Wikipedia, the most accurate information because. . .

. . . anyone can add to it. I can't remember Michael Scott's exact words about Wikipedia on The Office, but it was something similar to that--it being the most accurate information out there. Ha ha.

However, I was told six months ago, by our close-up editor at the Tribune, that "Wikipedia is not a credible source for information in our articles." Hmmm, I wonder why.

But really, there is a lot you can glean from Wikipedia. I love using it to find out little tidbits of information while working on my novel, like did Julius Caesar's mother really have a C-section? On which street in Key West was Hemingway's house? There really is some good information out there--despite who's adding or changing stuff in there.

For example, Eric and I have been trying to figure out why our local deli can't order us Provel cheese. Provel cheese, what is that? you ask. Well, Provel cheese is the cheese they use on my favorite pizza in St. Louis, Imo's (and appears to be a processed mix of cheddar, Swiss, and provolone cheese--I know now, thank you very much to Wikipedia). You can buy it at deli's in St. Louis, even at Schnuck's. What I found interesting, during my search of Provel cheese on Wikipedia, is that the cheese is really only eaten in the St. Louis area. And the restaurants there use it A LOT! How could everyone else in the world not love it? Even Eric loves it (and he's a professed cheese snob--processed cheese doesn't ever belong on his plate).

After a good half-hour of learning about Provel cheese and whether I can order it online, I started getting the strangest feeling in my stomach. Okay, it wasn't that strange--I've definitely had cravings before as I've gone through three full-term pregnancies--but man did I want some Provel cheese (or an Imo's pizza would do) at that moment. I even dreamed of eating at Imo's last night and that my sister Susannah yelled at James Agne (a boy from grade school) for trying to take the last piece of pizza with the most cheese on it.

I dare you--try it. Is there anything you have a question about? Wikipedia probably knows the answer. Just use it as your starting point and not as your "credible" source.

How far is too far--for a habitual liar?

I had to hold myself back from calling her a pathological liar, but in reading the definition, a pathological liar tells lies that are "so bizarre and excessive" and I guess these aren't exactly that bizarre.

It's not the first time I've been connected to a "habitual" liar. When I was in college, I had a roommate that could not physically stop herself from saying things that weren't true. The example that stands out to me the most: One morning, my roommate Tammy heard her car starting out in the parking lot. She looked out the window and saw our other roommate driving off in her car. About a half hour later, Katherine comes back in with groceries. Tammy asked her, "How did you get to the store?" And she replied "My friend Abby drove me."

Now we have a tenant who lies. When you talk to her, you fall in love with her. She's so nice and sweet. But she lies. She lies a lot. She stole one of the other tenant's checks (along w/ the cash she left out for January's rent) and swears someone stole it. She didn't resist too much when we told her she was going to have to pay January's rent again. Almost like she expected it.

A week later, a guy was lurking around the parking lot at the fourplex asking for this tenant. She had bought a new car with a bounced check (I don't know what kind of dealership lets you buy a car w/ a check, but whatever.) Anyway, he was waiting around for her to come out (since the front door is always locked). I called her finally since two of the other tenants called me and told her someone was looking for her outside about the stolen car--I told her it was "something about her new car." She responds "Oh, the windshield has a crack. I had to give him the keys so he could fix it."

I've been fed up. I get calls every other day about her. I just want her gone.

But last night, she called me. She told me that one of the other tenants called her a thief. She proceeds to tell me that she doesn't want to be despised by her housemates and that she has just been diagnosed with cancer. Would we be able to let her out of the lease?

Now I'm stuck. I can't tell if I should believe her about the cancer or if she's just plain out lying and is trying to get out of her lease. I offered a simple truth about me--that I was diagnosed with cancer. I offered, "if you ever need to talk." She said she did, she's been crying all night.

What do you think? Is she lying again?

My family book club

Over Christmas, when we were in Dallas, I bought Bianca book one of the Spiderwick Chronicles. The cover of the book seem like another Harry Potter book, something like that. She finished it in one day and asked for book two. So, instead, I just ordered the entire five-book set.

I never read Harry Potter--merely for the reason that everyone told me I HAD to read it--so I didn't think I'd read this either. I liked the pictures in the books, however, so I thought Bianca would definitely like them. And she did.

But during church on Sunday, while Bianca was reading book two, I leaned over her shoulder--out of boredom--and read too. Suddenly, I found myself scouring her backpack for book one, which Eric had just finished the night before. I then brought Portia home from church to get a nap she desperately needed and sat in front of the fire and finished book one.

We were all trying to convince each other to finish the books we were on, so that they could pass the books along so we could keep reading.

I admit these are not my typical type of book. But the strange thing is, at the beginning of page one, the illustrator thanks Arthur Rackham--an illustrator from the turn of last century who I've collected his books for years--for inspiring him. As I read along, I realized the author made this illustrator (who always drew a lot of goblins/fairies and such) as one of the characters in the book.

We devoured these books in a matter of days. Now we can't wait to get a babysitter for Portia, while the three of us have a "book club" (Bianca calls it) and go to see the movie when it comes out in a couple weeks.

Open evenings, writer’s strike

I don't know why the writer's strike bothers me so much. I don't watch that much t.v. It just seems silly that people just stop working. I mean, let's face it, when you work and think you deserve more money, you ask your boss for a raise. If you don't like the answer, you either look for a new job or you just accept it. But a strike just seems so ridiculous. Almost barbaric.

I know what they're thinking: why is Jennifer Anniston getting paid a million and a half per episode and I'm just getting ----. I'm sure it's not that small an amount. And although the shows depend upon the writers, these people chose to be writers--not actors/actresses. They probably aren't pretty enough to be actors/actresses and you just accept whatever talents God's given you. And writers don't usually make that much money (except on the rare occasion like J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter, etc.)

The other reason I'm a little irritated about this is being this is Scrubs LAST season and what if they never finish it off and it's just left hanging. . . I guess I'll live, but it just seriously bothers me. Now, I find myself so much more interested in the presidential election merely because it's the only thing that interests me now [and even that I can only stomach for about 15 minutes]. I still can't handle reality shows. I'm also getting more reading done and have started on a new story.

I guess I should be thankful that they've stopped writing. Do we really need them?

Okay, yes, we do for when we want to stop thinking and just have things happen in front of us while we lounge on the couch. We all have those nights.

Aghhhhh! Stop the stupid strike already!

A lot of emphasis on emphasis

I've been learning Spanish. No, I'm not taking a community college class. I've been learning along with Bianca (who fortunately has Spanish once a week in her first-grade class). I figured, why not? Now maybe I can understand what the cleaning ladies are saying while they're cleaning and ensure it's not something bad about me or the cleanliness of my house. Plus, I need to help Bianca study anyway.

But there's one problem. All I see is a list of words in Bianca's homework folder every Monday. I quiz her from a sheet of paper where I'm destroying these words with bad pronounciation (and ruining Bianca's pronunciation in the process). I spent the greater part of the evening during our Christmas in Dallas asking my brother-in-law how to pronounce colors, months, body parts--you get the picture--in Spanish. I was embarressed to find out I'd been butchering the word nariz (nose) from not putting the emphasis in the correct place. It's amazing the difference that makes. It's like a totally different word.

It reminds me of the English word candelabra, which I'd butchered in college. The problem? I read. I read a lot of books (I'd read the word often). Yes, I knew what it was, but I'd never heard anyone pronounce the word. And having taken grammar classes in college, I knew that in the English language the emphasis is usually put on the third to last syllable. I was pronouncing it can-DEL-abra, instead of candel-A-bra. Kind of embaressing, really, when the truth came out. Which proves my next point--I think you can learn a lot, A LOT, from books, but unless you have smart people around you, talking to them about what you're learning, I think something will always be missing. I'm glad my husband's cerebral and talks to me a lot, even about grammar (as long as he's not making me feel stupid for not knowing it in the first place--not the grammar, I'll trump him anytime on that--but most other things, especially history).

Anyway, I feel like I'm starting to get the hang of it. As we were driving back through Dallas and stopped for gas in Amarillo, I laughed at the way we Americans were pronouncing the word yellow (amarillo) in our language. Amarillo, Texas--it sounds so blah. The Spanish way is definitely better, which is why I practiced my pronounciation all the way through the city. Amarillo. Amarillo. It's Yellow, Texas to me now.

So, it’s that time of the year again . . .

and by that, I mean it's HGTV dream-house time. Yes, I admit it: I actually think that one of these years I'm going to win it. I watch it every year and enter and think, this is definitely the year.

HGTV's dream house is more "New Year's Day" to me than football is, even though that goes along with it too--at least the sound of it somewhere in the background. And for some reason, Hickory Farm's beef sausage stick and cheese along with board games completes New Year's (I'm pretty sure that one came from my childhood though).

New Year's Eve was always eating chips with the top 100 songs of the year. That's what I remember most, anyway.

But back to my dream house. It's usually dreaming of living there that gets me though the bleakest days of January and into spring. And the perpetual entering and touring the house online. This year it's in the Florida Keys. Yes, I'll move. Anything. Just give it to me.

I know it's sad. I actually feel like I have a better chance of winning the dream house than of having my novel published. Yeah, I know, I have to submit it somewhere to have it published, but I'm not quite ready yet. I guess I'll keep entering to win my dreamhouse. One thing at a time. Next up, submitting my novel.