Haiku Friday 1: The BlogHer Wrap-up Edition

BlogHer now over--
vocal chords have recovered--
what about liver?

BlogHer09 Report #4 The Laundry List, now with stolen pictures!

I'm doing laundry.

Big surprise when you've been out of the house for four days, right?

And it's not that Mr. Buxom wasn't fabulous, because he was.

Not only did he help with Poppy Buxom's Awesum Cocktail Party on Saturday night, hauling booze and ice and food trays all over creation and staying up til the ass-crack of dawn surrounded by lovely young women,* he also spent four days watching the kids, installing a closet organizer in his study, cleaning up the storage room in the basement, and buying and putting together one of those tall storage etagères for seasonal decorations and miscellaneous crappe.

He also introduced Young Master Buxom to the Kill Bill movies.**

Meanwhile, I was downtown hanging out with blackbird, Susie Sunshine, Martha MacGyver, and LemonySarah.

After the forces had gathered in my apartment, the BlogHer Contributing Editors headed to the Sheraton for the BeautyHacks/BlogHer cocktail party. This gave me the chance to meet some of my BlogHer colleagues (and let me tell you, it gives me a thrill to call them that): HeatherB, Metalia, Mocha Momma, Liz Henry, and Liz Gumbinner.

I also discovered that Sarah of Sarah and the Goon Squad is a fellow mezzo-soprano. If you heard a couple of bloggers pretending to be Carmen and Cherubino, that was us. I'm kidding! I wasn't that drunk. Yet.

Susie Sunshine, Goon Squad Sarah, and me before I finished my first drink.
Photo stolen from BlogHer's photo gallery

I was introduced to Neilochka by blackbird because he asked. What a gentleman! He didn't even remark on how buxom I appeared. Not more than once or twice, anyway.

Was stopped by Mir, who is adorable whether she's wearing her hair curly or straight, so there.

I squeee'd at Y of Joy Unexpected and Cheeky Lotus and drunkenly invited them to my cocktail party. In fact, for me, the first night of BlogHer was really a squee/business card/drunken inviting marathon of sorts, so if you found me a little bit off-putting, I apologize. I really only get this stupid at BlogHer. I mean, yes, I do like my cocktails, but I'm not usually riding up and down hotel escalators yelling "I AM SO DRUNK!!!11eleven!1!"

And that wasn't me who streaked the lobby. Hand to God.

Met MudslideMama and she is completely adorable and makes me want to move to California. (This is advance notice for her to move to Oregon to avoid meeting me again.)

Later that night--and the conference hadn't even officially started yet--we went to the People's Party. There I accosted Jennette Fulda of Half of Me, who is just as cute and funny as she appears in her blog. Then I bopped around and sang along with Chris Mann ... and did I let a little thing like not knowing the song stop me? Of course not. Because my fifth drink had informed me of one crucially important fact: singing in key is for pussies.

Someone told me that The Bloggess was holding court in the bathroom, so I went in to meet her. She was wearing her long red wig, for those of you who are keeping score. But neither The Bloggess or I remember much about it because we were both drunk. At least I was.

After a healthy breakfast consisting of a handful of Excedrin, coffee, and a Egg McSheraton, I reunited with the extremely hilarious Jasmine Davila. Jasmine is a friend from usenet days, and I was glad to see her again, because after only a decade or so of living in the same city and never seeing each other, I thought it was time. Not that we're misanthropic geeks or anything like that.

Throughout the day I took every chance to renew my acquaintance with some of the incredible women I was lucky enough to meet at Blissdom: Alli Worthington, Mary Anne of Stiletto Mom, Amy of OutdoorDogs, Rachel of Southern Fairy Tale, Annisa Mayhew, Kelby Carr, Catherine of Her Bad Mother, Sugar Jones, Casey (moosh in Indy) and Tanis a/k/a Redneck Mommy. (See, the advantage of going to a small conference like BlissDom is that you meet so many amazing bloggers and they all become your new best friends so you can totally assault them when you see them at big conference like BlogHer. Just so you know.)

Met TW and then didn't recognize her when she strolled past working a very retro red and white dress. Because I am just that much of a dork.

Around lunch time blackbird and I went to the Swap Meet and met Kristen of Mommy Needs a Cocktail, her four-month old son, and her inventory of amazingly clever t-shirts. Did I tell you I got her to make special Mamarazzi t-shirts for my Awesum Cocktail Party? Well, I did.

I'm not just a pal of Kristen's; I'm a client.

And of course, Kristen was hosting the Mommy Needs a Cocktail Party on Friday night. We started the evening there and made free with the chocolate fountains, tiaras, and booze. It didn't take us long to hook up with Jen Lancaster as well as some of Jen's posse: Kristabella, MaNiC Mommy, and tutugirl. I also met and hung out with middle-aged-woman and the Hotfessional. And Velma!

Me, Susie Sunshine, and Wendy. You're no one until blackbird has chopped the top of your head off.

Next door at the Mamapop party I hurled myself in a pathetic fangirl fashion at Schmutzie, The Palinode, and of course, Sweetney, who had to deal with drunk Poppy not once but twice. Lucky her. (I also disco-danced with blackbird. Apparently we're on video, so somebody somewhere has a big future in blackmailing.)

Another picture stolen from blackbird. Notice how I limit myself to a black and red color scheme? Like a POPPY. Also, see my clutch? bird gave it to me. And she bought it on Etsy--which is coolness cubed.

Saturday morning called for another Excedrin breakfast, and then I sat and thought hard about the panels. The ones I really, really wanted to go to were on Saturday. The Vaginally-Challenged panel. The Humor Panel. The Blogging as Storytelling Panel. The MamaPop panel. But I was hosting a cocktail party on Saturday night, and I know myself. If I had gone to the panels I'd try to listen, but my brain would be yammering HAVE YOU ORDERED ENOUGH ICE and MAYBE THERE WON'T BE ENOUGH FOOD and WHEN WILL THE T-SHIRTS SHOW UP so I figured I'd better skip them all.

Let the following row of dots represent my attempts to chill out and take a disco nap on Saturday:

...

So we head straight to my Saturday night party, where many of the above-linked people were in attendance. And the really cool thing is that people brought friends, so I had the chance to meet people in an atmosphere where I could actually hear what they had to say. Like Vodkamom, and Cinnamon, and Alli's adorable assistant Cassie. And Alli's super-talented, adorable, charming pal Chris Mann. And a bunch of people from one of the panels called something like "Hey, I'm More Than My Disease, For Christ's Sake," like ChronicBabe and Rachel and MajorBedhead. Many of them were dia-babe-alicious, so when I gave them their bags of custom Mamarazzi M&Ms, I made sure they were the bags that were really hard to open. I like to think of it as my contribution to their future well-being.

Picture totally stolen from Kerri Sparling of sixuntilme. I think of it as a digital swag bag.

We had what I think I can describe without hyperbole (but with plenty of cliché) as a magical evening up on the rooftop deck of my building. Some of us even got to watch the Venetian Night fireworks. And all of us got to drink and lounge around on chaise longues and eat turkey roll-ups and hang with each other.

And then the party guests went home and I put my blood alcohol level and my vocal chords to bed.

I love BlogHer. I wish you could have all been there.

It's so not about the swag.

* Maybe this part of things wasn't all that hard on him.
** OK, maybe I could have done without that part.

BlogHer09 Report #3 Celebrity Sighting Edition

• Mir from Woulda, Shoulda, Coulda made a special effort to come up and say hello. I was so amazed that I ran up to Susie Sunshine to tell her about it and discovered her talking away to Y of Joy Unexpected, whereupon I started squeeing so loudly that I ruptured every eardrum in a five mile radius.

• I was waiting to get another glass of wine (my fourth) and Sweetney walked up behind me and bumped me with her bag. She turned around to apologize and I shouted "I'm blogging this!" At which point she very kindly laughed at my supposed witticism and then had the good sense to stay far, far away from my sloppy drunk ass.

• The Bloggess really does hang out in bathrooms. Isn't it wonderful when famous people act the way you expect them to?

• Although sometimes they don't. I don't think Neilotchka has propositioned anyone. Yet.

In other news, it turns out a real life friend of mine, Annabelle Volgman, M.D., will be in one of the exhibitor booths to teach us about women and cardiac health. I don't think she knows that I blog. Universes are about to collide! I feel like I'm going to meet Mr. Spock or something. So the the question I have for you all this: do you think it's going to be the Leonard Nimoy Spock or the Zachary Quinto/Sylar from Heroes Spock?

• I think the latter, because I think I saw Zachary/Sylar pretending to be Chris Mann last night at Alli Worthington and Co.'s People's Party.

BlogHer09 Report #2

• I don't know how you people eat Egg McMuffins every day. I had one of those non-egg-McMuffin "breakfast sandwiches" from the hotel buffet, and I don't think I'll need to eat until BlogHer10.

• Which, by the way, will be in New York City. Start spreading the news.

• The wireless service at the hotel is pretty wonky. I can't think of a better way to piss off and frustrate 1,500 bloggers, but then again, when the wireless is working, everyone twitters so much that all the bandwidth is eaten up, so whatever.

BlogHer09 Report #1

1. No matter what blackbird says, I was not that drunk. It is perfectly normal to discuss the pros and cons of circumcision. At the top of your voice. At 1:00 a.m.

2. They've been announcing sponsors/freebies for about an hour. But where are the vibrators?

3. I think we killed twitter.

Count down to BlogHer: the cardiac arrest edition

It's not what you think. I'm not sitting here sweating bullets over what I'm going to wear and how I'm going to look.

Yo, mommybloggers, pick up the clue phone, it's for you: Poppy Buxom is thirty pounds heavier and 20 years older than you expect. Also, she dresses like shit. If our BlogHer fashion sense is being graded, I just bumped you a couple of notches up the bell curve. YOU'RE WELCOME.

So it's not clothes. This is what's getting my granny panties in a wad:

1. I'm getting a new sliding shower door installed in the hall bathroom. When? Tomorrow, first thing in the a.m. Why? Because Mr. Buxom accidentally broke one of the two halves. When? In 2007. So why has it taken me two years to get it fixed, and why is it happening at the ulta-last minute?

Because I'm an asshole, that's why. (What can I say; my kids take baths, not showers.)

2. The bartender for my super-exclusive BlogHer cocktail party (Hey! You're invited!) called me tonight to confirm. For Friday night. But! The party is on Saturday.

3. So far, I've forgotten to order food for the party. Whoops! The good news is I already ordered and paid for the booze. Which is being delivered tomorrow, probably while I'm dealing with the shower door guy.

4. I can't find the key that gets me to and from the basement in my building, which where the laundry room is located. So I'm digging through everything I own looking for the keys so everyone doesn't have to sleep, through lack of clean sheets, in my kids' ancient Buzz Lightyear sleeping bags.

5. Did I mention that I have four guests staying with me? Blackbird, Martha MacGyver, SarahO, and Susie Sunshine will be camping out chez Buxom.

6. Yes, I bought ear plugs.

The good news is we have lots of toilet paper. Also, I managed to post my BeautyHacks post, which means tomorrow, at the BlogHer CE party, I'm going to swan around feeling incredibly fashionable and smug. Even though everyone else will be wearing a darling little cocktail dress, and I'll be wearing a Buzz Lightyear sleeping bag.

More free BlogHer advice!

Because I know you can't get enough of it.

But listen, ladies. I need to keep it short. I have to write a BlogHer BeautyHacks post tonight.

Now, you'd think my BlogHer BeautyHacks boss would realize, hey, maybe I should get somebody else to publish a post the day before BlogHer! Maybe I shouldn't ask Poppy, since she has only 48 hours to lose 30 pounds, buy all new clothes, grow out her nails, get her hair blown out, her eyebrows waxed, her finger- and toenails polished and her forehead Botoxed. After all, she needs to transform herself into someone much cooler, thinner, younger, and more wrinkle-free before Thursday night's pre-BlogHer Contributing Editor party. And she is a little pressed for time.

But Susan obviously realized that I am not the roommate who amassed a huge collection of collectible clowns and then tried to commit suicide. No, I am the responsible roommate who went to work and accomplished all sorts of squid-like computer-y things. And let me reiterate; this was IN THE EIGHTIES. For anyone who was sending and receiving email as early as 1984, writing a BeautyHacks post should be a piece of cake.

And it is. But it doesn't leave me with a lot of time to post about BlogHer. So quick! Here's my advice:

1. Do not worry about which panel to go to. Put off deciding all that stuff until after you arrive.

Right now, your main job is to overcompensate for your shortcomings. Say you're like me: easily overwhelmed in crowds, easily bossed around, and pretty much clueless. For me, the solution is to 1) find someone bossy and 2) follow her around.

I tend to glom onto Susie Sunshine and blackbird, both of whom are way more knowledgeable about who is whom, who's getting how many hits, who is using which ad network, who just signed a book contract, and all the rest of that shit.

(Except let me just say that two years ago, neither one of them knew who the Pioneer Woman was. OK, I didn't either. But I'm not pretending to know what's going on. Sheesh!)

2. Spend as much time as possible in the bathroom. You meet the coolest people there. I didn't meet The Bloggess in the bathroom in 2007 because I don't think she'd been invented yet, but I did meet Suzanne of Campaign for Unshaved Snatch and Bossy of I am Bossy. I didn't meet the Sarcastic Journalist in the bathroom, but she gave me a tampon, which is almost the same thing.

3. When you're not in the bathroom, be drinking. When you're not drinking, be handing out business cards. If you still don't have business cards, improvise. Take a Sharpie and write your twitter handle on people's hands. Like this:

@poppybuxom

People will love this. Especially if you use indelible ink.

Seriously! It will be so fun, so fresh, so informal!

You'll probably end up the next dooce.

Truly Tacky Tuesday: Clown figurines

Many years ago, I worked with a young woman. For reasons I've completely forgotten (because that's what alcohol is for) she tried to kill herself. Now, at best, this was a half-assed suicide attempt--it probably boiled down to four sleeping pills and a tearful phone call to the guy who had just dumped her--but she ended up in the loony bin for observation.

And then, after she got all better and was ready to start life anew, she needed a new place to live, because the guy who had just dumped her didn't want her moving back in with him.

Coincidentally, I had just lost a roommate to job relocation or law school or somesuch (There really is nothing like ethanol for erasing insignificant memories. And as I get older, it works better and better!) so I had an empty spare bedroom.

I'm sure you can see where this is going. But don't think I had her move in the way you might rescue a stray kitten. It wasn't like that at all.

You see, every comedienne needs some crazy people around. Crazy people keep our creative juices flowing. They also make us look more normal. Dependable, even. So dependable that bosses will say to themselves, "Hmmm ... I need someone to update the networked UNIX system software ... better have Poppy do it. Look how dependable she is! She's never even tried to kill herself."

And so it came to pass that Ethel had Lucy, Seinfield had Kramer, Bob Newhart had what's-his-name, and I had Kim.

Now, upon Kim's release from the cracker factory (her phrase, by the way) she still had a bunch of stuff in storage. So when she first moved in, our apartment had a somewhat minimalist vibe.

And then her stuff showed up. And after a long day of updating system software, I came home to this:



Every flat surface in the living room was covered with clowns. I think there were 19 or 20 of the them. Pretty much every designer figurine manufacturer was represented, too. There was a Precious Moments.


A Hummel.


A Lladro.



And a few companies I'd never heard of because they only made clowns, so why would I know about them?

Thanks, Ron Lee, but I hope to never hear about you again.

And then there were techniques I could do without, like Murano glass.


As well as the licensed Emmet Kelly Sad Clown merchandise.


Well, imagine that someone has taken what we've seen here, made it three dimensional and as much as 18 inches high, and put it all over your living room. Then imagine walking in after a long day of updating systems software.

No wonder she tried to kill herself.

What to take home from BlogHer, from one who has been there, grabbed that.

First of all, I have a confession to make: I'm not exactly an expert. I've only been to one BlogHer conference.

Also, I can be a little clueless at times. Oh yes, I can. Here's all the proof you need--from one of my BlogHer07 follow-up posts. I had this to say about the writer's panel:

On the "writers panel" one panelist wrote books first, and then took to blogging in order to promote her book. One blogger blogs short stories. One blogs every day. I am not impressed. BlogHer executives: this is not the equivalent of having Janet Evanovich, Anna Quindlan, and Norah Ephron up there.

The blogger who blogs every day? Was The Pioneer Woman. And I'd never heard of her. So obviously, in some respects, I'm a know-nothing dimwit.

On the other hand, I've done this conference thing before. So here's my advice.

1. Everyone tells you to pack light (I do myself--see my post about sex toys and why you shouldn't bother to bring them) but nobody tells you to dress lightly, too. I'm not talking about the weather.

Here's what I mean. You'll be carrying a laptop (yes, bring your laptop!) and maybe a purse. You'll have business cards to hand out. You'll be wearing a huge conference name tag on a lariat around your neck. And most of the time, you'll be schlepping a lot of swag around.

So do yourself a favor, and don't wear a bunch of dangling necklaces, or a scarf, or anything too fussy from the waist up. Keep it simple. You want people to be able to see your name tag. And your face.

2. Be prepared to accumulate an amazing amount of stuff. If you can manage it, pack a second soft-sided suitcase inside your regular suitcase. Don't bring a tote bag unless it zips shut. I live in Chicago, so I didn't have to worry about getting all my BlogHer07 loot onto a plane, but getting home from BlissDom09 was a challenge.

3. Think twice before grabbing everything being given away. Especially if you end up having to check a bag. There will be free books, CDs, DVDs, t-shirts, tote bags and trinkets--you name it. Keep your priorities in mind. Checking a bag costs $15 or $20. Did I need all six copies of the romance novel someone was giving away at Blissdom? Not when I had all those boxes of Little Debbie 100-calorie Nutty Bars to pack. First things first, people!

4. Bring an extra Zip-Lock bag for the business cards you'll accumulate. When you have a moment, jot notes on the back of the cards about the person who gave it to you. You need to do it while the experience is fresh in your mind. If you had a great time chatting, you'll want to shoot an email to anyone you really connected with, and you can't do that if you can't remember which person is which.

5. Memories. But you knew that.

(Are we excited???? Squee!!!)

Weird Things FridayTM: Octopuses

Say hello to my little friend.

My daughter went through a phase where her favorite animal was the octopus. And I thought that was the coolest. I mean, how unique! How not My Pretty Pony of her!

We bought her stuffed octopi wherever we found them. One of my favorite memories is watching her, aged 5, leaving the aquarium gift shop carrying a giant leopard print stuffed octopus. It was as big as she was, so from the right angle, it looked like the octopus was walking.

Unfortunately, she's gotten over octopi. She thinks they're babyish. But I haven't. And neither have a lot of people.

For one thing, octopi are unique. And intelligent. And versatile. I mean, here I am, thinking I'm so great with my large mammalian brain and opposable thumbs--meanwhile, this octopus is working as an archeologist.



Admittedly, sometimes octopuses have terrible taste. For example, this octopus loves its Mr. Potato Head toy. Oh well. At least it's not a Bratz doll.

No wonder octopi are trendy!



An octopus can be a lamp that looks like an octopus or acts like one. Here's a whole bunch of lamps named for the amazing octopus. Although surprisingly enough, I couldn't find a single lamp with eight tentacles.

Then there are octopus purses



and necklaces--silver


and gold

an octopus Wiggle



and for very wealthy grown-up art collectors, this dazzling octopus bracelet from Tiffany, which will set you back $270,000.



There's even a blog, Everything Octopus.

Just wait until I tell my daughter. I mean, come on. When people are blogging about something, it's HAWT. Maybe she won't make me give her stuffed octopuses to the thrift shop.

So. I love octopuses. So much that I see them where they don't exist. Like those round yellow cakes that Yankees and ignorant people use for strawberry shortcake? If you line them up, they totally look like a row of suckers on an octopus's arm.

So do the little round holes the contractors made in the ceiling when they installed my Spacepak air conditioning.


Don't look now, but your ceiling is growing suckers ...

Maybe I'm a little obsessed, but we're all lucky this isn't Japan. If this were Japan, I'd probably be asking an octopus out on a date. Because you know how Japanese women apparently can't stop thinking about having sex with octopi.* Just think of the ramifications if I posted a picture of what is, inexplicably, a rather common fantasy in the land of the rising sun.

Because that would be porn.

Unless the picture is really old and by a Japanese master



in which case maybe it's OK.

* This gives a whole new meaning to WTF.

Our new favorite--the Harry Potter/Voldemort rap contest

And now, a brief shorts report

I am just sick in love with this meme thing. Weird Things Friday has me bubbling over with creativity. And since I never do anything by halves, and prefer to err on the side of overkill, I now proudly present

Truly Tacky Tuesday

which is the day I'm going to blog about the cornea-searing amounts of bad taste I see everywhere I look.

Especially if I'm at home.

I was really pleased with the idea of making fun of other people's bad taste (and in a pinch, my own.) I thought it was genius. And then the other day as I was shopping for groceries, I found myself wondering. What if I couldn't find anything to post about? What if I encountered a shortage of tackiness? What would I do then?

And then, as I left the grocery store, as if to put my fears to rest, my muse presented me with this:

Strolling along, lowering property values where ever they go.

I had to sneak the photograph, so let me describe what's going on there. This is two old ladies. Don't let the bright red hair fool you; the woman on the right was even older than the gray haired on the woman on the left.

Now, please notice the shorts. It was probably 80 degrees, and I was perfectly comfortable wearing jeans, sandals, and a shirt with three-quarter sleeves. And yet these women went outside wearing the kind of shorts I find problematical on 12 year olds.

It gets worse. The woman on the right had such--how can I put this tactfully--such vivacious flesh on her legs that with every step she took, it moved in all kinds of directions. Seriously, it was all over the map. Up, down, left, right, jiggle jiggle jiggle. Although the woman on the left with the gray hair had amazingly firm legs.

And then I took a closer look. She had on pantyhose. White pantyhose. The kind business women used to wear with their navy blue skirt suits, Reeboks, and floppy disk ties. Except this woman was wearing hers with shorts.

And so, since we're talking about abbreviated things, a haiku.

If you must wear shorts

--and really, no one wants that--

don't wear pantyhose.

I'm feeling campy today

Tuesday Am
Originally uploaded by iDTechCamp

This isn't a mommyblog. It's more like a Menoblog. A Menoblog in which I drivel on about the things middle-aged housewives become interested in when their child-bearing years are over. Like interior decorating, T.V., dead celebrities, annoying bureaucrats, and what to do about those kids who won't stay off my lawn, dagnabit!

Which means if you're looking for poop stories and tales of bloating and weird food cravings, look elsewhere. (If you don't know where to look, shoot me a comment. In my wanderings through the blogosphere, I've come across more Craving Mommies/Pooping Children blogs than you can shake a stick at.)

So anyway. This here is the boy (not the girl in brown, the tall fellow in green) at Here's My Hero How Do I Make Him Move? 3D Game Design camp (or whatever he was doing last week.)

Week before last it was 2D Games Design, or, Pac-Man Is Not Lame. Next week it's Let's Completely Rewrite World of Warcraft to Produce Version 2.0, and then we'll end the summer with Introduction to Programming in C++. (I know. How lame. But that's the medicine, and the three weeks of game design were the spoonful of sugar.)

See, we get more and more technical around here, and not all of us have the skills we need. So my son needs to learn moar computer-y stuff so he can help his mother with her blog. In fact, now that I think about it, I'm kicking myself.

I just know the formatting on this entry will be all screwed up. Whenever I use Flickr, the post ends up in single-spaced, teensy font. Why, oh, why, didn't I sign him up for HTML Programming for the Sons of MenoBloggers? Dagnabit!

Weird Things I LikeTM: Old crappe

Confession time: I'm a pack rat married to a pack rat.

And this is good news! It means there will never be a shortage of Weird Things for me to write about. I've got a few years worth of posts right here at home. This means you can look forward to some delightfully schadenfreude-y Fridays.* You'll look around at your tiny accumulation of old newspapers and catalogs and think "At least I'm not as bad as Poppy."

Here's how bad I am. Yesterday Mr. Buxom got a new violin string from Amazon.com. He'd been missing a string for a while, and as soon as he tuned up, he wanted to play.

Mind you, the last time he played the violin, internet shopping hadn't been invented. There was no Amazon.com. Or if there was, it was for buying books. Which gives you an idea of how long it's been since he's played.

Anyhow, he tuned up the violin and started looking around for his sheet music. And couldn't find it, so he asked me if I knew where it was. Now, we moved into this house 11 years ago and he hasn't used the music in all that time, so no, I didn't know where it was.

The contents of what we laughingly refer to as "the music room":
Four instruments, one amplifier, a bunch of music, and two
misplaced board games. What's missing? Talent.

I started digging through the sheet music. When I was finished going through my vocal music, my old piano music, my now-deceased father's piano music, the flute music for my daughter who never learned to play the flute, the recorder music from each child's third grade recorder-playing stage, my collection of sheet music from the 1920s, 30s, and 40s, a few random bits of accordion and organ music of my father's which really shouldn't be here because we don't own or play an accordion or organ, I still hadn't found it.

A small sampling of my massive accumulation collection of vintage sheet
music. Do I actually play it? No. Do I frame it? No.
Does it hang out in the piano bench? Yes.

He started giving me the hairy eyeball, but I didn't throw his violin music out, I swear. I told him that if I haven't thrown out his Ranger Rick magazines from the early 1970s, or his high school spelunking equipment, or his grandfather's genealogy charts, or the 12 linear feet of National Geographic magazines even though ALL of the NG is available on disks now, I wouldn't have thrown out his violin music.

I mean, there's been an empty violin case in our basement storage area for years, and I haven't thrown THAT out.

And he believed me. Not because of my eloquence, but due to the completely ridiculous amount of crap I generously allow him to own.

I guess this means I need to clean/reorganize the basement, because I really believe there's a box of violin music down there somewhere. So if you don't hear from me for a few days, send paramedics. I'll probably be pinned under a collection of vintage Fisher-Price Little People sets.

---
* Yes, people. The internet has spoken, and the weekly Weird Things post is going to take place on Friday. Apparently people like the whole WTF idea.

If you look like your passport picture, you're not well enough to travel, or, why this entry doesn't have pictures.

Oh, internet; argh. Argh. ARGH.

I know it's not The Done Thing to whine and complain. I know that in the larger scheme of things, the little inconveniences I find so vexing are not really all that important. They're minor bagatelles along the lines of Eva Gabor as Lisa in Green Acres discovering that she chipped her nail polish while making flapjacks for Oliver.

But I swear to God, my attempts to get a U. S. passport today gave me a new respect for illegal immigrants. If it's this hard to get out of the country, what must it be like to try to sneak in?

At first I tried to do this the high-tech way. But have you ever visited the passport website? Don't. You'll drown. It's a perfect example of the Too Long; Didn't Read school of bureaucrat-ese. It's so bad that if you Google "passport" the first hits that come up aren't the government site; they're businesses that make their profits by adding a handling fee to the fee charged by the state department--just for walking you through the process.

Now I'm as cheap as the next Yankee, but today I spent over an hour in the post office dealing with a tiny little clerk named Bob while he tried to help me get a new passport. By the end of our time together, I was ready to pay any number of handling fees to make sure this passport thing would actually happen.

Bob was so tiny and woe-begone and incompetent, he was straight out of central casting. He could easily have played Bartleby the Scrivener or maybe one of the lesser Dickens characters. I felt sorry for him. After all, he's this tiny little white-haired postal worker. How loserish must he feel? So I turned on the charm and was patient and understanding. I smiled a lot. And when the pictures he took of me came out looking not just bad, but incredibly bad, making me look like a cross between my own grandmother and a jar of Grey Poupon mustard, I didn't fuss.

The thing is, Bob couldn't remember how much the passport fees were. He couldn't work the camera. Then he couldn't get the picture to print. Then he wandered around for a while looking for the "expedite" stamp, because it was so important. But then he stamped the wrong kind of envelope.

And I couldn't figure out why the sign on the wall was telling me that an expedited passport would cost $192.25 but he kept telling me it would be $135. I mean, since when does the federal government low-ball itself?

It turns out that by having me fill out labels and forms and self-addressed envelopes and such with my own white hands, he was saving me $25. Which I realize still doesn't add up. But when I asked him about it, he'd get out a piece of scratch paper and start adding columns. And I mean, come on! Scratch paper? Columns? Where's the sign on the wall with the fees? Even McDonald's does that. How do I know Bob's not giving me tonight's Lotto win?

After being sent back to the end of the line for not having everything ready to mail out, I wanted to grab Bob, pick him up by the front of his Postal Employee Shirt, and bounce him around like a paddle ball. And I could have done it. I think he was all of 5' 2" and weighed 70 pounds, including his pocket protector.

This is not my passport picture.
It's way too attractive.
But I think that's Bob.

I finally told Bob, "Hey, listen. I know I don't look it, but let's just assume for the moment that I'm rich. And eccentric. And don't want to save $25 by doing all this myself. Let's say that I'm willing to shove $192.25 at the nearest competent post office employee who will assure me--with a straight face--that I will have a replacement passport in my hand by August 6th. Because on August 6th, I'm getting on a plane to England even if I have to take you hostage to make it happen."

For some reason, he didn't take me seriously. It was very frustrating. I mean, things have come to a pretty pass when it's the customers who are going postal.

I don't feel at all confident that my passport will show up in time. And even if it does, I'll be kicking myself because that is seriously the worst picture that has ever been taken of me. And with my luck, I won't lose this passport. No, I'll probably be carrying it around for the next ten years, like a portable Picture of Dorian Gray.

Weird Things I LikeTM: Taxidermy

You know how all long-term bloggers decide to start something meme-ish so they devote a day a week to a themed post called "Wordless Wednesday" or "Song Lyric Saturday" or "Bodacious Tatas Tuesday?"

(OK, I made that last one up, but I think it's a great idea, so if you start it, email me. I might have some pictures you could use.)

So anyway, I tried to think of a category that would work for me. Because like many other long-term bloggers, I sometimes get tired of talking about my life.

And I think it's time I got famous for something. You know, like Five Star Friday (which I actually appeared in once) or Perfect Post (which I've never won. Even though I'm a long-term blogger. A bitter one.)

There's a problem with awards. To hand them out, I'd actually have to read a shitload of blogs. Even more than I read now. And a lot of what people seem to like are posts that moved them. You know, emotional stuff. And I hate stuff like that.

OK, what could I do week after week that wouldn't get old? Things I like. And thus was born Weird Things I Like.^TM

I have a really good feeling about this. This is a rich chocolately vein of blogging greatness. And I'm going to become famous at last! You'll meet me at BlogHer and then, after Weird Things I Like^TM has taken the blogosphere by storm, you'll be amazed when you realized how humble and almost ordinary I seemed!

It will be just like the time Susie Sunshine and I sat through the writer's panel at BlogHer in 2007 and there was Ree from Pioneer Woman and we had never heard of her and two seconds after BlogHer was over, she was this massive star who invented the maga-blog! And yet, she had seemed so normal.

Well, it will be just like that for me and Weird Things I Like^TM.

Now, because long-term bloggers seem to be stuck on similar sounds and like things to be awfully alliterative, I'd call my new meme-like thing "Weird Things I Like^TM Wednesday." Or, when it gets really popular, WTW.*

My first weird thing is taxidermy, which I love. Not to own. Don't go all PETA on me and start throwing paint at me or picketing the cocktail party I'm having at BlogHer** because I don't own any dead stuffed animals. Much as I admire real dead stuffed animals, I don't want to own one, because it would be really gross if I bought one and it didn't end up being preserved all that well.

But I love that part of the Field Museum where they set the dead stuffed animals up in little dioramas. First of all, it's cool that they set up the diorama once, maybe in the 1890s, and except for a once a week when the cleaning ladies come in to dust the giraffes, they never need to work on it again. Talk about efficient!


Also, dead stuffed animals have the sense to stay still so you can really gawk at them. Live animals are always asleep or hiding in a cave or something--everyone else at the zoo sees lots more animals than I do. I always seem to be looking in the wrong direction. Either they're not there at all, or they're going to the bathroom.

And taxidermy animals get along with each other. You can squeeze all kinds of them into a small exhibit space and they don't eat each other, have spats, or fight over territory.

And if they do fight or try to eat each other, it never really happens. This tiger will never actually eat that deer. It's kind of like Keats' Grecian Urn. You know?

So anyway, while this kind of thing is admittedly way over the top


This? Is cool.


* Maybe I should have Weird Things Friday, or WTF. Please leave a comment and let me know your preference.

** Saturday night. Email me for an invitation!

It's a garden report! It's a party report! But it's not a garden party report.

The good news is the fried chicken, barbecued ribs, hot dogs, hamburgers, bratwurst, potato salad, cole slaw, tossed salad, angel cake, mixed berry compote, and whipped cream went down a treat. So did the cheese platter and cruditeés.

And the liquor, of course.

You know, I haven't thought about gin and tonic in years. Which is sort of weird, when you think about it. I'm a card-carrying WASP of the deepest dye; my porch is so heavy on the wicker, sea shells, and lobster prints it looks like an L. L. Bean outlet store on Nantucket Island. On top of that, in honor of the fourth I wore one of my navy blue Lacoste polo shirts under my Official Preppy Handbook butcher's apron. And yet I can't stand the taste of tonic water and never could.

But I am very, very glad that I bought a full case of tonic water and a bushel of limes. Because everyone else liked them A LOT.

(Which is fine, because it leaves more white wine for me.)

What we didn't like was the craptastic weather. We coordinated the necessary supplies with our guests--we had massive numbers of tarps, lawn chairs, and mosquito repellent ready to be called into play. Serious quantities, along the lines of what Scott would have packed had he been leading an expedition to the Newtopia fireworks instead of the Antarctic.

But a long, gray day of drizzle made everyone decide "Hey! Instead of going to see the South Pole fireworks, why don't we stay on Poppy's porch drinking gin and tonics, instead?"

So that's what we did.

Oh, and everyone admired my yard, so I thought I'd show off update everyone. And educate you on what not to do.

First, how not to hang bunting: one tiny bit of it, lost in the middle of 20 feet of window boxes:



I couldn't help it. That was the last bunting at the hardware store. Newtopia has apparently gone bunting mad. Instead of bye, baby bunting, it was Buy bunting, baby. Heh.

Also, let's face it: the big plastic clips I'm using to hold it up are tacky.

Not to mention that the window boxes themselves are pretty skimpy. At the beginning of the season, I made the mistake of planting them with pansies, and when pansy season was over, I had to refill them with petunias and such. Let me tell you, the back-breaking labor of filling those window boxes is not something you want to do every month.



You can't really tell in this crappy iPhone picture, but this is some hydrangeas. They're exactly the same variety, but one bush has blue flowers, and the other ones--the ones that look kind of yellow? Are are actually pink.



My friend Sophie tells me that burying five or six pennies in the soil around a hydrangea bush will add enough copper to the soil to make bright blue flowers. Finally, a use for pennies!!!

OK, this is my patriotic corner: red astilbe, red berries on the viburnum, white hydrangeas, and blue hydrangeas.



When I was out making the rounds taking pictures, I noticed that the hydrangeas were looking a little thirsty.

Naturally, I was a little peeved. If it's going to rain so much that everyone blows off the fireworks, can it least rain enough to make it unnecessary for me to water the yard?

But then I got all stiff-upper-lip, as befits my heritage. And I did what any card-carrying WASP would do; I gave them each a couple of gin and tonics. With a penny chaser.

This should hold you while I make potato salad

Hey everybody! Want to come to our Fourth of July cookout? And the pile into my van and drive to the town playing field to watch the fireworks?

What could be more patriotic than serving trademarked foods?

What--you already have plans? You don't know where Newtopia is? You suspect that we'll overcook the burgers? In general, "no, thank you?"

THANK GOD. Because internet, I don't mean to be ungracious, but I think I invited everyone I know to my house for dinner tomorrow night, and I only have so much refrigerator space. Also, Mr. Buxom informs me that the hose thing that brings the gas to the grill has a leak, so we're going to have to use charcoal.

So I've decided to make a big platter of fried chicken.

Just so you know? I don't garnish my fried chicken with lettuce.
Low calorie unprocessed foods must never touch high calorie
processed foods. It's not kosher.

That will free up the Weber for the ribs. Then when the ribs are cooked, we can do individual hot dogs and hamburgers for the people who want them.

For sides, I'll make cole slaw, potato salad, and The World's Most Fattening Salad.

For dessert, I'd really love to make real strawberry shortcake the way my mother always made it, with real biscuits, real whipped cream, and a big bowl of hulled, sliced strawberries macerating in sugar until they saucify themselves.


But I know I won't be that organized, so the kids' dessert will be ice cream treats or individual Jell-Os with aerosol whipped cream. With a fancy fruit salad for the grown-ups. You know, maybe one of those oh-so-impressive watermelon baskets.

I could totally make this. Complete with those garnishes that look like pasties.

So listen, I've got to come up with a grocery list and shop and get cooking.

In the meantime, I posted an entry to Mamarazzi. It's not my greatest. In fact, it's an easy sleazy post-a-video entry. But listen, people: the cream might come Rediwipped^TM, but that Jell-O isn't going to make itself.

www.poppybuxom.com FAIL

OK, that was interesting.

I actually spent the money and bought my domain.

But do I have the time to figure out how to make it work? And actually, if you type in www.poppybuxom.com, show my blog? Nooooooo! If you click on www.poppybuxom.com you end up on the GoDaddy home page.

It is OBVIOUSLY TIME to START DRINKING.

Luckily for me, www.mrbuxom.com is grilling www.newyorkstrips.com to be accompanied by www.steamedcauliflower.com, www.sauteedzucchinigarliconionandtomatoes.com, and lots and lots of www.wine.com.

Internet, I have questions.

1. Today is Canada Day. Whenever they play the Canadian National Anthem at a hockey game, I sing "Oh Canada / You're boring, but you're large." Is this offensive?

2. Since Saturday is Independence Day, is it your considered opinion that long underwear is no longer in season?

3. If yes, would you mind mentioning this to the weather?

4. When displeased, my daughter has shown a tendency to remind me that I have a weight problem. (Obviously, she doesn't read my blog, or she'd know that I'm well aware of the fact.) But for the time being, it seems that I'm doomed to be reminded that I'm either "fat" (when she's merely cranky) or "obese" (when a nuclear meltdown becomes immanent.) Would it be childish to start calling her "pimply"?

5. Speaking of obesity, I'm afraid that the local rabbit population has been treating my rose bed like an all-you-can-eat Las Vegas buffet.

The middle row--Jackson Perkins "Whisper" hybrid tea--is obviously the yummiest.

Does anyone have any good recipes for rabbit?

5. Are you going to BlogHer? You're invited to my cocktail party on Saturday, July 25, from 9:00 p.m. to 1:00 a.m. But I can only have 70 people. Wanna come?