I don't know which was worse -- having to hold my foot still for more than half an hour, or wearing headphones that piped an adult contemporary radio station into my ears during that more-than-half-an-hour.

The setting was your basic MRI imaging room, and the story was...well...the story started the day after Mother's Day when I was trying on a pair of shoes my thoughtful husband had given me the day before. One shoe hurt and the other didn't. Couldn't figure out why until I looked down and saw I had a big ole lump on the top of my left foot's big toe, between the joints.

Being the mature (read doctor-avoiding) adult I am, I didn't do anything for another day-and-a-half. Eventually though, some form of common sense prevailed, and I ended up in a podiatrist's office.

It's interesting to be a woman of a certain age and still be able to claim a "first." And this was the first time I'd ever been in a podiatrist's office. I rather enjoyed the small quiet waiting room - just me and the seniors (waiting to get removed whatever it is that seniors get filed off their feet.)

And it was a distinct pleasure to be have an examination that didn't contain the word "stirrups."

The podiatrist sent me off to a nearby facility for an x-ray (because silly insurance wouldn't allow me to take advantage of the machine in the doctor's office) and less than an hour later I was back with my films.

Which showed some sort of bone abnormality. Which meant she wanted me to get an MRI.

Now...here's where the internet comes in. You know the drill. You do a Google search and keep reading every link until you find out that your symptoms mean you have an extremely rare, but ultimately fatal, condition. (Or is that just my game?)

Google didn't let me down, and it didn't take long to find at least 5 bone-cancerous-type things that can affect the big toe. Who knew? Well, the doctor did, I guess. Because in the office when this financially-cautious patient (me) was quizzing her on the need for an MRI, the doctor more or less admitted that the reason for the MRI was to rule out the scary reasons my toe bone looked abnormal.

That's why today found me lying on a table for more than half-an-hour with most of my body in a white tube of magnetic resonance and with the aforementioned Adult Contemporary B101 serenading/torturing me. The tech had asked me what station I wanted to listen to (I requested WXPN) but supposedly she couldn't get that tuned in. Oh well, I think 'XPN is fund-raising this week anyway...although listening to David Dye's membership pitch would have been infinitely better than Rod Stewart's "Downtown Train" (which I still can't get outta my head. Aaaaargh!)

Not the least bit of apprehension on my part regarding the MRI procedure (because the internet also told me my head wouldn't be in the tube.) In fact, I approached the whole thing with a lot of curiosity (and any hour away from the kids is kinda like a mini-vacation.)

What I didn't count on: the harder I tried to keep my foot still, the more it would twitch involuntarily.

Perhaps the tech thought she was being helpful when she announced the time of each series of strange magnetic thumps and beeps -- "This one is four minutes" she would say...and all I could think of is "Must stay perfectly still for FOUR minutes...try and focus on Meatloaf's hypnotic voice...oh no, did I just move my toe when I started to relax?...yikes, that magnetism is kinda tickling my feet(toes twitch)...just one more chorus of Two Outta Three Ain't Bad, and I'll have a 2-second break between sessions to wiggle my toes (calf twitches)..." And so on.

The MRI tube had this little digital timer at the end where I could see the minutes and seconds of each series counting down -- although there was also a laser eye right next to the timer that warned not to stare directly into it (the laser.) Although it didn't seem to be on, I wondered if maybe it was some sort of secret MRI laser that was invisible or something.

See what Adult Contemporary music does to my brain?

It was all a medley of stale music, involuntary muscle movements, and stolen timer glances. With a shot of contrast medium towards the end for good measure.

My idea of a fun afternoon.

“Good evening, M’am.” The gentleman startled me, as I did not hear him approach as I stood on the darkened street, outside a lovely Victorian era house. “Good evening,” I replied, “I was just admiring your home.” Thank you,” he responded, “but my wife deserves the credit. She did all the work.”

A rather pedestrian conversation, if not for the fact that the “gentleman” I was chatting with was actually an adorable little teddy bear wearing flannel pajamas and a wizard’s hat. (I didn’t dare ask the species of his wife.)

Have I neglected to mention that this chat was in text form, and taking place on my computer screen? Yep, it was just another evening in Second Life, the online 3-D virtual reality world that I have been visiting with all too much regularity.

Oh wait – how rude of me! I haven’t properly introduced myself. I am “Cyn Peccable,” a steampunk Victorian woman of little means but great reserve (or at least that’s how my Second Life profile reads.)

Um…yeah…seriously…I’m waaaay too into this.

But let he who is without a time-wasting hobby cast the first stone…keeping in mind that in Second Life, you could throw that stone haphazardly about in a glass house without breaking a single window -- cool!

Mixed imagery aside, my attraction to Second Life can be summed up in two words: no cellulite.

So, what’s a person to do with their nice cellulite-free avatar? Explore! Shop! Make friends while shopping! Shop! Try on the stuff you bought shopping!

And find a place to live.

While I’ve mastered shopping, and even have a “partner” (my real life husband, who signed on to Second Life just long enough to take me off the market) so far I’ve resisted the urge to settle down.

Not that I’m unfamiliar with others’ residences. While Cyn is a proper Victorian lady, it seems she is also quite the peeping Tom. I’ve peered into houses ranging from haunted to Architectural-Digest-ready.

I’ve seen clam shells for mermaids, post-apocalyptic sheds for those surviving an imaginary blast, and double-wide trailers for wannabe trash.

Not to mention a gigantic undersea rusted-metal seahorse/house that would set Jules Verne’s heart a-racing (if he weren’t dead, that is.)

And plain old normal stuff too. Sometimes a house is just a house.

With all this in mind, I set off to educate myself about the cost of Second Life housing. A quick search gave me the location of a sales area, appropriately named “Home Sweet Homes.” One mouse click later, I had teleported there. (Teleporting = fun!)

Materializing in the center of an expanse of neatly-trimmed grass (that never needs mowing), I found the landscape dotted with model houses of different sizes and styles. And each lot had a large sign stuck in the front yard; if you didn’t fancy the model sitting there, a click on the sign would materialize another in its place.

In a blink of an eye, I conjured up a large 3-story Victorian mansion, complete with wrap-around porch and turret…and an asking price of 6,000 Linden Dollars (the currency of Second Life.)

Oh, did I forget to mention that the exchange of (real) money is a very real part of this virtual world?

The 6,000 Linden price tag of my Victorian dream house translates to about $23 U.S. dollars. A bargain in real life, but pricey for the SL world. And I’m not sure if I’m ready to make that kind of commitment.

I mean, it’s lovely…but why be tasteful, when you can be tacky? Methinks a castle might be more suited to my flights of fancy. As a point of reference, I decide to check out Victoriana Castle, which bills itself as “The Most Beautiful Castle in SL.”

Holy Ice Princess, Batman! Blindingly white and overdone in every way imaginable – Victoriana Castle has more spires than I can count. Its curlicues have curlicues! My blood sugar level rises to a dangerous level, forcing a quick teleportation escape…

…to “Elite Estates” -- where one can buy a castle of more modest proportions. In fact 1,500 Lindens (about $6) will get me my very own a starter castle!

Unfortunately, “Dakota Castle” is unimaginatively rectangular –and its façade bears a strong resemblance to cinder block. I half-expected to find medieval-themed dinner theater going on inside. Instead, the interior was empty, if slightly dungeon-esque (which could be a positive, depending on what one is into.)

Still…hmmm…even cinderblock could be made cozy with the right furnishings. After all, isn’t décor what makes a house (or castle) a home?

So, a new mission – furniture shopping. To that end, I enlisted the companionship of my sister, AKA “Angelique Nightfire.”

We meet in the small but elegant showroom of “Capalini Fine Furnishings.” There we playfully threw our avatar-selves onto an extremely tasteful Federal style sofa; then each chose a side of a four-poster bed (and just as when we were children on family vacations, I threatened her with a karate chop if she strayed over to my side.)

Then somehow, we veered off course. The next thing I knew, we were wearing diver’s suits outside a pirate bar. Once inside said bar, Cyn put on a kimono and served Angelique a gin and tonic.

Such is the waking-dream semi-hallucinatory Second Life experience.

Leaving Angelique to nurse her virtual hangover, my next stop was the vast showroom of “Prim Goddess Creations,” which seemed prepared to fulfill my every interior decorating need…as well as needs I never knew I had. Like – what exactly is a “cuddle rug”?

(Leading to the philosophical question: Why do avatars feel a need to cuddle anyway?)

In the bedroom section, I spy a mahogany sleigh bed just like the one in my real life bedroom (except in SL, the bed is made.)

And over there -- toilets! I can’t resist the urge to walk into a bathroom display and touch the handle. It flushes! (Or more accurately, the picture of water in the bowl rotates in a clockwise fashion for a few seconds.)

Very amusing, but does it sell? In all my spying into virtual houses, I have never encountered one with a bathroom – for good reason. A virtual bathroom would only prove a rude reminder of the real life bathroom that one should be cleaning instead trying on that dreamy flowing gown.

So…bye-bye Prim Goddess!

But then I find myself in a store called “Dust Bunny”…

...prompting a glance towards the real life dust creatures forming at my feet. Seems no matter how hard one tries, some things (like housework and Britney Spears) are inescapable. Sigh.

After all my “research,” I conclude it’s easier (and cheaper) to keep my avatar homeless.

Thus resigned, I fly off to a small deserted island I’d scoped out on an earlier expedition; where a creative somebody-I’ve-never-met has turned a lighthouse into their home, complete with a life-sized (and very cuddle-able) stuffed bunny sitting by the bed.

By afternoon’s end, my avatar lies stretched out on a pillow-laden hammock by the water’s edge. All alone, save a small squirrel darting around the base of a nearby tree. It eyes Cyn suspiciously, but I don’t care.

Ah, yes…(virtual) life is good.

(If you made it here, to the end of the article, first of all, congratulations on your perseverance! Secondly, if you look closely in the last snapshot, you'll see the "squirrel" of the article was really a tiny rabbit. But I thought I had just one too many bunnies in my tale, and there is a SL squirrel that I'm fairly certain has been stalking me...so...

Hey, it's all pretend anyway!)

(To learn more about Second Life: http://www.secondlife.com/)

However late I am, there was interest in some quarters in seeing my urchins' Halloween costumes, so here they are (in all their blurred-facial-features glory!)

Little Miss Deep Thinker is resplendent in an orange witch tunic with black organza puff sleeves & apron.

This costume was originally purchased for me to wear my little nephew's birthday/costume party a few years ago. Until I tried it on and found it was evidently a "naughty witch" costume, since it was so short that it barely covered my, um, assets. However unsuitable it was for me to wear to a kiddy party, it works great on an actual kiddy!

The Elder Daughter's "rock star costume" looks remarkably like what she wore for the first day of school this year. Evidently, first-day-of-school is magically transformed into a costume with the addition of an inflatable guitar.

I was rather crushed that she rejected a wide variety of gaudy 80's metallic-striped shirts that I presented her with when we were working on her "costume", but happy that she did choose to wear my authentic vintage (South Street, Philadelphia) studded wrist bands from my college pseudo-punk days.

The 20% candy tax at work:

Strictly in the interest of teaching my children about percentages, I devised an educational math-in-the-real-world exercise in which my kids give their parents 20% of the candy they receive during their trick-or-treating. (And yes, fellow parents, they fell for it!)

Esteemed Husband and I got 36 pieces of candy out of the deal - not to mention the bowl of undistributed Snickers that somehow disappeared when the kids were at school & husband at work. I suspect a sudden infestation of mice, or perhaps poltergeist.

Next math lesson: calculating the percentage of body weight gained during the post-Halloween candy gorge.

Another tip -- hiding the kids' stash so they don't sneak into it between meals. I've found the perfect secret spot - a most desolate area, abandoned by all ye who reside here. It's a place so long unused I'm surprised it wasn't decorated (appropriately) in cobwebs; a spot that finally has a purpose.

It is - the oven.

LEO "Fluffmeister Von Kittycat"

FELINE EXTRAORDINAIRE

The following is taken from my blog that has followed the course of my lovely cat Leo's battle with a tumor on his jaw since January 2006. The entire blog can be found at http://mynameisleo.blogspot.com/

For the first time in 13 years, I am without a pet.

My darling Leo left his earthly body behind Sunday morning, October 8, 2006 with the help of a caring vet...his favorite humans at his side.

For every Light, there is Darkness...for every Woody Allen, there is Jerry Lewis...for every Back-to-School, there is Back-to-School-Night.

You'd think that after five years of Back-to-School Nights I'd be able to face it head-on with no anxiety. But it's always a nerve-wracking experience.

Blame it on a room packed full of parents sitting on teeny Honey-I-Shrunk-the-Chairs, which are definitely not sized for the mature behind.

Even the teachers seem uncomfortable to see adults humiliated in this manner.

(If you're new to this blog, you might want to check it my 2005 Back-to-School Night post .)

If you discount the seating (and the pained expression on my Esteemed Husband's face) it didn't go too badly this year.

Oh, there was that moment when Little Miss Deep Thinker's teacher looked directly at me when she said, "A couple of the kids really like to talk..." It was enough to make a mom squirm in her seat -- but if I had actually done so, I might have fallen off my miniature chair.

The highlight of this year's B-t-S Night? A new Tattooed Dad in one of my girl's classes!

Remember I'll Miss You Tattooed Dad? Well, I think I'm going to like this year's model even more!

I just caught a glimpse of his neck tattoo peeking out of the collar of his shirt. Yes -- a collared shirt -- quite the step above last year's mud-flap-girl t-shirt.

(Chalk another one up to the yin/yang: for every dad who flaunts his tattooed-ness is a dad who tries to cover his ink up.)

Still, the idea of a neck tattoo boggles my mind. I can't imagine a reason good enough to let someone get near my major arteries with any sort of needle.

Can't wait for the next school event to try and discern just what is printed on the new T.D.

Stay tuned for further details as they become available!

Has this ever happened in your house? Paper, toys, and debris of unknown origin accumulating to the point that you're afraid to delve into the pile for fear of finding a rotting sandwich or small animal carcass?

Well, I'm about to let you in on a little secret -- a revolutionary way of cleaning your house or apartment that will save you HOURS of tedious housework.

Ten years of extensive testing by a real-life mother of two small children (me) has led to the development of an exciting new system that will change the way you clean FOREVER!

And now I'm offering it to the general public for the VERY FIRST TIME!

Introducing: the Cynco BIG BOX O' CLEAN!(TM) Home Cleaning System.

How many times do you find yourself frantically straightening up your home before company arrives? By the time your guests ring the doorbell you're so wiped you can barely offer them a crudites, let alone engage in witty repartee?

Never again! Not when all you have to do is say, "Honey, can you hand me a BIG BOX O' CLEAN?"

Simply place your BIG BOX(es) O' CLEAN!(TM) on the floor of the problem area.

Toss all loose items within reach into the box. Continue through the house until the box is filled.

IT'S THAT EASY!

In mere minutes, your home goes from trailer-trash clutter...

BEFORE

...to a decorator's showroom!

AFTER

You may even find a musical instrument you never knew you had!

You might ask, "Why can't I just use plastic containers from my local discounter to store my crap?"

I'm glad you asked! Ordinary plastic containers allow the user to see the items inside. With the items in sight, the user feels obligated to sort through the box - thereby wasting HOURS of time better spent watching brain-melting daytime TV.

But BIG BOX O' CLEAN!(TM) is made from revolutionary opaque fiber (patent pending). The durable material keeps the contents discretely out of sight and out of mind.

You see, that's the beauty of the BIG BOX O' CLEAN!(TM) Home System! You don't ever have to look in it again if you don't want to! Simply place in your basement or upstairs hallway and forget about it!

Or throw a towel over your BIG BOX O' CLEAN!(TM) and you've got yourself a durable end table or pet bed!

And they're stackable!

The BIG BOX O' CLEAN!(TM) comes in two convenient sizes:

Medium, for small items

Large, for your bigger messes.

How much would you pay to cut your clean-up time to a fraction of what it is today? $100? $200?

For a limited time, we're offering the Cynco BIG BOX O' CLEAN!(TM) Home Cleaning System for the low, low price of $39.95 (or two easy payments of 19.99!)

Imagine, just $19.99 (per month) for the entire system that includes two (2) large and (2) medium BIG BOX O' CLEAN!(TM).

For just an extra $5 you can chose our authentic-reproduction Amazon.com option for your Big Boxes of Clean(TM)...

...to show off your internet savvy lifestyle.

BUT WAIT!

If you order in the next 60 minutes, you'll receive a bonus BIG BAG O' CLEAN! (TM) - absolutely free!

The BIG BAG OF CLEAN! (TM) is lightweight, yet durable. Folds neatly when not in use.

DON'T MISS THIS CHANCE to experience the BIG CLEAN system for yourself!

Your life will never be the same!!!

*child not included

I wake up, heart racing. I'm sweating, even though the air around me is cool. Blame it on trauma suffered the day before - indignities inflicted upon me along with the title of "party mom."

Yes, as heinous as it is to attend one of these events, it is far more damaging to my psyche to be the party responsible for the party.

Our latest gala was a bowling extravaganza for Little Miss Deep Thinker's 7th birthday.

Every year, I approach the party-planning process as I imagine Christie Brinkley has entered each of her four marriages -- optimistic that this time things will go better.

But, as sure as a 47-year-old architect needs a 19-year-old assistant, something always comes up.

Something spelled "R.S.V.P."

At ages 6 and 10, we figured our children were finally old enough to safely take to the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

Although the younger had no interest whatsoever until I mentioned there were suits of armor.

Things seemed to be off to a good start -- when we entered the first gallery, our Little Miss Deep Thinker peered up at this statue intently:

Ile-de-France
1925
Aristide Maillol, French, 1861 - 1944
Bronze

She circled around it, seemingly fascinated.

Then she waved me down to her level and whispered in my ear: "Mom, I see her b-u-t-t!"

(The Little Miss has just entered the room as I post the photo. I say to her, "Remember this one?" She replies "Oh yeah! Smells like licorice. Black licorice." Me: "Licorice?" She: "Yeah. The room did - black licorice." Well...okay then.)

Soon afterwards, we came across The Thinker.

The Thinker
Made in France
Conceived 1880; cast by 1926
Auguste Rodin, French, 1840 - 1917.
Cast by the founder Alexis Rudier, Paris.
Bronze

"I saw this one before!" the Elder Daughter exclaims. (I suspect via a SpongeBob parody.)

"It's called, The Thinker," I say, in my most teacherly voice.

To which the youngest quickly volleys, "But does he have to think NAKED?!"

So...okay...you have an idea of how the afternoon went.

We went on a family tour, which Little Miss Deep Thinker punctuated with non-sequiturs. Example: raising her hand to tell the guide she had Yogos for a snack in the car.

There was much pulling aside and re-directing, but Little Miss continued to share non-relevant information with the group.

The Elder Daughter, on the other hand, remained focused and scholarly, save for the occasional rivalry-esque poke in her sibling's ribs in the rare moment when sibling was actually silent.

Afterwards, Elder Daughter told me that was her favorite part of our visit (the tour, not the poke -- although the poking was probably a close second.)

The girls also enjoyed the Energy yes! exhibition - particularly the two installations seen in the photo below:

Victor Grippos AnalogĂ­a I (2da. version)

It's not totally apparent in the photo, but there was electrical wiring connected to the potatoes and hooked up to a voltmeter that shows the total amount of energy generated by the potatoes when the visitor presses a button.

A button that our little visitors pushed over and over and over again.

Surprisingly (since there was no nudity involved) the Little Miss was also fascinated by this wall full of globes:

Thomas Hirschhorn - Camo-Outgrowth (Winter)

Each globe had an area covered with camouflage tape, and on the shelves' edges hung photographs of people wearing camouflage.

Of all the visuals our children would see that day, this installation made me the most uncomfortable. I didn't particulary want to expose them to all these images of war.

I tried to rush them past, but they were transfixed. Drawn to the faces in the photos and eager to explore the geography covered by the tape -- even as they were blissfully unaware of the implications.

Or so I thought. Little Miss Deep Thinker told me the installation was her favorite thing in the museum. (Even more than the armor and the b-u-t-t-s!)

Why? "Because it showed how much war came," she answered.

Wow.

I should end on that profundity and not mention how that night's bedtime ritual was peppered with genitalia questions raised by the artwork. In particular, one huge painting featuring a bevy of baby boys in birthday suits frolicking in a stream - celebrating purity or some other nonsense.

I found the painting particularly freaky (as did Little Miss Deep Thinker, evidently) but couldn't find the image online to show y'all.

Instead, I leave you with this:

Is it just me, or does this guy look like Conan O'Brien?

Portrait of Antonin Artaud, 1974
Thomas Chimes, American, born 1921
Oil on panel