(For Whimsy's Three for Friday):
Have fun, kids.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Wait, what?
My parents are priests. Have I mentioned that before? Anyway, they are.
So there was something extra-special about this post for me, which may be the greatest thing I have read all week (except for what you wrote, of course. You are my special favorite.).
I love my parents very much, but did not know that one of the things I have to be grateful for is that they have never asked me to keep a giant porn collection safe while they went on vacation. I am grateful for that, indeed.
So there was something extra-special about this post for me, which may be the greatest thing I have read all week (except for what you wrote, of course. You are my special favorite.).
I love my parents very much, but did not know that one of the things I have to be grateful for is that they have never asked me to keep a giant porn collection safe while they went on vacation. I am grateful for that, indeed.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Clotheslined
This progression to country mouseness is a gradual one. At some point this June, I decided to let environmentalism and the weather justify temporary laziness. There is no earthly reason, I thought, to waste power drying clothes when I could just hang them out on the line.
Those of you who do not live in the Northeastern U.S. may not know that we had approximately a thousand days of rain up here. Therefore, I could not possibly do any laundry.
Eventually, I ran out of clothes, and did just one load with the dryer.
Then, like a miracle, it got sunny. The old joke up here is that New Hampshire has two seasons, winter and the Fourth of July, and boy howdy, did it feel true this Fourth. Glorious indeed.
So on the fifth, I did laundry, and brought it out to hang on the line.
But you know how, in the fabric-softener commercials, crisp white sheets and bright-colored shirts all snap in the breeze? Yeah, some of us separate our colors when we do laundry. And some of us, having been city mice, have a lot of dark clothing. So some of us now have the gothest-looking clothesline in the universe, right out there for all the neighbors to see, and, no doubt, mock.
"Now?" you say. "Why haven't you brought in your laundry from July 5 yet?"
Because obviously there have been enough soaking rainstorms since then that every dark piece of clothing I won has had enough opportunity to almost dry before getting soaked again, repeatedly.
Those of you who do not live in the Northeastern U.S. may not know that we had approximately a thousand days of rain up here. Therefore, I could not possibly do any laundry.
Eventually, I ran out of clothes, and did just one load with the dryer.
Then, like a miracle, it got sunny. The old joke up here is that New Hampshire has two seasons, winter and the Fourth of July, and boy howdy, did it feel true this Fourth. Glorious indeed.
So on the fifth, I did laundry, and brought it out to hang on the line.
But you know how, in the fabric-softener commercials, crisp white sheets and bright-colored shirts all snap in the breeze? Yeah, some of us separate our colors when we do laundry. And some of us, having been city mice, have a lot of dark clothing. So some of us now have the gothest-looking clothesline in the universe, right out there for all the neighbors to see, and, no doubt, mock.
"Now?" you say. "Why haven't you brought in your laundry from July 5 yet?"
Because obviously there have been enough soaking rainstorms since then that every dark piece of clothing I won has had enough opportunity to almost dry before getting soaked again, repeatedly.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Gender deconstructionism
It will surprise exactly none of you to know that the phrase "crying like a little girl" irritates me. For many, many reasons, which we can get into in the comments if anyone is interested. Which nobody is.
That said, I want to parse whether the phrase even makes any sense as anything other than sexism.
So, parents of (or folks with experience of) young children of either sex:
That said, I want to parse whether the phrase even makes any sense as anything other than sexism.
So, parents of (or folks with experience of) young children of either sex:
- Is it your experience that little girls are more likely to cry than little boys? Less likely? The same likely?
- Is it your experience that little girls are more likely to scream than little boys? Less likely? The same likely?
- If "more," is it your opinion that this is true before the heavy-duty socializing efforts occur? Like, before the child has friends who are capable of peer pressure, or adult role models who are enforcing gendered behavior?
- Is it your experience that when little girls do cry or scream, it is in a less-tough way than little boys?
- If so, before the child has friends who are capable of peer pressure, or adult role models who are enforcing gendered behavior?
Seeing stars
If any of you readers are actually bloggers who get stuck from time to time (or if you're just bored on the Internet a lot), allow me to recommend Five Star Friday to you. People nominate great blog posts, and then those great blog posts all get sent out in one big roundup weekly.I do not always have time to read them all, but I find that, when I do, I am almost always inspired to write more, and better.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
You're so lucky I'm around
Although I watch a lot of DVDs (and now, thanks to Todd, Blu-rays), I am not generally a consumer of romantic comedies, for many reasons. I only rented Dan in Real Life because I didn't know that's what it was, and I am a sucker for both Steve Carell and advice columns.
But, having viewed it, I gotta say, I loved it.
Things I loved about Dan in Real Life:
But, having viewed it, I gotta say, I loved it.
Things I loved about Dan in Real Life:
- The cast. I was going to try to single people out, but it's a big cast, and a phenomenal one. Full of, "Oh, it's that guy!"
- Norbert Leo Butz. OK, I really wasn't going to single people out, but I have a soft spot for him, because I saw him on Broadway in Wicked, where he was delightful. He is also delightful in this film.
- The family dynamic. In some ways, this is a movie about a guy who feels left out of his own family, kind of. I discovered from the special features that the rest of the cast had a week of rehearsal without Steve Carell. It works.
- The line, "You are a murderer of love!" You think that might be the best line ever, certainly the best line possible in this film, and then, a few minutes later, it comes up again, better.
- My own reexamination of "Let My Love Open the Door." God, what a perfect song. Go listen to it right now.
Baby love
My sister had her baby late Tuesday. Which is pretty awesome. She is my first niece, my parents' first grandchild, both her parents' first child. She is amazing and perfect and tiny.
So amazing, in fact, that on Wednesday afternoon, as my parents and brother-in-law crowded around my sister and this stunning infant, my father proudly declared her to be the most beautiful baby he'd ever seen.
Someone (OK, I) pointed out that it would perhaps have been more tactful not to say that in the presence of the people who've grown out of the only other two newborns he's ever seen.*
Whatever, though. We all got what he meant.
(*- Realized in typing that that I can think of a fourth newborn he's known. Oh, well, glad to complete the circle of insult by sharing it here with Cousin Mouse.)
So amazing, in fact, that on Wednesday afternoon, as my parents and brother-in-law crowded around my sister and this stunning infant, my father proudly declared her to be the most beautiful baby he'd ever seen.
Someone (OK, I) pointed out that it would perhaps have been more tactful not to say that in the presence of the people who've grown out of the only other two newborns he's ever seen.*
Whatever, though. We all got what he meant.
(*- Realized in typing that that I can think of a fourth newborn he's known. Oh, well, glad to complete the circle of insult by sharing it here with Cousin Mouse.)
Thursday, July 2, 2009
I scream, you scream
I did not grow up in a neighborhood with an ice cream truck.
Where we lived when I was in high school, the truck would come along once in a while. Its tune was weird to the point of creepy. I best approximated it by playing three different music boxes, all playing different songs, at the same time.
Then, no ice cream truck for nearly twenty years.
My current neighborhood has an ice cream truck, with discernible tunes, but again, they're weird. a friend once noted that it was playing the theme from Love Story. I was just impressed that she could identify the theme from Love Story, as she was born fifteen years after that movie came out. But she was right, and I've heard it play a number of other weird tunes since.
Tonight, I jotted down what I could make out as the truck made its rounds:
Where we lived when I was in high school, the truck would come along once in a while. Its tune was weird to the point of creepy. I best approximated it by playing three different music boxes, all playing different songs, at the same time.
Then, no ice cream truck for nearly twenty years.
My current neighborhood has an ice cream truck, with discernible tunes, but again, they're weird. a friend once noted that it was playing the theme from Love Story. I was just impressed that she could identify the theme from Love Story, as she was born fifteen years after that movie came out. But she was right, and I've heard it play a number of other weird tunes since.
Tonight, I jotted down what I could make out as the truck made its rounds:
- "The Battle Hymn of the Republic"
- "Deck the Halls"
- "Clementine"
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Proud
Today's a big day.Some of you know.
40 years ago today, a bunch of misfits in a bar made a lot of noise when the folks who were there to serve and protect (whom?) got rough with them. For two days, a bunch of other people joined them, and a bunch of other people watched. A year later, the first Gay Pride marches happened to commemorate the event. And so, many folks argue, the modern LGBT rights movement was born.
I had, like, a million things to say about this, but I realized I was approaching it like a sermon, looking for a moral. I don't have a moral. I'm queer and out and grateful, and there are lessons to be learned from Stonewall and the more recent battles and our righteous disappointment, but I am unable to pick just one, and who am I to tell you what your lessons should be, anyway?
So, then, a few links for more reading, for those who are interested.
- The Wikipedia version
- An eyewitness account
- Frank Rich's acknowledgement of, among other things, what hasn't changed
And a few questions for folks who feel like having a conversation in the comments. You obviously don't have to answer all of these; pick what strikes your fancy:
- Did you think about Stonewall today (or yesterday)? What did you think about Stonewall today or yesterday?
- Do you remember Stonewall? Tell us a story.
- Do you remember any big queer awarenesses? That you were, that I was, that civil rights matter? Tell us about it.
- Are you mad at Barack Obama? More or less mad than you were at Bill Clinton? Tell us about it.
- What are you celebrating today?
- What are you mourning?
- Who are your queer heroes, and why? If you don't have any queer heroes, why? You can't just pick me. (Note I said, "just.")
- Why haven't you found me a nice girl yet?
Saturday, June 27, 2009
In which I overdo the italics, for what seem like good reasons
This may shock you, but I was a pretty surly 13-year-old, in total contrast to the ray of sunshine I am now. It's true.
At the age of 13, I got what many 13-year-old girls only dream about: A do-over. On my whole life.
We moved the summer between eighth grade and ninth grade, from rural New Hampshire to suburban Massachusetts. I was sure that the dorky, isolated kid I'd felt like would vanish, leaving a totally cool new me — the real me — with tons of friends who really understood. My new school would be filled with people who could appreciate me. Teachers would cease to care that I didn't do any homework because I was brilliant. Students would not be able to believe what a hole had been in their lives before I moved to town. Fashion would suddenly dictate that being a little heavy with giant glasses was the new black.
Yeah, OK. That didn't so much happen. Some things were better in the new school, many things were worse. I survived it and am now the very very well-adjusted blogger you all know and love. You will note my "About me" covers the suburbs differently than the country.
But the point is, when I left the old town, I left it completely, severing virtually all ties. Did not one bit cling to my old friendships. Hell, no.
And then came Facebook. Last night, my childhood best friend found me, filled with nostalgia from thinking about her upcoming high school class reunion. Excellent. I can't wait to hear more about her life. My Facebook stalking suggests she's happy, is married with kids, lives in the town we all used to live in, and is still in contact with many of our old classmates.
This morning, another elementary-school and middle-school friend found me. We were not best friends. He might be surprised to hear that I think of our childhood friendship as sort of love-hate, because I thought we were similar, and I did not want him or anyone else noticing that, even as I thought he was hilarious and neat. He was a little weird, in a way my adult self would love. We were both smart, and not tough, in a place where tough equaled cool. He embraced his weirdness and smartness. I just frantically wanted to be very, very normal.
So, this is getting very long. But let's face it, if you're still reading now, you're going to keep reading. And we both know it. You're all but a hostage here.
So this guy found me this morning. And we traded details of our lives, in a sort of twenty-years-in-twenty-lines format.
I think he might be setting his high school classmates up for a reality-show version of Grosse Point Blank. I am not going to share all of his twenty years with you because:
Suffice it to say that every single year has something as astounding as these highlights:
Two things:
At the age of 13, I got what many 13-year-old girls only dream about: A do-over. On my whole life.
We moved the summer between eighth grade and ninth grade, from rural New Hampshire to suburban Massachusetts. I was sure that the dorky, isolated kid I'd felt like would vanish, leaving a totally cool new me — the real me — with tons of friends who really understood. My new school would be filled with people who could appreciate me. Teachers would cease to care that I didn't do any homework because I was brilliant. Students would not be able to believe what a hole had been in their lives before I moved to town. Fashion would suddenly dictate that being a little heavy with giant glasses was the new black.
Yeah, OK. That didn't so much happen. Some things were better in the new school, many things were worse. I survived it and am now the very very well-adjusted blogger you all know and love. You will note my "About me" covers the suburbs differently than the country.
But the point is, when I left the old town, I left it completely, severing virtually all ties. Did not one bit cling to my old friendships. Hell, no.
And then came Facebook. Last night, my childhood best friend found me, filled with nostalgia from thinking about her upcoming high school class reunion. Excellent. I can't wait to hear more about her life. My Facebook stalking suggests she's happy, is married with kids, lives in the town we all used to live in, and is still in contact with many of our old classmates.
This morning, another elementary-school and middle-school friend found me. We were not best friends. He might be surprised to hear that I think of our childhood friendship as sort of love-hate, because I thought we were similar, and I did not want him or anyone else noticing that, even as I thought he was hilarious and neat. He was a little weird, in a way my adult self would love. We were both smart, and not tough, in a place where tough equaled cool. He embraced his weirdness and smartness. I just frantically wanted to be very, very normal.
So, this is getting very long. But let's face it, if you're still reading now, you're going to keep reading. And we both know it. You're all but a hostage here.
So this guy found me this morning. And we traded details of our lives, in a sort of twenty-years-in-twenty-lines format.
I think he might be setting his high school classmates up for a reality-show version of Grosse Point Blank. I am not going to share all of his twenty years with you because:
- I at least sort of respect for his privacy, and
- If we maintain this friendship, I might let him see this blog, and
- You would think it was a work of fiction, and I am mostly sure that it is not.
Suffice it to say that every single year has something as astounding as these highlights:
1988 first daughter born; join ArmyWhich, are you kidding?
1989 graduated [high school] and left New Hampshire for the Army
...
1994 Chop off fingertip after 100' vertical ice axe ascent of Portage Glacier-
...
1997 Traveling announcer for Sport Parachute demonstration team- shatter leg after freefall mishap
...
2001 Third marriage- Decide flying for a living isn't what I want to do after life-changing experience- change jobs (and design a simulator for RPGs now used worldwide in war games)
...
2009 Start two graduate programs (making up for lost time)- first grandchild born in Maine- Moving back to Germany (August)
Two things:
- What have I been doing for the last 25 years? My list reads like, "moved a bunch of times, got a job as a teacher, got a job as a waitress, got a job as a writer, moved."
- This is the kid I was worried about being like? Because we have not done one thing that was similar since 1985.
In the sun I feel as one
So, I'm sorry, gang.
I haven't been posting because I wanted to keep fixing the design, but I haven't been fixing the design because I don't know what I want to do yet.
I do know that this is not the final redesign, much as I know that I am not going to leave my bathtub peeling and multi-colored, but in both cases, it'll have to do for now, because I need to post and I need to bathe. If you have great ideas for what I should do, other than keeping black-on-white (which I will do) and getting rid of the scary cat (which I will probably do), let me know.
Meanwhile, onward and upward.
I haven't been posting because I wanted to keep fixing the design, but I haven't been fixing the design because I don't know what I want to do yet.
I do know that this is not the final redesign, much as I know that I am not going to leave my bathtub peeling and multi-colored, but in both cases, it'll have to do for now, because I need to post and I need to bathe. If you have great ideas for what I should do, other than keeping black-on-white (which I will do) and getting rid of the scary cat (which I will probably do), let me know.
Meanwhile, onward and upward.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Minor changes
I like to call this one "minima lefty (not stretch) with scary awesome cat picture."
Thoughts?
Thoughts?
Monday, June 15, 2009
Shopping
So, this week, I'm going to try some new themes in the design of the blog. Those of you who read regularly, please check in and see what you think. I'll post a post every time I post a theme, and I'll try to leave each theme up for at least a day. Comment to tell me whether you like it or not, and what aspects, specifically, you do and do not like.
A dear friend of mine and regular reader of this blog, who just did a big redesign of her own, said, "It feels to me like putting on a new outfit, or buying a new pair of shoes."
And that's the thing, isn't it? The old wardrobe feels outdated, both in terms of fashion and in terms of who I am right now. But also, I get inclined to stick with the old stuff, because shopping feels like such a pain, even though I am almost always pleased when I do get the new thing. Periodically, all my old shoes wear out at the same time, and like it or not, I have to shop for new ones. Which I generally love so much that I wear them pretty much exclusively until they, too, wear out.
This is way too long a post to say, here's Minima Lefty Stretch.
A dear friend of mine and regular reader of this blog, who just did a big redesign of her own, said, "It feels to me like putting on a new outfit, or buying a new pair of shoes."
And that's the thing, isn't it? The old wardrobe feels outdated, both in terms of fashion and in terms of who I am right now. But also, I get inclined to stick with the old stuff, because shopping feels like such a pain, even though I am almost always pleased when I do get the new thing. Periodically, all my old shoes wear out at the same time, and like it or not, I have to shop for new ones. Which I generally love so much that I wear them pretty much exclusively until they, too, wear out.
This is way too long a post to say, here's Minima Lefty Stretch.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Debating, rather than dueling
Some coworkers were listening to A Prairie Home Companion last weekend, and heard k.d. lang assert that playing the banjo was "a chick magnet."
The coworkers in question have extrapolated that to mean that I should start playing the banjo.
Discuss.
(Oh, and feel free to share and solicit opinions from your banjo-playing or chick-magnetic friends.)
The coworkers in question have extrapolated that to mean that I should start playing the banjo.
Discuss.
(Oh, and feel free to share and solicit opinions from your banjo-playing or chick-magnetic friends.)
Why all these dudes wearin' brown flip-flops?
When I lived "in D.C." the most recent time, I actually lived in Arlington, one of the closer-in suburbs in Virginia.
In fact, my employer, which had "Washington" in the name, was also in Arlington.
Arlington is most famous nationally as the home to Arlington National Cemetery. But it is famous in the Capital Region for, well, all the stuff in this video, which has been sent to me by approximately 16 different people, as well as popping up on bunches of Facebook statuses.
Enjoy, friends.
In fact, my employer, which had "Washington" in the name, was also in Arlington.
Arlington is most famous nationally as the home to Arlington National Cemetery. But it is famous in the Capital Region for, well, all the stuff in this video, which has been sent to me by approximately 16 different people, as well as popping up on bunches of Facebook statuses.
Enjoy, friends.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Monday, June 8, 2009
Sick and tired
Hey, gang. There was a long post in the works about how sick I was last week, and how I'm also a hypochondriac, which makes everything more difficult. It was hilarious and rambly. But I did not have the attention span to finish it.
I'm better now, but very, very run-down and weak. Which is sad; between the sick and the tired, I have missed:
The guy who did my blood work (which, in this case, means both drew the blood and ran the tests) was awkward and made a lot of noise about how drawing blood is his least favorite part of the job, and he doesn't usually do the blood drawing.
That became clearer when we were able to see what happens when he does:
That is after a day of healing, folks. Yesterday, it was just that color and size, but also swollen and weirdly lumpy. Hurts like hell, too.
I'm better now, but very, very run-down and weak. Which is sad; between the sick and the tired, I have missed:
- several major family events,
- one major work event,
- one minor social event,
- three and a half days of work,
- and fireworks
The guy who did my blood work (which, in this case, means both drew the blood and ran the tests) was awkward and made a lot of noise about how drawing blood is his least favorite part of the job, and he doesn't usually do the blood drawing.
That became clearer when we were able to see what happens when he does:
That is after a day of healing, folks. Yesterday, it was just that color and size, but also swollen and weirdly lumpy. Hurts like hell, too.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Rollin', rollin', rollin' ...
So, for the second time, a friend I thought was already on my blogroll asked if he could be on my blogroll.
Yes.
And since I am embarrassed not to have had him on my blogroll all along, allow me to direct your attention to I Peed on My Kid. It's every bit as funny as it sounds, and the guy who writes it used to write for both V.I.P. and the animated Spider-Man series. And porn. Plus, we went to high school together.
Perhaps more to the point, if you have a fabulous blog, and you can't understand why I hate you and haven't included you on the blogroll, it's probably because I thought I added you months ago and failed. Give me links in the comments.
Yes.
And since I am embarrassed not to have had him on my blogroll all along, allow me to direct your attention to I Peed on My Kid. It's every bit as funny as it sounds, and the guy who writes it used to write for both V.I.P. and the animated Spider-Man series. And porn. Plus, we went to high school together.
Perhaps more to the point, if you have a fabulous blog, and you can't understand why I hate you and haven't included you on the blogroll, it's probably because I thought I added you months ago and failed. Give me links in the comments.
Travel Tips: Lessons from Manchester, NH
You can complain all you want about Durham, North Carolina, but if you want something to eat in the Manchester, NH airport, on a weeknight, get there before 7 p.m. Yes, 7 p.m. in the town we call "ManchVegas."
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
A request for maybe the awesomest ongoing post ever
CousinMouse writes:
Send me your pics of the 80s and 90s, specifically those that highlight differences between the fashion of that time and this one. Or post links to them in the comments. I'll add to this post regularly (sorry if you're reading this in a reader; you'll just have to keep coming back), and we will do what we can to educate a dude who acquired some of his signature pieces from the collection of 40s clothing my parents had in the barn in the 70s.
I'll kick us off with a pic from 1990. Note especially hair, eyewear, and footwear.
As a leading expert on the fashions of the 80s, can you please explain what the differences are between the styles of those days and those of today? Seriously, I have not observed any big differences. The 90s, too. I hear young folks saying "that looks so 90s" and I see no distinguishing features other than it looks contemporary.There may be others out there who struggle with this same very important issue. It is our responsibility to help them out.
Maybe a subject for City Mouse or a facebook note?
Send me your pics of the 80s and 90s, specifically those that highlight differences between the fashion of that time and this one. Or post links to them in the comments. I'll add to this post regularly (sorry if you're reading this in a reader; you'll just have to keep coming back), and we will do what we can to educate a dude who acquired some of his signature pieces from the collection of 40s clothing my parents had in the barn in the 70s.
I'll kick us off with a pic from 1990. Note especially hair, eyewear, and footwear.
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