But there are some things that I can blog about, and one of them is dead cows. That’s right, dead cows. I was out for a lunchtime run along the Eastside Esplanade in downtown Portland last week, and being that I don’t run at the speed of sound (or light for that matter) I had plenty of time to take in the sights along the way. I was running along, enjoying the one sunny day we’ve had since last October, when I saw a group of seagulls having what looked to be an organized Teamsters meeting in a small marina off the Esplanade.

I can just imagine the conversation they were having…

What are we going to do with him now?

I don’t know. This was your idea!

I said “cow tipping” not cow dipping!

As I got closer I noticed why all of the seagulls were hanging out in the marina. Dead cow floating.

We’ve had a lot of rain in Portland over the past month and the river is running really high. I figure it swamped some farmland somewhere along the way, and this cow just got trapped and eventually carried away.

I posted the following status to Facebook:

“I went for a lunchtime run on the waterfront and saw a dead cow floating in the Willamette River. The End.”

I have since been back to that spot and the dead cow and the seagulls are gone. I posted the following status update to Facebook:

“I thought you’d like to know that the dead cow that was floating in the Willamette last week has either: a) Been consumed by the local wildlife (the seagulls looked awfully fat and happy), b) Been taken away by some official agency, or c) Has floated downriver to the Columbia and is now docked behind Salty’s restaurant.”

I still run along the Esplanade at lunch a few times a week, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to pass that spot again without thinking about that dead cow floating.

My Danish friend made three main points:

1. Free healthcare is cheaper than making people pay (in the long run).
2. Medical school should be affordable for anyone who wants to go.
3. Once people see the value of the services, they are willing to pay higher taxes for it.

He told me a story about how healthcare in Denmark had been absolutely free at one time. Then the hospitals decided to start charging something like $20 a visit. This one change had a disatrous result. Why? Because some of the main customers at the ER had been addicts. Normally, they would come in immediately when they started getting infections around their injection sites. The doctors would see them, hand out antibiotics, and send them on their way.

When the ER started charging $20 the addicts stopped coming in, that is, until they were so sick they had to. So instead of just handing out antibiotics for minor infections, the addicts were now being admitted to the ICU for raging infections that had been left unchecked, all because they didn’t want to spend the $20.

We talked about the ridiculously high cost of medical school here, and how exclusive it is. In Denmark they pay you to go to medical school. They pay your tuition and give you a monthly allowance. If you have the smarts, you can attend medical school.

And lastly we talked about the tax rate in Denmark, which can be as high as 60%. When Danes were asked if they would pay higher taxes for better healthcare, the majority said they would.

When I lived in Finland for a year as a teenager I noticed something: the elderly were carefree, healthy and happy. They knew they were going to be taken care of by their national healthcare system when they retired. They knew they would never bankrupt their families with a terminal illness. They knew they’d have a place to live among their peers that would provide them everything they needed, to enjoy their sunset years.

Those without healthcare in the United States live in a constant state of fear and uncertainty. One major illness could send any one of us into bankruptcy, whether we have healthcare or not. It is time for America, one of the wealthiest nations in the world, to grow up and take care of its people before it’s too late.

That was the first Facebook status I posted on my forty-eighth birthday earlier this week. I don’t know if it’s true, but knowing my mom, I’m sure it is. In fact I’m pretty sure she finished the cigarette before she went to the hospital.

Many of you have inquired as to my whereabouts over the past two months, so I thought I’d update you. I checked out from the public spotlight for a couple of months. Okay that’s a bit of a lie. I worked like a dog. That’s the truth.

Excuse #1: Working Like a Dog

I work in the field of interactive television. I am in a small group of people who deploy the hardware and software that supports all of the interactive applications my company has running at any given time. Well, for the past few months we have been ramping up to launch two major appllications. First an app for the Olympics on the NBC cable channels (MSNBC, CNBC and USA). This required lots of prep and being on call 24/7 during the Olympics. I can’t say much here, but let’s just say this one went out to about 13 million cable households.

Second, I was the lead support person for a Showtime Boxing app that launched last week. So I spent many nights testing that app on a live channel while you all were sleeping. :^) I spent last Friday night actually on the phone with everyone involved while we watched the app playout during a live MMA match. This was an incredible moment, because this was the first app ever to play out nationally on HD.

This is what I do for a living. This is what the app looks like on Showtime:

http://www.sho.com/site/itv.do

Excuse #2: Exes

Enough said. Let’s just say I see my attorney way too often.

Excuse #3: Kids

Demanding little buggers!

Excuse #4: Real Life

In the past two months I have been bowling with a little Yeti figure, spent time with an Italian tutor/friend, been to the Kink Live Performance Lounge a few times, discovered some great bands around town, survived a layoff, instigated Narcissist Thursdays (which is sometimes held on Saturdays), auditioned for Leverage (the TNT series), changed agents (now with OMM for modeling and film), gone swing dancing for the first time in years, kissed a stranger on New year’s Eve (He was hot!), started doing my TV show again after a year off, rediscovered the library.

Promise #1: I can’t Not Write

I love to write. It feeds my soul. I just don’t know what form that will take. This website will stay and my blogs will be here. I may also continue to write for The Portlander. We shall see.

Yeti Bowling

To the Point TV show

My children tend to bring things into the car, and be “too
tired” to take them out whenever we get back home. I have been noticing for the
past few weeks that the floor in the back seat of my car has been becoming less
and less visible. In fact, I noticed this morning that I couldn’t even see the
carpet. I finally decided enough is enough.

The kids are at their dad’s house this week, so I grabbed a
garbage bag and started scooping up the colored pencils, the discarded
clothing, the empty candy wrappers, the snake. WTF!?

Yes, a snake!

At first I thought it was just a little rubber snake my son
had left in the car, but after staring me down for a few seconds, it quickly
slithered back into the empty Nerds candy box from which it came.

I ran across the street to some neighbor boys who were
playing outside and said, “Hey, guess what I found in my car just now. A snake!”
“No way!” they said in total disbelief. “Yes way,” I said. “Do you guys want
it?”

I went around to my front porch and grabbed the Bug Hut we
keep for occasions like this, and filled it with some grasses and leaves. I
then went back to the car and scooped up the snake-filled Nerds candy box and
placed it in the Bug Hut for the boys.

I’m sure you’re wondering how a little snake like that got
into my car. Well, I hauled a bale of hay in my car over the weekend, and I’m
pretty sure he hitched a ride in the hay.

I got to work a little late today, and I stopped by my boss’s
office to apologize. “I’m sorry I’m a little late. I found a snake in my car,”
I said, which is just about as believable as “The dog ate my homework.”

Tomorrow is my youngest son’s birthday, and he asked for a Nintendo DS, to replace the one he lost last year. I agreed to pay for half since he lost the previous one, and off to Target we went tonight.

We arrive at the Target in Wilsonville and get Rock Star parking, which never happens at Target. The place is nearly empty.

My kids bolt from the car before I even have a chance to open my own door, and make a beeline through the front doors of Target, and straight to the Electronics section.

We quickly locate the Nintendo aisle, and the three of us stand there staring at the locked glass case, well stocked with Nintendo DS’s in red, blue, silver and black. Black?! Ooh new color.

We grab a friendly Target employee, because we know she has the keys to the Nintendo kingdom, and ask to see see “the black one.” It costs $50 more than the other DS’s and I want to know why.

I read the display card to my son, “It says it has a much bigger screen, a music player, and a built-in camera. Is that worth $50 extra to you?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he says, then turns and looks at friendly Trarget employee Lisa. “Can we open it up and see it?”

“No,” she says. “Once we open them we can’t sell them anymore.”

“Okat,” I say, “Do you have one on display we can see, so we can compare the screen size?”

“No, we don’t have one on display,” she says. “But, let me see if I can open this without damaging the packaging.”

My son’s eys light up as we follow Lisa to the counter. She carefully lifts the tape with her fingernails, careful not to rip anything, opens the box, pulls out the documentation, and pulls out … a blob!

“Uh, that is not a DS,” I say. “What is that?”

“Oh my gosh!,” she exclaims. “It’s a rock covered in black electrical tape! I don’t know how this could have happened.”

Someone had purchased the DS, taken it home, removed the DS, and replaced it with a rock that weighed exactly the same as the DS. It was covered in black electrical tape so it would look like the black DS, just in case the person at the returns counter actually opened the box and looked under the documentation.

Can you just imagine buying that for a birthday gift, and seeing the disappoinment on the kid’s face when he opened the box up to find a rock!?

Needless to say. Lisa was happy to open every other DS we wanted tp look at.

My son ended up choosing a regular silver DS, because the “much larger” screen on the expensive black DS wasn’t actually that much bigger.

Oh, but the story doesn’t end here. As we checked out we saw this on the counter:

I looked at Lisa and said, “This just isn’t your day is it?”

Clarifications before you read the story:

CSZ: CSz is short for Comedy Sportz, which is an improv comedy
spot in NW Portland. We play games like they do on the show “Whose Line
is it Anyway?”

Andrew B.: A long-time friend and Comedy Sportz veteran, who was teaching one of the workshops on this particular evening.

Continue…

Last Wednesday night I had plans to meet my friend Andrew for a spot of
hot chocolate before the Comedy Sportz Wednesday night workshop. We
were supposed to meet in the CSz parking lot at 6:45pm.

But before I met Andrew I had to pick up a couple of cases of wine
glasses from my friend Julian in NW Portland. I texted Julian to tell
him I was my on my way, and he texted me back saying he wasn’t home.
And that’s where our story begins…

I started by sending the following text message to Andrew at 6:30pm:

Me: The person who has my wine glasses is not home. He forgot and went to happy hour. So I’m on my way to CSz.

“Andrew”: LOL. What? Who is this?

Me: Kelly Jo!

“Andrew”: Kelly Jo? Do you know who I am lmao?

Me: Not sure now! Who did I text?

(Holy crap! Who has Andrew’s phone?)

“Andrew”: Paul the auctioneer.

(WTF? Paul the auctioneer?)

Me: Ha ha. Well you’re programmed into my phone as Andrew. LOL

(Now I’m really confused)

Paul: Ha ha that’s pretty funny! Well I wonder what Andrew is doing now.

Me: I have no idea why your number is in my phone, but this is all pretty funny.

(Andrew and I met up for dinner before a workshop two months ago,
and I put his number into my phone. I swear it worked two months ago. I
wonder if he changed his number?)

Paul: Well do we know each other? What area are you in?

Me: I don’t know any auctioneers. I’m at Comedy Sportz in NW Portland. Where are you?

Paul: I’m in Salem area. Did you punch the number into your phone address book or is the phone your other half’s maybe?

(I’m texting n auctioneer in Salem. Really? What are the odds?!)

Me: It has been programmed into my phone for two months! I swear it worked last time. ;^)

Paul: LOL! Hmmmmm, are you male or female?

(Okay, we seem to be headed somewhere I don’t want to go. The next question will be, “What are you wearing?”)

At this point Andrew pulls up next to me in the parking lot.

“Andrew! I tried texting you to tell you I was early and I got Paul the auctioneer!,” I said, totally confused. “I’m pretty sure I have your cell phone number in my cell phone from last time.”

I read Andrew the number, and it turns out I had the area code as Portland not Vancouver. Right number, wrong area code. DOH!

“Hey!” I said, “What kind of auctioneer do you think Paul is? Do you think he auctions livestock or stuff?”

“What? Are there only two categories?” Andrew said.

“Let’s just ask and find out.” So I texted Paul…

Me: What do you auction? Livestock or stuff?

Paul: Everything but livestock.

“See Andrew!” I said, “Two categories. Livestock and stuff.”

“What do you think he looks like?” I said.

Andrew just looked at me, totally deadpan and said, “I think he has an unfortunate mustache.” And if I had had any hot chocolate in my mouth at that time it would have catapulted out my nose!

“Hey! How do you think one becomes an auctioneer? Is there a college degree? Associates degree? Does it run in the family?” I said. “Let’s ask.”

Me: Awesome. How do you become an auctioneer? Do you get a degree or was your dad an auctioneer? How long have you been doing it?

Paul: Ten years. I went to auction school in Missouri. I love it!

Auctioneer school in Missouri! No kidding. Andrew and I got a lot of
mileage out of our exchange with Paul the auctioneer that night. It
still peppers our conversations.

Not all wrong numbers are wrong. Some are informative and entertaining!

A few weeks back Mike and I were discussing movies, as we often do, and we got onto the subject of movies we had seen 15-20 years ago. You know the movies I’m talking about, the movies that you thought were really great for some reason back then, so you want to watch them again to relive that memory.

But, memory can be a tricky thing, especially when you’re talking about a movie you thought was the bee’s knees 20 years ago.

The movie that kept coming up for me over and over again was 9 ½ Weeks. That’s the movie where Kim Basinger and Mickey Rourke have a torrid 9 ½-week affair. My memory of that movie was that it was very passionate and full of taboos. I also for some reason thought it was a good movie.

I know that I’m not the only one out there who has been looking to relive this particular memory, because I have been trying to rent this movie for the past four months and it’s always out of stock! Mike and I finally gave up and bought it for $6 off Amazon.com.

So, we settle in on the couch a few nights ago with great expectations and hit the Play button.

The first thing we both notice is the really annoying 80’s music, 80’s hair, padded shoulders, and Pat-Benatar makeup on everyone. The second thing we notice is the lack of plot and bad editing. One minute Basinger and Rourke are meeting randomly at a fish market, the next thing you know she’s at his house in a bathrobe. WTF?

Mike and I both asked each other the same question: uh, what happened in between? How did they go from being strangers to Basinger being in a bathrobe with wet hair?

We actually only watched the first 30 minutes on the first go round because it was putting us to sleep!

We finally finished the last hour of it last night, and we agree that it is just plot-less soft porn dressed up as a Hollywood movie. There is no emotional connection between the two main characters, so you really don’t care what happens to either of them in the end. The subplot of the office girl dating Basinger’s ex isn’t compelling or interesting (or believable). Oh yeah, and Basinger squeals like a 12-year-old girl at a Jonas Brother’s concert throughout the entire film. Really annoying.

And if that’s not bad enough, there’s a sequel! I have never seen the sequel, and actually just discovered it this morning as I was searching through IMDB.

There’s one more movie that I think is going to be a monumental disappointment if I ever get to watch it again: Summer Lovers (1982). I think this was probably one of Peter Gallagher’s first movies. Also stars Daryl Hannah. Filmed in Santorini, Greece. That’s probably it’s only redeeming quality.

Have you ever gone back and watched a movie that you once thought was the best thing since sliced bread, and then figured out it was actually just a piece of tripe?

Dear Readers,

The Muse has been burning the candle at both ends lately, but hasn’t forgotten you. I have a TV show to tape today, and a Sex and the City birthday soiree to host at my house this evening.

I have it on good authority that the video blog of the Lenka concert and chat will be ready to post this evening. I may also have a blog about the Whigs and Kooks concert at the Crystal Ballroom last night.

In the mean time, here’s a little interactive Sarah Palin game for you. Just click on the screenshot or the link below and you’ll be transported to the Palin Whitehouse. Enjoy!

The Palin Whitehouse

I had one of those totally surreal experiences right out of a Meg Ryan movie on Wednesday. First of all I was having very good parking karma that day, being that I had run over my 90-minute meter by 57 minutes by the time I left work, and there was no yellow envelope to be found on my window when I got back to my car. Sweet!

I had finished work a little early and I decided to stop by Cabana Boy’s loft before heading home to pick up the kids from school. I drove the short distance from work to his loft in The Pearl and found a parking space right in front of his building. I fed the meter and fished in my purse for the keys to the front door of the building. Let me just say that my keys only work about 50% of the time because the lock on the front door seems to be stripped, and I usually struggle for a few minutes before someone with an electronic keycard comes or goes, and I slip through the door behind them.

Today was no different.

I put the shiny silver key into the lock and started jiggling it to see if I could get it to catch the pins. I’ve figured out that if I pull the key back just a hair it sometimes works, but not today.

I heard a voice behind me say, “You have an envelope stuck to your purse.”

I turned and looked and sure enough, one of the many sticky parking meter stickers floating around my car had found its way to an envelope and then my purse. Lovely.

I looked at the guy and thanked him as I pulled the envelope and parking sticker from my purse.

“Oh my God!” he said, with a huge smile on his face. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”

I immediately started scrolling through the list of faces from my 50 first dates of Match.com, eHarmony, craigslist, etc. Nothing registered.

“No, I’m sorry I don’t recognize you,” I said, just waiting for the embarrassing part that was bound to come next. “Who are you?”

“Sam S*****!”

“No way!” I screamed, as I immediately recognized this slightly older version of this guy I once knew. “But, wait, what? You live in Portland?” I said, completely flabbergasted. Was I on an episode of Punk’d?

“I live in the building,” he said.

“No way!” I said in disbelief. “I don’t believe this. Hey, can you let me in? My key never works.”

We walked in together. He told me about his wife who is expecting twins in January. We exchanged business cards. He got off on the 4^th floor, I on the 5^th. When I arrived at Cabana Boy’s loft I walked into the kitchen with my mouth hanging open and said, “You are never going to believe what just happened to me in front of your building.”

You see Sam was my boyfriend when I went to University of New Hampshire in 1983! I haven’t seen or been in touch with him since about 1988!

This has to be the most unbelievable case of “small world” that I have ever experienced. Second runner up is when I was walking out into the surf in Puerto Vallarta, turned to my left, and saw my next-door neighbor from my childhood neighborhood.

Have you ever had an incredible small world experience like this?

Sidenote: I was a senior and 21 when I exchanged to New Hampshire for a semester, and Sam was a freshman (save the cradle robber jokes!). We met ..-in day at the dorm. I got written up on my very first day in the dorm because I was drinking in his room with he and his roommates and they were all minors!