The Inherent Inefficiency of Name Place Cards

Growing up in California makes you a bit laid back about social formalities. Most of us don't send thank you cards except when someone does an extraordinary thing, like donating a kidney or giving us CPR. We like to bypass the fussiness: we don't break out the fancy dishes for company unless it's a publicly recognized holiday, we don't put out guest towels unless more than 20 people are coming over, and we certainly don't use name place cards at a dinner party when there's only six of us.

Or so I thought.

Recently I went to a friend's dinner party. Great house, beautiful Michael Aram serveware and dotting the dining room table, six tiny cards handwritten with our names.

I was flummoxed by this and found myself thinking about it over the next few days. On the one hand, it's really a sweet gesture. On the other hand, it's a complete waste. It didn't matter where we sat. All of us know each other. It wasn't like we were at a wedding where you have to sit with strangers and need an ice breaker. One of the guests ended up spilling red wine all over her name card. Another guest, who is kind of OCD-prone, kept pushing hers around trying to find an ideal spot. Think about all the time the hostess put into making appetizers, dinner and dessert. She has to top that off by picking out paper, writing our names and hoping she didn't make any spelling errors? To add insult to injury, the cards are not meant to be kept, so it's yet another item that gets thrown out or crammed into the recycling bin.

Am I being an ingrate? Am I overly critical? I don't think so. Efficient entertaining is where it's at. Good food, good wine and good company is classy enough.

DUDE!

Facebook is a great invention but occasionally you are faced with a TMI moment. My first one was last year when someone posted that they were "finally" going in for breast reduction surgery. I don't see this person that often so I'm not sure I would have noticed the change.

Today, someone that I'm not really not super friendly with (so why are they in my FB network?!) posted an image of her recent fibroid surgery. She had about 10 fibroids removed. The photo proudly displays the tumor masses lined up in a neat little row. One of them was the size of a small tangerine, and all of them were covered in blood and tissue. WTF? Who the hell needs to see this? For a second I thought it was a joke until I saw all the posted responses, and more than one person was totally repulsed.

Is surgery photography the new social media trend? I just had an HSG exam, in which dye is injected into your hoo ha to see if your fallopian tubes are open. How cool would that shot be?!

Led Zep still turns me on

Last night J and I watched "It Might Get Loud," a fascinating documentary about three musicians and their take on the electric guitar. The film explores the creative process and how these artists (Jimmy Page, The Edge & Jack White) work to create their signature sound. The interviews and footage were great, especially the old concert clips of U2, but when the film cut to a few tracks by Led Zeppelin I just lost my mind. It took me back 20+ years to when I first heard the Physical Graffiti album and was astonished that a band could sound like that. There is something so perennially cool about Led Zeppelin, it affects everyone who loves rock music. It's best summed up by a scene in the film when Jimmy Page starts to play "Whole Lotta Love." Jack White and The Edge stare at him with rapture, as if they've just seen the most beautiful girl in the world.

It's been many years since Physical Graffiti - I've gone to college, married, had a baby - but Led Zeppelin will always reach under my skin, peel back the proper exterior and turn me into a screaming, unapologetic fan.

Juliette Lewis, stop singing

Remember the actress Juliette Lewis? Pretty good actor with memorable roles in "Cape Fear" and "Kalifornia."

So why did she give it up to front a rock band called, of all things, Juliette Lewis? I was doing laundry and J had the TV on. All of a sudden I heard what can only be described as a cat having all of its claws pulled out. The sound of flat, shrieking vocals permeated the air, backed by a trio of individuals all wailing off key. "What the hell?!" I said to J and he rolled his eyes and said, "It's Juliette Lewis and her band."

I made him turn the sound down so I could observe the show. I was amazed to see that a group of people had actually gathered to hear this cacophony of shit. (Or maybe they are all interns at her record label who were forced to show up?) Juliette pranced about on stage looking pissed off, pumping her fist and howling. Maybe the lyrics are actually good and inspired. Maybe her musicians are really accomplished. Whatever. Juliette Lewis should move to the spoken word format and stop freaking singing.

And I mean now!

I find it funny that

Several vice presidents at our company have their assistants record their voice mail greeting. Like they are too important to have their own voice greet the caller on the other end. It seems elitist and antiquated to me. The again, we still have people here called secretaries, for crissakes....

This CAN'T be good

Faithful readers of this blog will recall my bout with H1N1 in early November. I laid in bed for five days, alternately shivering and overheating, while simple tasks like sitting up or sipping tea were enough to put me in a coma. I thought I had paid my dues then, but life clearly has more ass-kicking illness in store for me. Now we're on to the Battle of the Severly Congested Nose, week two.

For two weeks, I have managed to eat, work, sleep and drive with one working nostril. The other appears permanently plugged up. I try to inhale and all I can hear is the faintest whiff of air trying to make its way inside. I started coming down with the congestion right before our vacation. I figured it would pass in a day or so and kept myself occupied by ingesting Sudafed, brewing tea and making squeaky nasal sounds. Vacation came and went. We visited The Magic Kingdom and SeaWorld and I chased after Magnus with Kleenex, trying to catch my breath. His nose was open and runny while mine continued on its strike, refusing to open up.

Today I woke up and I felt like the Empire State Building landed on my head. Pressure from all angles and amazingly, the nostril IS STILL plugged. So this is almost two weeks of nonstop congestion. Is it a sign? Am I left to face life with half a nose? A more rational and intelligent person would have gone to the doctor by now, or perhaps taken OTC meds more regularly, but somehow I have made it my destiny in life to suffer needlessly.

Tonight my mother will tip my head over a boiling pot of water and yell at me to "Breathe!" She threatened this in a phone call after hearing my warbled voice. Ordinarily I would fight her but I really would like to inhale oxygen like a normal person and sleep without elevating my head.

Is it my lucky day?!

My favorite time of day is

Early morning, between 5 and 6 a.m. Magnus wakes up early and I bring him into our bed for some quiet time. Often he curls into me and falls back to sleep. Other times he leans over and places his hands over J's face, reciting the new words he just learned: "Eyes. Nose. Mouth." Eventually we are all laughing and poking and tickling each other. I can't think of any other way to wake up than with these two, my most favorite people on Earth.

$300 for happy hour food?

Last week J and I celebrated our third wedding anniversary. I don't like to say we are foodies, as that term has many negative connotations for me, but I will say we like to cook and try new places. Our latest haunt was Jose Andres' The Bazaar at the SLS hotel. I was very keen to try this joint - tapas are its specialty, both traditional and modern. The LA Times gave it a rare four-star rating, plus they make foie gras covered in cotton candy and crushed corn nuts. Need I say more?

The food is uber creative and uber good. We had outstanding beef hanger steak that was so soft, you could slice it with a fork. There was watermelon nigiri - thin slices of yellowtail on top of a watermelon cube with soy foam and sliced jalapenos. I mentioned the foie gras (we had to do two servings, it was goooood) but did I mention the most amazing guacamole and jicama dish? It made you close your eyes and start speaking Spanish.

Then the bill came.

J was sweet enough to try and hide the amount from me but I was able to sneak a glimpse: $325 with tip. Three hundred bucks for nine plates of finger food, some margaritas and teeny tiny dessert plates. I haven't resolved my feelings on this one. It was a stellar dining experience, outstanding service and wonderful food. But you also felt on the drive home, you could have stopped at Fatburger to finish filling up.

I guess we'll be going to Souplantation on our next date...

I hate the word

Hubby. It's dorkiness of the highest level.