Saturday, December 07, 2013

Post On Which Twerking Seems To Be An Overriding Thought

Never thought I'd say this, but I'm tired of the internet. Well, not the entire internet. I still like to look up recipes and watch twerking harlots set themselves on fire, but definitely some of the internet. Actually, I think it's just facebook.

If you ever feel that your particular house of worship is not providing you with enough advice, lecture, or judgement, then facebook is the place for you.

Now don't get me wrong. I love a lot of things about facebook. I like seeing cute pictures of friends' babies and puppies. I like . . . no, that's about it. I think that's all I like. Oh, and I like chatting with my friend about who on facebook is annoying us. I excuse my gossipy behavior as venting to only one person, in private, so that I don't make an ass of myself in public commenting on stupid things that have no meaning whatsoever to my real life, thereby sparing everyone embarrassment and hurt feelings.

But it isn't terribly healthy. And I find myself getting more and more annoyed with what is being posted:

Be Aware of Breast Cancer! Stop Being So Aware of Breast Cancer! It's nice that you post about veterans, but what about the tsunami? It's nice that you post about the tsunami, but what about the animals? Save the Tigers! Save the Trees! Donate! HOW CAN YOU BE SUCH AN ASSOLE BY NOT DONATING!!! Science is fucking awesome!!! Scientists are trying to genetically engineer our entire food supply and kill us!!! Buy organic pumpkins! Buy organic turkeys! Buy Girl Scout Cookies! STOP ABSORBING NEGATIVE ENERGY!!! STOP BUYING SO MUCH CRAP, YOU CONSUMERIST PIGS!!! Here's a coupon! Groupon! PIIIIIIIIIINTEREST!!!

I think I'm overwhelmed. Taken all at once, I am bombarded by conflicting messages every day. This isn't anyone's fault. Everyone has opinions and it's nice to share them. I've always enjoyed sharing mine because I'm a goddamn genius and everyone should be lucky enough to know what I think about anything I take my precious time to think about. But since the dawn of facebook, I have discovered that I don't have as many opinions as I thought, and even more shocking, I don't actually want to.

Now I will list 3 things about which I have no opinions:

Miley Cyrus - "But the CHILDREN!" you say. "She's a terrible example for them! You have daughters. Why don't you care? Care, damn you, CARE!!!"

Here's the truth: My daughters aren't twerkers. It's not because I raised them well or sheltered them. It's because that is not what they want to do. I don't know why. I don't care why. My job, in that regard, is easy. To other parents who have twerking daughters, all I can say is good luck, and maybe it's nice to be a grandparent before the arthritis sets in. Also, if you don't want them doing it, start doing it yourself. It's good exercise, and it will turn them off. Big time.

Christmas Displays Before Thanksgiving - Yeah. Don't care. I'm feeling ever increasing twinges of agoraphobia when I go to stores. It's not that I don't like people. I do. I just don't want to touch them or look at them or have any contact with them other than what is absolutely necessary to facilitate as fast a release from their presence as possible. So the store can display a full size, stark nude, anatomically correct, animatronic, Santa Clause jerking off to the horror of traumatized reindeer and cringing elves in the middle of summer, and the dread of human contact will override the timing of it upon my senses. Am I lucky? You be the judge.

People Who Use Their Cell Phones In Public All The Time - It's very simple. If they are on their cell phones, they are not interacting with me. Also, it's very funny when they walk into building support columns while texting.

In a way, it's a relief. You want to be knowledgeable. You don't want to be one of those people on camera who don't know who the Vice President is. And the quickest way to display your knowledge is to form an opinion. But it isn't necessary. You don't have to know everything. You don't have to have all the answers. No one does. I don't.

Tuesday, October 01, 2013

Memory Motel

I think this is my favorite by the Stones. I couldn't figure out why it always makes me cry. I don't have any one-night stands or unrequited loves to feel regretful or even nostalgic over. For years I've been chalking it up to crippling sympathy for others on my part and if the song has that bad an effect without a reason, God forbid I should ever have a reason. But as it turns out, the explanation is far simpler. It makes me think of my father. He's been gone over half my life now.

Anyway, it's a good song. Definitely on my top ten list. Maybe top five.

Where I Complain and Jethro Does Something About It

Two teenagers I have now. I know, I know. I had to drop both of them off early at school this morning, one for a test and the other, I highly suspect, to meet a boy. The traffic was bad, it was foggy, and I made sure to complain about it to Jethro who had gotten to spend those extra minutes all cozy in bed with the baby.

"Awwww," he said, sympathetically. "You deserve a reward." And proceeds to whip it out.

Is it weird that kind of thing works on me?

In other news, I would like to stop nursing the baby. I am pretty much over it. I've bonded. I swear. But I'm a little afraid she's going to be one of those nursing 6 year olds. She likes it so much. One glimpse of boob and she claps her hands and growls, "NUMEH!!!!" Which is, of course, hilarious.

She says lots of words now, and not all of them swear words! Actually none of them are swear words, but they do sound like them. For instance, "Whats that? sounds very much like "Oh shit!" And "fish" is pretty much "bitch."

She's a fun baby. Demanding, but fun. She thinks she's Miss America. She smiles and waves at everyone who looks at her and says "Hi!" in a charming little baby voice. She does this at the clinic with every patient who walks in. That can't be bad for business.

She's also kind of small for her age. She's not scrawny, just short and light. Her baby fat is fluffy, not dense. She also doesn't have a lot of hair which makes her look like a very dexterous, articulate infant instead of the wobbly, almost toddler she is. But she's fun. Her sisters are very proud of her. Their cell phone cameras are filled with pictures of her. No selfies, just Charley. It's sweet.

Wednesday, August 21, 2013


Heidey Ho, I'm back again. I've decided to discuss limitations. Everyone has them. I have them. You have them. We all have them. We've all heard the expression, "Know your limitations." The problem is, we've also all heard the expression, "If you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything."

So which is it?

Recently, I've figured out that I have been an incredibly optimistic person. Incredibly. And I use that word in the fullness of it's literal meaning. There is nothing in life that I cannot accomplish. It's just that I haven't decided what I actually want to accomplish. And why should I limit myself?

So my plastic craft drawers are overflowing with paper and paint and brushes and glitter and popsicle sticks glued to dirty socks. Yes. I saved dirty socks because somewhere I read that you can make things out of them. I don't remember what now. This was before Pinterest.

My bookshelves are stuffed with books and magazines and binders full of Information. And some pots and pans I can't seem to find a good place for. And a pile of things people have dangerously left at our house. I even have a binder containing the 1997 financial records of a company I used to work for - saved deliberately because someday I might want to know how to write an annual report.

My Inbox is deluged with coupons and groupons and unbelievable deals and jobs and pretty, pretty things to buy. And I may just do that someday. If the deals haven't expired, which they all have.

Then a couple of weeks ago, I was leafing through a magazine I was seriously considering buying and I found a recipe to make your own homemade yogurt. I love yogurt. In one of my earliest photos, I am gleefully covering myself in yogurt out of a cute, little, triangular, plastic bowl.

I thought, "Well I'm definitely buying this magazine now. A great chicken salad recipe AND a yogurt recipe! I could probably put the yogurt in the chicken salad. Totally worth it."

Then I began to read the yogurt recipe. First you have to buy some yogurt from the store. And not just any yogurt. It had to be a specific yogurt with the live, active cultures, and not just any old live, active cultures, but cultures from as unpasteurized a product as possible. This annoyed me unreasonably. I do not want to buy the product I'm making in order to make it. This seems unreasonable to me. But this was the easy part. Then they said you had to get a cooler and fill it with water that was 165 degrees. I'm now forgetting some steps. But basically, you had to keep the water temperature at 165 degrees. For a whole day. In a cooler. On the kitchen floor. For a batch of yogurt that would have to be eaten in less than a week. And then there was optional straining through cheesecloth for Greek or desired thickness. And I do like my yogurt thick.

So I stopped and thought about it. I actually had a minute to do that because Jethro had dropped me off at the store while he was getting a haircut and a beer, and he wasn't there yet to get me. So I asked myself, "Am I ever going to make yogurt?" And the answer came back to me as clear as a glass flute on a cold day. "No."

I am never going to make yogurt.

"But what about accomplishing anything you put your mind to? Where's your optimism? Where's your sense of adventure? Where's your love of yogurt?"

None of it mattered. I tried to cajole myself in 100 different ways to buy that magazine and save the recipe "just in case." But no. The Answer was Final. Irrevocable. The sentence was handed down with kryptonic rigidity. You. Will Never. Make. Yogurt.

I laid the magazine down on a table, turned around, and walked out the doors.

Some hours later, I was going through some recipes I had bookmarked. I came across three for homemade yogurt. I deleted them all.

I'm at peace with this, and yet I am a little ashamed. It turns out that I am a terrible hoarder. I am a hoarder of ideas. It's a very, very bad thing. But now I know.