A Daily Dose of Zen Sarcasm!

The Reflection Gets Tired, Too

Mid-Atlantic Stream (Day two hundred twenty-four), originally uploaded by Madame Meow.

Reflecting, reflecting, reflecting.

I am slowly grinding to a standstill.

I think I am getting tired of examining my life and that of others; of trying to explain motivations and secret motives and hopes and dreams and longings.

I am getting tired of looking at myself and looking at my life as detached as if I'd emptied the contents of my purse and were superciliously trying to inspect those items in their entirety, and the bottom for crumbs and stray hairs.

Sometimes I don't want to know why I do something.

Sometimes, I don't want to explain it to you either, or to anyone.

I want to live a life free of contemplation and examination and neurosis. I want to be like my cat, who happily licks her own asshole clean with nary a thought as to why this would be something that would make the rest of us throw up, were it our fate.

For the dog people, picture something similar but also involving the eating of shit-- shit that isn't even yours to begin with.

I am tired of finding my motives.
I'm tired of psychoanalysis and tired of knowing that there is something wrong with me-- because there is something majorly wrong with me and with my life.

It's nice to know that even when I ask for the oblivion of lack of introspection, the neuroses won't leave me alone.

You know, the "hot poker digging into my side" kind of nice.

A Nibble

Taking My Medicine (Day sixty-nine), originally uploaded by Madame Meow.

Sometimes you just have to savor things a little bit.

In the spirit of a cupcake, here are a few things worth savoring:

1. Red velvet cupcakes (duh).

2. The first warm breeze of spring.

3. A good performance on American Idol, where no one has dared butcher "Satisfaction." (yet)

4. Having a blog! (whee!)

5. Doing something because it feels good to be doing it again ('ello blogworld! Again!)

6. Having a little, and not a big, cold.

Hope you're all well out there.

Baby steps, everyone.

Visualization

Spinny, originally uploaded by Madame Meow.

In the middle of winter, with all these piles of snow all around still stubbornly refusing to melt, it's hard to think that there will ever be (or have ever been, and will, in fact, continue to be) hot mid-July days where you can wear little clothing and inwardly beg for even less clothing to be heaped upon yourself.

When your family is broken up, it's hard to think that there will ever be a day when the present bitterness will ever be thought of as past, and maybe even remembered fondly-- with a certain astringent taste, but sweet nonetheless.

I don't talk very much about our family specifics on here, but suffice it to say that my husband is in the Armed Forces and will be going away to One Of The Dangerous Places very soon. Which actually means that he's been coming and going for about a year, and our family routine has been not as routine as it would normally be. But sometimes a little disclosure does the body and soul good. I am cranky and I am afraid, and a small part of me admits that I'll be relieved when he's finally gone, so life without him can start for a little while and regain some monotony, if not some normalcy altogether.

I just wish that I could focus on a concrete flash-forward --a mid-summer balm for the mid-winter soul-- instead of floating in the space above, waiting and not being sure at all.

In Which It's Obvious I'm Not Rugged

Dear reader,

You do not appreciate the luxury of right now.  Yes, right now.  You in your cozy wherever-you-may-be, with your feet up, perhaps, lazing about and checking Facebook every ten minutes or so, or browsing through email and reading this.

You have electricity.  It's pretty friggin' awesome.  It's so awesome I considered swapping "friggin'" for "fucking", but I didn't because this is a family blog.

(Oops)

Anyway.  In my neck of the woods, our power lines are buried-- a delightful little idea that is really rather convenient when it comes to things like massive snowstorms and gale-force winds making their appearance.  So while the outer ring of hell the DC area sat in the freeze and waited for a Pepco miracle, I and my compatriots got to obsess over every miserable inch that fell on top of inch; we ate hideously large amounts of food; we imbibed as if the storm were going to rob us of yeast to ever make booze again; and generally were able to kick back in our socked feet while many suffered in the murderous cold. 

Take the blows that come my way and deal with them gracefully, I always say.

Except that there is this pesky and little-regarded thing called salt corrosion.

It chews through delightfully buried power lines.

It makes them break.

This interrupts you mid-Beatles RockBand slaying.

And your preschooler cannot understand what the fuss is and why you can't just turn the lights on, mommy.

The cat scurries away for dear life.

So you call Pepco and their automated voice very nicely assures you that you may have your power restored by 6 pm, the following day.

It's cold and eerily quiet, and  the lights don't come on and neither does the heat, when there is no power.  There is no Internet.  (collective gasp)  And when you walk into a room and you want to see its contents, you flip the switch and get nothing.  The fridge gets opened seldom; and each time, reverentially, as if it were old and coming apart at the seams.  The garage door has to be released and pushed up manually, and if you don't watch it, it can pinch your fingers.  And oh, the fancy smoke alarm/carbon monoxide detectors/banshee wailers from hell decide that they'll run out of battery in the middle of the night and then, later, break; so that even after you change their battery and the power is on and everything else in the house is acting normal and making noise and you're glad you're part of the twenty-first century, they still randomly chirp their evil loud chirps until you pull some feat of anger and superhuman strength and rip one of them right off the ceiling and get nasty plaster crumbs dropping vengefully in your mouth.

So, this is just to say that I'm very happy that the power is back on.

Carry on.

The Lights Are Still On

Forgot to Turn It Off, originally uploaded by Madame Meow.

I'm snowed in today. No, not really: the snow was pretty enough, and it's cold enough never to want to step outside (with pardons to people who, after spending enough time in negative digits may think that 20 degrees Fahrenheit is sweater weather, naturally).

But you know, it's cozy in here. And I finally wanted to sit down and commit some thoughts to my little space. And it's a cramped space around here: I guess I never thought-- or rather, never gave a thought-- to the fact that motherhood of two is an entirely different game from motherhood of one.

Don't get me wrong: being mother to two is not exactly a burden, though there are burdensome moments. And it's not an ongoing flood of things to do, although when the little one is screaming and the big one decides it's the best thing in the world to go ahead and copy him and they both start banging their fists against whatever and then the cat decides to join them because, 'Hey! It's getting close to dinnertime' and so on, well... you start to get the picture.

Motherhood is already burden enough, even with all the loveliness it brings. It's a constant job in which the odds of needing something dry-cleaned at the end of the day are pretty damn good.

I can't seem to get the hang of juggling it all. I don't know how you working mothers and single mothers and stay-at-home mothers do it without sometimes wanting to lock yourself in the closet and screaming loudly or biting into whatever you can sink your teeth into first-- preferably not a body part, because it's very weird to have to explain teeth marks to people.

The laundry is half-made and the room looks like a tornado hit it. The floor looks like a Hansel-and-Gretel crisscross of unnamed food objects. The living room is a dangerous minefield of popular children's tunes.

And I guess that's all okay, because this is what I signed up for when I thought it would be a good idea to let my DNA live on.

Anyway, here is a note from deep in the parenthood trenches. Does this make me a mommyblogger now?

December 14, Really.

A new low has been hit:

I just now woke up and flew out of bed, freaking out that today (thankfully, it is still TODAY, and not 30some minutes later) it's been two weeks since I've posted.

And that means, another missive from BlogHer.  Another two-week period in which I have let anyone who checks this (and who's interested in whatever happened to the rest of the tarot sequence) down.  Thank you, specifically, to Ghosty, for actually leaving a curmodgenly message that got this panic sequence started.

AAAACK.

Ok. That felt a little better.

How did December ever get away from me this way? It can't almost be MID-December!?  I don't even have a Christmas tree!  There are no lights outside my house!  And I've already had a household sick AGAIN!? 

This is so very lame it doesn't pass muster, but it will have to do.  By way of apology (*snort*) I shall publish the next tarot sequence number sometime tomorrow.

Oh, I know you're all riveted. 

But for those of you who check this, I truly appreciate the support, and the stick-to-it-iveness. 

Try saying that thing out loud sometime.  It's... an experience to appreciate.

Back to your regularly-scheduled, oh-so-not-daily-anymore, zen sarcasm.

Countdown

Yup, I was sick but I'm better now.

I promise to finish my tarot sequence in December, and to plow on ahead as valiantly as I can (ha!).

There is much to tell, but especially much to be thankful for-- especially health.

Happy last minutes of lovely November, everyone!

11 ~ The Hanged Man

I've been getting rid of stuff like crazy.

At first, it was just a regular fall cleaning switching-of-the-closets effort.  It was all about turning things over, checking to see if the cute little pair of jeans that fit the butt of yesteryear could somehow manage to span the butt of today; that sort of thing.

But now it's become a bit of a thing: I want to let go.  I want clean drawers and I want just enough.

_________

Letting go is hard.

It's a simple thing: you want something, or you want to hold on to something, because you think happiness or well-being or that elusive goal hides behind the thing or things you cannot let go of.

But all along, it is you who makes things happen.  It is you who holds the key to your own happiness, no "if only" allowed.

It's not anything to do with losing the weight (though it might help with your health and well-being), and it's nothing to do with time (although we can all make time for those little things we enjoy).

Purses and shirts and pants and egos are nothing but trappings: things you put around, under and over yourself to forget you're there-- to shield yourself from the world.  Granted, they are also nice things and appropriate on occasion.  But if they are not used, what good are they?

If your gifts are not used, what good are they?

Which is why you need to scale back; clean up; reassess; turn your world upside down; hang from your foot and stand on your head; and let go.

You will be glad of it.

Randomata: From the Green Thumb Files

Okay, so the funny thing is that Mercury, the planet of communication, is supposed to be going direct today.

In English now, this is supposed to mean that things are not supposed to be uphill and difficult and generally misunderstood and puzzling, etc. after Mercury decides to catch up and stop dallying in such a way that, from Earth, it looks like it's moving backward although we know that planets don't really move backward, but what the hey.

I will tell you one thing though: it's getting cool, and this is thrilling.

_________

Now for a categorically different speed --please do blame it on Mercury, or perhaps on the cooling down of this part of the world, and not on me: I would like to assess my garden successes this year.

Successes:

green beans.  If you are an amateur gardener in want of space, but would like to grow a simple and highly productive treat, grow Kentucky wonder pole beans.  All they need is some crappyish soil (they actually DO NOT produce when you fertilize a bit much!) and a place to wind around.  Mine started to produce very late in the season, and I still got quite the decent crop.  String beans= thrill.

cherry tomatoes. Any variety of tiny tomatoes will produce insane amounts of fruit, given enough sun (about 8-10 hrs), water, and amendments.  This year it was so very wet I had to add lime (in the truly bizarro form of TUMS) to my tomatoes' soil.

basil. This herb is so insane, people named it so because they thought snakes would breed out of it.  Maybe not snakes, but it seems to double in height and produce millions of tiny seedlings overnight.  Plant some basil with your tomatoes and you will not regret it.  Hell, plant some basil by itself and even if you hate pesto sauce (which you will end up making more than once if you grow basil) you can just crush the leaves and enjoy an intense olfactory experience. 

strawberries.  My first year, only two plants.  However, strawberries are incredibly easy to grow, especially in tiny container gardens where you don't have to worry about all the pests that attack them.  Strawberries are lovely plants and they love to spread like crazy, too.  It's love.

blueberries.  I have a rabbiteye bush and it yields the most juicy little blue gold.  There are no words to tell you a) how much I love seeing those little pale things that are left over after the flower falls off turn jet black, and b) how much I hate the birds who've started to assume that my garden is their smörgåsbord.  Jerks.

lettuce varieties. The cut-and-come-again varieties grow so well and so quickly that you can come incredibly late to the game (we're talking mid-August) and you can still get a small yield.  And, amazingly, you can cut AND COME AGAIN!  Genius.

anything in the mint family. Is. A BEAST.  Mints, catmints, lemon balm, lavenders, etc. are maniacs.  If you can't grow mint you may as well realize that life gave you a black thumb.  Many years ago I read an essay with the author's fantasizing as to what a personification of an herb would be like.  She imagined basil (appropriately enough, I suppose) as a suave Italian man, effervescent and sexy and rash, zipping around in his dandy little Vespa.  She also imagined mint being a little old lady sweeping her front porch, being all cute and mumsy.  What she neglected to mention is that this old lady has six tattoos, chain-smokes, and can beat half of the biker bar at arm wrestling.  Mint=tenacious.

four o'clocks.  No longer just for illustrating Punnett squares, these beauties grow like crazy and smell awesome.  Love. (POISONOUS SEEDS!  BEWARE!)

Lesson?

Plants need to be INSANE in order to survive the harsh conditions of my rooftop garden. 

Pineapple sage?  Totally cute, but so very fragile-- also not totally hardy in zone 7a, which is too bad because bees and butterflies love the stuff.

Gardenias?  Too insane.  They catch every disease imaginable and hate to be transplanted.  Too bad, because they have an INSANE fragrance.  I'm thinking you're going to hate the word "insane" by the time I'm done.

Peas? Fussy, haters of too cold a clime and haters of too warm a weather.  If you get them in the ground around here on St. Paddy's day, you may or may not get a yield, depending on how hot or strong spring comes on-- capricious.  Capricious is a good word to describe little girls and butterfly flight patterns; it is NOT a good word to describe plants upon which you've heaped hopes.

I'm sure the gardening folks among you disagree on some of these choices.  But hey!  It's a free country-- if you have secrets for growing the fussier plants, please do share!

Meanwhile, I sleep.

They May Call Me the "Theobromine Pusher"

Jeez.

Apologies are in order for the dramatic tone of the last post but apparently something was up.

Last night I was so tired and I really wanted to sleep, but I was so jumpy and tired and uncomfortably warm.  I mean, yes, it's been warmer again and all that, but it was just ridiculously warm.

And man.  I really wanted chocolate.  I started reviewing in my mind all the places where I have ever kept chocolate in the house in the past, and realized that I only had one bar lurking in the fridge.

But at 10:30 pm, it just seemed a little too decadent to eat a whole chocolate bar by myself.

And then there was the whole bit about jumping up ten feet in the air every time I heard a noise, and freaking out and mind racing, more than usual.

___________ 

So okay, come on audience: what do you think would drive an otherwise-normal person to be an (even more) irrational, paranoid, overwhelmed and whiny-blogging mess who craves chocolate at strange times of day?

If you reply or email me the answer by the end of the day, I will send you a couple of bars of chocolate.

Because I'm thinking you might need it, too.

I Feel Busy (Not So Sure About Witty or Light)

The problem with technology is that it cannot read your body language and pick up on your avoidance clues.  It just sits there, patiently humming and standing by and, before you know it, you have ONE THOUSAND pieces to read in your Google Reader.  

One thousand things calling my attention:  things that at some point in time I have deemed precious and worthwhile enough to add to my reader, so I can keep up with them. 

One thousand plus things still waiting for my attention, only it seems they are the thousand closest to the bottom of the totem pole.

This is a new feeling for me: the feeling of having things to do and feeling like I may not have enough time to do them as much or as well as I would like.  It all started with baby number two; and then with Monsieur Meow traveling more and more; then picking up my local writing project; now I'm taking a photography class; and trying to run (ha!); and attempting to introduce some yoga routine into my life as well.  Suddenly life has taken on that old but familiar urgency of long-ago-- the weird, adrenalin-fueled stabs at making more things work in the same amount of time.

"I am a Type B!" I want to tell my life.  "We're supposed to be laid back!"

She laughs and points out that I always seem to have time for Facebook. 

(But it's Facebook!  EVERYONE has time for Facebook-- it's like a God-given right.)

Today the day and night balance each other perfectly, on their way to wintry short days and lack of light.  Seems fitting to want to make changes in this season that does just that.

Thank you to all who have commented since my last entry: I appreciate you greatly, and hope to be replying to you in some form or another in the near future.

Food Poisoning For a Better You (Sort Of)

You may be rightfully thinking, "if she's never going to update it, why bother keeping a blog?"

You'd be right.  Except.

I actually have two entries in the back burner.  One, interestingly enough, is about boobs.  That one will probably see the light of day sometime later in the week.  The other one is... oh I forget.  Not that it matters, you see, as I don't think you can see my drafts.  Okay-- you got me: I only have ONE entry in the works.  Feh.

But see, I've also been doing some other writing on the side.  I hesitate to call it "real" writing,  because really, my blog is writing and it's real and I love it very, very much.  But this other kind of writing is for the community in which I live and I get to use my real name --a weird first for me.

I guess you could call it "serious" writing.  Less snark, more substance, if you will.  I hope the gig continues, because I am deeply enjoying the challenge.

_________

In unrelated news, I just got over a nasty case of food poisoning.

I know you're just dying to hear all about me and my retching, but I do have a point (which reminds me-- maybe you should stop reading here if you get queasy easily).

The point being this: have you ever noticed that just after a bout of illness, any illness, you have the sudden need to preen and fawn over and take better care of yourself?  I am not sure how this translates in masculine terms --and frankly I don't think it matters much as most of my reading and commenting audience (like 97.9%) is female-- but if there are any talkative guys out there who want to share in the comments, I'll be giddy knowing that I actually have guys who read this thing.

I spent about 36 hours feeling so sick I didn't even have the energy to feel sorry for myself-- just had enough to curl into a ball and sleep or do what nature required of me and enough left over to nurse the baby.  So once I could muster enough vim to drag myself to the bathroom and do something about my sorry state, I just could not wait.

And I don't just mean standing under the running shower and hoping that things sort themselves out: oh no.  I actually plucked, tweezed, moisturized, firmed, toned and today I remembered to apply blush AND lipgloss at the same time.  Let me repeat this: I eagerly WANTED to yank as many hairs off my face once I got better as I was able to find without an indecently-sized magnifying glass.  As a matter of fact, I was downright angry that we only had a 10x magnification mirror lying around-- the kind that normally make me run and feel disgusted at the size of my pores.

 I was thinking about this today and the only answer I could think of why this would happen is simple: it's got to be gratitude.

Being truly thankful that one has made it to the other side and possibly learned lessons along the way (i.e. staying away from unrefrigerated dairy would be the ticket here) is the best side effect to illness that I can think of.   And along with that comes something as simple as relishing the body that you have and making it look its best-- cherishing it for what it is, instead of wasting idle hours wishing for better or slimmer or taller.  Realizing that this body made you able and strong enough to beat whatever bug felled you makes you love yourself.

Sometimes it does take a little bit of the bads to be able to see the really, really good.

And it's really, really good to be healthy-- from my own head down to my toes.

Putting This One Next to the Cohibas

I must confess, I've always been a fan of silence.

It doesn't bother me very much, and it's nice and soothing.  What tends to make silence creepy is the insertion of little tiny noises that you can't notice when things are in their usual loud state.  It's very Hitchcock, I suppose, and it's not very relaxing.

But a lovely silence like right now-- both little Meows down for a nap and Mama Meow tap-tap-typing away with only the hums of the computer and the fridge to keep me company-- is one of those little treats that I wish I could store away in some cool, secluded chamber or soul's humidor of sorts to pull up when I'm feeling mad as a hornet and about to send out the pheromones to the hive.

This reminds me, also, that I have not wished my blog a Happy Birthday.  It is now four years and two months old (minus a day).  I'm not sure what this all means, except that having a blog?  It is really really cool.

Anyway, I hope you all out there in the blogiverse have a happy Wednesday!  Toodles!

Screaming For It And Betting You Will, Too

One of the few rules we lowly blogging reviewers have to abide whilst writing our reviews is a simple one: if you cannot write a balanced review, please do not write a review.

I am here to say that when it comes to ice cream, alas, the bias is pretty strong.  How on earth can ice cream really be improved and make me gush lovingly about it even more, so it even exceeds my already pretty big bias toward ice cream?

Live and learn, I suppose.
_________

I was lucky enough to receive four samples of the new Häagen-Dazs ® five ice cream product line last week, and you may think that just because I got ice cream in the mail I am gushing about it.

True, it's exciting.  And getting the dry ice that came along with it and cackle madly as I poured hot water on it was fun, too.

But dear people, this ice cream!  It is DELICIOUS!  It is magic that dissolves in your mouth and it's creamy goodness that could have not arrived at a better time so I could enjoy it during an incredibly nice spring day.

The five line gets its name because only five ingredients are used in the making of the ice cream:milk, cream, sugar, eggs and the essence of the featured flavor-- such as my hands-down favorite flavor, passion fruit.

[N.B. Häagen-Dazs ice creams are already very minimalist; for instance, their regular vanilla  ice cream also boasts only five ingredients, as do the coffee, chocolate and strawberry flavors.]

Amazingly enough, the pruning of the ingredients list also makes the ice creams in this line lower in fat than those from the Häagen-Dazs premium line; although 11 grams of fat per 1/2 cup serving is still a LOT OF FAT, which also means that you probably should not sit down and drown your sorrows with an entire pint of ice cream to begin with, but please don't let me stop your consumption of ice cream.

I must admit that when I first opened my thirlling parcel of cold goodness, the thing that caught me off guard was the flavors: ginger, passion fruit, mint, brown sugar.  To be honest, they all sounded a little oddball and maybe not particularly thrilling.  However, once you get past the possible oddness of the varieties and actually taste them, the concerns melt away as easily as the ice cream does in your mouth.
As I've noted, my personal favorite was the passion fruit flavor;  Monsieur Meow liked ginger best; Herr Meow was a big fan of mint, which I thought a sophisticated choice for a little fella of three; and Rev. Mom thought the brown sugar was best-- though she was torn between it and the passion fruit.

And if you would like to try a FREE 14 oz. pint (*cough*apintisSIXTEENouncescheapskates*cough*) of Häagen-Dazs ice cream, be one of the first three people to leave me a nice, thoughtful comment as to why you deserve ice cream and I will send you a coupon. 

Now let me hear you scream for ice cream.  I know I already did.

Grace and Naps: Priceless

I am cross-posting here from Grace in Small Things, because while I have not been feeling like blogging lately--what with trying to sleep and recover, I have not been able to locate my inspiration-- I did feel like being a little grateful and catching up.  So here we are: a special slacker post, just for you!

Incidentally, I MUST post about a great book I've been reading while nursing Don Meow at 3 am: The No-Cry Nap Solution, by Elizabeth Pantley.  This book is a MUST READ, even if you have no kids-- certainly it's driven the point home that naps are not just necessary but they are a way of life.  I promise, this post will come soon!

__________

Yes, it's true: I am trying to catch up on a whole bunch of days all in one post (catching up on TWENTY-ONE days' worth of thankfulness, no less). It is a tall order for one blog entry, but I am confident this little post is The Little Post That Can.

First and foremost, I am catching up because I gave birth two weeks ago. It's true that some people are up and running marathons or walking the Victoria's Secret catwalk within two or three weeks of giving birth, but I am still just trying to take things in stride and get some sleep. So this will not be a conclusive list, but here is a good effort:

1. Little Don Meow, Herr Meow's baby brother and new love.
2. Having a quick labor (which did not seem so quick at the time).
3. The way the Wilson Bridge, the Washington Memorial and Old Town Alexandria looked all lovely and lit up the night I gave birth.
4. No traffic on the Capital Beltway-- this is, more than Grace, a miracle in itself.
5. Being able to laugh through vicious contractions.
6. Good hospital food. It exists, amazingly enough.
7. Nice nurses who truly care for their patients and trust their patients.
8. Lovely, kind people calling to congratulate and issue good wishes.
9. Family.
10. Noggin.
11. Sprout.
12. Cable, in general.
13. Sleep.
14. A baby bladder that works in proper order, even if it means getting sprayed with a generous plume of pee on an occasional basis.
15. Friends who help out or offer to help out.
16. Home-cooked meals.
17. Waking up weighing ten pounds less. The thrill is cheap, but it doesn't quite get old.
18. "Time Bomb" by Rancid.
19. Milk!
20. Being able to bend over without gasping for breath.
21. Celebrating five years of marriage.
22. Reconnecting with people you really, really like.
23. "Recuerdos de la Alhambra" by Tárrega.
24. Memories triggered by songs.
25. Wine, delicious wine.
26. Prosecco too.
27. Typos that make "prosecco" turn out like "prosexxo"-- which is quite a statement.
28. Windowshopping online.
29. Catching up and surpassing one's birth weight.
30. Being an inch longer than when we were born, too.
31. GOOD haircuts on the men in your life.
32. Naps.
33. Mothers who can cook well, and do.
34. Blankets and covers and pillows and warm things.
35. Newborn fuzz.
36. There can never be enough gratitude for Netflix in my heart.
37. Or for chocolate.
38. Or for food in general.
39. Or for blogging, really, even as much as I've neglected it lately.
40. Or for life in general, which is pretty thankfulness-worthy.

The Best Part of Wonking Up

When I first started dating Monsieur Meow, I remember --now fondly-- one of my first foot-in-mouth moments with him. 

It was the moment wherein I declared that I couldn't believe any sentient human would watch C-SPAN for fun.  And then he told me about all his favorite C-SPAN shows.

And then he tuned the TV to "Washington Journal." 

And I seriously wondered if life was trying to test me.

___________

But really, "Washington Journal" isn't so bad.  Actually, it's quite entertaining.

Between you and me and the world at large?   It's possibly one of the most brilliant and unintendedly funniest shows on television.

And I am forever grateful to my sweet husband, he who's expanded my weltanschauung in ways I never really thought relevant or possible for me.  Also, am grateful that he was able to put my less-than-flattering comments about C-SPAN behind us.

__________

Back to "Washington Journal": chances are that you're not familiar with the show because, hello?  It's C-SPAN and most people don't really watch C-SPAN on Saturday morning at 7 am (or, really, at any other time of day, unless they are Monsieur Meow). 

The show takes place in a bare-bones studio, whose only decoration is a large picture window featuring a gorgeous angle of the United States Capitol and which allows you to see the sunrise and the change of the seasons in DC (this is possibly my favorite part of the show).  For periods of time --I believe they are half-hour segments-- there is only a host sitting comfortably at a desk and reading newspaper headlines from around the country and sometimes from abroad, as long as they cover American politics.  In zen-like motions, he guides us through highlighted passages, many of which relate to a topic of the day.  This is possibly the cushiest job in the world: reading pre-highlighted newspapers.  You don't even have to memorize a line!  The stuff is all in front of you!  How hard can it be?

Of course, the host does penance in other ways; you see, this is also a call-in show.  I am pretty convinced that the hosts for this show are selected on their ability to hold a pretty damn good poker face for long periods of time.  (Memo to self: Never invite a WJ host to a poker party.)

The host periodically repeats the phone numbers you can call if you would like to opine on the main topic of the day.  There are three lines: one for Independents, one for Democrats and one for Republicans.  It does not escape my notice that the line for Independents was a total afterthought.  Behold:

(202) 737-0002  Democrats
(202) 737-0001  Republicans
(202) 628-0205  Independents

Whatever happened to 737-0003?  Tsk, tsk.

At certain intervals, the host is joined by one of several guests --politicians, economists, policymakers and other notables-- to help discuss a tailored topic fitting the abilities of the guest or the topic of the day (it varies).  Just to give you an idea of what the topic of the day may be, today's is about the economic stimulus package planned in addition to the current stimulus package approved by congress.  Civic life and the internet is the topic hosted by the guest currently, and he's fielding his share of very old people who are not quite sure that the Internets really have a role in politics.  The guest nearly loses his composure on a couple of occasions-- his mouth twitches, hand goes to his mouth.  Solid gold.

And then we get the crazy people.  Oh, the crazy people are the best thing ever: like the lady who just called and sang something about "poor Georgie, Obama will pardon you"; or the caller who refused to tackle the subject of the day until the host agreed that C-SPAN's assertion that it's paid for by the cable industry really truly means that C-SPAN is actually funded by cable subscribers, which means that we all pay for C-SPAN whether we like it or not.  These are the best moments of the show: totally bizarro and unscripted and hilarious--especially when you look at the host and he's trying valiantly to keep his composure in the face of someone who's hijacked the phone line for five straight minutes to basically be heard about ANYTHING.

And finally, there is the rare glimpses of someone who seems to understand the question and deliver a thoughtful and thought-provoking comment.  These are the moments that make the show truly worth watching: the moments that remind you why this is a country that thrives on discourse and on the freedom of speech.

But for the main part, "Washington Journal" is nothing but hours upon hours of delightful, unscripted mayhem, punctuated by the dignified calm of the host.  It's that quiet, resigned desperation that makes this show an undiscovered hit-- a rare gem that allows us to watch a broad swath of America undisturbed and unburdened by the shackles of thought.
Needless to say, I am a total convert, and I think you should be, too.

Happy (cold) Saturday!

All I Need Now Is Cristy Lane's Velvet Voice

I am currently a blank slate getting an internal ass-kicking from a fetus.

My esophagus runneth over with gastric juices and my girth is making Jupiter feel a little jealous-- and peckish.

And Bones is on tv-- back to back episodes.

My feet are up and I look vaguely matronly in my fuzzy house slippers.
I'm delighting in my relative unattractive comfort.

Sometimes you just have to cut your losses and realize that if nothing else, having your feet up and being warm is possibly the greatest achievement of your day.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to see about getting me some Tums by telekinesis.

Odds, Ends

I am very tired.  This is actually what I am blogging about tonight, more than anything because it's still NaBloPoMo  and I don't want to let go with only two days to go.  We've just finished watching Kung Fu Panda and now we're tackling some episodes of Bones, and I'm still in a nice turkeyish trance, courtesy of leftovers.

Seriously, this is not a bad way to end a week.  And bonus?  I cannot believe my little man will turn three tomorrow.  It seems like a nebulous and distant past when I gave birth to him, and when I could wear tank tops and flip flops in lat November.

Where did this year go anyway?

How about you out there in blogland?  Any Black Friday shopping?  Any good stories?  Any relatives gone wild?