Here in the frozen north, we were greeted this morning by the sight of fine fat flakes of snow tumbling softly through the leaden gray sky to land gently on the sodden ground, where they either melted or chose to accumulate in small, slushy mounds, according to their whim.*
This is apparently the way people in these parts know to go out into the garden and hide Easter eggs. Not me, though. I know better. This is no time to hide Easter eggs. Unless you want to get frostbite.
Yes, Spring Break has finally arrived! I know this because it's almost Easter and it's 35 degrees.
That means it's time to head to the AAA office and pick up new, updated trip books about every state between Illinois and Florida. (This includes Indiana. Even though That Stud Muffin I Married grew up there. And even though, because of this, I've spent way more than enough time in Indiana. He and I realize that there is nothing to see in Indiana except Steak and Shakes, cornfields, a city with a race track, and a college town. But one must be fair. And, apparently, obsessive when it comes to accumulating an assload of maps and AAA guide books. So we get the Indiana book.)
We get all these books in order to read about all the sights of extreme historical and cultural interest that we will completely ignore while we barrel down the highway on our annual Spring Break trip to Walt Disney World.
It goes like this: we get up at 5:00 a.m. on Good Friday, bundle the kids into the rented minivan, and start driving. The scenery starts to perk up in southern Indiana, and from there on, Kentucky, Tennessee and Georgia are pretty damned gorgeous. Also kind of scary because of the BIG ASS trucks on the road, not to mention many, many tourists with license plates from Illinois, Indiana, Wisconsin, Michigan, and Minnesota, not to mention HUGE signs advertising XXX porn video places. Thank you very much for keeping the truck drivers of America happy in what I shall chose to call their "down time," but I hope and pray we make it past all those billboards without having to take a single question from the offspring. Did you hear me? NOT ONE.
We spend the night in Atlanta, and the next day, after tucking in heartily to the free hotel breakfast, we take off for Florida. Lower Georgia and Upper Florida are very weird indeed,which is all to the good, and I start to get all giddy and happy when I see signs about oranges and alligators and such.
Then we peel ourselves out the car at the Polynesian Resort at Walt Disney. And start to have big fun, beginning with a glass of wine that is about [_____THIS BIG_____].
So anyway, now I've got to get cracking with the packing.
*Yes, I was an English major. So what.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Monday, March 21, 2005
Time's a-wasting
For your information, the chair in front of my desktop computer has been designated an official handicapped parking spot. This is so anyone who is officially handicapped, for instance, me, can sit here without fear of being ticketed.
And what am I doing sitting at my computer, you might well ask, since it's obviously not adding to my blog.
Well, I've been wearing a splint on my right wrist for a while, and it certainly put a dent in my blogging. But I am descended from Puritans, and, even though I was out of commission as re: blogging, I felt it my duty to discover new ways to waste time on the internet. Ways that don't require anyone to use an injured wrist. So that even the splinted amongst us can waste as much time as the able-bodied.
And it was surprisingly easy. All I had to do was switch from right- to left-handed mousing and I was in business.
So in the off-chance that you find yourself with way more time than you know how to fill, here are a few ways to waste time on the internet without having to do so much clicking and typing that you risk developing tendonitis:
1. On-line shopping. OK, I know, duh. But really, wasn't it lucky for me that our clothes dryer blew up on Thursday? Because this gave me the opportunity to shop on-line for a new one. This meant that instead of driving to an appliance store and buying a new dryer, I sat around, read consumer reviews, compared prices, and did all kinds of other consumer-related nonsense, when all along, I had every intention of 1) hitting the Abt website and 2) ordering their bottom-of-the-line Maytag gas dryer. Which is exactly what I did, after I felt I had wasted enough time.
2. Researching not one, but two possible car purchases. Not that I'm trying to suck up to my neighbors by copping some jazzy new wheels, but our cars are old and really, it's time we got something more reliable. With cup holders, even. Well. Just start hitting up eBay Motors and Edmunds.com and cars.com and Yahoo! cars and Consumer Reports and various car manufacturers' sites and your ability to waste time on the internet will go from zero to 60 in five seconds, baby, yeah!
2. Lurk on various fashion and makeup boards I don't usually bother to read, like Makeupalley, Beauty Buzz, and Who's the Fairest. This can get kind of depressing after a while, because I end up feeling more intelligent than about 85 to 90 percent of the posters. And believe it or not, this is not a feeling I enjoy. Let all the other cocksure assholes enjoy the sense of being intellectually superior to all they survey; I'll pass.
I mean, eventually it becomes depressing. Really, after a while you wonder whither all this fancy technology? (Like, for example, did you know that large numbers of people watch television and post to message boards at the same time? Mostly with a running commentary about how dumb the show they're watching is? Um, excuse me? I mean, do you want to become some kind of human I/O device, merely taking in data from one device before relaying it through another? How about turning off the television set and [gasp] reading a book? Or [gasp] having an actual conversation with another human being? Otherwise, aren't you really living in a bubble? )
3. Become an internet crank. See above.
4. Read blogs. Oh. Um ... so, you're telling me you knew that one already? OK.
5. Search for and download totally obscure music. It doesn't matter whether you actually plan to listen to it. I use Limewire. I also use commercial sites like the iMusic one, but where's the fun in that? User-to-user sharing is much more weird and random.
6. Search for and download video files--preferably episodes of obscure long-running series with a squid-like devoted fan base, like Mystery Science Theater 3000. That way you can enjoy the geek factor, as well.
7. Pick a few new extremely active Usenet groups and lurk there. On the advice of my pal Fiddledeedee, I started reading alt.gossip.royalty. Wow. Between the Camilla-bashing and the Diana-bashing, this was better than a triathalon of professional wrestling, an all-female roller derby, and a Krystal/Alexis catfight on the old Dynasty program. The great thing about this is these people are frothing. at. the. mouth. But it's not about anything to do with the United States, so it's actually very refreshing.
Here endeth the report on "How I Spent My Week in a Splint."
In case you're wondering, I did a few R/L things, as well. No, really, I did.
And what am I doing sitting at my computer, you might well ask, since it's obviously not adding to my blog.
Well, I've been wearing a splint on my right wrist for a while, and it certainly put a dent in my blogging. But I am descended from Puritans, and, even though I was out of commission as re: blogging, I felt it my duty to discover new ways to waste time on the internet. Ways that don't require anyone to use an injured wrist. So that even the splinted amongst us can waste as much time as the able-bodied.
And it was surprisingly easy. All I had to do was switch from right- to left-handed mousing and I was in business.
So in the off-chance that you find yourself with way more time than you know how to fill, here are a few ways to waste time on the internet without having to do so much clicking and typing that you risk developing tendonitis:
1. On-line shopping. OK, I know, duh. But really, wasn't it lucky for me that our clothes dryer blew up on Thursday? Because this gave me the opportunity to shop on-line for a new one. This meant that instead of driving to an appliance store and buying a new dryer, I sat around, read consumer reviews, compared prices, and did all kinds of other consumer-related nonsense, when all along, I had every intention of 1) hitting the Abt website and 2) ordering their bottom-of-the-line Maytag gas dryer. Which is exactly what I did, after I felt I had wasted enough time.
2. Researching not one, but two possible car purchases. Not that I'm trying to suck up to my neighbors by copping some jazzy new wheels, but our cars are old and really, it's time we got something more reliable. With cup holders, even. Well. Just start hitting up eBay Motors and Edmunds.com and cars.com and Yahoo! cars and Consumer Reports and various car manufacturers' sites and your ability to waste time on the internet will go from zero to 60 in five seconds, baby, yeah!
2. Lurk on various fashion and makeup boards I don't usually bother to read, like Makeupalley, Beauty Buzz, and Who's the Fairest. This can get kind of depressing after a while, because I end up feeling more intelligent than about 85 to 90 percent of the posters. And believe it or not, this is not a feeling I enjoy. Let all the other cocksure assholes enjoy the sense of being intellectually superior to all they survey; I'll pass.
I mean, eventually it becomes depressing. Really, after a while you wonder whither all this fancy technology? (Like, for example, did you know that large numbers of people watch television and post to message boards at the same time? Mostly with a running commentary about how dumb the show they're watching is? Um, excuse me? I mean, do you want to become some kind of human I/O device, merely taking in data from one device before relaying it through another? How about turning off the television set and [gasp] reading a book? Or [gasp] having an actual conversation with another human being? Otherwise, aren't you really living in a bubble? )
3. Become an internet crank. See above.
4. Read blogs. Oh. Um ... so, you're telling me you knew that one already? OK.
5. Search for and download totally obscure music. It doesn't matter whether you actually plan to listen to it. I use Limewire. I also use commercial sites like the iMusic one, but where's the fun in that? User-to-user sharing is much more weird and random.
6. Search for and download video files--preferably episodes of obscure long-running series with a squid-like devoted fan base, like Mystery Science Theater 3000. That way you can enjoy the geek factor, as well.
7. Pick a few new extremely active Usenet groups and lurk there. On the advice of my pal Fiddledeedee, I started reading alt.gossip.royalty. Wow. Between the Camilla-bashing and the Diana-bashing, this was better than a triathalon of professional wrestling, an all-female roller derby, and a Krystal/Alexis catfight on the old Dynasty program. The great thing about this is these people are frothing. at. the. mouth. But it's not about anything to do with the United States, so it's actually very refreshing.
Here endeth the report on "How I Spent My Week in a Splint."
In case you're wondering, I did a few R/L things, as well. No, really, I did.
Monday, March 14, 2005
Return to Snarkyville
OK, that's it. Listen up, fellow bloggers. I don't care how much you like your fellow bloggers' blogs. I'm never clicking on one of your links again. Because you keep linking to blogs illustrated with ugly baby pictures.
Listen, people. Everyone thinks their babies are cute. It's part of the human condition. And why? It's because for the most part, babies look like their parents. In the case of my children, they look like me (and because I'm not completely off my rocker and as a result am supplied with a healthy ego, I think this is a good thing.) My children also resemble my husband, whom I find attractive, duh, which is why I've been shagging him for NINETEEN YEARS.
However, this does not mean that I think my children are actually, measured objectively, all that damned cute.
Now if I can be this fair and equitable and stuff--and after all, this is my blog, where I can be as deluded and/or self-indulgent as I like--why can't everyone else?
I swear, if I see one more picture of a pudding-faced, sunken-eyed, wispy-haired, gap-toothed baby--clearly designed and failing to make me go "Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww" I'll puke.
You have been warned. The fate of my laptop's keyboard rests in your hands. Now please. Spare me your ugly baby pictures. I'm begging you.
Listen, people. Everyone thinks their babies are cute. It's part of the human condition. And why? It's because for the most part, babies look like their parents. In the case of my children, they look like me (and because I'm not completely off my rocker and as a result am supplied with a healthy ego, I think this is a good thing.) My children also resemble my husband, whom I find attractive, duh, which is why I've been shagging him for NINETEEN YEARS.
However, this does not mean that I think my children are actually, measured objectively, all that damned cute.
Now if I can be this fair and equitable and stuff--and after all, this is my blog, where I can be as deluded and/or self-indulgent as I like--why can't everyone else?
I swear, if I see one more picture of a pudding-faced, sunken-eyed, wispy-haired, gap-toothed baby--clearly designed and failing to make me go "Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww" I'll puke.
You have been warned. The fate of my laptop's keyboard rests in your hands. Now please. Spare me your ugly baby pictures. I'm begging you.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
How the hell did this happen?
I must have a secret life.
Because I have carpal tunnel syndrome, which I understand you get from repetitive motions like wielding a meat cleaver or practicing for the Van Cliburn competition.
Well, come on. You certainly don't get it from ignoring your blogs.
I mean, check the dates on these things. It's not as though I'm blogging up a storm. And I can produce witnesses to testify that my emailing, usenet posting, and Yahoo chat use have been minimal as well.
Yet here I sit with my hand in a splint and my right thumb immobilized and useless. It's like my dominant hand is de-evolving. It's slipping down the evolutionary ladder right into the bottom rung of sentient life forms where it doesn't even get an opposable thumb. Meanwhile my left hand can still touch type, eat with utensils, play the piano, and hold a toothbrush. It's feeling pretty smug at the moment--probably thinks it's about to get into Harvard or something.
I have to admit, I'm milking this for everything I can get. I sat around and read a novel all day, cancelled my appointments, and guess who cooked dinner and did the dishes?
So that's the upside. The downside is that I'm stuck with this splint, which is made of some miracle fiber that is beginning to remind me of fiberglass. Also, I'm beginning to become preoccupied with this secret life I apparently lead. For instance, is the secret carpal tunnel syndrome-producing life worth the splint, and if so, am I ever going to hear any of the dirt?
Don't worry; I promise I'll fill you in.
Because I have carpal tunnel syndrome, which I understand you get from repetitive motions like wielding a meat cleaver or practicing for the Van Cliburn competition.
Well, come on. You certainly don't get it from ignoring your blogs.
I mean, check the dates on these things. It's not as though I'm blogging up a storm. And I can produce witnesses to testify that my emailing, usenet posting, and Yahoo chat use have been minimal as well.
Yet here I sit with my hand in a splint and my right thumb immobilized and useless. It's like my dominant hand is de-evolving. It's slipping down the evolutionary ladder right into the bottom rung of sentient life forms where it doesn't even get an opposable thumb. Meanwhile my left hand can still touch type, eat with utensils, play the piano, and hold a toothbrush. It's feeling pretty smug at the moment--probably thinks it's about to get into Harvard or something.
I have to admit, I'm milking this for everything I can get. I sat around and read a novel all day, cancelled my appointments, and guess who cooked dinner and did the dishes?
So that's the upside. The downside is that I'm stuck with this splint, which is made of some miracle fiber that is beginning to remind me of fiberglass. Also, I'm beginning to become preoccupied with this secret life I apparently lead. For instance, is the secret carpal tunnel syndrome-producing life worth the splint, and if so, am I ever going to hear any of the dirt?
Don't worry; I promise I'll fill you in.
Tuesday, March 8, 2005
Welcome to Snarkyville
There has been a lot of flu in these parts, and my son is home sick from school, and maybe I'm catching something from him, I don't know.
But I've been reading other people's blogs, and I am now obsessed. I need to have this question answered, as quickly as possible:
Am I deluded, or are my children actually fairly attractive?
I'm asking because there is this very, very popular blogger, one of the supposedly self-absorbed blogging mommies recently profiled by the New York Times. And she posts a lot of pictures of her child. And her child is not particularly attractive.
Actually, her child is pretty close to butt ugly.
So now I'm wondering whether I'm fitting into the stereotype of the clueless-self-obsessed-Mommy-blogger. Because while I don't mind nattering away--apparently endlessly--about whatever trivia is currently occupying my meager supply of brain cells (and thereby boring people comatose) I do mind the idea that I'm lowering the property values on people's computer monitors by uploading fugly photographs of my offspring.
Mind you, I don't actually remember doing all that much in the way of offspring-photograph-uploading. Still, I worry.
I believe it's time to put a cool cloth across my forehead. Or something.
But I've been reading other people's blogs, and I am now obsessed. I need to have this question answered, as quickly as possible:
Am I deluded, or are my children actually fairly attractive?
I'm asking because there is this very, very popular blogger, one of the supposedly self-absorbed blogging mommies recently profiled by the New York Times. And she posts a lot of pictures of her child. And her child is not particularly attractive.
Actually, her child is pretty close to butt ugly.
So now I'm wondering whether I'm fitting into the stereotype of the clueless-self-obsessed-Mommy-blogger. Because while I don't mind nattering away--apparently endlessly--about whatever trivia is currently occupying my meager supply of brain cells (and thereby boring people comatose) I do mind the idea that I'm lowering the property values on people's computer monitors by uploading fugly photographs of my offspring.
Mind you, I don't actually remember doing all that much in the way of offspring-photograph-uploading. Still, I worry.
I believe it's time to put a cool cloth across my forehead. Or something.
Friday, March 4, 2005
Why you don't want to be me, Part Deux
Tonight during a lull before dinner, TSMIM (for those of you coming in late, that's "That Stud Muffin I Married) and I were going through the past week. Because it seemed to us that the mature, responsible response to feeling as though you would like to mainline martinis is to figure out why you feel that way.
So, I tallied up the week. And it didn't look good. Because in addition to the usual housewifely stuff, this week looked like this:
Monday: At lunchtime--I rehearsed three Cub Scout dens in a version of The Super Bowl Shuffle. In a big, noisy, reverberating gym. After dinner, I directed their performance at the Cub Scout pack night. In front of a lot of parents I know and maybe don't like all that much.
Tuesday: More Cub Scout crappe; this time, helping the little tykes build birdhouses.
Wednesday: My usual three Wednesday appointments, plus TSMIM goes out that night to take a course
Thursday: Daughter is in an evening concert, so I have to get her ready for that, then after the concert, I have to bake four or five dozen Snickerdoodles to bring to
Friday's: field trip to the Grove with the fourth graders. Five, count 'em, five hours with the fourth grade churning butter and learning about blacksmithing and shite. Not to mention the bus ride where they were trying their damndest to out-sing each other. As loudly as possible.
No wonder I vegged out tonight and watched my new special edition DVD of Get Shorty. At times like this, I badly need to see people get beaten up.
So, I tallied up the week. And it didn't look good. Because in addition to the usual housewifely stuff, this week looked like this:
Monday: At lunchtime--I rehearsed three Cub Scout dens in a version of The Super Bowl Shuffle. In a big, noisy, reverberating gym. After dinner, I directed their performance at the Cub Scout pack night. In front of a lot of parents I know and maybe don't like all that much.
Tuesday: More Cub Scout crappe; this time, helping the little tykes build birdhouses.
Wednesday: My usual three Wednesday appointments, plus TSMIM goes out that night to take a course
Thursday: Daughter is in an evening concert, so I have to get her ready for that, then after the concert, I have to bake four or five dozen Snickerdoodles to bring to
Friday's: field trip to the Grove with the fourth graders. Five, count 'em, five hours with the fourth grade churning butter and learning about blacksmithing and shite. Not to mention the bus ride where they were trying their damndest to out-sing each other. As loudly as possible.
No wonder I vegged out tonight and watched my new special edition DVD of Get Shorty. At times like this, I badly need to see people get beaten up.
Thursday, March 3, 2005
A rendition of my dentition
This picture showed up in today's New York Social Diary. I don't live in New York, and I'm no socialite, but there I was, apparently comparing bridge work with my pal Liz.
And just so you know--I really do own more than one dress. It's just that I pull this one out and wear it to Christmas and Valentine's Day events. And this particular event was the latter.
And just so you know--I really do own more than one dress. It's just that I pull this one out and wear it to Christmas and Valentine's Day events. And this particular event was the latter.
Tuesday, March 1, 2005
Did you miss me?
OK, I survived the Cub Scout Pack Night. My guys did fine. It's over. Thank GOD.
In fact, it was over last night at about 9:00. And at that point, I'd have liked to swim laps through a wading pool full of martinis. But they're not in season.
Instead, I drank a glass of wine and watched teevee.
See, it was Monday night and my favorite teevee show, "How Clean is Your House?" was on. Last night's episode was pretty good. But only pretty good. It's only half way through their first season, and I'm wondering whether they're starting to slip.
I mean, there was a truly distressing lack of vermin. Call me picky, but I've gotten used to infestations of mice--or at least cockroaches. A drag queen with an incontinent 20-year-old poodle--while inherently somewhat amusing, I admit--is not the same thing, people, and you're not fooling anyone.
Then today I whipped off a bunch of overdue correspondence and cleared the accumulated piles o' crap out of my bedroom and did more Den Mother shite because Lord knows there's no point in giving her a day off, right?
And I did a bit of research into the raw material--I use the term advisedly--for my other blog, in which I skewer (food pun) bad recipes. I'm still too tired to actually try to post anything there, but don't worry; I found some real stinkers in a couple of my cookbooks. I mean, not to blow my own horn, but I believe I've discovered a rich vein of humor which I plan to strip-mine ruthlessly, and to hell with the environment! Well, OK, I think I've found a decent-sized nugget or two. Actually, it's probably only fool's gold. Whatever.
At any rate, < Ahnuld > I'll be back. < /Ahnuld >
In fact, it was over last night at about 9:00. And at that point, I'd have liked to swim laps through a wading pool full of martinis. But they're not in season.
Instead, I drank a glass of wine and watched teevee.
See, it was Monday night and my favorite teevee show, "How Clean is Your House?" was on. Last night's episode was pretty good. But only pretty good. It's only half way through their first season, and I'm wondering whether they're starting to slip.
I mean, there was a truly distressing lack of vermin. Call me picky, but I've gotten used to infestations of mice--or at least cockroaches. A drag queen with an incontinent 20-year-old poodle--while inherently somewhat amusing, I admit--is not the same thing, people, and you're not fooling anyone.
Then today I whipped off a bunch of overdue correspondence and cleared the accumulated piles o' crap out of my bedroom and did more Den Mother shite because Lord knows there's no point in giving her a day off, right?
And I did a bit of research into the raw material--I use the term advisedly--for my other blog, in which I skewer (food pun) bad recipes. I'm still too tired to actually try to post anything there, but don't worry; I found some real stinkers in a couple of my cookbooks. I mean, not to blow my own horn, but I believe I've discovered a rich vein of humor which I plan to strip-mine ruthlessly, and to hell with the environment! Well, OK, I think I've found a decent-sized nugget or two. Actually, it's probably only fool's gold. Whatever.
At any rate, < Ahnuld > I'll be back. < /Ahnuld >
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