Hot Nana and the suburban hooligan...

I was asked to pick up Reese for preschool yesterday, and am ready to be on task for her mama most days of the week now that I am home.

I get to the school early so I take a walk around the church feeling like I usually do in a church lately... *out of touch* as though the memory is there but something is missing. I'm thinking that it might be that guilty feeling I used to get that Jesus was watching me and that I was screwing up morally in some way. I took two rounds circling the vestibule and then back through the school having promised myself to start moving more often than sitting on my tush. I passed many young mothers and wonder where the years had gone knowing I look like one of the Nanas.

I stand there at the door to the classroom next to the other Nana who happened to have shown up for the same reason. I begin to notice that amidst these young mothers that I am now the "hot Nana" since the other "grandma" is underneath something that looked like an outerwear housecoat from The Vermont Country Store with practical Sketchers that I wouldn't be caught wearing to retrieve my morning mail. No makeup. We glance at one another which makes me feel even hotter because she is gazing at me with suspicious eyeballs underneath half-closed lids. As she removes her old lady gloves, her hands look ancient as though she had been in the garden for days at a time without sunscreen. I find myself reevaluating my face in the reflection of some Christian wall poster of Jesus to make sure that I wasn't delusional in contemplating my hotness. Though my comparison to the farmer Nana was pathetic in nature it kind of made me have a little hop in my step as I stood there in my skinny jeans and funky-ass earrings. I am, without a doubt, in this particular circumstance; juxtaposed as it may be... hot.

The teacher comes to the door asking if anyone is here for Reese. I raise my hand sheepishly still channeling the Jesus guilt I had felt only moments before. Apparently, Reese had had a little "skirmish" with another girl. My sweet baby had been popped in the nose on the playground by a little "suburban hooligan" named Katie. Teacher says Reese is devastated but is holding it in emotionally and that I should be "prepared." I walk to the door covered with Turtle preschool names like Tate, Truman, Mikah, Maude, and Penelopea. Whatever.

"Reese, your grandma is here." I hate that damn word, which says a lot about my fear of this stage in my life.

My baby bolts towards me and her cry is visceral, almost animal-like in her horror and subsequent release. "It was awwwwwwful, Non."

My initial reaction was to find the little bitch and pop her one back, only to realize that she was (uh) four-years-old as well and so it would be (just) wrong. Reese asked me to carry her back to the car and, feeling strong still from years of weight training, I was up to the challenge. Yes, hot Nana may have a pot-belly and recovering from chemo but, damn it, she is strong as a bull shark on amphetamines. Reese and I were laughing as we got to the car since I still have it in the silly dept. A little bribery of some cocoa from Starbucks and a visit to Best Buy for Barbie Musketeers makes her forget about the shiner that was beginning to form in her left eye socket. Reese is not so big on the cocoa and didn't drink it (at all) but chatters for at least twenty minutes about the "real" mini Starbucks coffee cup with the "real" little hole in the top of the lid.

Immmpressive.

After spoiling her twice I have created a stinkin' monster and she is asking now for everything that isn't tied down. "After we buy the movie, let's go to the movie theatre for a 3D movie, Non, and thennnn we can go to Chic-fil-a for nuggets, and thennn we can go for Dunkin' Donuts, and thennnn I can spend the night."

After two hours of this I realize that I have been had and we try very hard to get back to any remote form of normalcy... that is, (uh) after eating the Chick-fil-a, planning the 3D movie... and buying the donuts for the morning since she is now spending the night at my house. This, of course is apres the Barbie film (if you choose to consider it a 'film' at all).

How can I turn down this face?

Reese (attorney at large)

Artifucks of California

Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Indy anymore...

Morning Rant

I am sick and tired of cancer commercials on TV. For godsakes, I just can't get away from the word "survivor" which is something I will always/never be. I just have cancer *period* but must turn on the telly consistently and hear the heartbreak, the horror, someone else's fear, someone else's story, and (mostly) by being in a perfectly good mood and bombarded by some dumb commercial airing in the middle of my morning during my perfectly good cup of coffee.

I am sitting here happy and contented and BAM...

CANCER

enough is enough already.

Shut the front door, okay?

no Salosophy today, just spoiling myself...

A massage and Della Santina's on the square for dinner... cool today, so this might be nice on my last night here.

Granny's Ghiradelli Ganja

I have cancer, okay?

It's hell.

Martinis and lobster at Meritage

*I like the blurry photos better than botox

Scoma lunch!

Sausalito

Indybowl...

Part of an article by Nestor Aparicio, sports writer from Baltimore, published yesterday:

"I’ve attended 18 Super Bowls. I’ve walked the streets, seen the energy, participated in the revelry at all of them. I’ve broadcast more than 500 hours of radio from Super Bowls from San Diego to Miami, from Detroit to Jacksonville, from Tampa to Minneapolis and I can honestly say that I’ve never seen a better site or a metropolis that’s taken to throwing a party quite the way Indianapolis has this week.

And before you start directing your angst, anger and vitriol my way just realize this — I’m in the business of reporting the facts and being honest.

And if the the great tradition of Howard Cosell of 'telling it like it is' is sacred to me then I owe you the truth — I’m here in the land of the Irsay's reporting back to Baltimore that this might go down as the greatest Super Bowl site ever."

Ca.

California is my heart-home, but despite the sexy wonder of it all, I could never leave my sweet babies. Some things in life feed your soul more than the beach, the weather, the politics, the wine, the restaurants, the produce, the shopping, the diversity, the environmental, animal friendly tude and the eclectic style.

*sigh*

I will say that my town knocked it out-of-the-park for the Superbowl. (apparently)

CITY OF DREAMS

Sparkling: Indianapolis is getting into the Super Bowl spirit

But to borrow the generalissimo's phrase, "I came, I saw, I couldn't believe my eyes."

That's my first impression of this year's Super Bowl city, having arrived on Monday and spent most of the day out and about in downtown Indy. It was also my second impression, closely followed by my third and fourth.

So THIS is what a fully interactive, involving and comprehensive Super scenario should look like. Who knew?

The city hasn't just embraced the event, the city IS the event. Everything is so compactly set out that the whole landscape of XLVI is walkable - nothing is more than five or six blocks away, and the stadium itself sits at the head of it all like a temple of sporting nirvana.

Simon Veness
Quotes of the week

LIVE ON SKY SPORTS

SUPER BOWL XLVI
Patriots v Giants
10.30pm, Sun, Sky Sports HD1
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We've been to soulless Houston, the blasé world of South Florida, the wide open (and centre-less) spaces of Phoenix/Glendale/Tempe and the all-glitz-but-no-substance state of Texas, or, rather Dallas, in recent years and left with great memories of the game but precious little of the host city.

But we had to come to the heart of the Mid-West in winter (albeit a highly clement and sunny winter) to discover just how it should be done.

And, if it feels this good almost a week before the game, the Giants-Patriots showdown in the industrial setting of the Lucas Oil Stadium on Sunday (live on SS1 from 10.30pm) ought to be spectacular in the extreme.

Face

Of course, there IS a major sub-text to this week's build-up, and it involves the brother of Giants quarterback Eli Manning, who just happens to be the face (and body) of Indy's very own Colts, but I'll get to that in a minute.

In a word, the setting for Giants-Patriots II is slightly better than spectacular (Okay, so that was four words, but who's counting?).

The city hasn't just embraced the event, the city IS the event. Everything is so compactly set out that the whole landscape of XLVI is walkable - nothing is more than five or six blocks away, and the stadium itself sits at the head of it all like a temple of sporting nirvana.

Admittedly, at first view, the Lucas Oil complex looks like a big shed. A very big shed. But then you get a bit closer and realise it is to sheds what the Graf Zeppelin is to your average party balloon. It is a 272-foot high edifice that sits next to the Perry K Steam plant and gives the impression of Battersea Power Station on steroids, a modern construction rooted in an industrial past but boasting every mod con.

And that just sets the scene for a city centre bursting at the seams with Super Bowl festivities, activities and atmosphere, with people falling over themselves to be hospitable and enthusiastic and a genuine effervescence we haven't seen from a host city since Alka Seltzer first went plink, plink fizz.

Consider this. Every media member received a hand-written welcome message in their hotel room, not from the host committee but from a member of a local elementary school, revealing what they like most about their home, and accompanied by "the state cookie of Indiana," the snickerdoodle.

Talk about a wake-up call. My message was from Daltom, 9, of Plainfield, whose "thing I love most about Indiana" is the Children's Museum, "because it has everything." Unexpected? Undoubtedly. Charming? You bet. While Jerry Jones thought he had to dazzle the world with his cathedral to bad taste in Dallas, Indiana asked a bunch of kids tell us what they like most about living here.

Advantage, Indy.

Dizzying

Okay, it helps that they are having a genuine heatwave here while North Texas fell flat on its face under a few inches of ice and snow (and the local newspaper crowed that they do actually know what salt trucks are in this part of the world, "unlike Dallas." Ouch).

Monday's temperature was a dizzying 10C, at least nine degrees above average (it could reach as high as 14C this week, at which point the locals will be out in shorts and T-shirts), and the ambience around the 'Super Bowl Village' - the pedestrianised heart of the city - was one of pure unbridled enthusiasm, both well organised and heartfelt.

With few Giants and Patriots fans in town yet, it was a chance for the Colts faithful to turn out in force and fill the Village, which includes an amazingly inventive zip-line ride, curling, ice-skating, ice sculptures, free concerts (if there's a band that hasn't been invited to play this week, they should feel seriously put out) and the paid-for NFL Experience, which drew the little matter of 100,000 this past weekend.

It is convenient, well thought out, engaging and, most of all, fun. It is a throwback event to days when the Super Bowl was first and foremost about the fans and not about corporate schmoozers and how many high-paying schmucks that can be shoe-horned into seats that aren't quite ready.

Admittedly, there is still a LONG way to go this week. The all-encompassing lunacy that is Media Day has yet to happen and the city could yet grind to a halt under the weight of 150,000 visiting fans. But you feel the locals will still find a way to make it all work out through sheer, unadulterated gusto.

Combination

Which is possibly NOT what will happen with the 'other' Manning in this week's equation, the one who actually concerns Indianapolis followers rather more than either of Sunday's two visiting quarterbacks.

In case you have been watching TOWIE for the past six months (or any other programme guaranteed to destroy your grey matter), Peyton Manning is by no means certain to be in a Colts uniform next season.

The combination of the lingering and serious effects of neck surgery, owning the No 1 pick in April's draft (which is almost certain to be Stanford quarterback Andrew Luck), the complete implosion of the team's coaching staff - only slightly stabilised by the recent appointment of Chuck Pagano as the new head coach - and an apparent rift between Peyton and team owner Jim Irsay has left Indy fans with far more questions than answers.

That perhaps explains why they have taken to XLVI with such apparent reckless abandon - perhaps it stops them thinking about the possible loss of the man who has been Mr Colt since he was first drafted in 1998?

Whatever the answer, there is an unbridled passion for this week's big event in The Circle City, the Crossroads of America and home of the biggest motor-racing event on earth.

And it really does make you wonder - if a first-time host can make such a big impression straight out of the box, why not take it to new cities each year? Yes, New Orleans are overdue next time and New York is an intriguing choice in 2014.

But how about Tennessee (Nashville); or Cincinnati; or St Louis? If they can generate HALF the fervour and passion of Indianapolis, the NFL could guarantee enough excitement to last all the way to LX - and beyond. But then we're back to the Romans again, and what did the Romans ever do for you?

Veni, vidi, vici, maybe. Validated and verified.

Butter up, mama...

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"Hold it away from me and set fire to it until it's stiff." Gotta love her way with words.