My Weekend At Camp

I survived. And, parts of it were...something resembling fun!


Look, I'm smiling! Even though I'm cold and filthy!

Actually, the whole thing was not all that bad, EXCEPT for Friday night, the night we arrived. It was unseasonably cold, and somehow...off, in a way that I could not put my finger on.

Not that the girls noticed; they arrived thrilled and ready to pinball off the walls of the cabin in that way that only eight-year-old girls can do. Our cabin, out of all of them, appeared to be the only one without wooden shutters that one could pull down to ward off the cold, so we tacked up towels and ponchos over the windows using bandage tape, and made do:

Things were a bit more rustic than I would like, but, hey, Motel 6's are usually WAY more rustic than I like, so I figured, when in Rome. So, with my heavy sweatshirt - hood on - and burrowed deep into the warmth of The Man's old-school Arctic-designed sleeping bag, and with the valued help of Dr. Ambien, I managed to finally drift off to sleep.

And then - about 11:30 that night, suddenly, up comes this violent wind. And then BOOM BOOM BOOM HAIL HAIL HAIL RAIN RAIN RAIN. Our towels and ponchos did not have a chance, at least in the lakeside corners; some of the moms got up and found their kids soaking wet. (The OG was OK.) Even the good doctor could not keep me asleep during all this, and I and the other mothers sat up in bed and wondered, to a one, "How in the hell are we supposed to know if this is a tornado?"

Eventually, the rain subsided, and we all drifted back into fitful sleep, with dreams of evacuation, and dread of midnight toilet trips in the (now flooded) campground, wafting through our minds. (The children slept happily through everything, of course.)

I did better than some of the moms, who got about three hours of sleep...but none of us were particularly happy at six-effing-thirty the next morning, when we were awakened by all the folks getting ready for Flag Ceremony.

May I take this second to express my hatred for Flag Ceremony?

Thanks.

Anyway, Saturday morning was gray, gloomy, and overcast. (I did not remove my sweatshirt from the night before.) However, my mood was improved by the fact that this campground feeds you three squares a day in a cafeteria-type setting, and the coffee, scrambled eggs, bacon, and biscuits were hot and plentiful.

Thus, happy that I didn't have to forage around for sticks and berries, I faced the morning with renewed energy; good thing, too, because we had NONSTOP FUN FUN FUN for the entire day. Hiking, sports, archery, kayaking, and swimming were on the schedule...among much else.

Oh, you ask, did you say swimming? Even though you just said that it was cold as shit, and that you and the OG were wearing sweatshirts and jeans/long pants all day long? Even though I'd be hornswoggled if you told me that it broke 63 degrees?

Oh, yes, I did say swimming!


Whee! Doesn't that look like fun? (Not for me; I watched. I'm simply too frail, you understand.

For me, probably the best part of the day was watching the OG on the rock wall. Now, the OG, while athletic and very capable of climbing (trees, ropes, etc.), has not ever made it to the top of one of those rock walls, even though we knew she probably could have done it. We didn't push it, of course, but always kind of wondered why she wouldn't do that, when she was so capable of climbing just about anything else.

This time, she tried it once, got about a third of the way up, and came immediately back down. (They're on rappelling ropes, or belays, or whatever that is called.) I said, no problem, and we contentedly watched of the other girls go up to the top - there was a siren at the top that they could ring. I asked her a couple of times if she wanted to try again, as the other girls had taken several turns, but she declined...until, right at the very end, she agreed to try it one more time.

And, the next thing I know, she shimmies up:


and up:
and in about 30 seconds, she is bloody well at the top, banging that siren for all she is worth!

She came down, and I was screaming and yelling and clapping for her, and she said, "Whew!" I said, "That was AWESOME! You finally did it!"

She said, "Do you know how I did it?" I replied that I did not - for I TRULY have no idea - and she said, "I didn't look down this time."

Well said, my love.

That evening, we sang Girl Scout songs, watched skits, and briefly glanced what was to be our only view of the sun all weekend:


There were S'Mores, of course. That's in the contract. I'm not effing well showing up for any of this if there aren't S'Mores, mind you.

All in all, the weekend did what it was intended. My girl is even better friends with her Brownie troop than she was before, and these are indeed stand-up, quality girls, of whose goofy-nerdy Girl Scout-type charm I wholly approve. (It is duly noted that two of my best friends are former Girl Scout compadres, and I can only hope for the same for my girls.) I found the other moms to be very cool, even in the squalor that is camp life.

And, most of all - cliched or not, it was a wonderful bonding experience for me and the OG.

I love you, OG.

(However, I'd be lying if I said that I'd be up for it every weekend. Once a year will be juussst fine.)

We left on Sunday morning, disgusting and poorly rested. A brief sojourn over to Cooper's for barbecue healed my soul, and then it was back to Austin for a much-needed shower and my very expensive mattress.

Next up: The YG's fourth birthday! Is Wednesday! And I have to clean my house for a birthday party this weekend! AIEEEEE!!!!

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Tomorrow I'll post pictures of the NEW! GIBSON! ELECTRIC GUITAR! SIGNED! BY! THE! GO-GO'S!

Shut UP!!!

So, I mentioned going to see that Kids Rock showcase at SXSW? The one with the 12-year-old kids playing punk rock music?

So it was a benefit for the Girls Rock camp here in Austin? And there was this raffle? Of an ELECTRIC GUITAR...signed by THE GO-GO'S? And it was all, like, hey, it's $5, it's a good cause, sure, we'll enter your raffle?

And so...GUESS WHO WON IT???

(Well, it wasn't me; it was The Man, but STILL! OMFG!)

Oh, the OG is SO getting schooled on Girl Rock now. We'll start with the Go-Go's, move on to Joan Jett, probably throw in some Elastica in there...hell, I even like the Bangles too, I'm not ashamed to admit it. Who else do I need to download? Bikini Kill? The Donnas? The Yeah Yeah Yeahs? Courtney Love irritates me...as does PJ Harvey (I KNOW, I'm not cool there)...maybe Sleater-Kinney? Never really tried them.

Suggestions?
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Off to the dreaded GS camp weekend tomorrow. Think of me when you're on your nice, soft, pillowtop mattress tomorrow, with your nice mixed drink, placidly reading your gothic mystery novel.

I'm going to be off EXPOSED TO THE ELEMENTS and god knows what else, probably sharing my mattress with a nest of brown recluses, and VERY POSSIBLY being forced to participate in a goddamned Ropes Course, which is perhaps my least favorite experience on this planet besides removing my fingernails with pliers and/or washing my clothes at a laundromat.

And The Man? Oh, poor man, he's forced to spend this ENTIRE weekend ALONE, as the YG is off visiting my in-laws. I cry! Cry for him!

(Aaah, I'm kidding, it's OK. I made him promise not to drink beer, watch basketball, or look at porn while I'm gone.)

Please pray for me...

...because guess where I have to go this weekend?

I am TRYING to have a good attitude about it, but right now, I swear I would rather drive a nail into my hand.

Cots. Bah!

Happy Easter! And, Setbacks!

The YG would like to share this morning's bountiful haul with you:



We hope yours was fruitful, as well. Sadly, the crappy neighborhood HEB had no Almond Joy eggs this year. Thus, my bliss is tempered somewhat.

Has it really been almost a week since I posted? It doesn't seem that long. Sorry; I didn't mean to leave you staring at my South By natterings-on for the past six days. Guess the recovery took longer than I thought.

First off, I know what you're all worried about, and, it's OK: the weight gain amassed over South By week (and the week I was sick; 'cause, well, when I'm sick, I need to eat whatever my body tells me will make me feel better) appears to be temporary. So, you may all relax. I'm more or less back to where I was, with a bit of fluctuation when I drink anything or eat salty things.

To that point, last night I drank many things and ate some hella-salty beef jerky and sausage out at the annual "Swang-A-Go-Go" dance out at the Twin Sisters Dance Hall in the Hill Country. Swang is a big, private party thrown by a collective group of friends every year around this time. Unfailingly, it's a great time - for kids and grownups alike - and nowadays one of the few chances The Man and I get to go dancing. (As always, big snaps to The Man for his love of cutting a rug. I deeply appreciate my luck in this matter.) So, I'm thinking today is not the day to step back on the scales.

But, we do these weight-loss things in baby steps, no? Getting back to business hasn't been hard, at least thus far. I've been back to the gym several times this week, though I'm admittedly loath to re-start the weight training. Fuck, I hate lifting weights. Even with my iPod, it is SO BLOODY BORING and repetitious. And, though my conscious mind knows that it'll help my overall fitness, I just can't get worked up to do anything that isn't cardio. Bah.

Thank god there was no opportunity TODAY to eat anything that I shouldn't. No...not at ALL.

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If you didn't see it already, this is Jimmy Kimmel's response to Sarah Silverman:



(Note to Sarah: Don't fuck with someone who is much better connected.)

South By Shut the Fuck Up Now, Mags

I'm going to stop soon, I promise. But you HAVE to hear about Friday night. Friday afternoon was spent drinking free beer at the Yard Dog party, and going to see the Girls Rock Camp showcase at Austin Java. 12-year-old punk bands! (The kids' ages, not the bands'. Fun stuff.)

So, in perhaps a first for South By- not entirely sure about that, it's been a while since I had a wristband - at Esther's Follies on Friday night, they had a comedy showcase, lasting the whole night, from 8:00 to 2:00, three comedians PER HOUR.

I stayed for every damn second of it, folks, and danged if they didn't manage about a 70/30 good-to-bad ratio. The "big names" headlining it were Janeane Garofalo and Brian Posehn (from Just Shoot Me, The Comedians of Comedy, and The Sarah Silverman Program. Unbilled, but perhaps most thrilling to me, were Matt Besser and Matt Walsh from the Upright Citizen's Brigade (who did the usual "heckler/uncomfortable comedy" thing, and did it well (and involved a "What has two thumbs..." joke, which is apparently really old, but I'd never heard before, so it made me howl).

Janeane Garofalo I love, but she seemed kind of agitated, and seemed very much to be making up her routine as she went along. It's a testament to her talent that she managed to wrangle laughs this way, but I wouldn't say it was the best set by far. Brian Posehn is ALWAYS funny, no matter what; you won't go wrong seeing him. Also really funny were Human Giant (T-shirt cannon humor...can't go wrong there,) Reggie Watts, and Hard-n-Phirm, who played last. Perhaps it was my delirious state, but they were my favorites...I had tears streaming down my face during their sets.

Saturday during the day we went to drink more free beer at Yard Dog - damn, that is one civilized party! They had free Dogfish Head, people! - and saw Chuck Prophet. That was a really good show...I'd recommend him, if you get a chance to see him.

That night we went to the big "buzz" Saturday showcase, which was Duffy, Okkervil River, and Roky Erickson. Duffy is supposedly the new Amy Winehouse; she's a comely young girl who sounds like she's straight out of 1963. (However, unlike Amy Winehouse, she can remain standing onstage.) I liked her show; though she's much more of a Lulu or Petula Clark kind of sixties-esque singer, as opposed to Amy's Ronnie Spector/bad girl turn. Her single, "Mercy," is not surprisingly the catchiest thing on her album - I'd buy it on the strength of that song alone. She does need to grit it up a bit, though.

I didn't know much about Okkervil River, but I ended up really liking their show, too. They are cute li'l indie-rock youngsters, and the lead singer was plaintively earnest. I intend to download them (and Duffy) someday, when the disposable income fairy comes back again.

Last, we saw Roky Erickson, the rejuvenated psychedelic rocker who spent a long, long time in a schizophrenic haze (not helped by electroshock therapy,) only to make a startling recovery when his youngest brother took custody of him and got him on meds. Turns out that he is still a smokin' live performer. It's not really my genre of music - my early 70's stuff tends toward the glam rock - but he was undeniably awesome. (And, strange, the nature of the schizophrenia. Between songs, he seems unsure of himself; he never said anything but "Thank you!" with the exact same arm movement. And, the other guitar player was clearly cuing him after each song to tell him what song was next. But, while playing, he was incredibly fluid, and his playing and singing were flawless. Weird, but good to see a happy ending to mental illness, for a change.)

And, that was it; I bailed after Roky, due to a roiling stomach from too much beer and crappy food. My mom went home on Sunday, so my free babysitting is sadly over - I probably should have "modeled through it" (Thanks, Tyra!) and gone out until close, but I just couldn't face it.

Today, we're broke, and I put on three pounds (of which I'm assuming much is bloating; there will be hell to pay if not).

Worth it? Um...yeeess, but I don't think I'll bother with the wristband next year. The free shows are so cool, and so numerous, that one doesn't really need one to see all the bands that they would have seen with a wristband. And, did I mention, um, FREE alcohol?

(I heard from several people that the thing at the Oaks on Sunday was really great...I'm sorry I missed it, but the flesh was weak. Anyone go?)

SXSW Recap - Tuesday through Thursday

Whew. That week goes by, don't it? These descriptions will assuredly be truncated, because I'm too tired and bloated - but not hung over, perhaps a SXSW first for me - to wax too eloquently this evening.

Tuesday, I saw two more docs, Some Assembly Required and Tulia, Texas. Some Assembly Required is a sweet little doc about an annual, nation-wide toy contest for fifth through eighth graders. It's pretty typical in that it follows several groups of kids, including some from impoverished backgrounds, some from public schools, some from exclusive private schools, etc., as they go through the trials and tribulations of inventing a toy for this contest. They were all sweet, funny, mostly hyper-gifted nerdy kids, no matter what their background, and I enjoyed watching them, and the movie. However, I won't claim that it was a concept I'd never seen before; Spellbound, in particular, was an awesome example of this genre.)

Tulia, Texas was, as you can probably surmise from the title, a doc about the horrible racial injustices that went down in that small town several years ago. (If you don't know the story, you can get a basic rundown of it here, and this is a link to the book written by Nate Blakeslee from Texas Monthly, where I first read about it.) It was a very good film. I think it should be mandatory watching for anyone who doesn't know the whole story; if you do, then it probably won't surprise you much, but it's still worth watching.

Wednesday, the music festival started. The sun had come out, and it was finally Austin March Warm, so I was sort of in the mood to get out of the theater, see some crowds, and breathe some stale bar air. The Man and I wandered aimlessly around Red River for a while, picking up free swag and floating in and out of a few bars.

That evening, we went to see Black Joe Lewis at Emo's, which was a GREAT way to kick off the festival. I'm not really a huge blues fan, but I'm a sucker for a horn section. His set was killer - high-energy R&B with a lot of humor. We then saw Eric Hisaw at the Ale House - good alt/country singer, local. (True story: The Man took me to see him at Hole in the Wall on our first date. I was all thrilled to be on this date, don't get me wrong, but a good portion of the evening I was staring at this guy on the stage, who was totally hot, thinking, "Hmm, nice guy, but if our date doesn't work out...")

Later, I went to see Kitty, Daisy, and Lewis at some bar I'd never hear of off 6th Street. Kitty, Daisy, and Lewis are three teenagers from London, and they play in a family rockabilly band with their dad on acoustic guitar and their mom on the stand-up bass. It was apparently a "buzz" show, because the place was packed to the gills. And, I have to say, they rocked the place pretty hard, especially given the fact that they're fifteen, seventeen, and nineteen years old! (They're freaky into the rockabilly thing, though, from the pompadour on the son to the plucked eyebrows, thick heels, and finger waves on the girls. I'm going to go with "pretty cool," though, though Noxious dubbed them "creepy." I don't know, check out their page and let me know what you think.)

I would have stayed to see Alabama 3 just for Bookhart that evening, but The Man, having had many many beers that evening and some bad luck all around, ditched me when he decided that his evening was only getting worse by the second. Not relishing the idea of hanging out on 6th Street by myself during South By, and recognizing that I had a full day planned on Thursday, I went on home myself.

Thursday, I didn't go see any music, as I was attending a funeral in Houston. Though I didn't drive - Julie, you are a goddess - I was pretty tired out from the up-and-back trip, and the circumstances of he occasion, so I bailed on any festivities that evening, and just hung out with my mom.

And...damn, I was going to have this be the whole recap, but I have hit the wall. I shall endeavor to finish it tomorrow. (It's not really any more exciting; I saw some good music, drank some free beer and some not-free beer, took a "diet detour" for a few days, and stayed up too late on at least one night. But, I never got drunk...though I did LOOK very drunk at one point last night, when I fell on my wrist and knee, just from walking over a bumpy sidewalk as I was scanning my eyes around looking for my car. I love myself!)

SXSW Film Recap: Days Three and Four

Yesterday, we went to see two movies; a doc, Flying on One Engine, and Run, Fat Boy, Run, the new Simon Pegg (Shaun of the Dead) movie directed by David Schwimmer.

Flying on One Engine is the story of Dr. Sharadkumar Dicksheet, a 77-year-old, Indian-born doctor who resides in America, but spends much of the year performing free surgeries to children in India who are born with facial deformities, i.e. cleft palates. The kicker is that he's in a wheelchair, has lost his larynx to cancer, and has an aneurysm in his head that could blow and kill him at any time, yet he still spends months and months out of the year doing these surgeries; more than 140,000 of them.

Interesting story, interesting guy. In America, he lives basically in poverty, but in India, they treat him literally like a god, bowing down to him, touching his feet, and such. (And, lord, the deformities that he corrects...they're heart-wrenching.) And, somewhat refreshingly for these sorts of movies, the good doctor has absolutely no false modesty - he's totally convinced that he deserves the Nobel Peace Prize, and seriously pissed that Al Gore got it and not him. I gave it 3 1/2 stars...and it earns 1/4 extra star for not being twenty minutes too long, as EVERY OTHER DOC I HAVE SEEN SO FAR has been. (Mick has an idea for a t-shirt, to sell at next year's SXSW - "Directors: Edit Thyself.")

Run, Fat Boy, Run will, of course, be in wide release in the next few weeks. The true "filmies" who attend these things eschew the big-name movies, as they will have a chance to see them in the theater...but, as I won't get out again, probably, I often go to see them.

I liked it, but then, I'm going to like any Simon Pegg movie. As I've mentioned probably six hundred times on this blog, Shaun of the Dead is one of my favorite movies of all time. (Must do that "favorite movie line" meme sometime soon.) However, it was absolutely not Shaun of the Dead, or even Hot Fuzz; this was...um, this was, just EXACTLY like, if you took the over-the-top British humor of those movies, but then totally softened and romantic-comedied it up by having a member of the cast of "Friends" direct it! (David Schwimmer was there, taking questions, afterwards. He seems nice - unassuming, funny, really happy to see us all there.)

Ah, though, nothing to hate. It's sweet. The Man liked the track-n-field stuff in it, and I looove Hank Azaria and Dylan Moran (the guy who played David in Shaun). Really missed Nick Frost, though, (Ed from Shaun,) who is in most of these movies. Oh - and may I add, I had NO idea that Hank Azaria looked THAT good naked. I have a newfound respect for him.) 3 1/2 stars. Simon and Hank get half a star extra apiece (and Thandie Newton gets one, too, for just being so damn pretty).

Today, I saw two docs, Living with the Tudors, and FrontRunners. Living with the Tudors is about a group of historical reenactors in Suffolk, England, who meet every year to live for a month or so in period costumes - sometimes it's Tudor, sometimes WWII, sometimes Jacobian, etc. When they're there, they don't break character - whatever their character is - and live totally as they would in that time peroid. It's like a Renaissance Festival times 100. The filmmakers were regular attendees - serving as "limners," or miniature painters - but, even with approval to film there, they got quite a lot of shit from the hardcore folks who didn't want any of this to even be recorded on film.

It was nice; a quiet little film, very calm, and almost under the radar, but still interesting and compelling. This one was just a teeny tince too long. Three stars.

Tonight, Mick hauled me out of complacency on the couch to see FrontRunners, a doc about a seriously competitive high-school senior class presidency race in the top public high school in the country, Stuyvesant High in NYC.

It was - OK. Fun to see high school kids talking knowledgeably about the Nixon-Kennedy debates; I totally want to move to New York and send my kids there! But, I'm not sure I'm as compelled by the subject matter as I should have been. And, once again, TOO LONG. (It occurs to me that perhaps my attention span is waning, but I really don't think so. All, y'all, just trim a little bit of your precious footage!) 2.5 stars.

SXSW Film Recap: Days One and Two

First up, we saw Super High Me. This parody of Super Size Me was started by a joke by comedian Doug Benson, who stated in his stand-up routine one night that he was going to make the same movie as Morgan Spurlock's, except that, in his, he would be high, non-stop for 30 days. And, this is what he did, using medical-grade pot, obtained legally in California with a physician's authorization.

I liked it! It surprised me; I figured it was a one-joke movie that would get old quickly. But, he's really, really funny, stoned or not (the first part of the movie shows him sober for 30 days, and he does several stand-up gigs throughout, both sober and totally baked). And, there's a good bit of stuff about state's rights, and whether California has the right to authorize a law that is not recognized by the federal government. Interesting, and funny. I say, 3.25 stars, out of five.

Next, we waited in the long-ass line at the Paramount to see the world premiere of 21, the wide-release Kevin Spacey movie about counting cards at blackjack. Now, I expected to like this one; I like cards, I like Vegas, and it's a true story, which is always something that intrigues me. But...no. It wanted very much to be Rounders, and it just was NOT. Cliched and predictable, there is not one thing that happens from start to finish that you do not see coming from a million miles away.

And, what up, Kevin Spacey? I see your name in a movie, and, for some reason, I STILL think that this means it should be good. I mean, c'mon, seriously, you do The Usual Suspects, and then American Beauty...and then TEN YEARS OF CRAP. Quit phoning in this same, slimy-smooth-talker performance, that you ALWAYS DO! Gaaah! One star, mostly for the charming guys who play the "old best friends" that the young hero abandons on the quest for money and the hot chick.

Today, we went to see We are Wizards, a doc about obsessive Harry Potter fans, many of whom form tribute bands (e.g. Harry and the Potters, Draco and the Malfoys, Ginny and the Heartbreakers, and so on).

It was cute; I enjoyed it. (Particularly Harry and the Potters, who are too cute for words, and the Austin guy that recorded a new dub track for the movie of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone that is profanely HI-larious.) Could have used a bit of editing; it was 90 minutes, and should have been about 60. Mick hated it, but I say...2.75 stars, which I'll amend to 3.25 when they cut it just a bit.

Then, we went to see a documentary called Crawford, which is about our esteemed president's ostensible "home town." (Which is bullshit; he was born in Connecticut, to one of the wealthiest families in the country. He bought the ranch in 2000...see any coincidences there?)

I liked this one very much. Though political overtones are present throughout, of course, it was not intended to be this big, overt Bush-bashing movie...the focus was strictly on the effect of Bush's presence on this town. (And, of course, the resultant fallout, when all the protesters and counterprotesters descended upon it a couple of years ago.) It was thoughtfully filmed, and respectful to the town and its residents. It also drops a pretty big emotional bombshell right towards the end; I teared up, and did so again during the Q&A afterwards (with several of the town residents, who came for the premiere). Four and 1/2 stars.

Tonight, we came home to check on Mom. We didn't want to try to get in to see Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay, because it will probably be horribly crowded, and will be out in theaters, anyway. We may take a movie break and go see Cornell Hurd at the Little Longhorn; not sure.

Whew! Why am I so beat, from only seeing four movies? I'm getting very old and lame.

Yawn

Tons to tell you, but all I gots in me tonight is bullets.

• One more day until Spring Break, and not one damn second too soon. Work has been full-tilt, ass over teakettle for about four straight weeks, and I need a brief fucking respite.

• My mom's in town for the next week, so...free babysitting! Woop! We'll be doing South By Southwest, or as much of it as my limited caloric intake and empty pocketbook will allow. The (joy-sucking) Man envisions us austerely scarfing down peanut butter sandwiches out in the car rather than going out to eat. (And lest you think he won't practice what he preaches, I'm just SURE he'll elect to enjoy a lovely seltzer water out at the bars rather than buying beers.)
  

• On the South By front, the film festival starts tomorrow. I'm fairly jazzed to be going again; it's been a few years since I bought a pass. But, honestly, I have not had one spare second to peruse the film schedule, and have no earthly idea what I'll be seeing. I hear the new Morgan Spurlock movie - Where in the World is Osama Bin Laden - is good, but I really don't know about anything else. Anyone else going? Hear anything?

• We went with the Noxiouses to see They Might Be Giants, the BEST BAND EVER, at Stubbs last night. They were frigging awesome, as always, and I had probably one too many G&T's for a school night, but, miraculously, felt pretty fine all day. Nice evening, too, as opposed to TONIGHT, which sucks cold and rainy ass.

• I ended up caucusing for Hillary, for the OG. (Yes, you all totally knew that was going to happen.) I felt a little odd about splitting my vote, but, really, when I thought about it, it's pretty apropos. See, in Texas, the popular vote garners two-thirds of the delegates, and the caucus votes garner the other third. So, since I was about 2/3 for Obama, and 1/3 for Clinton, I figure that's just about right.

• Our caucus was TOTALLY INSANE. I'll bet 500 people showed up. There were so many of us that we had to meet outside, because we wouldn't all fit in the little church that it was supposed to be held in. Anyone else go?
  

The OG and HRC

I took her to see her heroine tonight. School night, but I figured that she'd earned it with that awesome yard sign she made, no?

The OG was a total trooper. Believe it or not, it was as cold and windy as shit in Austin, Texas, tonight, and she waited for half an hour in a long-ass line, with nary a complaint. (Well, with nary more a complaint than all the other damn Texans in the line. Two words for you people: GET A PARKA!)

When we got up to the front, they told me I'd have to throw her sign away! I begged them to let me fold it up and keep it in my purse, and they relented, adding "They'll probably make you throw it away inside." I'm thinking, like hell you will, but I nodded politely and proceeded through the metal detector. After making me turn on all my electronic equipment down to my iPod, they allowed me through, with our contraband square of posterboard intact.

Inside, they were passing out signs...apparently, "official" signs, or something. I don't know what the hell all that was about. But, the OG saw everyone waving theirs, and asked if she could have hers back. Seeing no earthly reason why she shouldn't, I unfolded it, and gave it to her.

And...guess which little girl, with a home-made sign, got a point, and eye contact, and a wave, from HRC herself?

I think you know.

She ran right down front in the balcony; we could see everything really clearly. It was quite fun, actually; just like the good ol' days with my mom, when I was a kid.

That's Ted Danson and Mary Steenburgen with her, and Chelsea right behind them.

Hi Ted! Your hair is startlingly snow-white these days.

You know, I'm so glad I took her. She is just turning into the coolest chick. And I think she'll remember this for the rest of her life, just like I remember seeing Jimmy Carter, in my best patent-leather shoes.

Love!

I'm Alive

...and the world shines for me, today. (I'm A-LIVE!)

It does indeed seem like forever (and a day) since I felt well enough to sit up and blog, but, verily, the dawn has broken across the sky. Thought I could never feel this way. Is it really me?

I think it's time that I strap on my figurative leg warmers and go rollerskating out the door into life again.

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For your daily dose of esoteric humor, I strongly suggest that you visit Garfield Minus Garfield today. (Thanks to Chris for the link.)

There, you will find that your suspicion - that "Garfield" might actually be worth reading if there were no Garfield in the strip at all - confirmed. (And, wow...I had no idea that strip was so dark underneath it all.)

Pod, I totally see your humor in this. Not sure why. Am I totally off-base?

Cristen's Well-Written Debate Recap...

..and a still-shot of her (unmistakable) hand reaching out for a handshake from Barack Obama, can be found here.

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Hey, being home in the daytime is fun! I can post to my blog whenever I damn well want to! Even if it's entirely pointless stuff like including a video of Star Wars As Explained By A Three-Year-Old!



Woo-hoo! I think I'll stay home more often! (Cough cough!)

Deathbed Update

Well, I roused myself up for a lovely little gathering for the OG's birthday at Amy's Ice Cream yesterday afternoon...but, at a cost.

Today, my voice is gone, my head is throbbing, and I have left the couch only to go to the bathroom (and, briefly, to the kitchen table to eat some awesome tortilla soup from the yummy-n-cheap La Casita. Thanks, honey.).

I believe I'll take a day off from work tomorrow. As Karla pointed out, that makes me feel a bit guilty, and a bit wussy. But, goddamnit, they KNOW I'm not faking it - I was hacking up a lung the last two days of last week - and I NEVER take sick days.

So, it's just me, the couch, and the Oscars. I don't know how sick I'd have to be to miss them. Not sure, but there'd probably have to be tissue displacement involved.

My guess, early on? No Country For Old Men. Haven't seen it yet - all I've seen, really, is Juno, Michael Clayton, and Persepolis - but I've seen every other Coen brothers movie, I think, and have liked them all...so, I assume it deserves it. I've gotten a bit hinky on the blood factor in some movies, nowadays, though, so I'll probably wait to see it on Netflix. (At home, I can bury my face into my husband's shoulder without shame.)

Grandma's Girl

This was completed and installed in my front yard this morning, completely unbeknownst to me, as I was lying in a congested stupor on my couch:



Oh. My. GOD!!! Could you just eat her up?


(It's taped over our "No Wal-Mart for Northcross Mall" sign, which, um, didn't work out so well. God love us liberals and our lost causes, eh?)

Let me see...

Fever, dripping faucet nose, hacking cough, throat on fire, ears full of fluid, chills-n-sweats, debilitating lethargy...

Methinks this is not a chest cold.

Update to Yesterday's Post

• My mother is now not speaking to me, as of the OG's indignant phone call to her to spill the beans on who I voted for. (And, by "not speaking to me," I mean that she is calling me and/or e-mailing me every hour on the hour to berate and harass me.)

• Cristen won a ticket to the debate! Wow!!! I'm evilly jealous! (And, The Man is there, but segregated into some media ghetto that they call the "Spin Room." So, in a nutshell, he's going to watch it on TV like the rest of us, but he'll be closer than we are.
  

• All this stress is making me sick. I've retired to the couch with a bad chest cold. Balls.
  

Oh, yes, and:

Happy 8th birthday to the Original Gangsta herself (and, by relation, Happy One-Year Anniversary of the acquisition of Curbie, the World's Most Smug Bastard Cat):


She got the coolest haul of gifts: a Millenium Falcon - albeit one in about 10,000 pieces that I am NOT putting together tonight - a light saber, and all of the crucial Episodes IV-VI action figures.

The Man and I are a little jealous. (But not of the cat on the head. We're OK without that.)

Salt

I did it. I voted for him.

When I got home, the OG asked me who I had voted for. I told her.

And...do you know what she did? DO YOU KNOW?

She TURNED HER FACE AWAY FROM ME and WOULD NOT LOOK AT ME. When I said her name a couple of times, she finally turned to me, and...SHE WAS BAWLING.

Her question to me: "How could you vote for him, and not for her?"

God, I let down my own daughter, with my vote! I felt like I just shot down all her hopes and dreams.

You people better be right. He'd better be incredible.

(And my mother is going to be SO pissed at me, too. Is it OK to lie to her about who I voted for, do you think? What if it spared her a heart attack? Would it be OK then?)

Time to Vote

It's early voting time in Texas, y'all. Time for Mags to put up or shut up.

I've truly been undecided, up until this point. You see, I have many misgivings about both Democratic candidates, and I'm having a very hard time reconciling myself to one or the other.

A bit of background, first: I am the daughter of one of the original Women's Libbers. My mother is of the N.O.W, consciousness-raising group-forming, marching-on-the-capital generation. I marched alongside my mother and sister in Chicago in 1981, demanding that the E.R.A. be ratified; I wore "59¢" buttons to school. (For you young'uns, that referred to the comparative amount of money on the dollar that women earned at the time, compared to men. It's better now; it's up to 77¢. If you're white. If you're black, it's 71¢, and if you're Latina, it's 58¢. So...um, yay.)

So, as a child, I was fascinated by the prospect of a woman becoming president. And, due to my mother, I was even present at the 1984 Democratic convention in San Francisco, at which the snooziest candidate of all time, Walter Mondale, was nominated...BUT, who did have the balls to nominate Geraldine Ferraro as his VP. She was about the only thing in my mind that made Mondale cool...but after that, I was SOLD on him. (Plus the fact that he wasn't, erm, Ronald Reagan.) And, of course, you all know what happened there. Imagine my little, pre-voting-age heartbreak when he took only one flipping state, his own.

The rest of my teen-to-young-adulthood wasn't really populated by strong, women, political figures that served me, a Missourian, personally. Our governors were men (and have been up until recently, until the estimable Jean Carnahan stepped in after Mel was tragically killed right before the election, and fucking WON ANYWAY. You ever want to know why I sometimes like Missouri? RIGHT THERE.)

When I moved to Austin, there was Ann Richards, whom I very much liked...since I had seen her speech at the '88 convention, where my mother again was (but, sadly, I was not attending that one). But, thanks to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, we all know how that went, too.

So...so, so, so. I've seen Hillary Clinton, live, in what must have been '93. I stood about 10 feet away from her, in a smallish room in Kansas City that was packed to the ribcages with people wanting to hear her. She spoke forcefully and compellingly, and her demeanor was relaxed and pleasant. She shook hands and spoke with many people in the crowd afterwards, and appeared to be enjoying herself immensely.

Perhaps from that experience, and in listening to her later speeches and interviews, I have never truly bought into the case that Hillary is somehow "shrill" or "unlikeable." She seemed, and truly, still seems, to me, to be forthright and accessible; or, at least, as forthright and accessible as any politician ever is. (And, oh, yes, my Barack-o-phile friends, he is, just that, though perhaps a very gifted one.)

Thus, with this history, I hope you will understand why it hurts so badly to think I'm not going to vote for the first, real, woman candidate in my lifetime, and perhaps - in my opinion - the best-qualified, smartest woman we're going to see for a long time. (Rice? Please. Great judgment all 'round, Condi. Way to back that winning horse.)

However...there's that goddamn war vote of hers. Fuck. And major capitulations on "homeland security" that were bogus then, and they're bogus now. And, she never apologized. Urgh! If I ever had a deal-breaker, then I can't imagine a worse one, short of pedophilia or axe-murdering. And, though I'm not really thrilled with the specificity of Obama's speeches, I won't deny that his charms are not lost on me; he's talkin' in my TV screen right now, and when he does, I don't turn him off.

I don't believe, however, that she'd most certainly lose to John McCain. I'm so blown away by the Democratic turnout for these primaries that I think this base is energized to a wild extent. A lot can change in a few months, but I know for damn sure that she'd handle McCain's ass in a debate. Are we sure about Obama? McCain's a nasty little prick...) And, I think, if she DID lose to McCain, it would be largely due to this - in my mind, unfair - media portrayal of her as this big bitch.

But, I still fear her negatives, and the right-wing frenzy that will erupt around her if she is the nominee. I think Obama will pull more independents. And I'm REALLY against this fucking war.

So, sadly, I'm leaning towards Obama. (I may cry just a tiny bit in the voting booth, I really, really may.) I could wait until after the debate - which I clearly did not win the "lottery" to get in to see - on Thursday, which is to be held right here in Austin. (Oh, and do you KNOW how many people entered this lottery - for 100 tickets, mind you? MORE THAN 43,000 people entered. Now THAT'S excitement.) However, I think it's just probably postponing the inevitable.

I'm sorry, Hillary, and Geraldine (who is working for Hillary's campaign, of course. Way to rub it in.)

---------------------------------------
Hey, speaking of lotteries, there's one for SXSW wristbands, starting Thursday and lasting until Sunday, I think. To enter the drawing (for 4000 wristbands total) you have to have an Austin address. You can only buy two tickets, and you have to name that person upon submitting your entry, and the wristband will only be given to that person when they show ID. They're non-transferrable, and they have to put them on your wrist.

We may get to go to some this year. It's a lot of fucking money, but I'm considering entering. Anyone else going?

----------------------------------------
15 pounds, bitches. Woop!

Sweatin' To The ... erm, they're not THAT old...

Just a few of the songs from my iPod that are currently in my "Cross-Trainer/Weight Machines/Dumbbells/I've Got My iPod On So Don't Talk To Me" workout rotation:

"Holiday" - Green Day
"Brick House" - The Commodores
"Timebomb" - Beck
"I Predict A Riot" - Kaiser Chiefs
"A Town Called Malice" - The Jam
"Church of the Poison Mind" - Culture Club
"Corvette" - Golden Smog
"Make a Circuit With Me" - The Polecats
"Take Your Mama" - Scissor Sisters
"You Got Yr. Cherry Bomb" - Spoon
"Little Willy" - Sweet
"Man, It's So Loud In Here" - They Might Be Giants
"SexyBack" - JT
"I Bet That You Look Good On The Dance Floor" - Arctic Monkeys
"Lucretia My Reflection" - Sisters of Mercy
"Gin and Juice" - The Gourds
"Gone Daddy Gone" - Gnarls Barkley
"Don't Stop Me Now" - Queen
"Pictures of Matchstick Men" - Camper Van Beethoven
"Sexx Laws" - Beck
"Ohio (Come Back To Texas)" - Bowling For Soup
"Go!" - Tones on Tail
"Supernova" - Liz Phair
"Phantom Limb" - The Shins
"Kyle's Mom's A Bitch" - Cartman

I need some more songs, though. Anybody got any good suggestions? Something kinda grouchy - because I'm pissed when I'm exercising - with a good beat that I can get my heart rate up to? Preferably that's been recorded in, say, my oldest daughter's lifetime?

-----------------------------------
Oh, and a Happy Valentine's Day to all y'all.

I believe the following video expresses my sentiments exactly:



That's fuckin' teamwork.

*Wow...apparently Jon Kricfalusi, Coolest Animator Ever (of "Ren and Stimpy" fame) animated a video for that song. But, I just can't post it...it's like Ren and Stimpy Softcore, and it kinda gives me the heebie-jeebies.

Beautiful Day in Hangoverville

I do love 77-degree February Saturday afternoons in Austin. Paradise. Wish I'd have been able to enjoy it more, though.

We had our annual Valentine's Day date-night-tradeoff-with-the-Noxiouses last night. First we saw Juno at the Alamo Drafthouse. It was excellent. Very funny, though I cried through the last third of it. Afterwards, we went for a drink at Flying Saucer, and though I was still all weepy and sentimental from the movie, we had a very lovely time drinking beer and squeezing on their big comfy couches.

The thing is, I only had one beer there...HOWEVER, that one beer turned out to be a ginormous, 22-oz Rogue Chocolate Stout. The supplemental beer we had upon picking up the children afterwards...a light little ale, a Fireman's Four...put my dieting, and thus not regularly drinking, body, over the edge into tipsiness. And, sadly, that's all it takes anymore to moderately ruin the next day for me, seventy-seven degrees and sunny notwithstanding.

I've decided that alcohol is the single worst enemy to my weight loss, more than any food I can think of. Alcohol contributes to my weight gain in every stage of the experience, from the actual calories consumed within the alcohol, to the lowering of inhibitions about what I'll eat when I'm tipsy, to the hangover tending the next day (in which I must eat something fattening approximately every hour and a half or I will vomit).

----------------------------------
Thanks for the lovely responses to the post about my dream about my dad. I was very touched by the stories that many of you shared with me.

Perhaps there truly are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio. I'm prepared to accept that there are things I will never completely understand, and that this occurrence, apparently by no means unique to me, may be one of them. Whatever it was, the communal response that it triggered just made it that much more meaningful.

-------------------------------
However, my dream last night was that Nick Rhodes, Simon LeBon, and John Taylor were waiting for me outside, in the late evening, in the parking lot of the School For the Blind, across Lamar from Mandola's. They were all wearing fashionable black and white suits. When I approached them, I said, "You're still here?" Simon replied, "We never left you, Mags." And, I realized that they were the guiding muses for my life, and I thanked them, and went on.

I'm tending to think that I can chalk that one up to wishful thinking plus Rogue Chocolate Stout, rather than a visitation from a spirit guide, though.

I Canna' Post, Captain!

An', I'm givin' 'er all she's got!

Oh, my god, work is kicking my ass on all sides. I'm going through the day so stressed out right now that I'm coming home literally, physically, sore at the end of the day. For the past, I don't know, two weeks? All I can do, when I home, after work, gym, dinner, and evening chores, I am able to do nothing besides stare at some television, read a few pages (Into Thin Air, by Jon Krakauer,) occasionally think to pay some respects to The Man, and pass out cold.

And, everybody, that I should be calling? I know, I'm not calling you. I really, really, mean to, but it seems like the days are just slipping through my fingers. Please know that I'm thinking about you. And don't hate me forever.

Cripes. I can't even follow Lost tonight. Either I'm totally blinkered...or, Lost has become completely unfathomable. Votes?

-----------------------------
HOWEVER, I feel that I must share with you the horrible unfairness of aging.

On Super Bowl Sunday, I got up, and weighed myself (10 pounds off. Yay!) I had saved up all my "flex points" for that night, because we were going to a party. I went to the gym that day - cardio and 40 minutes of weights and sit-ups, dude - and even saved up 17 points just for Sunday evening alone.

At the party, I ate, more or less: Two chicken wings, two (small) bowls of Manhattan clam chowder - the creamless, tomato-based kind - a small slice of cheesecake, a half slice of Boston cream pie, four glasses of wine, and a beer. (Hey, the party was over four hours long. I wasn't drunk.) No chips, no queso, nothing else. The next day I was perfect; the day after, I was perfect.

And, do you know how much weight that one night put on me?

THREE POUNDS. That's how much.

And do you know how much of that weight is still there, nearly a week later, after diligently exercising and counting points and all that crap every day thereafter?

TWO POUNDS OF IT.

I'm just sayin'. Fucking shitty deal, this.

In Which I Seriously Hamper My Child's Future Social Life

We were at the Noxious's Super Bowl party yesterday, wherein the OG, the Noxious Boy, and Wonder Boy were eschewing the festivities in favor of watching Star Wars (IV, A New Hope, natch) in the bedroom.

Pod came up to me, tapped me on the shoulder, and said, "Your daughter is a geek."

I asked why, and he replied, "In the first scene on the ship (when the droids are escaping,) OG said, instead of 'Here comes C-3PO,' she pointed behind C-3PO, at the silver droid that looks just like him, and said, 'Here comes TC-14.'"

I could not be more proud. Next up...Lord of the Rings!

And now for something completely different

It's...




Oh, do watch it. You won't be sorry. I swear.

(Thanks, Trish. You know me so well.)

A Strange Occurrence

I've been composing this entry in my mind for several days now, and I just can't get it to sound the way that I want it to. Perhaps just plugging on with it is the only way to get it out; thus, here goes:

The day I started back to work after my dad's funeral, my co-worker Laura came to visit me with a card and a pretty potted rosemary. She's older than me, with grown children of her own. She's a good friend to me, but even more than that, has served as my de facto mentor for the past several years. I listen to her more than nearly everyone I work with. (Quite frankly, I have aped her work so often - and then had that work soundly praised - that I'm fairly convinced that SHE KNOWS EVERYTHING.)

So, Laura - a woman that I've followed slavishly for eight years, mind you - came to see me, at my workplace. She gave me a hug, and then said to me, "I want to tell you something that happened to me, after my own father died. He and I weren't that close, not really. But, do you know what?" (She then leaned in conspiratorially) "He came to visit me. In a dream, not right after he died, but a couple of months later."

She continued, "I have no memory of dreaming of my father, prior to this; ever. But, this dream was different. It was incredibly lucid, and we were talking, and sitting in my parents' house, about things that we needed to say to each other." (She teared up a little at this; this is my rock, now, and I've never, ever seen that from her before.)

As she left, she had regained her typical, gregarious composure. I half-expected her to partially laugh off her comment as she left, as this is a avowedly scientific woman - her bumper sticker says, "Militant Agnostic: I Don't Know and YOU DON'T EITHER" - who I've never seen utter a phrase without three journals full of empirical evidence to back her up. But, she didn't; she just said, "He'll come see you. Look for it."

So, about a week ago, the damn dog and cats woke me up about 5 AM, which is about an hour before I really have to get up. The dog was snuffling and licking, which makes The "Violently Sound-Sensitive To The Point Of Utter Insanity" Man insane, so I grabbed her and went with her into the living room. I debated whether to just go ahead and get up, or to pursue the insomniac's usually-futile struggle to catch a few more winks on the couch. Weakness overtook me, so I threw the dog outside, and to the couch I slunk.

Knowing I had to get up in a very short while, and half-listening for the dog to return to the door, I slipped into some sort of fugue state between sleep and awake. I don't know how to explain it. I definitely started dreaming, but I was also vaguely aware of the couch...do you know what I mean?

Anyway, I'm sure you can see where this thread is going. Suddenly, it was not like I was dreaming; it was, as though, I was literally, sitting in my parents' house, across the dinner table, from my father.

I saw the grain of the table, felt the knobs on the back of their wooden chairs, wondered why the hell they keep that big stack of catalogs in the kitchen. Everything was so, SO, incredibly, vivid, and clear, which is quality that almost never happens to me in my generally bizarre and nonsensical dreams (which often involve me kissing a random someone I know. I don't know why. But I digress.).

In this dream, my father said to me that he loved me, and that he was sorry that he wasn't a better father to me. I said to him that I loved him, too, and that I turned out just fine. He said that he was so glad that I had such a happy life, and I said that I was glad that he had given me an education and supported me all those years. He cried a little, and I cried a little. Then, his face went all swirly - I could still see the table, though - and it was over, and it was time to get up.

The next day, I called my mother to talk to her about something, I'm not sure what. Midway through the conversation, I paused, and said, half-jokingly: "I think Dad came to see me in my dream last night." She - the buyer of the purple plates, remember - stopped, and said, softly, "Tell me about it."

I did. She replied "Was it a lucid dream?" I said, "Yes." She said, matter-of-factly, "Well, that's what it was, then." She thanked me for telling her about it, and said, to end the conversation, "It WAS real, you know."

Now. I am a soulless heathen, my husband and children are soulless heathens, WE'RE PROUD to be soulless heathens. No argument.

But, honestly? Just for a moment there - a fraction of a moment - I think I saw a glimmer of what makes people believe in such things.

You know?

A Conundrum

A problem, a snafu, a concern. I have a dilemma.

You see, I want, very much, to post to this blog regularly. However, usually, the only time I get to post is the time between nighttime chores and bedtime - as is the case this evening. (I'll go out on an old-lady limb and allow that this time is 10:00, which, when staring at 6:00 AM every morning, seems later and later to me.)

Sadly, though, what I've discovered is that blogging, instead of relaxing me, wakes me up. Clearly - though it is probably not readily apparent to you - I'm thinking when I'm writing, and I suppose that gets my blood flowing. Afterwards, sadly, I'm usually up for at least an hour, often more.

It may indeed be a coincidence, but most of my raging insomnia has indeed occurred since I started this blog. (As has the very initial stages perimenopause, of course. Probably shouldn't overlook that in this equation.)

I'll keep blogging, I'm sure; it just becomes difficult to look at the computer when you saw the hour of 3:00 AM the night before, especially if you think it might be contributing to the problem.

Damn kids. It's all their fault. All insisting that they need to "brush their teeth" and "do their homework" and all that. Bloodsuckers.

---------------------------
Diet Lowdown: 1 month in (more or less)

Pounds Lost: 8 (but I can't count those. Those were market correction pounds after the holidays. Anything further, I'll count.)

Times to the gym: At least four times per week, cardio each time, cardio plus weights three out of four days

Classes taken at the gym: None. Still a bit intimidated. Still wish I had a friend there.

Times deviating from diet: I had several glasses of wine the other night; still within my "flex points," but still not adviseable. Went to Mandola's; had a salad, but couldn't resist one lemon Angeletti cookie. (Christ, they're good there. We ALWAYS get some.) And, there's the Girl Scout Cookies, piled up of course all over my living room floor; I've had a couple of those, but probably a sum total of four or five so far, over the past two weeks. So, that's not too bad, I think.

Progress on the pants: The fat pants are now very comfortable. I am so-so on the mid-fat pants. I wore a pair today that felt fine in the morning, but seemed a bit touchy on the outer thigh by the end of the day. (For this, I ate nothing but a Lean Cuisine for lunch? I ask you.) The thin-fat pants are still tight; buttonable, but not wearable, except perhaps with a very forgiving hip-length top.

As is par for the course, lately, I've been kind of squeezing my belly absently every morning, thinking, from whence this muffintop? However - though I freely admit that I could be imagining it - I thought it felt just a tiny bit less muffiny this morning. More of a biscuit, really. So, perhaps there's home.

Pots of Cabbage Soup made: Two

Outlook: Fairly good. I missed working out today, and didn't feel like counting points with dinner (lean pork loin and green salad, so I wasn't really worried - though I did have a Lemonade also). I shall redouble efforts tomorrow.

--------------------------------------
I've decided that I'm noncommittal on the Hillary vs. Obama question. I think I've come to the conclusion that both are flawed, and both have their strong points, and that it really doesn't matter to me who wins, as long as that person beats John McCain and/or Mitt Romney.

Some say that I'd better support Obama, as he can pull more independents over to vote for our side than Hillary.. but I'm not 100% convinced just yet that he really has the stuff for me.

My idealistic side is warring with my practical side; though I want to believe. I really do.

Hillary's Inner "Tracy Flick"

Thanks, Michelle!

I loooved "Election."

I Married a Famous Drunk Motherfucker

Through my SiteMeter, I discovered the following interesting fact:

If you go to Google Images, and type in the phrase "drunk motherfucker," a picture of my husband - one I took, from Portland this past summer - is #6 on the list.

What can I say? I'm so proud! (wipes tear)


**Oh, and...if one is at work, and trying this, to verify that I'm not a big liar, one should turn on "safe search," or else one will get a rather jarring eyeful of what some apparently consider to be the appropriate visual - and very literal - interpretation of the phrase "mother fucker."

Awww, Heath.

I gasped aloud when I heard this, driving home from work.

Damn. 28. That is just too sad.

I had a minor Heath Ledger thang, as I believe I've mentioned in the past. For a "conventionally handsome dude" - not my usual type at all; I generally like 'em geeky and skinny - I found him sexy as all hell, and an outstanding actor to boot.

I'm genuinely going to miss looking at him up on the screen.

-----------------------------------

Es Enero En Austin...

...y esta lluviendo. (Is that right? Am I even close? God, I should be better at this by now; it's just that high school Spanish is SO far away.)

This past couple of weeks, it's been that up-and-down Austin winter weather; highs in the sixties (or low seventies) some days, lows down below freezing, though not as many of those nights as you'd think. The Sunday wash consists of items from the full spectrum of one's wardrobe; shorts and t-shirts, but also one's heaviest sweater and thickest jeans.

(As a side note, I think I still have nearly EVERY fairly nice sweater I've bought since I moved to Austin. Honestly, they don't get a whole lot of use. Sweaters are, most of the time, doffed right after noon, so I've been kind of relying on a small, rotating group of disposable cardigans.)

Mostly, when I think of winter in Austin, I think, This is the time when it rains. It hasn't rained a lot, sadly, but there was a fairly steady drizzle today. Three days inside together - I was busy putting YG's bedroom together this weekend, which is NEARLY FINISHED, but there is still a large amount of nursery room detritus piled in and around my bedroom - had a somewhat deleterious effect on the delicate tissue of the sibling rivalry.

After threatening, and enforcing, numerous punishments and banishments and separate-cornerness, I finally had it the fuck out with the OG on Sunday, which I HATE doing, but it really really needs to be done sometimes. (Again, not NEARLY as often as I used to. Thank you thank you thank you.) YG is being more than a bit willful and bratty just recently, unhelpfully, and she got her share of stern glances and time-outs herself.

For what it was worth, after the OG's chewing out, and the YG's big time out for hitting her sister, they were reasonably civil with each other for the rest of the long weekend.

They really are cute, when they play together nicely. The OG secretly enjoys "visiting" her old dolls in YG's room, and YG makes a completely willing participant in any game the OG devises. (And, I'm certain that it's completely coincidental that these awesome games always pop up RIGHT BEFORE BEDTIME, when I have to come in and break it up.)

Anyway, 'tis cool here. Except when it's warm, or when it's downright freezing-ass. It's January in Austin.
-----------------------------------------

Sounds like Hillary has the momentum now...hmm. Interesting.

I still like Obama better, but I can see her appeal to women. (OG is VERY excited that there is a woman in the race. She's totally declared her support, as has my mother. She - my mother, that is - called me tonight, and said, like she regularly does, "Are you watching the (Democratic) debate?" I - like I regularly do - said "No."

She then went on to say "I have a problem; I don't like Barack Obama." I replied, "Well, a lot of people don't like Hillary Clinton." And she replied, "Yes. THAT'S OUR PROBLEM."

Lord, I really, really hope that the Democratic party doesn't dissolve into the circular firing squad that we ALWAYS morph into. The country is on our side, damn it! We need to sweep in and TAKE IT this election, not lose to John effing McCain, who - illustrious history aside - has been NOTHING but a mealy-mouthed Bush supporter for EIGHT YEARS.

It has been fun to watch 9u11iani go down, though, hasn't it? Good times!

I Got Nothin'.

No muse today.

But, I haz funnees!

A Conversation with the OG

OG: "Mama, what's a dyke?"

Me: "Erm...in what context?"

OG: "Huh?"

Me: "Erm...where'd you hear it, honey?"

OG: "Right here, in this National Geographic article about volcanoes and rivers."

Me: "Oh, yes, a DIKE. It's a dam."

I'm watching a Food Network special on my new favorite Kansas City joint, Grinders.

All kinds of awesome beer, good food, hip/arty/punkish vibe...you'd hardly guess it's in Kansas City, the home of Applebee's and multiple AOR stations. It's the kind of place that I desperately wanted to hang out at when I lived there...but, sadly, it's a fairly recent addition.

However, more to the point, this effing show is making me HUNGRY. Salmon, cream cheese, and pesto pizza? Tandoori chicken pizza? CHILI AND TATER TOT PIZZA?

Fuck, I hate dieting.

---------------------------

On that front, how many of you Weight Watchers-lovers out there make that zero-point cabbage soup that they're always espousing?

I do. I know I'm deep in the throes of dieting when I start to crave it. And there's a BIG BIG container of it in my fridge, right now.

By the way, to hell with the proportions in that recipe. Use your biggest pot, cut up the whole cabbage, and throw whatever green vegetables you want in there and sautee them in Pam. After they're soft, shake a random and unspecified variety of common spices onto the top of it, and pour a few boxes of chicken broth over it. Let it simmer. Finally, not too far before it's done, put in some diced zucchini. That is all.

I actually like the way it tastes, and eating it will assuage minor hunger pangs.

However, it is oddly soul-crushing.

You know?

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The big news around the Mags household is: I've fired the opening salvo in the Younger Girl Bedroom Floor Reclamation Project.

The Big Girl Bed and Dresser were delivered on Friday, and I spent Sunday breaking my self-imposed IKEA moratorium to purchase and assemble a new bookshelf and toy shelf.

Most of the toys and books are still sitting in containers in my living room, but there is slowly developing an infrastructure in which to replace them that is NOT the middle of her floor.

Huzzah. I'll post a picture when I get it done. And the best part? It's Princess-A-Riffic!

(All you with girls out there...are they all as crazed for Giselle, from Enchanted, as mine is?)

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Hey, South by Southwest is coming soon!

Who's going? I'm up for Film, anyway...

Tonight, Tonight

...won't be just ANY night...

Actually, yes, it will. I've put the kids to bed, I'm having a cup of Get Some Zzzzs, and I'm watching "Ace of Cakes." The cats and dog are sleeping, The Man is out for a drink at the new beer bar that just opened down the street, and I'm weighing the options of sleep vs. Stephen Colbert.

Uncompelling as far as stories go...UNLIKE "Ace of Cakes!" (That is an oddly compelling little show! You watched it yet? Those are some badass cakes, man! Makes me want to get married again.)

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I have such mixed emotions about Hillary Clinton.

On one hand, I used to really like her, back in the day. I thought she was a smart, tough-assed chick that suffered no fools, save one. I was very impressed by her win in New York, and THEY love her, no matter what the rest of the country might think. And, I bristled at jokes or insults I heard from all sorts of Bubbas down here.

Then, well...she really, REALLY lost me when she supported this war. And, when she could have apologized, SHE DIDN'T. I became gravely disappointed in her, and put myself in the "not a Hillary fan" group. I've remained there for the duration of this election, so far...I thought that I liked Edwards best, and then I moved to Obama. Fearing her high negatives, I really, really didn't want her to get the nomination.

HOWEVER, I still bristled - and continue to do so - at people who say that they don't want her to be the nominee simply because she's "not likeable." Since when, I want to ask these people, does the notion of "likability" have ANYTHING to do with their choice of politicians? Um..George Bush is a PRICK. Rudy Giuliani is a PRICK. Fred Thompson? Prick. John McCain? Yes...that John McCain, who dropped "f-bombs" all over the Senate this term...he's a PRICK, too. I just think that it's sexist to assume that, since she's a woman, she has to avert her eyes or speak in her higher register to make people like her.

That being said, though, I DO think it's VERY appropriate to say that you don't like Hillary because of her stupid stance on the war, and her significant drift toward the right. And, though I do think that her high negatives could be overcome - as they were in New York - it may be too big a risk to attempt that in such an open year. (My lesson: It's OK not to like her. But, don't like her for the right reasons.)

Still, though, I WAS pissed at the way Edwards and Obama were tag-teaming her. I was VERY pissed after Edward's supercilious comments about her tearing up, implying that she's not fit to govern because she showed the strain of the campaign for a second. (Shit, I'M about ready to cry, and it's just January!)

Obama's comment in the debate - "You're likeable enough, Hillary" - just irritated me further. Cripes! Like you need to be outraging the pissy women right now, Barack! Maybe he's NOT experienced enough to be president.

Anyway...I guess I'm still with Barack. But, as an official member of a focus group, I'm just letting him know that he needs to do a little better, with us, VERY QUICKLY.
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The Man is officially snipped, BTW. No pain; he went to work today and is out partying right now. It didn't sound totally pleasant, but it was EXTREMELY fast; he was in, altered, and out in half an hour. (They do these things without scalpels now. Amazing.)

I am at peace with it. I still think that, somewhere, there is a little boy that I should know. One that looks just like The Man, and nothing like me. (That's probably a pipe dream. My father's genes? COMPLETELY dominant. Every one of his grandchildren is a carbon copy.)

Who know? Perhaps I will meet him later.

Snippage Angst

Aieee, you guys!

(TMI alert...be forewarned...)

The Man is planning to have THE PROCEDURE on Wednesday! And I'm freaking out (a little) because I (almost, sorta) wish that he wasn't! (But not really.)

Sigh. I don't want any more kids. I really don't. Except sometimes. Like now. NO! I'm tired of paying day care! And I want to go see movies again! And I don't want to have to buy any more diapers or Baby Bjorns or cute widdle snuggly footie sleepers or anything like that. Because I'm just...done with babies.

I'm done, with babies.

Shit.

Obamarama

Wow, as a formerly jaded political observer, I am shocked at how thrilled I am that Barack Obama won Iowa. And I'm TOTALLY stunned. A black man - not a LIBERAL black man, but a reasonably progressive one, anyway - carried this state, arguably the nation's biggest bastion of corn-fed conservatism.

Iowa? Iowa! That's nearly my neck of the woods! Perhaps there's hope after all for the region of this country that I had personally written off as hopelessly reactionary and boring?

Lord, though, after the initial joy ebbed, I realized that I'm completely scared for him. (There's a good blogger article about this fear here, if you are so interested.) I was born at the end of the sixties, but I remember the mood of the country in the years immediately following, when the Kennedys and King were still fresh in people's minds. A brief survey of the crazies over at Free Republic confirms my suspicions. The vitriol they have been spewing about Hillary will just be transferred to Obama, if he wins the nomination, and I'm 100% certain that this means that his life will be in danger at every public appearance. (I'm getting the vibe that they'd prefer to "character assassinate" Hillary, but this may not be as easy with Obama.)

Please, let his security detail be strong and vigilant. I don't want to be scared for him every time he comes on the TV.
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Resolution check: So far, I've been to the gym three times since joining on Jan. 2. I've done the EFX and lifted weights, and - get this - I've even STRETCHED afterwards. (Those Type A's among you will likely relate, I'm thinking, to my COMPLETE impatience and boredom with any sort of exercise that does not directly burn calories. I KNOW, I know, I need to do more yoga and Pilates to "strengthen my core" or some such - and I'm committed to trying to incorporate these - but, quite frankly, it's hard to convince me to do anything, exercise-wise, that is not going to specifically allow me to eat more bacon cheeseburgers.)

I miss having Karla exercise with me, though. It's easier to get through it if you have another person to push you, you know? Even if we were mostly listening to our Walkmans (yeah, that was a few years ago) rather than being chit-chatty, I appreciated the company.

The diet is going fairly well. I'm not rejoining Weight Watchers yet - it's possible I will do so next week - but I'm spending so much on the gym, that I hate to throw another $40 a month into the mix. I'd like to see a few pounds off by next week, and if I don't, then I'm going to have to rejoin. Again, I wish I had a buddy, though. WW meetings are best if you have somebody to laugh with at the golly-gosh earnestness of most of the leaders.

My favorite WW memory was of the time that the MOST Pollyanna-ish of all of the leaders passed out popsicle sticks and had us do a sort of visualization exercise, in which we focused all of our determination and conviction to lose weight onto our popsicle stick. I was fine until she uttered her closing directive, which was "Now, when you feel the temptation to eat something you shouldn't, all you need to do is hold your stick." I thought I was going to explode from holding in my giggles.
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For those of you that have inquired, my mom's doing fairly well; thanks for asking. She has her good days and her bad days, for sure, but she sounds all right most days.

My dad didn't tell her where a lot of all of his important papers were, so she's had to spend a lot of time calling around and digging in file cabinets. Perhaps she'd disagree with me, but I kind of wonder if that isn't a blessing in disguise, as she's got so much to figure out that I think it's taking her mind off of things.

I'm not in the funk I was in for several weeks afterwards, but I definitely know what people mean when they say that losing someone in your family gives you a sort of "phantom limb" feeling. The pain takes the form of a hole, rather than a jab.

New Years Revolutions

Oh, no, I didn't misspell it.

I'm plotting an overthrow. Of the old Mags, that is! Hah!

Because you care, these are my official blueprints for self-improvement:

1. I will stop procrastinating.
Today, for example, I re-joined my old gym, purchased furniture for the badly-needed YG Bedroom Floor Reclamation Project, started a diet, cut back to two cups of coffee, called the insurance company about some odd charges here and there, fixed the wireless connection, and finished a book that had been sitting on my bedside table for three months. Tomorrow, I shall take down the Christmas tree, take my children out for our Bi-Annual Shoe Shopping Nightmare Festival of Empty Threats, and will meet with a personal trainer.

For the past little while, I have been the best-intended person EVER, and yet, sadly, nothing ever got, well, DONE. This will change. I am now a Woman of Action. (And you can stop your smart-mouth jokes about that comment RIGHT NOW, darling husband o'mine. I can't help that my number is bigger than yours.)

2. I will stop making assumptions.
I shall endeavor to refrain from judging others, and assuming that I know what they are thinking, by their reactions to me. I love to work myself into a tizzy over what I KNOW someone is thinking about me, and it seriously wastes my time and shreds my psyche.

3. I will be impeccable with my word.
This goes along with the procrastination. I will do what I say I am going to do. And, I will not promise that I will do something when I cannot.

4. I will branch out of my comfort zone more often.
I read a study once that suggested that, if you have not tried something by the time you're 40 - like a particular kind of food, or music, or some such - that, statistically speaking, the odds are that you will NEVER try it. I was like 25 or something when I read that, and I was flummoxed...surely, I thought, I would never be like that!

Well, now, I'm 38, and I'm very, very afraid that that is EXACTLY what is happening. So, for those who know me, please encourage me to get off my couch and go out to see music, or movies, or to go eat at restaurants, as soon, and as often, as is fiscally responsible. Which brings me to number 5:

5. I will be fiscally responsible.
Um...for once.

and, finally, and most importantly:

6. I will MOISTURIZE.
Every day, without fail.

Something bad happened to my face over break. I'm not sure if it started in Vegas or in Kansas City, but suddenly my face became VERY red, VERY dry, and puffy and swollen. Then, yesterday, I realized that it is peeling, all over, like I had a sunburn. (I suppose that's not out of the range of possibility, since I was in Vegas, but I don't think it's very likely, as I was mostly inside of casinos the whole time.) I tried to put creams and stuff on it, but they really burned my face...so maybe it's an allergic reaction or something?

And the best part - the BEST part, of all this, is what I noticed today, out in the harsh daylight of the CVS parking lot: Apparently, my face, when it is completely dried out, looks EXTRA ESPECIALLY OLD. And wrinkly. It is reminiscent of nothing so much as a piece of crumpled parchment, actually.

So, again, I prostrate myself upon those who know something of the unguent arts. I bought $30 worth of Aveeno products today...they don't seem to be burning my skin, so that's something. Anyone have any other advice?