Prince Ginger

Nudey Prince Harry is quite the sight to behold and I for one, am happy he decided to play strip billiards.  If only I could have been there in person, but alas…I’ve got babies to raise.

As the world continues to gasp at the naked Prince, I hesitate to remind everyone that he is not the first royal to doff thy robes.  Sadly, he’s just the first one to get caught doing it in Vegas.  What confounds me is, who cares that Prince Harry got naked except those of us who find him sexy?  Does his nakedness take away from his goodwill efforts in Africa?  At the Olympics?  In the North Pole?  I think it just adds a little flavor to the otherwise often staid events.  In fact, everywhere Harry goes seems a little bit more exciting.

Just peak at his recent trip to the islands.  Can you image skeleton Kate or the always well-behaved William busting a move to Bob Marley?  I don’t think so.  

Or in Belize?  

Or in Croatia?  

Let’s just admit it, people.  We love that Prince Ginger gets naked.  That’s what makes him, Prince Hot Ginge.

The Rules of Randomness

Someone recently sent me a link to The Rules of Randomness and How You Can Stand Apart.  The article is written by Frans Johansson, author of The Medici Effect, published by Harvard Business School Press in 1984 after an undergrad at Brown and another few years at Harvard Business.  In short, he’s not a complete dummy.  He’s even been on my favorite, TED.

The article is a bit blah, but there were some diamonds of interest hidden amongst the yadda yadda yadda.  I thought it was food for thought so here you are:

Simply put, randomness makes us stand apart. In The Click Moment, I talk about a number of different approaches for using randomness to our advantage. Here are a few of them:
1. Increase the number of click moments in our lives. This is a lot easier than we think. Most of us, by nature, are creatures of habit. We like the familiar and avoid placing ourselves in uncomfortable positions. In a crowded room, we tend to gravitate toward the people we know, rather than striking up a conversation with a stranger. And we become so immersed in a certain path—or the momentum has driven us so far down it—that we’re unwilling to question or take our eyes off it.
Instead, change up your routine. Go to a different café. Read a magazine you otherwise never would. Talk to someone in the elevator, on the plane, or in the park—and go beyond the weather and your busy schedules. Surround yourself with people who are different from you, be it their backgrounds, their professions, their cultures. Embrace that diversity.

2. Reject the obvious path. If we do what’s logical—take the path that everyone ‘knows’ to do—we will do exactly what someone else is doing, and never stand apart. My friend Marcus Samuelsson, food activist, restaurateur, and chef-owner of Red Rooster, recounted to me how he came to be the guest chef for the White House’s state dinner for the Indian Prime Minister Mammohan Singh.
Every state dinner since 1874 has featured French-American cuisine. The White House invited 15 elite chefs, including Marcus, to present a menu for the dinner. Everyone presented a French-American menu with a meat dish, save Marcus. Knowing Prime Minister Singh is vegetarian, he presented a vegetarian menu inspired by Indian flavors. He was selected as the guest chef, and the White House broke its French-American state dinner tradition.

3. Make lots of bets—but purposefully. Pablo Picasso made over 50,000 works of art in his lifetime. The Virgin Group has launched over 400 ventures. And Rovio had developed 51 games before it scored one of the bestselling games of all time: Angry Birds. What all these successful individuals and companies had in common is that they placed many, many bets.
With over 1 billion downloads since the release of Angry Birds in 2009, Rovio appeared to have come out of nowhere to dominate gaming. As a result, people believed Rovio to be a so-called “overnight success.” But this was anything but the truth. As you now know, Rovio had developed dozens of games over the last eight years. Prior to Angry Birds, none of those games had been memorable.

Post Partum Insonnia – Otherwise Known As Crazy Town

My baby is 4 months old.  Things should be getting easier, right?  Smoother?  More perfected and “in the groove” like?  But they’re not.

In the beginning of August Baby caught the cold that big sister and daddy had.  Coughing, sneezing, fever, stuffed-up nose – except his just wouldn’t go away.  Cut to a few stressful nights and a nebulizer later and Baby is finally on the mend.  Except, he hasn’t slept more that 2 to 3 hours in a row since July.  Hence, I haven’t either.

I’m trying hard not to complain here.  No one hates a complainer more than me.  So please give me the benefit of the doubt as I try to just explain the situation as clinically as possible.

All night, every night, I awake to comfort and feed Baby.  It starts at 7pm.  10pm.  1am.  3am.  5:30am.  This has been going on since Baby got sick.  And then big sister wakes up, daddy goes to work, and I am in charge of keeping the boat afloat until our nanny arrives at 2 or 3pm.  At that point, I either go to work or run errands.  At 6pm the dinner, bath, bed routine starts for both kids and my night launches.

I’ve become so anxious about not sleeping all night, that now I can’t sleep.  I lie awake waiting for Baby to wake up again, because sometimes it’s only an hour after I’ve finished feeding him so what’s the point in trying to fall asleep again?  I lie awake plotting ways to get both kids to nap at the same time during the day so maybe I can catch a quick nap.  I lie awake thinking about what a shit I am to want to check into a hotel and hide away until I stop feeling so stretched and exhausted.  And then I beat myself up because I feel whiny and very very less-than.  I hate whiners.

My appetite has dwindled.  My smile is still very bright.  I am not as much fun to be around as I usually am and not just because I seem to be constantly covered in sweat.  These up and down feelings make no sense except if I could just get a little more sleep maybe?

I refuse to take pills.  I refuse to leave the kids in the care of strangers just because it’s easier for me.  I can do this.  I can figure this out and be a good mom and be a good wife and have my cake and eat it too.  I can be the parent I envision for myself and work and have a social life.  I just wish I were having more fun doing it all.

Post partum insomnia is a real thing so me feeling so overwhelmed by this lack of sleep…well if Google is anything to go by, I’m not alone.  The worst is when people tell me to go take a nap.  I would if I could, but I can’t.  I just can’t.

I exercise.  I don’t drink caffeine after 9am.  I’m happy.  I like going out to do this or that.  I enjoy working.  I enjoy my friends.  I just can’t sleep.

And I’m smiling as I write this, embarrassed that I’m even talking about it.  It’s craziness.

The New Bourne

I’m a huge fan of Jason Bourne.  Huge.  So when Sam asked if I wanted to see the start of the new franchise, I had my reservations.

The Bourne Legacy stars Jeremy Renner as Matt Damon’s replacement another Treadstone project.  Like Matt cutie pie Damon, Renner has become a lean mean killing machine.  Unlike Matt wanna-squeeze-your-handsome-little-face Damon, Renner is a bit unapproachable.  Maybe it’s because I’ve met him (Renner, not Damon sadly), but I just wasn’t rooting for him as strongly as I did with Damon.  Did Renner do a good job?  Yes.  Was he totally believable as a new assassin guinea pig?  Yes.  Did I feel like clapping at the end when he sailed off into the sunset.  Meh.

Props though to Tony Gilroy for starting a new franchise.  The Bourne Legacy is definitely the set-up for many more Bourne movies to come and until they suck, I’m in.  I’d be more in if they starred Matt iloveyousomuch Damon, but whatever.

Gilroy though?  If you’re listening?  Buy Damon a walker, cruches, whatever the guy needs.  Jason Bourne is Matt Damon is Robert Ludlum’s Bourne is Matt Damon.  It’s a done thing.  Trust me, I’ve read every book and it’s Matt Damon.  Matt huggy huggy kissy kissy Damon.

Insanity, the Workout for Nuts

I blame Krista.  There, I said it.

Over my holiday my husband did the Insanity workout with my BFF in her basement.  Not my cup of tea, so I passed on the sweating to watch the kids and eat chocolate.  And then we came back from holiday and Sam found Insanity online.  “Do it with me.”  he coaxed.  “You’ll love it.”  Next thing I know…I’m taking the Insanity challenge.

Shaun T, the guru of all things Insane, has devised a 60-day workout plan guaranteed to change your body or your money back.  And you know what, it works.  It really works.  I’ve been doing the workouts for not quite two weeks and the changes are undeniable.  I can see the last bits of baby weight melting away onto the floor of my back-house as I sweat my well, ass off.  Shaun T has me jumping and running and skiing and doing suicide drills.  Suicide drills!  At my age!  It’s bonkers.

Strangely though, I’m starting to look forward to our sessions of pain.  I turn on the fan, leave the door open so I can see the garden and hear the birds, crank up the radio, and go.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s like a train wreck in there.  Nothing my body does looks anything like what Shaun T and his evil minions do, but I’m trying.  And I’m getting stronger.  And my old Hawaiian board shorts are starting to fit!

I wanted to put up some before and after photos for you or a video or something, but it’s impossible.  There are literally thousands upon thousands of success stories that people have posted on YouTube, blogs, what-have-you with their amazing results.  And for those of you who do P90X, I’d love to hear how Insanity compares.  I hear through the grape vine that it’s equally as ‘insane.’

And if you’re thinking maybe I want to try out this Insanity thing…brace yourself.  Shaun T is like Nurse Ratched without the foreplay.

Hacked From Sweden

I don’t log into Facebook very often, but every once in a while I get an email from them telling me it’s time to check in.  Yesterday I got just such an email only this time, there was a map involved.

Are you here? Facebook asked me, with an arrow pointing to Malmo, Sweden.  I looked around.  I clicked NO.

Are you sure?  Because someone in Malmo just tried to log in as you.  To do what?, I thought.  Post nude pictures?  Send out Facebook spam?  Contact my 35 friends?  Really, what was the point?  I clicked on I’M SURE and followed the steps to change my password, which of course, now that I’m thinking about it, I can’t remember at all.

The thing that stumps me is, why Facebook?  Or maybe there’s a doppelgänger Sara Morris in Sweden who just clicked on the wrong Sara Morris.  Maybe she’s as tired and overwhelmed as I am and was simply trying to answer an email from Facebook.  So I did a search for Sara Morris on Facebook and turns out, not that unique of a name.

Eh, who knows why someone in Malmo tried to login as me.  I didn’t even know there was a town named Malmo.  Learn something new every day.

2 Days in New York

I like Julie Delpy- she’s great.  There’s just something about her that makes me want to invite her over for fork and pie.  Maybe it’s because she starts off all of her movies saying she’s old and fat.  Or maybe it’s the subject matter, which seems to me so ridiculous and real all at the same time.   Either way, it’s a combination that’s win-win for me.

In 2 Days in New York, Delpy picks up where she left off in 2 Days in Paris, a highly comedic film co-starring my favorite, the dark and hypochondriacal Adam Goldberg.  This time however, she’s moved on to Chris Rock and they’re living together in NYC as a couple of liberal yuppies.  He works in the arts, she works in the arts, he has a child, she has a child…they’re perfect together.  Until her family hits the scene.  I’ll say no more except that as families go, this one is not too bad.  Embarrassing, sex-crazed, french?  Yes, yes, and yes.  Chris Rock never knew what hit him.

You can download it on iTunes for $9.99 or catch it in a small theater near you.  Do it.  It’s perfect fodder for smiling after a long Monday at the office.

A Plague Set Upon Thee

Everyone in my house is sick…except me.  And maybe the dog.  But since she suffers from a general, everyday kind of malaise – she doesn’t really count.

The first person to catch the sick was my 2-year-old on the day of her birthday.  Good tidings to come, barump a pum dum.  Snotty came, followed by sneezy, coughy, stuffed-up, and fever.  I hate fever.  Mommy of course, got no sleep for several nights.

The second person to catch the sick was my husband.  I now know why women give birth – When I asked him how he was feeling on a scale of 1-10, 0 being a trip to the morgue, he weakly held up 2 fingers.  I pat myself on the back for not rolling my eyes.  He’s home from work for the 2nd day in a row.  Since the sick seems to last about 3 days, I look forward to a fun-filled weekend.

And then baby caught the sick, which has been really stressful.  He has fever, stuffy nose, cough, and a general uncomfortableness that the poor thing hides with a gummy smile.  I keep telling him to give it to me – I’d much rather be sick and then see him have it.  Meanwhile though, I’m running around between the 3 of them so much, I’m practically wilting.  Whoever said this mommy thing was cake has never eaten the cake over here.  It’s a doozy.

Matchbox Car Molly

My daughter loves vroom-vrooms, otherwise known as matchbox cars.  We have quite the collection in our house and as of today, there are two more in the mix.  A dear friend of ours came to visit and out popped a green car and a black car from her bag of tricks.  The green car was declared the, “Mailman’s car.” and the black one, our daughter’s ride.

When my husband came home tonight my mom (who is here visiting) told him about our two new vroom-vrooms.  I painted the picture of Molly and her bottomless bag of matchbox cars.  Every time Molly comes to call we get new transportation or an Elmo doll, but this blog is about matchbox cars so let’s stick to the point.

Matchbox cars.

Anyway, Sam and I picture a huge cupboard in her home filled with little cars in plastic wrapping.  And whenever she’s off to visit a wee child, she opens the magical cupboard, plops a few into her bag, and hops onto her umbrella with a spoon full of sugar to make the medicine go down.

When I’m all grown-up I’m going to have a magical cupboard too – seeing my daughter’s face light up when Aunt Molly comes over with her goodie bag is like a Christmas morning razzle-dazzle.