Contrary by Design

It's like I go on sabbatical

2011-09-04T07:53:00.000-07:00

Once again it's been around six months since my last post. How to explain it. Some of it is that I post on Tumblr, or Twitter, or, while I had a contract job on Google+ and that fulfills whatever information dispensing need I have. But mostly it's that I'm still jobless, jibless, disorganized, unsuccessful and melancholy.

Time at home still hasn't produced a Martha Stewart or even a half-Martha-like cleaned up existence. I'm still not creating as much as I want and it comes in fits and spurts. The most recent finished product is this pillow that was originally a Christmas present for my Aunt (for 2010) but ended up a belated birthday present (just sent it, her birthday in July) for her. At least I finally finished it. There are many other projects I've yet to finish that started out at Xmas gifts.

I wish I had a great explanation for my extreme lack of inertia. I assume it's depression in some form. It renders me slug-like and fog-brained. I am "getting through" life instead of living it. I don't like that it's this way. I'm definitely hoping for change.

Where Have I Been?

2011-03-20T08:46:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure. Being laid off over a year ago killed my spirit for a time. Then there's all the busy-ness of trying to find a job. And working contract jobs, which are full time but pay far less than a "real" job and certainly don't come with health benefits.

When I do post something it's over here http://andeeofwhimsy.tumblr.com/ but I'm not terribly good at doing that either. The most recent thing I've crafted is probably this bag for my sister at Xmas. I have so many other things I'm still finishing that I planned to give at Christmas. Now they will be Spring or Summer gifts.

I wish I was using this chaotic, jobless time off to whip my house into shape and craft/create up a storm. But the paralyzing nature of the unknown (in terms of a job/finances/etc) leaves me stuck.

Can a Potato Get a Job?

2009-11-22T10:01:00.000-08:00

It's been just over a week since I became redundant, was let go, was told "it's not you, it's us." To be frankly honest, I still haven't finished updating my resume, haven't shipped the work computers back to New Jersey, haven't posted anything or looked at anything on Monster or CareerBuilder. I'm a slug. I'm unmotivated, I'm easily distracted and my fear of so many aspects to being jobless is paralyzing.

As we move quickly toward Thanksgiving (made a plan? Oh, right, I have to cook a turkey dinner...hmm...better get on that) and only slight more slowly toward Christmas (gifts? I have to think what to buy and afford them?) I feel ill-skilled to get all this done.

Even right now I need to tidy the living room as Fletcher has a pal coming over tomorrow. It's a pigsty in there. I just look at it and sigh. Then I sit on the couch and it adheres to me and I don't want to get up.

I can only hope I can overcome this lack of inertia and move in the vector of a job hunt. Easily the least favorite chore of my adult life.

Letting It Wash Over Me

2009-11-17T12:44:00.000-08:00

My Friday (the one just a few days ago) was going pretty well. I had finished my Friday report, was getting started on another project when my boss called. I admit that I don't remember the exact words because as soon as the words "bad news" entered my ear, so did a rushing noise of doom as I was told that the CEO who started on Thursday had made some cost-cutting decisions and I was one of them. After four years at this company, I am unemployed.

My British friends call it being redundant. What a mild word for such a sad concept. I'm no longer valuable. This CEO looked at a spreadsheet, saw some numbers next to my name, couldn't decide what I added to the company, made a red mark. I'm sad, shocked, a little blue. I'm trying not to be frantic. In my attempt at calm, I've become something more like paralyzed. Inaction is my task for today. Again, it seems sad.

Yes, I called the headhunter I used four years ago. She actually remembered me. Does that say something about me (and I hope it's good) or something about how sharp she is? Also a good thing. I'm still putting off redoing my resume. I will, really, probably tomorrow or Thursday. I just fear it. It's such a concrete admission of what's going on. Also, I managed to not get to the Unemployment office in time today. Actually, I got there 25 minutes before they closed, but they waved me off with imperious government employee waves, finally saying, "come back tomorrow."

I'm afraid. I'm still stunned. I was told this wasn't because of how I did my job, but how can I not feel like a failure for being some lacking in value to be easily dismissed. I will tell myself that better things are ahead and meanwhile fear that being 46, fluffy and with skills for a job usually populated by people at the beginning of their work history will consign me to something I dislike, or something that doesn't give me a survivable wage.

For now, I let the fear wash over me, I let the panic slide down my back, I let the paralysis take its time with me and I try to find joy in sitcoms, oat bran in a real fabric bag and lotion that smells like pink grapefruit.

Thinking Through Cotton

2009-11-11T08:22:00.000-08:00

I didn't realize that the lingering effect of flu would be a wooliness to my thoughts. Sure, I still have the gooiest cough that interrupts my sleep and continues to send me running for the bathroom as I try not to pee on myself, but it's the foggy brain that plagues me most. Plague - see what I did there?

Which is, frankly amazing, that I could make any sort of wordplay or joke as I feel like my personality has been folded into a tiny, sad square and packed away in a little, plain box. I feel dull, stupid and scatter-brained. I'm not known for having a great memory, but I can't walk three steps without forgetting why I started.

I can only hope that as the last of the insidious virus leaves my body, or the last of the white cells reorganize my internal system, that I will get back a bit of verve. Currently, I'm verve-less. Also, I'm lacking pep, vitality, energy and wit. Yes, totally witless.

So, while, inside my head I'm thinking complex thoughts about the misery of this House bill on healthcare that passed, but was neutered by the Stupak amendment, I can't seem to express any of the usual passion for or against the inspiring and irritating political types we've been seeing on our televisions. Bear with me, I'm sure my snarky, mean and hopefully, funny self will return.

Angry Ode to Swine Flu

2009-11-04T15:33:00.000-08:00

I was coasting along thinking, "wow, my immunity is really holding up" when the cough started. I still insisted it was just allergies and no relation to the cough Fletcher had. Then Friday evening, I first started feeling the congestion, the runny nose, the general malaise. Saturday I was able to rally for the usual Saturday morning things, but was already feeling wan. I think the middle of Saturday was a big nap. I can hardly remember. Made it through Halloween night by the skin of my teeth. Sunday dawned with full realization, I was sick.

I started taking all the online flu assessments. All of them told me, based on my answers that I was VERY SICK. Chills started up, full body aches, headache, violent coughing, and fever. Thou foul flu filled with goo.

Thou demon of the chest and bronchial tubes. What evil biology forged your existence? What porcine curse has landed in my joints to produce aches and shivers?

Ah, angry misery has caused my whining that alienates my one true care-taker, the only one left not afflicted. Forever chilling my skin, bringing to mind a bath of ice. A burning forehead, a neck like a glowing coal, pushes thermometers to 101.6.

No ode can really get to the heart of what a craptastic beast this flu is. I also have to watch my poor child suffer along with me and fear that my husband will be next. Let the Tamiflu gods look kindly upon all three of us. O, fever hallucinations, I return.

How Not to Be a Halloween Douche

2009-10-31T21:10:00.000-07:00

After tonight's festivities, I have some rules to keep me from hitting you in the head with a brick:

Unless you are taking your OWN children trick-or-treating, no matter how good the costume, if you are 6'5", stay home.

Treat bags are $1 at WalMart, splurge on one instead of using that creepy pillowcase. If you are using it because you are worried about bag breakage, you are too involved in the quest for candy.

If you can grow facial hair, stay home.

If your idea of cadging for candy is loading up the van with everyone, and going to a different neighborhood, stay home. Or go to the mall, they give out candy. I want to give it to my neighbors kids, not huge quantities of random children from another town.

If I've dropped the piece of candy in your bag, no matter how small it is, DO NOT give me a look like you are expecting more. You get what you get, move on.

Once you've received your treat, GET OUT OF THE WAY, you are blocking my porch for the rest of the rabble. I want to get this distribution over with as fast as possible.

If you are under 25, and only have a child under 1, you don't need to trick-or-treat. No one cares about your costume, and your very uncomfortable-looking baby should only be shown to a handful of people who give a shit. Also, you don't need that candy.

I happen to be sick almost every Halloween (last one, this one, horrible coughing) so if you ring the bell and I don't show up right away. Give up. Don't bang on my door or continue to ring. I'm in the bathroom retching from the coughing. And if I reappear while you're still there, I will be mean.

No editorials on what I gave you, good or bad. I don't want to know, no one wants to know, it will either be perceived as pettiness or gloating.
If we have turned out the lights, we are OUT OF CANDY. DO NOT ring the bell or knock. Why are you walking up to a dark house anyway? Glutton for serial killers?

Oh, and have a nice Halloween.

What Won't We Do for a Patch

2009-10-27T09:27:00.000-07:00

Here's my Cub Scout. He enjoys being a Scout, though he is so far from religious he has to work on his facial expressions when God is brought up. We had a Den Meeting last night and we met at the city Police Station for a tour. I'm not sure my child has one thought or another about the police. He's not the sort to be in trouble and I'm afraid, overall, he views police with some suspicion.

The tour was uneventful except the Autistic scout who kept pestering Fletcher and finally spit in his face. I'm sure I should be more understanding, but our Den meetings would go so much better without Jacob-on-the-spectrum. He's really disruptive. I don't have the tools to deal with him, his mother is exhausted and sometimes fails to deal with him, and the other boys freak at the sight of him. My son keeps turning around and rolling his eyes at me about Jacob.

The police officer (Officer Foster, to you) who took us on the tour was a short man, who looked a bit like a proper police doll in his little uniform. He seemed nice enough, but fairly dull and I suspect, not that bright. Our police station is very modern and homogeneous. At 7 p.m., nothing much is happening there. It's not as if they let the boys tour the jail. We stared at the 911 operators, saw a training room that was indistinguishable from every seminar room I've ever been in (though Office Foster did show the boys some training batons and the training cuffs) and peeked in a small gym.

At least the boys got a patch. And I'm sure this completed some step in the Wolf Cub achievements. We still have to determine which church will be the least offensive to my little Atheist so he can complete the requirement of religious institution attendance.

Witch of the West

2009-10-25T09:39:00.000-07:00

Every year since Fletcher turned 3 we have a birthday party for him. Every year it's on a Saturday at 2 p.m. and we host it in our backyard with open doors and guests wandering in and out to get food from the table. Every year, my mother drives 500 miles to show off her skills as amateur caterer. I do love my mother, in the way you love something that is both good and bad, supportive and judgmental, bittersweet. But, she couldn't be a better user of the back-handed compliment and the best practitioner of damning with faint praise.

I cleaned like a maniac (badly and with loads of sweat) in preparation for her arrival and the party. To be honest, more of it was focused on making her happy than worrying about parents of my son's friends noticing how piggishly I live. I could tell by the way she looked around that I didn't accomplish what I should have. She sneers at all my attempts to keep house and begins moving things around and constantly wiping everything with a damp paper towel.

She rolled in around 5:30 on Friday evening and immediately said several things. My husband needs to help me more, using the words "well you (meaning me) work full time." Implication being he doesn't. No, he doesn't, but he does make money for us. Also called my son, her only grandson, chunky. Yes, he's gained some weight. We are addressing it. She needs to back off about it. I'm chunky. My husband is chunky. We're all trying not to be chunky. Guess what, woman?! Insulting us never helps.

She took us out to eat at Red Robin as Fletcher (who had just turned 8) had restaurant choice. She always orders a petite burger and gives us all the evil eye if we order something larger. Claims that she really isn't glaring at us, but her vision is failing in her old age, but I remember her when she was my younger mother and she did it back then, too. I can't be fooled.

After dinner, Mom and I made a big trip to WalMart to get beverages and other sundries for the party. She was mostly tolerable on that trip but we had to spend too much time dithering over sun dried tomatoes in olive oil. And there was a long discussion about the olive oil I had in my cabinet, along with the admonition that I really should keep it in my refrigerator. Cause, you know, I love having to make it go from solid to liquid each time I use it.

Saturday morning was a fairly early start so I could send Fletcher and Joe off to Fletcher's soccer game and Mother and I could get the house ready fort he party. She cooked and fussed with things and I finished the cleaning the house so desperately needed. I got myself into a sweaty, cranky mess and already had a list of things I needed help with by the time Joe returned.

The day moved on with lots of sweaty running about for me, errands for Joe and nice cooking smells a product of what my mother was doing. I managed to be almost ready when the first child was dropped off early by his grandmother. Certainly by the time most of the guests showed, we were ready to entertain and feed them.

Two hours later after much decorating of superhero capes, greedy mad dashes for prizes and pinata droppings, it was over. Except for the brother and sister who were still there because Dad used that time to do some work. The sister had been invited, the impulse-control impaired older brother was like a prize we couldn't give back that came with. He managed, during the party, to hit my son twice in the head with a soccer ball, which prompted Fletcher to whack him in the head with a whiffle bat. Only fair. Much crying ensued on both sides at each injury. Ice packs were distributed.

The evening after the party included dinner made up of party food scraps and going to a showing of Where the Wild Things Are. Mom and I enjoyed the movie but I think Joe and Fletcher found it too melancholy. It might not really be a children's movie. But, visually, it was so stunning, I had to love it.

Mother left this morning with admonitions about picking up the living room each night and more worried comments about my son's health. I appreciated her help with the party but was not sad to see her close her Suburban door and drive away. I can only take so much Judy.

More Time to Create

2009-10-21T06:55:00.000-07:00

I love making art. But sometimes the creative portion of my brain can't fight its way out from the part busy filling spreadsheets with numbers, or designing pegboard units for Sears or picking up a mind-numbing number of toy parts from the living room floor.

Even with a degree in art, I have no delusions about making much, if any, money from it. I will never be a good marketer of my art, not good at making multiples of one thing, just not that sort of artist. I make things for friends, family, myself. I make things because the thing is in my head and I want to make it real.

But lately (and that covers a lot of ground) I've been so busy with work projects, house cleaning, party preparation and just general laziness in the in between bits that I haven't been creating. Now we have reached that point in the yearly cycle where my creations need to be aimed toward gifts. I'm good with this. I have pictures of past gift creations that still make me happy that I made them. So, it's time to start thinking of what is in my head that wants to be made real AND will be a great present for family or friend. Start my engines...the creative ones I mean.

Three colors, one flavor

2009-10-20T15:41:00.000-07:00

I do like Halloween. And, though it's not popular to say so, I like candy corn. My husband hates it, my son won't try it like most things and it's not good for me, so there isn't any in the house. But trust me, late the night of October 31st, after my son has looked over his haul, I will pick through and find the candy corn and eat it.

My son's birthday is essentially a week before Halloween. So, though usually I have decorations out, this year, I'm so swamped with work and getting ready for his party (cleaning the house so my mother doesn't tsk tsk about the state of my mind) that I haven't decorated for the season. Also, most of my outdoor decorations go in my flowerbeds, which are filled with weeds. I was hoping someone would tell me, that for a small fee, they would dig up the weeds. No one has volunteered to be paid for the honor yet.

And then there are the 22 superhero capes I have to make. Still working on that. But really...I'm looking forward to Halloween...and candy corn.

Admissions of a Shrew

2009-10-18T09:20:00.000-07:00

I'm a shrew. Really. But I don't mean in the eats ten times my own body weight to survive, I mean in the taming of way. I'm a yeller, at my child, at my husband. Sometimes I'm also a thrower during a particularly heated tantrum, usually in housekeeping and equitable division of chores arguments.

I don't like being this way. I'd love to be one of these measured Moms who speaks in gentle tones as I ask my child for the umpteenth time to stop putting his toys on the floor where I just cleaned, but since the minute I see said toy sitting in the area I just picked something up from I turn into a raging bull. Hmmm, I'm mixing my animal metaphors. So be it. Line up all the negative animal associations that convey anger, irritation, meanness and screeching and you will find me.

Every sound irritant, every mess (and the house really is a pigsty, part my fault, more theirs), every overwhelming new request for a work project sends me into a tizzy. I live a lot of my life in a tizzy. I don't like it. I'm just not sure how to change.

And, yet, here I sit, typing this blog instead of working on the chores that have an endgame. I should be completing tasks that have a completion. Helping myself feel accomplished. But in addition to being a shrew, I'm also a slug. A champion procrastinator of a slug. Again, another negative animal metaphor to add to me oeuvre.

Celebrities, Has-Beens, Wish-fors: Oh My

2009-10-16T08:27:00.000-07:00

I'm constantly reminded that there are people who really want the attention, the camera, the crowd on them, looking AT them. On Twitter, the reminders are constant. Oh, there are the "nice" celebrities - like Virginia Madsen or Stephen Fry. They tweet some personal items, more likely links to things that interest them. They don't seem to be dancing around trying to get us to notice. Course I also don't find their politics offensive. Unlike someone like Scott Baio, a washed up has-been I hadn't given a thought unless I accidentally (and most unfortunately) have happened on a Happy Days rerun with Chachi in it.

Suddenly, he's all over Twitter spouting his, clearly, uninformed and uber-conservative "opinions." (One hateful opinion was actually the bimbo utterings of his wife that he agreed with.) He's telling all us "regulars" (you know, those of us not in the media spotlight for some reason or other, or at least not sucking at media's teat in a whore-ish fashion) how great it is to be him and a Conservative and how great his life is. So a follower of his made a silly joke relating to his brag of how rich he was. He completely overreacts, claims he's being extorted, blah blah. What a tool. And, really, it's not as if this upsets some good opinion I had of him, just reinforces what I suspected. He's a stupid, tiny man with no talent.

Yesterday, our TVs were entranced with the silver popover zooming through the Colorado skies, possibly carrying a six-year-old boy. As the story has unfolded, the boy wasn't in the popover, he didn't fall from it, he hid in the attic and perhaps the entire thing was yet another bid for this media whore-ish family (or at least the father) to get more attention. Dad Heene, first off, don't name your poor child Falcon. Do you want him to be ostracized for the rest of his life? Or, spend so much time saying "Yes, Falcon, like the bird." And, Dad Heene, a six-year-old, even a particularly clever or media savvy one, still can't keep a secret straight and will easily blow the deal when you want him to "pretend" the facts.

And, if you are an actual celebrity, not a has-been or a wishing-to-be, such as Miley Cyrus (yes, I'll concede by definition she is a celebrity, though I will not pretend I find her talented or fun to listen to) stop being such a princess thinking so many people care if you are or aren't on Twitter or anywhere else for that matter. I know you have all these bubbly tween girl fans who still want to think of you as Hannah or a bunch of skeevy older guys who have gross fantasies about you. But I'm guessing most people won't notice your absence. So stop making it into something.

As for the rest of you has-beens, come back to us with style. You want us to pay attention again, do some good and do it a bit selflessly (and for my money, do it on the left, not right: I won't pretend to care about you if you agree with Beck.) And the wish-fors, do something truly interesting or heroic, or at least kind. Stop trying to get our attention like a four-year-old with a frog.

And, real celebrities, those I see too much in the news, on my television, on Twitter, use your galaxies-revolve-around-me for extra good things. Donate some of that money, notoriety, time to a good cause. Pay attention to the regulars, speak to them occasionally because even without the spotlight some of our ideas and lives are interesting, too.

Tale of the Trip, Part V: Last Day in the Parks

2009-10-12T09:27:00.001-07:00

We had the opportunity with our Park Hopper passes to take advantage of a "magic hour" one of the days. We saved it for this last day where we could get in at 9 instead of 10. Apparently, we weren't the only ones as the line to get some magic was immense and our house turned into more like 39 minutes of magic.

All we had left was to spend time in Tomorrowland. First stop was Star Tours where we were loaded into our shuttle, vaguely amused by the robot pilot who shook us around on a wild ride. Fletcher loved it.

I can't remember the order in which we did everything else, but at some point we were getting lunch and Fletcher noticed the Jedi training going on nearby so we vowed to do that at a later point. We rode the Buzz Lightyear thing where you shoot at stuff with your laser gun. We took the Innoventions modern house tour. Now I want that dining table with the interactive ponds in it.

We sat through the Asimo presentation that was stunning. He runs, he climbs stairs, it still feels like a special effect but it's happening right in front of you.

We almost rode Space Mountain. I had sort of misjudged how much of a rollercoaster it was, made us stand in line, then when we caught sight of it, Fletcher (and me) happily took the exit before we got on it. Tower of Terror was already too much, never again do we want to drop that much. Instead we happily watched the slightly dated Honey I Shrunk the Audience, still fun for Fletcher and reminding us again how he needs to see some more movies.

When we went back at the afternoon time slot for the Jedi training we found Fletcher a place to squeeze in at the front of the group and he was picked. They put each child (about 25 of them) in a brown paduwan robe and give each a plastic light saber (the kind you press the button and flick the retracting plastic "light" out, various colors), then taught the children with lots of good patter and whipping of sabers about how to take down an enemy. Then, lo and behold, a bit of the stage rises to Darth Vader's theme and there he is and also Darth Maul. Each child gets to take a turn defeating one or the other. Fletcher fought Darth Maul. It was precious. He's a bit awkward. But you could tell he was having a blast.

The finish is a certificate and of course we had to promise to buy him his own light saber. Finally we rode Autopia where you drive cars around a track. Then we rode the claustrophobic but worth it Finding Nemo submarine ride. Fletcher doesn't really remember his toddler year of watching that movie in a loop. Joe and I do.

Last thing we did in that area was to purchase the double-ended super light saber that Fletcher helped create. Barely fit in the luggage on the way home. I found some lovely Alice in Wonderland tea for myself and some blue crystal Mickey head earrings. We had time to kill to we took the monorail to Downtown Disney as Joe wanted a chunk of time to really shop that big Disney store located there.

We found gifts for people, for ourselves, a bathroom for Fletcher to use. After lots of frittering, we walked out the other direction of the Downtown, then back to Disneyland so we could find a spot to see the parade. We kept finding spots that looked great but either were told to move along or found out they weren't actually on the route. Finally settled in behind some people who reluctantly allowed Fletcher to stake out a tiny bit of curb and watched the parade.

The parade was lots of music, colorful costumes, many of the classic and new Disney characters. Stitch was playful with Fletcher trying to put Fletch's hat on. Ending play with putting both his fuzzy little hands on Fletcher's head. Fletcher was handed one of the flat drums to beat on during the dancing. All in all, pretty cool, though we think the Pixar Parade at CA was probably better.

Our last hurrah at Disneyland would be the Halloween Screams light show and fireworks display at outside the castle. I left the boys to stake out a good bench while I walked back to the hotel to drop off the heavy purchase from earlier. I was tired of schlepping stuff, needed to take some medicine and use a better bathroom. I accomplished this (though the stupid room key card was again not working and had to go get a new one - the third time that happened) and found Joe and Fletcher back at Disney on a well-placed bench. I ate a churro. Disney seems to be powered by churros.

As the time neared for the show, the crowd swelled, got surly, calmed down and waited. The streetlights went out, powerful voices announced Halloween things over the loudspeaker. It began. Shapes in colored light were projected on the castle, while the darker of Disney characters narrated things about Halloween and songs were sung, then fireworks entered into the choreography. It was spectacular. Fletcher and I loved it. I think even Joe did, and he's not usually impressed with fireworks. Disney does these kinds of things well.

Once done, we trotted out of the park, back toward the hotel, skipping over it for a meal at Mimi's next door. Sure, it's a chain restaurant and we have one back home, but sometimes that's what you need. Except the host was super surly and slow. Could have done without that. Food was good. We went back to the hotel room to pack a little, goof off a lot. Next morning, I commandeered the packing so we could get everything in, we left a bit early for the airport so we could stop at what turned out to be a fairly disappointing Disney Outlet store, but made it to the flight just in time.

Two flights and two hours of dark, dark driving later, we were home. Our house smelled weird and alien, the cats acted odd and it was midnight.

Tale of the Trip, Part IV: Day Two Means California Adventures

2009-10-11T09:59:00.000-07:00

Day Two of the Park Hopper pass would go to California Adventures. It doesn't open until 10 so we could sleep in a bit and we convinced the child that we would eat the the hotel restaurant, Millie's instead of getting his daily does of McDonald's biscuits. He still had a biscuit, just from a new source. Millie's biscuits turned out to be gigantic, fluffy clouds. I regret we ordered him two. It was a lot of food. I had a pancake the size of a bicycle tire.

Then, off to California Adventures through the same bag-checking entrance and right across from our entry to Disneyland. The main circle features a giant candy corn with Heimlich from Bug's Life rising out of a big bite of it jabbering about eating more of it. It's cute. We pose Fletcher in front of everything candy corn-oriented and take many pictures.

We walk to the Hollywood Pictures Backlot to ride the Monsters, Inc ride making us realize that our son needs to see more Disney movies. It was fun. Then, since Joe loves Twilight Zone, we decide to ride the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror ride. Fletcher is tall enough now, but it turns out the ride is 5% Twilight Zone atmosphere and 95% falling. Even big people like us rise frighteningly off our seats, over and over. It was fairly terrifying. We will never ride it again. The culmination of the ride is the theme store. Things were bought.

Once it was open we saw the Muppets 3D movie. Loved it. Then wandered through the animation exhibit. Pretty cool spinning animation thing that shows the Toy Story people like a 3D flip book. Played with other animation exhibits.

Next up is going to the Bug's Land area to see more Bug's Life stuff. Starting with a 3D presentation about the trouble being a bug.

We rode bug-shaped bumper cars, Fletcher rode spinning ladybugs, we wandered about looking at everything made in a size to make us feel like tiny bugs. It's cute. We moved on to the bread factory tour where they hand you a sample, which just caused Fletcher to want more sourdough bread, so after the tour, I stood in the very long line at the attached cafe to purchase a loaf of bread and some water. After enjoying some bread and feeding crusts to the multitude of birds who have completely figured out the best place to be is outside the bread factory, we went to the Midway area to stand in line for Toy Story Mania ride. The line was long, but tolerable, the ride was really fun. You ride in little cards that spin you around to face targets you "fire" at with digital pop guns.

Fletcher loved it. Then we dropped too much cash on the excessively expensive midway games, but at least Fletcher came away with some stuffed prizes, his favorite being a Dumbo. We quickly walked through the Mission Tortilla factory tour so I could eat some tortillas. Fresh, hot tortillas.

It was nearing time for the daily Pixar Play Parade so we headed to find a snack near where we should sit to get the best view. We staked out a bench, one of us going for provisions, while the other kept our squatter's rights to, what would turn out to be, a perfect place for the parade.

After the parade, we considered going back to Disney, and then I don't remember what happened. Oh right, we were tired. Went back to the hotel.

Tale of the Trip, Part III - Our First Full Disney Day

2009-10-10T10:37:00.001-07:00

Husband had an idea that since we were in a completely different state, he could find a copy of Locus magazine in a local bookstore. We drove to the first Borders we could find, nothing. We drove to the second, Borders, still nothing and now we were hungry and forced to eat Johnny Rocket's mall food as we were in an Orange County mall and had to find a place with a grilled cheese sandwich to satisfy Fletcher. I think I waited too long to eat with low blood sugar and thus my patty melt struck me as absolutely nauseating. I survived by eating a few fries and figuring a snack could come later.

We found a Trader Joe's in the same area, bought snacks, went back to our mediocre hotel room and realized we were jet lagged, exhausted, and actually fell asleep at 10.

We were up early on Sunday morning because we could get into Disneyland at 8 a.m. and we were determined to do just that. We walked to the McDonald's next door to the hotel (seriously, this is probably a waking dream for my child), ate our usual McD's fare, then walked the two blocks to the Disney entrance. You feel like it's right there, but once you get through the carefully snipped bushes, you realized you must still walk at least a block of bus lanes and benches to get to where they search your bags. Then you still have half a block or so until the plaza where California Adventures on the left, Downtown Disney in the center and Disneyland on the right have their entrances.

We showed our printed tickets to the man at the Disneyland entrance, he turned them into cute little Disney ticket cards and off we went. We boarded the old-fashioned train to go round the park to Toontown, the place Fletcher (at least originally) wanted to see. As we rolled past Frontierland and New Orleans, we saw the backsides of several rides and then got off at Toontown station.

It looked just like Fletcher imagined a real version of the online Toontown game he plays. We stood in front of various buildings for pictures, we rode the Roger Rabbit ride, we bought water. Course this was all after Toontown opened. We got there a bit before 9 so we had to kill time on the It's a Small World ride. Fletcher liked the old-fashioned singing puppets and little boat. That was a win.

After exhausting what Toontown had to offer Fletcher and I rode the teacups (Joe isn't good for the spinning), then continued on through Frontierland. Didn't see too much to excite there but we found some lunch (if I recall) got a Fastpass for Indiana Jones, went on to New Orleans to see about a Fastpass for the Haunted Mansion and took the big steamboat for the 10 minute ride. By then it was time to take Haunted Mansion Holiday ride which has turned from whatever it was into something semi-scary completely featuring the cast of characters from Nightmare Before Christmas. I liked the look, husband wished he could have seen what it was upgraded from. I guess whatever went into that horrible Eddie Murphy movie.

After the Mansion we took the raft out to the Pirate's Lair and watched Fletcher climb on things. We rode the Jungle Cruise with its usual patter-y tour guide, ate some strange African BBQ on a stick (Joe and I did, not Mr. Grilled Cheese), and spent more time in a one of the stores.And then our time to ride Indiana Jones happened. It was great. Exciting, whiplash inducing, Fletcher's favorite ride up to that point. Thank goodness it had places to put your stuff (little net bags built in) cause everything we owned would have been lost in there.

By the time we finished we were exhausted, but decided to take the monorail to Downtown Disney (we didn't know at this point how close the Downtown entrance was, we are stupid) so we could pick up Fletcher's personalized Lego brick, maybe eat dinner, then take monorail back in time for fireworks. We made it to the Lego store, I wandered off to take advantage of a free consultation at Sephora and the boys, apparently, spent time waiting for them to redo Fletcher's brick as his name was spelled Fietcher on the first one.

By the time we found each other again, Fletcher was too tired for the fireworks, the monorail wasn't running because of the fireworks, so we took a cab back to the hotel. Even if we'd known about the other exit, Fletcher was in no mood to walk. We ordered pizza for us, got a Happy Meal for Fletch and the evening was done.

Tale of the Trip, Part II - We Still Aren't at Disney

2009-10-09T07:56:00.000-07:00

So after tooling around the Downtown Disney parking lot for 10 minutes looking for anywhere to shove our rental car, we finally did that stalking thing waiting for some family that did fake hurrying motions to get in their van. Thanks for pretending to go faster, family of three. We wandered into Downtown Disney looking to kill time and perhaps waste money. Immediately found the Lego store, much to Fletcher's delight. Spent many minutes in there wherein we ordered a personalized Lego brick for Fletcher and I hovered near the Lego head food scale I wish I had purchased (but couldn't justify at $25 and kind of big for luggage ride home.)

After Lego, we strolled around until 4-ish. Still hadn't received a call from the Fairfield, so I called them. "Yeah, your room is ready, we don't usually call people." Really? Then why did you ask me for my cell number you useless clerkbot. So we go back to the hotel, receive our dull (and soon to be realized useless) key cards, drive around to the far side of the hotel (which will turn out to have good view of the fireworks) and push our way into the mediocre room. It was a bargain, I'm not complaining.

Tale of the Trip - Part I: Where all the dull bits happen

2009-10-08T11:53:00.000-07:00

To give context to the whole vacation, we rolled in to our driveway last night at midnight. I might still be harboring some crankiness from that last two hours driving in the drizzly dark. From Tulsa. A place I like less each time I'm there.

Friday was our departure day to Tulsa to spend the night, then fly out the next morning. We were unwilling to get up at the crack of dark on Saturday, thus an extra night away from home. Then we had a tiny storm and not so tiny power surge that did something nasty to husband's computer. Turned out, it mostly (at the time, more on that later) just reordered what to boot up and was trying to primary boot from the photo printer. Almost a comical little computer problem. Look at the funny computer trying to boot from its photo printer, it should know better.

After much dialogue with the nice tech support from Cybertron, husband fixed computer so he would go with us instead of yelling, "You will just have to go without me. I'm ruined." We did go and he went with us a little later than originally planned, but we headed out before 5 p.m. to drive to Tulsa (about two hours away) to a Super 8 near the airport to spend one, cheap night before our flight at 9 in the morning.

We go to Tulsa, getting lost a bit as our GPS is a little bit of short bus, so we saw more of a seedy section of Tulsa before we found our slightly seedy Super 8. I checked us in, we trundled down the narrow parking lot to our slot in front of our beige room to find a king bed (what we wanted) with exactly two pillows on it. Two pillows? I tried not to stomp to the office to ask for more pillows to be told, "Sorry, only the first four rooms on this side have four pillows, the others just have two. We don't have extras." Who knew we'd lose the pillow lottery.

After we settled in for the night, it wasn't too miserable. We had eaten at Denny's, which was its usual post-modern pablum in the 70s setting. We knew we had an early morning to get re-packed and shuttled to the Southwest terminal for our flight. The uninformative East Indian guy took us to the airport, we dragged our big-ass luggage in, checked it and got our back of the group boarding passes. My walk through the beep hallway wasn't as miserable as usual cause Tulsa has a full body imager for those of us who set off the security alarms. Instead of being wanded, patted and foot-checked, I stood in a futuristic telephone booth thing with my hands out and some big magnet circled me a couple of times. Easy peezy.

Our first flight was a fairly uneventful one to Phoenix. Then we ate in Phoenix, but I can't remember what. Then on to flight from there to Orange County. That flight had absolutely no open seats, was really crowded and I was pushed to sit by myself next to a Middle Eastern guy I couldn't understand who hogged the arm rest. He might have said he was in gas futures or bass fishing. I have no clue. That flight couldn't have ended soon enough for me. I'm a big girl (and by that, I am not making a point about my grownup-ness, I'm fluffy, but not squishy and I don't fit well into the window seat with a shared arm rest) and this was uncomfortable for me.

When we landed, we were feeling excited about being near Disneyland. Then we had to endure the "renting of the car." I had already reserved it but the lines, me not realizing my damn license had expired, the car my husband picked that felt like it was digging into my hip. Husband drove, the GPS was pretty good, we found the Fairfield Inn. It looked a bit shabby but was located two blocks across the street from Disneyland, so hard to complain about it. Except the part where we got there just before 3, exhausted, ready to schlep our stuff into the room and were told it wouldn't be ready until four. Clerk asked if she could call me when it was ready and what was my number.

So, off we went to Downtown Disney to waste time. Etc.

The Packing, the Packing

2009-09-30T07:06:00.000-07:00

As promised to our son two years ago at the completion of our trip to DisneyWorld, we are going to DisneyLand in a few days. He loved DWorld but it was missing a few things he had heard about that are, apparently, at DLand so here we go.

Somewhere inside me I am excited about this trip. I love schlepping around amusement parks, spending too much money on bad food and riding pointless rides. Wait, that still sounded snarky, rude and not like I was excited. But really, I am. It's just the doing all the laundry, planning what we need, making sure my work is completed before I am disconnected from computer 24/7, packing everything, getting us into the car, the car to Tulsa, us on a plane, the plane to Anaheim (via Phoenix) then to the hotel. It sounds exhausting, not fun.

But, it will be fun for Fletcher and that's what parents are for. Providing memories for our children to tell others as they grow older. That currently manifests as gloating at school, but we're working on that attitude.

I do want Fletcher to remember family trips, worried what he will remember is the shrew mother screaming at everyone to "get in the damn car, now." I'm hoping he will remember that I found a McDonald's next to everywhere we would be to make sure he had his supply of biscuits. And that he will remember his parents gamely riding whatever he wants, and seeing and exclaiming and listening to his summary of everything else.

Right now, I should be doing laundry. But I also have to sit through a dull webinar for work in a few minutes. Some day I really would love to actually be ready for things without panic.

I Could Do Without the Sun

2009-09-27T09:05:00.000-07:00

Yesterday one of the other soccer parents said how wonderful it was that it was warm and sunny. As part of the social convention of pleasantry, I had to nod and mumble agreement, but inside I was sort of cranky. I'm not really an outdoors person. Or a sun person. Or a warm day person. I'm more of an indoor, watching overcast skies and knowing the temperature is dropping sort of person.

I don't dream of sunning on warm beaches. I dream of being in some sort of big chair with a book and cup of coffee with wind blowing outside. I don't even like fires, but if I have to sit next to one to get snow, I will.

Today is very warm with a high of 86. I couldn't like a day less. I'm in a lathery panic about everything I have to do, feeling all sorts of work, messy house, getting ready for trip and birthday party pressure and to top it off, it's miserably sunny out there. I am much more productive on a cool, cloudy day. Tomorrow, it will still be sunny, but is supposed to much cooler. I'm holding you to that weather. Don't disappoint me.

If Money is Like Water, What about the Reverse

2009-09-25T08:25:00.000-07:00

I'm not pretending we are rich, by any stretch of the imagination. But we do so-so. Usually, we can cover what we need to and have a bit of extra. Inevitably, we make a decision like going on a trip, then suddenly it seems like all the money I thought would be there, isn't. Not really my fault, I make the same paycheck every two weeks no matter what. I get my car allowance, kind of on time. Perhaps I'm slow in filing expense reports, but they are slow in sending the checks, so we're even.

Not my husband's fault, his money comes in more randomly, but abundantly. Are either of us spending like drunken monkeys? Not really. Maybe we eat out too much or I buy groceries we don't use right away. Also, I have no clue what to do with cheap cuts of meat, so I don't buy them. Sure, we go see a movie here and there with our son. And he is more often than not the beneficiary of my husband's need to shop. Or my need to shop.

Still, I'm amazed how fast it all goes. We leave for Disneyland in a week. The flight is paid for, the hotel is pre-paid, the tickets to get us into the park, paid. We will have to cover car rental, a cheap hotel in Tulsa for one night to avoid getting up at 5 a.m. and meals. So, can we do it? I'm sure we'll do our best. Will we ignore the cable bill in lieu of a great vacation? Possibly.

Why am I musing on this to know one's interest? Because I need to. And maybe, because I'm probably a representative of so many Americans who live like we do. Money comes in, money goes out. A few things to show for it. A lot of stress accompanying it. And, for now, my job gives us health insurance. But if it didn't, there would be no trips because we'd be paying for medicine and doctor's visits.

Do we deserve a trip to an amusement park? FDR sort of thought we did. Before he died, he presented the New Bill of Rights that included entertainment (along with healthcare, housing, education, living wage.) He felt that the average person needed fun things to hope for and do. My child certainly deserves it. He has done nothing to accidentally be born into a family that lives hand to mouth. He is a smart, loving child and I want him to have all good things. We get to go along for the trip, so by virtue of relation, we deserve a trip, too.

And, seriously, I'm not giving up my daily $1.29 I spend on McDonald's coffee either.

In this Episode, My Head Explodes

2009-09-22T19:08:00.000-07:00

So my day started with a migraine. Sure, I still got out of bed, got the child out of his bed, fed him, dressed him, shoveled him out the door and to school. I even let my husband sleep but it was not because I was being kind, I wanted to make sure it was my mitts on my McDonald's coffee first, hoping it would cure what ailed me. I sipped it on the way home and it still didn't help. I even ate a McMuffin (something I usually only allow myself on Saturdays) and that didn't help. The pain was dreadful. Shoving my eyes closed, throbbing, making me hate light and sound and all odors. Work wasn't emailing or phoning any urgent requests so I took to my bed.

I slept until some point when husband left to go volunteer at son's school, woke up long enough to say bye and "please bring me some tea" then went back to sleep. Until 12:30. I sat up, didn't feel pain, slowly got out of bed. I was pain-free enough to take a hot bath. Then ate lunch husband brought (sure, I gave in again and had a Schlotsky's sandwich, not really on the food plan, not really worrying about it by then.) As I was taking my pre-lunch shot, I realized I was shaking so I took my blood sugar, too. It was 59. 59! That is way too low for most people and really, really low for me. I was, by then, shaking so bad I could hardly put my sandwich on a plate. I was getting the tunnel vision I get when that low. Made it through lunch, though.

Then an afternoon of post-migraine, post-low brain fog. Accomplished little but began feeling the panic of all things not done. Things were done in the afternoon, son was readied for choir concert, made it in and out of that, made it to dinner. Somewhere along the way there or to the book store or back home, husband said the words that would start a new wave of panic "we go to Disney in ten days." If I drew cartoons, I would draw myself with large O's for eyes, staring straight ahead in panic.

Sure, I can use a calendar. I've been doing things to get ready but I hadn't really used a word like "ten." I wasn't really counting in that way. And it's not the trip that is the problem. Yes, I need to make sure we have the right clothing, etc. to go to Anaheim, but it's the sheer amount of work I need to finish before I'm not sitting at my computer. I admit it. I'm a monster procrastinator. I work from home. I do just what has to be done and when it needs to be done. But if I'm going to be away from my computer, I can't suddenly throw something together. I have to have things DONE before I leave so I'm not being pestered, or worse, spoken sternly to when I get back. I can't spend the whole vacation worrying about this planogram or that data sync batch.

So, I'm feeling the tightness in my chest now. The migraine pain is trying to push back to my forehead. My breath is a little short and my temper is shorter. If only, if only....if only he hadn't made it so concrete with those words "we do to Disney in ten days."

Sundays, Lazy Sundays

2009-09-20T09:03:00.000-07:00

I'm sure it's fingernails on chalkboard screechy to churchgoers to hear me say, we don't attend church. Sunday is the only day of the week that we don't have somewhere to be in the morning at a particular time. That alone prevents us from finding a church. That's only the logistical reason. The fact that, though I grew up in a Presbyterian church, I have rarely attended any kind of church for years and that my husband grew up with little church attendance and finds himself more aligned with views of agnostics also puts us a distance from committing to a visit to a church.

Then there's our son. He has declared himself an atheist who believes solely in science. I'm fine with this, if after some further exposure to various religious texts and dogmas, he still feels this way. But I do think he probably needs to see different sides of church before he abandons it completely. I still find myself a person who believes in God (some God, I'm not terribly picky) and I still pray (which I think I see more as meditation or affirmation than anything else.) I don't want Fletcher to miss out on what might be comforting and pleasant in a church or faith. So, at some point, I'm sure we will look for something that doesn't completely disenfranchise his views while still giving him a different perspective.

The last time I was happy going to a church was some years ago in Austin, Texas. I went to a Unity church (non-denominational Christian, very metaphysical) with the most amazing female minister. She was short, African-American, full of energy. Like having Whoopi Goldberg as your minister. My roommate and I went twice a week because we loved it so much. This church had the congregation saying affirmations together before the sermon. This relaxed us, left us open to the interesting, intelligent metaphysical interpretations of the Bible and dogma. It was church that could be applied to my everyday life and I miss that. I haven't found it since.

My husband would be open to attending a Unitarian Universalist church. So would I. The nearest one is 25 miles away and we are loathe to interrupt our extreme Sunday laziness to attend. And we are loathe to find clothing that would seem appropriate for our first visit to a new congregation. But we think that we will work toward this. Fletcher needs some religious attendance for a Cub Scout badge and that may be our impetus. That also may be the one way to get him to agree to this trip to a church without argument. He does love earning badges.

I do love waking up when I feel like (thwarted frequently by son who keeps whispering "I'm hungry" before I want to get up) on a Sunday morning. And not having to look anything more pulled together than rumpled and fluff-haired. And I love the relaxed pace of eventually getting the paper from the sidewalk out front, and eventually finding lunch. But, sometimes I do miss the community a church would provide and another way to meet people of like minds.

In Heaven We All Wear Crowns

2009-09-18T05:32:00.000-07:00

After watching Carrie PreJean speak on the C-Span coverage of the Values Voters Conference (don't get me started on that title), I wanted to write more about her than just the snarky comments I kept posting on Twitter. Not that those weren't my feelings and true, very true.

Where to begin. Here. She looks like a high-priced call girl. This is a supposedly uber-Conservative Christian crowd and Miss Thang comes out in a ruffled, sleeveless halter-top thing, big ol' sparkly, dangly earrings, loads of makeup and fluffy up-do pony. She is five minutes from skank.

No matter what she is saying, she sounds like an idiot. Really. She can say "that was how I was raised" all damn day and it is still not an excuse for judgmental, close-minded behavior. If I were raised to think blonde girls like her were for white slavery, that wouldn't make it right. Being "raised" to discriminate against sections of humanity doesn't make it a good thing. It makes you a jerk. A bigoted jerk at that. In fact, she even referenced how she isn't a bigot. Clearly she doesn't understand the definition of bigot, because intolerance toward someone for their sexuality is bigoted. It just is.

I think there was even a reference to the fact that she didn't want to be thrust into the public spotlight. My head just popped off. YOU WERE IN A PAGEANT! ON NATIONAL TV! It's all spotlight, you moron. Nothing but spotlights. Clearly, you wanted to be in a spotlight. Stop lying.

Not that the crowd listening to her would be the least bit critical of her look, her stupid, stupid words, or her intolerant attitude. They were all applause, and the men were all drooling, no doubt thinking of Christian-appropriate ways to have their way with her.

I'm a bit torqued at C-Span for subjecting us to this. My hope is still that it was so we could mock it. In that case, thanks C-Span, it was fun to mock. Though now I still feel a bit stabby just thinking about that bimbo justifying her nonsense attitudes and putting the blame on the question, not her answer.

And They Continue to Disappoint

2009-09-16T13:10:00.001-07:00

I know not to have expectations of politicians, even the ones who are supposedly on my side, supposedly share my ideals. But, judging by the summary of points in Max Baucus' latest, I am disappointed beyond belief. HR3200 didn't even provide everything I wanted in a health care reform bill - frankly, I'm still holding out for single payer - but it covered most of the major points. Baucus has taken those ideas, crapped on them, then repackaged them weakly to produce the worst bill ever.

This bill stinks so much no one will come near it. He has alienated all progressives, tried some douchebag sleight hand by substituting lame co-ops for the public option and still hasn't managed to entice a single Republican to his side. Why was he left in charge? There must be a "we'd like something decent out of your committee" provision where someone like Baucus could be replaced.

I will keep searching for the full text of the bill. Mostly because I'd like to tear it down in detail. Also, I have a feeling something even lamer is hidden in it. Meanwhile, I will hope that President Obama says no thank you to this and again lists those provisions that MUST appear in a true reform bill.

Short message from Me

2009-09-15T09:02:00.001-07:00

I have a headache. Go away now. Don't come near me unless you are offering coffee, hot tea or cheese.

Seriously. Not kidding.

If Legos Were T-Shirts...

2009-09-14T07:34:00.000-07:00

The only super power I've always wanted was the ability to transmute (or some similar word, not bothering to look up) matter into other matter. Real world example, turning the thousands of tiny toy pieces I am sick of seeing coat my floor into a fabulous pair of yoga pants. Yes, I'm bitching about the mess in my house again.

But it's part of a larger discussion. Not only do I want to live in a tidy house with less clutter, it would behoove the environment if my household didn't create so much trash and seemingly hoard so many possessions. I know my son doesn't need the sheer amount of stuff he has. And, when he's not looking, some of it gets freecycled, thrown away, occasionally sold. I'm not trying to be an evil mother but I think having so much causes him internal chaos. I know it causes me all sorts of cranky.

I don't set the best example. My bedroom looks like I've allowed gypsies to camp there, but to be fair to myself, the largest portion of junk in there belongs to my son. It's where he hides his guilty pleasure of playing with an inordinate amount of Littlest Pet Shop pets, playsets, tiny plastic food. A collection he will show his small female friends but keeps from his male pals.

I don't have a good solution. Either I get that power to transmute, turning all the clutter into fashionable ensembles and good furniture, I am suddenly flush with enough cash to pay minions to clean up for me, or I just get to work. Meanwhile, as I wait for the Sears repairman to show (between 8 and 5, the most venal phrase ever uttered) to determine why the dryer dries so poorly AND leaves weird brown marks on our laundry, I will try to pick up a few things. Because it's getting hard to explain to strangers why the house of a woman who works from home looks like I let in hobo lodgers.

Persistence of Memory

2009-09-11T12:10:00.000-07:00

I never think dwelling on the events of 9/11 is particularly constructive. I didn't know any victims nor do I know families of victims, but I would hope that whatever is done to memorialize the dead helps them rather than causing them to relive misery.

Certainly, like all humans who watched those events unfold that day, I have specific memories. I was pregnant with Fletcher, a little over a month until I would have him. I was huge, tired, and had swollen ankles. I was still reporting to work in an office back then so I was watching the television as I got ready to leave for work. I saw the confused coverage of the first tower/plane collision, thinking for a bit, that it was just a small plane accidentally hitting the building. As we watched the reporters discuss the first tragedy with no real information, no context, we saw the second plane hit. I had the confused response at the time that it was just showing us the first collision, not a second. But as the truth hit me, I realized none of this was accident. We were watching a singularly horrible event unfold.

I remember I had to go to work even though tearing myself away from the images was difficult. We were allowed to have the television in the conference room on and each person wandered in and out checking to see what was happening. I was just an administrative assistant so I had more time to check and was in the room watching when the first tower fell. I and others in the room gasped.

All day as the second tower fell and we watched people run from the dust cloud, fall from the sky, rescued or dead, we watched without believing. It was too terrible to view as anything but an event removed from us in Dallas, almost something pretend being shown to us. It would take days to truly understand the extent of the horror.

I saw someone write that they felt this year's anniversary particularly but didn't understand why. His wife remarked, perhaps it's because it's the first year, the anniversary isn't being used to illustrate some inappropriate political agenda. I think she's right. We have moved on to a new President, something of a new era, where we can remember our dead, our heroes, without the context of using this event as impetus to make bad decisions. I can only hope in the coming anniversaries that we see that the reminder of this event pushes our country to use those feelings for good.

They All Lie...and I Don't Mean Obama

2009-09-10T19:03:00.000-07:00

Not that I'm not constantly aware of the depths to which Republicans will sink in their behavior, propaganda, bizarre naming conventions. But yelling "You Lie" to our sitting President during a speech to Congress and the country is just childish, rude, and stupid. Course, I would love to think Joe Wilson's constituents would reject him based on this egregious behavior, but apparently he lives in delusional, red land and they love him for being a shithead.

But all that frat boy, douchebag behavior couldn't take away the excitement I felt at a great speech from President Obama. I felt hopeful and inspired, then I saw comments on my wall on Facebook. I'm rarely surprised at the idiocy on there as my husband and I are often at the center of a right versus left firestorm (I write it that way because we make left-leaning comments and the right wing nut jobs pounce, we didn't start the fire, etc.) but I found that in response to me calling Arlington Texas school district hypocritical for not showing Obama's speech but busing the fifth graders to Texas Stadium to see W (supported by many, many articles, one of which I posted to support my views) one of my acquaintances of the tea bag variety had posted several lengthy diatribes. (Sorry, that was a really long sentence, you should hear me talk when I get on this stuff.)

So this woman, who I worked with some years ago, and maintain a mostly Christmas-card-exchanging-rare-email-now-Facebook-friends relationship with argued that it wasn't hypocrisy as they children were going to see sports figures also (huh? how does that help) and I should respect Bush and why didn't I support him (I never have, I think he's a moron and I'm pretty sure she knew that about me) and besides Obama is half-white so why does my husband keep saying people are being racist toward him? My head spins with the stupidity of her statements. Also, it's clear to me she's been watching a lot of Fox, listening to Rush and perhaps showing up for some teabagger events.

She went on in a separate posting to call out how the health care reform is absurd and there aren't really 47 million uninsured cause 8 million of those are illegals (totally wrong, no illegals are included in that number) and again, why would I ever say anything negative about Bush. Really?? I can think of 25 reasons why I would starting with stupidest President ever.

So, once I saw this stuff, I exploded with words, unfriended her and will delete her from my Christmas card list when I can be bothered. She's a stupid person who obviously buys into every piece of crap talking point ever spit out by the demagogues of the right. I don't need people like her in my life. And, for the record, if I post something in my status, people can comment, even disagree but diatribes on my wall that are in direct opposition to me are just rude. I don't troll Facebook looking for something to disagree with. I don't understand the other trolls.

Taking a step back it appears that Repugs act badly at the micro level and the macro level. I'm not at all surprised, just amazed so many examples of it popped up in less than 24 hours.

Can Gene Therapy Cure This?

2009-09-09T12:22:00.000-07:00

Yesterday in the car, and I don't even remember why, my son said to me, "In your face, SoRelle." (My maiden name is SoRelle, something my husband annoyingly calls me from time to time.) Then he decided to say it again, but this time prefacing with, "Daddy, join me this time. In your face SoRelle." They said that last bit in unison.

I smiled and it was fairly funny. But it also brought up two points - I don't really like being mocked, even in jest and, wow, my husband's goofy genes really passed on to my son. Sure, he was kidding but I can sort of get my feelings hurt when my son decides to join forces with my husband to "fake insult" me.

My husband has some bad verbal habits, weird free association banter that drives me batty. Seems my son has picked up a few of these habits. He makes nonsense rhymes, sings made up ditties and talks non-stop. I was sort of hoping my son would exhibit different behavior. No such luck.

Now I have two of them, bantering, clapping, singing nonsense at me night and day. My response - become a cranky shrew. Not my best look.

Happy Labor Day. I Got a Chair

2009-09-07T10:12:00.000-07:00

Really. I work from a home office and my old office chair had taken to plummeting to child height at random times, causing the breathless roller coaster feeling I'm not that fond of. So I asked boss if I could expense a new chair, he said yes, and I took three months to get around to it. I continued to complain bitterly about plummet-chair but the van was having issues, which meant it would be hard to purchase something that came in a large box.

But, I finally got myself to Office Depot yesterday (because they were having a Labor Day sale, clearly what the holiday is all about) and bought this chair. It looks better than my old chair and the seat is cushier. It seems to roll pretty well considering I'm still resisting one of those plastic chair mats and instead roll across the ever flattening carpet. But, something I didn't notice when I tried it out in the Depot is that the arms are a little tight around my ample thighs.

There's a very specific point on my thighs where the chair constantly reminds me how stupid it was to eat all those Twinkies a few months ago, the ice cream five nights in a row last month and not bothering to take all those walks I kept promising myself. It will be fine. The good points of this chair outweigh the one flaw and I am already adding it to the expense report. But I'm wondering exactly how many pounds do I need to lose for two millimeters of space between me and those chair arms.

Facebook and Twitter Sitting in a Tree...

2009-09-05T12:49:00.000-07:00

I'm joking of course, they would never kiss or join in any way. That's fine. I like the separation. I prefer Twitter where I feel free to say what I want without having people I never liked in high school claim I used to be different.

I'm fairly over Facebook except like the compulsive dork I am, I play some of the little games and don't mind seeing photos from friends. It has its place. If I want everyone in my friend group to get a sense of my life, I will say where we are eating or that I'm at soccer practice again. I might say those same things in a tweet, but hopefully I say it funnier, with perhaps a little snark thrown in.

I feel my personality has room to roam on Twitter, my photos can be stored on Facebook. When I accidentally forget how intolerant my friend group is and post an update with a little political flavor, then I become embroiled in endless posts arguing with right wing nut jobs, screaming Christians and old "friends" (read people I sat next to in English, found dull then, barely remember now) who are sure I can't really believe what I say.

I will never completely abandon Facebook - I still see an update here or there from an old acquaintance or new that seems interesting, I can be fans of things there, and there's Farkle - but if I want to discuss politics, religion (or lack thereof in my life) art, minutiae with like-minded or parallel-minded people, I will turn to Twitter. There we can work to mobilize tweeps to work for health care reform, changing the landscape of the public dialogue and sometimes just answering trivia questions.

I find Twitter fun and Facebook familiar. Ideas increase and grow with Twitter, local communication is eased with Facebook. I just have to remember to keep my "crazy" socialist, somewhat atheist thoughts to myself on Facebook and not bore Twitter with my meal choices.

Like They Pay Attention Anyway

2009-09-04T08:53:00.000-07:00

The furor over President Obama wanting to address the country's students in a speech, about education, during the school day confounds me. I'm pretty sure I was made to watch or listen to Presidential speeches during my time in school. It's possible I wasn't but I'm old enough to remember the unveiling of Channel One in our high school. Before, televisions weren't used or only to hook up to the rare video tape player (yes, kids, this is before DVDs, when dinosaurs with Beta max roamed the Earth.)

So once we had Channel One in our classrooms, we watched a few minutes each day to whatever they wanted to show us. All these years later, I remember little except it was there. Even at the time - and I was a politically-minded youth with lots of knowledge of current events - I doubt I took much away from whatever was broadcast at me.

Other than the first hysteria-filled conservative Facebook updates about Obama's speech that were negative in a crazy, low-information way, my first contact with the knowledge of this speech left me with the impression it was just your typical President-as-education-cheerleader speech. You know, "stay in school" "work hard at your studies." Not once did I get the impression that until there was protest, Obama had planned a subversive, propaganda-filled speech to infect the minds of our young.

This is the President who isn't even left enough for me. I support him, but he keeps moving right and I and others on the farther left keep trying to pull him back. What are the Repugs worried about? Trust me, they've filled their heads with enough birther/deather/teaparty nonsense, there is no room in the tiny brains for Obama to insert any reason or socialism as they see it.

Why not let the speech go as planned, watch it yourself, discuss with your children? God forbid that you could take some responsibility as a parent to make sure your child is exposed to what you want. I know I want my child exposed to President Obama and his inspiring speeches and any encouragement to educate himself.

Again, I'm pretty sure this boils down to an undercurrent (hardly subtle at this point) of racism in this country among the conservatives. They are just still pissed we have a black President and that they lost the election. It happens. Get over it. Move on. Protesting everything Obama does with spurious arguments, yelling before you even have information needs to stop. Yes, I complained for eight years about Bush. He was an idiot. He took us into an incredibly expensive war for false reasons, he spent like a drunken monkey (sorry, I keep insulting monkeys, they hardly deserve that comparison) and managed to embarrass us world-wide. But even in my grumbling, I didn't take to the streets and make posters about his stupidity. I just bided my time, knowing that at some point, the people would move on from his ilk.

Bide your time, conservative people. If you are so sure Obama is a horrible President, so sure the Democrats are ruining the country, you will have your chance. Now get out of our way. We are in power for the time being. Stop acting like we stepped on your pet.

Do You Want Ice Cream with that Cape?

2009-09-03T07:35:00.000-07:00

I'm starting to plan my son's birthday party. He turns eight near the end of October. I admit that I'm not Martha Stewart but I get a little ramped up about his party each year. We always have it in the back yard, my mother comes from Amarillo to make food for adults and I have a cake made. It's the games and favors that I focus on. We always have a theme, last few years have been Halloween (the holiday, not the creepy movies), Blue's Clues, Spongebob, Pokemon, and Pirates was last year. This year's theme has already been picked and approved by Fletcher - Super Heroes.

So, what do we do with that theme. Sure, I'll buy party supplies (probably stuck with an assortment of Spiderman, Batman (cartoon, not movie) and maybe Wolverine or XMen. We aren't publisher picky. But it's what the kids need to do at the party.

Last year, for the pirate theme I had a cake made to look like a treasure chest, the children had little pirate chest kits to make their own to take home AND we had them dig for treasure. On hindsight, filling two baby pools with sand and burying treasure wasn't the smartest move. I still have two baby pools filled with sand in my backyard. I didn't really think that once the 400 pounds of sand was distributed in the pools, they would be impossible to move unless I had my own forklift. Which I don't. So those pools are still sitting there, having already killed the grass below and are now a white trash eyesore between the porch and the playhouse Fletcher never uses. My new plan to deal with them, shovel sand 20 pounds at a time into heavy duty plastic bags and sneak into my trash each week. Sort of like being a trash spy.

Back to this year's theme, Super Heroes. My first thought, and already no doubt one that will have me in tears and panic is to make each child a simple fabric cape that they can then decorate at the party. I'm pretty new to sewing, don't have a pattern for said cape and have no clue what material to make it out of. Sounds like a project!

I guess I need to consider perhaps also building some sort of superhero obstacle course for them to gambol about it. Cardboard bricks, anyone? I'm certainly open to ideas. Also, what should the cake look like? There is always the problem of licensing. What frosting just says "I'm super and wear a cape?"

One day, my son will ask me to stop making these parties so elaborate and stress-filled. It will be disheartening when it happens. It will also be liberating.

Where Did I Put the Pet Taxis?

2009-09-01T18:49:00.001-07:00

I do worry about everyone near the fires in California.I see the hollow-eyed people on the news stunned as they view where their home used to be. I can't imagine. When I was 9, my grandparents home was destroyed by a tornado that also tossed them in the air, breaking bones and leaving wounds.

A week after their house was virtually eliminated, we went to see the site. Half the kitchen and the bathroom that was next to it were left, roofless, but with the towels still hanging on the rod. I found a small, ceramic owl in the middle of a field. I was told that doors from the house were found a county away. Those images have never left me. All our family spent days combing the nearby farmfields for my grandparents possessions. We managed to recover an antique clock, some photographs, other bits. But, they moved into a very modern (for 1970) house in town, away from their farm, that had a large basement to protect them from future storms. None of significance ever came. But they were ready.

I've sat in basements many nights over the years listening to the tornado sirens, knowing the weather was turning bad. No place I've lived has been damaged. Grassfires have been known to be some miles away, but I live in town and nothing has ever come here. But, because of the tornado that took my grandparents home and because I see the devastation of the fires in California, my mind occasionally reviews what we would need to evacuate. It will probably never happen, but I know to look for the pet carriers for our two cats, I've thought how we should put the computers each in their own plastic bin to put in the back of the van. I know we should take medicine and clothing and toys my son finds important.

I doubt we will ever use my knowledge of how to evacuate. We don't live where there are hurricanes, tornadoes happen too quickly to leave and I don't think the fires from Oklahoma will ever get to us. But, I seem to need to keep that list in my head so I can go about my life, ready to leave.

Drowing in a Sea of Data

2009-08-31T07:29:00.000-07:00

This is me, not really writing a blog entry as I'm swamped to the gills with this school directory. It's needed, it's due to the printer, and I'm not finished. Yes, it's a volunteer project, but no, it can't be ignored and frankly, I want it over with.

So, here I go diving back into the data, to sort, fix, format, layout....see you later...if I survive.

The Name of the Emotion

2009-08-29T14:46:00.000-07:00

I feel something watching the funeral, the procession, all the parts of these ceremonies for the passing of Senator Kennedy. He wasn't my Senator, I live in another state. I didn't know him personally, though I have always known who he was. I don't think I can point to anything particular in my life that he directly affected, but I know he is the force behind legislation that I have benefited from.

But I feel something beyond what I think I should feel for a public figure who has died. I guess it's sadness, but what is a sadness for the passing of a public figure? Is there another word to mourn someone whose hand guided important parts of the government, whose words inspired others to change things for the better?

My son saw me with the twinkle of tears in my eyes as I watched the funeral and asked why I was sad. I told him that Senator Kennedy was a great man who did so much for the country and that watching his wife, his children in their pain, left me with my own. (Pretty sure he stopped listening after the first three words.)

But I still think there must be a word for this feeling that is probably shared by so many watching this. Seeing so many file past his draped casket, let me know how many have this same emotion. We are sad. We are something even more, knowing that our champion, our lion has gone. Even those of us not from Massachusetts, can feel the great loss.

I wish I had a new, powerful word to express this feeling. Maybe desolation comes closest as we close the chapter on Kennedy's life and worry we are closing the book on what we needed him to do.

Oh the Blank Screen...My Eyes, My Eyes

2009-08-28T08:57:00.000-07:00

You'd think I get paid or accolades or gifts for writing a blog the way I seem to persist writing almost daily. There is no money, few and far between comments, and I haven't received any chocolates lately, so I think it's either becoming a habit, or involves guilt, or perhaps verbal therapy.

Right now the only therapy I need is for my chronic procrastination. Behind me is another computer waiting for me to finish formatting info for the school directory that really, really needs to go to the printer. But it's tedious, a little outside my purview and basically eating my lunch.

Speaking of lunch... the news is understandably about the tributes and memorial to Ted Kennedy. I applaud this, especially how the health care reform debate has been added to the dialogue. Then there is also crazy train Sanford calling press conferences to talk about why he isn't stepping down, even though everyone in his state is now convinced he should. He not only needs to resign, he needs to be prohibited from saying more non sequiter crap on TV.

The sky darkens with impending rain. I'm ambivalent about rain, getting things done, my life today.

I Had to Say No

2009-08-27T09:24:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I was in the office of my child's school checking in to volunteer to help with those in my son's class with limited reading skills (doesn't include my son, he can read well.) The office staff asked me if I wanted to be in charge of the Odyssey of the Mind team. No, I don't. I'm sorry. I already work 40 hours a week from home, serve as vice-president of two organizations, volunteer one hour a week to help with reading, go to Cub Scout meetings, soccer games and would like two minutes for myself.

Yet, I felt guilty. Immediately, I began asking them what it would entail, which students would be involved (one or two afternoons a week, with more frequency as competitions happened and probably the older students, of which my son isn't) and isn't there someone else they can get? Finally, I left it at "The PTO president and I will brainstorm some parents who can do this."

As I talked to my husband about this, I realized that I have never had a time since I was 18 that I wasn't either going to school or working or both. No time. My husband's business isn't quite enough to provide for us (and mirroring the health care issues out there today, since he's self-employed, we would have no insurance without my job) so I've always worked. I guess there have been a month here or there when I was between jobs, but then I was actively looking, panicking about my next paycheck.

I never even had relaxed summers at home between semesters in college. I would find temporary employment, go to summer school, or be indentured to my mother for three months. Many days, I truly envy the women in my area who don't work. I know they have a house to keep (so do I) and children to take care of (so do I) and maybe they are also involved in some volunteer effort (so am I) but they have some time. I see them out having coffee with a friend. Or going to a movie during the day with a friend. Or just shopping leisurely at WalMart as I run through there like a tornado picking up what I need so I can get back to whatever project I abandoned to make the trip.

I am happy with my life, for the most part. But some days, I want to be a kept woman. I want to be a woman of leisure who could spend all day making a scrapbook if I wanted, leaving only enough time to make dinner. Cleaning up this hellhole might not be the nightmare it feels now if the task wasn't shoehorned in between database management and spreadsheets and PowerPoint info something-or-others.

I guess I particularly get jealous when I hear a woman complain that she's a little bored or gush about how much she loves taking her kids to playgroup so she can get out of the house. I would love to stay in my house if it was just to keep it, instead of stuck in my house doing work, waiting for my boss to call and give me another project.

And Now We Are Sad

2009-08-26T08:44:00.000-07:00

Once I heard Senator Ted Kennedy had brain cancer, I ignored the ticking clock that came with the diagnosis. Ted Kennedy always represented the best of what a Senator, a Democrat, a politician (used in the true Greek sense of the word) could be. He had flaws, he had scandal, he had tragedy, but I think out of that crucible came a man who inspired, who led, and who cared about his country.

He has been leading all my life. For me, the Senate has always had Ted Kennedy to champion and help pass legislation that changed the way our country cares for its people. He believed in equal rights, equal access to care, equal pursuit of the American dream.For someone who was raised in privilege, he seemed to genuinely understand what it meant to be poor and disenfranchised and he worked hard to alleviate the suffering of those who needed it.

I knew how very ill he was, but was still keeping that little fantasy of seeing him brought to the Senate on whichever day they finally were to vote on a real health care reform bill. I wanted to see him smile as he cast his "yes" vote. Losing him as we fight for TRUE health care reform saddens the fight, but I can only hope it will also rally the fighters.

I can only hope that Ted Kennedy's death will be the lightning rod that propels the Democrats to create a real tribute to his legacy by creating and passing a truly great example of reform in health care.

Can I Be Serious?

2009-08-25T09:26:00.000-07:00

No, not really. I can be cranky, wry, sarcastic, whimsical and bitchy. Only occasionally am I ever serious. Right now, I wish I was feeling enough passion or inspiration to blog about the health care reform debate. Trust me, it's in there. I cringe each time I see one of these "ads" that hint at death panels, higher taxes, or rationing. I cheer when I see the ads that talk about a need for reform, a need for all Americans to have health coverage.

I just don't feel I have a serious new thought to add to the debate. Then again, I'm currently watching John McCain's town hall in Arizona. The biddies and coots in this audience and their stupid, uninformed questions are making me crazy.

One reasonable woman stood up and suggested these argumentative oldsters give up their Medicare if they don't like the idea of a government run health care program. They sort of seemed stunned after that.

******

Most of the day has gone without me finishing this blog. I have lots of deadlines (here I am being serious) for work projects, volunteer projects, things my child needs me to do and suddenly I felt like my insides would jitter to the outside. I have spent a chunk of the day just sitting and reading to quell the fearful feelings. Better now, will leave this as is.

Squinting Into Another Sunny Day

2009-08-24T08:26:00.000-07:00

I like waking up to grey skies. I love an overcast, crispy-temperatured day. I feel like kicking puppies when it's this sunny and potentially hot and humid. I will throttle the next person who says brightly to me, "Isn't this great weather?" No, it isn't. And, you Miss Pollyanna can stand behind me sponging sweat off my neck since you love it so much.

Picked up the son today from school. The incredibly short walk from car to gym (where they have the children sit in the enclosed heat, as opposed to the open heat) had my nape soaked and upper lip cascading. This isn't even a particularly hot day, but the sun was really baking me good.

So, yes, I obsessively watch The Weather channel looking as far forward as they want to tell me, hoping to spy a cold front, or some rain, or anything that isn't one of those mockingly happy little suns under a high temperature. And, I count down the days until Halloween, usually assured that by then, the crispiness will have returned to the air, and even if there's sun, it will be slanted in a warm autumn way, not the Easy Bake Andee way it is now.

Cue Plague of Frogs

2009-08-23T10:11:00.000-07:00

I took an actual walk this morning. For exercise, with music in my ears, in the sun, through the neighborhood, before noon. All of you really should be looking for the ground to open up or rivers run with blood. It had been so long since I walked that the gravel pathway I used to take through the park is now paved.

I actually enjoy walking for exercise, head clearing, musing. It's the forcing myself out the door, knowing the temperature isn't what I want (really needs to be below 65 and it wasn't today), finding my headphones, justifying the time that keeps me from it. When I was younger, walking was always my fallback exercise. But, not long after I had my son (almost eight years ago) my right knee started making walking a small misery. Soon, it wasn't my form of exercise, going to Curves was. I've had my knee replaced and walked some since then (January 2007) but not regularly. I think I'm afraid to say out loud or even loudly to myself "I should walk daily or at least every other day" for fear my lack of commitment will undermine what little morale I have.

But I took a walk. Maybe tomorrow or the next day, I'll do it again.

Headache Leaves, Mind Degaussed

2009-08-22T10:17:00.000-07:00

I have frequent headaches and by frequent I mean most days, most of the time on those days. When surveys ask "how many days in the last three months did you have a headache?" I think it would be easier for me to remember the days I didn't. This isn't to say that I have horrible headaches every day. I don't. I have a spectrum of headaches that range from "almost didn't notice it" to "can I drill a hole in my forehead now?" I probably only have one day in ten when my head has zero pain.

I've seen doctors who have prescribed drugs and treatments and most include the instruction to lie down in a dark room. Lots of things are better when you can lie down in a dark room, so I didn't really need the drugs. Frankly, if I have time to lie down, I will take some Tylenol and a Benadryl and hit the hay. An hour or so later, most except the worst of migraines will be gone. The issues is more that I don't have time to lie down in a dark room, or a dark room, or time, so I need something that smacks down the headache without all that lying about. None of the drugs suggested have few enough side affects and work well enough to bother with.

This morning I woke with a fairly miserable headache. Not the worst, but not mild either. Sick pain, nausea, extreme irritability. Extreme. I could have gone all Ozzy and bitten the heads of something given the chance and if those somethings were in my way. A venti iced latte, Egg McMuffin, and some quiet non-lying down time got the pain down to something manageable. At one point, I felt pain free, but that only lasted for a short time and now I have one of these "I know you are there, bastard headache, but I can handle you" types.

But the worst part (ok, the worst part is the pain) or other worst parts is the post-pain emptiness. Once the meds or caffeine or protein or dark room lying down does its trick, I'm left with not only a cessation of pain, but a cessation of thought. Like one of those buzzing degaussers was held to my head and, instead of magnetic particles flying away, all my initiative and thoughts have left me.

I have loads of angry little things on my to-do list. I'm having a hard time feeling the urgency that should be there because with the end of the worst of my pain, came a blankness that is a little post shock therapy-like. I feel dull, adrift and pointless.

I'm not asking for the pain to come back, but I'm waiting for whatever external, or perhaps, internal impetus puts me back on my path of grousing about health care reform, finishing volunteer work, shoveling clutter and taking care of my family. Right now, I feel like I'm waiting for a bus to go somewhere I've forgotten.

For Whom the Cap'n Crunches

2009-08-21T09:30:00.000-07:00

Not one protein pair of my DNA has any inclination to tidy up. Yet, I would love to live in a clean, uncluttered home. Not all-white-surfaces, space port clean, just comfortable, people can come over without me having a panic attack tidy.

I know I've blogged about this problem before. But other than achieving health care reform with the rest of the country, snapping my house into shape is my next biggest concern. That is sad, isn't it. But my environment is causing extreme anxiety. As I sit on the couch to watch a show, I look around & my breathing goes short. The coffee table, such as it is, is covered from stem to stern with school papers, magazines (not mine), toys, remotes, random stuff I can't identify.

The floor is coated with strangely orderly lines of Legos, tiny cars, Pokemon, scraps of paper that have meaning to a 7-year-old and look like trash to me, and lately marbles. Then there's the cereal. My son loves to eat dry cereal straight from the box as a portable and constant snack. His preference is for Cap'n Crunch. He is constantly breathing crunch-breath in my face as he talks to me and making hideous crunch-eating noises behind me as he watches TV over my shoulder. I wish the Cap'n gets an assignment in the West Indies and goes away.

As my husband asks today if I've seen some sheets of DVD labels of his that he left in the living room, I hear him crunching as he walks, cursing as he looks. I found the sheets, they had fallen from the footstool where he left them into the pit of Crunch, toys and trash. Ick.

Usually, all of this mess is then accented with a nice, fluffy layer of cat hair. My house would make most people cringe. As a consequence, most people don't get to come here. But you're invited if you can ignore the mess or want to help me sort through it. I mean, I don't think it's at the "maybe we need to call Social Services" level but if added some dirty dishes, it might be.

Sneaking Suspicion I'm a Moron

2009-08-20T06:43:00.000-07:00

No, really. Here's the evidence:

Training seminar this morning couldn't hold my attention, left me confused, and stressed out at the thought of more training, using what I've supposedly learned - if I were smarter, wouldn't this make more sense and energize, rather than enervate me?
Beating my head against this health care reform wall, trying to argue sense with those spouting nonsense - if I were smarter, wouldn't I just give up or give in?
Continuing behavior that isn't working (re: housecleaning, losing weight, stress management) - if I were smarter, wouldn't I have learned new things to do to solve my problems?

Just saying.

Is There Something in my Ear?

2009-08-19T06:38:00.000-07:00

I feel like I need to constantly clean my ears out. I can't possibly be hearing the clearly misinformed, spurious, and, let's just say it, crazy shit that is being bandied about concerning health care reform.

The opening paragraph of the health care bill in the Senate is the following:

"To make quality, affordable health care available to all Americans, reduce costs, improve health care quality, enhance disease prevention, and strengthen the health care workforce."

What part of that sounds frightening? What part of that was ever offered by the Nazis? Maybe there is something hidden in the particulars of the bill that scares the beejesus out of these rightwing fallacy repeaters? Of course the fact that neither this bill, nor the ones in the house are the final bill. This is how legislation works, people. Didn't you sing "I'm just a bill" along with Schoolhouse Rock? There are committees, then there are votes, then there are joint committees, more votes and all along the way changes are made to the final bill. Then final vote.

Yes, express your opinion to help craft the final legislation, that's what town halls, letters to your Reps and Senators are for. But stop screaming uninformed craziness. The basic definition of Nazism includes 'racist nationalism, national expansion, and state control of the economy.' The only racists here are the ones who are using the health care debate to express displeasure at having a black President. Obama is not trying to expand our national borders. And, while there have been bailouts (started by W, not Obama) I sincerely don't consider that the state controlling the economy. If they could, or would, it might be in better shape, but that's not what is going on.

And certainly, the health care bills, any of them, look nothing like Nazi policies. No gas chambers, no one being singled out due to race, nothing like that at all. Mostly, just measure, reasoned policies that's entire goal is to provide adequate health care to all. How can you compare regulating the bloated insurance industry to guarantee people aren't excluded due to pre-existing conditions or dropped because of illness to Nazi policies? I defy any of these crazed shouters to find a true comparison in writing. Not just assertion, IN WRITING.

The screamers also have confused the concept of public option with Communism. Really? Does our government hold all property? Is our government totalitarian? Really, it isn't. It doesn't hold our property, it isn't controlled by one party or we wouldn't have to hear from you yahoos. I mean there are days, I'd be all for everyone who disagrees with the party in power (the one I like) to be silenced. But you aren't, as is evidenced by your constant shouting of nonsense.

Finally, your favorite thing to shout about (besides truly bizarre crap like death panels) is socialism. So concerned we will adopt a health care system like the extremely successful ones in Canada, United Kingdom, France and others (God forbid, we'd want the successful option) and become some socialist state. Trust me, one little public option couldn't effect this kind of change. I'd be happy as a socialist but I understand that level of change is so anathema to you detractors that it makes you hyperventilate. Don't worry, we won't change too much, too fast. Your little heads won't spin off your tiny, stupid necks.

Two anti-reform ads have been running a lot in my market. One wants you to be very frightened of Obama's plan (of which there really isn't one, just his suggestions, again, not finished, you pack of idiots) because if suddenly all 50 million uninsured have the ability to visit a doctor, they will pack the waiting rooms like so many sniffling sardines, forcing the oldsters to not get the care they need and PROBABLY DIE. CARE WILL BE RATIONED, it practically screams. Do none of you understand what insurance companies do now? They ration care. They force doctors to endlessly justify why you need that knee replacement, or new medicine before they will pay the claim. All these frightening words based on facts from City Journal. Guess what? City Journal is a rightwing scare publication, barely considered journalism, that gives written "facts" to back up what the right wants to say.

The second anti-reform ad features a breast cancer survivor who has clearly been convinced that under any reform she would have been denied life-saving drugs and treatment like in the UK. People in the UK live almost 10 years longer than those in the US. No one is denied life-saving drugs. This is twisting of statistics and outright lies.

I just still feel amazed at how unreasonable and uninformed these protesters sound. I'm proud of Barney Frank for calling out the woman who asked him why he would support Nazi policies. He's a Jew you bint. That is the most offensive thing you could ask him. He said you are like arguing with a dining table. I wish I could just dismiss all of you as furniture, but you are much louder than my furniture and frankly my furniture would probably hold liberal, reasoned opinions could they talk.

Like Peter Pan, But about Health Care

2009-08-18T08:02:00.000-07:00

I usually don't feel like much of a grownup. I know I'm 46, have a husband, a child, a job, a house to keep, but in my head I'm still back in Sixteen Candles land. But in the case of health care reform I'm feeling like a sage. Some fear-mongering group called the League of American Voters is wasting my TV time with an ad that purports that under Obama's plan (apparently scary words in and of themselves) putting those fifty million uninsured into a health care system will overburden the doctors (already too few according to their spurious stats) will mean old people are ignored, left to die, all the money sucked from their Medicare by the hordes of new patients.

Really? Do I actually have to play the reasoned adult and explain how a public option could work? Larger pools of patients in any coverage system guarantees lower costs. Like WalMart selling prescription drugs for $4, they are a large pool, they get to negotiate. A large pool of uninsured, getting a non-profit, regulated option of coverage would guarantee lower health care costs for everyone. Probably pay for the shortfalls Medicare is experiencing now due to lack of regulation in the health insurance industry.

Bringing us to the next grownup point - no actual final bill has been written. So if we all put our heads together we can make sure that not only will it include a robust public option (favorite phrase ever), it will include stringent regulations of big insurance to prevent anyone from being excluded based on pre-existing conditions, dumped for large claims, and force them to work on making costs reasonable. The money-grubbing needs to be pushed back at. A bill could help with this.

And frankly, a good thing to add in to the bill might be more grants for medical school tuition to encourage more doctors in our system. Paying for qualified people to attend medical school and get their degrees wouldn't actually be that costly and the same people could be held to "serving" in particular communities that need them as payback.

Reform opposition has stopped even listening to themselves. They stand with their fingers in their ears, shouting death panels, pulling the plug, turning into Soviet Union at the top of their lungs without even understanding what they yell. Grow up, evil Peter Pan! Peter didn't want to grow up because grown ups seemed short-sighted, unimaginative, and to be honest, douche-y. All three describe the reform opposition. They can't imagine a world with any change. They can't picture how reform solutions would be better for everyone. They just want to yell and bitch and moan and be right.

They aren't right. They are childish little whiners who are against their own best interests. They think their slogans and chants are clever but they don't even understand the genesis of their thought. If any of them had the intelligence to actually parse out what they are yelling and if there is any real truth to it, they would actually be embarrassed.

Call Me a Socialist and I'll Say "You Betcha"

2009-08-16T15:45:00.000-07:00

I'm not a verbal flincher. Call me what you want, I might argue, but I won't flinch or look hurt. I will roll my eyes at stupid insults. And, not only will I not flinch if you call me or my ideas socialist, I will proudly accept that appellation.

Harry Truman said, "Any jackass can kick down a barn, but it takes a carpenter to build one." There have been lots of verbal jackassery recently in terms of health care reform. Take Whole Foods CEO John Mackey (please, we don't want him). He, rather sanctimoniously, wrote an op-ed dissing the idea of making sure everyone had health care. He is so proud of the high deductible insurance provided to Whole Foods employees. Sounds nightmarish to me. I'm a diabetic, and trust me I would burn through that $2,500 deductible fast and it would probably mean going without a lot of other things to do it. He thinks people make better health care choices when they have that deductible. What if you DON'T have a choice, douchebag? So happy your veggies have kept you healthy. Some of us lost the DNA lottery on disease states. Grumble. Then I see people defending his stupid comments, saying no one should boycott WF because they do so much other good. Trust me when I say that I'm not the only one who feels betrayed by this man. Who would have thought this "shining example" of a feel good company would be run by such a rightwing, self-justified tool.

More verbal jackasses are, of course, the parade (and one long-ass parade it is) of detractors on the right, the far right, and the really far right. From the pitiful locals waving badly written signs on either side of the road as we walked, then drove into the Democratic fundraiser in the park last night, to the supreme tool Dick Armey continuing to spew delusional crap on Meet the Press this morning. It's all the same nonsense. They grasp at some sentence in the bill or more likely something they saw on TV purportedly interpreting the bill that is completely not what the bill or any logic says.

Bill says, Medicare/public option will pay for end-of-life counseling every five years. No mandate. And Grassley, it doesn't say you only get it on your death bed, you fool. No death panels. Just saying they will pay for what is already in other bills as optional and unpaid. Seriously, this is like me seeing the tag on a mattress and yelling at my child for touching it and assuming stormtroopers will descend upon my house to arrest us.

I can't express how disappointed I am now that these loud idiots have fucked the chance we had at a public option. Obama, Reid, etc. have slunk back to a health care reform that is hardly reform. I want single-payer but I begrudgingly accepted public option, thinking it would be a slope (I won't define as slippery as I'm not negative about it, I wanted to slide down that slope toward single-payer) we could scoot down toward something good. Now they're like cats who eat their own vomit. No public option. Look, you don't see it anymore protesters, we ate it. Co-ops,exchanges, really? That is like offering bread to someone with scurvy. Yes, scurvy is caused by malnutrition but malnutrition of a particular kind. Without an orange or lemon, still scurvy.

I hate feeling hopeless. I couldn't flinch if I wanted to, no muscle tone now, so tapped out emotionally from all the backing up these politicians are doing. Now we are down to: Yes We Can...capitulate to special interests, blue dogs, and loud, angry rightwing nutjobs. Bully for us. I don't think we even built a whole barn before we let the jackass pull it down.

When is a Democrat not a Democrat...

2009-08-15T18:53:00.000-07:00

...when I'm not hearing better ideas from the Democrat than from the rightwing nut jobs. Let's go back, I believe it was two days ago, when I first got news there would be a town hall in Rogers. I was nervous and excited. A town hall a few miles from my house at something called the Samaritan Community Center with Blanche Lincoln speaking. I clicked the RSVP button in the email from Organizing for America, then printed out the signs from the link sent in response to my RSVP. We were ready. My husband, my seven-year-old son and I would exercise our right to democracy by attending (as calm as we could manage) a town hall meeting that might provide all sorts of entertainment.

Suddenly, this morning (or late last night)I find out through a series of sources that the town hall had been moved to a park in Bella Vista (15 miles north of our town) and that it was no longer a town hall meeting but a local Democratic party fundraiser. A little more research and I find out it was NEVER a town hall meeting, always a fundraiser ($5 to get in have beverage and watermelon or $10 for BBQ dinner) and now I'm thinking how pissy the Repubs will be that they thought they would get to yell things about death panels and plugs being pulled and socialism.

So, we wouldn't really get to face down any screechy GOP haters and we'd have to pay for the privilege of hanging with the tiny community of Dems we have here in red, red, red land.

But we (well I on behalf of the three of us) decided we would go anyway. We don't want to eat at 5 (we're not 75 years old) so we'd go with the cheaper $5 option, happy to get some cups of ice and tea, politely declining the watermelon. We drive to this park we've never seen nor heard of, find it pretty easily and at first think we have to park along the road as it seems crowded already. We park next to some old people who had just arrived also and schlep our folding chairs down the road toward what we've been told is a stop to buy the tickets. Along the way there are many (relatively) of the nutjobs waving their signs that speak of socialism, dead grandmothers, we don't want change, etc. They smile as they waggle their signs, we sort of glare at them or don't make eye contact. When they speak to us, I say "No thank you. We don't actually agree with you." They smile like we are sooooo deluded. One of them has the temerity to say "We'll take care of your child for you." As if, because we oppose their lunacy, we are poor examples of parents. My child looked afraid and shook his fist at them. He is probably more left than I. He is whispering to me how stupid their posters are.

We get to the ticket tent that boasts two older ladies selling the tickets and three Bella Vista policeman ready for trouble. We buy our tickets and learn that there is actually more parking further on past the ticket tent near the picnic (that's how they referred to the whole fundraiser, THE PICNIC, like that would make it as benign as possible and hope to just lame the protesters away.) My lovely (not said sarcastically, but gratefully) husband volunteered to go get the car. So Fletcher and I stood by the ticket tent, three folding chairs at our feet and waited for Joe to show up with the car.

When he arrived, he said he wasn't harassed much but felt like punching some of the more sanctimonious of the birther/deather/nutsquad. We happily drove on to the shady, quite pretty area where the fundraiser/picnic/gathering of the hearty Dems were. We wandered over, seeing a few people we knew or at least knew by sight from other aspects of our lives - the CNN iReporter I know from Twitter, the lady who works at Barnes & Noble, the guy I volunteered with at the local Dem HQ during the campaign, a woman I know from a group.

The crowd wasn't huge, but these are the Dems who will not only identify themselves as such, but are willing to drive to a place, be with other Dems, etc. That really shakes out the wheat and what we are left with are mostly older citizens of our area. We see a few in our age group, not many children have been forced to come, everyone sits in their folding chairs or at the cement picnic tables. Democratic chairmen from the county, the state (or somewhere, couldn't hear) and some guy who apparently has some film industry contacts and gets us movies before first-run to use as fundraisers, next one in October.

Then Blanche Lincoln speaks. She is relatively eloquent. Sort of sticks to the bromides and the usual. She takes a few questions after. The last is someone who asks, rather passionately, for Lincoln to promise to not vote for a bill that doesn't include a robust public option. We end up getting a lecture on how we shouldn't want a public option that is completely government supported as it will cost TOO much money and we should like co-ops, etc. I'm getting more and more cranky at the thought of supporting this woman for another term and wondering who might be running against her in the primaries. I'm not the only one. I hear grumbling and see people packing up their chairs. As a group (save one or two who probably couldn't hear) we have heard enough and we ARE GOING.

Course my husband pointed out that even if we supported someone more liberal in the primaries, they probably wouldn't stand a chance in the election against a semi-reasonable Republican cause this state is so red it looks like it will have a stroke and the best we can hope for are blue dogs. Ick. I'm disillusioned and undermined and we still have to drive past the douchebag parade.

We do drive past them as they wave their pitiful signs that say illogical things, cutting their noses off to spite their stupid faces things, or just hateful nonsense. It only takes a few minutes to drive back to the highway and head home to get the coupon to Outback Steakhouse where we've decided to have our dinner.

I'm glad we went so I didn't think I missed something, but now feel more resolved than ever to get real liberal leadership in this state.

Titles are Esoteric

2009-08-14T10:25:00.000-07:00

I read other blogs. Then I feel inferior, even though a blog is supposed to be a sort of diary and thus not required to be funny or clever, I want mine to be funny AND clever. How can you be funny but not clever, you can make fart jokes. People laugh (perhaps uncomfortably, but still laugh) but those aren't clever. Just like on Twitter when I feel some pressure to toss off bon mots, I feel that those who bother to read this blog (so far mostly my husband) should have a few funny tears at the corners of their eyes.

Too much to ask? Probably. My degree is in painting and ceramics - nope, not really funny, though perhaps clever on a good day. My job is as a sales analyst - only if you find tedium rip-roaring hilarious. I have previously mentioned husband and a seven-year-old son, both of whom do sometimes provide me with funny anecdotes and witty quips. But not nearly enough.

I'm feeling whiny. Maybe I just have a headache approaching, but really I want people to like me. Well, not like me, like what I write, tell others how they should read what I write. Follow my blog for Camptown's sake (my neurotic cat, just felt like throwing her in there) or at least comment on it so I know someone is reading it.

Pretend I just wrote something clever, whimsical and amusing. Cause if I have to come up with something right now it will involve bitching about the rightwing asshats who are messing up our country's chance to have health care reform helped out by the blue dog Democrats and the badly written bills. The only whimsy in my life is that my home office (only place I work) has a floor coated with neat rows of Legos, Hot Wheels, Pokemon and Happy Meal toys.

And now, instead of continuing this rambling husband and I have to go pick up our van at Best Buy because they can't really determine why the Kia dealership blames our stereo for the power problems. BB figures it's the satellite adapter part of the car stereo but doesn't know how to fix or replace right now. Only suggestion is, "take the van and see if the problem happens again since we disconnected sat adapter." Great, we get the van back. It still might die in our driveway AND no Sirius radio on it. Blergh.

Yelling into the Echo-y Void of Stupidity

2009-08-13T09:28:00.000-07:00

The country is gone ape shit. No kidding. I mean I think it's an extremely vocal minority, but they are really loud. I get that an individual might not like particular parts of a health care reform bill - to be honest, at this point their are 4 or 5 bills floating about, all really long, full of that bullshit billspeak making it all too complicated. I don't find them tenable either.

Here's what I would like a bill to say:

1) Insurance companies are no longer allowed to exclude someone based on pre-existing conditions.
2) No person can be dropped from their insurance for any reason except non-payment of premiums.
3) Government panel to be established to set limits on insurance costs, everything from what we pay insurance companies, to what they pay out
4)Doctors will get to decide what care patients need. They can be sensible but if they say a patient needs a particular test or drug, the patient gets it.
5)One of the insurance plans people can pay for will be a government option similar to Medicare.
6)To make sure there are enough doctors to go around, med school will be paid on scholarship so long as the applicant qualifies to get into med school, works hard, AND agrees to spend a period of time serving an under-served community.
7)Community clinics will be established where health care is lacking so people choose where to go for preventative checkups, etc. by proximity
8) Insurance companies will be governed by further regulations (going back to the ones in place in the late 70s, I'm not going into detail)

Can't think of anything else except, of course, I would prefer single-payer. After WWII everyone in the UK was given a pamphlet telling them about their National Health Service. I'm sure there was bickering and fear at the time, but it was settled. Here you go, people, stop in when you need some health care.

If we can't have that, at least we can make sure the uninsured get insured, the under-insured get something better and the rest of us (me, for instance) have some kind of insurance always waiting when we lose jobs, change jobs or just decide that we can make enough money selling crafts that we don't need the kind of job that involves health insurance.

I have kept a job I don't love for many years (several jobs, actually, none of which I would call my true calling) just so we can have benefits. My husband is better equipped to earn money without that sort of job so I keep one. But I would love to know that if I found a way to make enough money with my artwork, I could do that while still seeing doctors and getting lab tests to keep me healthy.

Meanwhile, these jacked up lunatics are screaming about death panels, dead grandmothers, the government turning into the Soviet Union. Are you listening to yourselves? I know you aren't listening to logic, reason, or intelligent people. You just let the TV crazies tell you what to think, feed your fears and train you to be a good little army of idiots.

And, I'm smart enough to realize that most of you (probably all of you) yelling so loudly are really just trying to find that one talking point or action that will make the scary, black President go away. You have a fight on your hands. He's not going anywhere and there lots of people like me to make sure of it.

I think my brain is shrinking

2009-08-12T09:02:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling incompetent. Really, uselessly incompetent. I'm supposed to be working on the school directory and by that I mean taking all the badly formatted raw data and shove it into better formatted data that can be verified. But I'm moving slowly as this is volunteer and NOT my job and my job keeps interfering. So the PTO president is getting shrill and I'm feeling bad, but can't move any faster. Oh, and I need to blog about it, taking even more time.

I also have at least five work projects that I'm ignoring, though I did just call a Walmart in Louisiana to find out why they had none of our products in-store even though they are supposed to. After a lengthy time on hold and a department manager with a seriously snarky tone, I was told they were having a store remodel. Really? If SHE was competent that would have been the answer immediately. Something's fishy about that, but I don't care enough to pursue. Yes, part of my job is actually calling WalMarts around the country and asking why are stupid vacuum bags and filters either aren't stocked, aren't selling (meaning they haven't bothered to put them out) or aren't being ordered. Blergh.

House is still a mess, laundry still undone, there is something in the crockpot, but I will probably fail to think what veggie to go with it. What goes with gyros? Salad?

I need the sort of vacation where it's easy to get ready for, no one talks to you while there, your mind shuts off...sort of a stasis. Yes, I need to be put in stasis for a few days and just relax. But then I wouldn't be aware I was, so I need an aware stasis, like a pocket of a parallel universe where I can putter and dither about and no one needs me for anything.

If I attach balloons will it all float away

2009-08-10T22:31:00.000-07:00

While I type this, far away in Trafalgar Square a man is building a contraption on the One and Other plinth. It seems to be made of balloons and foils pans, and sticks and aluminum tripods. I have no clue what it will do and it both looks like a mess and fascinating.

My house and my life are a lot like this. Like those illusory pictures where you see two faces, but if you sort of let your eyes cross then you see a goblet, or a rabbit or something instead, my house is a wreck when you first look at it and when you unfocus your eyes, what you see, or at least what I see is my mind trying to deal with chaos.

I don't this mess. I want a well-organized, neat home that people can come over to any time. But I'm kidding myself if I think I can get anywhere near my idealized home. In all the years since I escaped my mother's tidy, neat home of stuffed but well-organized storage areas, I have asserted my independence by living in a pile of clutter and dirty dishes.

Each day, I make a tiny bit of headway in a particular area. Then, either my smart but clutter-y son or my smart, but compulsive husband fills that area with their stuff and it's like drifts of snow that I can never shovel.

The problem is I have the psyche of a neatnik and the energy and drive of a slob. I see the mess and my chest is gripped with cold panic then I distract myself with HI-larious TV or a book or a magazine or Twitter or lint. Either I have a short attention span or that is my coping mechanism for not being able to follow through with the burst of energy it would take to CLEAN IT ALL UP! And therein lies my other problem - breaking the task down. I do to some extent, but then I multitask myself into little progress or so many stops and starts of work that I peter out to a forgotten craft project instead of making my house livable.

And really, it's worse inside my head. Every scrap of paper, unshelved book, toy without a home, dirty dish or lone sock as an analog in my brain. Each clutter thought falling upon the others, looking to find a permanent home, a reason to be or a way to extinguish itself.

Oh look, here's another e-mail newsletter on organizing. Maybe my salvation lies there.

Fish in a Barrel

2009-08-08T15:45:00.001-07:00

Actually the barrel was a manufactured pond area, but the idea is the same. This morning we met our Cub Scout pack (and by our, I mean my 7-year-olds pack and my husband and I complete the our because that's how involved we are. Thought it was just Dads you say?Oh no, Moms, whole families come along to earn the patch for every event they can drag us to.) Where was I? Wow I really wandered off in the middle of that sentence.

We met Pack 81 at the Roaring River Fish Hatchery at 9:30. This was after obligatory Saturday breakfast at McDonald's where my child sucked down his daily biscuit. We had pretty good instructions, still with my complete lack of internal compass, we had some directional bumps. Still got there within minutes of everyone else, including Den leader in his uber-goofy hat.

Parked, wandered down to where the rest of the boys and families where arranged along the stone banks of what must be a human engineered pond, what with the stone blocks, pumped rush of water to keep fish happy and clearly well-stocked supply.

We borrowed a pole from the den leader as we are a currently still a little too urban to have fishing poles and tackle and also some bait. It looked like little yellow and orange balls of playdoh that smelled like fish butt. I left most of the labor to my husband while I went to find Hansel and Gretel's bathroom cottage. Really. I asked where the bathrooms were, was pointed to a picturesque house on a hill. If I hadn't really needed to go, I wouldn't have trudge up the hill and ten stone steps to get to it still worrying the witch would come out and bake me. But it was just regular, if old-fashioned bathrooms.

Returned back down the hill to my guys glancing at the hatchery tanks along the way. The whole hatchery looks as if it were built in the 50s as it's all stone tanks and ponds and old-fashioned buildings, but still working and producing trout. Rainbow trout, lots and lots of smelly rainbow trout.

Joe and Fletcher were "fishing" at this point and I used the term loosely because that consisted of an argument between the two because Fletcher hadn't got the hang of casting and was frustrating his father. Fletcher eventually learned to cast without endangering all of us with being hooked and caught two fish. Each fish caught caused a ballistic-level reaction at the thought he might have to touch it or even be near it. He acted as if there was the possibility of the fish leaping on him and going for his throat. Trying to get him to pose next to one of the fish, in a net, held by another person was misery.

After catching two fish and a whole hour standing around with a pole in his hand, son was sick of the whole process. He and I went to look at the hatchery tanks where he freaked out again at a large trout who was a little too close to the surface of the water. Really, I can't explain to him enough times that short of actually being in the water with the trout (where it would, at most, tickle you) it can't get to you. He doesn't buy my explanation, continues to flinch and dance away, almost falling into another tank.

Meanwhile, the other boys of the pack are happily touching flopping fish, crowing about catches, and happy as clams. Mine was bored, wanted to go home. We did.

Joe and I figure we should probably acquire some poles and tackle and force (I mean take) Fletcher to fish again until it's not too scary. Though I admit, it's still dull.

Spreadsheets and Prospace and Powerpoint, oh my

2009-08-07T08:05:00.000-07:00

It's actually hard to describe my job without actually making you do it. Though that's a great idea, here everyone, grab a spreadsheet, go to town.But I feel the need to express again the sheer tedium that being a sales analyst presents.

I work from home, which sounds great, and is in a way but also causes me to lose focus, most minutes and fail to act as quickly as I should, causing lots of last minute panic.

I realize I'm being tedious talking about my tedious job. Every day, I have at least eight spreadsheets, one or two Word files, up to three online databases, and perhaps a PowerPoint open switching back and forth working on the info. None of the information is interesting. NONE OF IT! Even if we have an uptick in sales, it's not interesting. It just is.

Seriously, it was all I could do not to burst into tears this morning when my boss called and said blithely, "Do we have Prospace set up for Ultracare?" I know that question just sounds like nonsense from the outside but in here it means have I completed hours of work in the stupid, clunky CAD program that helps you design shelving units for stores. More specifically have I ever done this for KMart. No, I haven't. I've never been asked to and it's not something I can just one-off in a thrice. It takes hours. It's tedious. Lots of little boxes have to be created with specific measurements, labeled and put into a bigger box. Blergh.

Prospace is like the worst computer game ever. Unless you find trying to fit small rectangles into a bigger rectangle that looks like a pegboard fascinating. It's a CAD program, and eight months passed between the time I had the training and I first needed to use it and I'm frankly incompetent. So it makes me nuts.

My job finally comes down to, people above me asking for me to retrieve information, put it in a usable, friendly form (that hopefully makes it say what they want) and distribute. My degree is in painting and ceramics. Does this sound like a good fit for me? Bonus points if you answer correctly.

Death of Pretty, Pink & Sixteen

2009-08-06T14:22:00.000-07:00

I find myself somewhat devastated by the news of John Hughes passing. Granted, in recent years, I have not found myself in a theater watching a John Hughes movie. I think his last work was writing Drillbit Taylor. Not a classic. I didn't even see it.

But in the 80s, I could probably define my time by Hughes. I was already college-aged (and in college, something that took me longer than it should, that's another blog) when Sixteen Candles came out. I can remember the ads, desperately wanting to see it, going by myself to a theater in Lubbock, TX. I only remember a dark theater, laughter, wanting all of Sam's clothes, probably her hair, and certainly her outcome in that movie.

Each successive Hughes movie celebrating the intricacies and tragedies of being a teenager was a favorite. He wrote the words that echoed what we spoke & thought or more likely what we wished we did. I was a 20-something finding myself in The Breakfast Club, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, even Some Kind of Wonderful.

And then there was Pretty in Pink. I didn't live on the wrong side of the tracks, but I almost wish that was the reason the popular people weren't friendly to me in high school. How I wanted a combination of Andie's clothes, Iona's cool & Duckie's verve. I am an Andee (different spelling, but still) imagine hearing your name attached to all of that. The angst, the cliques, everything that makes the teen years what they are. I was still needing these movies to help me recover from my teen years and move through my twenties.

Even now, upon hearing John had died, all my favorite scenes roll through my head. I want to find a cool hat to wear, I want to go back to work in a record shop, I want to fall in love again like I was 16.

I feel like we have truly lost something great. What words, what scenes, what defining moments were left in his head that we will never know? The lover of the visual in me is crushed to not know the answer.