A Daily Dose of Zen Sarcasm!

Perspective

Les Jambes (Day two hundred forty-nine), originally uploaded by Madame Meow.

You know what is an interesting exercise? Hearing yourself described by a person who is just getting to know you.

It gives you a glimpse of what kind of first impression you make, and sometimes it can provide clues as to how people perceive you, as opposed to how you think you are perceived.

Perception versus reality: they are not the same thing, but you think they are.

You know what else isn't quite the same? What you're saying and what you think you're saying.

Few people can be as objective as the lens of a camera when looking at and listening to another speak. And even with a camera lens, there are things such as distortions and aberrations; so it's actually a wonder we humans can communicate and make points at all, considering that we are dealing with flawed and selfish and downright WRONG ways of communicating and understanding each other.

Honestly, I am writing this and thinking about it and it just exhausts me.

Yes. I am going to therapy.

Friends In Low and High Places

Birthday Bread and Jam!, originally uploaded by Madame Meow.

This is a shoutout to my friends.

The friends who text funny things; the ones who share awesome music with me and burn me mix CDs all old-school-like; the ones who bake wonderful bread and cookies and make jam from scratch and give it to me for my birthday, which was awesome and a half.

The friends who recommend a great place to eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner; the ones who cook dinner. The ones who send a million pictures of their kids; the ones who share one or two. The ones who just send a picture of their baby bump.  Or of their dog or cat.

The friends who are new and the friends who are old. The ones who bring out the cheeky and the ones who make you strive to become a better person.

The ones who will hold your baby because they want to. The ones who will hold your baby even if they don't want to. The ones who will rub your back when you're wasted. The ones who will rub your back when you're sober, but just bawling your eyes out.

The ones who care and the ones I care about.

Thank you.

In Focus

The Hip Not Taken (Day two hundred forty-two), originally uploaded by Madame Meow.

It's no secret: I love September.

September has its problems, of course: after all, school starts around this time of year and I HATED school for many, many years. I have dramatically revised that view in light of a couple of facts:

1. The more school you attend, the more fun it becomes
and
2. Jesus Tap-dancing Christ! Schools take your children for HOURS at a time, and many do it FOR FREE! Are they insane?!

Back to September: there is something magical about it. Now, I realize I may have used the word "magical" to refer to pretty much every single month of the year. Here's an unscientific breakdown:

January: Magical winter! With magical warm spell somewhere in there!
February: Magical Valentine's day! Magical frostbite! Magical Don Meow's birthday!
March: Magically delicious on account of Leprechauns! Magical cherry blossoms! Magical first day of spring!
April: Magical spring! More magical blossoms! Magical rise of temperatures!
May: Magical roses! Magical dogwoods! Magical disappearing hemlines!
June: Magical sixteen-hour-of-sunlight days! Magical sweat!
July: Magical fireworks! Magical heatwave! Magical barbecue!
August: Magical sweltering heat! Magical produce! Magically quieter city!

I brought on the magic and I have made myself puke. God, how can anyone be so damn perky all year long? But the point is that out of ALL THAT MAGIC, September is pretty much as filled with fairy dust and happiness as is possible-- really.

Because September is cheerfully ordinary, and somehow, we all sigh a sigh of relief. Life can start as we know it, once again.

There is comfort in routine-- the same comfort that starts to chafe and stifle in a few short months*, true, but that for now feels like a familiar pair of slippers or an object to hold which comforts us and whose shape we know so well we can imagine its contours with our eyes closed.

Life takes on a sharp focus, just like mornings do-- some warmer still, but many more taking on that defined ring of crispness that means we can slow down and bundle up and cozy up inside.**

Happy Magical September, everyone!

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* I am seriously starting to suspect that some people are never, ever stifled or chafed by routine.

** I feel I should do the rest of the Magical year.
October: Magical pumpkins! Magical motherfreaking HALLOWEEN!
November: Magical THANKSGIVING! Magical Herr Meow's birthday! Magical tons of days off!
December: December is not magical. Sorry.

In the Bag

First off, a big thank you to those of you who wrote such nice comments on my last entry.  A cardinal rule of blogging should be, "Thou shalt not blog in anger or exhaustion."  But clearly, cardinal rules of blogging have not been written.  Yet.

This is a quick post because this Flickr group on the contents of people's bags and backpacks really moved me. It's called simply, "What's in your bag?"  If you haven't seen it, I strongly suggest you do.  I find it fascinating to see people reduced to what they carry around.  Some of the pictures are very simple, but they are all compelling in their own way. What would we be without all those contents and all that static life we carry with us?

Would our lives be better or worse without the baggage?

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.

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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.

Randomata: File Under "Cool Stuff"

Hey there Interwebs!  I'm writing you a quick missive here because I want you to do two things:

1. I would like you to pay a visit to my generous friend, SoloMother.  Not only is she a talented writer, but she is also giving away these totally cute and fully recyclable lunch totes from ReSnackIt!  Even if you don't have kids, many of you take your lunch to work; and even if you have no kids and don't work, surely in your leisure you must have time to go to a picnic-- and therefore you need to go to my friend's blog and enter the giveaway! :o)

2. And speaking of cool things, Herr Meow recently got to test a toy from the kind people over at eBeanstalk, who are dedicated to selecting good, safe educational toys and learning baby gifts.  They sent us the cutest wooden toy called Activity Bus from Plan Toys, a maker of eco-friendly wooden toys. We got to play (and play, and play, and play) with this adorable little wooden school bus that turns into a classroom and the possibilities seemed endless.  Herr Meow loved to pretend that the teacher and student that came with the set were father and son, for instance.  They also had a turn as pirates and firefighters and he spent countless hours making voices and moving the figurines around.  Even Don Meow was transfixed by the pretty, bright colors-- however we did make sure to keep his chubby little fingers away from the figurines, to prevent choking. 

Anyhoo-- there's something to spice up your humpday.  I will be back later in the week to finally deliver my boob-related post.  Or perhaps I will finally tell you about my brush with a vice squad sting operation.  Oh I know-- the wonders never cease. 

Randomata: The "Itemized Deduction" Edition

It's amazing how sometimes there is NOTHING to write or talk about, and then some days there isn't enough synapse capacity to handle it all.  But that's okay-- I'm a blogger and I suffer for my art.

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Item one: meeting bloggers

Now, I've been meaning to write about this for a while but hadn't gotten around it.  It's not just the fact that I'm weird or neglectful (both of which are, alas, true) or that I have this in-built delay process of blogging where I like to digest my actual events before I commit them to the bloggable page (which is also true, much like the seven second delay exists to censor all the "fuck this" and "fuck that" on live television, which this is quite obviously not).  It's that I get nervous and giddy and excited and a little self-conscious when I meet fellow bloggers because, well, we're a weird breed.  We coexist (mostly) peacefully in your planet, but we haven't developed a secret handshake to be easily identifiable à la freemason, so we often pass each other like ships in the night, never knowing that were we to identify each other we'd geek out so hard it would be painful to those not blessed with a high degree of geekery.

But I have been meaning to blog about meeting Juliet of Girl With Flat Hat (and her little girl), with whom Herr Meow and I had a playdate at the Building Museum; and of going to LA's Bloggery's Happy Hour and meeting several local bloggers while sharing merriment and libations, which were both incredibly fun events.

So here is a belated shoutout to Juliet, who I hope had as much fun meeting as I did, and another shoutout to the lovely people behind LA Cochran, Urban Bohemian, Charlotte Harris, "It's Toasted" (the B part), The Restaurant Refugee, Sean's Ramblings, The Gilahi Blog, The Chronicles of Tewkesbury (hi JM!!  a year is, in fact, too long!!), Culinary Couture, (I'm thinking I didn't meet you, because I was lame and was the first to leave) Live it, Love it, Who Invented Roses, and (That's Why) The Lady Is A Tramp.  It was really a pleasure meeting you all!!

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Item two: that broadcast delay thingy I mentioned, but for blogging

I am not sure how many bloggers proceed on this issue, but usually if there are tricky events in my everyday life that I am itching to blog about, I tend to give them some lag time.  The lag time is so if anyone recognizes him or herself on the pages of this blog and finds it unflattering, that they may be led to believe it's not really them, because, didn't that happen eons ago?

So now that I've shared that with you, my reading audience, I realize there is a reason I do it.

A really good reason; maybe two reasons, even, or three.

So I think I'm going to stop for now and tell you some other time about, er... stuff.

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Item three:  oh yeah-- it's very cold around here.

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Item four: I totally killed my muse with item two.  Can you tell?

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Item five: Happy Monday!

In Which I Skate by With Four Dismembered Thoughts

To do list:

1. Try Tim Hortons doughnuts.  I have a bone to pick, Canada: why must you have created doughnuts that are hailed as superior so that I am placed in the irritating position of figuring out how to get said doughnuts into my gullet, knowing full well that when I do I will be hooked and I won't just be able to walk down a couple of blocks to get them and MADNESS WILL ENSUE?!  Tsk, tsk, Great White North.  TSK.
2. Explore more NARS makeup.  How is it possible that I've gone SO MANY YEARS in this good earth without knowing that there was a product called The Multiple and in a color called "Orgasm"?!?!  HOW?!
3. Admit that I like kids' television.  I actually do.  Enjoy it, that is.  Nay, I love it.  I watch side by side with my kid and laugh at all the really lame jokes and sing along.  This is something I used to do way before I had kids-- for instance, I LOVED playing "Blue's Clues" when it first came out.  And right now I can't get enough of Max and Ruby (Canada?  I'm coming to get you.  Again.) and Pinky Dinky Doo and I am a deep, full admirer of Chica on Sprout (okay, I love love LOVE Chica in a totally irrational way).  Go ahead.  You know you want to roll those eyes.
4. Tell you I'm very tired and this is all I'm offering up for today.  There will be more tomorrow, honey bunsies.  In the meantime, won't you look at and comment on my other posts please?  That would make me very happy.  And thank you to those who leave me comments-- I appreciate and enjoy what each and every one of you has to say!

Have a good Monday and don't forget to check the temperature.  It's been some weird up and down stuff going  on these days!  Toodles!

Randomata: The "Seriously, Not That Much Going On" Edition

You know what's funny?  The more people say that a show is an amazing breakthrough and a riveting drama, the more they mean they are watching a glorified soap opera.

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Whatever ridiculous thing you see a character on TV doing, be assured you can find its even more astonishing real-life counterpart within any of your six degrees of separation. 

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Watching other people embarrass themselves can sometimes be more painful than embarrassing yourself.  But, you know, just a little better because at least it's not you, right?

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Nail polish is awesome.  Even if you don't wear it, you can fix mesh screens with it and label keys so you don't have to shell out twenty-five cents to buy those little key plastic covers that tell them apart.  Or you could just wear it.

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Sometimes I really want to hurt obnoxious people.  Then I realize that jail sounds like a sucky little place.

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I've been having this annoying little cough right before I go to sleep for the past few days.  It's kind of pissing me off.

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Say what you will, but we're in this economic mess because people are generally selfish, greedy pigs who shouldn't be trusted.  And that goes right down to the penny tray, so don't even think you're safe.  Today some dude asked me for twenty-five cents because he was hungry (though he looked perfectly well groomed and put together) and when he actually got my last thirty cents, he didn't even say thank you.  Rude.

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Vietnamese is an odd language.

Randomata: The "the-Kid-in-There-Won't-Stop-Moving" Edition

Oh hey!  If you want to go to the circus for cheaper, go to Zen Sarcasm Reviews to get a 20% discount!   Whee!

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Not much to say lately.  Bit disconcerting.

Today I had an OB appointment and as the doctor tried to determine the fetal heartbeat, the little thing would not stay still for more than the minimum fifteen seconds necessary. 

The verdict?  Either I'd just had the sugariest lunch on earth, or this little kid is going to be a whirling dervish.

I had beans and rice.  Oh-oh.
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Why do we need British people to tell us the ugly truths in this life?

Don't you get me wrong: I like British people.  But first it was the nannies telling parents that they were subpar and they sucked (I think the accent breaks the news more gently?).  And now it's an angry chef telling people they suck.  And really, these people do.  I mean.... many of these shows are just an intervention or two away from either murder or bankruptcy.  And yet, what somehow ends up happening is that these people let some accented stranger from across the pond give them this warped and often brutal therapy with the whole country as witness.

When, really, what some of these people need is either forced labor or a realization that they are not cut for the food service industry.

The lack of shame in some people is both curiously appalling and yet compellingly watchable.

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Um.... I'm also sharing a random picture with you.  If you're in the DC-Baltimore area, you should go to the Railway museum.  Good times, seriously.

Randomata: The "Lesson Learned" Edition

I just realized why my basil insisted on going to flower right away: I added the fertilizer for flowers and fruits.  That's a lesson I just learned today.

I also learned that you should be even more meticulous than you think you're already being with medical records.  You never know when you will need x-rays from five years in the past.

A lesson Monsieur Meow learned? Leaving bicycles unattended attracts the greedy and unscrupulous.

Also learned: it's a good idea to register your bike.  (I had no idea you could do this)

A heads-up for emergency services operators: When a person calls while in distress, you should try being a little less accusatory and defensive when asking for clarification.  One of us is having a major rush of adrenaline and I'm willing to bet money it's not you.

Dear DC, VA, MD DOTs: A "Yield" sign is inappropriate for merging into a highway, as a yield sign implies a stop when it's not your right of way.  This is the reason the "MERGE" sign was invented, so people can proceed with caution along the MERGING LANE without coming to a full stop.  A full stop that is happening, might I add, as one is ENTERING A HIGHWAY.  (Of course, having a merging lane that is longer than 100 feet would help here, but you know, I realize space is precious around here). 

Learned by Rev. Meow today: Check that your wallet is with you before you leave the house. 

Another good lesson: It's always a good idea to have a Costco card.  I know, it sounds bloated and consumerist, but it's easy to forget just how good the deals are over there.

A heads-up for customer service representatives: Your smile and warmth makes all the difference.  It really, really does, and we consumers thank you for it when you remember that.

And finally, it's easy to forget that PBS has wonderful shows, and not just for kids.

What did you learn today?

Randomata: That Baby/Duggared!

Hey again, everyone!  Please pay a visit to Zen Sarcasm Reviews to find out more about a CD and DVD called That Baby, and a special 20% off offer!  I am pretty sure you'll be pleased with it. 

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So have you gotten over your Duggar-induced shock from the last post?

Holy  crap, huh?  I don't even know what to think.  Someone who found my last post involving the Duggars from August of 2007 --when #17 was born-- took the time to leave a very detailed and hurt-filled comment regarding growing up in a large family and how she felt it shortchanged the children.  Being an only child --albeit one with a weird extended-family thing-- I can't say I have much of an experience with having to compete for attention, but I sincerely do wonder just how the real Duggars interact and cope with their sheer familial size. 

By far, though, the blogosphere seems most abuzz with Michelle Duggar's possibly cavernous vagina-- which, well... that's the blogosphere for you, right?  But still... ow.

I honestly don't think that I can seriously sit down and write about this more.  I've been busy informing the world of this development and gauging reactions.  Most people don't have a bell ringing when I mention the name Duggar, but when I relate the number of kids everyone seems to have an opinion.

And ironically, the more I think about it, the less clear my opinion becomes-- despite having written this entry on the Quiverfull movement not too long ago.

(Yes that's right MSNBC-- it's (unfortunately) Quiverfull with two Ls.  Get it right)

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What is so wrong?  What is so right?

And, if the Duggars choose to make America a part of it all by sharing their (happy?) news on national television, does that give us all the collective right to judge and maybe to condemn them?

There are no answers, really.  But maybe the questions being asked aren't the right ones, either.

"G" is for Go-Go, Gorgeous, Gluttony, Gregariousness, Gracie

Hey, why not?

Go-go: I'm embarrassed to admit,  I didn't know what Go-Go was until I moved here.  And even then, still don't know much about it, until everyone seemed to think that the music for the new Nationals park was sorely lacking in.... yes.

Go-go.  Sweet as catchy name, cool beat.  Go Wiki-enlighten yourself at least, and then play yourself some go-go.  You will actually feel like bustin' loose, y'all.

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Um yeah.  A few months ago I whined about not being able to see "Ladrón Que Roba a Ladrón".

Enter Netflix.  All is well, and how.

If you speak Spanish, you want to watch it because, well, you just want to.  Coz it's a good movie and there are hot people in it-- really, do not need more than that.

If you speak English (and don't mind reading subtitles), you want to watch it because you want to see a fun heist movie; you want to see Latino people who aren't your average stereotype; and you want to see hot people in it-- really, do not need more than that.

But yes.  GOOOOORGEOUSNESS has graced my corneas today.  And I don't just mean the cat (whose name is Grace and who looks pretty cute herself); but do click here and tell me that I'm wrong in the gorgeousness category.  Go on.  Disagree with me and I'll probably just shrug and cower (and secretly tell you to go eff yourself, which would mean we'd go back a day).

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I ate too much Salvadorean-style oven-baked pork. Mmmm.

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And I'm just kicking back, enjoying Rev. Meow's visit.  Whee!

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And for the gorgeousness record and the G-rated finale, here is a random picture of Gracie:

Gracias and good night, good-looking bloGGers!

Randomata: The "Raising The Awareness Of Laurel" Edition

Oh man, where to start?

For starters, what's up with this weather?  Crabbily chilly in the morning, and then truly running hot and cold all day-- just enough mindfucking to have you wearing a heavy jacket with slippers and no socks, thus making it possible to sweat hot and cold at the same time, while your nose runs.

It's typical Pisces to do all this, and boy do I have an axe to grind with all you Pisceans out there-- my mindfucking soulmates that you are.

But I'll save that for another time, my dears.  There are far dorkier matters at hand for me to discuss.

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As if the weather weren't enough to get me off-kilter, I actually was rudely awakened by someone who really should hash out his huggy-time issues a little better than just barging into the room at three in the morning demanding to be all "Rain Man" on my friggin' head woke up in the middle of the night thinking that I really used to like this one song called "Midnight Confessions" by The Grass Roots, even though it made me kinda sad because you know, it's kind of a sad song.  Sample lyric:

In my midnight confession
When I say all the things that I want to
I love you

But a little gold ring you wear on your hand makes me understand
There's another before me, you'll never be mine
I'm wasting my time

And then I started thinking that this would be classic 1968, where this guy would think that he would still get some privacy while confessing all these sad thoughts at midnight, instead of writing a schlocky entry on his blog about how much he loves this girl who's off-limits and then BAM the whole world knows and so much for it being "Midnight" and "Confessions" and "saying all the things that I want to."

But then I thought two things:

1) There's a lot of people who are awake at midnight.

2) This was a certified gold record for the band, so chances are that whoever it was (the girl, I mean) probably knew.  Like, knew KNEW.

And then I thought one more thing:

3) You always kinda know KNOW, you know?

Oh yeah.  Click here so you can see some very young people singing this song (yikes!  60s!).   Ah, the magic of youth: everyone is good looking when they are young, aren't they?  The tasting-of-the-pudding moment is that Paul Newman moment, a.k.a. Will You Really Be Good-Looking When You're, Like, You Know, Eighty-Three?

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The other thing in my mind is this whole Bay Laurel imbroglio.

When we first moved here, there was some bush in our little front yard that was unidentified and I thought it was rather overbearing and.... okay, say it... yeah, I thought it was kind of ugly.  I know there is some sort of karmic law that says that one day I will regret thinking that, but there it is.

I guess part of the thing was that it was very shaggy and shapeless and in dire need of someone to either dig it up and throw it away or take some delightfully sharp shears to it and go crazy.

So as it happens, I did option B.

Most notably, like half an hour ago.

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As it turns, laurels are pretty much all-around kick-ass champion plants.

And my, are their leaves ever tasty in a marinara sauce.  I can attest to this, as I used a fresh leaf in mine yesterday and ooh!  Deliciousness, really.

And then there is the fact that they are plants from antiquity, and meant to signify strength and heroism and Apollo himself and excellence and all that is right and just and fair in the world.

And then there is the tiny part of me that thinks that, symbolically at least, I might have killed my chances of ever being a Poet Laureate  because every laurel bush and tree in the world has put out a laurel mafia hit out on me.  (let's not dwell on the fact that I'm not a published poet for the time being, ok?)

And they actually take very well to pruning and shaping, so I guess the fact that as of 4:22 pm this afternoon my laurel looks like a giant took an enormous bite out of its southern facet just means that I have a very creative approach toward, er, "topiary" making.

Right?

Maybe if I call it, "Fe Fi Fo Fum" and say it's art I'll feel less guilty.

Randomata: The "Sleep, Woman!" Edition

Omigooshness, people.  So much to write about, so many things to say... so much goodness, randomness, and delightful sarcasm has washed upon my shores that needs must be shared.

I don't even know where to start, so I won't because I'm super-tired.

And super-tired reminds me that I CANNOT VOTE THIS SUPER TUESDAY AND THAT SUPER SUCKS.

*writhes in frustration*

More will come-- do you not worry.

For now, just this:

EIGHTEEN AND ONE!!!!! AHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHHH!!!!

Randomata: The Crafting and Requiem Edition

You know... I'm not going to whine about writer's block.  I think I have plenty to write about-- and no, Miss Gracie May (the cat!), your wheedling and moaning and purr-meowing is not going to make it on this entry.

Curses. 

Are cats secretly intensely cute Jedi Knights?

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Anyway.  Where was I?  Ah yes.  Some incessant whining about why I didn't write yesterday or blog about my grief over Heath Ledger's death.

Yes, okay. 

The problem --because you know there is one-- is that I'm pretty tired and rapt with other projects, such as a newly resuscitated love of quilting and of crocheting and of actually finishing up projects.

Oh, I know.  I'm in shock here, sitting on one and a half finished projects.  Can hardly believe it.

Ever since I started thinking and blogging about the 101 in 1001 project and jotting down things to do and finish, I've felt my energy and desire to do these things increase.  Which somehow has also translated to rolling into bed at --yes, do not laugh, please-- around 9 pm, eyes bleary with sleep, and drifting off into a dreamless land beyond, where cool mossy stones beckon me and green fairies whisper my name.

So yes.  I'm mushy and fluffy and squishy-squashy, with a delicious marshmallow center.

And it was sad that Heath Ledger died.  Sad and unexpected-- he never was much in the gossip tabloids either; there were never really too many nasty rumors about him or his now-known drug use.

I feel sad that we've lost a young, great talent.  And I feel sad for his ex-wife and his little girl.  And for the fact that he was simply so young.  Yes, many people die daily whose lives and stories we'll never know; however, if we did know their stories and their sorrows and their battles with depression and mental illness, we would be sad just the same.  Maybe we're better off not knowing all of the sorrows of everyone in the universe-- it would be overwhelming and futile, much like hitting the "next blog" button for a couple of hours on a Blogger blog.

Seeing a person grow and mature before your eyes and be filled with promise hits people that much harder-- it's a bit like a little of us and our own vanity and dreams and immortality die with that person.

May you rest in peace, Heath Ledger.  I will always think of you in "10Things I Hate About You", and singing while dancing down the bleachers, and smile.

Randomata: The "That's Good Enough For Me" Edition

Ah.  Peace and calm. 

Herr Meow is two.  Peace and calm come by less frequently, so there is much gratitude in the little fragment above.

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I haven't talked very much about Herr Meow lately.  Ever since I started reading Violent Acres and realizing that it's selfish to share so much of the minutiae of your child's life without editing and without consideration for their future selves, I decided to scale back most of my sharing with him --at least online.

The real world still gets to deal with my gushing about the little monkey man who is Herr Meow, however.  But I will tell you three things about him, if you care to read them:

1. He sings all the time and loves to change the lyrics.  He'll be singing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" but then change "Star" for "Moon" or "Elmo" or "Carrot" and then look over to us and start laughing.

2. He loves lamb chops.  The expression "eating me out of house and home" looms in the horizon. I believe it's laughing.

3. Lately, he's taken to use language the ACLU would be proud of.  If we attempt to move him out of the way, even in the gentlest of ways, he will shrill "DON'T PUSH ME!"  And if we attempt to put a toy that has lain neglected for hours away, he will defiantly grab it and declare. "DON'T PUT IT AWAY!  IS MY TOY!" 
If we're doing something that displeases His Meowness, we get a "DON'T DO THAT!"; whereas if our presence is requested, a very commanding "YOU STAY ME!" is issued. 
Jesse Jackson?  Eat your heart out.

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Speaking of Herr Meow, I was reading Suzanne's blog and she had a cute little quiz on which Sesame Street character you are.  I haven't shared one of these things in a very long time, but this was cute and Herr Meow luuuurves Sesame Street, and specifically that baby crack called Elmo.  Here is my result, though:

You Are Cookie Monster

Misunderstood as a primal monster, you're a true hedonist with a huge sweet tooth. You are usually feeling: Hungry. Cookies are preferred, but you'll eat anything if cookies aren't around. You are famous for: Your slightly crazy eyes and unusual way of speaking How you life your life: In the moment. "Me want COOKIE!"

If you want to take the test click here, because the Blogthings link was giving me layout problems. But oh.. 'tis too true.  I need to lose weight and stop eating the cookies.  And everything else.

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Finally, I must thank Anita for bestowing upon this blog the "Daily Dose" award, which is charmingly appropriate to this particular blog-- although I do not presume by saying so that you all out there automatically feel you should get a daily dose of my soapboxing. But those of you who do-- and my faithful blogger/commentators out there, you get this award from me-- have my utmost appreciation.  It even features a lovely little graphic, which I shall put up on my sidebar because I love message hearts:

Please pass it on to those blogs you read on a daily basis! ^_^  (Maybe when I'm less sleepy I shall link you all-- howzat?)

Have a happy Humpday, all! 

Randomata: The "It's What's For Dinner" Edition

Today: lentils for dinner.

I was remarking to someone --I don't remember who-- that lentils are among those things that don't sound exactly exciting or wonderful when you're in the process of making them; but that reward you with total awesomeness and wonderful flavor when you're done making them. 

This is why we're having lentils.

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I am not happy with the way Blogger is kind of discouraging traffic from comments.  As in, if you do not have a Blogger blog and wish to comment on a blog, then you either have to just leave a nickname or get a Blogger account.

It just seems a little... um.... fascist.   Yeah, that's it.  I shall whine no more and instead paste my URL all over my Typekey and Blogger profiles.  Harrumph.

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Ooh.  I have a Momzilla tale.  I shall save it for tomorrow, okay?

Keep toasty warm, Internets!  Unless you ARE toasty warm, in which case you should keep cool.