Title: Ice Age 2: The Meltdown
MPAA Rating: PG, for some mild language and innuendo (in other words, somebody says "Da-yum!")
So we took my two daughters, ages four and not-quite-two, to see this Monday night. The baby? Didn't care about it. She was not riveted. She was not amazingly silent for previously unheard of lengths of time. She did get excited when the film began to roll, but after a while she got antsy and fussy and had to be walked around. So to those of you parents who have a child this age: take the child to the theater well before bedtime, or you will have an upleasant experience.
Gina, on the other hand, was very interested. She was able to discern what was going on some of the time, and tell us about it. Trouble is, she wanted to tell us while the movie was still playing, so we had to shush her. Not a big deal, but then when the audience started laughing at something, she turned around and started shushing all of them. "You need to be quiet, peoples."
There were enough jokes in there to tickle the adults. Bizarro Dad has been repeating them ever since. So you won't be bored, Mom and Dad. Unless you're already boring, in which case, liven up a little!
This movie is worth taking your kids to. Now, if you don't want to be spoiled or read about the controversy that has started around this movie, read no further.
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Still with me? Great!
There have been some who object to the death of an animal being shown on screen in this movie. Actually, that's probably not quite how they phrased it, which is good, because that's not quite what happened on the screen, either.
An animal did in fact die. It was eaten. It was not, however, shown being eaten. Here is the scene: Surface of the water is on screen. Turtle is in the water. Turtle is suddenly dragged down, but camera stays with surface of water. A few seconds pass. Turtle shell comes back up. There is no turtle in the turtle shell. There is no blood. There are no bones (unless you count the shell). You don't see ANYTHING. You just know that the turtle was eaten by the two crocodile-like reptiles released into the water a few scenes earlier in the movie.
People are objecting to this! They're pitching fits! My thinking is, any kid who watches Animal Planet or a nature show on PBS has already seen the real thing, and I can guarantee that they saw blood, guts, and very sharp teeth. And if my four-year-old, who is highly sensitive, didn't care, it probably won't be much of a problem for your four-year-old, either. Furthermore, do you really want your kid to see a movie where crocs DON'T eat an animal, but leave it alone because it's all cute? That's fine for puppets, but what happens when you take your kid to the zoo and they think it'll be okay if they climb the fence into the crocodile enclosure? Don't worry, Mommy, it won't get me because I'm cute! Whatever.
Even from a storytelling perspective, it is important that the audience be shown that the reptiles in question are in fact dangerous. Why leave it to the last two scenes to show that they mean business? That's not how you create suspence. That's not how you set up a good story.
Now, the Scrat. This is my only complaint about the movie, really: too much Scrat. I know, he proves to be important, but the thing is, if you don't know that, it just seems like the director used a bunch of Scrat scenes as filler. Most of the time, it seems to halt the rest of the story.
Conclusion: Take the kids, you'll have some fun right along with them.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Signs in Houston, Part 2
This weekend my father and I went to the appliance store to look at stoves. On the way home, we passed a family medical clinic. It's been under construction for months. In fact, I think it was already open for business while parts of the building were still being constructed.
This clinic is located in a lower to lower middle class community. I am assuming that this explains the need for a clinic, as opposed to some fancy shmancy, 12 story medical office building. I'm glad it's there; the people really do need to feel like they are getting quality medical care, and there are few things more comforting in life than to be sitting in a clean exam room, as opposed to one with empty blood tubes on the floor under the exam table, or worse, cockroaches.
The lettering on the outside wall is big and bold, supposedly acting as a beacon to the surrounding families. The different sections of the building have their specialties emblazoned in the same manner. "FAMILY PRACTICE." "PEDIATRICS." "GYNECOLOGIST."
Yeah, you read that right. In big glowing letters (that's right, GLOWING) about 10 or 15 feet across is the word GYNECOLOGIST. Not Obestrician or Women's Health.
My father offered his opinion on the matter.
Dad: What the hell kind of dumbass clinic puts "GYNECOLOGIST" in big ole letters over the front door?
Me: Um...
Dad: Who wants to be seen walking into a building that's marked like that?
Me: They could have put OB/GYN or obstetrician. It's more or less the same thing.
Dad: So why didn't they put that?
Me: I don't know...they thought it would be better advertising for this community? There are a lot of pregnant teenagers around that area...
In any case, I kind of agree with my dad on one point: nobody, particularly men, wants to see the word GYNECOLOGIST on the side of the road in giant glowing letters as they're driving home and about to eat dinner. It's the kind of thing most men don't really want to think about, period.
This clinic is located in a lower to lower middle class community. I am assuming that this explains the need for a clinic, as opposed to some fancy shmancy, 12 story medical office building. I'm glad it's there; the people really do need to feel like they are getting quality medical care, and there are few things more comforting in life than to be sitting in a clean exam room, as opposed to one with empty blood tubes on the floor under the exam table, or worse, cockroaches.
The lettering on the outside wall is big and bold, supposedly acting as a beacon to the surrounding families. The different sections of the building have their specialties emblazoned in the same manner. "FAMILY PRACTICE." "PEDIATRICS." "GYNECOLOGIST."
Yeah, you read that right. In big glowing letters (that's right, GLOWING) about 10 or 15 feet across is the word GYNECOLOGIST. Not Obestrician or Women's Health.
My father offered his opinion on the matter.
Dad: What the hell kind of dumbass clinic puts "GYNECOLOGIST" in big ole letters over the front door?
Me: Um...
Dad: Who wants to be seen walking into a building that's marked like that?
Me: They could have put OB/GYN or obstetrician. It's more or less the same thing.
Dad: So why didn't they put that?
Me: I don't know...they thought it would be better advertising for this community? There are a lot of pregnant teenagers around that area...
In any case, I kind of agree with my dad on one point: nobody, particularly men, wants to see the word GYNECOLOGIST on the side of the road in giant glowing letters as they're driving home and about to eat dinner. It's the kind of thing most men don't really want to think about, period.
*snicker*
Thursday, March 30, 2006
The N Word
The other night at a family get-together, my aunt said something racist, even though she is not (to my knowledge) a racist. Then again, maybe my knowledge of her is not what I thought it was.
We were at the dinner table, just Aunt (age 42?), my cousin D (male, age 25) and me (age 27). The rest of the family were in various parts of Grandma's house, watching movies or playing with kids or whatever. Aunt said she was exhausted after a long week, because with the new bank merger her company is involved in, everybody who was not downsized suddenly has a lot to do. She said, "They've been making us work like niggaz."
I stopped, my fork in the air, and said nothing. I'm sure I had an ugly look on my face, but Aunt was sitting to my left, not across from me, so I don't know what she saw. I looked over at my cousin, who was sitting across from her. He also said nothing, but didn't pause as long as I did, and kept his countenance enough to keep eating.
My aunt was instantly embarrassed (I think), and said kind of meekly, "Excuse my language." Pause. Meek voice: "But it's true."
I am sure that my facial expression did not get any nicer. Cousin D, after swallowing his food, was able to continue the conversation by asking more specific questions about the merger and who'd been let go. I kept silent for a while.
First of all, I think it's ridiculous that a 42-year-old banker is using ANY words that end in a-z. Getting that out of the way, I wondered what the hell was going through my aunt's educated mind that she felt it would be okay to use the N word at the dinner table (even if most of the family had already finished dinner). And most of all, I wondered why saying, "But it's true," was supposed to excuse the use of the word. Why would it be "true?"
Perhaps she was using that word in place of "slaves." Slave is, I think, a word that can be used without necessarily sounding racist. I used to work at WalMart, but my friends and I all called it SlaveMart. It was not a racist comment, but more of a comment on the practices of management and of the corporation at large. But then why didn't Aunt just say slaves if that's what she meant? It certainly would have made for more comfortable dinner conversation and would have been highly effective at conveying her feelings about work.
Later I remembered an incident from my aunt's life that might possibly explain her derogatory attitude. As a direct result of the actions of a black nurse in the maternity ward, my aunt's guts came spilling out of her stitched-up (stapled?) body a few hours after her caesarian. She has never properly healed from this, and has always always ALWAYS blamed that black nurse who gave her an attitude, wouldn't listen, and chose to manhandle her instead of asking her what was going on or even reading the damn chart. So yeah, I can kind of see where some hostility might come in. On the other hand, that was one nurse, not an entire community of people.
Then something else happened that night. I was talking to cousin R (female, age 24), who is D's sister, and her friend N (female, same age). Their families grew up in the same neighborhood that Aunt (and all my father's immediate family) grew up in, the same neighborhood we were sitting in that night. And this poor Hispanic neighborhood (poor being subject to interpretation) is in close proximity to an equally poor black neighborhood of local fame. I'm talking about Fifth Ward, which, for all those who listened to rap music back in the early nineties, is home of the Geto Boys rapper Willie D. (This is back when everything did not have a Z at the end.) This is a tough neighborhood, let me tell you. Some would call it a ghetto and some of the houses would certainly qualify. Lots of crime, lots of gangs, lots of parents who don't care.
So I'm talking to R and N. They had taken two children, ages 4 and 5, to a nearby Chuck E Cheese earlier that day. We talk about what it was like, and basically I hear a 15 minute diatribe about the atrocious parenting skills they found there. The complaints are about specific families, not one group or another, but all the families talked about are black. This mother watched her child push my niece off the merry-go-round and said nothing. That child kept pushing my son. I had to stop another child, age 8, who was beating a younger boy senseless. Another mother was looking at me, waiting for me to reprimand her misbehaving child so that she would have an excuse to come tell me off. This is the kind of thing I'm being told. And N says, "These black people, they didn't even care about watching their kids."
(Personally, I think Chuck E Cheese attracts bad parents of all races and ethnicities; I've seen a family of Mexican immigrants in that same restaurant (same location) start an argument with a black woman who was being a good parent and telling her own child to get off a ride so that the next person in line could have a turn. Same thing happens at Chuck E Cheeses all over Houston. Basically you have an enclosed location with games and pizza and a system implemented to keep children from being kidnapped whether you are watching your kids or not. It is an invitation to turn your kids loose without supervision while you sit at a table and enjoy a couple of slices. This is enticing to neglectful parents who are sick of their kids screaming about random stuff in an attempt to get attention. Some very violent kids are left to their own devices for two whole hours or more. Which is why I no longer take my children there.)
Do you see it? Do you see the social and racial prejudice at work, even among those who know better than to say The N Word? Do you see where it comes from?
There is an attitude about black people, I think, that the people of my aunt's and cousins' neighbohood have developed as a result of living near a group of people who have proven themselves to be examples of social deviance. Is this accepted stereotype an accurate example of black people in general? No. I don't even think it's an accurate example of the entire population of Fifth Ward. It is, however, an example of how the behavior of a small group of people affect the perceptions others have of a larger group. It is the reason why we all need to strive to be better people. We need to educate ourselves against having prejudices, but we also need to not spur new ones on with our own bad behavior. Stereotypes, however wrong they are, are rooted in a grain of truth. The best way to conquer stereotypes is not live up to them.
We were at the dinner table, just Aunt (age 42?), my cousin D (male, age 25) and me (age 27). The rest of the family were in various parts of Grandma's house, watching movies or playing with kids or whatever. Aunt said she was exhausted after a long week, because with the new bank merger her company is involved in, everybody who was not downsized suddenly has a lot to do. She said, "They've been making us work like niggaz."
I stopped, my fork in the air, and said nothing. I'm sure I had an ugly look on my face, but Aunt was sitting to my left, not across from me, so I don't know what she saw. I looked over at my cousin, who was sitting across from her. He also said nothing, but didn't pause as long as I did, and kept his countenance enough to keep eating.
My aunt was instantly embarrassed (I think), and said kind of meekly, "Excuse my language." Pause. Meek voice: "But it's true."
I am sure that my facial expression did not get any nicer. Cousin D, after swallowing his food, was able to continue the conversation by asking more specific questions about the merger and who'd been let go. I kept silent for a while.
First of all, I think it's ridiculous that a 42-year-old banker is using ANY words that end in a-z. Getting that out of the way, I wondered what the hell was going through my aunt's educated mind that she felt it would be okay to use the N word at the dinner table (even if most of the family had already finished dinner). And most of all, I wondered why saying, "But it's true," was supposed to excuse the use of the word. Why would it be "true?"
Perhaps she was using that word in place of "slaves." Slave is, I think, a word that can be used without necessarily sounding racist. I used to work at WalMart, but my friends and I all called it SlaveMart. It was not a racist comment, but more of a comment on the practices of management and of the corporation at large. But then why didn't Aunt just say slaves if that's what she meant? It certainly would have made for more comfortable dinner conversation and would have been highly effective at conveying her feelings about work.
Later I remembered an incident from my aunt's life that might possibly explain her derogatory attitude. As a direct result of the actions of a black nurse in the maternity ward, my aunt's guts came spilling out of her stitched-up (stapled?) body a few hours after her caesarian. She has never properly healed from this, and has always always ALWAYS blamed that black nurse who gave her an attitude, wouldn't listen, and chose to manhandle her instead of asking her what was going on or even reading the damn chart. So yeah, I can kind of see where some hostility might come in. On the other hand, that was one nurse, not an entire community of people.
Then something else happened that night. I was talking to cousin R (female, age 24), who is D's sister, and her friend N (female, same age). Their families grew up in the same neighborhood that Aunt (and all my father's immediate family) grew up in, the same neighborhood we were sitting in that night. And this poor Hispanic neighborhood (poor being subject to interpretation) is in close proximity to an equally poor black neighborhood of local fame. I'm talking about Fifth Ward, which, for all those who listened to rap music back in the early nineties, is home of the Geto Boys rapper Willie D. (This is back when everything did not have a Z at the end.) This is a tough neighborhood, let me tell you. Some would call it a ghetto and some of the houses would certainly qualify. Lots of crime, lots of gangs, lots of parents who don't care.
So I'm talking to R and N. They had taken two children, ages 4 and 5, to a nearby Chuck E Cheese earlier that day. We talk about what it was like, and basically I hear a 15 minute diatribe about the atrocious parenting skills they found there. The complaints are about specific families, not one group or another, but all the families talked about are black. This mother watched her child push my niece off the merry-go-round and said nothing. That child kept pushing my son. I had to stop another child, age 8, who was beating a younger boy senseless. Another mother was looking at me, waiting for me to reprimand her misbehaving child so that she would have an excuse to come tell me off. This is the kind of thing I'm being told. And N says, "These black people, they didn't even care about watching their kids."
(Personally, I think Chuck E Cheese attracts bad parents of all races and ethnicities; I've seen a family of Mexican immigrants in that same restaurant (same location) start an argument with a black woman who was being a good parent and telling her own child to get off a ride so that the next person in line could have a turn. Same thing happens at Chuck E Cheeses all over Houston. Basically you have an enclosed location with games and pizza and a system implemented to keep children from being kidnapped whether you are watching your kids or not. It is an invitation to turn your kids loose without supervision while you sit at a table and enjoy a couple of slices. This is enticing to neglectful parents who are sick of their kids screaming about random stuff in an attempt to get attention. Some very violent kids are left to their own devices for two whole hours or more. Which is why I no longer take my children there.)
Do you see it? Do you see the social and racial prejudice at work, even among those who know better than to say The N Word? Do you see where it comes from?
There is an attitude about black people, I think, that the people of my aunt's and cousins' neighbohood have developed as a result of living near a group of people who have proven themselves to be examples of social deviance. Is this accepted stereotype an accurate example of black people in general? No. I don't even think it's an accurate example of the entire population of Fifth Ward. It is, however, an example of how the behavior of a small group of people affect the perceptions others have of a larger group. It is the reason why we all need to strive to be better people. We need to educate ourselves against having prejudices, but we also need to not spur new ones on with our own bad behavior. Stereotypes, however wrong they are, are rooted in a grain of truth. The best way to conquer stereotypes is not live up to them.
Saturday, March 25, 2006
Signs in Houston
The other night as I was driving to a Cub Scout parent's house, I passed one of those little taco stands on wheels. There are a LOT of these in Houston, particularly in lower income areas. This one caught my eye because of its name: Taqueria La Panza Feliz. Translation: The Happy Belly Taco Stand. Seriously, how can you not love a little food stand or casual eatery that calls itself The Happy Belly? If it hadn't been dark out, I probably would have stopped there and had a couple of fajita tacos.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Insomniac Movie Review: Yours, Mine & Ours (the remake)
Yours, Mine, & Ours (2005) Starring Dennis Quaid as the Admiral/Dad and Rene Russo as the "free-spirited" (read: modern hippie) Mom, with Rip Torn as the Commandant and Linda Hunt (remember that short little principal in Kindergarten Cop? Yeah, her!) as the family domestic assistant
MPAA Rating: PG
Again I say, Not As Good As The Original.
But then, the original had Lucille Ball. You can't expect just anybody to walk in and fill Lucille's shoes. So it's okay. Also, the original comes off a bit dated now (which it is), so some of the jokes don't seem quite as funny. Also: the original has more focus on the parents and how they relate to each other and the new children. The remake has more focus on the kids, how they get along (or don't) with each other, etc., with parental focus being mainly on differences of opinion about child-rearing and soothing the nerves of their own children (but only the youngest ones).
Do not misunderstand: I did like this movie. It was cute in some places, silly in others, and it's always nice to see children and teenagers feuding in a non-violent way before learning to get along by ganging up on someone else in an equally non-violent way.
Also a plus for the kids: plenty of slapstick humor. Maybe not an adult's idea of smart cinema, but it's still funny to see all the weird stuff that ends up all over Dennis Quaid. Poor guy, I hope he got paid extra for all that. Especially the stuff with the pig. (I'm not even kidding. You'd think actors would say "No, I draw the line," but evidently swine kisses are on this side of Quaid's line.)
Unfortunately, it seems as if parts of the story that should have been left in for flow are left out for time constraints. I understand that; you don't want the movie to drag on and on. But it just seems like...something is missing, I guess. The story suffers for it. And you can feel it in the way the movie is edited. I'd have expected a little better from director Raja Gosnell, but my expectations are higher because I loved Scooby Doo 2 (which he also directed). Then again, I suppose I should blame the editor.
One more complaint: Most directors understand that when filming, it's important to make sure that your leads look beautiful/handsome at all times, unless they're part of a sight gag involving whipped cream or similar. Unfortunately, there is one scene in particular when Rene Russo (who really is a lovely woman), just looks awful. This is especially bad because it is clearly a scene in which she is supposed to look stunning, but the lighting highlights the lines in her face. I suppose it's because the scene was filmed outside (at least I think it was) and direct sunlight is nobody's friend. Still, there are lighting tricks you'd think Raja Gosnell would have pulled out of his hat. Since it is supposed the be this "Big Moment" in the film, in which Admiral Dad falls in love with Hippie Mom, it's kind of important that she look good. (Yeah, you can call me shallow for this. I know it seems that way. But you can learn a thing or two from listening to the director's commentary of Gary Marshall movies, which are always fabulous, and this is one of those things.)
So, other than a few minor complaints, I would say overall that this is a good movie to watch with your family. Also: rent the original (available on Netflix). Very cute, fun movies, both of these. (But really, how can Rene Russo hope to fill Lucy's shoes, even if she does have red hair?)
MPAA Rating: PG
Again I say, Not As Good As The Original.
But then, the original had Lucille Ball. You can't expect just anybody to walk in and fill Lucille's shoes. So it's okay. Also, the original comes off a bit dated now (which it is), so some of the jokes don't seem quite as funny. Also: the original has more focus on the parents and how they relate to each other and the new children. The remake has more focus on the kids, how they get along (or don't) with each other, etc., with parental focus being mainly on differences of opinion about child-rearing and soothing the nerves of their own children (but only the youngest ones).
Do not misunderstand: I did like this movie. It was cute in some places, silly in others, and it's always nice to see children and teenagers feuding in a non-violent way before learning to get along by ganging up on someone else in an equally non-violent way.
Also a plus for the kids: plenty of slapstick humor. Maybe not an adult's idea of smart cinema, but it's still funny to see all the weird stuff that ends up all over Dennis Quaid. Poor guy, I hope he got paid extra for all that. Especially the stuff with the pig. (I'm not even kidding. You'd think actors would say "No, I draw the line," but evidently swine kisses are on this side of Quaid's line.)
Unfortunately, it seems as if parts of the story that should have been left in for flow are left out for time constraints. I understand that; you don't want the movie to drag on and on. But it just seems like...something is missing, I guess. The story suffers for it. And you can feel it in the way the movie is edited. I'd have expected a little better from director Raja Gosnell, but my expectations are higher because I loved Scooby Doo 2 (which he also directed). Then again, I suppose I should blame the editor.
One more complaint: Most directors understand that when filming, it's important to make sure that your leads look beautiful/handsome at all times, unless they're part of a sight gag involving whipped cream or similar. Unfortunately, there is one scene in particular when Rene Russo (who really is a lovely woman), just looks awful. This is especially bad because it is clearly a scene in which she is supposed to look stunning, but the lighting highlights the lines in her face. I suppose it's because the scene was filmed outside (at least I think it was) and direct sunlight is nobody's friend. Still, there are lighting tricks you'd think Raja Gosnell would have pulled out of his hat. Since it is supposed the be this "Big Moment" in the film, in which Admiral Dad falls in love with Hippie Mom, it's kind of important that she look good. (Yeah, you can call me shallow for this. I know it seems that way. But you can learn a thing or two from listening to the director's commentary of Gary Marshall movies, which are always fabulous, and this is one of those things.)
So, other than a few minor complaints, I would say overall that this is a good movie to watch with your family. Also: rent the original (available on Netflix). Very cute, fun movies, both of these. (But really, how can Rene Russo hope to fill Lucy's shoes, even if she does have red hair?)
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Insomniac Movie Review: Bad News Bears (the remake)
Bad News Bears, starring Billy Bob Thornton (the drunken coach), with Greg Kinnear (the jerk coach who cares more about winning than about including everyone or even rewarding kids for all their hard work with some acknowledgement) and Academy Award winner(!) Marcia Gay Harden (who plays the character that gets under your skin the most and clearly has no clue what is going on in the rest of the movie).
MPAA Rating: PG-13, and they aren't kidding about it, either
I'll be very honest with you.
It was funny. I won't deny that I laughed at it, in spite of (or because of) the fact that dead rats and possums were involved. But really, there are some things that just should not be encouraged. And letting a bunch of 12-year-old kids call each other and the adults around them "dickweed" and "assface" is one of those things.
This movie is designed to appeal to pubescent, smartalec boys, and to whatever demographic it is that pays money to see movies about children participating in team sports while compensating for inadequacy by swearing and fighting before they get around to actually practicing what it is they were so bad at in the first place. I don't know what that demographic is, exactly, but I suspect it is the parents of the pubescent, smartalec boys, who have to shlep their kids to the movie theater or video store. And, um, me. Because the trailer looked funny, but it didn't include the word "bitches." I was tricked, I tell you! I thought it was going to be a good family movie. My mistake, I realize, but I don't remember the original having quite this many curse words.
The rest of this is spoilery, so don't read if you don't want to be spoiled!
I also do not recommend it for under-12s because there are some women showing off serious cleavage. And because the coach sleeps with a player's mom (they don't show it, but they show the conversation that leads up to it, and the coach trying to sneak out the morning after). And you really don't want to explain that to your nine-year-old, why you're laughing when the Toby catches Coach leaving the house and Coach has to make up some excuse. You probably don't want to explain it to your 12-year-old, either, but you probably won't have to, since by that age they've already seen the fifth-grade movie and stolen Dad's dirty magazines that Mom didn't even know about, so they kind of already know what's going on.
So, yeah. Cussing. Cleavage. Drinking. Little League Baseball. Perfect for your teenage kids.
MPAA Rating: PG-13, and they aren't kidding about it, either
I'll be very honest with you.
It was funny. I won't deny that I laughed at it, in spite of (or because of) the fact that dead rats and possums were involved. But really, there are some things that just should not be encouraged. And letting a bunch of 12-year-old kids call each other and the adults around them "dickweed" and "assface" is one of those things.
This movie is designed to appeal to pubescent, smartalec boys, and to whatever demographic it is that pays money to see movies about children participating in team sports while compensating for inadequacy by swearing and fighting before they get around to actually practicing what it is they were so bad at in the first place. I don't know what that demographic is, exactly, but I suspect it is the parents of the pubescent, smartalec boys, who have to shlep their kids to the movie theater or video store. And, um, me. Because the trailer looked funny, but it didn't include the word "bitches." I was tricked, I tell you! I thought it was going to be a good family movie. My mistake, I realize, but I don't remember the original having quite this many curse words.
For this reason, I suggest that you not let your kids under 12 watch this movie. I also think my 14-year-old sis-in-law doesn't need to see this, since she's mouthy enough as it is, but it's not like this movie will teach her any new cuss words that she hasn't already learned in school. (Your taxes at work, folks.)
The rest of this is spoilery, so don't read if you don't want to be spoiled!
I also do not recommend it for under-12s because there are some women showing off serious cleavage. And because the coach sleeps with a player's mom (they don't show it, but they show the conversation that leads up to it, and the coach trying to sneak out the morning after). And you really don't want to explain that to your nine-year-old, why you're laughing when the Toby catches Coach leaving the house and Coach has to make up some excuse. You probably don't want to explain it to your 12-year-old, either, but you probably won't have to, since by that age they've already seen the fifth-grade movie and stolen Dad's dirty magazines that Mom didn't even know about, so they kind of already know what's going on.
So, yeah. Cussing. Cleavage. Drinking. Little League Baseball. Perfect for your teenage kids.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Drama, and why it's not all it's cracked up to be
You know how all the movies that were nominated for Best Picture Oscars this year were these big social or political dramas? And all the "best shows" on TV are things like The O.C. and Gilmore Girls and their various knock-offs? Yeah, well as exciting as it is to watch dramas at the theater or on TV, it sure as hell sucks when the drama starts knocking on your door. Or, as in my case, calling you endlessly on the phone.
Without going into too many private details, I will tell you that this drama comes to me courtesy of my in-laws and their inability to get along and/or agree on how to discipline Bizarro Dad's youngest sibling, 14-year-old N. Apparently my mother-in-law cannot even bring herself to correct this child when she mouths off to people, let alone remember that the girl is supposed to be grounded already and is therefore not allowed to do certain things, go certain places, or visit a certain boyfriend at his home. There's more to it, but basically the problem is compounded by the fact that all of these people live together on the same property, which belongs to the oldest sibling, E, and her husband. So that's E and her husband, N, my mother-in-law, my brother-in-law J, and E's two kids (both younger than N).
The petty and not-so-petty arguments have been ongoing for years now, and E has finally had enough. She called me last night to talk. She asked me for my opinion about the situation with her mother and other siblings. I made the mistake of giving it to her. This, I can see, is where I went wrong, because it got my husband and me involved in the argument on a level we had previously been avoiding. There are other factors here which I will not go into detail about, but which do explain why E would call me in the first place, and why she felt we had the right to know what was going on.
So anyway, the call came it at around nine-ish, I guess. About 90 million phone calls later, and there was total upheaval at E's house, and suddenly my mother-in-law decided she is taking N and moving in with N's best friend's family (yeah, because they want to be in the middle of this s***), and my husband had stayed up until 1 AM trying to sort this out and hear everyone's side of the story and figure out who is lying, when really he should have been in bed hours before because he needed to be at work at 3:30 AM.
For a few hours there it looked like we might even have N move in with us, but apparently neither she nor her mother feel comfortable with this arrangement. It seems that my mother-in-law doesn't want me (or anyone, I guess, including her own self) telling her 14-year-old daughter what to do, or how to act, or to stop speaking disrepectfully, or whatever it is that she thinks I'm going to tell a child who is living under my roof.
You know what? I have too much other stuff going on in my life without my in-laws adding to it. I don't blame E at all, because God knows she's put up with a whole world of problems on her mom's account already, and it's taking a toll on her health, her education, and most of all her marriage. I can say this here, I guess: I am inclined to believe E's side of the story. We have all caught her mother in too many lies over the years. My husband maintains that we have no way to verify the truth of all the he said/she said that is going on over there. "Well my husband said that J said that Mom said..." How is anyone supposed to sort that out? He has a point. Short of spending every waking moment at E's, we have no way to discern for ourselves what actually happened.
Now that we've gotten involved, my husband is all kinds of upset. He wants to help, but he doesn't want to take sides. And since his mother has taken the position of not-wanting-her-kid-under-my-roof, and N has taken a similar position (as far as we know), Bizarro Dad says he is not going to force that child to stay here and then have her run away and get knocked up or something.
So I guess after all that, we're just...not doing anything. I WANT to do something, but I can't help N if she won't let me. We can't afford a lawyer for a custody battle, and nobody wants to put N through that anyway.
See, this drama stuff? Entertaining when it's happening onscreen. Sucks major a$$ when it's happening all around you.
Without going into too many private details, I will tell you that this drama comes to me courtesy of my in-laws and their inability to get along and/or agree on how to discipline Bizarro Dad's youngest sibling, 14-year-old N. Apparently my mother-in-law cannot even bring herself to correct this child when she mouths off to people, let alone remember that the girl is supposed to be grounded already and is therefore not allowed to do certain things, go certain places, or visit a certain boyfriend at his home. There's more to it, but basically the problem is compounded by the fact that all of these people live together on the same property, which belongs to the oldest sibling, E, and her husband. So that's E and her husband, N, my mother-in-law, my brother-in-law J, and E's two kids (both younger than N).
The petty and not-so-petty arguments have been ongoing for years now, and E has finally had enough. She called me last night to talk. She asked me for my opinion about the situation with her mother and other siblings. I made the mistake of giving it to her. This, I can see, is where I went wrong, because it got my husband and me involved in the argument on a level we had previously been avoiding. There are other factors here which I will not go into detail about, but which do explain why E would call me in the first place, and why she felt we had the right to know what was going on.
So anyway, the call came it at around nine-ish, I guess. About 90 million phone calls later, and there was total upheaval at E's house, and suddenly my mother-in-law decided she is taking N and moving in with N's best friend's family (yeah, because they want to be in the middle of this s***), and my husband had stayed up until 1 AM trying to sort this out and hear everyone's side of the story and figure out who is lying, when really he should have been in bed hours before because he needed to be at work at 3:30 AM.
For a few hours there it looked like we might even have N move in with us, but apparently neither she nor her mother feel comfortable with this arrangement. It seems that my mother-in-law doesn't want me (or anyone, I guess, including her own self) telling her 14-year-old daughter what to do, or how to act, or to stop speaking disrepectfully, or whatever it is that she thinks I'm going to tell a child who is living under my roof.
You know what? I have too much other stuff going on in my life without my in-laws adding to it. I don't blame E at all, because God knows she's put up with a whole world of problems on her mom's account already, and it's taking a toll on her health, her education, and most of all her marriage. I can say this here, I guess: I am inclined to believe E's side of the story. We have all caught her mother in too many lies over the years. My husband maintains that we have no way to verify the truth of all the he said/she said that is going on over there. "Well my husband said that J said that Mom said..." How is anyone supposed to sort that out? He has a point. Short of spending every waking moment at E's, we have no way to discern for ourselves what actually happened.
Now that we've gotten involved, my husband is all kinds of upset. He wants to help, but he doesn't want to take sides. And since his mother has taken the position of not-wanting-her-kid-under-my-roof, and N has taken a similar position (as far as we know), Bizarro Dad says he is not going to force that child to stay here and then have her run away and get knocked up or something.
So I guess after all that, we're just...not doing anything. I WANT to do something, but I can't help N if she won't let me. We can't afford a lawyer for a custody battle, and nobody wants to put N through that anyway.
See, this drama stuff? Entertaining when it's happening onscreen. Sucks major a$$ when it's happening all around you.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
The unexpected benefits of Frank Sinatra
My brother-in-law, J, has recently moved to Houston (as I believe I've mentioned not too long ago). He, like my husband, served in the Marine Corps for a number of years. Unlike my husband, he was sent to Iraq and Afghanistan (if memory serves). He was, in point of fact, a tank driver.
I think you can imagine what it was he had to do. What I still cannot imagine are all the terrible things he saw, including holding his dying lieutenant in his arms and screaming for help that never came. I pray for my brother-in-law, who escaped death so many times, that he might recover from his nightmare.
Bizarro Dad learned this weekend, when he and his brother went paintballing (yeah, I caved on the paintball gun, because I love my man, and because we got our income tax return), that his little brother now has a strange affinity for Frank Sinatra.
Understand: J is the same age as my little brother, 24. My brother the professional rapper. Yeah, I know not all people in the same generation like the same genre of music, but I think I can safely say that most guys in this particular generation are not big Sinatra fans. J certainly wasn't before he left for boot camp. But he is now.
Apparently, when the guys were in the tank, three of them crowded into a tiny space, shooting the hell out of whoever was shooting at them, the stress was so great that the gunny (Gunnery Sergeant) had to do whatever was necessary to keep the men calm.
So he made them listen to Sinatra. While firing.
Evidently it had a very calming effect, and the men were able to concentrate on doing their job and not getting killed. I guess it worked for J, since he's home safe now.
And he also has one or two Sinatra CDs in his car. It keeps him calm, he says.
I wonder: does he need to be kept calm because he's driving and doesn't want a flashback, or does he need to be kept calm right before a paintball game so that he doesn't flip out and start really trying to hurt people?
Either way, as horrified as I was by the story, I am all for giving J another Sinatra CD as a gift, so that he can have more song options to keep himself as close to tranquil as possible. He's living with his sister for now, and she has two children at home. Soon he'll get an apartment and bring his son to live with him. I'm thinking that Sinatra might prove to be crucial to his sanity.
I think you can imagine what it was he had to do. What I still cannot imagine are all the terrible things he saw, including holding his dying lieutenant in his arms and screaming for help that never came. I pray for my brother-in-law, who escaped death so many times, that he might recover from his nightmare.
Bizarro Dad learned this weekend, when he and his brother went paintballing (yeah, I caved on the paintball gun, because I love my man, and because we got our income tax return), that his little brother now has a strange affinity for Frank Sinatra.
Understand: J is the same age as my little brother, 24. My brother the professional rapper. Yeah, I know not all people in the same generation like the same genre of music, but I think I can safely say that most guys in this particular generation are not big Sinatra fans. J certainly wasn't before he left for boot camp. But he is now.
Apparently, when the guys were in the tank, three of them crowded into a tiny space, shooting the hell out of whoever was shooting at them, the stress was so great that the gunny (Gunnery Sergeant) had to do whatever was necessary to keep the men calm.
So he made them listen to Sinatra. While firing.
Evidently it had a very calming effect, and the men were able to concentrate on doing their job and not getting killed. I guess it worked for J, since he's home safe now.
And he also has one or two Sinatra CDs in his car. It keeps him calm, he says.
I wonder: does he need to be kept calm because he's driving and doesn't want a flashback, or does he need to be kept calm right before a paintball game so that he doesn't flip out and start really trying to hurt people?
Either way, as horrified as I was by the story, I am all for giving J another Sinatra CD as a gift, so that he can have more song options to keep himself as close to tranquil as possible. He's living with his sister for now, and she has two children at home. Soon he'll get an apartment and bring his son to live with him. I'm thinking that Sinatra might prove to be crucial to his sanity.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Survey shmurvey
Taken from Nilo the Great, who took it from someone else, who is part of the continuous cycle of surveys that float around this thing we call the internet.
1.Have you ever been searched by the cops?
No.
2. Do you close your eyes on roller coasters?
I don't ride roller coasters. But when I was younger and did ride them, I only closed my eyes when there was dirt in them, or if there was water involved.
3. When was the last time you went sleigh riding?
We don't have sleighs on the Gulf Coast. Nor do we have snow.
4. Would you rather sleep with someone else, or alone?
I'd rather sleep with my husband, and only him. Lately, however, the four-year-old has been in our bed, and this is something I can do without.
5. Do you believe in ghosts?
Yes, but I prefer to call them spirits.
6. Do you consider yourself creative?
Yes.
7. Do you think O.J. killed his wife?
Duh. Of course he did.
8. Jennifer Aniston or Angelina Jolie?
I'm not sure where this question is going, since I'm straight, but I'm going to say Angelina Jolie, since she has range, and because she uses her celebrity status to promote good causes and not to mitch and bone about how she's been done wrong by a man.
9. Can you honestly say you know anything about politics?
Just enough to know that politics is really about one thing: power.
10. Do you know how to play poker?
Learned how at the age of seven. Gambling was a family tradition! My great-grandmother was a gambler. However, while I may know the rules of the game, I am not any good at poker, and I personally don't gamble.
11. Have you ever been awake for 48 hours straight?
I'm sure I have. It was probably in high school, when I was studying my butt off.
12. Do you kill bugs that are in the house?
If it's a roach, I scream until my husband comes to kill it. If it's a cricket, I catch it and release it outside (maybe even feed it to a frog), because my mother always said it's bad to kill a cricket in your house. If it's a spider, I either squish it or let it run away, unless it's a really BIG spider, in which case I scream again.
13. Have you ever cheated on a test?
Yes, in high school, but not with a cheat sheet. My eyes wandered. I hate that I did that.
14. If you're driving in the middle of the night, and no one is around, do you go through red lights?
In this town, there is always someone around, even in the middle of the night. But if I'm in a scary neighborhood and I see some scary people approaching, then yeah, I would probably run the red light, but cautiously.
15. Do you have a secret that no one knows but you?
Doesn't everybody?
16. Boston Red Sox or New York Yankees?
Houston Astros!
17. Have you ever ice skated?
Yes. Once. Never again.
18. How often do you remember your dreams?
Sometimes.
19. When was the last time you laughed so hard you were crying?
A few months ago. I think a movie cracked me up. Or maybe I was watching House?
20. Can you name 5 songs by The Beatles?
Strawberry Field, Yellow Submarine, She Loves You, Yesterday, Penny Lane
21. Do you believe in love at first sight?
Not for me, no. I don't deny that it can happen for others, though.
22. Do you know who BaBa Booey is?
What kind of stupid question is this? Is this supposed to gauge how old I am or something?
23. Do you always wear your seat belt?
Damn skippy I do.
24. What talent do you wish you had?
To run and not be weary.
25. Do you like Sushi?
Only the California rolls.
26. Have you ever narrowly avoided a fatal accident?
More than once.
27. What do you wear to bed?
If it's hot, just a few light clothes. If it's cold, sweats. If it doesn't matter because I'm too exhausted to care, I sleep in whatever I was wearing that day.
28. Have you ever been caught stealing?
Never.
29. Does size matter?
Sure it does, if you're trying to reach a burned out lightbulb on the ceiling, or move a large piece of furniture through a small door, or make sure you have enough chicken in the freezer to feed a family of six.
30. Do you truly hate anyone?
If I could hate anyone, there is one person in particular who I'd hate. If I ever saw him again, I don't know what I'd do, exactly. Maybe I'd have enough restraint to just turn my back on him and walk away without speaking. Or maybe I'd slap him. I don't really know, to tell you the truth. I don't know how I could ever express to him how he wounded me. Maybe I'd just ask him how he feels about having a millstone tied to his neck while being cast into the sea.
31. Rock and Roll or Rap?
Rock and Roll for me, but I'd always keep a special place in my heart for my brother's rap.
32. Do you have a relative in prison?
I have over a hundred cousins on my dad's side alone. Odds are I do have a relative in prison.
33. Have you ever sung in front of the mirror like your favorite singer?
Yes.
34. Do you know how to play chess?
Know the rules, know how the pieces move, but other than that I'm not any better at chess than I am at poker.
35. What food do you find disgusting?
There's a whole section over at The Sneeze called "Steve! Don't Eat It!" Now that is some disgusting stuff. Other than that, I am disgusted by pretty much all pickled pig products.
36. Did you ever play, "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours?"
No way!
37. Have you ever made fun of your friends behind their back?
I've done it to their faces. As they have done to me.
38. Have you ever stood up for someone you hardly knew?
To tell you the truth, I don't remember.
39. Have you ever been punched in the face?
No.
40. When is the last time you threw up from drinking too much?
Never.
41. Have you ever walked out on a movie at the theater?
No, but there's one I wish I had walked out on.
42. Do you ever sit through a bad movie, just to see how bad it got?
If it's that bad, then I just stop watching and put something else on. (For example, Christmas with the Kranks. Terrible. I couldn't bring myself to finish it.)
43. Would you consider yourself obsessed with anything/anyone?
Books. Definitely books.
44. Have you ever met someone famous?
I met John Bytheway once. Also, a congressman. That's about the extent of my experience with meeting famous people.
45. Have you ever been stood up?
Yes. On my birthday. By the guy who was supposed to be my best friend. Thank you very much for reminding me.
46. When's the last time you screamed at the top of your lungs?
Four years ago. Those were some mean baby blues.
47. Did you ever do something that you didn't want to, but did anyway just to fit in?
Yeah. I went to some large social gatherings because my friends were going. Truth be told, I cannot stand large groups of strange people. It makes me very nervous and sick.
1.Have you ever been searched by the cops?
No.
2. Do you close your eyes on roller coasters?
I don't ride roller coasters. But when I was younger and did ride them, I only closed my eyes when there was dirt in them, or if there was water involved.
3. When was the last time you went sleigh riding?
We don't have sleighs on the Gulf Coast. Nor do we have snow.
4. Would you rather sleep with someone else, or alone?
I'd rather sleep with my husband, and only him. Lately, however, the four-year-old has been in our bed, and this is something I can do without.
5. Do you believe in ghosts?
Yes, but I prefer to call them spirits.
6. Do you consider yourself creative?
Yes.
7. Do you think O.J. killed his wife?
Duh. Of course he did.
8. Jennifer Aniston or Angelina Jolie?
I'm not sure where this question is going, since I'm straight, but I'm going to say Angelina Jolie, since she has range, and because she uses her celebrity status to promote good causes and not to mitch and bone about how she's been done wrong by a man.
9. Can you honestly say you know anything about politics?
Just enough to know that politics is really about one thing: power.
10. Do you know how to play poker?
Learned how at the age of seven. Gambling was a family tradition! My great-grandmother was a gambler. However, while I may know the rules of the game, I am not any good at poker, and I personally don't gamble.
11. Have you ever been awake for 48 hours straight?
I'm sure I have. It was probably in high school, when I was studying my butt off.
12. Do you kill bugs that are in the house?
If it's a roach, I scream until my husband comes to kill it. If it's a cricket, I catch it and release it outside (maybe even feed it to a frog), because my mother always said it's bad to kill a cricket in your house. If it's a spider, I either squish it or let it run away, unless it's a really BIG spider, in which case I scream again.
13. Have you ever cheated on a test?
Yes, in high school, but not with a cheat sheet. My eyes wandered. I hate that I did that.
14. If you're driving in the middle of the night, and no one is around, do you go through red lights?
In this town, there is always someone around, even in the middle of the night. But if I'm in a scary neighborhood and I see some scary people approaching, then yeah, I would probably run the red light, but cautiously.
15. Do you have a secret that no one knows but you?
Doesn't everybody?
16. Boston Red Sox or New York Yankees?
Houston Astros!
17. Have you ever ice skated?
Yes. Once. Never again.
18. How often do you remember your dreams?
Sometimes.
19. When was the last time you laughed so hard you were crying?
A few months ago. I think a movie cracked me up. Or maybe I was watching House?
20. Can you name 5 songs by The Beatles?
Strawberry Field, Yellow Submarine, She Loves You, Yesterday, Penny Lane
21. Do you believe in love at first sight?
Not for me, no. I don't deny that it can happen for others, though.
22. Do you know who BaBa Booey is?
What kind of stupid question is this? Is this supposed to gauge how old I am or something?
23. Do you always wear your seat belt?
Damn skippy I do.
24. What talent do you wish you had?
To run and not be weary.
25. Do you like Sushi?
Only the California rolls.
26. Have you ever narrowly avoided a fatal accident?
More than once.
27. What do you wear to bed?
If it's hot, just a few light clothes. If it's cold, sweats. If it doesn't matter because I'm too exhausted to care, I sleep in whatever I was wearing that day.
28. Have you ever been caught stealing?
Never.
29. Does size matter?
Sure it does, if you're trying to reach a burned out lightbulb on the ceiling, or move a large piece of furniture through a small door, or make sure you have enough chicken in the freezer to feed a family of six.
30. Do you truly hate anyone?
If I could hate anyone, there is one person in particular who I'd hate. If I ever saw him again, I don't know what I'd do, exactly. Maybe I'd have enough restraint to just turn my back on him and walk away without speaking. Or maybe I'd slap him. I don't really know, to tell you the truth. I don't know how I could ever express to him how he wounded me. Maybe I'd just ask him how he feels about having a millstone tied to his neck while being cast into the sea.
31. Rock and Roll or Rap?
Rock and Roll for me, but I'd always keep a special place in my heart for my brother's rap.
32. Do you have a relative in prison?
I have over a hundred cousins on my dad's side alone. Odds are I do have a relative in prison.
33. Have you ever sung in front of the mirror like your favorite singer?
Yes.
34. Do you know how to play chess?
Know the rules, know how the pieces move, but other than that I'm not any better at chess than I am at poker.
35. What food do you find disgusting?
There's a whole section over at The Sneeze called "Steve! Don't Eat It!" Now that is some disgusting stuff. Other than that, I am disgusted by pretty much all pickled pig products.
36. Did you ever play, "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours?"
No way!
37. Have you ever made fun of your friends behind their back?
I've done it to their faces. As they have done to me.
38. Have you ever stood up for someone you hardly knew?
To tell you the truth, I don't remember.
39. Have you ever been punched in the face?
No.
40. When is the last time you threw up from drinking too much?
Never.
41. Have you ever walked out on a movie at the theater?
No, but there's one I wish I had walked out on.
42. Do you ever sit through a bad movie, just to see how bad it got?
If it's that bad, then I just stop watching and put something else on. (For example, Christmas with the Kranks. Terrible. I couldn't bring myself to finish it.)
43. Would you consider yourself obsessed with anything/anyone?
Books. Definitely books.
44. Have you ever met someone famous?
I met John Bytheway once. Also, a congressman. That's about the extent of my experience with meeting famous people.
45. Have you ever been stood up?
Yes. On my birthday. By the guy who was supposed to be my best friend. Thank you very much for reminding me.
46. When's the last time you screamed at the top of your lungs?
Four years ago. Those were some mean baby blues.
47. Did you ever do something that you didn't want to, but did anyway just to fit in?
Yeah. I went to some large social gatherings because my friends were going. Truth be told, I cannot stand large groups of strange people. It makes me very nervous and sick.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Post-Oscar Post
Let's just come right out and say it.
The following people were sexy:
The following people were sexy:
- George Clooney
- Heath Ledger
- Michelle Williams
- Salma Hayek
- Jake Gyllenhaal
- Jennifer Garner
- Rachel Weisz (yeah, I said it! Pregnant women are sexy and kick ass!)
- Nicole Kidman
- Jon Stewart (I think the grey hair is sexy)
The following people whould rethink their wardrobe:
- Charlize Theron
- Dolly Parton (she's actually quite pretty, but that white suit she performed in just made her look strange)
- Three 6 Mafia
- Ben Stiller
The following people need to shut the hell up:
- Joan Rivers
- I was going to think of more people here, but... Joan Rivers.
The following people get bonus points:
- Dolly Parton, for telling Joan Rivers, "Well, are yours real?" Yeah! Stick it to her, Dolly!
- Jon Stewart, for pulling off a difficult hosting job with grace, and for making fun of all the montages
- The Wallace and Gromit guys, for bringing matching bow-ties for their Oscars
- George Clooney, for that acceptance speech
- Reese Witherspoon, for thanking her parents in full, and not in passing
- The Academy, for not letting one movie sweep the whole thing
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Ow. And hee! And ew.
So yesterday I'm trying to clean the living room, which isn't going so well since I'm still all congested and the kids are all screamy and the husband's all "You got me sick, so I'm going to play Guild Wars, which is what I do when I'm well, too."
Congestion is perhaps my least favorite part of being sick. It's just gross, is what it is! It gets all up in my ears, and I can hear it mucking around in there. It finds its way into my sinus cavities, causing everything from teary eyes to monster headaches to ridiculous toothaches. Stuffy nose makes it difficult to sleep and breath at the same time. And it's impossible to be attractive when I'm runny-nosed. Just...NO!
So anyway, yesterday as I'm trying to clear away the baby's food tray and whatnot, I realize that I need to blow my nose. Ick. So I grab the nearest fast-food napkin from the table and pause to take care of business.
Evidently, there is a reason that old episode of Sesame Street warned me not to blow too hard. But no, I had to be all superior at five years old and say that Sesame Street didn't know what it was talking about, and then carry forth this brazen disregard into adulthood. I should have just listened to the stupid cartoon, or at least sat down first.
I fainted, people.
Yeah. Fainted. I know. It was embarassing, or it would have been if I'd been conscious. I collapsed sideways onto the rug, my body making sure to hit its head on the hard floor instead of twisting about four more inches to the right and letting the recliner break my fall. Yeah, fun.
So my question: why did I faint?
My only clues are a) that when I blew my nose, it felt like something wet flew out of my left ear (gross) and b) when I sat down and performed the Valsalva maneuver, I had a similar feeling of wet stuff flying out of my ear, and then a similar feeling of the room going all swimmy and dark. Good thing I was sitting down that time.
So now we have a new house rule: I'm not allowed to blow my nose while standing up. This is an addition to the previous rule, which states that my husband is not allowed to sneeze while sitting in the computer chair with his feet propped up higher than his waist (long, painful story).
In the meantime, I'm trying to get some rest and not drive anywhere. I think I got a mild concussion or something, because I'm still having pain and dizziness today. (Not to mention congestion.)
Congestion is perhaps my least favorite part of being sick. It's just gross, is what it is! It gets all up in my ears, and I can hear it mucking around in there. It finds its way into my sinus cavities, causing everything from teary eyes to monster headaches to ridiculous toothaches. Stuffy nose makes it difficult to sleep and breath at the same time. And it's impossible to be attractive when I'm runny-nosed. Just...NO!
So anyway, yesterday as I'm trying to clear away the baby's food tray and whatnot, I realize that I need to blow my nose. Ick. So I grab the nearest fast-food napkin from the table and pause to take care of business.
Evidently, there is a reason that old episode of Sesame Street warned me not to blow too hard. But no, I had to be all superior at five years old and say that Sesame Street didn't know what it was talking about, and then carry forth this brazen disregard into adulthood. I should have just listened to the stupid cartoon, or at least sat down first.
I fainted, people.
Yeah. Fainted. I know. It was embarassing, or it would have been if I'd been conscious. I collapsed sideways onto the rug, my body making sure to hit its head on the hard floor instead of twisting about four more inches to the right and letting the recliner break my fall. Yeah, fun.
So my question: why did I faint?
My only clues are a) that when I blew my nose, it felt like something wet flew out of my left ear (gross) and b) when I sat down and performed the Valsalva maneuver, I had a similar feeling of wet stuff flying out of my ear, and then a similar feeling of the room going all swimmy and dark. Good thing I was sitting down that time.
So now we have a new house rule: I'm not allowed to blow my nose while standing up. This is an addition to the previous rule, which states that my husband is not allowed to sneeze while sitting in the computer chair with his feet propped up higher than his waist (long, painful story).
In the meantime, I'm trying to get some rest and not drive anywhere. I think I got a mild concussion or something, because I'm still having pain and dizziness today. (Not to mention congestion.)
Monday, February 27, 2006
The coming of the storm
Bizarro Dad's brother is finally moving back to Houston after 4 years in the Marine Corps. For the first time in almost six years, my husband and his brother will be living in the same city again.
I quiver with fear.
Not because my brother-in-law is a bad guy or anything. But because I fear the kinds of crazy that will come upon my husband, having his little brother around. My man's already begging me to let him buy a paintball gun so the two of them can go shoot the crap out of each other. Which is fine and all, but they don't wear any protective gear besides a helmet. And I would not put it past my brother-in-law to shoot someone in the sac, whether accidentally or "accidentally."
I would like to try for a boy some time in the next three years, but how am I supposed to do that if my husband is rendered infertile by an errant blue-paint-filled marble?
**********
Kids are doing better, recovering slowly. Baby Sia gave me a scare this morning with some seriously bad coughing, but she's not getting fever every two or three hours anymore, so that's an improvement. I just wish her congestion would stop already. It's getting seriously gross.
I quiver with fear.
Not because my brother-in-law is a bad guy or anything. But because I fear the kinds of crazy that will come upon my husband, having his little brother around. My man's already begging me to let him buy a paintball gun so the two of them can go shoot the crap out of each other. Which is fine and all, but they don't wear any protective gear besides a helmet. And I would not put it past my brother-in-law to shoot someone in the sac, whether accidentally or "accidentally."
I would like to try for a boy some time in the next three years, but how am I supposed to do that if my husband is rendered infertile by an errant blue-paint-filled marble?
**********
Kids are doing better, recovering slowly. Baby Sia gave me a scare this morning with some seriously bad coughing, but she's not getting fever every two or three hours anymore, so that's an improvement. I just wish her congestion would stop already. It's getting seriously gross.
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Quick update
Thank you for the well wishes and good thoughts. We sure do need 'em! The older one is recovering well, but now the younger one is sick, and she's not doing well at all. I'm pinning my hopes on God and antibiotics. All prayers are appreciated.
Viewer recommendations:
Viewer recommendations:
- Jakers: The Adventures of Piggley Winks. Shown daily on PBS. Funny and entertaining, especially if you (by which I mean "your kids") like accents and storytelling.
- America's Test Kitchens. Also a PBS weekday show. Covers both basic and complex recipes, as well as general food education Two bonuses: usually has a segment on kitchen equipment (testinging all brands and prices of, say, baking dishes, and finding out that the $9 Pyrex is better than the $95 thing with grooves on the bottom) and another segment on comparative testing of prepackaged food products (who knew that of all the boxes of brownie mix, only Ghirardeli actually tastes like chocolate?).
Monday, February 20, 2006
Brief announcement
I see your briefs!
I'll be on hiatus for the week while I tend to a very sick child. In the meantime, here's a recommendation for you.
Firefly Season 1 DVDs
So far I've only seen disk one, but I anxiously await the rest. Let us all bask in the glory that is Firefly. This show is AWESOME. Pay special attention to the commentary; lots of great insider info (who knew David Boreanaz is frightened of live chickens?) and commentator hijinks. Love it. Go rent it, or buy it, or borrow it from the sci-fi lover down the street. Great great stuff. We're talking better than Alias, people, and that was my favorite show of all time (at least until the end of season 2).
See you next week!
I'll be on hiatus for the week while I tend to a very sick child. In the meantime, here's a recommendation for you.
Firefly Season 1 DVDs
So far I've only seen disk one, but I anxiously await the rest. Let us all bask in the glory that is Firefly. This show is AWESOME. Pay special attention to the commentary; lots of great insider info (who knew David Boreanaz is frightened of live chickens?) and commentator hijinks. Love it. Go rent it, or buy it, or borrow it from the sci-fi lover down the street. Great great stuff. We're talking better than Alias, people, and that was my favorite show of all time (at least until the end of season 2).
See you next week!
Friday, February 17, 2006
Insomniac Movie Review: Zathura
Title: Zathura
Plot: Jumanji, only in space, and with different kids who fight more
Let me start by saying that I really do love children, and I would never harm a child.
But the kids in this movie? I just wanted to throttle every single one of them. Yes, even the little one who was all cute and cuddly and "innocent and wronged."
Why? How could a movie make me so infuriated that I wanted to reach through the screen and shake the crap out of innocent children?
Well...I suppose because the kids spent too much time fighting and bickering about stupid stuff instead of doing what the heck they knew they needed to do. I mean, seriously, Youngest Child, how many times do you need it repeated to you that if you don't take your turn and finish the game, the Vorgons will chase you forever, you'll run out of food, and you'll never see your mom or dad again? How many times!? Turn the stupid key and push the damn button already!
And Older Brother. You, just like your brother said, are a d***. Yeah, that's right, I said it. You're a selfish brat and I don't like you. Well, I suppose you redeem yourself as the movie comes to a close, but that's to be expected. Screenwriters have to do that nowadays. But still. You're a jerk. Also: when a turn has ended and you find yourself having to run for it, grab the freaking game and take it with you when you leave the room! You know you're going to need it. That movie would seriously have been 20 minutes mercifully shorter if it weren't for all the "Wait-a-minute-where-did-we-leave-the-game-oh-no-it's-in-another-room-we-have-to-get-it-but-there-are-flesh-eating-aliens-in-there."
Let's not forget Older Sister. Dear stupid irresponsible dumba$$ Older Sister. Your dad leaves you in charge of two young children, and you just pull up the covers and stay in your room? Who do you think you are, their mother? No, honey. You are the babysitter. For better or worse, you are in charge of two squabbling children who have a habit of inflicting insults and psychological torture on each other. Get your lazy assets out of bed and supervise. Or at least, if you can't be bothered to get out of bed, leave the headphones off so that you can hear things like screams of terror, or a smoke alarm, or the whole house launching into space, NOT TO MENTION BEING CHASED, FIRED UPON, AND BOARDED BY ALIENS. Seriously, some people need to grow some brains before being placed in charge of kids.
Okay, now that I'm done with that, to the questions:
Was the movie any good? If you liked Jumanji, or if you thought it would be better if it took place in space, you'd probably like Zathura. I will admit to liking some parts of this film. I can't recall what those parts were at the moment, as I've been suffering from a migraine for the past three or four days, but I do remember a feeling of satisfaction once the movie was over. Wait, maybe I was just glad it was finally over. Well, I'm not risking another migraine to find out.
Should you watch it? It's kind of fun to watch with your kids, if you don't mind letting them watch explosions (no guns, just stuff blowing up). But if you don't have young 'uns around to enjoy it, thereby helping you enjoy it? Yeah, not so much. It's mostly infuriating.
Plot: Jumanji, only in space, and with different kids who fight more
Let me start by saying that I really do love children, and I would never harm a child.
But the kids in this movie? I just wanted to throttle every single one of them. Yes, even the little one who was all cute and cuddly and "innocent and wronged."
Why? How could a movie make me so infuriated that I wanted to reach through the screen and shake the crap out of innocent children?
Well...I suppose because the kids spent too much time fighting and bickering about stupid stuff instead of doing what the heck they knew they needed to do. I mean, seriously, Youngest Child, how many times do you need it repeated to you that if you don't take your turn and finish the game, the Vorgons will chase you forever, you'll run out of food, and you'll never see your mom or dad again? How many times!? Turn the stupid key and push the damn button already!
And Older Brother. You, just like your brother said, are a d***. Yeah, that's right, I said it. You're a selfish brat and I don't like you. Well, I suppose you redeem yourself as the movie comes to a close, but that's to be expected. Screenwriters have to do that nowadays. But still. You're a jerk. Also: when a turn has ended and you find yourself having to run for it, grab the freaking game and take it with you when you leave the room! You know you're going to need it. That movie would seriously have been 20 minutes mercifully shorter if it weren't for all the "Wait-a-minute-where-did-we-leave-the-game-oh-no-it's-in-another-room-we-have-to-get-it-but-there-are-flesh-eating-aliens-in-there."
Let's not forget Older Sister. Dear stupid irresponsible dumba$$ Older Sister. Your dad leaves you in charge of two young children, and you just pull up the covers and stay in your room? Who do you think you are, their mother? No, honey. You are the babysitter. For better or worse, you are in charge of two squabbling children who have a habit of inflicting insults and psychological torture on each other. Get your lazy assets out of bed and supervise. Or at least, if you can't be bothered to get out of bed, leave the headphones off so that you can hear things like screams of terror, or a smoke alarm, or the whole house launching into space, NOT TO MENTION BEING CHASED, FIRED UPON, AND BOARDED BY ALIENS. Seriously, some people need to grow some brains before being placed in charge of kids.
Okay, now that I'm done with that, to the questions:
Was the movie any good? If you liked Jumanji, or if you thought it would be better if it took place in space, you'd probably like Zathura. I will admit to liking some parts of this film. I can't recall what those parts were at the moment, as I've been suffering from a migraine for the past three or four days, but I do remember a feeling of satisfaction once the movie was over. Wait, maybe I was just glad it was finally over. Well, I'm not risking another migraine to find out.
Should you watch it? It's kind of fun to watch with your kids, if you don't mind letting them watch explosions (no guns, just stuff blowing up). But if you don't have young 'uns around to enjoy it, thereby helping you enjoy it? Yeah, not so much. It's mostly infuriating.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Big Big World musings, continued
More of my dad's thoughts on that dear little puppet, Snook, of Big Big World.
Dad: Is that thing supposed to be some kind of hippie?
Me: Hippie? What?
Dad: Well, he's got long hair, and he talks all, "Heyyyy, mannnnn."
Me: Well, he's a sloth, Dad.
Yeah. First it's John Denver, now it's a hippie. Any day now we'll move into David Lee Roth. Or Kenny G. Oh, I know! How about John Lennon! You know, once he was on wacky tabacky. No, wait. That's the hippie category. Well, I'm sure good old Dad will come up with something fun.
Dad: Is that thing supposed to be some kind of hippie?Me: Hippie? What?
Dad: Well, he's got long hair, and he talks all, "Heyyyy, mannnnn."
Me: Well, he's a sloth, Dad.
Yeah. First it's John Denver, now it's a hippie. Any day now we'll move into David Lee Roth. Or Kenny G. Oh, I know! How about John Lennon! You know, once he was on wacky tabacky. No, wait. That's the hippie category. Well, I'm sure good old Dad will come up with something fun.
Ew
Great, now I'm in the vomit circus. Thanks, Nilo.
Just kidding. I know it's simple coincidence that my four-year-old started throwing up (in my bed) at 1:30 this morning, just like Nilo's daughter, only not as bad. In reality, I blame my mother's cat.
Yeah, that's right. Her cat. See, Gina slept over at Grandma's house Tuesday night, and came home wrapped in a blanket from Grandma's bed. Grandma's cat lives in Grandma's bedroom, since Granny and PoPo (my grandparents) cannot stand Cat. So Cat spends a lot of time lounging around on Grandma's bed. You can just imagine the pet dander, I'm sure.
Now, to be fair, neither Gina nor Sia have ever exhibited the slightest case of pet allergies. We had TWO cats back in NC, before they went all anti-kid and started attacking the children. Only Bizarro Dad showed traces of allergies (white gunk in the eyes), but we thought it was just the Carolina air. Carolina brings out allergies in people who never had them before, especially with all the dogwood trees. It has, in fact, been rated as the number one allergy state. And since the hubby had not shown any cat allergies ever before in his life (not even when we were first married in Texas, and I had a different cat), I had no idea it was even a cat issue.
Until last night.
Gina spent most of the evening wrapped in the blanket from Grandma's house. After a while, I started to notice white gunk in her eyes, but I didn't connect it to the blanket. She's been sick for weeks, so I thought it was just more of her cold. Then I put her to bed with me (with that blanket). She tossed and turned and told me her eyes hurt and that she wanted to throw up. I take her to the bathroom. Nothing happens but some spit. I look at her eyes. WAY more gunk. I think. I sniff the blanket. Jackpot. Take the blanket away.
However, since the blanket was in my bed for a while, enough of that stuff got into the sheets. Apparently it also got on the couch and on Granny's quilt, too. Puffy eyes the whole night. 1:30 AM vomit (mostly mucus), accompanied by severe crying and lots of eye gunk. And this morning? Gina's eyes were stuck shut. She kept trying to open them, but the eyelashes were not cooperating. I had to use wet Kleenex on her little eyes and spend a good ten minutes trying to carefully get the dried gunk out so she could see the world again. That blanket is outta here!
So, to conclude: Mom, wash your blankets, and vacuum your cat once in a while. I'm going to see if they make children's Alavert. And Nilo, I'm glad your daughter is feeling better today. The kids and I have been keeping her in our prayers.
Just kidding. I know it's simple coincidence that my four-year-old started throwing up (in my bed) at 1:30 this morning, just like Nilo's daughter, only not as bad. In reality, I blame my mother's cat.
Yeah, that's right. Her cat. See, Gina slept over at Grandma's house Tuesday night, and came home wrapped in a blanket from Grandma's bed. Grandma's cat lives in Grandma's bedroom, since Granny and PoPo (my grandparents) cannot stand Cat. So Cat spends a lot of time lounging around on Grandma's bed. You can just imagine the pet dander, I'm sure.
Now, to be fair, neither Gina nor Sia have ever exhibited the slightest case of pet allergies. We had TWO cats back in NC, before they went all anti-kid and started attacking the children. Only Bizarro Dad showed traces of allergies (white gunk in the eyes), but we thought it was just the Carolina air. Carolina brings out allergies in people who never had them before, especially with all the dogwood trees. It has, in fact, been rated as the number one allergy state. And since the hubby had not shown any cat allergies ever before in his life (not even when we were first married in Texas, and I had a different cat), I had no idea it was even a cat issue.
Until last night.
Gina spent most of the evening wrapped in the blanket from Grandma's house. After a while, I started to notice white gunk in her eyes, but I didn't connect it to the blanket. She's been sick for weeks, so I thought it was just more of her cold. Then I put her to bed with me (with that blanket). She tossed and turned and told me her eyes hurt and that she wanted to throw up. I take her to the bathroom. Nothing happens but some spit. I look at her eyes. WAY more gunk. I think. I sniff the blanket. Jackpot. Take the blanket away.
However, since the blanket was in my bed for a while, enough of that stuff got into the sheets. Apparently it also got on the couch and on Granny's quilt, too. Puffy eyes the whole night. 1:30 AM vomit (mostly mucus), accompanied by severe crying and lots of eye gunk. And this morning? Gina's eyes were stuck shut. She kept trying to open them, but the eyelashes were not cooperating. I had to use wet Kleenex on her little eyes and spend a good ten minutes trying to carefully get the dried gunk out so she could see the world again. That blanket is outta here!
So, to conclude: Mom, wash your blankets, and vacuum your cat once in a while. I'm going to see if they make children's Alavert. And Nilo, I'm glad your daughter is feeling better today. The kids and I have been keeping her in our prayers.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Valentine surprises
This one was from my dad. I adore this kind of candy. (It's the hazelnuts. And the chocolate. Mmmm...chocccccolattttttte...haaaaaaazelnuuuuuuts.)
This is an approximate picture of one of the gifts from my husband, Bizarro Dad. I say approximate because for some reason Google Images won't give me the correct picture of the Lavender Joy Garden available on 1800flowers.com.
This space is left blank, to be replaced by whatever else it is Bizarro Dad got for me, which should be delivered today. He told me he got more than one thing. Even though I told him not to get me ANYTHING. He's so sweet and thoughtful. and the bulb garden really is something I love. I even managed to refrain from telling him, "Honey, the reason we agreed not to get Valentine's gifts was so we could save a little money for our anniversary next month, but now you have not only spent all the money in your monthly allowance, but mine too. Oh, I know, you think you've not done that, because you used the credit card (against explicit orders, no less). But you see, now I have to repeat my lecture about how credit cards work, and how much interest we're paying on your card alone. But I guess it doesn't matter. We can just not celebrate our anniversary."
Yeah, I didn't say any of that, because I didn't want to Spoil the Moment or be The Wife Who's Never Satisfied, and because I really do like my gift. I think I'm going to go to my room and cry now, and I don't know why I'm going to do this, but I feel it is something I need to do. Maybe it's the hormones. And since he's napping on the couch (instead of going to work, like he's SUPPOSED TO), he won't even know I'm doing it.
Monday, February 13, 2006
Survey says!
1) Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, and find line 4.
"...with all manner of Conditions." Taken from my husband's book, Guild Wars Official Game Guide.
2) Stretch your left arm out as far as you can and see what you touch.
My husband's arm. He's off today, and is sitting on the couch.
3) What is the last thing you watched on TV?
Fear Factor, and I watched it against my will, thanks dear.
4) Without looking, guess what time it is.
Let's see, it must be just after 5:00.
5) Now look at the clock. What is the actual time?
It's 4:07. Channel 55 lied about what time Leave it to Beaver comes on!
6) With the exception of the computer, what can you hear?
My dad and my daughter playing Pat-a-cake. Also the television, the fish tank, and my youngest daughter making little fussing noises as she sprawls on the floor.
7) When did you last step outside? What were you doing?
Yesterday? Yeah, that's right, I haven't gone outside today. And I was...taking out trash, I think.
8) Before you started this survey, what did you look at?
Nilo's blog, plus a list of Valentine's crafts from FamilyFun.com
9) What are you wearing?
Dark grey sweat pants, a dark purple T-shirt that is too long, and a dark grey hooded zipper sweatshirt. And white socks. And glasses.
10) Did you dream last night?
Yes, and it was terrible! There were crazy people everywhere, and pickles, and dead gardens, and nothing made any sense, and I was afraid to wake up and take care of my own baby because I thought my crazy rampage might carry through into the waking world.
11) When did you last laugh?
A little while ago. My husband's Valentine gift to me came early. He wasn't supposed to give me a gift at all. The card included the phrase "Nener nener nener."
12) What is on the walls of the room you are in?
Pictures of my family, a framed poster of Historic French Quarter, framed dragon puzzles we completed and glued, a plaque my husband was given upon leaving the military, a little cartoon with his platoon number from boot camp, a clock, a thermometer, framed pencil drawings of temples and Houston landmarks, and the speakers for our surround sound. Let it never be said that we don't have ambience around here.
13) Seen anything weird lately?
Did you hear the part where I said I'd had to sit through Fear Factor?
14) What do you think of this quiz?
I think it's kind of cute, actually.
15) What is the last movie you saw?
In the theater? Hoodwinked. At home? The Heavenly Kid.
16) If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy?
I'd buy the lot this house is on, knock down this ancient 50s era house, and build a new house instead. Although, I think the house I want is too big for this lot. So maybe I'll buy the lot next door, too. That house needs to get knocked down anyway; it's always having plumbing problems.
17) Tell me something about you that I don't know.
I had orange hair once. It wasn't on purpose, either.
18) If you could change one thing about the world, regardless of guilt or politics, what would you do?
I'd eliminate Alzheimer's disease.
19) Do you like to dance?
Yes, I think ballroom dancing is the best. I just wish I had a dance partner. My husband has no rhythm.
20) George Bush?
Senior? I kind of miss him. Junior? I feel betrayed by him. Although I think I can safely say he's the first president in our nation's history to be elected despite having an obvious case of dyslexia.
21) Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her?
This one.
22) Imagine your first child is a boy, what do you call him?
That one.
23) Would you ever consider living abroad?
Yes. Absolutely. As long as by "abroad" you mean Italy.
24) What do you want God to say to you when you reach the pearly gates?
"Come on in, there are some people here who can't wait to see you."
"...with all manner of Conditions." Taken from my husband's book, Guild Wars Official Game Guide.
2) Stretch your left arm out as far as you can and see what you touch.
My husband's arm. He's off today, and is sitting on the couch.
3) What is the last thing you watched on TV?
Fear Factor, and I watched it against my will, thanks dear.
4) Without looking, guess what time it is.
Let's see, it must be just after 5:00.
5) Now look at the clock. What is the actual time?
It's 4:07. Channel 55 lied about what time Leave it to Beaver comes on!
6) With the exception of the computer, what can you hear?
My dad and my daughter playing Pat-a-cake. Also the television, the fish tank, and my youngest daughter making little fussing noises as she sprawls on the floor.
7) When did you last step outside? What were you doing?
Yesterday? Yeah, that's right, I haven't gone outside today. And I was...taking out trash, I think.
8) Before you started this survey, what did you look at?
Nilo's blog, plus a list of Valentine's crafts from FamilyFun.com
9) What are you wearing?
Dark grey sweat pants, a dark purple T-shirt that is too long, and a dark grey hooded zipper sweatshirt. And white socks. And glasses.
10) Did you dream last night?
Yes, and it was terrible! There were crazy people everywhere, and pickles, and dead gardens, and nothing made any sense, and I was afraid to wake up and take care of my own baby because I thought my crazy rampage might carry through into the waking world.
11) When did you last laugh?
A little while ago. My husband's Valentine gift to me came early. He wasn't supposed to give me a gift at all. The card included the phrase "Nener nener nener."
12) What is on the walls of the room you are in?
Pictures of my family, a framed poster of Historic French Quarter, framed dragon puzzles we completed and glued, a plaque my husband was given upon leaving the military, a little cartoon with his platoon number from boot camp, a clock, a thermometer, framed pencil drawings of temples and Houston landmarks, and the speakers for our surround sound. Let it never be said that we don't have ambience around here.
13) Seen anything weird lately?
Did you hear the part where I said I'd had to sit through Fear Factor?
14) What do you think of this quiz?
I think it's kind of cute, actually.
15) What is the last movie you saw?
In the theater? Hoodwinked. At home? The Heavenly Kid.
16) If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy?
I'd buy the lot this house is on, knock down this ancient 50s era house, and build a new house instead. Although, I think the house I want is too big for this lot. So maybe I'll buy the lot next door, too. That house needs to get knocked down anyway; it's always having plumbing problems.
17) Tell me something about you that I don't know.
I had orange hair once. It wasn't on purpose, either.
18) If you could change one thing about the world, regardless of guilt or politics, what would you do?
I'd eliminate Alzheimer's disease.
19) Do you like to dance?
Yes, I think ballroom dancing is the best. I just wish I had a dance partner. My husband has no rhythm.
20) George Bush?
Senior? I kind of miss him. Junior? I feel betrayed by him. Although I think I can safely say he's the first president in our nation's history to be elected despite having an obvious case of dyslexia.
21) Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her?
This one.
22) Imagine your first child is a boy, what do you call him?
That one.
23) Would you ever consider living abroad?
Yes. Absolutely. As long as by "abroad" you mean Italy.
24) What do you want God to say to you when you reach the pearly gates?
"Come on in, there are some people here who can't wait to see you."
Ricky Gervais!
Attention all you Houstonians. Beginning this Saturday, Feb. 18th, that beloved British comedy The Office will air every Saturday night at 9:30 PM on Houston PBS (that's channel 8 on broadcast TV). Yeah, that's right people. You can get your Ricky Fix every weekend. For free. No need to pay for digital cable, regular cable, or satellite TV. Hah! Take that, Time Warner!
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to watch The Beverly Hillbillies on channel 55 (also local). I'm just fit to be tied: finally, something to watch besides soaps, talk shows and courtroom dramedies!
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to watch The Beverly Hillbillies on channel 55 (also local). I'm just fit to be tied: finally, something to watch besides soaps, talk shows and courtroom dramedies!
Friday, February 10, 2006
Trigger Happy Retirees
If you're going to be in the Houston area, you'd better take cover, because the old people are shooting!
This morning in a grandfather accidentally shot a 17-year-old who was arguing with his 18-year-old grandson on their porch. Grandpa says he intended to raise his gun in the air and fire a warning shot to scare the youngster off, but he accidentally discharged the weapon in the wrong direction (or something) and shot the kid in the head. The argument? A fight over money.
Across town in League City, an 87-year-old woman shot her 80-year-old caretaker in the leg. First of all, why is an 80-year-old man (not her husband) responsible for an 87-year-old woman? Is she his girlfriend? Well, she's not anymore. And second, why does a woman this age have access to a freakin' .38? Is it for protection? Is it for the Octagenarian Gun Club? Why? Why? Why! And furthermore, why did she think shooting this man in the legs was an appropriate way to resolve a dispute over the car keys?
I think I'm with Eddie Izzard (the comedian) on this: Why do these grandfathers (and grandmothers) have these arsenals? We're all concerned about the kids going and getting guns and going Columbine, but what the heck are the grandparents planning on doing with them? Thank heaven my mother had the good sense to take away Grandpa's hunting rifles. At least, I hope she did. Hey, Ma?! We gotta talk!
This morning in a grandfather accidentally shot a 17-year-old who was arguing with his 18-year-old grandson on their porch. Grandpa says he intended to raise his gun in the air and fire a warning shot to scare the youngster off, but he accidentally discharged the weapon in the wrong direction (or something) and shot the kid in the head. The argument? A fight over money.
Across town in League City, an 87-year-old woman shot her 80-year-old caretaker in the leg. First of all, why is an 80-year-old man (not her husband) responsible for an 87-year-old woman? Is she his girlfriend? Well, she's not anymore. And second, why does a woman this age have access to a freakin' .38? Is it for protection? Is it for the Octagenarian Gun Club? Why? Why? Why! And furthermore, why did she think shooting this man in the legs was an appropriate way to resolve a dispute over the car keys?
I think I'm with Eddie Izzard (the comedian) on this: Why do these grandfathers (and grandmothers) have these arsenals? We're all concerned about the kids going and getting guns and going Columbine, but what the heck are the grandparents planning on doing with them? Thank heaven my mother had the good sense to take away Grandpa's hunting rifles. At least, I hope she did. Hey, Ma?! We gotta talk!
Handy Cooking Tips
My four-year-old and I watch cooking shows nearly every day. If we had cable, we'd watch the Food Network, but as it is we stick to PBS and whatever the local stations offer.
Today on America's Test Kitchens we learned the following:
Today on America's Test Kitchens we learned the following:
- The best way to bake a pizza is on a pizza stone, preferably a large rectangular one that is completely flat (no lip like a tray), preheated with the oven. If you're going to buy a pizza stone, make sure you measure the interior of your oven first, as it can be a great deal smaller than the exterior. You don't want to get a stone that six whole inches too wide.
- The best pizza cutter is the ten dollar one with the four-inch cutting wheel. The small-wheeled ones are only good for thin crust, the pie-slicer ones are messy, and the long rectangular cutter (used in pizza restaurants) is good but too big and bulky, a pain in the butt to store.
- Bread flour is best for pizza crust.
- Olive oil is, indeed, man's other best friend.
- Chefs like weird stuff on their pizzas. (Seriously, carmelized onions, olives, and anchovies? Where's the cheese? Where's the tomato sauce?!)
- California black olives are dyed black! Ewwww!
Movies Movies Movies!
The following kicks ass and should be a part of your life:
- Hoodwinked, starring Patrick Warburton, Glenn Close, Andy Dick and Anne Hathaway. It doesn't matter that it's an animated film, there are more pop culture references and over-the-heads-of-the-kids jokes than anything else. I almost hesitate to say this, just because it give something away, but...Triple G. I kid you not. Go see this movie. Go marry this movie.
- Serenity, starring all those people from Firefly. Having never seen the show, I wasn't quite sure how I'd like this movie, if it was something I'd wouldn't understand without the background, what have you. I need not have worried. This show kicked. Major. Ass! It was frickin' hilarious, and yet had great action, and yet was a sci-fi. How many ways do I have to say it? If you don't marry Hoodwinked, you should marry Serenity instead. (Also: it totally made me want to buy the show's season one on DVD.)
- Tortilla Soup, starring Hector Elizondo and Jaqueline Obradors. The story is good, the actors are fantastic, and best of all, it makes me hungry! Better yet, it makes me want to cook. It doesn't matter if you don't speak Spanish: that's what the subtitles are for, and most of the movie is in English anyway. Watch this movie. And then eat it.
The following things suck donkey butt, and should be extricated from our culture as soon as possible:
- Blockbuster Online, who are such a bunch of incompetent dillholes that I've asked Bizarro Dad to cancel our account before the free two-week trial is over. They can't send the right movie to save their lives, and they are just so full of crap. I'm taking my business to Netflix.
- Star Wars Episodes I, II, and III, starring Natalie Portman, Ewan MacGregor, Hayden Somethingorother, and a bunch of other people. I did sit through them all. I did try to like them. But seriously? The dialogue bites, and Hayden Whatshisface could not deliver a line without looking like something had crawled up his back end and died. I think it was the script, actually. And Natalie? She had her good moments, but mostly she kind of looked like she couldn't believe she'd been roped into a ten-year contract spewing this kind of crap. Her delivery was very wooden in some parts, and downright lazy in others. Or wait. Was it Hayden that was lazy? I don't know. The whole set was dumb. Cheesy in a way that suggests somebody screwed up.
- Aladdin and it's many cartoon sequels. I was all impressed with this animated feature when I was, like, 13, and thought the songs were all romantic and stuff. But the thing is, it was no Beauty and the Beast. Jasmine didn't make any sense: she's strong and independent, so she sneaks out to the market (without taking money, even though she knows what money is), and as soon as somebody starts to get upset with her, she's all "We can go to the Sultan, we can go to the Sultan!" WTF? And then, after she and Aladdin are caught and she's told that he's been executed because of her, she feels all guilty that her bid for independence cost an innocent man his life, so she doesn't run away, but she's still all, "I am not a prize to be won!" Then tell me, girl, what are you? Are you a functioning member of society? Do you scatter largess to the poor? Do you encourage education? No. You sit around all day in your halter top, combing your hair and playing with your tiger and pet birds. It takes meeting a street rat to bring out the cleverness in you, and you only seem to possess it when he's around. When he's not there, you're Daddy's little girl, which is fine and all, but stop whining about being treated like something more if you're not going to ACT like something more. Also: the animation get less and less impressive with each sequel, as does the script. It was like after a while, they decided the main plot of the third movie was just whatever Robin Williams came up with during his ad-libbing.
- Final Destination and all its sequels. Because, seriously? Three movies with the word "final" in them makes me think that somebody needs to just come up with a different title altogether. (And don't e-mail me trying to explain what they mean by "final destination." I already know. My husband loves these movies.) More to the point, why is it entertaining for a screenwriter and filmmaker to sit there and invent new and more creative ways to die, then film them for an audience? I do not understand this. If 15 kids die on a freak roller coaster accident in real life, we all go, "Gasp! How awful!" But put it in a horror movie and everyone's supposed to love it? Something is wrong with the people on this planet. Seriously.
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Random Salsa
Have you seen that Verizon Wireless commercial, the one where the (nerdy) dad is all happy that he got everyone on the Family Share plan, so now wherever they go, they'll "have the network?" And he hands a phone to his Goth son, all "And when you go...wherever it is you go..."
Is it just me, or does his son look more like a mime than a Goth?
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Ah, Superbowl Sunday. A time when men sack out on the couch and shout obscenities at the TV, and women prepare great volumns of junk food and shout obscenities at their husbands. Not that I've ever done this. Much. In any case, on this holiest of American holy days, how are YOU worshipping the pagan god of football? Are you wearing medals of St. Sebastian, the Patron Saint of Athletes? Or are you perhaps more inclined to pray to St. Bernadine of Siena, the Patron Saint of Compulsive Gambling? Or maybe you're worried about the pounding your team is going to take? There's a list of 14 Patron Saints of Victims of Abuse, although I think those saints might get a bit angry, and say that their saintly favors are reserved for people who don't fight each other over a pigskin for a living. Then again, you may be on a money-making end of this whole game thing, in which case you can call on St. Matthew the Apostle, Patron Saint of Bookkeepers.
Best of luck to both teams! And by "luck," I mean, "no permanent physical damage."
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Is anyone else addicted to Sudoku Online? I don't know why, but I can't stop playing it! Part-Time Gamer would be proud. Or else, he (they) would think I'm a wack job for liking a game with no graphics and no movement. Sorry, guys. I'm not a Metroid kind of gal.
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Did anyone besides elementary school teachers even remember that Thursday was Groundhog Day? Did anyone bother checking a groundhog? I recall seeing a front page article about the groundhog predictions back when I was in first grade. Good sweet Mike, that was 20 years ago! Gack! I'm old! Look away, look away!
Is it just me, or does his son look more like a mime than a Goth?
*************
Ah, Superbowl Sunday. A time when men sack out on the couch and shout obscenities at the TV, and women prepare great volumns of junk food and shout obscenities at their husbands. Not that I've ever done this. Much. In any case, on this holiest of American holy days, how are YOU worshipping the pagan god of football? Are you wearing medals of St. Sebastian, the Patron Saint of Athletes? Or are you perhaps more inclined to pray to St. Bernadine of Siena, the Patron Saint of Compulsive Gambling? Or maybe you're worried about the pounding your team is going to take? There's a list of 14 Patron Saints of Victims of Abuse, although I think those saints might get a bit angry, and say that their saintly favors are reserved for people who don't fight each other over a pigskin for a living. Then again, you may be on a money-making end of this whole game thing, in which case you can call on St. Matthew the Apostle, Patron Saint of Bookkeepers.
Best of luck to both teams! And by "luck," I mean, "no permanent physical damage."
********
Is anyone else addicted to Sudoku Online? I don't know why, but I can't stop playing it! Part-Time Gamer would be proud. Or else, he (they) would think I'm a wack job for liking a game with no graphics and no movement. Sorry, guys. I'm not a Metroid kind of gal.
********
Did anyone besides elementary school teachers even remember that Thursday was Groundhog Day? Did anyone bother checking a groundhog? I recall seeing a front page article about the groundhog predictions back when I was in first grade. Good sweet Mike, that was 20 years ago! Gack! I'm old! Look away, look away!
Thursday, February 02, 2006
John Denver rides again!
Re-incarnated?
That's right, folks. According to my dad, the character Snook the Sloth from the new PBS show Big Big World kind of sucks because, as he puts it, "That main animal is always singing some kind of John Denver songs."
To be fair, Snook does sing a lot. Usually with guitar background music. And his songs are very...folksy? Country folksy? I don't know, people, I only learned to play one John Denver song back in college, and that was for Guitar 101. I do not know his "style" other than it was slow and simple enough for beginners to catch on easily.
In any case, catch John Denver Reborn on PBS, and let the next generation experience his puppeteered personality and angelic voice. Check your local listings.
P.S. Tee-hee to Jenny, who actually slipped on a banana peel. Hope you feel better, hon.
Oobie invasion
Those of you with small children may recognize this:
Yeah, that's some weirdo Noggin show called Oobi. I don't know the point of the show; we don't really watch it, since we don't have cable.
Anyhow, my point (and I do have one) is that yesterday, after never having seen this show, my 20-month-old daughter found a pair of Mr. Potato Head eyes, stuck them between her index and middle fingers, and then tried moving her little thumb, like a puppet. She couldn't really move her thumb right, since she's not quite as good at that fine motor skill as she'd like, but she did make silly noises and facial expressions, as if her hand-face was talking and those were the faces he was making.
Bizarro Dad began cracking up. "She's doing it!" he cried. I turned to see. "I haven't done that for her in a long time," he said. This reminded me that I do, on occasion, make the hand-face with the Potato Head eyes. But it's been a while. A long while.
I don't know whether to be disappointed that Sia didn't "invent" the hand-face, or excited that she is beginning to develop her long-term memory. I'll choose to be excited. Either way, it was still just plain funny watching her.
Yeah, that's some weirdo Noggin show called Oobi. I don't know the point of the show; we don't really watch it, since we don't have cable.Anyhow, my point (and I do have one) is that yesterday, after never having seen this show, my 20-month-old daughter found a pair of Mr. Potato Head eyes, stuck them between her index and middle fingers, and then tried moving her little thumb, like a puppet. She couldn't really move her thumb right, since she's not quite as good at that fine motor skill as she'd like, but she did make silly noises and facial expressions, as if her hand-face was talking and those were the faces he was making.
Bizarro Dad began cracking up. "She's doing it!" he cried. I turned to see. "I haven't done that for her in a long time," he said. This reminded me that I do, on occasion, make the hand-face with the Potato Head eyes. But it's been a while. A long while.
I don't know whether to be disappointed that Sia didn't "invent" the hand-face, or excited that she is beginning to develop her long-term memory. I'll choose to be excited. Either way, it was still just plain funny watching her.
Molly Fox still hates me, but I'm gaining on her
Yeah, that's right. I got through the entire Yoga Stretches and Relaxes disc last night. And while there was quite a bit of cursing under my breath (bionic b****), I still did it. There were a few things I could not do "right," but I still did okay, I think. At one point my husband walked in talking about something else, saw me in some kind of odd position (sorry, I can't find a picture for you), stopped, and said, "Damn, woman!" So I guess I must be doing something right.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Does love ever really go away?
I remember the young men I was in love with once. I remember things I liked about them, how they made me feel, sometimes even how nice they smelled. I remember quiet love, tender love, innocence, passion, all those things. I remember some things just working against us, like time, or age, or our parents, or conflicting personalities and/or goals.
And when I think of these men, something inside me whispers, Yes, I do still love them. They were special. They were part of me, part of my youth, part of my growth. It doesn't matter that things didn't work out. That doesn't make the emotions I felt any less real.
A wise man once told me that even though he and his first wife had divorced, it did not mean he stopped loving her, or that he loved his second wife any less. It only meant that he and his first wife were not able to get along, not able to communicate in a way that would make them a harmonious family.
I thought about that today, when I saw a man I had deep feelings for once, but who was never really my boyfriend. I suppose you could say we were friends, but really, he was my sunshine during a depressing time in my life. He always knew how to make me feel better. It doesn't matter why it never went further than that, because what we had was overwhelmingly positive and lovely.
I delighted in seeing him today, in joking around with him and two others our age; we were all young together once, all friends, all part of the same church, all part of each other's lives. Was I there for the nostalgia? Or for a love that has never left me? Or for both? I don't know. He is married now, as am I. I don't hold any foolish ideas about feelings he might have for me, and I have no expectations. It was enough, I think, to see him for a few minutes, to laugh with him, to stand in the hallway with our old buddies and have odd conversation.
Then I had to run, because my husband and daughters were waiting in the van. And I was happy to go to them, just as I had been happy to remain in the hall.
And when I think of these men, something inside me whispers, Yes, I do still love them. They were special. They were part of me, part of my youth, part of my growth. It doesn't matter that things didn't work out. That doesn't make the emotions I felt any less real.
A wise man once told me that even though he and his first wife had divorced, it did not mean he stopped loving her, or that he loved his second wife any less. It only meant that he and his first wife were not able to get along, not able to communicate in a way that would make them a harmonious family.
I thought about that today, when I saw a man I had deep feelings for once, but who was never really my boyfriend. I suppose you could say we were friends, but really, he was my sunshine during a depressing time in my life. He always knew how to make me feel better. It doesn't matter why it never went further than that, because what we had was overwhelmingly positive and lovely.
I delighted in seeing him today, in joking around with him and two others our age; we were all young together once, all friends, all part of the same church, all part of each other's lives. Was I there for the nostalgia? Or for a love that has never left me? Or for both? I don't know. He is married now, as am I. I don't hold any foolish ideas about feelings he might have for me, and I have no expectations. It was enough, I think, to see him for a few minutes, to laugh with him, to stand in the hallway with our old buddies and have odd conversation.
Then I had to run, because my husband and daughters were waiting in the van. And I was happy to go to them, just as I had been happy to remain in the hall.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Lost and Found
Found: Three shell casings to a .40 calibur handgun, located directly in front of my mother's driveway. You were driving a dark-colored late model mid-size pickup truck, and at approximately 6:45 PM last night, you rolled down your window, looked directly at my mother (who was standing outside), and fired at least 4 shots straight into the air, then continued driving at a leisurely 25 mph and turned right three streets up. According to HPD (who showed up several hours after calls to 911), your shell casings are regarded as Found Property. Please contact me, so that I might refer you to the officer currently in possession of said evidence, I mean property. Please also give me your license plate number, driver's license number, and the registration data for the handgun you used, so that I can verify that these are in fact your shell casings.
Sincerely,
Sleepless Mama
Sincerely,
Sleepless Mama
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Molly Fox hates me, so my kids love her
My mom came over this evening bearing a most unusual gift: a box of precut frozen cookie dough (chocolate chunk! YUM!) and a boxed set of Molly Fox's Yoga DVDs. My four-year-old and I have been doing exercises in the morning, mostly stretches, so she was very excited to try an "exercise movie."
"Fair warning," my mother said. "Don't do that right after you've eaten a meal, or you'll definitely..."
"Throw up?" I volunteered.
"Exactly."
After I let my cookies go down (what, like you wouldn't have immediately baked a batch?), Gina began clamoring for exercise. Why not? I popped in Yoga Stretches and Relaxes.
I immediately began to contemplate a lawsuit for false advertising. I may have been stretching (good grief, was I stretching!), but relaxing was not part of the deal. That woman, she made me do things...I don't think I can ever bend my knee the right way again. And it was all "Inhale and arms up and back, exhale to the prayer position, inhale to forward facing dog, exhale to plankton toes, inhale to cobra, exhale to knee chest chin, inhale to octopus legs, exhale to flapping butt." And that was just the first routine! (Which was repeated six times.) And let us not forget, all Ms. Fox's routines were developed for completely boobless women. Which I am not. Crazy bionic...nevermind. She has it out for me.
Yeah, I backed off after that, but the kids had a ball! Even the baby was laying on the floor with her legs in the air, or else trying to stand on her head. I sat back in the computer chair, admiring my children while trying not to be jealous of their flexibility. I remember being able to stretch like that. But I was content to ease my aching back while encouraging the girls to exercise "like the crazy lady."
And my mom was right about the food. Good thing I waited for my food to go down, or it could have been ugly.
"Fair warning," my mother said. "Don't do that right after you've eaten a meal, or you'll definitely..."
"Throw up?" I volunteered.
"Exactly."
After I let my cookies go down (what, like you wouldn't have immediately baked a batch?), Gina began clamoring for exercise. Why not? I popped in Yoga Stretches and Relaxes.
I immediately began to contemplate a lawsuit for false advertising. I may have been stretching (good grief, was I stretching!), but relaxing was not part of the deal. That woman, she made me do things...I don't think I can ever bend my knee the right way again. And it was all "Inhale and arms up and back, exhale to the prayer position, inhale to forward facing dog, exhale to plankton toes, inhale to cobra, exhale to knee chest chin, inhale to octopus legs, exhale to flapping butt." And that was just the first routine! (Which was repeated six times.) And let us not forget, all Ms. Fox's routines were developed for completely boobless women. Which I am not. Crazy bionic...nevermind. She has it out for me.
Yeah, I backed off after that, but the kids had a ball! Even the baby was laying on the floor with her legs in the air, or else trying to stand on her head. I sat back in the computer chair, admiring my children while trying not to be jealous of their flexibility. I remember being able to stretch like that. But I was content to ease my aching back while encouraging the girls to exercise "like the crazy lady."
And my mom was right about the food. Good thing I waited for my food to go down, or it could have been ugly.
Five Weird Things Meme
I got this from Nilo the Great. Name five wierd things about yourself, then tag five more people to do the same. Hey, how do you pronounce "meme?"
1. I used to write perfectly punctuated letters to my boyfriend. I mean perfect. I was something of a grammarian. This irritated him, so he responded by sending me letters with deliberate comma splices and misspellings. That irritated me, so I deliberately used his misspelled words in my return letter, only with the proper spelling. I also used a semicolon properly. Just my little way of saying, "In your face!"
2. I am afraid of cockroaches. When I was a small child, my mother, brother and I all slept over at the house of a friend of Mom's. That night as I slept on the floor, I woke up to the sensation of something crawling on my foot. Something that felt roughly the same size as my foot. I screamed bloody murder, waking up everyone in the house and pissing off my mother, in whose ear I'd screamed. "It's just a roach, honey," they all told me. "They come from the trees." Yeah. That was a big comfort. Giant mutant tree roaches were crawling on my bare foot in search of food and warmth. Why would a little girl fear that?
3. I fear the color yellow. Not the light, fluffy yellow that looks like it has some white in it. I mean the strong, harsh yellow that looks like it might have just a hint of orange. I used to have nightmares about this color. Guess what color paint my grandfather bought for the house when he wanted us to repaint it? My only consolation was that everyone else who had to live in that house hated it, too.
4. I am trying to learn the lyrics to "He Mele No Lilo," from the Lilo and Stitch soundtrack. The entire thing is in Hawaiian. Not easy.
5. I love bagpipe music.
Tag. You're it:
EverydaySuperGoddess
Three Kid Circus
M. Giant
Daring Young Mom
And an open tag for whoever wants it.
1. I used to write perfectly punctuated letters to my boyfriend. I mean perfect. I was something of a grammarian. This irritated him, so he responded by sending me letters with deliberate comma splices and misspellings. That irritated me, so I deliberately used his misspelled words in my return letter, only with the proper spelling. I also used a semicolon properly. Just my little way of saying, "In your face!"
2. I am afraid of cockroaches. When I was a small child, my mother, brother and I all slept over at the house of a friend of Mom's. That night as I slept on the floor, I woke up to the sensation of something crawling on my foot. Something that felt roughly the same size as my foot. I screamed bloody murder, waking up everyone in the house and pissing off my mother, in whose ear I'd screamed. "It's just a roach, honey," they all told me. "They come from the trees." Yeah. That was a big comfort. Giant mutant tree roaches were crawling on my bare foot in search of food and warmth. Why would a little girl fear that?
3. I fear the color yellow. Not the light, fluffy yellow that looks like it has some white in it. I mean the strong, harsh yellow that looks like it might have just a hint of orange. I used to have nightmares about this color. Guess what color paint my grandfather bought for the house when he wanted us to repaint it? My only consolation was that everyone else who had to live in that house hated it, too.
4. I am trying to learn the lyrics to "He Mele No Lilo," from the Lilo and Stitch soundtrack. The entire thing is in Hawaiian. Not easy.
5. I love bagpipe music.
Tag. You're it:
EverydaySuperGoddess
Three Kid Circus
M. Giant
Daring Young Mom
And an open tag for whoever wants it.
Fried fish
See the fish pic in my sidebar? That's an African Cichlid. Our 45 gallon tank has ten of them, all different sizes and color variations. Bizarro Dad is very proud of this tank, with it's nice pile of giant rocks (nicely provided to us by the Atlantic Ocean) and all the fishy colors and the bubble curtains and the beautiful wooden stand.
So it was cause for great alarm when something in the tank started making a loud popping sound.
I noticed it earlier in the day, when he was off at school. He thought it was odd when I told him but didn't seem worried. Then he heard it himself.
"What was that? Was that what you heard?!" Pause. Glance at the tank. "Oh. Okay. They're fine."
I finally go and inspect the tank. "Honey, the tank temperature is dropping."
"What?!"
Further inspection. "Honey, is there supposed to be water inside the tank heater tube?"
"What? No!"
That does it. He's up off his computer chair now.
"Move aside, Sleepless Mama. Let me stand there so I can deal with this."
I move aside and try not to snicker.
It turns out the heater had some kind of short that broke the glass, let some water in, and then...did some other stuff. I don't know. I'm not the electrician in the family. Basically, Bizarro Dad is just glad that all his fish weren't electrocuted, nor was our BABY when she stuck her hand in the tank water while feeding said fish.
Yep. That's my hubby. I do love him so.
So it was cause for great alarm when something in the tank started making a loud popping sound.
I noticed it earlier in the day, when he was off at school. He thought it was odd when I told him but didn't seem worried. Then he heard it himself.
"What was that? Was that what you heard?!" Pause. Glance at the tank. "Oh. Okay. They're fine."
I finally go and inspect the tank. "Honey, the tank temperature is dropping."
"What?!"
Further inspection. "Honey, is there supposed to be water inside the tank heater tube?"
"What? No!"
That does it. He's up off his computer chair now.
"Move aside, Sleepless Mama. Let me stand there so I can deal with this."
I move aside and try not to snicker.
It turns out the heater had some kind of short that broke the glass, let some water in, and then...did some other stuff. I don't know. I'm not the electrician in the family. Basically, Bizarro Dad is just glad that all his fish weren't electrocuted, nor was our BABY when she stuck her hand in the tank water while feeding said fish.
Yep. That's my hubby. I do love him so.
Monday, January 23, 2006
Well, my birth certificate does say "white"
Ten Top Trivia Tips about Mama!
- A lump of Mama the size of a matchbox can be flattened into a sheet the size of a tennis court!
- The canonical hours of the Christian church are matins, lauds, prime, terce, sext, none, Mama and compline.
- Mama is often used in place of milk in food photography, because milk goes soggy more quickly than Mama!
- Mama is the traditional gift for a couple on their third wedding anniversary.
- Mama never said 'Play it again, Sam'.
- Astronauts get taller when they are in Mama.
- Mama is born white; her pink feathers are caused by pigments in her typical diet of shrimp!
- The first Mama was made in 1853, and had no pedals.
- On average, women blink nearly twice as much as Mama.
- Mama has four noses.
It was just a suggestion!
In our family, we have an agreement. Bizarro Dad makes the money. I pay the bills. We spend money on other stuff that we feel we need, or would like to have, or would like for the girls, whatever. But lately, we're having a problem with this arrangement.
My husband is having trouble controlling his spending. I get that he makes more money now than he did when he was in the military, so he feels he should be able to afford more luxuries. And I agree. Our luxury is called an auto loan. It is what pays for our minivan, which we had to get when our Daewoo died a horrible death. And the payments that he agreed to? More than I told him we could afford. That's our damn luxury.
But does my husband understand this? No. He does not. No matter what I say, no matter how many times the checking account gets down to a zero balance, he Does. Not. Get. It. He just goes on, spending money on stupid stuff that we don't need. I tell him "Okay, honey, you can have a $40 allowance each month." He spends the $40. Then he spends another $60. Then another $60. And what does he have to show for it? A stack of movies that he'll only watch twice, and another stack of movies that he's rented from Blockbuster and kept past the due date, and some other random crap that he can't even account for the day after he's bought it. And that doesn't even include all the meals he buys for himself when he's at work. Dude? They're called sandwiches, and you can make them at home. For free. And when I tell him, "Honey, you've got to stop. How are we supposed to afford our life insurance premium?" he just says, "By me not spending so much." Then goes on to spend some more two days later.
So I thought about this. I thought about the stress of being the one who has to remember when all the bills are due, how much they are, and which paycheck they'll come out of. I thought about how much it sucks to sit there and wonder if the increase in local gasoline prices will affect what kind of groceries I can get this week. And I decided that in order for Bizarro Dad to understand the importance of not spending money like it's made of nothing, he needs to understand the burden of being responsible for actually writing the checks and mailing them out. The decision to tell him this did not come easily, as I am not normally one to relinquish control over something as important as financial security. I put it off all last night, until finally we were lying in bed, about to go to sleep.
Me: I think you should have charge of the checking account....just for a month.
Him: (immediately) No!
Me: Come on. Just for a month.
Him: No.
Me: Would you just think about it?
Him: I have thought about it.
Me: Really? When?
Him: Just now. No.
Me: Why not?
Him: The bills would never get paid.
Me: You wouldn't pay them?
Him: I'd forget ALL about them. We'd go broke!
Me: We're gonna go broke anyway if you keep spending money the way you do. You might as well learn how to deal with paying bills.
Him: No.
Me: Come on. Please?
Him: No.
Me: *sigh*
Him: ...zzzzzzzzzzzzzz
My husband is having trouble controlling his spending. I get that he makes more money now than he did when he was in the military, so he feels he should be able to afford more luxuries. And I agree. Our luxury is called an auto loan. It is what pays for our minivan, which we had to get when our Daewoo died a horrible death. And the payments that he agreed to? More than I told him we could afford. That's our damn luxury.
But does my husband understand this? No. He does not. No matter what I say, no matter how many times the checking account gets down to a zero balance, he Does. Not. Get. It. He just goes on, spending money on stupid stuff that we don't need. I tell him "Okay, honey, you can have a $40 allowance each month." He spends the $40. Then he spends another $60. Then another $60. And what does he have to show for it? A stack of movies that he'll only watch twice, and another stack of movies that he's rented from Blockbuster and kept past the due date, and some other random crap that he can't even account for the day after he's bought it. And that doesn't even include all the meals he buys for himself when he's at work. Dude? They're called sandwiches, and you can make them at home. For free. And when I tell him, "Honey, you've got to stop. How are we supposed to afford our life insurance premium?" he just says, "By me not spending so much." Then goes on to spend some more two days later.
So I thought about this. I thought about the stress of being the one who has to remember when all the bills are due, how much they are, and which paycheck they'll come out of. I thought about how much it sucks to sit there and wonder if the increase in local gasoline prices will affect what kind of groceries I can get this week. And I decided that in order for Bizarro Dad to understand the importance of not spending money like it's made of nothing, he needs to understand the burden of being responsible for actually writing the checks and mailing them out. The decision to tell him this did not come easily, as I am not normally one to relinquish control over something as important as financial security. I put it off all last night, until finally we were lying in bed, about to go to sleep.
Me: I think you should have charge of the checking account....just for a month.
Him: (immediately) No!
Me: Come on. Just for a month.
Him: No.
Me: Would you just think about it?
Him: I have thought about it.
Me: Really? When?
Him: Just now. No.
Me: Why not?
Him: The bills would never get paid.
Me: You wouldn't pay them?
Him: I'd forget ALL about them. We'd go broke!
Me: We're gonna go broke anyway if you keep spending money the way you do. You might as well learn how to deal with paying bills.
Him: No.
Me: Come on. Please?
Him: No.
Me: *sigh*
Him: ...zzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Gamer Gene, Part 2
I know I said I was hiatus for the weekend, but this is nagging me, so I need to get it out in the open.
Thursday I put up a post about my family's Gamer Gene. And then Part Time Gamer read my post, and linked to it here, with some comment on it. He followed it a few posts later with one about Jared the Subway guy , and how it sucked that Jared blamed his initial weight game on Nintendo when in fact he simply wouldn't get up off his ass to exercise when he was a kid, and his parents didn't make him do anything until it was too late (I agree with Part Time Gamer; that is just plain stupid, especially for the son of a doctor). And then I put two and two together (slowly, I know) and understood what Part Time Gamer was accusing me of.
It never occured to me that my children were not getting enough exercise, not because I'm blaming a video game for their inactivity, but because they are not, in fact, inactive. I took them outside the same day as my post, and the day before that, as I do all the time. Yeah, they've had to spend a lot of time indoors because of the weather, but now that warmth is coming to Texas and I have a garden to tend, we spend plenty of time outdoors. The girls chase the dog and play wiffle ball and help me dig in the dirt. But since I didn't say any of this in my Gamer Gene post, how was Part Time Gamer to know?
Then I thought about the post itself, and reread it. I realize now that what I was thinking and how I came across were two different things. So I think I should clarify.
When I say Gamer, I mean someone who is actually talented at video games. I do not consider myself to be such a person. I do not mean a person who does no kind of physical activity because he's too busy gaming. My brother, who I spoke about as a Gamer, was also the kind of child who would play basketball with his friends, or go swimming, or get in the occasional fistfight. My husband, who I called a hard core Gamer, has had very physical jobs for the majority of our marriage, first as a Marine, and now as an EMT responsible for lifting some very heavy people on stretchers. (You might say that this is not a physical job. I would say that any job that makes him come home in as much pain as he does counts as very physical indeed.)
I realize also that I came across as being of the opinion that all Gamers are consumed by Gaming, which is not true and is not my actual opinion. I do apologize. What I actually believe is that my husband is consumed by Gaming. Not because he sits for two or three hours straight in front of the computer, but because he sits for six hours straight or longer in front of the computer after being at work all day, to the point where I sometimes feel he is ignoring the rest of the family, staying up very late when he and I both know he needs to wake up at 3 AM for work. Sometimes I want to take his Guild Wars disc and snap it right in half, but if it weren't that game it would be another. The problem is him. I am perfectly aware that not all Gamers do this.
And so when I marvel at my own child's gaming, I am simultaneously amazed by her attention span (something rare in a 4-year-old), surprised by her talent, concerned that she might one day do as her father does, and guilty that I am not directing her attention to her books, her instruments, her crayons, her paintbrushes, her trains, or her Playdough. But the truth is, even when she is playing with one of those things, I still feel guilty that she's not doing one of the others. And knowing this about myself, and that the game is in fact educational, I go ahead and let her play her V. Smile. Once she tires of it (45 minutes later) or I think she's had enough, off it goes, and we do something else.
Thursday I put up a post about my family's Gamer Gene. And then Part Time Gamer read my post, and linked to it here, with some comment on it. He followed it a few posts later with one about Jared the Subway guy , and how it sucked that Jared blamed his initial weight game on Nintendo when in fact he simply wouldn't get up off his ass to exercise when he was a kid, and his parents didn't make him do anything until it was too late (I agree with Part Time Gamer; that is just plain stupid, especially for the son of a doctor). And then I put two and two together (slowly, I know) and understood what Part Time Gamer was accusing me of.
It never occured to me that my children were not getting enough exercise, not because I'm blaming a video game for their inactivity, but because they are not, in fact, inactive. I took them outside the same day as my post, and the day before that, as I do all the time. Yeah, they've had to spend a lot of time indoors because of the weather, but now that warmth is coming to Texas and I have a garden to tend, we spend plenty of time outdoors. The girls chase the dog and play wiffle ball and help me dig in the dirt. But since I didn't say any of this in my Gamer Gene post, how was Part Time Gamer to know?
Then I thought about the post itself, and reread it. I realize now that what I was thinking and how I came across were two different things. So I think I should clarify.
When I say Gamer, I mean someone who is actually talented at video games. I do not consider myself to be such a person. I do not mean a person who does no kind of physical activity because he's too busy gaming. My brother, who I spoke about as a Gamer, was also the kind of child who would play basketball with his friends, or go swimming, or get in the occasional fistfight. My husband, who I called a hard core Gamer, has had very physical jobs for the majority of our marriage, first as a Marine, and now as an EMT responsible for lifting some very heavy people on stretchers. (You might say that this is not a physical job. I would say that any job that makes him come home in as much pain as he does counts as very physical indeed.)
I realize also that I came across as being of the opinion that all Gamers are consumed by Gaming, which is not true and is not my actual opinion. I do apologize. What I actually believe is that my husband is consumed by Gaming. Not because he sits for two or three hours straight in front of the computer, but because he sits for six hours straight or longer in front of the computer after being at work all day, to the point where I sometimes feel he is ignoring the rest of the family, staying up very late when he and I both know he needs to wake up at 3 AM for work. Sometimes I want to take his Guild Wars disc and snap it right in half, but if it weren't that game it would be another. The problem is him. I am perfectly aware that not all Gamers do this.
And so when I marvel at my own child's gaming, I am simultaneously amazed by her attention span (something rare in a 4-year-old), surprised by her talent, concerned that she might one day do as her father does, and guilty that I am not directing her attention to her books, her instruments, her crayons, her paintbrushes, her trains, or her Playdough. But the truth is, even when she is playing with one of those things, I still feel guilty that she's not doing one of the others. And knowing this about myself, and that the game is in fact educational, I go ahead and let her play her V. Smile. Once she tires of it (45 minutes later) or I think she's had enough, off it goes, and we do something else.
Friday, January 20, 2006
Weekend Hiatus
Sorry, faithful reader(s), but I'm forcing myself to not use the computer for the rest of the weekend, starting today. My living room is so messy it's downright embarrassing, and I have too much that needs to get done. Have a happy weekend.
Something funny: http://www.stuffonmycat.com
Something funny: http://www.stuffonmycat.com
Thursday, January 19, 2006
The Gamer Gene
Of all the things to pass on to our kids, this is the gene I least suspected to come from DNA.
When I was a little girl and my brother a little boy, my dad bought us our very first game system. It was brand new, cost a whopping $99, and was the finest thing my little brother had ever laid eyes on. It was called Nintendo. Probably around the same time, my future husband and his little brother were getting their first Nintendo. My brother excelled at Mario Brothers, I at Duck Hunt, and my One True Love at Zelda. Eventually I realized that I was just not a Gamer, at least not with those kinds of games, and I took on the role of Official Navigator to my brother, once those cheater magazines were published with full maps of all the secrets and enemies and shortcuts for each level of a game. I remained the Navigator through Nintendo, Super Nintendo, and Nintendo 64, and whatever came between. Bizarro Dad was a hard core gamer in his own right. And when my husband and I married, I was his Navigator for various Zelda games. I left him to his own devices for the more violent stuff, like Doom.
It was not until I was a married woman that the dormant Gamer Trait became active, when I discovered The Sims on my computer, along with Pop Cap games offered free on Yahoo Games. So yeah, now I'm a Gamer, sort of. I like Zuma and Twistingo, Text Twist and Online Dominoes. But I do not let these games consume my life, as Guild Wars does to my husband. (Hello, if anything consumes my life, it's BLOGS.)
So. My husband has the Gamer Gene. I possess the trait. I was not aware that these things were even part of the DNA sequence until this month, when my four-year-old daughter began clamoring to play with her favorite Christmas gift, the V. Tech "V. Smile" video game learning system for kids ages 3-7. This child will park her little Moon chair in front of the TV and play Dora the Explorer for long periods of time, sometimes asking for help with a hard part. She's getting much better at controlling the toggle, too. I look over at her and sigh. I know it's a "learning game," and that she's using her skills at counting, matching colors and shapes, identifying animals, etc. But still. She's sitting there, slack jawed, staring at the TV. Gaming.
What have I passed on to my child?
When I was a little girl and my brother a little boy, my dad bought us our very first game system. It was brand new, cost a whopping $99, and was the finest thing my little brother had ever laid eyes on. It was called Nintendo. Probably around the same time, my future husband and his little brother were getting their first Nintendo. My brother excelled at Mario Brothers, I at Duck Hunt, and my One True Love at Zelda. Eventually I realized that I was just not a Gamer, at least not with those kinds of games, and I took on the role of Official Navigator to my brother, once those cheater magazines were published with full maps of all the secrets and enemies and shortcuts for each level of a game. I remained the Navigator through Nintendo, Super Nintendo, and Nintendo 64, and whatever came between. Bizarro Dad was a hard core gamer in his own right. And when my husband and I married, I was his Navigator for various Zelda games. I left him to his own devices for the more violent stuff, like Doom.
It was not until I was a married woman that the dormant Gamer Trait became active, when I discovered The Sims on my computer, along with Pop Cap games offered free on Yahoo Games. So yeah, now I'm a Gamer, sort of. I like Zuma and Twistingo, Text Twist and Online Dominoes. But I do not let these games consume my life, as Guild Wars does to my husband. (Hello, if anything consumes my life, it's BLOGS.)
So. My husband has the Gamer Gene. I possess the trait. I was not aware that these things were even part of the DNA sequence until this month, when my four-year-old daughter began clamoring to play with her favorite Christmas gift, the V. Tech "V. Smile" video game learning system for kids ages 3-7. This child will park her little Moon chair in front of the TV and play Dora the Explorer for long periods of time, sometimes asking for help with a hard part. She's getting much better at controlling the toggle, too. I look over at her and sigh. I know it's a "learning game," and that she's using her skills at counting, matching colors and shapes, identifying animals, etc. But still. She's sitting there, slack jawed, staring at the TV. Gaming.
What have I passed on to my child?
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Get Ready to Wiggle
Those of you with small kids probably know who this is:
Yeah, that's Greg of The Wiggles. I won't get into it. But I will get into this:
Yeah, that's right. That's the same dude. Only with more make-up.
Peace out. :smooch:
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
When was the last time you felt like this?
HANGING BY A MOMENT
by Lifehouse
desperate for changing
starving for truth
closer to where I started
chasing after you
I'm falling even more in love with you
letting go of all I've held onto
I'm standing here until you make me move
I'm hanging by a moment here with you
forgetting all I'm lacking
completely incomplete
I'll take your invitation
you take all of me now
I'm falling even more in love with you
letting go of all I've held onto
I'm standing here until you make me move
I'm hanging by a moment here with you
I'm living for the only thing I know
I'm running and not quite sure where to go
and I don't know what I'm diving into
just hanging by a moment here with you
there's nothing else to lose
there's nothing else to find
there's nothing in the world
that could change my mind
there is nothing else
there is nothing else
there is nothing else
desperate for changing
starving for truth
closer to where I started
chasing after you
I'm falling even more in love with you
letting go of all I've held onto
I'm standing here until you make me move
I'm hanging by a moment here with you
I'm living for the only thing I know
I'm running and not quite sure where to go
and I don't know what I'm diving into
just hanging by a moment here with you
just hanging by a moment
hanging by a moment
hanging by a moment
hanging by a moment here with you
I've tried to recall the exact moments when I felt such abandon of everything except for that one emotion. Images come to the surface: a phone call from a boy I was in love with at 15; a date in Hermann Park with my ex, when we made out beside the lake; the night my husband proposed to me, and I knew I didn't ever want to be any place in the world but right there next to him.
Listen to this song if you have access to it, and ask yourself when you last felt that way. Was it a long time ago, or recently? Was it about the person you're with now?
by Lifehouse
desperate for changing
starving for truth
closer to where I started
chasing after you
I'm falling even more in love with you
letting go of all I've held onto
I'm standing here until you make me move
I'm hanging by a moment here with you
forgetting all I'm lacking
completely incomplete
I'll take your invitation
you take all of me now
I'm falling even more in love with you
letting go of all I've held onto
I'm standing here until you make me move
I'm hanging by a moment here with you
I'm living for the only thing I know
I'm running and not quite sure where to go
and I don't know what I'm diving into
just hanging by a moment here with you
there's nothing else to lose
there's nothing else to find
there's nothing in the world
that could change my mind
there is nothing else
there is nothing else
there is nothing else
desperate for changing
starving for truth
closer to where I started
chasing after you
I'm falling even more in love with you
letting go of all I've held onto
I'm standing here until you make me move
I'm hanging by a moment here with you
I'm living for the only thing I know
I'm running and not quite sure where to go
and I don't know what I'm diving into
just hanging by a moment here with you
just hanging by a moment
hanging by a moment
hanging by a moment
hanging by a moment here with you
I've tried to recall the exact moments when I felt such abandon of everything except for that one emotion. Images come to the surface: a phone call from a boy I was in love with at 15; a date in Hermann Park with my ex, when we made out beside the lake; the night my husband proposed to me, and I knew I didn't ever want to be any place in the world but right there next to him.
Listen to this song if you have access to it, and ask yourself when you last felt that way. Was it a long time ago, or recently? Was it about the person you're with now?
And you thought YOU had problems
I do not want to know who owns this poor cat. I only want to know what restaurant he works at.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Frosty Strikes!
An actual conversation betwixt Bizarro Dad and myself:
BD: Why did you sit the baby in her little TV chair at her little table for breakfast instead of in her booster seat at the big table?
Me: Oh, the booster was covered in frost this morning.
BD: ...What?!
Me: ...Oh, no, honey, I mean that I left it outside to dry last night after I rinsed it with the water hose!
BD: Oh, so it frosted over otuside! Okay, good. I was about to say...
Me: That we really need to get central heating?
BD: Exactly.
BD: Why did you sit the baby in her little TV chair at her little table for breakfast instead of in her booster seat at the big table?
Me: Oh, the booster was covered in frost this morning.
BD: ...What?!
Me: ...Oh, no, honey, I mean that I left it outside to dry last night after I rinsed it with the water hose!
BD: Oh, so it frosted over otuside! Okay, good. I was about to say...
Me: That we really need to get central heating?
BD: Exactly.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
De-lurking week!
Yeah, I don't know how to put this on my sidebar, so it gets its very own post. (By the way, anyone who can help me out with that, send me a message, please.)
Stop in and say hello! Leave a comment! Tell me I'm a nut! It's okay! I promise I won't bite! I love exclamation points!
Happy Thursday, everyone.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Cultural Corner: Valuable contributions to society by Lebanon
Before you get all "Hey wait just a dang minute," no, I am not talking about Beirut.
I am referring to pop culture, actually. Yes. Lebanon. And pop culture. It's really there.
My first submission is one singer named Shakira. "But she sings in Spanish" you say. "She's Hispanic, from one of those Hispanic countries, you know, Hispania." Au contraire! Shakira is in fact an Arabic name, meaning "thankful." Yes, she is from Colombia, according to her biography. My private source insists that she exhibits heavy Lebanese influence. The way she shakes her...um, assets, is not this grand new and unique provocative dance, but is in fact derived from Arabian Belly Dancing, an art taught to her by her grandmother. (Dude, the most exotic thing my grandma ever taught me was how to crochet blankets while listening to Ramon Ayala.) And yes, she does speak Arabic, along with about four other languages.
My second submission is one actress named Salma Hayek. "No, Sleepless Mama, surely you jest. Just listen to her accent!" She is from Mexico, born and raised, but (and she freely admits this) her oil-executive father is what she calls "Lebanese-Mexican." According to my source, the Hayeks are one of the richest families in Lebanon. Salma is Arabic for "peace." And Hayek is no Mexican name that I've ever come across. Ms. Hayek herself speaks fluent Arabic, and three other languages besides.
These women do not lie about their Lebanese heritage. But nobody makes much about it. The focus is always on their Latin-American heritage. I think this makes them more...acceptable to North American audiences. I suppose that should tell you something about North America.
Just who is my mysterious source? Now why would I want to go and tell you that? Suffice it to say, he's from Lebanon.
One more thing my source has to say about Lebanon: the people there do not know how to cuss properly. You remember that move Bad Boys, starring Will Smith and that short dude, what's-his-name, Martin Lawrence? In that movie is a convenience store scene in which the cashier pulls out a weapon and screams, "Freeze, mother-b****es!" Yeah, that's actually how people in Lebanon curse. In fact, that particular phrase became quite popular there after the release of that movie.
This concludes your Cultural Corner for the day.
I am referring to pop culture, actually. Yes. Lebanon. And pop culture. It's really there.
My first submission is one singer named Shakira. "But she sings in Spanish" you say. "She's Hispanic, from one of those Hispanic countries, you know, Hispania." Au contraire! Shakira is in fact an Arabic name, meaning "thankful." Yes, she is from Colombia, according to her biography. My private source insists that she exhibits heavy Lebanese influence. The way she shakes her...um, assets, is not this grand new and unique provocative dance, but is in fact derived from Arabian Belly Dancing, an art taught to her by her grandmother. (Dude, the most exotic thing my grandma ever taught me was how to crochet blankets while listening to Ramon Ayala.) And yes, she does speak Arabic, along with about four other languages.
My second submission is one actress named Salma Hayek. "No, Sleepless Mama, surely you jest. Just listen to her accent!" She is from Mexico, born and raised, but (and she freely admits this) her oil-executive father is what she calls "Lebanese-Mexican." According to my source, the Hayeks are one of the richest families in Lebanon. Salma is Arabic for "peace." And Hayek is no Mexican name that I've ever come across. Ms. Hayek herself speaks fluent Arabic, and three other languages besides.
These women do not lie about their Lebanese heritage. But nobody makes much about it. The focus is always on their Latin-American heritage. I think this makes them more...acceptable to North American audiences. I suppose that should tell you something about North America.
Just who is my mysterious source? Now why would I want to go and tell you that? Suffice it to say, he's from Lebanon.
One more thing my source has to say about Lebanon: the people there do not know how to cuss properly. You remember that move Bad Boys, starring Will Smith and that short dude, what's-his-name, Martin Lawrence? In that movie is a convenience store scene in which the cashier pulls out a weapon and screams, "Freeze, mother-b****es!" Yeah, that's actually how people in Lebanon curse. In fact, that particular phrase became quite popular there after the release of that movie.
This concludes your Cultural Corner for the day.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
All the King's Networks and All the King's Anchors
In response to the mass outrage regarding the inaccurate reporting of the West Virginia miners, which Nilo was good enough to blog about, news broadcasters have become anxious to assure the general public that THEY will not do anything so stupid as report that someone is alive when in fact that someone is dead.
I submit to you the latest commercial for KHOU 11 News (that's the local CBS channel here in Houston), which used a mere ten second spot to claim it's moral superiority. "KHOU. Reporting the news ethically and responsibly."
"Oh, Sleepless Mama, you're reaching." Am I? They certainly hadn't said that kind of thing before, not on a ten-second ad. In fact, I highly doubt any CBS local anchors have wanted to say anything of the kind since Dan Rather disgraced himself with that whole fake military document thing. But now, after Gerald Rivera made a fool of himself on Fox, my local CBS is all "Oh no, we'd NEVER do anything like that. We always report the truth, and we never get out of line."
Granted, Dan Rather was not a local anchor. He was national. The local guys are basically trying to keep their own credibility. I guess I can understand that.
But really, it's hardly necessary. ANYBODY looks highly credible compared to Geraldo Rivera. Hell, Geraldo makes Maury Povich look like Honest Abe.
I submit to you the latest commercial for KHOU 11 News (that's the local CBS channel here in Houston), which used a mere ten second spot to claim it's moral superiority. "KHOU. Reporting the news ethically and responsibly."
"Oh, Sleepless Mama, you're reaching." Am I? They certainly hadn't said that kind of thing before, not on a ten-second ad. In fact, I highly doubt any CBS local anchors have wanted to say anything of the kind since Dan Rather disgraced himself with that whole fake military document thing. But now, after Gerald Rivera made a fool of himself on Fox, my local CBS is all "Oh no, we'd NEVER do anything like that. We always report the truth, and we never get out of line."
Granted, Dan Rather was not a local anchor. He was national. The local guys are basically trying to keep their own credibility. I guess I can understand that.
But really, it's hardly necessary. ANYBODY looks highly credible compared to Geraldo Rivera. Hell, Geraldo makes Maury Povich look like Honest Abe.
Friday, January 06, 2006
When Moms Become Big Babies
I knew it was coming. When I got up to let the dog out in the morning, her car was still there, despite the time.
My mother, I should explain, lives across the street from me. With her parents. The whole lot of them have various medical problems which require Mom to miss a lot of work and piss off her supervisors. But recently Mom's begun a type of chemotherapy, used not for cancer, but to treat a chronic virus in her liver. It leaves her very weak and unable to do much for several days. Along with these weekly injections, she has to deal with about 16 pills a day, plus her Paxil, and her diabetes. One of the side effects from one of those many pills is murderous rage. Which is what the Paxil is for. So far so good. No dead people.
So finding that she has stayed home Thursday morning is not wholly unexpected, although it was just a bit odd, since her next injection wasn't supposed to be until the next day.
Around 10:00 Grandma calls and asks that I send my brother over to move Mom's car for her, since Mom doesn't feel good enough to do so herself. I go and wake up the Loafer.
And I wait. It's coming, I just know it. But in the meantime, I have two sick children of my own to deal with, so I tend to their screams and snot.
Sure enough, at 15:15 I get the call.
Me: Hello?
Mom: *cough cough cough*
Me: Mom?
Mom: [Sleepless Maaaamaaaaa], I'm siiiiiiick.
Me: Uh-huh. What's wrong?
Mom: My ears hurt and I'm tired and I have a sinus infection.
Me: Have you taken anything yet?
Mom: No. *cough* The doctor said I can take OTC stuff for a sinus infection.
Me: Okay.
Mom: Can you go get some for me?
Me: I don't have the car seats, and there's no one to watch the girls. But I'll tell you what. I'll have Bizarro Dad stop at the pharmacy on the way home and pick some up for you, okay?
Mom: Okayyyy. *sniff*
Me: Have you taken your meds today?
Mom: (pause) No. Nobody has given them to me.
Me: (pause) What?
Mom: Your Grandma hasn't come to give me anything.
Me: Have you had any orange juice?
Mom: No.
Me: Have you gotten up?
Mom: No, I'm just here in my underwear.
Me: Mom! No wonder you feel like crap. Get up and put something on, and go get a drink. I'll come over to help you just as soon as Gina wakes up from her nap.
Mom: Okay.
Later in the afternoon I load up the kids in the wagon, along with a can of soup and other supplies, plus Mom's birthday gift (a day early) and make the trek across the street to tend to my mother.
Gina hands her the gift bag. It's a nice, new, soft, fluffy pink bathrobe with matching slippers. I figured if she was lying around nekkid, she'd need something to cover up with sooner rather than later.
I make sure everyone gets fed, and that Mom gets medicated. Her pill box, I find, are lying in her purse on the ironing board, only about four feet away from her actual body. It astounds me that she was unable to get up and take them, yet she's clearly been able to get up and put on a night gown and go to the bathroom. Anyway, the kids play, we watch TV, Mom asks for her sugar-free ice cream (again in the kid voice), Bizarro Dad arrives with the sinus meds, the girls go home with him, I stay with Mom in case she needs anything else until about 22:00, then go home and put my oldest child to bed.
I wonder to myself when I went from her child to her parent. My mother and I had kind of a different relationship. She was certainly an adult when she had me, but she was kind of mentally unstable at the time, and then later she became an alcoholic, and my grandmother took up most of the everyday responsibility in raising me.
Somewhere along the line my mother began to think of me more as a sister than as a daughter. Which was probably all well and good for her, but back then I felt like I just had an irresponsible, embarrassing, moody, alcoholic mother. The thought of her being my sister never crossed my mind until she said something to that effect. I was a teenager at the time, and living with my father by then. She was drunk and upset about something or other, and tried to say some nonsense about how it would be good if I could just be her sister. "Mom, stop it," I told her firmly. "I am not your sister. I am your daughter. You are my mother. That's the way it is." Which I suppose was about as close as I was willing to come to saying "Lady, grow up already. All your problems are of your own making, and I am in no position to help you get out of them."
Now, of course, it's different. I'm a grown woman in my late twenties. Mom is a recovering alcoholic, been sober for two whole years. Sometimes she watches the kids for me (or she did before her liver treatments began). She's much more coherent, very reliable, and not so childish.
Except, apparently, when she has a sinus infection.
But I guess it's okay. She did give birth to me. I can stand a little child-like whining for the woman who went through about 14 hours of labor for me (not to mention being pregnant three weeks past her due date).
My mother, I should explain, lives across the street from me. With her parents. The whole lot of them have various medical problems which require Mom to miss a lot of work and piss off her supervisors. But recently Mom's begun a type of chemotherapy, used not for cancer, but to treat a chronic virus in her liver. It leaves her very weak and unable to do much for several days. Along with these weekly injections, she has to deal with about 16 pills a day, plus her Paxil, and her diabetes. One of the side effects from one of those many pills is murderous rage. Which is what the Paxil is for. So far so good. No dead people.
So finding that she has stayed home Thursday morning is not wholly unexpected, although it was just a bit odd, since her next injection wasn't supposed to be until the next day.
Around 10:00 Grandma calls and asks that I send my brother over to move Mom's car for her, since Mom doesn't feel good enough to do so herself. I go and wake up the Loafer.
And I wait. It's coming, I just know it. But in the meantime, I have two sick children of my own to deal with, so I tend to their screams and snot.
Sure enough, at 15:15 I get the call.
Me: Hello?
Mom: *cough cough cough*
Me: Mom?
Mom: [Sleepless Maaaamaaaaa], I'm siiiiiiick.
Me: Uh-huh. What's wrong?
Mom: My ears hurt and I'm tired and I have a sinus infection.
Me: Have you taken anything yet?
Mom: No. *cough* The doctor said I can take OTC stuff for a sinus infection.
Me: Okay.
Mom: Can you go get some for me?
Me: I don't have the car seats, and there's no one to watch the girls. But I'll tell you what. I'll have Bizarro Dad stop at the pharmacy on the way home and pick some up for you, okay?
Mom: Okayyyy. *sniff*
Me: Have you taken your meds today?
Mom: (pause) No. Nobody has given them to me.
Me: (pause) What?
Mom: Your Grandma hasn't come to give me anything.
Me: Have you had any orange juice?
Mom: No.
Me: Have you gotten up?
Mom: No, I'm just here in my underwear.
Me: Mom! No wonder you feel like crap. Get up and put something on, and go get a drink. I'll come over to help you just as soon as Gina wakes up from her nap.
Mom: Okay.
Later in the afternoon I load up the kids in the wagon, along with a can of soup and other supplies, plus Mom's birthday gift (a day early) and make the trek across the street to tend to my mother.
Gina hands her the gift bag. It's a nice, new, soft, fluffy pink bathrobe with matching slippers. I figured if she was lying around nekkid, she'd need something to cover up with sooner rather than later.
I make sure everyone gets fed, and that Mom gets medicated. Her pill box, I find, are lying in her purse on the ironing board, only about four feet away from her actual body. It astounds me that she was unable to get up and take them, yet she's clearly been able to get up and put on a night gown and go to the bathroom. Anyway, the kids play, we watch TV, Mom asks for her sugar-free ice cream (again in the kid voice), Bizarro Dad arrives with the sinus meds, the girls go home with him, I stay with Mom in case she needs anything else until about 22:00, then go home and put my oldest child to bed.
I wonder to myself when I went from her child to her parent. My mother and I had kind of a different relationship. She was certainly an adult when she had me, but she was kind of mentally unstable at the time, and then later she became an alcoholic, and my grandmother took up most of the everyday responsibility in raising me.
Somewhere along the line my mother began to think of me more as a sister than as a daughter. Which was probably all well and good for her, but back then I felt like I just had an irresponsible, embarrassing, moody, alcoholic mother. The thought of her being my sister never crossed my mind until she said something to that effect. I was a teenager at the time, and living with my father by then. She was drunk and upset about something or other, and tried to say some nonsense about how it would be good if I could just be her sister. "Mom, stop it," I told her firmly. "I am not your sister. I am your daughter. You are my mother. That's the way it is." Which I suppose was about as close as I was willing to come to saying "Lady, grow up already. All your problems are of your own making, and I am in no position to help you get out of them."
Now, of course, it's different. I'm a grown woman in my late twenties. Mom is a recovering alcoholic, been sober for two whole years. Sometimes she watches the kids for me (or she did before her liver treatments began). She's much more coherent, very reliable, and not so childish.
Except, apparently, when she has a sinus infection.
But I guess it's okay. She did give birth to me. I can stand a little child-like whining for the woman who went through about 14 hours of labor for me (not to mention being pregnant three weeks past her due date).
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