grandmother's wedding band today in honor of their anniversary. It's the first piece of jewelry my grandfather designed and the same ring I wore on my wedding day. I consider it a good-luck charm.

It gives me chills to look at their initials engraved on the inside along with 5/1/38 and 12:50 p.m. Rich and I had our initials engraved alongside theirs.

If there's any marriage to emulate, this is the one.

Mmmmm... cake!

My nephew, Aidan, celebrated his first birthday this week.

Clearly we're related. This is evidenced by how quickly he dug into his Cookie Monster cake. Like me, Aidan utilizes the inhale-rather-than-chew method of cake consumption.

Oh, just wait till I introduce him to the rest of the finer things in life like chocolate and Diet Coke! So much to learn yet so little time. Happy birthday, kiddo!

Much too young to feel this damn old

Oh, Garth Brooks, you know me so well. I really am much too young to feel this damn old.

Here I am staring down 30 and I already have a medical resume to rival any senior citizen. I've grown tired of being a medical marvel and I'm none too pleased with my present affliction which, thus far, has garnered no diagnosis beyond malaise. (Stay tuned for test results which could show anything from underactive thyroid to Lyme disease to bubonic plague.)

I'm not sure what my parents were trying to pull when they got together but I'm pretty sure their genetic matter is some perfect storm of DNA. Neither family is much help. You name the disease and we can likely track it within a short distance of consanguinity. (Wow, I just proved myself wrong. I really didn't think I would ever use the word consanguinity after law school.)

I feel bad about complaining because I know I'm still better off health-wise than a lot of people. I may have had cancer twice, but I was insanely lucky to catch it as early as I did. And as crappy as it was, at least I just had to have surgery and not go through chemo or radiation like so many others.

Still, it would be nice if I could make it through a day without having to think about how badly I'm feeling. I can no longer remember a time when I didn't have to stress over every little ache and pain. Seriously, the herniated disc really just adds insult to injury.

Oh, how I long for the day that the only things that I share in common with the seniors I work with are my frequent trips to Atlantic City, interest in knitting, and propensity to cut coupons.

My selection show

It’s not just college basketball fans who get excited around this time of year. No, we theater fans wait our turns patiently too. We’re just as interested for our big announcement of who we’re going to see and when.

But my curiosity was satisfied at this morning’s announcement of the 2008-2009 season at Baltimore's Hippodrome Theater.

(Well, technically I had a pretty good idea about the lineup a few weeks back. A BroadwayWorld.com reader posted the list of shows on the Broadway board before it quickly disappeared. Then BroadwayAcrossAmerica.com, erring on the side of stupidity, accidentally posted the information last night.)

In any case, this morning unveiling made everything official. Here’s what the lineup looks like:

Legally Blonde the Musical -- Sept. 30-Oct. 12, 2008
Dr. Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas! The musical -- Nov. 11-23, 2008
A Chorus Line -- Dec. 2-14, 2008
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang -- Jan. 6-18, 2009
Grease -- Feb. 3-15, 2009
A Bronx Tale -- April 14-26, 2009
Spring Awakening -- June 9-21, 2009

The Hippodrome people seem to be touting the 08-09 season as child-friendly, by including Grinch and Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. But, considering they selected a song from A Chorus Line with a refrain of "Tits and Ass" as one of the live songs at this morning's selection show, I’m not sure everyone got the memo.

On the whole, I’m pretty pleased about next season. Instead of there being three shows I really didn’t want to see like this year, next year there are only two. (Yep, you guess it. They're the child-oriented shows.)

There are a few glaring omissions from next season's lineup. No Jersey Boys. No Drowsy Chaperone. No Sweeney Todd. C'mon. Even Minneapolis got Jersey Boys.

Still, I am glad for what we do have.

I’m most excited about Legally Blonde and Spring Awakening which, you may remember, we went to see in New York about a year ago. Both are fresh, new musicals that appeal to my generation even though one is fun and light and the other is dark and depressing. Both have soundtracks that will stay stuck in your head for weeks at a time.

Chazz Palminteri’s A Bronx Tale should be a really good show too. Some of you may know the story from the 1993 movie version, starring Robert DeNiro, which Palminteri wrote. The stage version is a one-man show where Palminteri does 18 different characters.

I'm also looking forward to A Chorus Line which is a classic musical I've somehow missed so far. And Grease, while I'm not excited to see again, is okay and least has familiar music. But, more importantly, it's not Cirque Dreams.

Happy 30th, Adrian!

Thirty years ago today, on the Pacific island of Guam, a baby named Gerald entered the world.

A few months after that, he became Adrian. And a little over 18 years later he became my best friend.

(The name change thing is a long story. Ask Adrian about it. Or, better yet, ask his parents.)

Anyway, we met as freshmen at St. Mary's. As newspaper nerds, we both joined the staff of The Point News and before we knew it, Adrian became the editor-in-chief and I was the managing editor.

We've stayed close since college and except for Adrian's year-long stint in Nashville, we've been lucky enough to only be about a half hour away from one another.

Adrian's Tennessee adventure did, however, give me an excuse to head west, where I saw everything from the the Grand Ole Opry to enormous warehouse stores that only sell fireworks. (This is the part where we ignore the fact that I was more excited about Opry Mills, the mall just across the parking lot, than the actual home of country music's elite.)

Adrian is a pretty unique guy and I won't even begin to try explaining him. Just know that he firmly believes that everything is better when pickled. Or in Peep form.

He's also been lucky to travel extensively -- something I've always envied. Please remind me that I still need to get the scoop on his recent return to Guam.

I was one of the invited few at Adrian's birthday party over the weekend hosted by Steve, his older brother, and Steve's wife, Jenn. Like every other Adrian-related event, the Simpsons figured prominently. Adrian's oldest sister, Michelle, made the awesome Homer Simpson carrot cake in the picture above. Below, you'll see the picture I had made for him to commemorate his 30th.



I hope Adrian has an absolutely wonderful 30th birthday. If it goes well for him, I might even try turning 30 in a few months too.

Tap water, now new and improved!

Once again my dad is way ahead of his time. First it was free refills on soda and now it's Prozac in the water supply.

According to several news outlets, an AP investigation has uncovered prescription drugs in the drinking water of at least 41 million Americans. Apparently we've got everything from antibiotics to sex hormones coming out of our faucets.

Please -- my father came up with this idea years ago. He's advocated this for as long as I can remember. And, whether it's Prozac in the water supply or giving Valium to trick-or-treaters, who wouldn't benefit from a little mood enhancement?

I'm not sure I even understand what all the fuss is about in the first place. Prescription drugs have gotten ridiculously expensive. My water bill, on the other hand, remains surprisingly affordable. It sounds like the solution to the prescription drug crisis if you ask me.

But no. All of a sudden, the same Americans who waste their money on those fancy enhanced bottled waters are now worried about tainted H20.

Well gosh, thank goodness my daily liquid intake is 95 percent Diet Coke. I am a health nut, after all.

Totally Wired

We're just about an hour away from the last episode of The Wire and while I'm excited to see how it all wraps up, I'm already mourning a Wire-free existence.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: The Wire is the best television drama of all time. (Sorry West Wing, but Baltimore beats D.C. every time in my book.)

As a recovering journalist, I was more than a little excited when I first learned that The Wire would turn its focus to the Fourth Estate in the final season

And, now that the season is just about over, I feel comfortable in stating that, despite what the Baltimore Sun wants you to believe, the newsroom scenes aren't without their bits of truth.

The newspaper business is just that -- a business. Like any other casualty of budget cuts, journalists are constantly asked to do more with less. So while the Baltimore-based drama shines some light on the Sun, the same stories are playing out in newsrooms of every size across the country.

The line between good and bad isn't always as stark as it is between Gus Haynes and Scott Templeton. But remember -- Jayson Blair did happen. (Incidentally, if you have any interest at all in journalism, I urge you to read Blair's autobiography, Burning Down My Masters' House. It's shocking and fascinating.)

So what does The Wire get right? It does a good job at showing the frustration and excitement of the news business. I know what it's like to be the young reporter who can't wait to see her first front page story. I was her.

I know how it feels to work on a deadline when nobody is talking. And I know what it's like to beat the rest of the pack on a story or get beaten by them. (Thank you David Simon for my favorite moment of the season to date -- when The Daily Record beats the big bad Sun on a story.)

The classic Tommy D'Alessandro "my desk told your desk" story? That stuff is legendary among local journalists. David Simon was there. He may be biased but he knows his stuff.

So does this season of The Wire give a dismal and depressing view of journalism? Sure. But what do you expect from a medium that failed to anticipate that the internet would render it as obsolete as the slide rule or eight-track?

And, even with the show ending, The Sun couldn't help but take one last jab at David Simon. More than 48 hours before The Wire's final episode, The Sun had already posted a review of the episode on its website with the headline "'Wire' finale lacks power of past seasons."

Thanks Sun, but David Simon won this round.