While strolling the aisles of Cost Plus World Market (btw: did this name ever strike anyone else as unfortunate? It sounds like the store is advertising that its prices get jacked up. However, a plethora of goodies are to be had, and at fairly reasonable prices. Anyhoo—), Bjorn let out excited yelps: “Daim! Daim!”
As the name sounds like “dime,” I was puzzled to see neither small silver coins nor an attractive woman with a big booty (as rappers seem fond of calling them).
Provisional clerk Bob Bartlett wears an “I Voted” sticker on his head at the polling station at El Dorado County Senior Center in El Dorado Hills, Calif., on Election Day, Tuesday, Nov. 6, 2012. (AP Photo/The Sacramento Bee, Randall Benton)
I voted on Tuesday. As if that wasn’t thrilling enough, I got a sticker. You know the one: has a flag in one corner, the words, “I Voted” on it.
The tween girl inside of me that salivated over all things Mrs. Grossman and Hello Kitty was inordinately pleased. There’s just something I love about shiny pieces of paper that can stick to things.
Plus, this little sticker made me feel like I was part of an exclusive club, one in which members can walk around smugly, spouting effusive and bombastic bon mots about government and politics. Best of all — it was free!
But not really.
Hug a veteran this weekend.
Jammie Karlman is the entertainment editor for the Chico Enterprise-Record. Contact her at buzz@chicoer.com. Follow her on Twitter @JammieKarlman
Photo via abc.com
Jamie Chung (left) plays Mulan and Sarah Bolger is Princess Aurora/Sleeping Beauty on ABC’s TV show, “Once Upon a Time.”
I love me some “Once Upon a Time,” that TV show on ABC that posits that fairy tale characters are real, but have amnesia and are living in Maine because of a curse.
The first season was fraught with drama: Would the lead character, Emma, ever believe she was part of the fairy tale world? Would the evil queen/mayor stop her from breaking the curse? Would Snow White/Mary Margaret ever get with Prince Charming/David?
I loved the clever reworking and reimagining of old fairy tales: Rumpelstiltskin is also the Beast (of Beauty and the…), Grumpy was once known as Dreamy, Little Red Riding Hood IS the wolf.
While the second season still puts delectable twists on the old tales, it seems like the twists are serving a new purpose: to put hot people on the show.
In the second season’s opener, Mulan is introduced to the show, played by Jamie Chung. I laughed because it seemed a little forced, but hey, she’s cute, this is a Disney show and I’m all for diversity. In the following episodes, the pattern became clear: The guest stars/new characters must be jaw-droppingly good-looking, young and ethnically diverse (if you are white and have an accent it still counts).
Photo via abc.com
Colin O’Donoghue plays Capt. Hook in “Once Upon a Time” on ABC.
This was made clear in the episode where Capt. Hook is introduced to the show. Although I consider Dustin Hoffman’s portrayal in “Hook,” to be the standard by which all other villainous captains are to be measured, this Hook does have his charms. Hook, as played by Colin O’Donoghue, looks to be no older than his late 20s and rocks black leather and eyeliner like nobody’s business. If this Hook showed up in Neverland, I wouldn’t be surprised if Tinkerbell and Wendy said, “Peter who?”
I can’t wait to see who they bring on next.
Her name was Eladia. It’s a wonderful, musical name, but I called her Grandma. She died in August of this year, in the Philippines.
I have to admit, I considered not going to the funeral. There just seemed to be too many obstacles. We would be leaving on short notice which meant the tickets would be super expensive. Plus, I didn’t know if I would be able to take the time off; a newspaper doesn’t go on vacation when you do.
But this was a woman who left her own homeland so she could take care of my siblings and me, four children under the age of 9. My mom needed her help, so she came. Boy, did she need her help: I remember us as sometimes being very naughty. But I don’t remember my grandma ever yelling at us or spanking us. She was gentle and mild-mannered, even when we were surely bratty and obnoxious.
This was the woman who made us whatever we wanted to eat. She would take the skin off of frozen chickens just to fry up some balat for Jofe. When my brother Jason requested no crumbs on his snack plate of jam and butter on toast, she brushed them off. Me? I remember many fond days of eating nothing but eggs and hot dogs with rice. This was a woman who could make eating oranges sound crunchy, like she was eating potato chips instead. To this day, I don’t know how she did it.
So we went. Bjorn and I bought the tickets, cleared it with work and took off.
I had mixed feelings about her death. I was sad, of course. But I was happy because she had lived to the ripe old age of 99, healthy until the end, which had come in her sleep. But I still grieved. I grieved for me. You see, I was a bad granddaughter.
After we had grown up and gone to school, we didn’t need Grandma anymore. So she went back to the Philippines. My contact with her, at best, was sporadic, but was closer to nonexistent. Seeing her in her casket was the first time I had seen her in more than 20 years. I never got to tell her thank you.
Some of you may be wondering at this point, how is she ever going to put the fun into funeral?
Well, it helped that we had good food.
And I had my first ever ride in a pedicab that’s really meant to hold only one person.
Plus, we got to visit Bjorn’s childhood home. He grew up in the Philippines, and now I understand why he loves it so much. This is what his home looks like:
He grew up on a college campus that looks like Disneyland with a tropical flair. Seriously, Lilo and Stitch would have gnawed off their right arm to grow up there. Their house had marble floors and high ceilings. Green flowing grass covers the meticulously maintained softly rolling grounds. Trees are everywhere. A concrete wall with barbed wire surrounds the place, ensuring that fat little kids can roll around on those green mounds with impunity and ease. I wanted to have grown up here.
Bjorn also got to reconnect with his former caretaker, Ate Fe.
And this is how I found the fun in funeral.
Flying to the Phillippines was exciting, eating the food was good, seeing new places was interesting, but best of all was reconnecting with loved ones.
Through my grandma’s death, I learned a big lesson in cherishing the ones we love while they are alive. To find the fun in funeral, you have to celebrate life — with the living. It’s funny, but even in death my grandma is still helping me.
Thank you, grandma.
Jammie Karlman is the entertainment editor for the Chico Enterprise-Record. Contact her at buzz@chicoer.com. Follow her on Twitter @JammieKarlman
Don’t be fooled by the “English Toffee-pieces with nuts” adverbabble on the front–this is Almond Roca, albeit in slightly shabbier form. The packaging may say “Factory Seconds,” but these gold-foil-wrapped lovelies are still tops in taste in my book. They were my favorite candy when I was a youngster, and were a surefire way of getting my toddler self to give a hug or kiss (hey, this loving don’t come for free). Sure, the toffee may get stuck in mouth crevices you didn’t even know you had, but it’s a welcome price to pay for the perfect blend of buttery toffee, chocolate and almonds. You won’t be sorry…until the bag is empty and you realize offering hugs and kisses for this candy now is on this side of creepy (unless said exchange is with your husband; in which case he really should buy it as soon as he reads this post *ahem*).
Almond Roca found at the 99 Cent Store: 2560 Notre Dame Boulevard, Chico, CA 95928
Jammie Karlman is the entertainment editor for the Chico Enterprise-Record. Contact her at buzz@chicoer.com. Follow her on Twitter @JammieKarlman
Full disclosure: I’m not that into politics.
To me, it was a topic that engendered conversation that either devolved into frenzied shouting matches of unparalleled meanness, or mushroomed into nauseatingly smug party babble that was basically, “Yay, we’re on the same team! The other side sucks!”
Debates? They were horrifyingly boring, with various pols vying to spew the most public-pleasing soundbites that may or may not be true about policies that may or may not be enacted in the future (but most certainly would not retain the original form of any promise) that may or may not actually help people.
Until this year.
I mean, I still think a lot of it is drivel. And you can’t quite believe either side (take a look at the fact checks for the recent VP debate here). But this year, I find myself watching with open-mouthed wonder.
Any way you slice it, these candidates are major power brokers. They shape policy that decides our future. These are our leaders. Now. Not someday. They already wield unfathomable influence. And yet there they are, on television and the Internet, being manipulative, openly derisive, loud and in-your-face rude to the moderators and each other, cutting each other off and/or talking over each other.
These election debates have all the high drama of a soap opera. (I think I even caught President Obama doing a “smelling the fart” look.) If the Romney-Obama debate was like watching the glammed-out, perfectly hair-sprayed pouffed Alexis of “Dynasty” coil around the lovely yet fragile, eyelid-fluttering Krystle, the Biden-Ryan debate was like watching Snooki punch JWoww in the boob.
I couldn’t look away.
Is it just me, or does anyone else remember the days when debates consisted of remarks delivered in flat tones with occasional dry jabs that elicited low chuckles? Nowadays, the debates are all about the divas.
And the grinning. The grinning! There’s so much teeth being shown at these debates I’m beginning to suspect that toothpaste makers have rented space on them and ads will appear on them when viewed in blacklight. But I think that teeth-baring is what won the day in those respective debates.
These debates — it’s not about what’s being said. These are party lines and talking points. These debates don’t reveal a candidate’s true character. One cannot watch these debates and say with 100% confidence that they “know” the candidate or what they will do in the next four years.
But people like people who are smiling. They are drawn to those who smile. They want to be in on the joke, too. Winning is grinning. Wait and see: Whoever smirks the most, and with the most confidence will win the next debate.
And that will be amusing to see.
President Barack Obama and Republican presidential candidate and former Massachusetts Gov. Mitt Romney participate the first presidential debate in Denver, Wednesday, Oct. 3, 2012. (AP Photo/Charles Dharapak)
Vice President Joe Biden and Republican vice presidential nominee Rep. Paul Ryan of Wisconsin participate in the vice presidential debate at Centre College, Thursday, Oct. 11, 2012, in Danville, Ky. (AP Photo/Pool-Rick Wilking)
Jammie Karlman is the entertainment editor for the Chico Enterprise-Record. Contact her at buzz@chicoer.com. Follow her on Twitter @JammieKarlman
I WILL give a hoot when a bag is this cute. Future trick-or-treaters, take note: If you show up at my door with this bag I will give you MORE candy just because I approve of your style sense. Plus, these bags are pretty small so it wouldn’t take much to fill up. But because said bags are so small, I realize the only people they are age-appropriate for are probably too young to know how to read this blog, yet I bet are somehow still able to turn the computer on, surf the web, play games and fix said computer when the parental units can’t. Can I get a hoot hoot on this? Holla back too-precocious chubby toddlers!
Owl bag found at the 99 Cent Store: 2560 Notre Dame Boulevard, Chico, CA 95928
Jammie Karlman is the entertainment editor for the Chico Enterprise-Record. Contact her at buzz@chicoer.com. Follow her on Twitter @JammieKarlman
Photo via Wikipedia
The face of my enemy.
It started out pleasantly enough.
In fact, it was a gorgeous, if overly hot afternoon. My friends and I decided to wander along the creek in Bidwell Park. As is often the case along the creek, we stumbled upon a watering hole that was deep enough for a friend’s dog to swim in, so we stopped and got in, too. We sat on half-submerged logs, in dappled shade, dangling our feet in the deliciously cool water while we chatted, laughed and threw sticks for the dog to swim to and fetch (eat your heart out, Huckleberry Finn).
Finally, we decided to get out as we wanted to have time to eat homemade ice cream before going to a magic show (seriously, that was our day).
And then, M shrieked.
She had been sitting on the banks, letting her feet dry, when a yellow jacket wasp bumbled against her and then stung her. I froze in abject terror.
Stories of people being stung by bees/wasps horrified me as a kid. It just sounded terrible. It’s like getting a shot for no reason. I hate shots. One time when I was 3 or 4 and at the hospital getting a checkup, I saw my nurse down the hall, coming back with a needle. I jumped up and and ran out the door. I dodged various white-coated adults trying to catch me, slid on the floor between legs, turned tight corners at high speed. No one could catch me (it was all very impressive if I do say so myself.) Finally, I saw my mother. Sanctuary! I jumped into her open arms, and then once securely in her arms, she held out my arm for the shot. Ah, the cruelty of betrayal.
But anyhoo– as you can imagine, I hate the thought of getting stung. As a result, any time I hear buzzing or see a yellow/black insect, I RUN. No, really. I have taken off down the street with no warning, leaving many a confused person behind. Though a few were disgruntled, my actions had saved me and I could say, with no small amount of pride, that I had never been stung.
Until that day.
After M got stung, I hurriedly put on my shoes and socks so I could begin the running. I clambered up the bank and was on the trail when I heard it. The buzzing. It was so close, by my ear. It sounded like it was ensnared in my hair (which, considering the humidity, was a real possibility). I gathered my energy for the sprint, but I was not quick enough. It stung me.
Auggh! I’d been hit! AND THE PAIN. It was worse than any shot. I felt a spreading burning sensation in my shoulder. Shrieks and wails at high volume emitted from me (and maybe an expletive or two). My friends hurriedly came over and informed me that the yellow jacket had left its stinger in me and they scraped it out. I felt like throwing up.
Would I be allergic? I checked to see if I was breathing normally. Aside from having used a lot of air for screaming, I seemed to be fine.
But I was in shock. How could this happen to me? I had lived more than 30 years without experiencing being stung and had just assumed that I would live 30 more years the same way. It sounds crazy, but I really didn’t think it was ever going to happen.
What really shocked me was realizing that I had thought this way; I had been subconsciously clinging to this foolish belief in bee-sting invulnerability (although yes, I know it was technically a wasp.) Seeing my own stupidity was a sharp slap in the face.
I felt betrayed. (Funny how my betrayals seem to come at the end of a sharp point.) But this time it was by my self. I wonder how many other things I’m subconsciously holding onto that have no basis in reality, or how many erroneous conclusions I’ve drawn (or am still drawing) based on faulty reasoning. A pattern is not proof. Just because things have been that way in the past, doesn’t mean they always will be. Things change. People change. There is no knowing the future.
But at least you can look forward to it.
After this escapade, mine held homemade ice cream, so yay! Happy ending after all! 😉
Photo by Brooke
(Where I got stung. It doesn’t look like much but that’s because the photo was taken a few hours later. And it was still sore.)
Jammie Karlman is the entertainment editor for the Chico Enterprise-Record. Contact her at buzz@chicoer.com. Follow her on Twitter @JammieKarlman
Halloween is around the corner and bags of candy are already piled up and tempting me. However, I may have found a way to defeat the urges with — tada! — Candy-corn scented air freshener! The sweet smell of candy, without any of the obesity!
Unless, of course, smelling said freshener makes me hungry and overcomes any self-control, leading me into a ravenous feeding frenzy that may or may not include mountains of empty, torn candy wrappers, chocolate smeared on the walls and children staring in awe and/or crying.
Let’s see!
Jammie Karlman is the entertainment editor for the Chico Enterprise-Record. Contact her at buzz@chicoer.com. Follow her on Twitter @JammieKarlman
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