How much I want the universe to provide me with a satisfying means of income

Not that much.

Weird, right?

Here's the thing, and I say this as someone who participates fully in both consumerism and capitalism, constantly, and makes no real effort to reject either:

I have a much easier time buying into materialism than capitalism.

Here's what that looks like:

• I like stuff.
• I like the security of money.
• I would like plenty of both, and would also like enough money to share with both people I love and total strangers.
• I say things like, "when I'm rich, I'll..." and I'm only maybe 15% joking. (Not "if," not for me.) (Also: You would not believe some of the things I think I may someday spend money on.)

But:

• I do not like that my money is in any way tied to my work.
• I do not like that my money is in any way tied to my sense of self-worth.
• I do not like that some kinds of work are financially rewarded at higher rates than others.
• I do not like that ownership is financially rewarded so outrageously disproportionately.
• I do not like that there are people who still claim that working hard gets people more money, when that is demonstrably untrue at both the high and low ends of the wealth spectrum.

So:

• I want satisfying things to do with my time and talents*, and
• I want income, and plenty of it, and
• I want them to be unrelated, if possible.

I don't suppose everyone who buys lottery tickets does so out of a similar alignment of principles, but it's why I buy lottery tickets, for sure. I don't buy them much, because I understand math. Also, me winning the lottery would solve some of my problems, but would not fix what I believe is a deeply broken system. But sometimes, a $3 flash of magical thinking toward my own selfish goals is what I can muster.

*To be clear: I already have several of these things, some of which I am compensated for, and some of which I am not.

Love actually

Note: On the Facebook page, I mentioned a little while back that I had a folder full of drafts I never finished: More than 60 of 'em, in fact. I'm going through that folder now, deleting what's not worth it, posting what might entertain you. This gem dates back to January 2013; I'm skipping around some, chronologically. 

I just had a call from my mother's cell phone.

I answered it, and my father said, "It's me, actually. Your mother wanted me to call and tell you that we suddenly have to go downstairs and measure something, so she can't talk to you right now."

"OK," I said. "She can call me later; I should be around. Have fun. Talk to you both later."

I have now had several minutes since then to analyze this, and it strikes me as hilarious now.

Because: "It's me, actually"? You're my dad. You're allowed to call me.

Also: "We suddenly have to go downstairs and measure something"? There is a little context that makes this less strange, but it doesn't matter. It is entirely possible that on any given day, my mother would be unable to talk to me because she suddenly has to go measure something somewhere in the house. As far as I can remember, I have only ever measured one thing in my house: The space I have for a new refrigerator, and I've had to measure it maybe four times, because I keep losing whatever scrap of paper I wrote the measurements down on. But measuring would never be sudden or frequent or on an emergency basis for me, I don't think.

Notes from the future, which is to say July 2013: I have measured that space for the refrigerator at least twice more, and I am pleased to be able to say that after a year of sporadic measuring, there is a new refrigerator in said space, due almost entirely to assistance and pressure from my parents. It totally fits.

Open Sesame

Somehow*, this afternoon, I stumbled down a vintage Sesame Street wormhole. I recommend it.

Go to YouTube and just enter "vintage Sesame Street" as a search term. (I assume "classic Sesame Street" yields similar results.) If you are close to my age and had a TV as a kid, it will likely bring back some amazing and in some cases very weird memories. Those early seasons were just incredibleawesomestrange.

If you are much older or younger than I am, I suspect it will be a little hard to believe that some of this stuff was once standard children's programming.

For now, I share this one thing that just about made me cry:



...and invite you to share whatever weird/awesome/cool/funny/touching vintage Sesame moments you have to share today. With video links, obviously.





*OK, fine, someone on Facebook shared "Doin' the Pigeon." Whatever.

So about Kristen Wiig

Seriously, you all, I was just talking about her the day before it was suggested I blog about her. And not about her in any of her recent movies, or Saturday Night Live. I will never ever forget the first time I ever saw Kristen Wiig, and it was in a little miracle I like to call The Joe Schmo Show.

The Joe Schmo Show, for the uninitiated, is a mostly-fake reality show. There's one real contestant, who isn't in on the joke, and everyone else is an actor, playing basically caricatures of reality show contestants. Kristen Wiig was Dr. Pat, a quack therapist, complete with puppets she used to have difficult conversations and an enormous amount of dysfunction herself.

The show's not without problems, obviously; it was made for Spike TV and is therefore pretty much grotesquely sexist, among other things.

But watch it if you can, because it is hilarious. And Wiig? A serious highlight of that first season. Other highlights: Ralph Garman, David Hornsby, and the eviction ceremonies for the fake show "Lap of Luxury," which was sort of Survivor in a fancy house. The contestants had fancy commemorative plates with their faces on them. When contestants were voted out, they'd bring their plate to the smarmy host, who'd smash it in the fancy fireplace, saying, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, [contestant's name], you are dead to us."

It was glorious, and sometimes when people mistreat me or my friends, I repeat that phrase in my head and imagine smashing a commemorative plate of their face. You know who you are, jerko.

And though I've seen several of those actors other places since, I am not one bit surprised that it's Kristen Wiig whose star has really risen.

Side note: I have not yet seen all of the third season, but it features Lorenzo Lamas and is why I now also like Lorenzo Lamas.

Other note: Kristen Wiig is not on Twitter, Facebook, or any other social networking website. Do you think that means she won't see this? Do you think Lorenzo Lamas will?

Blockheaded

I committed to writing at least one new post for every draft post I revive, and waiting no more than three days between them.

So today is an enforced-new-post day, but I am uninspired. I have used a lot of words for un-blog-related purposes lately, and the well is maybe a little dry.

Was uninspired, I should say. The well was maybe a little dry.

Because I sent this query out to four regular readers:

hey, i'm committed to writing a new blog post today (three days after the last old one)
but writer's block
anything in particular you want to hear about?

And got these suggestions back:

• Friends. 
• New friends. 
• How you stay in touch with people who don't live in your area code. 
• or Kristin Wiig 
• the return of acid washed everything 
• How amazing I am? 
• How much you want the universe to provide you with a satisfying means of income?
• how about something summer camp-y? 
• An important experience as a camp counselor or with someone who was a camp counselor to you?
• yer mom

And I could literally write a blog post on each of those, and so I will. Thanks, friends, for the food for thought.

Wait, you didn't think I was going to write one of them now, did you? Hahahahahahaha why would I do that when I just wrote an excellent post on writer's block and making your friends solve it for you?

Favorite things

Note: On the Facebook page, I mentioned a little while back that I had a folder full of drafts I never finished: More than 60 of 'em, in fact. I'm going through that folder now, deleting what's not worth it, posting what might entertain you. This gem dates back to January 2008. And is still true. 

Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes

And owning a house that I enjoy having people in, close enough to town that when I am in a bar for happy hour, and the waiters are being both slow and rude, and acting as though we are an imposition, I can say, "Hey, wanna just go have a drink at my house?"

And then we all do.

And even though the happy hour bars are cheap (so cheap, you city slickers, you would not believe), the drinks already in my house are cheaper. The beers other people show up with? Cheaper still.

Introducing RI

I said last week I'd introduce you to the Romantic Interest.

Obviously, the best vehicle for this is an online chat from this afternoon.

bzzzzgrrrl: So... I have promised the masses I'll introduce you to them at some point
romantic interest: Right
bzzzzgrrrl: JUST SO YOU KNOW, I have never done that before.
Like, they probably made some assumptions about the artist formerly known as Bread Truck Grrl
but I haven't ever said, like, I'm dating someone and here they are.
RI: Huh
bzzzzgrrrl: Anyway, now that you're all freaked out ...
RI: I'm not.
I'm flattered.
bzzzzgrrrl: … what, if anything, would you think would be relevant for them to know about you?
Or if not relevant, at least funny.
RI: Um... Oh gosh. I just don't know.
bzzzzgrrrl: Can I tell them you're young, and it mostly doesn't matter, except you don't know about Moonlighting or “We Built this City”?
RI: Yeah. That's fine.
bzzzzgrrrl: Can I tell them you're a wicked good bowler?
RI: Of course.
bzzzzgrrrl: Can I tell them you bowled a 214 one time?
(Is that your high score?)
RI: My high score is 249.
bzzzzgrrrl: :)
RI: That was the game with the 6-pack + 2 that you missed
bzzzzgrrrl: Can I tell them you're cute and nice and smart and funny and fun to be around? Can I tell them avocados with black pepper are delicious, and that that's not a euphemism, just one of the many delightful things I learned by being around you?
RI: You can puff me up as much as you'd like to.
bzzzzgrrrl: Heh.
Nice.
Anything they should know from your perspective about what dating me is like? Or are you worried they'll all wanna do it?
RI: I didn't even think of that. Yes, let's avoid that.
bzzzzgrrrl: Hmph.
RI: But seriously. I love dating you because you're [REDACTED]. In more ways that one. ;)
bzzzzgrrrl: I am not telling the internet I'm [REDACTED].
RI: Fine.
But you are also patient, kind, supportive, hilarious, beautiful, brilliant, fun, sexy, caring, open, trusting, communicative, giving and stuff.
As well as [REDACTED].
bzzzzgrrrl: Aw, shucks. Thanks.
You're so great.
RI: I love just how much fun and laughter there is with you.
bzzzzgrrrl: Right. Back. Atcha.


... And that's what you get. Which is maybe more than you deserve.

My vote matters more than your vote

Note: On the Facebook page, I mentioned a little while back that I had a folder full of drafts I never finished: More than 60 of 'em, in fact. I'm going through that folder now, deleting what's not worth it, posting what might entertain you. This gem dates back to December 2007. 

So, I'm a New Hampshire voter now. Which means, having tried so hard to ignore the presidential race until some folks drop out, I now have to make an actual choice, from all of the candidates. Like everyone else here, I am registered as "undeclared," which means I can vote in either primary. Probably, I'll vote in the Democratic one, but who knows?

Luckily, the ridiculousness around the New Hampshire primary means I have plenty of opportunity to check out the candidates. With very little effort on my part, I have managed to see Bill Clinton on behalf of his wife, Michelle Obama on behalf of her husband, Bill Richardson on behalf of himself, and now, The John Edwards Show.

Gotta admit, I went because Bonnie Raitt was going to be there. She was, and so was Jackson Browne, and they were awesome. Before them, Peter Coyote got up and had a few things to say-- he's a "hey, it's that guy!" I remember best from E.T. and Erin Brockovich. And then Granny D showed up, apparently unexpected by all, including the Edwards campaign, and she was outstanding. Elizabeth Edwards had a few words to say, the candidate finally spoke, as he was answering questions, Catie Edwards jumped in with some of her own thoughts on the Supreme Court. It was all very exciting, yadda yadda, yes, I'll consider voting for Edwards.

But it was also New Hampshire. So there were little kids running around and making a ruckus. I was in the second row of a small room [Note from 2013: I don't remember what I was going to say, don't remember what happened at that event, but wow, how things have changed since 2013. I did not vote for Edwards, in case you wonder, though I did vote in the Democratic primary. Just thought this one was worth sharing for the blast-for-the-pastness, even if you don't get the end of the story. Rest in peace, Elizabeth Edwards and Granny D.]

Writing tips from a professional writer/editor (and oversensitive former resident of a certain Boston suburb)

Here are two reasons clichés are generally bad for journalists:

• One is that they are clichés, and you can do better than that. You want to write, write.
• The other is that words actually have meanings and implications.

Let's focus on the second one, shall we?

When journalists (or anyone) use common turns of phrase, they (we) have likely lost sight of at least some of the meaning and implication. At least some readers will not.

Now, I use clichés all the time. I'm the worst. Catchphrases, too. But also, I write a blog that specifies part of its mission is funny stories at my expense. As such, I have two advantages over the journalists who once were my colleagues:

• It's all about me, so I examine me a lot. You haven't got time for that stuff, because you're writing about other people.
• I have a readership consisting of people who are already ready to make fun of me in a basically kind way, and to call me on my crap directly and readably. Seriously, look at the comments. I encourage it. Probably 20 percent of the folks who read this blog are or used to be copy editors, and probably 50 percent or more have been directly involved in some kind of social justice work — and those are not discrete categories.*

All this is by way of saying, both to the reporter at CNN and to her editor, when one describes the town I went to high school in, which has recently experienced a tragedy in which a young woman was murdered, thusly:

"It's the kind of idyllic American suburb where 'things like this aren't supposed to happen.'"

... a reader has to wonder, in what kind of place, exactly, are things like this "supposed to happen"?

What, exactly, are you saying or implying — and why would you do that?

Also, who does it benefit? And how?







*Example: I looked up "discrete" to be sure I had the right one, because I was sure I did, but what if I'd been wrong? Some of the commenters would have been chuckling about it over drinks for years.

Autopilot

I need to write a blog post for work, and possibly also do some work an intern already did but neglected to e-mail, so naturally, I am writing a post of dubious interest for you instead.

Those who interact with me daily may already suspect that my soda compulsion has gotten out of control. In general, part of how I trick myself into thinking that it is not is that I (usually) only drink one soda a day. That soda is, it should be said, enormous, and is (usually) acquired from a local convenience store that is between my house and my work, an easy walking distance from either.

One sign that my soda drinking may be a pretty severe habit is likely the friendly relationship I have with the staff of said store, who are a pretty friendly bunch, but who recognize me and greet me cheerily, as they see me on average at least once a day.

But another presented itself today, when I left work at lunchtime to go to a local restaurant (full punch card day! woohoo!) and instead, without thinking, wandered into the convenience store. It was not until I was actually standing in front of the soda fountain that I realized I didn't want a soda, had in fact already consumed my enormous soda for the day, and that I already had a big plan to go use my full punch card at the joint down the street.

Whoops.

Time to cut back, methinks.

(Any of you readers remember when I was "Oat Bran Muffin Girl" to the guy at the Dunkin' Donuts in Madison, NJ? There are places not to aspire to be a regular at.)

More on snow

Note: On the Facebook page, I mentioned a little while back that I had a folder full of drafts I never finished: More than 60 of 'em, in fact. I'm going through that folder now, deleting what's not worth it, posting what might entertain you. This gem dates back to December 2007.

Since some of you asked, yes, that snow that's hitting the Northeast has hit Keene. And it is very nice that I got some of the happy pretty snow before I had to contend with any of the pain-in-the-neck snow. This snow isn't even such a pain in the neck, really, but since I know you southern folk want to hear all about the weather, here you have it.

Last night, I drove a trip that is normally about an hour and a half in two hours. When I left, it had snowed, but was not really snowing, and there wasn't much on the ground. Most of the rest of the trip, it was really snowing, especially as I had to drive through a little semi-mountainy stretch. Some of you may recall that my air conditioner didn't really work over the summer. Bummer, but no big deal; I can roll down the windows. Turns out, my heat doesn't really work. Again, it's OK, I'm wearing a coat anyway. Oh, until it's snowing and the snow is freezing on the windshield and part of the heat not working is that the defrost doesn't really work either and it's almost midnight. Ugh. There was also one little skidding episode, which made me glad, as I so often am, that I learned to drive in New England.*

*If you have already heard about the very first time I drove, you can skip this asterisk. If not, bonus story! I was in a driver's ed car with an instructor and two friends, doing back-to-back-to-back lessons. I had literally never been behind the wheel of a car. and the instructor, who was a young woman and also in retrospect a genius, took us to an empty high school parking lot, waited until I was comfortable-ish driving slowly in circles, and, without warning, jerked up on the emergency brake, sending us into a skid so I could get used to the experience of turning into the skid. She did it a bunch more heart-stopping times, but I don't panic when I skid on ice, lo these many years later.

What's up

Last night, a loyal reader and close friend said, "City Mouse has been quiet. Bzzzzgrrrl must have a [romantic interest] or something."

Which... maybe. OK, yes. You'll get an introduction soon.

But also, things have been generally busy around here. Everyone has moved, and I have helped several of them. Some of my favorite people, including both niece and nephew, have had birthdays. Another loyal reader and close friend celebrated her 20th anniversary with her husband; they've both been good friends of mine for even longer than they've been married to each other, and I took their kids overnight so they could have a little (precious little) alone time.

And I don't know if you know this, but I am the best babysitter. Not a great parent, because I am not smart enough to pace myself. But give me 24 hours and a couple of kids, and we will do All The Things.

In this particular 24 hours, we:

• watched a movie (with popcorn!) 
• went to a softball game (with a playground! and a puppy! and had ice cream!) 
• had everyone's favorite bagels for breakfast, cut the way they like them
• went to the supermarket
• went to my parents' house (where there was another little dog! and a porch! and a little door under the stairs like in Harry Potter!)
• went to the town reading of the Declaration of Independence (plus Yankee Doodle!) 
• toured a real old one-room schoolhouse with a real old-timey fire engine outside
• went to an ice cream social (before lunch!)
• had lunch with everyone's favorite kind of everything 
• went swimming in the lake for a loooooooong time, including a fun new game where Kid 1 and I just threw Kid 2 back and forth between us 
• went back to my house to meet their folks 
• went to dinner at Applebee's 
• Plus sleeping. And reading.

I do not pretend that that day represents the pace of my day-to-day life over the past month or so, but it hasn't been so far off.

And those of you who follow CMC on Facebook (ahem) already know that I have another little blog-related project in the works, too; seems like about time to kick that one off!