Two Parter

1 - I can't believe I haven't told you about my convertible gloves. Ma, the Walden Christmas Shopper, came through like CRAZY and bought me the coziest hand warmers ever. Plus, Oats (my dad) got a matching pair! Can you believe it? It is too special. We walked to the movie theater wearing them. When a friend called, I said, "Oats! Watch how I flip down the mitten part and am better able to click, 'Answer!" And he did watch, and he was impressed. My family is the swellest.

2 - I am going to Pike Place with a friend named Emily AGAIN! This time, though, it is a different Emily. Still, it is weird. It is like finding two rocks with "Kelly Jean Walden" carved into them by the cold, winter wind, except instead of "Kelly Jean Walden" it is "friend named Emily" and instead of "rock shaped by the cold, winter wind" it is "strolling around Pike Place Market."

Regal and handsome, indeed

Nic-Nic-Nicaroo had been building up her Christmas gift for a while. Imagine my delight when I ripped off the paper to find this gem:
Tucker Jobe - my favorite yapping, shaggy Shih Tzu - immortalized(ish). It is a Christmas wish come true.

What happens in my bed, in my brain.

Last night, I fell asleep wondering whether it's "skeptic" or "sceptic." It's "skeptic."

Far from the lousy headlines and the deadlines in between.

I leave for Albuquerque on Monday. My bro just moved there, so he and I have a few excursions planned, namely exploring the Carlsbad Caverns and checking out the White Sands National Monument. I'm also thinking of making a day (or maaaybe overnight) trip to Sante Fe, where I will sing and dance like Jack Kelly:

I especially like the choreographed part in the middle.

Any other Southwesty suggestions?

After reading 19 articles about this video, it's about time I watched it.

Here, we see 1,500 Filipino prisoners reenacting "Thriller" even better than Jennifer Garner did in "13 Going on 30." (Yes, this takes into consideration my wild, animal passion for Mark Ruffalo.)

Other bloggers are better than me, so I steal from them; or, You Better Work

A'holes with weapons and/or names like "Rudy Giuliani."

As you have probably heard, Former Prime Minister of Pakistan, Benazir Bhutto, was assassinated this morning. This was the second major attempt on her life since her return to Pakistan a few months ago, and, unfortunately, this one was successful. (The first one missed her but killed 150 others.)

I'm a little pissed that a woman who, in the words of a generic politician, "represented freedom and democracy" was murdered by a crazy fundamentalist (probably), and that the current Prime Minister (put into power through a coups, though he seems to an all right leader when his feathers aren't ruffled and he's not jailing honest judges and lawyers) didn't seem to do everything he could to protect Bhutto.

Anyway, I want to turn the focus to the statements released by presidential candidates. Please note the ridiculous encouragement of fear in a few of these, most notably in Rudy "Bombs are Da Bomb" Giuliani. ("We must redouble our efforts to win the terrorists' War on Us." Really, Rudes? You want to bring us back to that? And did you honestly capitalize "War on Us"?)

Our lesson? Assassinators are crazy. Fearmongers are crazy (and usually Republican). Obama, Clinton, and Edwards have lovely speech writers. Hooray for not living in the Middle-East. Rest in Peace, Benazir Bhutto.

Bluey Jean.

Once, when my adorable lab got in trouble, Oats asked, "What is Blue's middle name?" Mama answered, "Jean." Then Oats could scold her with, "Bluey Jean Walden!"

It's clever, you see, because my name is Kelly Jean Walden.

She is the happiest animal in the Pacific Northwest.

Edit: Blue is not possessed by demons. However, the flash on my camera phone is. Possessed by demons, I mean. The demon camera distorts eyes. Boo.

I hate you, GAP sale.

I am frugal now. That means I won't buy this sweater, even though it's cashmere, 50% off, and the cutest little thing you ever did see.

Take that, 1st grade report card - "average" on self-control, cadaver.

Holy Morning

I just made a bed with Grandma DoDo. Grandma DoDo is the Master of Clean. Making the bed with Grandma DoDo is like praying with the Pope, decorating with Martha Stewart, and being awesome with me. What an experience!

This would be more fun if you could tell Buster was both growling AND wagging his tail. He is an oxymoron. I intentionally provoke it.

But I'm a muggle in Puyallup.

If I were Harry Potter and you were Ronald Weasley, I'd yell across the Gryffindor Common Room, "Happy Christmas, Ron!" And you'd yell back, "Happy Christmas, Harry!" And we'd be precious and magical and have British accents.

Microscopic Jehova

"Israeli scientists have inscribed the entire Hebrew text of a Jewish Bible onto space less than half the size of a grain of sugar," says this article.

"I'm really glad none of my hard(ish)-earned dough is going to those bored scientists," says this woman.

The days of yore... or, you know, yesterday.

After a long morn' of pulling shots and foaming milk, I headed down to ol' Pike Place Market with some pals. Man. Maaaan. I wish I weren't the brokest broke broke-ass you've ever met.

If I had money, I would have bought these items:
+ Orange-vanilla hazelnuts
+ Dragon's teardrops tea
+ Batard bread (but only so I could say, "Would you like some batard?")
+ One of those lotiony bars
+ Lots and lots of fresh produce

You know how broke I am? I am so broke that I've only bought one pomegranate all season. And I charged it.

(Editor's Note: The author realizes that, in the grand scheme of things, she is fortunate to have a warm home, comfortable clothes, and be attending grad school and one of the best-respected Colleges of Education in the nation. However, she is a little sad that once she graduates, her debt will be more than her first year's salary. The author is considering singing Cher's "Life After Love" at the market with her favorite cowgirl hat on the ground, hoping to make at least enough money to fill her gas tank for the Christmas Eve drive to Puyallup.)

(Another Editor's Note: The author also realizes that she COULD be working another job to get further out of debt, but she prefers writing posts like these and dancing alone to The Fratellies wearing only sweats and a cami.)

(Even More From the Editor: Ok, I admit it. Debt or no debt, life is pretty dang fabulous. And I DID buy 3 chocolate croissants for this morning's Gma-Ma-KJW Brunch.)

Amazing songs I discovered this year, in alphabetical order by song title because I cannot, for the life of me, rank them.

• Glamorous (ft. Ludacris), Fergie. Luda at his best. He more than cancels out Fergie.
  

• Heart In a Cage, Chris Thile. Chris left Nickel Creek to do his own thing. This song makes me forgive him. To me, it is perfect. (Quick! Who writes, "To me, you are perfect"? Do you or do you not want to marry him?)

• Homebird, Foy Vance. "The orange was the size of a watermelon to me." If that doesn't make you remember being 4-years-old, you don't deserve Homebird.

• Low (ft. T-Pain), Flo Rida. I don't know what it is. The fun of singing "Low" so lowly? Pretending to turn around and give my big booty a smack? Watching the video in Chipmunk form? Perhaps a combination.
  

• We Can Work It Out, Stevie Wonder. Alanis listed this as one of her favorite songs on some iTunes collection, so naturally I listened to it. Only Stevie can improve on the Beatles.

• When The Night Feels My Song, Bedouin Soundclash. One of the simple pleasures: singing, "When the ni-i-i-iggghhht feels my soonnnngggg." (Note: I don't know if you American-radio listeners heard this. It could have been a Canadian thing.)

This list is incomplete, but I want to take a shower. I might continue it later, if you're lucky. And you give me money or comments.

A convincing argument.

The United States should eliminate the penny. (Note: My mom is named Penny. I love my mom. We should not eliminate people named Penny. Or dogs named Penny. Or Inspector Gadget's niece named Penny.)

In 2006, the price of metals went crazy. In April of 2006 (when this article was written), it cost 1.4 cents to make a penny. You know as well as I do that .4 cents times the trillionish pennies the government make each year equals a lot of money. Here is that sentence written mathematically, for you left-brained folks:

.4 cents
x 1 trillionish pennies
-----------------------
a lot of money

Fox News says that the US Mint makes "7 or 8 billion pennies" a year, resulting in a $20 million loss, but I think we can all agree that Kelly Walden News is just as reliable as Fox News. So, we're sticking to my math.

"This is all fine and dandy, Kel Bel, but how will I pay that $3.86 for my latte if there is no penny?" Oh, consumer, don't you worry! Businesses should have no trouble rounding. In fact, though my employer accept pennies, we round all of our prices to the nearest nickel. Heck, back when I worked at the movie theater, the company rounded everything to quarters! And if cheap-ass Regal Cinemas is willing to round, I guarantee you it doesn't cost much (or anything) to the business.

Plus, when you think about it, we're already rounding. Chances are that latte does not cost $3.86, but $3.86.019. (Ok, chances really are it cost $1.03 and the coffee shop is ripping you off, but let's pretend that's not happening.) If we can round to the nearest .01 of a dollar, why not to .05?

I realize that pennies are sweet and that our great-grandchildren would be confused by "Pennies from Heaven" if we eliminated the coin now, but that's no reason to waste millions of dollars every year. That money could go to things like, I don't know, ice cream. (Get it? It's MINT ice cream!) Or relieving poverty.

In conclusion, you should elect me into some important political office, because I am filled with good ideas. But not ice cream.

Lovin' the Luna!

Great news, everybody! Today is WINTER SOLSTICE! Yeah! (Some argue that solstice is, in fact, tomorrow. I went to Wunderground(!) to see for myself. They say that tomorrow is 1 second longer than today, and I want to be happy about solstice IMMEDIATELY, so I choose to believe them.)

To celebrate the longest night of the year, I will, once again, stay in my pajamas until late afternoon. I will also post this informative picture:Finally, I will rant about our society's typical non-celebration of wild days like these: Hey Society! Why do you typically not celebrate wild days like these?!?

Done.

Nature and space and cycles are the coolest.

CNN needs my headline-writing skills. I need CNN's money. Let's work something out.

CNN just told me that a "Big Asteroid Could Hit Mars." Yes, they used those words - big asteroid. Not one of the small ones like my Snickerdoodles, nope. This asteroid will be big.

Big like what, CNN? Don't give me that. Don't give me that headline vagueness. Big like like my enormous bosom? Big like that comet from Armageddon that was going to destroy us until the heroic men sang "Leaving on a Jet Plane" and then were martyrs for humanity? Big like a big, big grizzly bear? I don't know! I don't know what big means to journalists and space people! One astronomer says of the incident, "These odds are extremely unusual. We frequently work with really long odds when we track ... threatening asteroids." Extremely unusual. Really long odds. I don't think this NASA employee ever took a communications course. Specifics, astronomer! We want specifics!

Also, after reviewing the the Story Highlights (bulleted for my reading convenience), I learn that this mysteriously-sized asteroid is named WD5. Ok. Ok, this doesn't work for me. I am renaming the big asteroid. I call it Pookie.

Pookie Could Hit Mars!

It's a start.

Entertainment, Future assignments, Sleep replacement

A librarian displayed this book. It got me. Every story is written in 55 words or fewer. Some of my favorites:

Gratitude, by Andrew E. Hunt
The street lights were a warm welcome from the oncoming chill of darkness.
The park bench's curvature felt familiar under his tired old spine.
The wool blanket from the Salvation Army was comfortable around his shoulders and the pair of shoes he'd found in the dumpster today fit perfectly.
God, he thought, isn't life grand.

Bedtime Story by Jeffrey Whitmore
"Careful, honey, it's loaded," he said, re-entering the bedroom.
Her back rested against the headboard. "This for your wife?"
"No. Too chancy. I'm hiring a professional."
"How about me?"
He smirked. "Cute. But who'd be dumb enough to hire a lady hit man?"
She wet her lips, sighting along the barrel.
"Your wife."

Fair Play, by Fred W. Manzo
Irv and Ivan lay on the blistering sands, ogling women.
"That one?" Irv asked.
"Nope," Ivan said. "Too fat."
"Her?"
"Nope, too skinny."
In the warm sun they sipped beer and gawked.
"Wow," said Ivan. "Look at her!"
Two girls, wearing flaming pink bikinis glided past.
"Nope," they heard one say to the other.

I was productive most of the day. Honestly.

Holy hilarity. Guess who the Dodgeball commentators are.

Michael Bluth and Bingo Bob Russell (of Arrested Development and West Wing fame, respectively).

You see? You see why it pays to eat your dinner to channel 50?

The Tiniest Snickerdoodles I Have Ever Baked

Julia Child learned to cook to make her husband happy. Now, I don't know her husband, but I do know people, and I know that I appreciate a good meal more than the rest of y'all. So, imagine if I learned to cook for me. Whoa. I'd probably get a show on the Food Network. They'd call it "Kelly Kooks." No, maybe not. I meant for that to sound like "cooks," but instead it comes out like that precious British band. Ok, other potential names for my future cooking show:

-Kelly in the Kitchen
-Kelly Jean Walden is a Badass
-Chuckles and Chitlins (unless that means I would actually have to cook with chitlins)
-Terrific Jokes, Pretty Good Food
-I Love Kelly Walden and Everything She Does

Yep. The Food Network. That is where I go next.

Hahahahahaha

Kelly Jean Walden: Always There

I attended (and was on time for) every single class fall quarter.

Mmmm hmmmm.

Sunday's post-wedding insanity or, "It's the one you've been waiting for."

Nic Nic Nicaroo Kristine Raden's family is currently enjoying their SECOND bout of fame. You know, because they're frequent features of this blog, and this blog is known and loved around the globe.

Their first was the Trading Spaces ordeal. That was MY first experience with fame, too. E-bot and I snuck (WHOA, what? "snuck" is not a word? do the red-squiggly-underliners prefer "sneaked"? RIDICULOUS!) (AND "underliners" is not a word? this must change) our pictures on the fridge, the mantel, etc. As a result, we go into the background of several shots and now have modeling contracts, record deals, and, of course, this very blog.

In fact, I prefer talking about E-bot and myself instead of Nic's family. Yeah. E-bot and I are the coolest. We are on the Forefront of the Language Evolution, and we are the reason you say "cadaver" (or "cadav," for you hipper folk) instead of "whatever." Oh, and if you DON'T say "cadaver," it's about time you start. Yes, got on that. Get on that "cadaver" lingo.

It's late at night and I should be in bed.

Kelly Jean Walden's 426th brilliant idea of the day

Another potential winter break activity: become the Ultimate Tea Expert rather than just the Awesome Person with Merely Above-Average Tea Knowledge.

I'm kind of serious about this one.

Yeah, yeah.

The English - good for tea and precious accents

Frequent tea-consumer that I am, it only made sense to buy the 50-pack of English Breakfast. Interestingly, it seems that the last bags of the box steep more quickly and/or are stronger than the first bags. This leads me to ask the question we have all asked at one point or another: does tea age factor into my morning cup of English Breakfast?

For the answer, I went to Google. When I searched for "tea age", nothing relevant popped up, but I did get the most fascinating article of all time: Age, Burden, Divorce, and Heavy Tea Consumption are Significant Risk Factors for Erosive Esophagitis.

That damn divorce. That damn erosive esophagatis!

A pal got married today.

Good thing I had my camera phone.

Also,

Our living room was a winter wonderland. (I made up that alliteration all by myself.) The snowflakes are incredible, don't you think? I folded and cut them while watching Rachael Ray.

This picture was taken the morning after the event. Lots of friends spent the night, but only my 8th grade boyfriend managed to sneak in the picture.

People left beer and wine. That was nice. They were probably so blown away by my magnificent punch and charming personality that they felt they owed us the leftover alcohol. What sweeties.

(Clarification: He was my boyfriend when we were in 8th grade. He is not a current boyfriend that happens to be in 8th grade. The current boyfriend is old...er than me.)

It's a hollaaaday.

The party combined several of my great loves: old pals, new pals, and brownies displayed like a Scrabble board.

$3.26 hoodie!

The camera phone doesn't do justice to the lovely Husky purple. In fact, that hoodie looks downright brown, doesn't it? And do you believe that the bath towel in the background is bright blue? It is. It is!


Nic observed that when I get excited, I push up my sleeves. This is a handy (albeit strange) quirk, because sleeves never fit right anyway. Well, not if the rest of the shit fits. I look forward to the day when clothes makers create a hoodie that will fit the length of my arms AND the Kellyness of my torso. Smalls = pushed-up sleeves. Mediums = poofy... and pushed-up sleeves when I'm excited.

But I deal. Sales + coupons = a bargain that makes up for weird hoodie shapes.

EDIT: I noticed the "shit fits" error after a run-through of this post. It was too dang hilarious to fix. Geeze, even my typos are a riot. Is it even POSSIBLE for me to be unfunny? No!

These are big days.

Today, a fellow we call "Derek Jobe" turns 15.
Tomorrow, a certain "Ryan Jobe" turns 17.

Once, they were 5 and 7, respectively.

You know who's going to party the hardest?


Tuck Tuck Tucky.

90% perspiration

It's winter break, my dearies, and I have time on my chilly, chilly hands! (See previous post to learn about the chilly/broke connection.) I'm trying to pick up shifts at work, but until then, I have lots of free hours to do stuff. I am considering these low-cost winter break activities:

-Buzzing myself with a painful electronic device every time I say or write "stuff." This doesn't sound very fun, but it would improve my vocabulary.

-Write and publish an essay. For a topic, I was considering comparing the messages of Prince's "Kiss" and the Pussy Cat Dolls' "Loosen up My Buttons." Professors would teach it for years, probably calling it "The Great Kelly Comparison." Students won't know whether Kelly is great or the comparison is great until after they read the essay and realize that both Kelly AND the comparison are great. Then they will be inspired and, ideally, send me lots of money.

-Reenact the Napoleonic War. Of course, I will learn French first. Oh, and violence. I will learn French and violence.

-Try all the Exercise TV videos. Except for yoga, of course. I tried that once, and boy, it sure made me feel bad about myself. My limbs are stiff and I lack balance. Tae Bo is fun, though, and not just because Akon says, "Maybe go to my place and just kick it like Tae Bo." Also, Lord knows that Flirty Girl Fitness is good for any young lady's self-esteem. And feminism.

-Pick one affordable food and learn how to cook everything with it. Items on the shortlist include sweet potatoes, water, and frozen pizza.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life. Warring, cooking, essay-writing... I'm so excited.

Someday, when I am rich and famous and can afford two pairs of convertible gloves instead of zero pairs of convertible gloves...

Woolly and dirt-hiding for regular days.

















Cashmerey and dainty for fancy days.

More on language, Moron language

Merriam-Webster's Word of the Year is "W00t." Note that the where there are usually o's (the letter), there are zeros.

1ame.

Merriam-Websters C00ler Past Words of the Year:
2006: Truthiness
2005: Integrity (ok, this is 1ame, too)
2004: Blog (holla!)
2003: Democracy

My prediction for 2008: KELLY JEAN WALDEN! (capitalization and exclamation mark included)

Pretty platter please!

It's high time I invest in a platter.

Good news, reasonable people.

Caesar's Palace raised the maximum limit to $50,000 per hand of Black Jack.

Thank. God.

Last time I was in Vegas, I was all like, "Hey dealer, I am going to put down 50k, aight?" And the dealer was all like, "No, Kelly, you can't do that. House rules." And I was like, "This house does NOT rule!" and I stormed out in my sequin dress.

But now I think I will return to that casino, find that dealer, bet 50 grand, and cackle like a woman who knows she's won.

Political Advice

Obama has Oprah Winfrey.
Huckabee has Chuck Norris.
Heck, Hillary has Bill Clinton.

Somebody claim Kelly Walden!

Better Lovers - The Gang

From the left: Erin, Jodi, Lynn, Drew (our token male, inducted that night), Erin, Courtney, Lindsay, Me

Floating above: Kris's spirit (she left prior to this picture)

Not pictured: Ren (who was avoiding hotel-room mice in New Orleans)

The End of the Beginning

With the exception of one "final" - a potluck at my bourbon-loving professor's house - I am done with my first quarter of grad school.


"You're a star, Kelly Jean Walden!"

I know!

Literacy and beer.

Tonight, I celebrate four things (listed in order of importance): free popcorn, literature, Bellingham, and friendship.

Yes, Envious Reader, tonight is my book club. Tonight, Better Lovers* come together.



*Better Lovers is a group of fabulous twenty-something ladies who wholeheartedly agree that READERS MAKE BETTER LOVERS! They have no evidence to support that statement. There is talk of declaring it on a hoodie, though. Every now and then, Better Lovers meets at a dive bar in Bellingham, Washington to discuss a book of varying social and political importance. Then the alcohol kicks in and they get off topic and start fighting with those little plastic swords that impale maraschino cherries in certain drinks. You probably couldn't handle it.

I could snuggle with this.

Google Quote

When Solomon said there was a time and a place for everything, he had not encountered the problem of parking his automobile.
-Bob Edwards

Ok. The Bush family gets a point for this. Ellen gets a million.

Maybe when I get tenure.

Language is my favorite. I'm excited to teach students to become Language Masters. (Our readings usually say, "Masters of language," but, at the suggestion of William Strunk, Jr., I eliminate words when I can.) (Parentheses don't count.) (In fact, nothing I write counts unless I say it does.)

It's too bad that our culture's best examples of language brilliance often occur in wildly offensive songs. Let's consider Luda's "Stand Up." The song boasts excellent examples of simile, metaphor, hyperbole, and pretttty clever rhymes. (Lots of rappers alter the normal pronunciation of words to flow together better, but Ludacris has the most fun with it.) Unfortunately, it also contains disgustingly sexist images and vocabulary I would never use with 14-year-olds.

Kanye West's "Crack Music," one of my all-time favorite songs, probably couldn't be played in a classroom, either. Some argue it's racist and paranoid (I don't know if I agree), but I think it provides plenty of interesting content to discuss. Plus, consider some of the most genius lyrics you've ever heard:

How we stop the black panthers?
Ronald Reagan cooked up an answer
You hear that?
What Gil Scott was hearing
When our heroes and heroines
Got hooked on heroin
Crack raised the murder rate in DC and Maryland
We invested in that
It's like we got Merrill-Lynched
And we been hanging from the same tree ever since

Too bad I won't discuss crack with 8th-graders. Anyway, I would feel uncomfortable sharing a song that I won't even sing along to because of the racial slurs.

At least I have Lauryn Hill, right? That is, unless I listen closer and find more of the same.

Someone, somewhere, please write and release some school-appropriate brilliance. Thank you.

Heck, my office supplies are red, white, and blue!

I am a patriot. The United States is bad-ass. It's too bad that we elected a leader who doesn't recognize what makes us so awesome (namely, The Constitution) (and me).

And how awesome is it that I can criticize our president without fearing for my life or freedom? High five, country's founders!

The Sequel

WASHINGTON (CNN) -- President Bush was told in August that Iran's nuclear weapons program "may be suspended," the White House said Wednesday, which seemingly contradicts the account of the meeting given by Bush Tuesday.

...

The new account from [press secretary] Perino seems to contradict the president's version of his August conversation with McConnell and raised new questions about why Bush continued to warn the American public about a threat from Iran two months after being told a new assessment was in the works.

But Perino said there was no conflict between her statement and Bush's Tuesday account of the meeting, when he said McConnell "didn't tell me what the information was."

"The president wasn't given the specific details" of the revised intelligence estimate, which was released Monday, Perino said. Nor did Bush mislead Americans in October, when he warned of a third world war triggered by Iran's development of nuclear technology, she said.

-------------------------------------

Mm hm.

(Emphasis added, and here's more.)

Awesome as pho!

(Note: That title is clever because "pho" is pronounced "phuh." It rhymes with "duh!" Except it usually said with less scorn.)

Great news, poopsies! I found $3.85 pho on The Ave! Nothing beats an affordable bowl of Vietnamese soup.


My lunch company - two future English teachers and one future Social Studies teacher (we don't fraternize with those math and science weirdos) (just kidding) (kind of) - made it even better.

Hip-hop-hooraaaay-hoooo for soouuuppp-yooooo!

The Tiger Woods of racquetball, but with less skill

Neither of my parents recognized me in that picture on the side of my blog. Can you believe that? They made me, for goodness sake, and they can't recognize me in a regular, old, pink blazer!

So, I have broken down the picture into wee explanations so you know that the hottie on my blog is, in fact, me.


Long live 80's Racquetball That Turned Into Tacky Racquetball!

What's left

1 paper
1 big edit
3 potlucks

Me too, Mary. Me too.

I have a cat named Abe Lincoln. He likes to touch my face.

Seattle schools need us.

Guy: Hello, pot, this is the kettle! You're black!

Girl: I am not black. What are you talking about?

Guy: It's a metaphor. Do you know what a metaphor is?

Girl: Yes -- it's a giant flaming rock that comes out of the sky. You never make any sense.


(Heard in Seattle, Posted on HeardEverywhere.com)