Hello again, hello. I just wanted to say, "hello". I've been gone for such a long,long time. Mainly because of problems with the blogger.com site. I really need someone to sit down and give me a tutorial on how to get my computer back to the pristine, lovely, spam-free creature she used to be.

READING: "To America" by Stephen Ambrose. Poor guy. I'm not a history buff, but I am a prose buff, and so far it is sloooooow going. Also reading a gift from my very favorite Republican, white, wealthy, religious, educated female of a certain age who is married with children (but she's so much more than that): "Barbarians at the Gate" by a bunch of guys. It is pretty interesting, but I have a lot to learn about big business.

WATCHING: "A Lion in Winter" with Kate. Ah, Kate. "Bruce Almighty". Oh, Jim. And with my daughter, "Samantha: An American Girl Holiday". A charming, heartwarming, tearjerking tale about a girl in upstate New York around the turn of the century. Great acting, very moving animated Tide commercials featuring American Girl dolls, and enough sweet plot twists to make my cry several times and for my husband to laugh at me.

LISTENING TO: "How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb" by who else. I mean, come on. If you can't love this album, then you don't deserve to call yourself a rock and roll fan. It has it all: ballsy vocals, layered production, "rifferama" as Bono called it in the Times,, Interpol-inspired bass, classic U2 drumming, and lovely lovely melodies with lyrics that are incredibly thoughtful but not so preachy.

I'm also way into Interpol, but you guessed that. I missed seeing them in NYC...can you imagine? It would be like seeing REM in Athens in the 80s. Oh yeah, I did that.

So we have a Republican House, a Republican Senate (what happened, Erskine?), and possibly a Republican president.....are the Dems starting to think about the future? Sounds like it. And what of my hometown boy, Edwards? He is standing by his man. What must he be thinking? At ten a.m. today are we going to see him concede and then start the wheels rolling?

Will the President, should he win Ohio, realize that he has a delicate, wounded nation to run?

Will the eleven states that agreed to consider banning same-sex marriages - by law - crow and cheer that they kept the cruel but necessary institution of marriage so sacred and so rigid?

It's raining here.

New verb: "Netflixed". To receive dvds of one's choice, via electronique "queue", in the mail, complete with pre-paid return envelopes. Usage: "I 'Netflixed' the latest Merchant-Ivory vehicle and was entranced by the pastoral scenes of undiscovered Italy."

New noun: Pod. Slang for "iPod". Usage: "Where in the hell did you put the 'Pod'? Where did you leave it? Is it in your CAR?"

Per their usual, The Onion has it just right. I think back to the halcyon days of watching Dan Rather, Tom Brokaw, or Peter Jennings call the damn thing by 9:30 p.m. so I get out to the club in time for a show. And now that Arafat is sick, well, who the hell knows anything anymore. Life is just one big question mark. Just like George always said.

Just to quote "The Onion", Holy Fucking Shit! I'm thinking that we are going to be all ok on election day but things could go rapidly downhill by 1 a.m. on November 3. Hold on, buckle up, and shut up. It's time to ride.

Ooooooooo.........scaaaaaryyy!

Finally got our pumpkins, at the old pumpkin patch in the 'hood. I was grumpy, dinner was burning, he was late and focused on work, but once we saw two little forms running about in the midst of so much warm orange, everything melted into happy.

Big time fun in the Belle Household recently - when my children discoveredmy own childhood obsession. Cloris Leachman as the Amazon Queen (a sour and drunken queen - bril!), Lynda Carter's gorgeous gams and strangely effective expressions, and Lyle Waggoner. My God, Lyle Waggoner.

Get it. Rent it. Oh, and did you see this? We were one step away from canceling when the Amazon god(desse)s smiled on us once again.

Not that I'm a fashionista, not even in the least, but I do agree with this article. I think my FOP (Fear Of Poncho) began on the day I walked into Belk's and saw the poncho-only department as described by Ms. Fortini. I love a trend, but too much of a good thing scares me. Like Dr. Scholl's sandals...no matter how cool the pair, I just don't think I can follow the trend, now that it is so very much a trend.

Its not that I don't buy into fads - I have a bunch of animal prints this fall, I'm dying for a round-toed pump, and I really, really want to knit my daughter a poncho. But more than likely I'll still be cowering in the cold wearing last year's Target suede jacket whilst the rest of the population snuggles into their armless covers.

I really have no problem whatsoever with this. So sue me. I am not an equal-opportunity player hater when it comes to selling out. I respect bands like REM and Neil Young for not every doing it and for railing against it, and then sometimes I think it is tastefully and carefully done. Other times, not so much.

I just read an interview touting Dylan's new book where he said Bono would have been a cop if he had come to America in the early part of the century. Apparently they drank a case of Guiness together. There was no mention of cigarettes but one would think they smoked a case of those. I just like to imagine these evenings when icons get together and discuss banal things. Peter Buck apparently got the idea to tour with two nannies from Bono. Maybe Dylan got the idea to do the Victoria Secret ads from him, though I doubt it. As the beer got low, there might have been comparison notes about various IRAs and investment opportunities. Sports? I guess not. Best hotels to stay in whilst in the Midwest? Home remedies for guitar callouses? Surely some religious discussion though God knows what.

Gracious. I had no idea that every single relevant topic could befodder for the fighting. I generally haven't thought this election as contentious as some - after all, I moved to my fair city in the midst of a Jesse Helms election. But lately Messers Bush and Kerry seem to be slinging it pretty regularly. Even people who wanted a decent, kinder campaign season were bitching that Johnny Edwards was too easy on Cheney.

But I shouldn't comment about anything relevant or timely, as I am completely out of it. I didn't even know about poor Christopher Reeve. I remember a New Yorker article from a year or two back that outlined the advances that Reeve's advocacy had made possible for people with paralysis. The article - and Reeve - both stated that he would walk again. I am sorry that didn't happen. Still, I salute someone who used his celebrity only for good and whose actions created real improvements and treatments for a tragic condition.

Finally, the Braves are on my mind. I've watched approximately one inning of the playoffs - baseball is one of the sacrifices I've made for motherhood. By the time the few of you who read this do read this, it will be over, for better or for worse. I can only hope that I am in for a few more nights of my husband lying on the couch for hours and a few more mornings of finding an empty beer bottle on the side table.

I had an appointment at the Carolina Ballet today. In preparation for interviewing a prima ballerina, I took my four-year-old to Bojangles where I delicately consumed a chicken filet biscuit and sipped down a cup of sweet tea the size of a traffic cone. I rubbed my hands with some antibacterial foam and sucked on a splinter of a breath strip, grabbed my boy, and strode into the offices of the company.

After I had a coughing fit due to the large fog of smoke that encompassed the entrance, I was delighted to meet both the handler and her ballerina. They were very kind women, very lovely. And very thin. We walked past a couple of freakish looking women and some slight but beautiful boys. To my son's delight, the handler showed him the gingerbread men's costumes from "The Nutcracker".

All in all, the meeting went well. I had to wonder about that life, though...I can't wait to see The Company (currently midway down in my Netflix cue). And I may very well attend another ballet. But it seems a harsh life, with stringent guidelines, and a limited window for achieving anything. I don't have the artist's heart so I can't really know. But I can gawk and wonder, and watch these dancers, right through the cloud of smoke that obscures them from my view.

This is the eve of an REM album release. So different, this time! First, we have the single released well ahead of time (and before that, a snippet released), and lo and behold you can even listen to the whole album right this very minute! Wow! The Internet! Wonders of wonders! But guess what. I don't know if hearing "Around the Sun" two days ago was all that. Was it because I wasn't sitting in a late-fall sun-filled room, with friends, with a beer or two, listening on my stereo? Was it because I didn't really like the record (gasp)? Was it because I was exhausted from running around after my two darlings and perparing for my music classes? Why, dammit, why?

Ah, let's just hope the album holds promise and will hold my attention. Maybe tomorrow, on its official release day, I'll fall in love with a new REM record. Just like I have so many times before, in so many different rooms, with so many different people.

A few blogs I've read today refer to being tired of their online selves. Or not just their online selves, but every other thing about themselves. I understand, really I do. But is there something in the air? Like me, are others lives running at fever pitch and finding no time to just stop and sniff the blog? No time to sit at the computer for anything other than work, volunteer work, coersion of parents into school requirements, Halloween costume shopping, and reviews of your latest book club selection?

There is plenty of time in my day, and some of it is spent in boring, rote, trite activity. Some of it is spent in anger. Some of it is spent in the car, where at least I can listen to music. Some of it is spent working out my body, some spent working out my brain. I'm very productive. But I refuse to feel guilty when I'm not. So maybe I won't blog a lot. No one reads this anyway!

(To those of you who do, of course I'm grateful. But don't expect an apology after an absence.)

Sheesh. This is TBS's marketing for their (cleaned up) repeats of SATC. I had to laugh at my mother-in-law's shock and awe at the show, and Samantha in particular, knowing that Mom had not seen such deleted delights as Samantha going down on Sonia Braga or Charlotte's date with a man who called her rap song-worthy epithets upon climax.

Anyway, its hard to let go. TBS is making the end of the show so much easier. The Emmys last night were also fun. Cause let's be honest: I was only watching to see what SJP and the girls were wearing. Not to mention Chris Noth.

I just recently found out that I am knitting improperly. I have somehow created a new stitch, which I am calling the "Belle". (Belle one, purl two) With the help of a friend I have corrected my technique. I finished my current project in a Belleing pattern, but am now working on another kerchief and that involves increasing. So I asked the friend to help. She directed me to this site which has yet to fail to make me think of a porn video. Poor lighting, the faux French mani, the dextrous manipulation of the yarn....I'm wondering if they shouldn't put the thing to some synthesized soft jazz and see how many adverts they get then!

I do raise my glass, yet again, to the Internet though, porn knitting or no. This resource will ensure that I do not fling my size 8 wooden circulars at anyone or anything, and that I may create a project the way the knitting gods intended.

There are a few references to the Sex Pistols in this article. That makes me very happy. Somehow, I am in a major rock-out phase in my life. I was a little depressed to hear R.E.M.'s new album described as "melodic" and "lush". But apparently U2 has scaled it down to the fab four - vocal/guitar/bass/drums, and they are working with a producer who probably has no idea what the word "harmony" means. Good times.

As for the eligible bands for this year's Hall of Fame induction - all I can say is they clearly got me in the gut. I feel like my own personality could be described as "Lynyrd Skynyrd meets The Pretenders" myself. Maybe I should try and attend the induction concert.

My daughter is really good at soccer. I'm so proud I could burst. And, I'm feeling more like a mom than I ever thought possible.

I drive my minivan to the soccer games at a place I swore (as a young married) that I would never take my children, should I decide to have any. I park next to Range Rovers, Volvos, and Lexus SUVs and escort my Aryan-looking children to the field in our requisite soccer gear. (Note: I have not yet bought the requisite chairs. Maybe I'm doing better than I thought.) Usually, I have taken care to wear a clean shirt and maybe some lipstick. I meet and greet and press the flesh of so, so many people.

But then the action starts and my golden girl is right there, in the game. She is agressive, active, unafraid, and fast as all hell. She gets tired and overheated easily like her mom did back in the middle-Georgia softball tournaments of the early '80s. Still, when called upon, she shakes off her exhaustion and runs to where she needs to be or digs the ball out from a crowd or kicks the living daylights out of it.

Here is where I must stop, for modesty demands it. Also, my soccer lingo is incredibly limited. Beyond "Kick it!" or "Goal!" I really have no vocabulary for cheering her little team on, since I have no idea how to play the game. My experience with soccer is limited to a one-night stand with a college player and the relevant cinema.

I guess I'll continue to stand on the sidelines, cheering loudly whenever our team does something I perceive as good, and then we'll get in the minivan and go out for pizza. So I said I would never be that kind of mom. It seems to be the right thing to do, right now. And never, I realize yet again, should you ever say "never".

Dumb Furcal. Why did he have to do it? Where are his people, his entourage? Where are the publicists, agents, etc.?

(Same questions were asked when John Rocker gave that interview to Sports Illustrated....)

All of my sports heroes keep falling, and hard. Oh, Marion. And speaking of Bravos, my darling Chipper fathered a few illegitimate children in between Ozzfest shows, apparently!

Timmy Duncan has stayed clean. Tiger seems human. The Williams have a few problems of their own, but they haven't pulled any Bush twin/Hilton sister antics...yet.

Let's hope that Furcal has learned his lesson and will let some highly paid driver escort him around 285 from now on.

I like Franz Ferdinand. Despite some bad reviews, I still think they have a unique sound and are worthy of this recognition.

So many of the great new bands are European. My favorite teenybopper rockers Snow Patrol were shortlisted for the Mercury Prize. The Raveonettes are Danish, The Hives are Swedish (Var sa god!), and Belle and Sebastian are something if not affected.

Who would win the American version of the Mercury? The Grammys always seem to embarass me with the "best new band" award....mainly because the "best new band" has either a. been around forever, or b. is no good and will not be around to see the next Grammy ceremony. Gaze at this list and you'll see what I mean.

For the American Mercury I'd look at the Yeah Yeah Yeahs or the Black Eyed Peas. But my first choice would be Interpol. We Americans are giving the Brits (and Swedes) a run for their money lately - and with new music coming from Beck, Gwen Stefani, REM, and my darling Interpol - plus the Strokes and Wilco among others with fun new records floating about - hell, maybe this year's Best New Artist won't be so totally cheesey.

Sometimes I like my town and my life. I was not offended at the latest Junior League meeting, I was pleased to get to the coffee shop
in time to discuss our book club selection,
the monster in the Atlantic doesn't seem headed our way, and my children have been funny and well-behaved for the most part.

In fact, they have been inquisitive and full of wonder. Discussions often ensue in the minivan about what life was like before a. toilets, b. cars, and c. hairbrushes. I have heard them talking quietly about how they wish Barbie was their babysitter, or that they could stay four forever.

There are stranger moments, too...like when they sing songs and recite ditties all around the word, "Drinkskwush". This whilst sucking on defrosted popsicles. There is a lot of bottom revealing. And at various times one child is a baby and the other, its caretaker of some ilk. The baby's name is something along the lines of "Baby Ozie" or "Baby Rescue" or "Baby Banana".

So do I fear five hours in the car with them tonight? No, I relish it. My insurance is the portable tv/vcr and my iPod. But for the most part, I'm just going to sit back and enjoy the drive.