It's here!

Behold! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Nikon 50mm f/1.4 AF-S!


Or, as it is known in my family, "the chubby little baby lens." This nickname can refer to the fact that the lens itself is small and chubby, or that it is an excellent tool for photographing chubby little babies. Check out that f/stop! After reading many, many articles about f/stops, I still cannot explain to you what they mean, and I'm not convinced anyone actually can. But James assures me that the 1.4 f/stop is absolutely fabulous, and I choose to believe him.

I spent months coveting James' lens, while lamenting the fact that it didn't jive with my D40. Now, Nikon has finally released a compatible version and I jumped on that thing like a hyena on a wildebeest carcass. Isn't it adorable?


Even more adorable? All the fabulous photos I'll be taking of little Julesy with this. I cannot wait!

Dallas ruins everything!

This week was not so stellar for me in Fantasy Football and, as is usually the case, most of the blame rests with the Dallas Cowboys. They screw up everything!

But first, just when I thought my Ronnie Brown's 41-point performance last week might be the season's best, Brett Farve had to go and totally go off his meds this week, racking up an insane 45 points. Congrats to Jamie who was the happy recipient there. What a performance!

In other aforementioned news, I loathe the Dallas Cowboys. Like the fool that I am, I picked them in both my work survivor league and the cousin suicide league. I should have known they'd go out of their way to lose, and at home no less, just to stick it to a Steelers fan. They are so spitefully selfish. Mark and I are now out of the suicide poll and the prize will go to either Mr. or Mrs. Livermore.

And now all my hopes for the week rest in the capable hands of Mr. Hines Ward. If he can just rack up ten fantasy points for me tonight, I will beat Brian and clinch the division lead. Hines, I believe in you! You can do it!

The music ignites the night with passionate fire.

This past weekend, I took a second trip to Pittsburgh, this time with Jen and our parents to see Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova in concert. If you've seen the film Once, you know what amazing musicians they are. And if you haven't seen Once, you are a fool who needs a Netflix subscription.

To start the evening, Mom and Dad treated us to dinner at their favorite place in the theater district: Tambellini's, a charming little Italian place that is a Pittsburgh classic. Tambellini's is the place where they invented fried zucchini. Oh, so delicious! They do it in a tempura batter with a wonderful horseradish sauce on the side. I am spoiled for fried zucchini anywhere else.



Then it was on to the Byham. After a not-so-enjoyable opening act, Glen and Marketa emerged and started the evening with their wonderful cover of Van Morrison's "Into the Mystic." Then they played their Oscar winning song "Falling Slowly." Oh, they sounded so terrific, just as brilliant in person as they do on their CDs. We had great seats in the first row of the balcony, and the Byham is such a nice, small theater; it was perfect for this type of concert. In fact, at one point Glen walked to the edge of the stage and performed "Say It To Me Now" without a microphone or anything, just him and his guitar, and his voice echoing off the theater walls sounded so amazing. Here's one of the clandestine pics I took. It didn't turn out so well in the low light. If only I'd had my D40, they'd have been awesome.



Glen is so charming and funny. He was telling little stories and jokes all evening, and he and Marketa were telling the stories behind the songs and what the songs were about. And they kept asking us to sing along, and the crowd was just wild for them. It was so much fun. Julia was not pleased that we took her mother away for the evening, but I know she will forgive me. She is such a generous little pumpkin.

The narration crackles and pops with incendiary wit.

This past weekend, I went to see Anthony Rapp’s one man show Without You, which is based on his memoir of the same name. I went with Melis and her former students Taylor, Lauren, and Sandy. Afterward, we sprinted 14 blocks (14!!!) to the Cheesecake Factory (portobello burger – yum!) for dinner with Eric, who is prone to hyperbole, and Andy, who can run like a gazelle.

Before the show, when we were standing outside the theater waiting for Lauren, Anthony came walking up the street to the stage door. Sandy looked up and said, "Is that him? I think that’s him!" We all turned and Melis said, "Yeah, that’s him." It was one of those moments where you could be really cool and say "hi" or "break a leg" or something, but instead I just looked away and squealed like the dork I am. Well played, Stombaugh.

The show was all about the making of Rent, meeting Jonathan Larson, hearing those songs for the first time, creating a cultural phenomenon, losing Jonathan Larson, and about Anthony’s relationship with his mother, by all accounts a sweet little firecracker of a lady. The show was great. We had fabulous seats (I could have reached out and touched the stage) and he sang lots of Rent songs as well as some new ones he wrote for the show. It was cool to hear him sing "Without You" and "One Song Glory" because his character doesn’t sing those songs in the show. He also sang an early draft of the lyrics for "Rent" and that was cool to hear how the song evolved.

Afterward we met Anthony and got him to sign our tickets and Melis’ book. Just like when I met him in New York, I told him that I love Adventures in Babysitting, once again hoping he’d respond with "Ya think?" and once again being disappointed. (Well, we can’t have it all. However, this will, in no way, deter me from dropping to one knee and intoning, "Oh Thor, mighty god of thunder," should I ever meet Vincent D’Onofrio.) Anthony was very kind and gracious. We told him about our cousin Kristen and my friend Chris who are big fans of his, and he was very sweet listening to me prattle on.

The show’s run is finished now, but Anthony hopes to tour with it in the future and do a run in NYC. If you love Rent, definitely see it if you get the chance. If you don’t love Rent… well, what’s wrong with you?

Marry me, Ronnie Brown!

This week was a fabulous one for my fantasy football team! My much derided draft pick, Ronnie Brown, vindicated me big time. He kicked 41 types of butt, and racked me up a point for each of them. The dude is a running back, and he threw a touchdown pass yesterday. Genius! The Giants, in a highly stressful situation (for me), managed to pull out a win by the hairs of their chinny chin chins, allowing me to stay in the Suicide League. And depending on how Philip Rivers performs for Mark tonight (hopefully well, but not too well), I may clinch this week's immunity prize. An excellent week, overall.

However, in wide receiver news, Randy Moss continues to prove his utter uselessness. Does anybody want him? Because right now I am ready to trade him for, like, a glazed donut and two Sharpie markers.

I am excessively diverted!

"Dearest, lovliest Elizabeth, what the heck is going on here?"

I am re-reading the magnificent Pride and Prejudice for the who-even-knows-how-many-th time, so I’m also watching the film adaptations. (BBC version: pure bliss. Knightley/MacFadyen version: did they even read the book?) But I had never seen the film made in 1940. I knew a bit about it and was certain I’d hate it.

First off, the costumes were a mess. The clothes were 30 years off, and in some cases 130 years off. In one scene, Miss Bingley was actually draped in sequins! Another found her dripping in diamonds at an afternoon garden party. I settled into my sofa, fully prepared to gleefully roast this total disaster. But then something happened. Early in the film, there is one hilarious scene which finds Mrs. Bennett and Lady Lucas (each desperate to exhort her husband to visit Mr. Bingley immediately in order to better claim him as a future son-in-law) engaged in a frantic carriage race, shrieking at their respective coachmen:

“Pass them, Higgins! Pass them!”
“Overtake them, Jennings! Overtake them!”

And with that, they had me.

I am mortified to report that this movie utterly charmed me, which is most inconvenient as I was quite prepared to despise it. I was so eager to be spiteful and malicious about its lack of parity with the novel, but the complete lack of parity is what saved it. This film throws off the novel text with reckless abandon, which allowed me to enjoy it as an old movie that just happens to share a title with one of my favorite books.

Indeed, there is almost no resemblance to Austen’s masterpiece. There is a character named Lizzy and one named Darcy, but they bear no likeness to Austen’s creations. I found Darcy to be kind, polite, and charming throughout (quite a feat considering he’s portrayed by Laurence Olivier, an actor whom I loathe) and Lizzy was rather rude and not at all witty, which could have been accomplished so easily by simply having her speak Jane Austen's dialogue. She’s also played by Greer Garson, looking every bit of her 36 years. Ludicrous. Jane is a bit of a manhunting schemer, Mary is quite hilarious, and Wickham has a facial hair situation going on that makes it impossible to take him seriously. And horror of horrors, Lady Catherine turns out to be quite awesome and a bit of a Cupid for our “young” lovers. Yeah, I… have no idea.

And oh, the American accents! The opening titles make it clear the story takes place in “old England” yet none of the principles speaks with a British accent, despite the fact that the two lead actors are actually British. Olivier sounds more like a Czech immigrant. Perhaps Darcy came to Pemberley by way of Prague.

But! There is so much hilarity to be enjoyed. In addition to the carriage race, we get to see Kitty and Lydia doing shots (shots!) with the officers, leading to Kitty being drunk as a freshman at a frat party; Colonel Fitzwilliam in a kilt, sporting a moustache that rivals Wickham's in terms of sheer hilarity; and one truly horrifying scene in which Mr. Collins (here, the librarian at Rosings) stands before the Bennett family, declares his intentions of taking one of the Bennett girls as his bride, and proceeds to look them over like cattle at a county fair.

As a connoisseur of human folly herself, I think Elizabeth Bennett would be excessively diverted by this spectacle. I know I was.

Oh, and by the way...

...I still hate Air France.

Just in case you thought my feelings had changed on the subject, I wanted to disabuse you of that notion.

Incontrovertible proof: Curling is not a sport

This past summer, during our annual trip to the Gibsons’ to swim, be lazy, and stuff our faces, Melis and I found ourselves in the pool discussing Olympic sports. She was upset that softball is getting the boot, I was relating the amusing fact that roller skating is up for possible inclusion in future games, and all of this ended with me declaring that curling is not a sport. Sorry, Canada. And I still maintain that it is not a sport. I think it’s more like a board game. You don’t have to have any kind of physical prowess to play it. It’s bowling on ice. No, it’s shuffleboard on ice.

Melis countered that you needn’t be athletic to participate in archery, and that’s considered a sport. And that lots of people would say gymnastics isn’t a true sport because it relies on judging as opposed to a quantifiable score. Whatever. I have no time for her logical arguments! I am too busy being certain that curling participants shouldn’t be on the receiving end of Olympic medals until there’s a Trivial Pursuit category at the games.

And it appears I’m not alone. Behold! A list of the top ten fictional sports! And what should make an appearance at number 6? Oh yeah, that’s right. And can I just say, the fact that the photo shows little old ladies in cable knit sweaters on the ice only proves my point. When’s the last time your Great Aunt Harriet strapped on some knee pads and played volleyball?

Besides, it’s on the interwebs, so it must be true.

An open letter to several members of the NFL

Dear Matt Cassel,

You may genuinely be unaware of this, but one of your teammates is the league's top receiver. No, not him; the other guy. The one with a big 81 on his jersey. And here's the thing, he's on my roster and I really need him to get me some points so please, for the love of decency, you wretched little brat, throw to him!

Dear Randy Moss,

I don't know if you kicked Matt Cassel's dog or just stole his hair gel, but he's not throwing to you so much. So, when he does actually throw to you, do try not to drop the ball like it's a candied ham. Butterfingers!

Dear Hines,

Carry on, sir, just as you were. XOXO

That's not your mother, that's a man, baby.

Someone on the spamverse thinks I’m a dude. More specifically, a dude named Jack. I keep getting spam with the subject line, “Jack, find great singles in your area” or “Jack, take online surveys for cash” or “Jack, buy cheap Viagra here!” (Apparently Jack has problems of his own.)

Has someone been messing with my email, joining mailing lists and giving the name Jack? It wouldn’t be the first time somebody messed with me like that. Oh yeah, I’m looking right at you, Kristen!

Thank you, Marques Colston’s thumb…

…or, more specifically, Marques Colston’s thumb ligament, for just not being able to hang on. Why am I thanking a total stranger’s connective tissues, you ask? Because I drafted Jeremy Shockey. Colston (sorry about this, Josh) is out for 4 – 6 weeks, and while this would concern me, as my starting quarterback is Drew Brees, I’m too tickled by the analysis of the New Orleans Times-Picayune:

Colston's injury puts the Saints in a bind since he is arguably their most reliable and effective offensive weapon. But they do have some depth at the position, with five other receivers on the roster, plus new tight end Jeremy Shockey, who can catch some of those third-down and red-zone passes that usually go Colston's way.

Red zone passes, baby!

Drew, I’m going to have to ask that you throw to Jeremy. A lot. We have an excellent working relationship, so I’m sure you will indulge me.

I am on 13 hours of sleep, here

To those of you who called me last night, sorry. I went home and crawled into bed at 5:45 PM. Apparently all those nights of staying up till 3 and 4 reading Twilight books have finally caught up with me.

I am super peppy today, though. I'm very, very awake. Like, too awake. I think sleepiness suits me better.

I love it when a plan comes together

Dear Packers Defense,


Love,

Ali

I drink from the keg of glory

Victory is mine! Victory is mine! Great day in the mornin', people, victory is mine. I drink from the keg of glory. Bring me the finest muffins and bagels in the land. -Josh Lyman

So, this weekend was the first of the NFL season and, consequently, the Fantasy Football season. Imagine my horror when I learned that I'd be going head to head with Melis, The Queen of Football. I was pretty much resigned to losing. Imagine then my surprise, nay, my shock, when I found that not only was I winning the match-up, I was kicking butt! This Fantasy Football thing is so much fun! Not only did I win head to head, but I'm currently leading Jonas by five points for the overall victory this week. Now I just have to hope that my Green Bay defense can hold out against Jonas' Vikings defense tonight so I can clinch the immunity prize for next week's Survivor competition. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, just know that I had a fabulous start to my FF career. I'd like to thank the Academy, Melis for giving me advice despite the fact that she was my opponent, Drew Brees for having such a stellar game, Randy Moss for catching so many passes, Hines Ward for doing the same and being so adorable while doing it, and Jamal Lewis' hamstring for not snapping like an old rubber band.

And I'd like to send condolences to Mark, who drafted Tom Brady in our league, and whose FF hopes collapsed yesterday, much like the structure of that young man's knee. I hope Bill Belichick's bad cheater karma doesn't take out his wide receivers next. Stay healthy, Randy!

Well, as the philosopher Jagger once said, you can't always get what you want.

So, this weekend I had my first Fantasy Football draft. I was the tenth to pick out of ten people, and also I am an ignoramus in matters of football, so I didn't get an elite running back, but I did get an excellent wide receiver (Randy Moss). My top RB is Jamal Lewis, and I appreciate everyone's prayers for his hamstring, whatever your reservations are in sending good thoughts in the direction of the Cleveland Browns.

I also hit a few snags, namely choosing a dude on the injured reserve list (read: "out for the season") and a dude who is apparently a raging lunatic psycho who beats people and now has legal troubles (read: "out for the season and possibly in jail"), but aside from these missteps, I had a fabulous time in my first draft. Next year, I will do more research and weed out the Russell Crowes of the NFL before drafting.

Oh, and today I went to Yahoo and one of their top stories was "NFL player shot, in critical condition," and my first thought was, "Oh, please don't let him be on my roster."

To paraphrase the divine Jane Austen, Fantasy Football has made me sick and wicked.