Things I Am Bad At

A Short List of Things I Am Bad At:

• Borrowing books
• Libraries
• Remembering
• Returning calls
• Replying to emails
• Grammar (apparently)
• Organization of anything
• Finishing one thought
• Finishing this blog post since it's been a week since I've started it and maybe bullet points are the lazy blogger's blogging (probably)
• Blogging

I've been sporadic with the postings on this blog (even the admission of which is contrary to a rule I set for myself: no apologies, no schedules, talk about what you want to talk about no matter what, and never outline a break.) I think, however, that I'm making all of this far more complicated than it needs to be. Back before there were "mommy bloggers" and "lifestyle bloggers" and "tumblr" there was just blogging, and I used to kind of love it. Then everything got sliced into categories and genres, discounted or vaulted, valued and dissected. Perhaps I need to get back to what I used to love about writing online, in my own space and time.

Lisa once told me that instead of worrying about the socio-political and gender statements of vacuuming, maybe we should just vacuum. That's as good advice as any, whether it's cleaning floors or cleaning our your brain. This blog has blessed and changed my life in innumerable ways; I wouldn't be here without you. So maybe I should just write again without worrying about making it funny, silly, or serious, and just trust that you'll come along?

So, hi everyone. Ready?

What Happens on a Thursday: Eric Dowdle's Radio Show

I kind of love radio. Do you? I've had the chance to co-host a number of radio shows, and I've been a guest on others. Each time I get into a studio with the huge mics and the headphones it's like I'm a kid in a candy store. It's so cool!*

Every once in a while Eric Dowdle, of Traveling with Eric Dowdle, and his crew invite me down to the studio to tape a show for broadcast. I have so much fun doing radio; I really have a face for it!

I was on the Las Vegas show because I truly love a vacation in Vegas.

I was also on the Niagara Falls show because I've never been to Niagara Falls and therefore I know a lot about it.

You can catch up with Eric at the Dowdle Daily.



*My version of "cool" might be more of an old-timey 1930s version...

What Happens on Sunday

You might look next to you in the pew at church and see that your son has made a "laptop" out of a folded piece of paper. It has the Dell logo on the outside, just like your machine. And the website he's pulled up? Why, that's the Jet Set masthead. The QWERTY keyboard isn't perfect, but it's pretty good.

Traveling with Eric Dowdle

I got a phone call a little while ago from the producer of Traveling with Eric Dowdle: Would I like to come down to the studio and be on the program? Oh, and by the way, I'd be appearing on a travel trivia segment.

I think the right answer is YES! I didn't know that the topic would be on....Florida.

Oh, Florida! The state I married into!

When I told Joe that they were inviting me to talk about Key West, he gave me a funny look. "You're the expert on Key West in this house?" He asked, one eye squinting in unbelief.
"I'm the expert on everything," I answered, daring him to prove how his actual trips to the Keys were more relevant than my cursory study of the area and a mostly vague knowledge of some sort of Hemingway tie-in.

Besides, I had Eric's handy folk art painting of Key West to help me out, right? 

I had so much fun taping the show. Eric is a total character, he and his producers put on a great show about traveling to great locales. Dowdle travels all the world and creates a painting of his destination with landmarks and points of interest. I've seen his art all over, and it was great fun putting a face to a name. I hope they are kind enough to have me back someday. 

 E.G. came with me and was quiet as a mouse sitting in the studio while the rest of the guests and I competed on the trivia challenge. He had a capital time and keeps asking when we're going to do a radio show again!

You can listen to the Key West show here, or tune into Eric's show as it airs on Sirius XM radio 143 BYU Radio.

Are Your Toilets Really That Clean?

Anytime I see something that seems to be absolutely ridiculous, only one thing comes to mind, "Are their toilets really that clean?"

Let me explain.

Take the entirety of newspaper online comments. Yes, all of them. The mean, stupid, cruel comments that trolls leave on news outlet stories are mind-boggling. Are their toilets so clean that they have nothing better to do than leave nasty comments? Are those bathrooms just sparkling, filled with fluffy towels, and lightly scented of the freshest rain?

There's the world of crafting: where people make painfully tiny things out of the plastic tags they've collected from bread bags. Where every last cereal box is transformed into either a layered diorama of pioneer history or a darling hair bow. Does she really have that kind of time to devote to a craft that most of us find inexplicable? Are her toilets truly that clean?

What about writing out a scathing comment to leave on someone's blog? Are your toilets so clean that you have the energy to pick out a bunch of words, arrange them in a text box, fill out the captcha, and "submit"?

How about deciding that a woman's jeans are too skinny and denying her the right to take a test? Is your house so tidy, your bathroom unfettered from any hint of yellow and freshly stocked with new soap?

If your books are arranged by color, just know that I would like to powder my nose at your house.

Your spatulas are alphabetized. Your pastas are in jars sorted according to size. You have time to watch Two and Half Men. Because if your baseboards are clean, we don't even need to ask the question, the answer is, "Of course."

How about sending the author of a post a really long email detailing their many failings, their lack of parenting (or excessive parenting,) their moral bankruptcy, calling them to repentance, explaining how your ecclesiastical leader told them that a certain behavior was wrong and now you're passing it along in the hope that you can save their eternal soul? Are your toilets really that clean?

Really?






(Disclosure: Are my toilets so clean that I had time to write this post? No.)

The People Magazine

Cheers from the Sunshine State!

Last week I braved the fear of the titans and flew across the country with all three kids by myself.

It was mostly OK, until I lost my temper somewhere over Kentucky when E.G. refused to listen to my instructions to stay buckled-in on take-off; I batted at him with my three-week-old People magazine with Steve Jobs on the cover.

Steve Jobs! Still abusive after death!

Speaking of People, it's not normally a magazine I buy. I didn't even buy this instrument of child torture, Allison did and then gave it to me (obviously her fault.) I did, however, buy one copy of the Toddlers and Tiaras Double Issue Special People for the flight I took to Hawaii two months ago. I needed a magazine to read while holding the baby on my lap, something to occupy my brain and yet light enough to easily handle. I opened the People to a really large section on fashion. OK. Sure. Lots of pictures of women in party dresses. Too many pictures of women in party dresses. An annoying number of women in party dresses. Articles that were sneeze-length. By that time I was on to the cover story, which took up about 2 paragraphs, I nearly threw the magazine down the aisle. I plowed through that People in about 15 minutes, reading it cover-to-cover, and then had the rest of the 5 hour flight to get angry about not having anything else accessible to read. I don't know why I thought I could get a People and be set. People is a dentist office magazine (US Weekly is for pedicures, US News and World Report is for doctors offices.*)

I don't know what I was expecting, that every magazine is like the New Yorker? Where articles are 17 you better believe it pages, interrupted only by pithy cartoons and intellectual poetry? It's my own fault. I can't expect People to be what I want it to be, I'm not their target market. Wait, yes, I am. I still reject their publication. I need tiny, tiny type that's been stuffed and kerned into a dozen columns on a quarter page. There are never enough words to jam into my needy brain.

Breakthrough! Perhaps I wasn't just angry at E.G. for disobeying as I was at myself for oh I'm bored with this post now that the 1/2 cup of Coke I drank earlier has worn off.

Goodbye and goodnight from the Sunshine State.



*Magazines By Location of Optimal Perusal:

Dentist Magazines:
People
Money
Newsweek

Pedicures:
US Weekly
Lucky
InStyle
InTouch/Hello

Doctor's Offices:
US News and World Report
The Economist
Time


Planes and Traveling:
New Yorker
Vanity Fair
Entertainment Weekly

Do you have a magazine location list?

Living The Seasons

I tried something this summer that I thought I'd never have the guts to try: I didn't turn on the air conditioning. We had a late and soggy Spring that helped to keep everything cool, so even though I was one million months pregnant until late June, I wasn't boiling. The furnace ran constantly last Winter with little difference in warmth, and the day or two I tried to cool the house, it struggled vainly to move the temperature. Off it stayed.

I managed by opening as many windows as possible to allow the slight and inconsistent river breezes to help cool us. Since we live in the mountain west, it cools off at night pretty quickly. The boys ran around in almost nothing. The heat during a few hours of late afternoon was almost oppressive upstairs, but downstairs it was cool enough to live comfortably.

There was something about embracing the season that felt right. Summer should be hot. The morning should be cool. The afternoon breeze should blow the sheer curtains gently. You should feel the relief as the sun disappears behind the trees and the rays push their force somewhere else. I dressed Lulu in onesies for bed time and turned on a fan to cool her room. I did miss a ceiling fan, but portable fans helped (especially when nursing a hot little baby on a leather couch.)

It wasn't until a mid August Sunday afternoon and a visit from my mother-in-law that prompted me to turn on the air to keep her comfortable.

We were sitting on the couch when the ceiling started dripping. And then water was pouring like a light faucet from the ceiling. Our air conditioner unit, the one I hadn't used all summer, was broken. It had probably been broken as part of the furnace for months, that's why it had run all last Winter and barely warmed our home. We turned off the air and the leak stopped.

This Fall, as the temperature drops into the 50s, I long to keep the windows open as long as possible. I'd sleep with them open in January if I could. It's Fall. It should be chilly. The boys need sweat shirts and socks, an extra sweater, down puffs. Lulu wears fleece pajamas and a cozy quilt to bed; behind her drawn curtains are shutters too keep in the warmth and barrier the cold.

Sometimes I think we hide behind our furnaces and fireplaces instead of feeling the seasons. Terrified to be hot. Scared of being cold. Feeling your rings grow tighter in June and then slip off your fingers in December. Insisting on t-shirts on single digit days, Ugg boots in July. We don't try to live in harmony with our world. We fight the weather instead of finding the joy in the constant change. It will be icicles, rain, heat, chill again and again. Live where you are.

Dispatches From the Bread Line

This is a hard post to write.

For the second time in a year I find myself without a regular work/job type thing. Sure, the “economy is bad” and “times are tough” but those are for other people, not me and mine, right? I shouldn’t be under that delusion anymore, but it’s still hard to accept. We’re trying to figure out ways to cover the bills and it’s getting tight. I know deep down that everything happens for a reason, and that things fall apart so others can fall together; it’s just a little heart-stopping in the mean time.

I think the last time this happened, back in March of this year, I was in a far worse place. Not only had I lost my job of three years, but my mother had been diagnosed with a virulent cancer (that happened on the same day, in the same hour, by the way.) I was a mess. I’m not a mess this time (at least not yet.) My mom is doing well. I’m grateful that I was able to find work relatively quickly and that I got to work for a great company for the past six months. I felt impressed when I considered taking the offer that I should take it, but that that job would be short term. Since most of my employment life has been measured in years, I was a little shocked when it turned into months, although I probably shouldn’t have been.

I’m definitely trying to fight the feeling of fear with the feeling of gratitude. I know we’ve been placed in our home for a reason, although it’s been a struggle to fit into our neighborhood. We have wonderful friends and family who buttress us. My husband does important work, work that really does change the world, I wish with all my heart it was enough to support us. I’ve heard that there are women out there that demand that their husbands change careers. I couldn’t do that. He loves what he does, and more importantly, he’s amazing at it: he has the highest student test scores in the district.

While we figure out what happens next, I could use a prayer, a candle, or a Budda-belly rub, whatever it is you do.

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Parables and Allegories

Do you ever wonder if there was someone in the audience during the Allegory of the Olive Tree who leaned over to their friend and said, "But, I don't even like olives."

"I'm confused," said another, "Is this about the gentiles? I just wish they'd say 'gentiles' instead of branches."

And then another friend said, "I wish they'd choose one side or another--is this about the House of Israel or the gentiles? How does grafting even apply?"
"Yeah," one responded, "I'm sick of people talking about gentiles."

Someone else whispered, "I'm pretty sure they're supposed to graft during the fall months, have they talked about that? It's important that grafting happens in cool weather."

"Is there good soil under that tree? Did they water the trees enough? They should really do a better job of cleaning up that vineyard because it sounds messy."

"House of Israel? Do they mean an actual house? Because I love houses that have brick mixed with clapboard."

"A house is not the same as a tree; this is such a stupid analogy."

"This doesn't apply to me because I'm a weaver."

"Vineyard? This sounds like an orchard, can they just call it what it is?"

"Olive oil is healthy! I think we should use more of it!"

"If gentiles join the House of Israel I'm going to be seriously pissed!"



Now that I think about it, it's a wonder that the storyteller ever completed his allegory.

Untipsy Day of the Week: Wild Irish Rose

Today's mocktail comes from loyal and tireless Jet Set reader The Redhead. She recommends the Wild Irish Rose:

Ginger ale
Grenadine
Lime juice
Garnish with lime

Stir and enjoy!

(Command form.)

Uptipsy Thursday: The Shirley Temple

The very first mocktail, as far as we know, was the Shirley Temple, named after Shirley Temple. According to legend, a bartender made it up to serve to the innocent Miss Temple during the raging Hollywood parties of the 1930s. This Shirley Temple is made of club soda (or lemon-lime soda,) ice, grenadine, and a maraschino cherry on top.

What's grenadine? Good question. Traditionally it's pomegranate syrup. Why is it called grenadine? Because in French pomegranates are grenade (and if you're thinking...wait, grenade as in *boom* and grenade as in pomegranate? Yes, grenades are called grenades because they looked like pomegranates.)

Anyway, grenadine these days is kind of generically made with any red fruit, like raspberries, currants, etc. And most grenadines are cheaply made of flavorings and syrup. You can make your own, which is far superior in flavor, but usually not the bright red that comes from the fake stuff, by reducing pomegranate juice and sugar.

Recipe:
Tall tumbler
Ice
Lemon-lime soda
Enough grenadine to make it pink
Maraschino cherry on top
Stir

Kids LOVE shirley temples.

By the way, my family is loving this series because they're drinking a lot of juice and soda, things I don't normally allow in the house. I might throw a mocktail party a couple times a year, but this drink-a-week thing has some fans around these parts in heaven. Enjoy it, kid, because as soon as I can, you're back to water or milk.


Check out this update where you'll learn what the original Shirley Temple really contained. Super delicious!

Mocktail Tuesday?

What is a mocktail? It's like a cocktail but without the alcohol.

What good is that, you ask? Oh, fine, I'll tell you. In case you haven't noticed, I'm Mormon, and we aren't the shot-downing sort. However, we still like a refreshing drink, and I love a fancy drink (girl.) Some people can't drink-drink, maybe because they tried that once and they became alcoholics. Others are pregnant, or driving, or whatever, so having a few mocktail recipes in your repertoire can be a good thing, Alky McGee.

I started throwing and attending mocktail parties in college. We'd gather as 90s hipsters (vintage dresses, vintage suits, vintage glasses, vintage music, think Swingers, Big Bad VooDoo Daddy, actual swing dancing,) and toast up the good life. There may have been cocktail weenies. I still love to throw a mocktail party because they are fun. Enough people have consistently asked me for mocktail recipes that I thought I'd try out a regular mocktail column. This is The Jet Set after all, and a mocktail fits in right cozy-like.

At first it was going to be Mocktail Mondays, but then the alliteration made me want to vomit. Mocktail Tuesday? Good enough for today. I'll leave it up to you guys to vote in the poll on the name (and in case you don't think your vote matters, let me remind you that I still haven't read Twilight because the internet voted and you told me not to.)

Today's mocktail is the Driven Mojito. Why? Because without the rum this drink is pure as the driven snow. And also you can drive after drinking it.

You'll need:

Club soda

Limes

Mint leaves

Simple syrup (SS)

How to make simple syrup: boil 1 cup sugar and 1 cup water for a couple minutes until the sugar is melted and the water reduces slightly. Cool and pour into a container (like a squeeze bottle) for later. Keeps indefinitely (or until your kids figure out that you've stored hummingbird-type nectar in their grubby reach.)

Take one tall glass, put 3-4 mint leaves in the bottom, squeeze 1/2 a lime into the glass, and then throw the lime down. Mash the leaves and the lime with a muddler, or the handle of a wooden spoon, whatever you got.

Add more SS if you're in a shame spiral, or less if you prefer drinks dry ("dry" in drink terms generally means not sweet, or less flavored.) Today I used actual sugar, only about a teaspoon (the average Coke has 10 teaspoons of sugar) and muddling the sugar with the mint and lime helps it melt. Fill the glass with ice and pour in club soda. Stir and serve (the ice usually keeps the mint and lime at the bottom, but I didn't feel like ice today.) Garnish with a slice of lime, or a not-smashed mint sprig.

(You can cheat and get the sweetened lime syrup, but I don't think it tastes as fresh.)

A variation of the Driven Mojito is to use tonic water instead of club soda. Everyone knows that tonic water is delicious AND treats malaria. True story. You'll need less SS because tonic already has some sugar.

Ching-ching, it's mocktail time.

(Before I get the correction, I know that the bottle is actually sparkling water, not club soda, and therefore not as fizzy, but it's what I had and also, r e l a x.)

Things I Want to Do This Week Before I Start Working Again

1. Build a dining room table (not a "dinning" room table, because that isn't a thing, Internet.)

2. Spend the weekend in Seattle but not have to drive there.

3. Take my kids to see a movie in the middle of the day just because.

4. No, but seriously, plant the seeds in the starter pots or that trip to the greenhouse was just a lost afternoon.

5. Volunteer in EG's classroom.

6. Reorganize my downstairs desk.

7. Organize my upstairs desk.

8. Clean the bathrooms, like, really clean them.

9. Not do anything.

10. Do everything!

11. Nap.

12. Celebrate my birthday!

13. Scrub poop off the play set slide (cross fingers!)

14. Start a painting.

15. Find bags full of money so I can just buy one of his paintings.

16. Would I really buy art with bags of money should I happen to stumble across them? Uh, yes. So again, find bags of money.

17. Be nice and smile at the neighborhood kids even when I know they've been mean to my kid.

18. Sew drapes!

19. Put away the sewing machine.

20. Finish re-fashioning those shirts I bought at Savers into a dress and then put away the sewing machine.

21. Re-do entire front yard. I'll need to wait on this one (foreshadowing bullet point!)

22. Keep doing Pilates even though I feel like I've been kicked by hobos.

23. Use the word "hobos" more!

24. Turn off the buzzer setting on the dryer because it freaks me out late at night.

25. Make fetch happen.


Oh, I didn't tell you I got a new job? Well I did. I gotta job.

(Say that like Positive K's I Got A Man. )

Hobos!

I Lost My Job

OK, so I didn't actually lose my job, it wandered willfully from me to participate in some sort of contest called a "lay-off." I hope it wins whatever the prize is, maybe some sort of bowling trophy? This means that for the first time in years I don't have a daily job to go to and earn money from. The not going to something thing isn't so bad, but the not earning money thing is terrible.

See, I wasn't working for a boat. I was working for food and electricity. And to support the two times a year that I go golfing, because golfing is expensive, yo, and no longer one of my hobbies. I hereby renounce golf.

It's been exactly a week since the job went away and I took it pretty hard. I sobbed at my former office. I cried all the way home. I got out of my car and kept my sunglasses on and marched straight to my bed, where I tried to lie down but only succeeded in sitting up because of the huge pit of doom developing in my stomach. I calculated that we'd have $200 left over out of my husband's salary after paying tithing, the mortgage, and the car payment. "So I guess it's PB&Js?" Other Half said.
"PB&Js in the dark," I answered.
And then I cried some more. I didn't sleep. No, I slept even less than usual, which is driving on the edge of hallucinationville.

Some other stuff happened that day and I can't talk about it yet (Not Allowed,) just rest assured, it's just as bad, probably worse. So within 15 minutes I had a Terrible Bad Health Thing happen in the personal life and I lost my job. And I'd thought that the green french toast I made for my kids that morning would be the worst thing I'd have to endure that day.

I was supposed to go to dinner that night with my dear friends. I resolved not to say anything and just to enjoy the being together, but we started playing Whose Day was Worse? GUESS WHAT? I WON! Also, the number one killer of domestic cats is feline AIDS.

Thursday I hardly remember. Dear friends Phread and Lucky came over, fed me food, and tried to cheer me up. Noelle took me out to lunch where she narrowed her eyes, hunkered down, and helped me figure out my next move. You know, the move other than sitting on the couch in your sunglasses and crying until you hiccup while your youngest child is patting you on the arm. I think I slept that night? Not sure.

Mostly my heart was just broken.

I've been working for so many years that I don't even know how to deal with this whole thing, not to mention the anxiety of not being paid. You see, Other Half is a public school teacher. I don't have a choice about earning an income, I must to keep my babies clothed and fed. Yes, it's despicable how poorly teachers are paid. Wait, no, it's not simply despicable, it's infuriating. He loves his job, he loves the difference he makes, but loving your job and being paid a wage that can support a family are two different things. Here's where I swear at our state and its policy of paying teachers, you know, the people that educate the future people, an insultingly low wage: @#$%@#F$^$##!$. What can I say? Low teacher pay makes me stabby.

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The Finisher II and A Note to Ford

You may recall this post I did about finishing things. My first project was the thrifted table. I cleaned the sewing machine table, removed the machine, and spent 40 minutes trying to saw a board using a tiny handsaw to fit inside it as a shelf. I gave up sawing the board after Other Half made me see the futility of 40 minutes of work vs. four inches of sawed wood when my father has a perfectly nice table saw. "But I REALLY WANT to finish," I said desperately, calculating that I could be finished by 3 or 4 in the morning (tops.) He talked me out of it, and then moved the table upstairs so it can be my vanity (where I can open the window and survey the vast tracts of land behind my stately villa while applying MAC makeup and assessing the progression of what could be wrinkles, but most certainly are not, and all with natural light.)

The next day, I left work in search of soup for lunch after a morning spent at the dentist. As I was about to pull into the parking lot, I heard a giant CLUNK CLUINK CLUNK along with the usual grinding sound, and the car felt like it didn't want to move, as if the power steering had broken. I managed to park the car. Not knowing what else to do, I went into the soup place and ordered a cup of soup to go. I got back into my car. I sat there for about 10 minutes. Then, why not, I started it up to make it back to my office.

The CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK stopped once the car hit 25 mph. The horrible grinding, like someone had taken the belts in my car and replaced them with terrified robot cats, kept going. I tested the brakes and wouldn't you know, only the left side was working. It also sounded like some large hammer had broken free from the passenger's side and was hitting against the wheel, KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. I called up Other Half and we decided that if I could get the car home, that would be it, the end of the line.

Yes, for my second finishing project I FINISHED MY CAR.

I had wanted to surprise you all with some great picture of a NEW FANCY CAR ( you know, the kind without a hole) before I told you that my car died, but that's not what happened. What happened is that I drove home through rush-hour traffic on the side roads with my hazards on hoping and praying that the huge hammer (probably now with added sickle) wouldn't cause my car to catapult, kill me and some innocent, unlucky person whose only crime was thinking they could get a frozen yogurt at 5:00 on a Tuesday.

So we're down to one car...

Dear Ford,

I'd love to be yours....(read more.)

Rocked It

I listened to a lot of music in the past decade, some of it cool, some of it even hipper than you can imagine, so hip it hasn't even been composed yet . I started with a huge list and narrowed it down to the albums that I really loved. I listen to these albums, they make me happy, and isn't that what music should make you? There are far more artists I could have included if I wanted to include singles, but I like the idea of noting entire albums vs. just a song. I left out some big names, but once I analyzed my play count data (I'm a nerd, remember?) and looked at the albums that have stood the test of time, I found my songs.

And then to confuse you, I didn't rank them! Behold! Your moderately alphabetized list of music! To be enjoyed! Mandatory!

I love Alison Krauss' voice; it's perfection. My favorite track is the title track: haunting, beautiful, melancholy, and just love it.

It's the album that broke Regina to the world. I like Soviet Kitsch, the album that preceded Begin to Hope, but every single track on this album is brilliant. On the Radio, anyone?

I don't care if you just yelled out, "EWW! Jimmy Eat World?" Yes. Jimmy Eat World. Bleed American.

I love The Killers. This album. All their albums. I love Sam's Town and Day & Age, too. I can't get over their music, I heart it so. Their show was fantastic--I think Brandon Flowers might be the best frontman in the biz. Hot Fuss in particular reset the music world, leading to a revival of great, emotional, synth-pop.

Keane is underrated.

Oracular Spectaculor blew me away. Sound systems were invented for MGMT.

Great songs, great storytelling. Losing Lisa kills me.

Tori Amos' Scarlet's Walk is her post-911 letter to America. Ostensibly a concept album with the songs covering Scarlet's journey, this is a softer, more accessible Amos. Don't let that fool you, Scarlet's Walk is still a little edgy, but absolutely amazing.

The Strokes Is This It? brought back dirty garage band rock. Thanks, boys.

Death Cab for Cutie's Transatlanticism blows me away. I don't know if there is a band that better encapsulates the aughts.

COLDPLAY. FTW.

I can listen to Who Is Jill Scott? all day. Soulful, hip, fun, groovy, laid-back, Jill Scott has a way with you. I could have picked Alicia Keys to represent neo-soul, but I think Jill is less well known, and that's criminal.

A little French band that is still trying to get a bigger break, Phoenix is *cough cough* rising. I really like their music, and since I'm picking just one album per group, my vote goes to Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix.

A few honorable mentions: 50 Cent - Get Rich or Die Tryin', U2's All That You Can't Leave Behind, Weezer - Green album, and Postal Service's We Will Become Silhouettes EP.


What am I missing? I bet I missed something I really loved. Do you think it was a personal affront that I didn't pick Radiohead? What albums defined the decade for you?

2009 Madcap Recap

Today's Mama asked me to give them a Recap of 2009. (SPOILER ALERT: I did.)

That's the most recap you're going to get out of me, gang.

Well, maybe a little more:

1. Posts: 116.
2. Babies: 0 new (phew.)
3. Pounds gained/lost: It's probably a wash.
4. Cell phone: 1, the whole year, the same one, even though it spent a night in a snow bank two weeks ago.
5. People Offended: I've lost count.
6. People Loved: I've lost count.
7. Houses: 1 new.
8. Cars: 0 new.
9. Tweets: A quadrillion.
10. Facebook: Joined. Thanks to you people.
11. Social Media Anxiety: NONE
12. Haircuts: 2 (We haven't talked about how I tried to grow my hair out this year, have we? Well that was an exercise in both futility and horror.)
13. Love matches made: 0 (I suck.)
14. Skullcandy headphones: 4.
15. Baby and wedding showers: Sometimes I wish I drank.
16. Glasses of water: 2920
17. Toddlers weaned: 1.
18. School-age children: 1.
19. Burgers eaten: Wow, more than every other year added together thanks to The Project and the boys I work with everyday (who must eat meat or faint like delicate lilies.)
20. Voice mails answered: None, as of 12/5/09, and no more going forward.
21. Rock Band: Conquered.

I've Been Rough On You

Dear Friends,

May I call you that?

Well, I'm going to call you that anyway (fully aware that a significant number of you may actually be my mortal enemies.)

I was ruminating on our collective friendship the other night when it dawned on me that it's hard being my friend. On you, I mean.

First of all, if I love you, I'll call you on the phone. You may rest assured that the more I love you, the more inappropriate the hour it will be when I call. 10pm? I don't even apologize (see: Love Story.) 11pm? I am smitten with you. 1:45am? We must be related or you are Tiffany. 3:15am? Your name is at the top of the list to take my kids in case of an unfortunate event. 7:00am? You are a friend I adore with small children.

I bet you think I look up eight dollar words just for my blog, I don't. I really do speak this way (only with far more hand gestures and rolling of eyes.) I'm thinking of handing out dictionaries for Christmas and the High Holidays this year. Requests have been made. It's both annoying, and I like to think endearing, to be my friend and have to reference Webster for even menial conversations. I should have an app developed.

I'm a difficult mother, too. El Guille has his heart set on acquiring a dreamcatcher. He is under the impression, guided by my cousin E, that a dreamcatcher would relieve him of nightmares. We are not Ojibwe, not even a little bit (nor am I On My Way*.) I associate dreamcatchers with our cultural tradition of taking only pieces of other people's actual cultures, stripping them down to simplified, meaningless artifacts, and then mass marketing those hollow symbols to the rubes fooled into thinking they are participating in an ancient tradition. Wrong. I tried to explain this all to E.G., but he appeared unconvinced and slightly bored. So I signed him up for The Weekly Worker. I hope to start his lessons on the patriarchy by Tuesday.

I invite you, gentle reader and put-upon friend, to inform me how have I aggrieved you with my love.

Was it with my refusal to eat Cakesters? That I turned up my nose at your 100 Calorie Snack Pack? When I sniffed that you ought to consider a more deliberate hair care routine? How I lovingly suggested that you remove that apostrophe in "it's" to turn it into the possessive which you so obviously intended?

Do tell. I'll even submit it straight to the Jet Set Desk** for immediate perusal.












*Obscure pop culture references are common hazards.
**Now an actual location.

On Being a Blogging Celebrity

My entry into the Whrrl contest. You like? Go vote here.


It’s hard to describe just how famous I’ve become since I started to blog. First, like most artists of any note, I toiled in years of obscurity. There were the lonely days of 2003 when no one but my mother in law and at least one of her friends read my blog. However, much like Van Gogh moved to Arles, I moved to Blogger in 2005. Finally, a community of artists whose chosen medium, the blog, evolved into the extraordinary art form it truly is. How else can you explain a blog that starts like this: “Hey guys! Sorry I haven’t blogged lately but I’ve been SO BUSY!” Striking, isn’t it?

A couple years ago I was at a park for my parent’s church picnic. There I was, helping my child get a drink from a fountain when a woman walked up to me. “Hey, you look like a girl on the Internet.”
“Oh?,” I responded.
“Yes! Wait, you write The Jet Set! You’re Azúcar, aren’t you?”
I smiled and confirmed her suspicions. Look, sometimes celebrities are just like you and me. Well, like you and you. We take our kids to the park. We wear overly elaborate clothing in everyday life. We’re spotted eating potato salad, or imported chocolates and boutique baguettes. Is it trying to know that I’ll always have the public watching? Absolutely, but it’s my duty to be kind and slightly aloof. What can I say? I’m a role model.

We moved recently, and I found that like all famous people, I reaped the rewards of notoriety. One of our two moving men took a smoke break (after moving our opulent Serta mattress) and when he was finished, he only threw one cigarette butt onto my front porch. I bet if I wasn’t a blogging celebrity it might have been double or triple that amount! I know most people can’t ask for that kind of attention, but yet, it’s afforded to me just because of my writing. I almost feel guilty.

My husband insists that blogging is nothing more than high school in digital form. All celebrities have their tabloid nemesis, and J’s constant rejoinders of the medium are exactly what Kate Gosselin has to go through with US Weekly. Is it difficult? Of course, but if you’re going to take the good (cigarette butt) you have to accept the bad (gleeful contempt.) It’s a package deal, folks!

There are the other downsides to blogging celebrity. I am photographed in my car, whether I like it or not. I have to pretend I am listening to NPR instead of Fergie (see: role model.) It can be so taxing.

And, like every entitled child of a star, my children haven’t been able to reconcile their famous mother with their own identity. How else can you explain their propensity to trash their rooms?

Exhibit A:
Broken glass door on the entertainment center.

Exhibit B:
Parmesan cheese, chocolate syrup, lemon juice

Exhibit C:
Nesquik Fractals

As with most celebrities, I’m going to play off my children’s obvious shortcomings as merely the expression of an artistic mind. Basquiats for the Internet age.

There’s so much that my blog has brought into my existence: friends, enemies, and an obsessive relationship with Google Analytics, or how one time when I went out to Carrabba’s the server gave me a free drink, that sometimes I forget the little straining reminders of my celebrity. For example, having to wear sunglasses at Costco to cut down on admirers, or how the neighborhood children prefer my granola bars over everyone else’s; it's a blessing and a curse.

I simply document my life, well, my complicated, extraordinary, bon vivant yet humble and sincere life for the whole world to read and cherish. I truly am no different than the non-blogging plebian masses...

Only a lot better.

Giveaway Dilemma - What Do You Think?

For some odd reason I keep getting contacted by businesses and products that are interested in my views and having me talk about my experience on the blog.

Do I really have that type of blog? No, I probably don't, but that's probably all the more reason they're reaching out to me, and ultimately to you--those are some valuable eyeballs you posses.


I've felt extremely conflicted about using my blog to talk about businesses. I turn most of them down. The ones I don't turn down I usually spend a week trying to decide if I want to participate.

I want to be perfectly honest with my readers when it comes to giveaways, reviews, and other things where I'd be helping businesses market themselves. And I want you to be honest with me, so I'm going to do a couple things. First of all, I promise to tell you what I get out of reviews and giveaways. Second, I promise to tell you the truth about the service. Third, I need your honest opinion.

Do you hate the idea of any type of giveaways on The Jet Set? (It probably won't be very often since I'm already part of a local review group.) (But I DO have something in my hot little hand to giveaway tomorrow.) And contractually, with the advertising I'm running, I'm not allowed to really shill for other products on my site. I put up a poll, so if you can take the time, click through and give me a what-what.

What do you want out of me?
What will or won't you tolerate?
What if this is a needlessly silly preoccupation on my part and you say, "Take all the free swag you can get, honey!"

Go on, vote!