AAAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH

I have been having more technology angst; so much so that I can barely sit at this computer ONE SECOND LONGER to type this.

It's a long story; but it essentially stems from the fact that I have an ancient Graphite iMac, circa 1999-2000. (Perspective Alert! I just found one on eBay for $9.99.) It's been a decent computer, though I've had to pimp it out to the extreme of its little capacity. I've bought it all the new operating systems, done firmware updates, bought tons of RAM, an external CD burner, and a nice USB-2 extra hub, so it still qualifies for the bare minimum of what you would expect from a working computer.

So...the iPod. My beautiful little iPod, whose hard drive is more than DOUBLE the size of Old Bessie. As it turns out, all those song files take up a lot of hard drive space on the creaky old girl, so I went out and bought her an external, 160-gig hard drive to put all those songs onto. After some messing around, I finally figured out how to drag all the music files (2200+) onto my new hard drive, after which I trashed the files from Old Bessie. The transfer took like three hours, but the iMac went from having 2 gigs free to having 12, so I assumed that was a good thing.

However, yesterday, I began to have problems dragging new CDs that I'd downloaded from my library into my iPod. It would start to copy them, and then iTunes would freeze up, requiring me to force quit out, and then restart my computer. Over and over this happened. I put a call into Apple, who connected me with an otherwise nice Indian fellow, except that made me ERASE MY IPOD - even though I begged him not to; the iPod wasn't messing up, and plus I had a couple of movies on there that I will never get back - and re-download iTunes. He swore that would work - and when it didn't, I decided to drag all of that music BACK onto my hard drive, because I figured the new drive had to be the problem.

So, after three more hours of this, I try again. No luck; still can't transfer anything. I call Apple back, I meet another nice Indian fellow, but I can tell he doesn't have any idea what is going on. He then connects me with an American guy - who is NOT a nice fellow; he IS in fact Jimmy Fallon's Computer Guy character. This is a more or less exact transcript of our initial exchange:

Asshole Apple Guy: "So, where'd you get the music?"
Me: "It's all from my CD's, except for maybe 20 songs I bought off of iTunes."
AAG: "Are you sure ALL of it is from your music?"
Me: "Um, yes; I copied some compilations, but there's only a few of those."
AAG: "Did you use iTunes to download them?"
Me: "Yes...I only have a Mac, and I only have this one."

Some futzing with getting info on the songs ensued.

AAG: "What format are your songs in?"
Me: "Um....this says...MPEG 1."
AAG: "Well, then, you couldn't have used iTunes. It only supports AAC"
Me: "Um...YES, I DID, I only have ONE COMPUTER."
AAG: "Well, iTunes doesn't do that."
Me: "I ONLY HAVE ONE COMPUTER, and it ONLY OPENS ITUNES. Look, everything worked for a month, up until yesterday. Do you have any idea why these files are, as you say they are, WRONG, and how this happened?"
AAG: "No. I just know that you'll have to convert every one of your songs to AAC."

There was more insinuating that I'm a music thief and/or a complete computer illiterate, and there was a HELLISH wait period while he made me try his theory. I put down the phone for like 20 minutes and surfed the web. (It is NOT OK to treat a Type A person like that. I was about to start biting through the gel wristguard.)

For better or for worse, AAG's theory appears to work. So, at about two minutes per song to convert, and about 2400 songs...plus the time it'll take me to manually delete all the old files after they convert...so, in only 80 hours, I'll have all my songs back onto my iPod.

Maybe I should just go fucking well buy a new computer. But, I swear to you, the thought of downloading ALL those songs again makes me want to slam my fingers in a door. Plus, as I've previously noted, we've (meaning I'VE) been on a spending binge lately, and we really need to pay all that off first.

Off to bed, where I will dream of 250 Gigs. Those drives...they're so big...and so, well, HARD...

Mags

Bill Clinton's reply to Ann Coulter

So, apparently, my favorite pundit has recently suggested that Bill Clinton is GAY.

*snarf*

My Beer Personality

You Are Heineken

You appreciate a good beer, but you're not a snob about it. You like your beer mild and easy to drink, so you can concentrate on being drunk. Overall, you're a friendly drunk who's likely to buy a whole round for your friends... many times. Sometimes you can be a bit boring when you drink. You may be prone to go on about topics no one cares about.

What's Your Beer Personality?

True Story

As previously noted, I've been on a bit of a technology-buying spree lately. One thing that I've bought recently is a DVD recorder, because I was frustrated with the whole disappearing-format tendency of video camera technology. I figured, well, if I can put everything straight to DVD, that will help with this problem. (Remember, I have an old computer, which did not have the capacity to store any movies. Or, I did, until I bought a new 160-gig external hard drive yesterday to support my iPod habit...sweeeet. I am downloading now with impunity.)

But, before that, I bought this DVD recorder, also because we have skillions of videotapes that I am getting sick of storing, but am too attached to their contents to throw away. (e.g. hundreds of episodes of Mystery Science Theater 3000, The Kids in the Hall, Ren and Stimpy, Space Ghost, and multitudes of movies.)

Before I go any further, I am by default the tech person at our house. I do the researching, buying, and hooking up of components related to video, audio, and computer. (The Man would like it to be known that he is competent in these matters, but that I just get there first.) He seems to think of me as acting like The Computer Guy that Jimmy Fallon used to play on SNL. ("*Sigh.* MOVE!")

Upon transferring a few movies (I started with MST3K's version of "The Giant Gila Monster," which is a gem,) I noted that the videotapes tended to stick upon ejecting them. I'm thinking, well, that's not going to get any better, so I decided to pack it back up in the box and exchange it for another of the same brand.

In between interacting with the girls (alternately scolding, redirecting, and taking to the potty every half an hour,) I unhook the recorder from its clusterfuck of cables, pick it up, nestle it neatly back in its styrofoam (Mags' momma taught her to not throw away the boxes until you were SURE it was working just perfectly,) and pack up ALL of the accoutrements that came with it, remotes, cables, and all.

I tried unsuccessfully to find a brief babysitter gig so that I did not have to take the girls to what was indisputably going to result in a wait in the Customer Service line, but to no avail. Deciding to soldier on, I haul the recorder, myself, and two wiggly girls to Best Buy. Surprisingly, the wait is short, the exchange painless ("Do you have the remote in here?" "Why, yes, I do!" "And the cables?" "Yes, sir!") and the girls amazingly well-behaved. Cheerful now, we decide to go to Radijazz, because I'm just that good a mom. (I promised Older Girl that we would stay until she got tired. FOUR HOURS LATER, I decided that was impossible, and made them leave.)

So, later that day, we get home, and I pull out the new DVD/VCR combo. Looks fine, all is good. I pick it up and go to plug it back into the clusterfuckage, when, lo and behold, I realize that there is, in fact, STILL a DVD/VCR combo on my shelf.

So...what did I take back to the store? Yes, that's right, I packed up MY CABLE BOX and returned it to Best Buy! And nobody noticed it, not me, and not the Technology Professional that looked through my box with such care.

There was another, hurried, trip to Best Buy, again hauling the two children. The situation was remedied quickly...but not without some gloating from The Man when he heard this story. "Oh, you're such a TECH GODDESS, how did that ever happen?" I'm all "Well, I was TRYING to watch your CHILDREN and not let them KILL THEMSELVES or something, it's no WONDER I was DISTRACTED." Bastard.

And the upshot of all this? The new DVD/VCR? Tapes still stick in it.

Recovering, and 10 Days of Summer Vacation

How's my head?

Well, erm...I never had any complaints...

Oh. You mean my headACHE! It's better.

I hear tell that molds are really, really high in Austin right now. (Once I saw a car that had one of those "Austin - Live Music Capital of the World" bumper sticker cut up - bumper sticker cutting is a prime source of amusement in Austin, BTW - to say "Austin: Evil Mold Capital of the World." I have never, ever forgotten that, because it is SO TRUE. I will never understand why a town that never gets any rain grows such startlingly toxic and copious molds. The Man was laid up with it this afternoon, so I guess that's the most likely culprit.

Today, I realized that summer vacation was nearly over. I realized it because I was fantasizing about committing sixyearoldacide. But I stopped myself, because I realized that we only have 10 more days left together before we are both back off to the races. Sigh. Thank god. (But, to her credit, it's never taken us THIS LONG to get to that point before. When she was three, I wanted to go back to work after Memorial Day weekend.)

Younger girl, though pretty calm and blessedly still in the cutie-pie stage, can also be a lot to handle, A case in point; she "went boneless" during the brief errand involving insurance paperwork. Ain't no fun hauling 27 pounds of limp meat plus holding the hand of a six-year-old that may as well be a squirrel monkey. However - when they're two, you kind of laugh when they chirp, brightly, "I GO BONELESS!" to everyone in the office as you carry them out. (Poor O.G. When they're six, they get an ass-chewing for that kind of behavior.)

So, as I'm feeling guilty for such horrible thoughts (and because I know that most folks DO NOT WANT TO HEAR people in the education field complaining that they have "too many vacation days,") I'm putting my game face on for the next 10 days. It's fun mom central, I promise. Children's museum, indoor gymnasium, Central Market Cafe, swimming pools all over town, lunch at Sandy's Frozen Custard, whatever. Maybe there'll even be Peter Pan Mini-Golf. I'm finally feeling motivated to haul my ass out of here (which reminds me; it's day 3 of post-vacation diet. So far so good).

I have to say, though, the alternative to going out is to being at home. If there's TV on and it's actually me that's chosen the channel (which never happens,) I have it on the news, and the news is simply depressing. Oh, well, maybe I'll just focus on my happy certainty that this Mideast war will bring on the rapture. ('Cos damn if this won't be a much happier place without all those fundamentalists!)

I leave you with this nugget of joy...YouTube has the unreleased, never-before-seen pilot of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer." It's more or less the same as the original, but there is a decidedly different Willow present. (Sheesh...that was 10 years ago already, and I was old to watch that show when I did watch that show.)

Hasta.

Something is WRONG with me.

I have had the Biggest. Fucking. Headache. For like three days. I can't post, I can't think, I cannot rouse myself off of the couch. The children are being watched by their reliable, if potentially harmful, babysitter, Mrs. 27-Inch Panasonic.

Molds? Day two of cold-turkey caffeine withdrawal? Vacation hangover? Dieting lethargy? (Or the bastard stepchild of the latter two, Vacation Eight-Pound Weight-Gain Depression?) I don't know. But I am too struck down to care.

Tylenol didn't work, nor did ibuprofen. I brought out the big guns last night - Demerol and Darvocet left over from my bunion surgery in February. I think they just made me more tired, though I was noticeably more relaxed for poker over t'McJo's last night.

I am going to VALIANTLY haul myself to the pool just so the children do not start to suffer from my pain. I believe I'm going to go for that Greta Garbo hat and sunglasses thing, though, 'cause there's always parents from Older Girl's school there, and I DON'T want to talk to anyone. (I almost put "Making small talk with other parents at school functions" on my list of activities in hell.) I'd wear a scarf, too, but I don't know how. Never could pull one off like Karla and Tricia can.

I vant to be aloone.

Vacation Recap; Movies Reviewed; Other Detritus

(Prelude and subsequent interludes to wordy essay...The periodically interrupting iPod report. I wonder if it can do the iPod Magic 8 Ball thing that the old iPod can do. Let's see.)

It is currently playing Belle and Sebastian, "Stars of Track and Field." I love that song. And, I married one!

Kansas City is my hometown. My parents built their current house the year before I was born, meaning they have lived there for 38 years. That's a startling figure to me, as I, and the house, have usually come to represent recent developments in my family, what with my sister and brother being seven and twelve years older than me, respectively. They had two houses before I came along, and I always found that really strange.

(iPod interlude. The Chipmunks, "Whip It." Nonononono. Fast forward! OK, next up..."Pink Bullets" by The Shins. Much better.)

I grew up on a lake, which is in high contention for the prize given to the best part of my childhood. I swam every day of every summer, in my memory. My friends came over to swim, to grill out, and to lie out on the dark after dark and talk, and later to sneak cigarettes and giggle. It's the biggest attachment I have to my house, which after 38 years is getting a bit long in the tooth. (That actually hurt to write.)

("Happy Family." The Ramones. Ooooh! It works!)

Anyway, the parents still live on the lake. My father is not well, my mother takes care of him. It's hard. But, home visits are still something we look forward to, not the least reason being the total devotion my mother has for my children, even when they are Not Deserving Of It. (There was a pool ball incident, in which a ball was THROWN ACROSS THE ROOM hard enough to break an antique picture frame. Older Girl was at least an instigator. There was killing.)

("Le Freak," Chic. I did freak out, come to think of it. C'est chic.)

Of course, the girls, too share my love for the lake. Here's a bomber-suited darling with The Man:

And on our friend's pontoon boat, right at sunset:


("Cherry Cherry," Neil Diamond, "Lay Your Hands on Me," Thompson Twins. The iPod loves Erin's wedding barbecue music CDs.)

So, there's my highlight reel, really. I love the lake I grew up on. KC - well, it's fine; there's good barbecue (YES, Texans, I WENT THERE) and pretty architecture. More "culture" than Austin, in the old money sense, but less things to do. Unless you are right in the heart of downtown or midtown, you could mistake it for any other city in the country. There's a reason many "family chains," e.g. Applebee's, Houlihan's, Swensen's, are based there. Even if you go into a restaurant that isn't a chain, you have a feeling it wants to be one.

("The Armadillo Jackal," Robert Earl Keen. Actually don't know that song very well; haven't listened to No Kinda Dancer much. So I don't know what that means. Oooh, now it's "Scary Monsters (Super Freaks)" by David Bowie. Yes, there are scary monsters and DISTINCTLY super freaks in my past, some of whom currently live in Kansas City. Probably in the suburbs.)

Other than swim and visit with the family, we did get out and about a bit. We went to Worlds of Fun, which is KC's version of Six Flags. Older Girl rode the Mamba, which is the scariest fucking roller coaster I have EVER been on. Even though she was totally yoked in, I spent the entire ride with my arm pressed into her chest. I spent a nice day eating lunch at Andre's (not a chain, a lovely little Swiss chocolate/pastry shop that serves girly lunches...too wonderful, and NOT available in Austin) and shopping with the friends on the Country Club Plaza, wherein at some point I was talked into spending several hundred dollars at J.Jill (!) and Eddie Bauer (!!) (Seriously! I KNOW! And nothing was even BLACK! There's a fucking orange shirt in there! It was those women!)

("Landslide," The Dixie Chicks, "My Baby Loves Lovin," the White Plains. Who? Wait a minute...is there a theremin in that song? I'm hallucinating; must be the South Beach.)

The Man went to the Nelson Art Gallery that same day, which is way up on lists of things you should DEFINITELY go see if you ever visit. D'Bronx Deli is also a required stop, for me, at least. Deli is also not done right in Austin.

("Long Tall Texan," Lyle Lovett. "Can't Keep It In," Cat Stevens. I am wavering in my ability to process potential parallels to my life story. But, I'm glad I found the former, and I'm glad I left home, which is what the second song discusses.)

Other than that, I saw a few movies. First, we saw "A Prairie Home Companion," an odd, but enjoyable, little film. I'd say your barometer of whether you will like it falls exactly in line with your tolerance of the show. Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin were fantastic, as were Woody Harrelson and John C. Reilly. Kevin Kline is a god, and has been on my list from WAY BACK. But, like I said, it's definitely an odd little pic.

Next, we saw "Superman Returns." Confession alert: I'm a fangirl. I haven't gone into it much here, but I am a hard superhero customer to please. I went into the theater totally expecting to hate it, as Christopher Reeve is always, and will always be, Superman to me. I was also afraid they'd try to sex it up, put rubber nipples on his suit, that sort of thing. But, no...instead, the theater darkens, and I hear "Dah dah dah dah dah, DAH DAH DUM, etc." The credits roll, and the letters are the same diminishing blue outlines of old. I completely geeked out. They had me at the credits. Brandon Routh and Kevin Spacey were perfect...and I can't believe that I think that Brandon is ... as handsome as Chris! Kate Bosworth I was unimpressed with. She's no Margot Kidder. ("You've got me?? Who's got you???")

Then, we saw "Pirates of the Caribbean." Johnny Depp was fantastic, and the movie was pretty good. Kinda surprisingly long, considering the audience. The story was actually nonsensical, but I could watch Johnny Depp brush his teeth for two hours.

(I've lost track. "Why Have I Lost You," Cameo. "West of The Fields," R.E.M. "Something to Say," Toad the Wet Sprocket. I totally lose cool points with the last one.

And, that's about it. There was a waterpark in there somewhere, but it bears no observation, as it pales in comparison to Schlitterbahn, the Taj Mahal of all waterparks. The Man found a brew pub he liked, and actually sucked up his snotty Texan attitude long enough to have some decent Mexican food.

Nighty night, friends. This is long enough. For several posts. I believe I'm bogarting the internet.

I leave you with this, on the iPod, which is sure to be revelatory...

wait for it...

"Does Your Mother Know." Abba. I shit you not. No, Benny and Agnetha, she did not. Ever.

In Which Mags Returns

...from a 10-day vacation! To Kansas City, Missouri! Wheee!!! (I'm sure Karla is supadupa impressed. Jeez...she was in Italy when they won the frickin' World Cup. That is so damn amazing.)

Oh, lordy, it's been 10 hours in the car, and I'm brain dead. It's a 12-hour drive if you get from Point A to Point B in the most straightforward manner, which is I-35 through Oklahoma and Kansas, and then to the Kansas Turnpike to KC. On the way up, we did six hours in one evening, stopped in fabulous Norman, Oklahoma for the night (at what is inarguably a nice and comfortable Super 8), and then did the next six the following morning. (Had to get there before 1:00 so The Man could watch the World Cup finals, dontcha know.)

On the way back, though, we stopped and visited some dear friends in Arkansas, who put us up for the night. Love them, love the visit, always do it. It usually means eight hours in the car on the way back, which is totally doable, but I think we stayed too long savoring that scrumptious Braum's lunch or something, because we ended up spending 10 hours in the car.

I'm not quite to adding "10 hours in a station wagon with my children fighting in the back seat" to my "What's In My Hell" list, but only - ONLY - because of the iPod. See? Totally justified spending.

I'm probably gonna post some kind of highlights reel tomorrow. But, quite frankly, it was a family vacation, and my biggest highlight was getting to see my family and friends. My parents and my sister live there, so I see them twice a year or more. In a very cool development, my brother and nephews also flew in from Boston, and I hardly EVER get to see them, so that was thrilling for me and the girls. Also, two of my dearest friends also came in, in a completely choreographed fashion, to also see their parents. (We know what we need in a home visit, eh, girls?) I'd post their picture, 'cos they're lovely, but I didn't ask their permission, and they're much more important than I.

But, I will post one picture, the one taken at the moment that I realized that Summer 2006 is the Season of Mags Unexpectedly Having Birds on Her Body And/Or Head During Her Vacations:


(From the Kansas City Zoo's new lorikeet exhibit. They let you in to feed them every hour. How cool is that?)

Well, I'm off to go do something that is not sitting in a car, or eating fast food, or in fact venturing outside at all - it's one hundred and one fucking degrees outside. It was a hundred and FOUR in Dallas this afternoon. Did I mention that there were two children? Small and lovely, but bored and thus either a) hyperactive or b) extremely pesky, in respective order?

Have a lovely evening!

Mags

P.S. Will one of you more bloggy-experienced folks (are you blogsperienced?) write me and tell me how you link to one of your own posts? I seem to remember reading it somewhere, but my computer's too old and tired to do extensive research on it. Thanks!!

Sporadic Posting Alert

We're computerless again for the next several days, so posting will be sporadic, at best, until the 19th or 20th or so.

I leave you with a photograph inspired by Karla May, whose cat Earl has a sizeable, and yet still very attractive, belly overhang. My cat, Molly, weighs 16 pounds, and has been on a diet for 10 of the 12 years of her life. (Do we not feel her pain? I FEEL YOUR PAIN, baby.) She loves to drape herself over the back of the couch, and though I have several pictures of this, I cannot seem to find them right this second.

But, I do have a picture of her that I dearly love. You ever try to cram yourself into jeans that are a size too small? And you know they're tight, but you just steel yourself, and hope that nobody ELSE will notice that they're so tight that they had to be zipped up with a pair of pliers?

Well, that's what happened to Molly, and the shoebox:

She wanted in there SO BAD, and she was really quite content for some time, even with several of us walking past, pointing, whispering, giggling, and eventually snapping pictures.

Oh, we have other cats...several other cats...actually, we have far too many cats. But that is a story for another time. Suffice it to say that Molly is the best "big-boned girl" kitty that we have ever had.

Those are her "pissed-off ears" in the first picture. I wish I could pull off "pissed-off ears."

Have a happy few days, y'all. Stay cool; go swimming. If you're in Austin, go to lunch at Enoteca Vespaio on South Congress. We went there today, taking advantage of a day without the six-year-old (mad props for summer day camps, yo). It was AMAZING. Not quite as pricey as Vespaio, but I still had a NICE Italian meal. Not easy to come by in Austin. Mexican, Tex-Mex - another story. And worthy of a post someday. But, must be industrious, damn it.

LYLAS!! Mean it!!

I'm a bad, bad Mags!

I shouldn't have done it.

It was really so naughty of me.

But it was just so sexy, sitting there in the Mac store at Barton Creek Mall; and it was clearly lonely and in need of a good, warm, home.

Mmmmmm...and it's soooo good. No! It's BAD! Stop this madness! Did it HAVE to be the 60 GB? Did you REALLY think you needed that POWERFUL and MANLY a machine? Why, why, why? Did you have illusions of wealth, or coolness, that you JUST. DO. NOT. POSSESS?

In a word; yes. It's mine. It's all mine. And I lurrrrrve it. I don't care what everyone else says. You just don't understand LOVE. (stomps off to room. With iPod.)

Technology BREAKDOWN at the Mags Household

May I scream?

AIIIEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

I started a post a few days ago about how my digital camera, my video camera, and my television had all DIED or gone kerfluey within a couple of weeks of each other. It was called "Despair at the Best Buy," and it was supposed to be a funny, Seinfeld-ish musing on the purchasing of new technology when all the other fucking electronics in your house are too old and breaking down to support anything new. But, I got halfway into it, and it just sounded cheap and whiny, so I bagged it.

But tonight...the beloved new (to me) iPod? The one I've loved and carried for the past eight weeks or so? Dropped on the bathroom floor. The little earphone jack is now loose, and thus the whole thing does not work - this being a pre-docking iPod, and thus one that heavily relies on the little earphone jack to make the music, you know, AUDIBLE?

I was so pissed off that I sulked around the house for about two hours. Seriously. I tried to go for a walk, but it WAS NOT THE SAME. God. Damn. It.

I finally looked up at the man, who does not know of the joy of the Pod, and I said, "Honey, I don't think I can go on without one." (Keep in mind that I've spent $1400 at the Best Buy in the past FOUR DAYS.) He, to his credit, just sighed, but not in a "oh, no fucking way" kind of way.

(And, just now, he ventured in to suggest that there are ways I can earn his consent to purchase said brand-new iPod. Pig. And yet...ah, hell, I was tired anyway.)

Baby, It's The Fourth of July

We are back from a visit with the in-laws in Salado, TX. A mellow good time was had by all, except Older Girl, who is rarely, if ever, mellow. Much grillage occurred, there was beer and wine consumed, and we went swimming briefly until the rain drove us away. I feel like a fat, stuffed goose. Quack. (Or honk?)

Not quite as much wine was consumed by me today as I would normally put away at the folks' house. Our friends Bill and Julie had us over for a 3rd of July party at their house on Lake Travis last night, where we watched fireworks and enjoyed the music of Bubba Coletrane, a.k.a the band helmed by Bob Noxious. I was not really hung over today, but I did have a bit of wine and beer last night; enough that I amused The Man immensely when, at 1:00 AM, I announced that I really wanted to stay up all night talking to him and watching Buffy DVDs. But, needless to say, I was very tired today.

Anyway, it's a drizzly evening in Austin, and I can hear the Town Lake fireworks going off, but have no desire whatsoever to attempt to go see them. It's such a clusterfuck going down there. Bah, humbug, or whatever Scrooge would say regarding fireworks.*

So, this post appears to be turning into the equivalent of just punching the clock. I truly want to get in bed and finish the book I have checked out from the library (Live From New York: An Uncensored History of Saturday Night Live) It's pretty fascinating, especially since I've watched most of every season of SNL - even the Charles Rocket year - except the last couple of years. I guess I'm not SHOCKED that everyone except Jane Curtin was coked to the gills 24/7, but I think watching some of those old sketches now will be somewhat more revelatory now.

OK, chickens, I leave you with this puzzling bit of wonderment. It's an article entitled "Man of Steel, Woman of Kleenex," and I was made aware of it by my good buddy John over at Harvard Avenue. It's an essay, apparently several years old, regarding the physics of Superman having sex with and impregnating Lois Lane. (I don't know that I can ever see the Ice Bedroom scene in Superman II again without wondering how Superman ejaculated into Lois Lane, what with the Super Sperm that must have exited like bullets.)

It occurs to me that some people think very different thoughts than I do.

Have a great holiday; mind your dogs tonight.

*"If I could work my will," said Scrooge indignantly, "every idiot who goes about with 'Happy Independence Day' on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a roman candle through his heart. He should!"

Eyes! Hair! Mouth! Figure!

OK, really, just the first three. Working on the figure is not panning out so well this summer. But I still want to be Rainbow High!

I got a coupon for a free Aveda makeup consultation at JR Salon, which is the local somewhat cheaper version of the downtown real ritzy salon. So, not being someone to turn down free anything, I went.

But, see, the thing is, I've never really been that into makeup. (Badger is horrified.) My makeup history is thus: My bad friend Kelley showed me how to put on sparkly purple eyeshadow from Spencers in the seventh grade. Then, Debbie Davis showed me how to put on gray eyeliner in the ninth grade. That's pretty much it. See, my mother only wore eyebrow pencil and lipstick, and made caustic comments about my trashy appearance whenever I tried to wear any around her. And, my sister was not deeply into makeup either, and was seven years older than I was, so she was pretty much in college by the time I cared to learn.

The sum total of makeup regimen has been, for approximately the past 20 years: Mascara, gray eyeliner, lipstick, foundation (very light,) powder (in a compact, cake-style,) blush (ditto.) I wear eyeshadow maybe once or twice a year. I still have the same eyeshadow I had when I moved here 13 years ago, I think. And, cheapskate that I am, with the exception of some Aveda lipsticks, it's usually all Walgreens. Oh, I went "classy Walgreens" a few years ago and started buying L'Oreal, but I'm still strictly low-rent. (However, when it comes to my hair, I am the EXACT OPPOSITE. NOTHING is too good for my hair. I have a neat line of Aveda products in my medicine cabinet that is my pride and joy; to hell with my kids!)

So, with trepidation, but too cheap to turn down a freebee, I went to the salon (and ended up parking six blocks away because the Brazil game was on at Sampaios, the Brazilian restaurant next door. Man, that's an effing party, let me tell you. Must check it out sometime.) Juanita, the makeup lady, was friendly and nonthreatening to a fancy makeup neophyte. When Juanita asked me how I cleansed my skin, I couldn't just tell the truth, which is "soap and water," so I fudged a bit and said I had some nice antioxidant cleanser. That's not technically a lie, because I do own some. I occasionally do remember to put on moisturizer, but it's Oil of Olay from Walgreens, the one with the SPF 15 in it.

So, I got the tour of the Aveda cosmetic line. Apparently, it is all natural, and it is mineral-based, which I am told is VERY IMPORTANT. I will admit, she sold it well, and I listened very closely when she told me how to actually apply makeup. I figured it was about time, what with being 36 and all. And, though I felt like a French whore when I left, I believe I actually looked pretty good.

Interesting thing about the whole "free" makeup session: it's not ACTUALLY free, when you leave with $71 worth of makeup. Then you run over to the local drugstore for $30 worth of brushes and miscellany to apply the $71 worth of makeup WITH, because damn if you're going to buy Aveda brushes for $20 a pop or something like that, right? So, "free" actually translates to "crap, how in the fuck did I just end up spending $100 on fucking makeup?"

I'd have taken a picture of the professional job from yesterday, but my camera was dead. So, today, $400 at Best Buy later, is my attempt to recreate it, just for you:



Damn, you can't even really tell anything in these pictures. You'll just have to trust me when I say that I am wearing, for me, a LOT of makeup. And I spent nearly 15 minutes doing it, whereas before, my motto was: "If it can't be completed at the stoplights between here and work, it's not getting done."

I have to say, I like the look, even if I still hear my mother's comments in my head, thus ensuring that I continued to feel like a French whore throughout my entire visit to the H.E.B. this afternoon. But, nobody propositioned me, so perhaps I'm overreacting.

So, Sienna hair, check. Makeup lessons, check. Charm and poise school...eh, cram that up yer ass. Next up: reducing the thighs and buttOCKS. Lipo! Lipo!

What's Your Hell Like?

Things in my hell:

Drinks in my hell:

• Diet. Cherry. VANILLA. Doctor. Pepper. How many words in this name equal "yuk?" ALL OF THEM.
• Big Red, and any/all and sundry of the "cream soda" family
  
• whiskey
  
• that horrible Yerba Mate soda I had at the party watching the Argentina/Germany game yesterday

Food in my hell: Flan. And Circus Peanuts.

Occupations in my hell: Cutting off the plastic packaging around electronic equipment and/or kids' toys. Perhaps Armpit Sniffer.

Music mix in my hell: Redneck mainstream country. Contemporary Christian music. Hardcore gay- and woman-bashing/killing rap. And Barney.

President in my hell: um...crap.

The only author in my hell: Hemingway.

Husbands in my hell: Rush Limbaugh. Dick Cheney. Some crazy polygamist cult leader. (Our neighbor! Yay!) Ann Coulter (she is a man, is she not?) And Barney.

Only activities allowed in my hell:

• Going to a laundromat
• Waiting for service people to come to my house
• Looking at pictures of myself when I weighed 20 lbs more
• Waiting in a long, long line with a hyperactive six-year-old and a fussy two-year-old
• Dieting

I think that's all I got for tonight. Any other suggestions? Or, have better answers?

The Bookhart Music Meme

Oh, my dearest Bookhart. You have created a difficult one. I shall try my best to do it justice.

Here it is, the "Name Up To Three" meme. I don't think anyone reads my blog that doesn't read hers, but consider yourself challenged, if you have not been already.

Note: I am aware that these are fairly pedestrian choices. But what was it Woody Allen said about banging his stepdaughter? "The heart wants what it wants." (Coincidentally, I also have sex with teenagers!)

Song(s) That I Loathe to the Core of My Being

• "Doorbell" - The White Stripes (sorry; yes, I know I am uncool. I surrendered my Cool epaulets some time ago.)
• "God Bless The USA" - Lee Greenwood
• "The Angry American" - Toby Keith

Musical Artist(s) That I Loathe to the Core of My Being
(Note: This was a hard one. I used to hate people like Neil Young and Led Zeppelin, until I got older and realized how wrong I was.) But, for now:

• Toby Keith
• Lee Greenwood
• and...I'm not sure about the White Stripes. So far, they irritate the bejesus out of me. Who knows; I might be wrong about them, too, later on.)

Rolling Stones Song(s) I Love:

• "You Can't Always Get What You Want"
• "Brown Sugar"
• "Honky Tonk Woman"

Beatles Song(s) I Love:

• "Let It Be"
• "We Can Work It Out"
• "Day Tripper"

Who Song(s) I Love:

• "Squeeze Box"
• "Pinball Wizard"

Reggae Song(s) I Love:
Hmm, hmm, hmm. You know, I like Bob Marley as much as the next thirtysomething-aged whitebread suburban gal...but honestly, I'm going to have to change this one a bit, unless the Police count. They probably don't.

Can I do ska songs I love, instead?

• "One Step Beyond" - Madness
• "Whine and Grind/Stand Down Margaret" - The English Beat
• "It Must Be Love" - Madness

Country Song(s) I Love:

• "Waltz Across Texas" - Ernest Tubb
• "Walkin' After Midnight" - Patsy Cline
• "Levelland" - James McMurtry (as sung by Robert Earl Keen)

Movie Soundtrack(s) I Love:

• "Valley Girl" (natch)
• "Brokeback Mountain"
• "O Brother Where Art Thou"

Musical Soundtrack(s) I Love:

• "Godspell"
• "Little Shop of Horrors"
• "Evita"

Cover Song(s) I Love:

• "Crazy Little Thing Called Love" - Dwight Yoakum
• "Pictures of Matchstick Men" - Camper Van Beethoven
• "They Don't Know" - Tracy Ullman

Contemporary Top-40 Artist(s) I Secretly Love:
This is a big secret...don't tell ANYONE.

• Kelly Clarkson. I'm so sorry.

(I also like Green Day and Franz Ferdinand, but they're OK not to be a secret.) So...if they HAVE to be a secret fetish, then Pink and Gwen Stefani, too. And the Foo Fighters. OK, that 's more than three.)

Song(s) That Bring Me to Tears

• "Let It Be" - The Beatles
• "Sweet Dreams" - Patsy Cline
• "Can't Help Falling In Love With You" - Elvis Presley

Song(s) That Make Me Shake My Ass

• "Hey Ya" - Outkast
• "This Corrosion" - Sisters of Mercy (of course!)
• "Major Tom" - Peter Schilling
  

(I have no idea why that silly song popped into my mind. But, back in the day, I used to like to go to Retro Night, and I liked to dance when it would come on. Oh, come on. "Four, Three, Two, One...?" You know you'd do it. You're not better than me.)

Classical Composer(s) I Love:

• Mozart (duh)

Rap/Hip-Hop Song(s) I Love:

• "Hey Ya" - Outkast
• "Sabotage" - The Beastie Boys
• "I Like The Way You Move" - Outkast
  

70s Disco Song(s) I Love:
So, so many. But, the ones that spring into my head first are:

• "Don't Leave Me This Way" - Thelma Houston
• "If I Can't Have You" - Yvonne Elliman
• "You Make Me Feel Like Dancing" - Leo Sayer

70s Supergroup Song(s) I Love:
What's a 70's Supergroup? Do you mean a big 70's band, or a true SUPERGROUP, like The Band? I'm going to go with the first one:

• "Already Gone" - The Eagles
• "Wish You Were Here" - Pink Floyd
• "Surrender" - Cheap Trick

Metal Song(s) I Love:
Lord, I never liked metal much. But, there were a few, I guess...

• "Round and Round" - Ratt
• "Epic" - Faith No More
• "Cum On Feel the Noize" - Quiet Riot, and Slade

New Wave Song(s) I Love:
(Honestly, B, how on earth can I choose? It's like choosing between your children.)

• "Is There Something I Should Know?" - Duran Duran
• "I Melt With You" - Modern English
• "Don't You (Forget About Me) - Simple Minds

Soul/R&B Song(s) I Love:

• "(You Make Me Feel Like A) Natural Woman" - Aretha Franklin
• "I Try" - Macy Gray
• "Give Up the Funk (Tear the Roof Off The Sucker)" - Parlaiment

Power Ballad(s) I Love:

• "More Than Words" - who sang that song?

I can't really claim to love many others. But I will sing the holy fuck out of anything in the Journey catalog on karaoke night. Also, most Toto songs. So, maybe that's its own kind of love.

It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you...

Pre 1950s Song(s) I Love:

• "I Get A Kick Out of You" - Cole Porter
• "Too Darn Hot" - Cole Porter
• "Ev'ry Time We Say Goodbye" - Cole Porter

Punk Song(s) I Love:

• "Ever Fallen In Love" - The Buzzcocks
• "Sheena Is a Punk Rocker" - The Ramones
• "American Idiot" - Green Day

Singer/Songwriter Song(s) I Love:

• "Let The Mystery Be" - Iris DeMent
• "Levelland" - James McMurtry
• "Angry All the Time" - Bruce Robison

MTV Video(s) I Love:
oooh, it's been a while...my age will very much show. Why don't we rename this category: "Classic MTV Videos I Used to Love, Long Ago, when MTV showed Videos:"

• "Save A Prayer" - Duran Duran
• "Wrapped Around Your Finger" - The Police
• "Sabotage" - The Beastie Boys

None of the Above Song(s) I Love:

• "Girlfriend" - Matthew Sweet
• "Birdhouse In Your Soul" - They Might Be Giants
• "Cruel To Be Kind" - Nick Lowe

Whew! Done! Yay!

Reviewing my choices, I REALLY need some new music in my life. Any suggestions?

Hell's Bells, Bookhart!

Bookhart's meme has kept me too damn busy to come up with any original ideas OF MY OWN. I will try to finish it tomorrow. Jeez! I never thought it would be this hard to come up with bands and songs I hate. I hate lots of stuff!

So, this is the best meme I can come up with, and it's short. Consider yourself challenged.

1) What is the coolest, hippest thing in your pantry?

Mine is the bottle of Asian ginger-plum dipping sauce. Maybe the Norwegian chicken curry mix.

2) What is the least hip, most embarrassing thing you have in your pantry?

Hill Country Fare Vienna Sausages. Mixed meat; chicken, pork, AND beef.

(Fuck if I didn't have to struggle to find that first one. Crap. Having children really cramps my style.)

On Naked Teachers

No, not that way, perv.

In a conversation with my mother in Kansas City the other day, I found, much to my chagrin, that the Austin story of the naked teacher made national news.

In case you missed it, our local daily has had a great old time with this little bit of salaciousness. Seems that Tamara Hoover, an art teacher at Austin High School posed for some nude (topless) photographs for a friend with another friend, presumably her partner. Most were fairly obviously artistic, apparently some were sexier than others. The friend posted the pictures to his website, without the art teacher's knowledge. Somehow word gets out to her students, and this information gets back to the other art teacher, who hates Ms. Hoover. So, this other art teacher OPENS THE WEB PAGE IN FRONT OF HER CLASS, and of course the shit hits the fan.

The board announces that they intend to fire Ms. Hoover due to the school district's policies regarding employee behavior, which include a moral turpitude clause that prohibits "base, vile, or depraved acts that are intended to arouse or gratify the sexual desire of the actor."

OK, as a person in the field of education (but no, I don't teach your children anymore, so just be grateful for that,) this decision affects me to some degree - so here's an opinion, damn it. Those uninterested may wish to peruse another blog to my right, or read this, for no apparent reason.)

First of all, I don't know any teachers that would be so dumb as to think that this would NOT be a problem for them. But...and I mean this in an absolutely non-disparaging way...she is an ART teacher. These are naked, "artistic" photographs; hello? It's not likely that she would see a problem with the exercise itself, no? But, the reality, as to what you can get away with as a public school employee, is that people will notice, and will care. I don't even put the bumper stickers on my car that I really want on there, much less reveal too much about my personal life.

So was she clueless, or hopelessly naive, or defiant? Interviews with her suggest something along the lines of the first two. But...really, to ask the board...is this offense THAT serious? I agree that she needs a stern talking-to, a note in the file, maybe even a probationary period. But fired? For some boob shots? In Austin, supposedly the liberal bastion of Texas? The Statesman said that she didn't have any other problems in her file, and she had even gotten some administrative commendations.

I just DO NOT see what is the big deal about this. And I SURE as hell don't get why Tamara Hoover gets fired, while this other woman, who discusses a fight with another teacher WITH HER HIGH SCHOOL CLASS and OPENED UP THE WEB PAGE IN FRONT OF THEM, does NOT get fired. Seriously, people! Who is the unprofessional one, here, at least in the school setting?

I may be biased, though. I guess I kind of resent the feeling that public school employees can have no life whatsoever. I feel strange if a student I've ever had before sees me in Central Market buying beer. But seriously; is it just me? Does anyone, with or without children in the public school system, really, really feel strongly that this woman represents a threat to our kids? And if so...then what if you really knew about my life, or other teachers' lives? Would you care if your child's teacher were gay? How about if they smoked pot at the odd party, or drank too much at surreal reeenactments of "Annie?" Hell, maybe they wife swap, or sleep around! (I've news for you; they do; or at least some of them do. AND THEY'RE STILL GOOD TEACHERS WHO POSE NO THREATS TO YOU OR YOUR CHILDREN.

So, my questions are:
1. Boobs = porn? Really?
2: Where exactly does my "moral turpitude" begin? Where yours ends?

I welcome thoughts...am I completely wrong?

I never have quiet weekends at home.

Howdy there! What's new, cabbages? It has been a few days since I've sat down at the computer. Much has occurred over the past little bit of time.

We've been recovering from our beach trip; there's been excitement afoot. The younger girl fell from the trampoline, and has a lovely shiner over her left eye. (As it turns out, the only thing worse than saying, "I slapped my kid upside the head when she didn't do as she was told" is, in fact, "She fell out of the trampoline. On her face.")

She's fine; but there was an ER trip involved. By the time she actually got there, of course, she was singing and laughing, fully determined to charm the late Thursday night ER staff entirely. By tonight, Sunday, she's gotten so much mileage out of it that I daresay she's going to punch herself in her own eye from time to time just so people will exclaim and coo over her. I look forward to many more years of visits from Child Protective Services.

In other news, yesterday, our friend Amy decided, for her birthday, to conduct a full, costumed, drunken enactment of "Annie," held at a local theater (off hours). I'd say there were about 50 people there plus a bunch of kids. Many were costumed (myself included,) many were drunk on gin and tonics at 10 in the morning (ditto). Sadly, my camera decided to die yesterday morning, so there are no extant photographs of me in my Miss Hannigan outfit. Damn. There was a wig involved, and a red bra, and Mardi Gras beads, and a flask. (Oh, and fair warning to all of you - should you ever find yourself in a situation in which you are expected to perform a largely impromptu 30's period piece musical with many of your friends, DO NOT listen to your significant other if he or she suggests that it would be a good idea to put REAL gin in your prop flask, as that would be "method acting." This, as it turns out, is a BAD IDEA.)

Full kudos to Amy, though...it was a great idea, and it was fun as shit. Older Girl really enjoyed her turn as Annie, and Younger Girl was befuddled but participatory as an orphan in several scenes. I am inspired to do something similar for my 40th birthday in a few years, but all I've ever really wanted to be in was "Godspell." I would LOVE to put that on with all my friends...but, it's not really that kid-friendly, as is "Annie." Plus, the whole crucifixion thing would probably kill my buzz. Maybe we could just skip that part?

Last night, we had friends over to play poker and say goodbye to our friends Todd and Aimee. They're moving to Portland for at least a year while Aimee finishes her Ph.D., and we will miss them terribly. I know they will miss us, too, so we let them take all of our money to remember us by.

Today, we went to Schlitterbahn, the child mecca of the Southwest. Yes, it's a water park, but it is the best waterpark ever. (Todd's suggestion for its new motto: "It's a Schlitload of Fun!") There are three now, but the original, in New Braunfels, TX, is located on the Comal River. The cool part about this place is that it actually uses the cold, clear river water from the Comal in several of the rides, rather than the nasty colored chloriny stuff. Several of the tube chutes actually empty you into the river or take you alongside it. And it's OK to do everything with a beer in your hand.

Now that Older Girl is, well, older, we went to the newer section of the park for the first time (as pictured to the right). It's a bit more ride-oriented, but damn if she's not game for everything they can throw at her. She made the Master Blaster her bitch. Younger Girl, who is more sedate, was happy to hang in several of the areas set aside for kids, but she did enjoy the wave pool that was also a tube float-river contraption. I dug that one, too. Sitting in an inner tube, with your baby on your lap, riding reasonably exciting waves without exerting much effort, if any? Nice way to spend your Sunday.

Suddenly tired. Long few days. Why hasn't anybody cleaned my house?

The two inexplicable things I noticed today; both involving strawberries:

#1. Ew!!!!!


#2. "Jammin," the Bob Marley song, sung on the Sirius Kids music channel...by Strawberry Shortcake.

Now these two, together, present an interesting image, don't they? Do you think there's a connection? Has the Shortcake clan gone rasta? Are they firing up berry special blunts?

As long as I'm posting bad jokes to this page...

...here's an oldie but a goodie:

Why don't southern girls enjoy group sex?

Too many thank-you notes.

(I think of Bookhart when I hear this one; because she's southern, not because of anything else, you sicko.)

Vacation's End: A Cautionary Tale

Did you ever have one of those days, those end of the vacation days, when the entire morning has been spent finding socks, washing sand out of bathing suits, cramming the wet things into plastic grocery bags, ensuring that your children are, if not helping, then are at least safely immobilized by a movie so as to not get in the way?

You know, that day when you're all running around saying, "Have you seen my sunglasses? They're cheap and black," divvying up the rest of the beer and wine, trying to find where the hell you put the room key, and frantically racing around to get the hell out by checkout time at 11:00?

OK, on those mornings, you might assume that it would be a completely normal thing to not shower, because everyone's showering, and besides, you showered the night before. There's the fact that you were lying down on wet hair last night because you were sick, and thus this morning your hair looks Flock Of Seagull-ish, but not just in the front, in the front AND back, with bits pointing out on each side, too. But, you would most certainly think, "Fuck it," as all you have to look forward to today is a four (six, with stops for diarrhea and historical sites!) hour drive with two children and your husband, who is stuck with your ass no matter how you look. (Oh, and that reminds me...happy anniversary, honey!)

In fact, when it comes time to get dressed, you have the presence of mind to comb your hair to some degree, but you stare, attempt to fuss it into some shape, and then sigh, and give up. You resume dressing; black tank top and tan shorts, that's fine. Ah, but crap, you forgot to bring a black bra into the bathroom, and honey has probably already zipped up the suitcase. There's the junky white jog bra you slept in, though...agggh, fuck it again, that's fine. You're dressed. Just pull the black shirt over the white bra straps occasionally. Or not. It's a road trip through southeast Texas, for cripes sake. Oh, there's a few paparrazi hanging out at the Luling DQ, but that's about it.

Come to think of it, a jog bra might be just what the doctor ordered, as you've been eating like a swill-deprived swine since you've been here. Is it fried, dipped in butter, or served with heavy cream? Yes! That's what you've ordered! So, even though you're disgruntled that the diet has to start on Monday, this has now been declared Fat Sunday, and comfy stretchy clothes are welcomed.

Anyway, after you get the crew and the crap in the car, there's just one more stop to make before the journey. Aforementioned six-year-old-girl-who-likes-memorabilia-of-dead-things wishes to have a shark's tooth necklace. So, you pull into Cap'n Ahab's World Of Beachy Touristy Crap. All you want is to go in, spend your $9.95, and be off. That's all. Really.

But, then, as you're almost in the front door, a man. With BIG BIRDS on his arm. Spies your chatty and excitable six-year-old. And says: "Would YOU like to have your picture taken with my parrots?" Just as the words "No, no, we're leaving, must be running, have to get home" exit your mouth, your six-year-old screams "YEEEEEAAAAHHHH!" Your shoulders slump, knowing that $20 is about to go down the drain. But, there are worse things in the world than this, eh? She gets her picture taken, we pay the ransom, and we go.

Except.

This horrible, evil, man, as I'm about to slink into the now large crowd to observe, grabs my arm, and says, "No, no, it's a FAMILY PHOTO OPPORTUNITY! You have to get in there with them!" You think, "Oh, no, no, no...no, I don't have to do this, do I?" But, by this point, there has been pulling and positioning, and children thrust onto the man's shoulders, and...crap, there's a friggin' bird on my shoulder. And another on the man's, and two on Older Girl. And it's JUST. TOO. LATE.

And, voila...here is what our $20 hath wrought. My advice to you? Never, ever, ever leave the house again looking as vile as I did on Sunday morning. Because, you NEVER KNOW what will happen.
You, sir, wiggle the stick! (Me, in my head: No, he does that enough already!)


Luuurve the jog bra. And my snarl. And the look on Younger Girl's face. She is quite correctly wondering what the HELL is going on with these damn birds and why they are all up in her face. Smart one, that.

Did you ever have that day?

This is a horrible joke...

...but I work in special education, so I feel more or less entitled. It's in the original Britishese:

This bloke asked me to take part in a charity run, so I said "Piss off, no chance."

He said "Arr, go on mate, it's for blind and spastic kids."

So, I thought, fuck it, I could win this...

Beach Tripped!

We're back from Port Aransas! (Our very first family beach trip, dontcha know. Plus, the Bookhart family and another dear couple, who are a) wonderful all-around folks and good roomies, b) avowed drinkers, and c) very conveniently have similarly aged children.)

I will first share with you the older child's highlight of the trip, bar none:


This was the dead shark (!) that was lying next to the boardwalk that led to the beach from our condo. This was the approximate transcript of the interchange:

Older girl (running 20 yards ahead, as is par for the course): "MOOOOMMMMM!!!!!"

Me (wincing a bit, as is also par for the course): "What, honey?"

OG: "THERE'S A BONE UP HERE!!! COME SEE IT!!!"

Me: "Um...OK, honey, we're coming, I'll see it in a bit."

OG has a brief conversation with another member of our party.

OG: "MOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!! It's a SHARK!!!!!! I FOUND A DEAD SHARK!!!! COME SEE!!! COME SEE!!!

Me (having arrived by this time): "Wow, that is a shark! That's pretty cool!

We stop, and regard the shark.

Me: "Well, OK, honey, aren't you ready to go see the beach?"

OG: "OK!! Let's go to the beach!"

And then, throughout the weekend, to literally every person in our hotel:

OG: "HEY!!!!! THERE IS A DEAD SHARK DOWN THERE!!! AND I FOUND IT!!!

So, of course, she got a shark's tooth necklace for a souvenir. Because death is cool.

Other shots:

The condo:

It's called La Mirage, and it's a pretty nice place. Big balconies, two pools, decently close to the beach. Our room was well stocked, and we had a big living room to talk and play interesting German strategery games in (see also here; Mr. T, you have perhaps started my husband on a new kind of crack. Thanks. Thanks a lot.) The beds were comfy, especially when I had to take to mine after a brief and irritating bout with something like the stomach flu. Swords in the stomach, upchucking, shivers and chills, and having to abstain from drinking for the evening. Suck!!!!

The beach was nice, too. Warm water, not too deep, surf that looked poundy but really wasn't too bad. I was a bit freaked out about taking the kids swimming in the ocean, so we brought the neon pink beach flak jackets:

But, best of all...here's a shot of the father of these puffy-suited darlings, actually smiling rather than gritting his teeth, even though he's in a crappy tourist trap store because his daughter simply HAD to go inside the big shark:


Happy Father's Day, honey. We love you completely, totally, and utterly. Thanks for enduring multiple humiliations on behalf of those who love you. There will be more to come.

There was a side trip to Goliad on the way home today (Goliad was the site of a huge massacre of almost 400 Texian soldiers by Santa Anna, which pretty much spurred Sam Houston on to return the favor a few weeks later at San Jacinto.) I was still sick from the night before and groused a bit, but it was very interesting. (Unfortunately, the toddler came down with some lovely diarrhea right about then, so the rest of the trip was somewhat less pleasant.)

Ah, it's late, and there has been quite enough discussion about my digestive tract and the bowels of my family. To bed with my sandy, smelly self.

Computerless

I will be computerless for the next several days, and thus will not likely be posting until Monday.

Try to be OK.

It's a link.

You want to click it.

It has llamas.


However, I would be remiss if I did not add...

Cuidado, cuidado, cuidado, cuidado, hay llamas!

Keira Knightley's Jaw

In case you were wondering what Keira Knightley's jaw is up to these days, you can track its movements here.

I actually like Keira Knightley, but yes, her jaw is enormous. I can see that it has a life of its own.

Am I Sienna or Not?

Sienna Miller, and me:

















The resemblance is UNCANNY, I tell you. We're like twins.

You don't see it? Wait, here's my Sienna pose:







And the "no more paparazzi" one:

And the one with some random child who just happened to be passing by the limo:

I went to our neighborhood ritzy salon (well, OK, it's the lower-priced version of the downtown REAL ritzy salon) to see if they could shag me good. And, they did...except that I CANNOT reproduce their cool round brushing techniques when I get home, no matter how often I study them. So, even the best haircut usually starts to look the same on me after a couple of days.

But, for you people, I tried. And - and this is a point that should not be ignored - I put on lipstick. Yes, in the summer.

It's all you. It's all for you.

Jon Stewart vs. Bill Bennett

If you have not yet seen Jon Stewart bitch slap Bill Bennett on gay marriage, please do so NOW.

Every time I think I can't love Jon more, he sweeps me off my feet yet again. Jon, I know you're a happily married father...but don't you think it can work out for us? (And, if not, could you introduce me to Steven Colbert?)

The Summer Obsession List

1. My iPod. It's not new, but it's new to me. I love it so much that I am damned close to having sex with it.

Things I am putting on my iPod today:

• Robert Earl Keen - Walking Distance, Gringo Honeymoon, No Kinda Dancer
• Macy Gray - The Trouble With Being Myself
• The Mavericks - Greatest Hits
• The Gourds - Shinebox
• XTC - Nonsuch
• Ken Nordine: Word Jazz
• The The - Dusk
• Parliament - Tear The Roof Off 1974-1980
• Brave Combo - The Hokey Pokey

and several compilations I probably picked up in the $3 bin at Ross:

• The Edge of Rock and Cutting Edge (yeah, in 1990!) with songs by Syd Straw, Mary's Danish, The Lemonheads, Michael Penn, The Sugarcubes, Jellyfish, and The Church, among others
• Rock On - with songs by Alice Cooper, Golden Earring, Heart, Cheap Trick, Meat Loaf, and...Foreigner!
• Let's Go Zydeco!

and only the very hippest for the kiddos:

• Joe McDermott - Great Big World and Everywhere You Go (note to folks with kids: Joe's song "Baby Kangaroo" will get your children out of WHATEVER horrible sullen fit-throwing mood they have worked themselves into. I promise.)
  
• The Bottle Let Me Down: Songs For Bumpy Wagon Rides
• They Might Be Giants: No!

My first foray into iTunes yesterday resulted in my purchasing the following (don't hate; it's summer music time, damn it!):

• The Dixie Chicks - Taking The Long Way
• Pink- "Stupid Girls" and "Get This Party Started"
• Gwen Stefani - "Hollaback Girl"
• Gnarls Barkley - "Gone Daddy Gone" and "Crazy"
  
• Kirsty MacColl - "In These Shoes"

2. Assassination Vacation by Sarah Vowell. This obsessively detailed exploration of the minutiae of three presidental assassinations (Lincoln, Garfield, and McKinley) manages to be extremely interesting, hysterically funny, touching, and enraging.

Who knew that Robert Todd Lincoln, Abe's son, was present at not only his father's death, but just happened to be standing around when Garfield and McKinley got shot, too? And that Charles Guiteau, who shot Garfield, was the product of an upstate New York sex cult run by the Oneidans, later to be the folks who brought you your china? Truly fascinating stuff.

Sarah is the daughter my mother wishes she had had. (And my mother LOVED this book, and wrote Sarah to volunteer to drive her around next time she wants to take a trip like this.)

3. This pasta salad:

• 16 oz cooked whole wheat pasta
• 1 cup toasted and chopped walnut pieces
• 1 cup crumbled Feta cheese
  
• 1 cup finely chopped red onion
• 3 cups chopped baby spinach leaves
• 1/2 cup Girard Champagne Vinaigrette (the one in the triangle bottle)
• salt and pepper

Mix. Toss. Yum. Eat constantly over the next several days. Put on three pounds. Don't care.

4. Shaun of the Dead. It's on like three times a day on HBO, and I watch it every time. Don't forget to kill Phillip!

5. Sienna Miller's shag. (No, not Jude Law; her haircut.)




6. Typing this blog at the expense of time with my children. Must...go...play...dolls!

You'll notice "cleaning the garage," "weight training," "drinking less," and "increasing fiber intake" are not on this list. Truly, I'm very into these things as well. Or, I will be soon. I swear.

Betty Bowers on Ann Coulter

Oh, dear God, how I wish I had written this.

Betty, you are my muse.

Texas Political Hijinx: First in a Many-Part Series

This morning, the Carole Keeton Strayhorn campaign announced that she wishes to be identified on the gubernatorial ballot as "Carole Keeton 'Grandma' Strayhorn."

Best quote from "Kinky" Friedman: "She can call herself Carole Cougar Mellencamp if she wants, but when it comes to the ballot, she should follow the law."

Lordy. I'm so grateful that I come from a state that has far less embarassing politicians.

What do you get when you cross a narcissistic personality disorder with a keyboard?

A blog.

Absolutely. Un. Fucking. Believable.

The Man is waiting to use our sole computer to watch some track meet. It's a thing. I don't know why. There's even some sort of fantasy element involved. (A fantasy track team, that is; if there's any sort of role-playing or masturbation while sprinting involved, I don't really want to know.)

But, I could not sleep, I tell you, until I posted a link to the best video game of ALL TIME.

It is called Left Behind: Eternal Forces. It's based on the hugely successful "Left Behind" series, all of which I'm sure you have read. (What? You haven't? BURN IN HELL, HEATHEN BITCHES!!)

Anyway, the premise of the books, from what I can gather, is that the rapture comes and carries away the pious, and the rest are left to fend off minions of Satan, or something along those lines. So, of course, some enterprising and righteous soul came up with this fabulous idea - a videogame, wherein you, the Christian hero, pump Jesus into these liberal gay demon bastards using a submachine gun.

But wait...it gets better! Once you tire of being the Christian hero (and who doesn't, quite frankly,) you can change sides! Yes, you can become Satan, and lead the demons into war on the Christians!

I shit you not, people. I'm so flabbergasted by this, and could write for literally hours on a) the hypocrisy of the whole gunning while Christian thing, b) the hysterical notion of little Billy idly discovering the dark side one day while playing with the Options button on his Playstation, or c) how Matt Groenig needs to sue them so badly. He's the one that came up with Rod Flanders' Billy Graham's Bible Bashers game. (You can even play it! Find Rod under the F-H file cabinet. I tried, but only converted one heathen.)

Actually, come to think of it, that mirrors my life pretty well. I'd better let him on the computer.

I hear there's one born every minute...

This picture hangs in our local Sears Portrait Studio. (This is a photo of the photo.)

If you looked veeeery very closely at it, you would see that, actually, it is not JUST a photograph, but an "oil painting-like treatment" of a photograph that was, in fact, taken at Sears Portrait Studio.

Now, just imagine, if you will, being a parent of two lovely but rambunctious children. The older one, for some reason, finds the whole picture-taking experience to be exciting beyond words, and is particularly active that day. Even with mom and dad both there to referee, there is some valid concern that extreme spazziness will render this entire photo shoot null and void.

However, wonderously, some of the shots actually come out pretty good, and mom sets herself to the task of selecting which shots will be purchased, and in what format. Does she need the sepia-toned or soft-focused ones? Ones with a fancy (ugly) border? Little mosaics of her lovelies all cut up and stuck together. "Oh, no," she says, smartly and frugally, as she pinches her purse primly in her lap. "We'll probably just get the minimum purchase allowed. With the coupon, of course."

But then, the nice picture-taking lady says, "Wow, that one turned out great," and summons her manager over. The manager says, "That one is beautiful! You know, that would make a perfect oil print to hang on our wall! Would you mind us doing that?"

My children, on your wall? You want my children to serve your capitalistic means, because you think they are perfect icons of childhood, and the very sight of them will make others whip out their wallets to attempt to capture some of this joy?

No, no, I wouldn't mind. At all.

Sigh. Ah, yes, the picture-buying. Um...I guess...I'll take...all of them? You say they're $7.99 a sheet? No, no, 15 sheets isn't too much at all. Hell, throw in an extra-charged sepia toned soft-focused one, too, so I can put it in some old-timey frame. (For...that Victorian room we don't have in our 1950's house! Yeah!)

Don't judge. I'm weak. And The Man is too. Oh, he groused about the money, but he's found his way to the (recently renamed) Sears Gallery of Beautiful and Very Important Art to visit the "installation," too.

B.W.I.

The previous post is an example of why you should NOT BLOG WHILE INTOXICATED, people.

That is a very dangerous undertaking! One might just hop onto a soapbox, or a high horse. And then one might fall off, now, mightn't one? Because one was probably very wobbly after consuming the lion's share of a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc plus some more of that strong beer at the Noxious's house the other night, now, wasn't one?

Ah, well, the Mags is in a good mood now. When Bush is at a 56% disapproval rate IN TEXAS, then the moon must be in the seventh house, and Jupiter has aligned with Mars.

Upon a cursory review, this is apparently doomed to be a shortish, nonsensical post. I have decided to post the kids' pictures, but I guess I should actually go feed them first. (They are such a hassle; "feed me" this and "clothe me" that.)

Best! President! Ever!!!

Dear GW,

Thank you so very much for expressing your support for a federal frickin' amendment to the constitution banning gay marriage. We were so worried that you were going soft on us; thanks for having the cojones to beat up on folks who don't have the numbers to fight you back.

You know how it is, bubba; in Texas, it warn't illegal ENOUGH to have a law against it. We had to write it into our constitution, too, so that our children and our children's children will have to move mountains in order to overrwrite our bigotry. We know how it's done, see.

I'm so grateful that you have the vision to see what is truly wrong in this world right now. Iraq, Afghanistan, New Orleans, employment rates, your party's finest and Jack Abramoff - all that nonsense is progressing splendidly. (Come to think of it, what's Haditha, Abu Ghraib, Valerie Plame, imaginary yellowcake, tax cuts to oil companies while the icecaps melt, the 2000 elections, and Satan's Troika of Iraq/Cheney/Halliburton got on a blowjob from an intern, anyway?)

So, thanks, big guy, for turning your Cyclops-like focus on what truly matters to the people of this fine country. I'm so very delighted that you're helping me concentrate on who other people bang.

Love,
Mags

P.S. I'm not saying I know anyone like this...but, let's just say this FRIEND of mine has a HUSBAND who...well, enjoyed "Fried Green Tomatoes," and drinks Belgian beer out of a "special glass." I'm thinking that marriage may well be declared invalid, don't you? And, if that were to be true, it wouldn't be cheating if the wife contacted someone ELSE, say, John Cusack or Jeff Goldblum, in order to form a holy biblical bond of angelic marital unity, would it?

From Popbitch

So, how long until evil playground bullies start calling poor Shiloh Pitt "Piloh Shitt?"

My latest obsession

I am not usually this domestic, but these brownies are so effing amazing.

Disregard the whole "jelly roll pan" thing if you don't have one. Mix it all together, pour it in whatever pan you have, and then make the fudgy goodness to pour over the top. Stick it in the fridge for a while until the icing hardens, and you will have achieved nirvana.

If you use the new Hershey's Dark Cocoa, I guarantee an involuntary physical reaction (the good kind) upon biting into them.

(Note: This is not aphotograph of my actual brownies. It did not occur to me to serve them on a plate garnished with both white and dark chocolate chips, raspberries, and with a festive red tablecloth and gold mug of what I can only assume is beef gravy. )

I served them over the sink, so as not to get the crumbs all over the couch. Because I am genteel.

Crisis Averted

I figured out the links problem. I know you were really broken up about it, but everything's OK, now, honey.

Jeez, you omit some tiny little quotation marks, and the whole thing goes to hell. (Come to think of it, wasn't that Jayson Blair's problem?) However, after the whole mess, I noticed that it's the same layout as Malcontent Mama's. Sorry, M&M, I didn't mean to ape your style...however, after that crap went down, I'm not changing it back until I understand the HTML thing better.

OK, now that that's all settled, I have nothing specific to say. Today started out cool and rainy, raining out the older girl's swim lesson for the second day in a row. (I'd happily have had the younger girl's swim lesson rained out, but no such luck. Younger Girl is not the adventurous type that Older Girl is, and Younger Girl whines and clings to me for the entire lesson instead of dutifully blowing bubbles and kick kick kicking like all the OTHER babies do. Plus, it's colder than you would think in Austin at 10:00 in the morning, and I do not particularly relish jumping into that pool at that time. And, on Day Two, no less.)

So, I'm new to this game, but I'm told that when you have jack to say, it's time for a meme. I stole this one from Bookhart, who unfortunately used up all the good answers.

I AM: not drunk enough yet to do a good job with this.

I WANT: things I can't have, a distressing amount of the time.

I WISH: that I had an inflatable "Mom" doll to put out, sometimes.

I HATE: everything about George W. Bush and this administration.

I MISS: my old friends that are far-flung, and wish we could see each other more.

I FEAR: that something will happen to upset what is turning out to be a really kick-ass life.

I HEAR: a fly in this house, AGAIN. (I have been on fly jihad all afternoon, damn it!)

I WONDER: what kind of life my kids will have, and I wonder how I'm going to annoy the living fuck out of them when they're having it.

I REGRET: that I didn't go to the Galapagos Islands with my mother when I was in high school because I wanted to spend time with my loser boyfriend. (But mostly, I regret not killing that fly.)

I AM NOT: particularly neat, except when compared to The Man

I DANCE: with The Man to country music, and with my friends to whatever makes us smile, and with my daughters to Joe McDermott.

I SING: karaoke, and I sing it like the angels.

I CRY: when I'm too harsh with the Older Girl.

I AM NOT ALWAYS: that careful with other people's feelings.

I MADE: it through adolescence.

I WRITE: for my job, but not much otherwise, UNTIL NOW.

I CONFUSE: reliability with validity.

I NEED: to exercise more.

I SHOULD: exercise more.

I START: many books (Sorry, Bookhart, that was the best answer! And I couldn't top it! Gaaah!)

I FINISH: far less of them than I should

I TAG: Karla