Our Heroine Would Not Tamper with a Downed Satellite If She Were You

When I was in high school, I somehow got my hands on a copy of Michael Crichton's The Andromeda Strain. I don't know why I read it then, considering that the only books I wanted to read in high-school involved brooding heroes with wounded souls being saved by plain but sassy governesses in country houses.

But I did read it, and it was Michael Crichton's first novel, written (I think) while he was still at Harvard Medical School and before he went all Hollywood and started sticking precocious kids in every book because he's really just scripting a movie.

This book was serious, hard-core, written entertainment, laced perfectly with that ol' Aristotelian fear that, "This could happen to me."

My Pumpkins, I cannot express accurately how reading that book for the first time made me feel. It sticks in my head as one of the most exciting reading experiences of my entire life. I mean, I missed my bus stop - several times - because I was so engrossed. I didn't talk to my girlfriends for days; I just wanted to be alone to read. The book is perfect entertainment. It's really just perfect. I don't want to give too much away, but the plot involves a satellite, a collision in outer space, a top-secret government lab and a mysterious something that wreaks apocalyptic levels of death.

The book is probably my favorite science-fiction novel, and easily among the top 10 most enjoyable books I have ever read. It's totally believable. I reread it, and while the technology now seems dated, the premise still makes perfect sense.

Why am I raving about this now? Because the super-geniuses at A&E have brilliantly decided to (re)make Andromeda Strain as a movie which airs this weekend. When I saw the commercial a little while ago, I threw my cat off my lap and started running around my apartment, shrieking. And I am going down to the 7-11 when I'm done posting this to celebrate with a nice, lemony Diet Coke.

I know it's science-fiction, but will you ladies watch it if I tell you that Benjamin Bratt is playing hero-scientist, Dr. Jeremy Stone? (Megan, there are no insecty-alien creatures like the last science-fiction thing I tried to foist on you.)

Anyhoodle, before I sign off with one last whoopee of excitement, I must confess that every random science career I've ever imagined for myself was spawned from reading The Andromeda Strain, in which all the scientists were tough and smart and brave and patriotic and willing to sacrifice their lives to save the world. Sadly, I just can't do math in my head, so the science life was not to be for me.

Our Heroine Posts a Nubbin

St. Thomas on a donut! My cowgirl hat is so ridiculously cute I can't stand it. When will my job switch from business formal to Western casual?

Our Heroine Goes Country

Last week I went to see Dolly Parton at Radio City Music Hall with Frank and Megan, at which event Frank wore his cowboy hat. And, I don't know why, but I was suddenly consumed with jealousy over his hat, and possessed of a fierce desire to own my own.

The problem is my giant Keeler-shaped head, which is the bane of both my and my brother's existence. It makes hat-buying a trial, I can tell you.

So I Googled "cute cowgirl hats" in different sizes and I ordered this one, which is hanging out at the UPS outpost in Secaucus, a mere day away from my loving hands:



How cute! I think I will wear it with short flowered sundresses and big gold earrings and people in Brooklyn will laugh at me but I won't care because in my head I'll think I look sorta like Sandra Bullock in Hope Floats, the movie during which I'm pretty sure I loved every. single. outfit.

And I thought about this hat and the pretty clothes from Hope Floats on my subway ride to and from work today and it made me smile.

Our Heroine's Shiner is Fading Quite Nicely, Thank You for Asking

Most of you probably know that I got snookered into the possession of two cats last year, practically before I knew what was happening to me. Basically, I made the mistake of stopping by an adoption center at a sidewalk fair where I saw an old gray cat being overlooked, at which point my heart broke in two because she looked so utterly lost and alone, and so I took her home and got her a friend.

So now I have two cats. And I am not allowed near adoption fairs. But anyway, the guy who makes these Simon's Cat videos knows cats better than anyone else ever! This video is a technically accurate reenactment of my morning, down to the smallest detail -- up to and including the black eye.

Now Our Heroine is Cookin' with Gas!

Lappie 3.0 is in the house and he's already a beloved member of the family.

I have SOOOOOO much stuff to tell y'all! But not tonight, because I already posted one thing, and I'm a sleepy heroine. So blogging will pick up properly tomorrow.

How do y'all feel about a post on French film? Mais non? Then maybe something on that stupid movie about that guy who hates his ex-girlfriend and goes to Hawaii to forget her or something. I'll see.


(Thanks to Papa Juliet Foxtrot for the insightful installation advice and numerous puns on the word "PC-cillin"!)

Our Heroine Issues a Mea Culpa

We here at The Decanonon (and really, that's just me) do try to credit content from other sites when we use it. But in my post, Our Heroine Is Not A Raptor Sympathizer I did not credit the creator of the most awesome velociraptor cartoon of all time with a via http://xkcd.com/.

That was a long time ago, and I'm not sure why I didn't, though I know it was accidental. Anyhow, it's fixed now, belatedly, and I want to offer a kind "thank you" to Oliver Babbles for his gentle reminder to me to do the right thing.

Our Heroine Wonders When Our Long National Nightmare Will Be Over

What is wrong with these jeans? I ask y'all. If you need help, look closely at the cuffs.



As if the ubiquitous leggings craze wasn't bad enough, or the tight jeans inside boots craze, or the maternity shirt over tight pants craze, or the too-long tight pants worn with ballet flats craze. As if any and all of the current crazes weren't bad and unflattering enough, now we’re bringing back pegged jeans?! For serious? I mean, I wore those things once before, in college, and those are the pictures I look at now and shudder and think, "My G*d, what was I thinking?"

But now, suddenly, they're hot? And even preppy J.Crew approves? When will our long national nightmare be over?