Which is how I ended up making deviled eggs at midnight last night.

Last night about 10:30, when Big Daddy & I have just gone to bed, Elijah - who has apparently wandered downstairs to make himself something to eat - comes into our bedroom and asks me, "How do you boil eggs?"

And I'm all, "Huh? What're you doing?"

"Making deviled eggs. I got a recipe off the internet. I know how to do it, I just don't know how to boil eggs."

(Note: Elijah loves deviled eggs. He's only ever had them at other people's parties but he really, really likes them. I think he must've had them recently at his girlfriend's house or something?)

So I tell him how to boil eggs, but I suggest that he just follow the directions in the recipe. He said they say to cover the eggs with cold water, bring it to boil, then remove from heat for 10 minutes.

Later - a little after 11 by now - he comes back in my room and says, "Is the shell supposed to be soft?"

And I'm all, "Huh? The shells should be...shells." I mean, do shells change when you boil eggs? I don't think so.

"They're really soft and they're hard to peel. I don't know how to crack them."

So I tell him how to peel boiled eggs. "Crack them on the counter or the side of the sink. Peel them with your thumb. You can put the shells down the garbage disposal."

After he's gone a few minutes I start to realize that it's probably not going well in the kitchen and if the boy doesn't even know how to boil eggs he probably doesn't exactly know how to troubleshoot whatever problems he's encountering. So I get up out of bed and go down to the kitchen to see if I can help him.

Which is how I ended up making deviled eggs at midnight last night.

I go down there & he's peeled and cut open one egg - and it's barely cooked at all. The yolk is totally runny, yet he's poured it into a bowl, where he plans to mix the filling. The white lay cut in two halves on a plate, looking pretty runny itself.

"Oh honey, no. That egg is soft boiled, that won't work. The yolk has to be cooked - hard and kind of chalky."

I put the remaining eggs back on the stove and boiled them for a few more minutes, but when I crack them open, they're only just soft boiled (but at least now the whites are cooked). I dump it all in the trash.

"Maybe I should just make a sandwich," he says.

But I'm up now and determined. I grab another pan. "Get some more eggs out of the fridge."

I check the recipe and nowhere does it say to take the pan off the burner once it starts boiling. My kid has the reading skills of a fifth grader. It says to boil the eggs for 10 to 15 minutes. So I put the new eggs on the stove and sit down and read this week's Memphis Flyer for 12 and a half minutes.

After cooling them, I show Elijah how to peel the first one, then he does the rest. I cut one open and show him how the cooked yolk pops right out. He mixes up the mayo, mustard, garlic powder and onion salt, then we fill the whites and sprinkle paprika over the top.

Three pans, two bowls, four plates, two spoons, a knife, a cutting board and a set of measuring spoons later, we had deviled eggs.

"There supposed to go in the fridge for an hour, but if you want to eat them now they'll probably taste okay. I'm going to bed."

"Are you kidding? After all this, I'm not eating them until they're perfect." He puts them in the fridge.

"Okay well...I'm going to bed."

"Okay well...thanks, Mom."

"We lost that MJ a long, long time ago."

My antidepressants must be working a little too well, because I am not crying over the loss of my childhood icons. In fact, I think I pissed off a lot of people on facebook yesterday.

Her status: is devastated about Michael Jackson. I'm in tears literally.
My comment: Really? I'm not sure how sad I'm supposed to be that an alleged child molester is gone.

Which of course led to other comments about how some people are so negative although I'm not the one crying so I'm not sure how I'm the one being negative.

Was Michael Jackson a musical genius? You bet. Did his music define my generation? Mos def. Did I drunkenly do the Thriller dance in the TG&Y parking lot with Shelley & Debbie when I was 17? Why yes, yes I did.

But we lost that MJ a long, long time ago.

• The last MJ album I bought: Thriller, 1983
• MJ's last #1 hit: "You Are Not Alone," 1995
• MJ's last Grammy award: "Scream" (Best Short Form Music Video), 1996
• MJ's last Grammy award for a song: "We Are the World," 1986
• MJ's last Grammy award for a song that didn't involve a bunch of other people: "Billie Jean/ Beat It," 1984

You see where I'm going with this.

This guy?

Loved him. Had a huge crush on him. Studied his every dance move in an attempt to emulate.

This guy?

Freakish alleged child molester whose nose was falling off. Losing him, even at age 50, does not make me sad.

"WE KNOW!! IT'S HOT!!"

I know ya'll are all saying, "WE KNOW!! IT'S HOT!!" but just in case you weren't convinced, this would be my car thermometer this afternoon after being parked in the shade at Sonic for 15 minutes:


Related: Please invite me to your pool.

"Whad' Ya Know?"

I have another confession: I am a passionate public radio listener. And supporter! You can't be one without the other! If you are a public radio listener then by god, you damn well better be a supporter, too. Okay, end of the pledge drive. Back to the blog post.

Several months ago, our local station, WKNO, began advertising that one of my FAVORITE public radio shows was coming to Memphis to do a live broadcast. Michael Feldman's Whad' Ya Know is funny and smart and just happens to be on at a time (10-12 Saturday mornings) when I'm almost always listening to the radio - usually either getting ready in the bathroom or driving around in my car running errands. Also I maybe have a bit of a crush on the host.

So I bought three tickets for us to attend the show. At first I thought E & Big Daddy would think it was stupid, but when I told them, they were actually really excited too. And since the show was this weekend, the ticket purchase actually servied double duty. Happy Father's Day, Chip!

The show was supposed to be at Harding auditorium, but as of yesterday they (and 2,200 other customers) were still without power from a storm that hit us over a week ago. So at the last minute, WKNO moved the show to the Germantown Performing Arts Center (GPAC). I'm sure it was a total pain in the ass for all the people associated with putting on the show, but GPAC is a fantastic venue and also happens to be located right around the corner from my house. So bonus.

Before the show - which would air live - began, the band came out to play. This is Jeff Hamann on bass and somebody who was not Clyde Stubblefield on drums. (Clyde was having a kidney transplant or something.) Also pictured is Elvis. Not pictured was John Thulin on piano.


Then host Michael Feldman came out while the band continued to play, and got his table all re-arranged. He carried his notes and his quiz questions (on index cards) in a doctor bag.


Just before it began, Michael gave the audience our instructions. Specifically, the part at the beginning of the show where he asks, "Whad' ya know?" and we all say: "NOT MUCH...YOU?" Only when we actually did it, I didn't know we had really started, and I kind of missed it. Which was a huge disappointment for me.


This is the show's announcer, Jim Packard. Elijah later commented to me how both Jim and Michael's voices sounded so good on the radio. I think maybe what he meant was that he didn't expect them to LOOK like they did.


The show starts with Michael reading "all the news that isn't." It's kind of like his monologue. Mostly, when he's on location like this, he makes a lot of jokes about local news that the audience finds hilarious but the listeners at home don't get.


The first guest was Chris Davis from the Memphis Flyer. He's the guy who broke the Burger King "Global Warming is Baloney" story that was later picked up by CNN and the Guardian in London. He was an excellent guest. Very funny and entertaining.


During a one-minute break when we weren't on the air, Michael gives the mic to Jeff Hamann. He told a story about trying to buy a father's day card (but Jim Packard cut him off).

Then Michael comes out in the audience and answers a couple of questions. We had all written questions for him on index cards before the show. My question was, "Can I put photos of your show on my blog?" but he didn't answer mine. I took that as a "yes."

This lady read the four disclaimers, which I can practically do from memory, but she flubbed them all up and acted like she'd never even heard them before.


This guy played the quiz. He is an investigator for NCIS. Michael said, "Oh, you look different on TV."

The qualifying question for the person calling in was, "Who was the only president to shoot a hole-in-one at Colonial Golf Club?" which everyone in Memphis knows is Gerald Ford because he always used to come play the St. Jude Golf Tournament with Danny Thomas but it took three callers to finally get it right, and the guy who did ended up being from Memphis.

Ruby Wilson sang and talked to Michael. (She was awesome.)

In the second hour, Memphis Magazine's "Vance Lauderdale" came out and explained some of Memphis's oddities, like the clay eaters - the people in 1934 who would sneak up onto the bluffs at night and EAT THEM.


Michael came back out in the audience for a second time to answer questions. This guy - a nurse at St. Jude named Michael - asked him to help him find the guy in the audience who looked like Garrison Keillor.

(Note: if any of my readers from St. Jude know Michael the nurse, please give him my email address. Tell him I have lots of great photos of him and Michael the radio show host.)

This girl got to play the second quiz. She was from West Memphis, Arkansas, and I'm pretty sure she had a bumpits in her hair.


The last guest was from a local soul food restaurant whose name I've forgotten. She didn't have much time.


And then it was over.


And then Michael ate fried catfish and collard greens.

"Today I made my maiden voyage."

Oh. Em. Gee.

So I got this brilliant idea that I should ride my bike. Because I am so not swimsuit-ready yet but running and even walking are kind of off the table with my foot still healing. And I kept reading how Linda got a bike and she LOVES riding it. Of course I forgot the fact that Linda regularly runs 5Ks and climbs like 90 flights of stairs and has long ago mastered the 30-day shred. So you know, what I'm getting at is just because LINDA DOES IT doesn't mean my limbs of jello can handle it.

But I dragged my bike out of the cobwebs of my garage and took it to the bike shop for a tune up ($72). Then I bought a helmet from Target ($21.99) and back to the bike shop for a water bottle ($5.99). Then finally it stopped raining so today I made my maiden voyage.

And Oh. Em. Gee.

My quads were tired before I got to the corner. And then I came up on this hill that frankly I've never even noticed while driving my car but huh. Turns out MY NEIGHBORHOOD IS NOT FLAT AT ALL. I am only slightly ashamed to admit that I had to get off my bike and push it up the hill.

I rode for 25 minutes and the entire time I was either struggling up a hill in like the lowest gear possible or coasting down a hill trying to catch my breath. What I learned is that I have a lot to learn about using gears. And also how to change them.

By the time I made it home, my legs were shaking so badly that I was unable to lift one of them to get off the bike, so I'm just going to walk around my house straddling it for the rest of the night. I might even sleep this way.

"I was blown away."

The other day my friend at work asked me if I wanted to go to the Keith Urban concert with her. She was given two tickets to a box and didn't personally like Keith Urban but felt obligated to attend. I thought, "Keith is cute. It could be fun."

I was not prepared.

First of all, I'm not gonna tell ya'll how long it's been since I attended a concert. Let me just say that we were still holding up lighters (not cell phones) and the stage show consisted of lights, not a multi-media presentation. And I had never attended a concert in a box. So when we walked in and saw Sugarland on stage


I was blown away.

They were okay - a little twangy for my taste - but she was cute and had lots of energy. I didn't actually recognize any of their songs, but I hadn't really expected to.


This may be a common occurrence at concerts these days, but I thought it was a brilliant use of text messaging at intermission:


Finally, it was time for Keith.


And did I say that he is cute? Because he is seriously CUTE.

OMG so fucking CUTE!!


There were a lot of lesbians and drunk people at this concert. (I don't say that to offend anyone, like I think "Oh, lesbians only go to Melissa Etheridge concerts." It was simply a factual observation that I made, as if I had said, "There were a lot of young people at this concert. Who knew Keith Urban was so popular with the young people?" Only I didn't see a lot of young people. I saw a lot of lesbians. Why am I talking about this?)


The only song I even recognized at the concert was the take-your-cat-and-leave-my-sweater song, but let me assure you that Keith Urban was my kind of performer. He put on one hell of a show. I'm a sucker for a guy dancing around with a guitar.


It took me a half-an-hour to get out of downtown when it was over. I kept wondering who was driving all those drunk people home. The lesbians, I suspect, probably managed okay on their own.

"BLOG! SO I CAN KEEP UP WITH YOU!"

Today I had lunch with a friend from my old job. When we were leaving, she yelled across the parking lot at me: "BLOG! SO I CAN KEEP UP WITH YOU!"

(So ashamed.)

Here's something that I can tell you about. This morning I was the victim of some crazy person's road rage.

I was going to Hobby Lobby to pick up some picture frames. I didn't know exactly where it was located, I just knew it was in one of the shopping centers across from the Wolfchase Mall.

So I drive up Germantown Road, cross over the expressway, and I pull into the first turn lane. But while I'm sitting there at the red light, I read the sign and there's no Hobby Lobby sign. So I figure I'm turning in to the wrong shopping center. I check my review mirror, and there's one SUV coming up behind me, but I've got plenty of room, so I hit the accelerator and pull out of the turn lane and back into traffic.

Which apparently pissed off the guy in the blue SUV no end. Because even though I've got plenty of room and I accelerated quickly up to speed AND I'm only pulling up to the next turn lane, the guy lays on his horn.

And when I pull into the turn lane, he pulls in behind me, still laying on his horn. And when we get the arrow, the guy in front of me turns, and I turn and the Horatio Hornblower behind me turns.

And he follows me through THREE parking lots, never once letting off the horn.

I wasn't scared particularly. I didn't stop and I kept turning where there were plenty of other cars & people around. The whole time I'm thinking, "Dude, get a hold of yourself!" But after the third parking lot, I picked up my phone. I was seriously about to call 911 and ask where the nearest police station was. Because I wasn't about to stop anywhere except a police station parking lot. But when I picked up the phone, he turned off and was gone.

It wasn't until after he turned off that I kind of started feeling scared. I made my way over to Hobby Lobby and kept looking all around me, eyes keen for that blue SUV. I parked right by the door and waited until I was sure no one was around before going in. I still half expected to find my windows smashed when I came out.

Look, I live in a city where people shoot each other over parking spaces. And did I mention that our state legislature has seen fit to pass a law allowing people to carry concealed weapons into bars and restaurants that serve alcohol? Yeah, if you don't live here, I recommend you get here as quick as you can.