So today I picked up the eldest from school and rather than listening to talk radio like I normally do, I had the local classic rock station on. Sometimes I just want good music rather than a rehash of global drama. Plus, I suspected a lot of today's talk would be about the royal wedding, which I have been avoiding like the plague. (Although I did envy Kate Middleton's dress. Classic and lovely.)
So eldest asks me what "living like a refugee" is like, since I turned the song up because I happen to like Tom Petty. I explained a little bit about war refugees and how they have to run or be imprisoned or killed, and he completely surprised me with an insightful response, "So the song is saying it's better to face your fears and fight through them rather than keep running from them." Yeah, sorta. Sheesh. Every now and then he does this and makes me think.
The next song begins and we're not far from home. I like this one too so I turn it up. Out of the corner of my eye I see him rocking out to air guitar, so I ask, "Like this one, eh?" He says "Yep, I like rock, and I like....country western." Eck. He didn't get that from me. Old country western and gangsta rap are on the very short list of music I don't like. I can tolerate some modern country rock, but I cannot listen to the twangy old stuff, I just can't.
We get to our driveway and the song is in the middle, so we sit in the driveway and listen all the way through. Usually he jumps right out of the car, but not this time. "I like rock, and this song sounds like good new rock to me." Ok, cool, but the song isn't 'new'. 'I Wanna Rock and Roll All Night' was in fact recorded by Kiss in 1975. My eldest is astounded. "They made music like this back then? It's still good!" Yes, yes it is.
And my son is now an enthusiastic member of the Kiss Army. Rock on!
Friday, April 29, 2011
Thursday, April 28, 2011
This Day is For Cleaning Up the Rest of The Week
Today was Catch-Up day, at least in my world. I caught up on my job hunting, my laundry (ugh), folding my laundry (double ugh), and dishes (so ugh it's beyond at least a triple). I also put out the garbage can, added a bag to it before the trash truck showed up, and in general was puttering around the house like I owned it and actually had responsibility for cleaning it up now and then. (Er, I do.)
I savored a bowl of the aforementioned chicken soup for lunch, mmmm. It never gets old. Well, it would if I didn't finish it, but I'll finish it. I have absolute confidence in that. Even with nigh a gallon staring me in the face.
Plans to catch up on my pizza-dough-making prowess went well, until dinner was derailed by an unfortunate mistake. I'm used to keeping the bowls with the rising dough in the oven, out of drafts and warm, until I need to use it. Husband turned on said oven to pre-heat it while I was at the store getting cheese and sauce. Oops. We went to Wendy's.
This is the second pair of mixer bowls that have been destroyed by my husband, quite by accident. The first pair were glass and set on top of a cupboard, from which he knocked them down and they exploded into smithereens. It was very loud and kind of fascinating to watch, like people with broken bottles in a mosh pit. Not so much to clean up.
My second go-round with mixer bowls, I went for the metal ones figuring they wouldn't explode. But now they've got plastic wrap melted firmly on to them. So firmly I can't see where it ends and the bowls begin. I have a theory that freezing them might work, if I can clear out enough space in the freezer to try.
If not, I'm happy to shop online for replacements. I haven't shopped online in a while. Time to catch up.
P.S. - Husband - I know you feel absolutely terrible. But in a strange sort of way you made me feel happy. I can't explain it. It's probably the humor I see in a "mixing bowl curse" Befalling My House. Hehe.
I savored a bowl of the aforementioned chicken soup for lunch, mmmm. It never gets old. Well, it would if I didn't finish it, but I'll finish it. I have absolute confidence in that. Even with nigh a gallon staring me in the face.
Plans to catch up on my pizza-dough-making prowess went well, until dinner was derailed by an unfortunate mistake. I'm used to keeping the bowls with the rising dough in the oven, out of drafts and warm, until I need to use it. Husband turned on said oven to pre-heat it while I was at the store getting cheese and sauce. Oops. We went to Wendy's.
This is the second pair of mixer bowls that have been destroyed by my husband, quite by accident. The first pair were glass and set on top of a cupboard, from which he knocked them down and they exploded into smithereens. It was very loud and kind of fascinating to watch, like people with broken bottles in a mosh pit. Not so much to clean up.
My second go-round with mixer bowls, I went for the metal ones figuring they wouldn't explode. But now they've got plastic wrap melted firmly on to them. So firmly I can't see where it ends and the bowls begin. I have a theory that freezing them might work, if I can clear out enough space in the freezer to try.
If not, I'm happy to shop online for replacements. I haven't shopped online in a while. Time to catch up.
P.S. - Husband - I know you feel absolutely terrible. But in a strange sort of way you made me feel happy. I can't explain it. It's probably the humor I see in a "mixing bowl curse" Befalling My House. Hehe.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Good for the Soul
I feel like I'm saving money and being thrifty when I can get two meals out of one thing, like making an extra batch of something or, in today's example, using the carcass of the chicken we had for Easter dinner. I have my mother's recipe for chicken soup and it's one of my most favorite comfort foods. Plus I'm weird and find picking apart the boiled carcass for the good bits almost zen-like.
I matched the organic chicken (ten dollars more expensive at the front, but good for our bodies later on, I'm sure) with organic carrots and organic celery, some simple seasonings, an onion and some rice. Four hours later the house is filled with the most delicious smell ever, one that reminds me of Mom's house and the way her brand of rice would split and curl at both ends, giving it an interesting texture in my mouth and making me unable to stop eating it.
My brand of rice doesn't split and curl, but I add twice as much because I love rice. Sometimes I'll cook extra and add more in as I go until there's more rice than broth. This elicits the comments that I may as well make chicken with rice if that's how I want it, but the rice takes up the broth so nicely.
And that golden broth is to die for too. Yes I know the golden bubbles on top are chicken fat. Delicious. I could drink it. I may do so tonight, since I feel like a cold could be trying to invade my serenity. Nothing like a healthy dose of chicken fat and vegetables to kill off any nasty thing looking to knock you down.
The best part ever is that it gets better with time, and since my kids snub it (too much "stuff" in it), I'll be eating it for lunch for a week. With a nice little mini loaf of French bread and some butter....some strawberries for dessert....I don't know why I haven't eradicated the common cold single-handed by now. Of course, then there would be one less excuse to make chicken soup by hand.
Thanks for the recipe Mom.
I matched the organic chicken (ten dollars more expensive at the front, but good for our bodies later on, I'm sure) with organic carrots and organic celery, some simple seasonings, an onion and some rice. Four hours later the house is filled with the most delicious smell ever, one that reminds me of Mom's house and the way her brand of rice would split and curl at both ends, giving it an interesting texture in my mouth and making me unable to stop eating it.
My brand of rice doesn't split and curl, but I add twice as much because I love rice. Sometimes I'll cook extra and add more in as I go until there's more rice than broth. This elicits the comments that I may as well make chicken with rice if that's how I want it, but the rice takes up the broth so nicely.
And that golden broth is to die for too. Yes I know the golden bubbles on top are chicken fat. Delicious. I could drink it. I may do so tonight, since I feel like a cold could be trying to invade my serenity. Nothing like a healthy dose of chicken fat and vegetables to kill off any nasty thing looking to knock you down.
The best part ever is that it gets better with time, and since my kids snub it (too much "stuff" in it), I'll be eating it for lunch for a week. With a nice little mini loaf of French bread and some butter....some strawberries for dessert....I don't know why I haven't eradicated the common cold single-handed by now. Of course, then there would be one less excuse to make chicken soup by hand.
Thanks for the recipe Mom.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
I Know Where the Sidewalk Ends
Today I was bringing my youngest to school in the morning, admiring the little drops of rain stuck in the grass and how they looked like jewels in the sun, when he piped up asking for a story about the "mystery sidewalk".
By way of explanation, the "mystery sidewalk" is a length of concrete sidewalk embedded in the front lawn of the elementary school. It comes from down the hill near the expansion trailers, comes up the hill through the grass, makes a single left turn and...stops. In the middle of the grass. My son and I have looked upon it dozens if not hundreds of times, wondering why it was there, who put it there, and why they stopped. Of course there are practical reasons for this, most likely. But what fun are those? One day I made up a story about the sidewalk being hit by moonlight just once a year, at midnight on a full moon night during a month with three full moons....and if you waited patiently a silver path would appear leading up into the stars, and you could follow it up into a land made of stars and stardust, and meet the aliens living there. Or something like that. I spun it off the top of my head to amuse my son.
He never has looked at that slab of concrete quite the same way since.
Today he asked me for another story about the sidewalk. So today the sidewalk had a trapdoor at its end that opened up and dropped you down down down, through the darkness into the center of the earth, where there was a gleaming city made all of crystal, with a spindly crystal track wound like cobwebs around the towers upon which a sparkling train runs under a subterranean sun.
While I was contemplating this in my mind's eye, fashioning crystal/silicon robots to walk spindly crystal dogs, he piped up with, "Tell me another one."
The next story detailed how the builders of the sidewalk had just put in the last slab when a huge and unusual gust of wind swept them up, up, up into the sky, among huge piled white clouds that tasted of icy vanilla. How the wind-people's castles weren't made in the usual way, with blocks of stone, but fashioned by hand from the yummy clouds, and that you could eat them, but you had to be careful not to eat through the floors or you'd fall through right back to earth.
"Tell me another one."
By this time we were almost to his class door, so I told him about how one day some kids were standing on the last slab and suddenly found themselves in a world of giant flowers and bugs! (This, because he's currently studying bugs in school.) The kids had been shrunk by the magic of the sidewalk into a land full of flower palaces and ladybug princesses, running on paths between grass blades in a half-lit world of gold and green.
My reward for spinning fantastical tales about a slab of plain concrete? Smiles that showed me he was thinking about and enjoying the stories, a hug and a kiss, and... when he got out of class this afternoon...
"Tell me another one?"
By way of explanation, the "mystery sidewalk" is a length of concrete sidewalk embedded in the front lawn of the elementary school. It comes from down the hill near the expansion trailers, comes up the hill through the grass, makes a single left turn and...stops. In the middle of the grass. My son and I have looked upon it dozens if not hundreds of times, wondering why it was there, who put it there, and why they stopped. Of course there are practical reasons for this, most likely. But what fun are those? One day I made up a story about the sidewalk being hit by moonlight just once a year, at midnight on a full moon night during a month with three full moons....and if you waited patiently a silver path would appear leading up into the stars, and you could follow it up into a land made of stars and stardust, and meet the aliens living there. Or something like that. I spun it off the top of my head to amuse my son.
He never has looked at that slab of concrete quite the same way since.
Today he asked me for another story about the sidewalk. So today the sidewalk had a trapdoor at its end that opened up and dropped you down down down, through the darkness into the center of the earth, where there was a gleaming city made all of crystal, with a spindly crystal track wound like cobwebs around the towers upon which a sparkling train runs under a subterranean sun.
While I was contemplating this in my mind's eye, fashioning crystal/silicon robots to walk spindly crystal dogs, he piped up with, "Tell me another one."
The next story detailed how the builders of the sidewalk had just put in the last slab when a huge and unusual gust of wind swept them up, up, up into the sky, among huge piled white clouds that tasted of icy vanilla. How the wind-people's castles weren't made in the usual way, with blocks of stone, but fashioned by hand from the yummy clouds, and that you could eat them, but you had to be careful not to eat through the floors or you'd fall through right back to earth.
"Tell me another one."
By this time we were almost to his class door, so I told him about how one day some kids were standing on the last slab and suddenly found themselves in a world of giant flowers and bugs! (This, because he's currently studying bugs in school.) The kids had been shrunk by the magic of the sidewalk into a land full of flower palaces and ladybug princesses, running on paths between grass blades in a half-lit world of gold and green.
My reward for spinning fantastical tales about a slab of plain concrete? Smiles that showed me he was thinking about and enjoying the stories, a hug and a kiss, and... when he got out of class this afternoon...
"Tell me another one?"
Monday, April 25, 2011
That's a lotta dough....
Today is a late post because the day was filled with Stuff To Do. However, I can't go on about that without mentioning some Stuff We Did over the weekend.
Coloring eggs...my two boys each chose red and green for their favorites. And those, of course, came out brightest. The blue and purple came out weird and speckled. I don't know why those colors always do that, but they do. This time I even remembered to put the eggs back in the refrigerator later.
The next morning was the Easter Egg hunt on church grounds. I don't know specifically why it's a hunt when all they do is roll them on the lawn and let the kids dive for them, but there it is. My older son is too old to participate, so he helps load the eggs with goodies instead. My younger one can still try. This year he got a grand total of four eggs, because the stimulation overload is too much for him and he wanders in circles uncertain of which eggs to pick while the other kids grab them all. He looked cute though.
In a spate of ambition I decided to turn the new whole wheat flour into bread. In a further turn to the unwise, I decided to make two loaves at once. Eight and a half cups of flour makes a lot of dough. A lot. Like a basketball size. And this basketball needs to be repeatedly pummeled until it forms gluten. This process takes a long time and a lot of muscle when done by hand. A day and a half later my shoulders are still sore. Notice I don't have any photos of the kneading. It's because my fingers were too worn out.
As a result of slight under-kneading (gee I wonder why...owwwww) the loaves are dense, but they're moist and taste delicious. Besides the wheat flour, there's milk, oil and honey in them, with yeast to make them airy (haha). Next time I'm cutting the recipe in half and cutting the wheat flour with white flour, half and half. That should lighten up the dough. I'm nothing if not optimistic.
Besides nearly giving myself a hernia making wheat bread by hand, I also cooked Easter dinner. That day pretty much wiped me out.
Which is why I decided today to finish giving the dried decorative grasses in the yard a haircut and prune some shrubberies, then clean up the front and back yard, filling two lawn and leaf bags, the 50 gallon kind, today. In between the rain. Oh, and then I went out to the middle school jubilee for three hours to sample my elder son's cooking, as he was in a special program where the high school kids in trade school mentored middle school kids to teach them cool stuff. He looks awesomely cute in a chef coat.
When I get energy, I use it up hard. I think I'll have some wheat toast for breakfast tomorrow.
Coloring eggs...my two boys each chose red and green for their favorites. And those, of course, came out brightest. The blue and purple came out weird and speckled. I don't know why those colors always do that, but they do. This time I even remembered to put the eggs back in the refrigerator later.
The next morning was the Easter Egg hunt on church grounds. I don't know specifically why it's a hunt when all they do is roll them on the lawn and let the kids dive for them, but there it is. My older son is too old to participate, so he helps load the eggs with goodies instead. My younger one can still try. This year he got a grand total of four eggs, because the stimulation overload is too much for him and he wanders in circles uncertain of which eggs to pick while the other kids grab them all. He looked cute though.
In a spate of ambition I decided to turn the new whole wheat flour into bread. In a further turn to the unwise, I decided to make two loaves at once. Eight and a half cups of flour makes a lot of dough. A lot. Like a basketball size. And this basketball needs to be repeatedly pummeled until it forms gluten. This process takes a long time and a lot of muscle when done by hand. A day and a half later my shoulders are still sore. Notice I don't have any photos of the kneading. It's because my fingers were too worn out.
As a result of slight under-kneading (gee I wonder why...owwwww) the loaves are dense, but they're moist and taste delicious. Besides the wheat flour, there's milk, oil and honey in them, with yeast to make them airy (haha). Next time I'm cutting the recipe in half and cutting the wheat flour with white flour, half and half. That should lighten up the dough. I'm nothing if not optimistic.
Besides nearly giving myself a hernia making wheat bread by hand, I also cooked Easter dinner. That day pretty much wiped me out.
Which is why I decided today to finish giving the dried decorative grasses in the yard a haircut and prune some shrubberies, then clean up the front and back yard, filling two lawn and leaf bags, the 50 gallon kind, today. In between the rain. Oh, and then I went out to the middle school jubilee for three hours to sample my elder son's cooking, as he was in a special program where the high school kids in trade school mentored middle school kids to teach them cool stuff. He looks awesomely cute in a chef coat.
When I get energy, I use it up hard. I think I'll have some wheat toast for breakfast tomorrow.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Good Friday...In More Than One Way
Today I decided to do some things for myself, as the pressure is high towards the end of the week when I have to have my five job contacts for unemployment (not that they've paid me even a dime yet).
I don't know how I feel about that...I've always had a steady job, whether part or full time, since I was old enough to work. Except for two years I took off to be a stay-at-home mom to my young kids (and even then I was part-time volunteer game-mastering on a text-based MUD), I've always worked. I'm a little annoyed that I have to prove I deserve the money I've been putting into the system for twenty five years now. And that I have to prove it by applying for jobs I'm not certain I want five times a week until I get one. The requirements for me to get my own money back are ridiculous, but I suppose if you pressed me I'd admit they have to control fraud and make sure that money is going to the right person for the right reasons.
I do want to work again. But I want the right to be selective and choose a job I'll be happy with, not just one I may have all the requirements for but am uninterested in.
So it was with the aim of kicking all those grumpy thoughts away that I went out into the windy sunny day, a crisp one, and got my hair cut with my favorite stylist. I've been going to her for a couple years, she knows exactly how I like my hair but she'll alter it if I ask, and we both chat away about our families and what's happening in the world without a care for the time. I'm suspecting I may need to move for a new job (again), and I'm dreading losing my favorite stylist. For a woman, losing a stylist who knows exactly what you want and can deliver it consistently month after month is traumatic. Such a stylist is worth her weight in gold. Not to mention if you also happen to connect on other levels and consider her a friend....ugh. I'm starting to believe it's the stylists making me leave my jobs and have to move....every time I find an outstanding one, blammo!
After the haircut, which allowed me to see out from under my hair roof again, I headed for a local world market shop to look over their Easter stuff for the boys. Alright, and also to drool over the foods from the UK, France, Germany and Italy that they stock there. There's something fun about buying and trying one exotic food you've never had from another country. (I haven't quite worked up the spit to try Vegemite quite yet, but I look at it every time I'm in there.)
It's tradition in my family to get a lovely (and large!) solid milk chocolate rabbit from Hebert's Candy Mansion, which alas, is in Massachusetts. The place goes all-out at Easter; I remember thinking it was Willie Wonka's Chocolate Factory when I was a kid.
I have to rely on my Mom to ship the bunnies these days, if we've got the extra bit of money. If we don't, as in this year, I shop for look-alikes. I remember taking my Hebert's chocolate rabbit and putting it on an old iron steam radiator that was just barely warm, letting the chocolate soften just that little bit, then biting in....ohhh heaven is a chocolate bunny's rump, slightly warm. No, there was never a chocolate accident on the steam radiator...I value my chocolate much too highly for that ever to happen.
This year I picked up smaller chocolate bunnies for the boys, plus some jellybeans, some cocoa because they just geek over cocoa (chocolate you can drink!), and assorted little non-candy items...kazoos, pencils, egg soaps, and the like. I just love putting all these little things in the baskets and letting them discover them all.
When they were littler and in total belief in The Bunny, I loved watching their eyes get huge and the big smiles spreading across their faces. They still appreciate the little gifts, but some of that cottontail magic has waned in the older one. The younger one I think still holds some belief. I can't tell, he plays his cards close to the chest. If I can get this year out of him I'll be happy.
After basket shopping I went over to Target and picked up some new t-shirts because lately for some reason I've been a total slob and I put stains on the fronts of many of my other serviceable t-shirts. I can't even tell what I was eating to do that. The food didn't land in my lap, I didn't drool while eating, so what the heck? I can't figure it out. I probably need to tuck a napkin in my collar like one of the Three Stooges, or wear a rain poncho.
I also have big plans for the bag of whole wheat flour I bought, but we shall see. Perhaps tomorrow. The smell of bread baking has totally broken my resolve before. If I were a spy that the NSA had to break, all they'd have to do would be to bake some bread and I'd spill it all. Shameful I know, but at least I know my limitations. The thought of guys in black suits and shades baking bread cracks me up too. Little frilly white aprons over the suits, with the guns in the holsters....*snort, giggle*
Happy Easter to those of you who celebrate it. To those who don't...happy weekend, I hope yours is sunny, warm, and fun.
I don't know how I feel about that...I've always had a steady job, whether part or full time, since I was old enough to work. Except for two years I took off to be a stay-at-home mom to my young kids (and even then I was part-time volunteer game-mastering on a text-based MUD), I've always worked. I'm a little annoyed that I have to prove I deserve the money I've been putting into the system for twenty five years now. And that I have to prove it by applying for jobs I'm not certain I want five times a week until I get one. The requirements for me to get my own money back are ridiculous, but I suppose if you pressed me I'd admit they have to control fraud and make sure that money is going to the right person for the right reasons.
I do want to work again. But I want the right to be selective and choose a job I'll be happy with, not just one I may have all the requirements for but am uninterested in.
So it was with the aim of kicking all those grumpy thoughts away that I went out into the windy sunny day, a crisp one, and got my hair cut with my favorite stylist. I've been going to her for a couple years, she knows exactly how I like my hair but she'll alter it if I ask, and we both chat away about our families and what's happening in the world without a care for the time. I'm suspecting I may need to move for a new job (again), and I'm dreading losing my favorite stylist. For a woman, losing a stylist who knows exactly what you want and can deliver it consistently month after month is traumatic. Such a stylist is worth her weight in gold. Not to mention if you also happen to connect on other levels and consider her a friend....ugh. I'm starting to believe it's the stylists making me leave my jobs and have to move....every time I find an outstanding one, blammo!
After the haircut, which allowed me to see out from under my hair roof again, I headed for a local world market shop to look over their Easter stuff for the boys. Alright, and also to drool over the foods from the UK, France, Germany and Italy that they stock there. There's something fun about buying and trying one exotic food you've never had from another country. (I haven't quite worked up the spit to try Vegemite quite yet, but I look at it every time I'm in there.)
It's tradition in my family to get a lovely (and large!) solid milk chocolate rabbit from Hebert's Candy Mansion, which alas, is in Massachusetts. The place goes all-out at Easter; I remember thinking it was Willie Wonka's Chocolate Factory when I was a kid.
I have to rely on my Mom to ship the bunnies these days, if we've got the extra bit of money. If we don't, as in this year, I shop for look-alikes. I remember taking my Hebert's chocolate rabbit and putting it on an old iron steam radiator that was just barely warm, letting the chocolate soften just that little bit, then biting in....ohhh heaven is a chocolate bunny's rump, slightly warm. No, there was never a chocolate accident on the steam radiator...I value my chocolate much too highly for that ever to happen.
This year I picked up smaller chocolate bunnies for the boys, plus some jellybeans, some cocoa because they just geek over cocoa (chocolate you can drink!), and assorted little non-candy items...kazoos, pencils, egg soaps, and the like. I just love putting all these little things in the baskets and letting them discover them all.
When they were littler and in total belief in The Bunny, I loved watching their eyes get huge and the big smiles spreading across their faces. They still appreciate the little gifts, but some of that cottontail magic has waned in the older one. The younger one I think still holds some belief. I can't tell, he plays his cards close to the chest. If I can get this year out of him I'll be happy.
After basket shopping I went over to Target and picked up some new t-shirts because lately for some reason I've been a total slob and I put stains on the fronts of many of my other serviceable t-shirts. I can't even tell what I was eating to do that. The food didn't land in my lap, I didn't drool while eating, so what the heck? I can't figure it out. I probably need to tuck a napkin in my collar like one of the Three Stooges, or wear a rain poncho.
I also have big plans for the bag of whole wheat flour I bought, but we shall see. Perhaps tomorrow. The smell of bread baking has totally broken my resolve before. If I were a spy that the NSA had to break, all they'd have to do would be to bake some bread and I'd spill it all. Shameful I know, but at least I know my limitations. The thought of guys in black suits and shades baking bread cracks me up too. Little frilly white aprons over the suits, with the guns in the holsters....*snort, giggle*
Happy Easter to those of you who celebrate it. To those who don't...happy weekend, I hope yours is sunny, warm, and fun.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
From the Wild West to the Wilder Future....
So last night my husband and I introduced our elder son to The Matrix in all its leather-clad, martial-arts-fighting, gun-toting glory. We of course were careful to explain how all the special effects were done, because he has an odd tendency to watch an entire obviously fantastical movie and then ask if it was real. I can't decide if he's doing that to test us to see if we know what's fantasy and what's reality, or if he genuinely thinks some of it might be true.
He also has a strong tendency to ask questions throughout the entire movie. Things that have no relevance at all to what's going on, like, "Why'd he decide to wear that today?" and more annoying things like, "What happens next???" Dude, that's why the movie isn't over yet....so you can find out what happens next. Stop talking and watch!
My elder son is an extremely verbal person. He's always talking unless his nose is in a book, at which point you have to hold a bullhorn to his ear and shout his name five times before he'll blink and look up. He got the bookworm thing from me. The endless talking? I have no idea. For the most part his questions and comments are smart and right to the point. His teachers love talking with him, they've told me. But get him going on a favorite subject like video games or movies and you'll be lucky if he lets you get a single word in edgewise.
He has high-functioning Asperger's according to the children's hospital in Michigan, which explains the concentrations on his favorites like video games and movies, and his sometimes oblivious response to others who are supposed to be able to contribute to the conversation. It's probably why he'll talk endlessly through a movie, and just when you thought he's missed something he'll re-tell the entire movie to you scene by scene without missing the fact that Agent Smith's cool-looking glasses got a lens knocked askew in one of the dozens of fights, or that Neo got a crispy cookie from the Oracle, even after he broke her vase.
This kid is going to be great at public speaking; we just have to find him something he loves to speak about, wind him up, and let him go. With the curiousity he displays about everything I would be glad, as Morpheus says, to follow him down the rabbit hole and see where it goes.
He also has a strong tendency to ask questions throughout the entire movie. Things that have no relevance at all to what's going on, like, "Why'd he decide to wear that today?" and more annoying things like, "What happens next???" Dude, that's why the movie isn't over yet....so you can find out what happens next. Stop talking and watch!
My elder son is an extremely verbal person. He's always talking unless his nose is in a book, at which point you have to hold a bullhorn to his ear and shout his name five times before he'll blink and look up. He got the bookworm thing from me. The endless talking? I have no idea. For the most part his questions and comments are smart and right to the point. His teachers love talking with him, they've told me. But get him going on a favorite subject like video games or movies and you'll be lucky if he lets you get a single word in edgewise.
He has high-functioning Asperger's according to the children's hospital in Michigan, which explains the concentrations on his favorites like video games and movies, and his sometimes oblivious response to others who are supposed to be able to contribute to the conversation. It's probably why he'll talk endlessly through a movie, and just when you thought he's missed something he'll re-tell the entire movie to you scene by scene without missing the fact that Agent Smith's cool-looking glasses got a lens knocked askew in one of the dozens of fights, or that Neo got a crispy cookie from the Oracle, even after he broke her vase.
This kid is going to be great at public speaking; we just have to find him something he loves to speak about, wind him up, and let him go. With the curiousity he displays about everything I would be glad, as Morpheus says, to follow him down the rabbit hole and see where it goes.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
He Rode a Blazing Saddle....
....He wore a shining star
His job to offer battle To bad men near and far
He conquered fear and he conquered hate
He turned our night into day
He made his blazing saddle A torch to light the way
A second reference to a Mel Brooks' film in one week, but hey, I like Mel Brooks films. My husband and I watched Blazing Saddles last night because we both needed some humor after a long and mostly down day.
Blazing Saddles is one of my favorites, because of its satire of the Hollywood western and the ridicule of the racism prevalent in the time period. If all you're seeing is the overt racism and fart jokes, you've totally missed the point. I'm not going to go into some long diatribe about how racism should always be ridiculed and exposed, as much as possible; that's not my job, and others have done it better than I. I enjoy the movie for what it is while also appreciating the subtler elements. I don't need to pick them apart to know what Mel Brooks was trying to say, or apologize for the crude humor.
You could never make such a movie in the current political climate; you'd be torn apart and vilified for what lay on the surface. No one looks any deeper than face value any more, or criticizes the people pretending political correctness while secretly holding on to old prejudices. I am sorry about that, and I miss more movies like Blazing Saddles that seemingly had no fear and laid it all out there for everyone to see. Nowadays it really does seem to be all about the fart jokes and little else. Is everyone afraid? Or is there truly no one else like Mel Brooks? (I'd believe that.)
For me Blazing Saddles is iconic and its entertainment will never grow old. After all, who could grow bored of clueless cowboys, mustache-twirling villains, a sultry German saloon girl (the genius, Madeline Kahn, oh how I adore you), the actors breaking the fourth wall frequently, dozens of anachronistic references, and a full-on Hollywood pie-fight?
Not me. I think I'll watch it again next week.
His job to offer battle To bad men near and far
He conquered fear and he conquered hate
He turned our night into day
He made his blazing saddle A torch to light the way
A second reference to a Mel Brooks' film in one week, but hey, I like Mel Brooks films. My husband and I watched Blazing Saddles last night because we both needed some humor after a long and mostly down day.
Blazing Saddles is one of my favorites, because of its satire of the Hollywood western and the ridicule of the racism prevalent in the time period. If all you're seeing is the overt racism and fart jokes, you've totally missed the point. I'm not going to go into some long diatribe about how racism should always be ridiculed and exposed, as much as possible; that's not my job, and others have done it better than I. I enjoy the movie for what it is while also appreciating the subtler elements. I don't need to pick them apart to know what Mel Brooks was trying to say, or apologize for the crude humor.
You could never make such a movie in the current political climate; you'd be torn apart and vilified for what lay on the surface. No one looks any deeper than face value any more, or criticizes the people pretending political correctness while secretly holding on to old prejudices. I am sorry about that, and I miss more movies like Blazing Saddles that seemingly had no fear and laid it all out there for everyone to see. Nowadays it really does seem to be all about the fart jokes and little else. Is everyone afraid? Or is there truly no one else like Mel Brooks? (I'd believe that.)
For me Blazing Saddles is iconic and its entertainment will never grow old. After all, who could grow bored of clueless cowboys, mustache-twirling villains, a sultry German saloon girl (the genius, Madeline Kahn, oh how I adore you), the actors breaking the fourth wall frequently, dozens of anachronistic references, and a full-on Hollywood pie-fight?
Not me. I think I'll watch it again next week.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
The Blustery Day
Last night I spent much of the night listening to the rain on the skylights over my head and snuggled deep into my blankets, thankful I wasn't wet or cold. I love listening to the rain in that context; it's a comfort for me that lets me have pleasant dreams and good sleep.
This morning was wet and gray and chilly, but I had kids to get to school and then an interview with what I thought was a company I had sent my resume to a week or so ago.
The sun was coming out, but the wind was picking up at the time of my online "interview". What I thought was a legitimate company I had contacted was in actuality a recruiting company that had no doubt scraped my data from the job site I posted my resume on. I was not happy, but I sat through about an hour of their spiel with about six hundred other people in the chat room and then bailed when they began conducting their "interviews". They then had the gall to continue to ping my email saying to "Log In Now for Your Interview!" for the next half hour or so...I don't know how long they kept it up because I closed that email, disgusted. The job was not one I wanted or applied for, it was solely commission based, and had no other real human interaction. I'd be sort of a bulk recruiter, selling people for my money.
Yeah no thanks, I hate sales because I'm bad at it. I can admire those people who are all into what they do, love every minute of it and could sell ice to Eskimos. But I can't do it. I've tried. I just don't have that sales spark.
By the time I was done with all this, it was much sunnier, if windier, and the air was making some awesome cloud sculptures in the sky. Awe-inspiring enough to paint, if you could keep your easel and canvas from blowing away. The only other state where I've seen clouds like Colorado's has been, oddly enough, Rhode Island. When the wind and weather is just right you can get a pile of huge clouds off the sea that presents spectacularly against the city of Providence right around the Thurber's Avenue curve. Of course, you can't paint going past at 60mph, (the view was often from the highway), but if you could make a buddy drive you you could get some good shots on your camera.
Reminded simultaneously of why I like Colorado so much and of why I love home so much, it was difficult to be happy today. The thought that I could move home because I have no job now has been on my mind, but I've come to love Colorado enough that it would be painful to leave it.
And so today is a day for sitting in the car, listening to the wind and watching the sky as I wait to take my kids home from school.
This morning was wet and gray and chilly, but I had kids to get to school and then an interview with what I thought was a company I had sent my resume to a week or so ago.
The sun was coming out, but the wind was picking up at the time of my online "interview". What I thought was a legitimate company I had contacted was in actuality a recruiting company that had no doubt scraped my data from the job site I posted my resume on. I was not happy, but I sat through about an hour of their spiel with about six hundred other people in the chat room and then bailed when they began conducting their "interviews". They then had the gall to continue to ping my email saying to "Log In Now for Your Interview!" for the next half hour or so...I don't know how long they kept it up because I closed that email, disgusted. The job was not one I wanted or applied for, it was solely commission based, and had no other real human interaction. I'd be sort of a bulk recruiter, selling people for my money.
Yeah no thanks, I hate sales because I'm bad at it. I can admire those people who are all into what they do, love every minute of it and could sell ice to Eskimos. But I can't do it. I've tried. I just don't have that sales spark.
By the time I was done with all this, it was much sunnier, if windier, and the air was making some awesome cloud sculptures in the sky. Awe-inspiring enough to paint, if you could keep your easel and canvas from blowing away. The only other state where I've seen clouds like Colorado's has been, oddly enough, Rhode Island. When the wind and weather is just right you can get a pile of huge clouds off the sea that presents spectacularly against the city of Providence right around the Thurber's Avenue curve. Of course, you can't paint going past at 60mph, (the view was often from the highway), but if you could make a buddy drive you you could get some good shots on your camera.
Reminded simultaneously of why I like Colorado so much and of why I love home so much, it was difficult to be happy today. The thought that I could move home because I have no job now has been on my mind, but I've come to love Colorado enough that it would be painful to leave it.
And so today is a day for sitting in the car, listening to the wind and watching the sky as I wait to take my kids home from school.
Monday, April 18, 2011
The chessboard...and a new project
Today I had to go ask the state for my unemployment money, after jumping through some hoops and answering a bunch of questions. It reminds me of the sequence in the Romans segment of History of the World Part I, where Mel Brooks' character is at Bea Arthur's unemployment window dealing with her snide remarks. (Bea: "What's your occupation." Mel: "Stand-up Philosopher!" Bea: "Oh....a bullshit artist!" Mel: "Grrr!")
One of my favorite movies ever. I'm just glad I don't have to physically go to the unemployment office to report my work searches for the week. They'd haul me out in a straight jacket because I'd be standing there giggling with the movie playing in my head.
The cloth chessboard worked pretty well. They had to mark the king and queen, because I forgot the king is supposed to be the tallest piece on the board. Oops. Although in my defense, the templates printed like that. They didn't use it to play on, but they did use it to demonstrate proper board set-up. I was particularly proud of the knight piece. I altered the template to look more appropriately horsey rather than rounded and soft and cute looking.
My youngest was manning the chess boards, helping other scouts earn their chess belt loops. He was pretty well-mannered for most of it, until he got bored. (Board, haha. Yeah, I like the bad puns, sorry.)
Even though we were only there for about 3 hours or so, the show wiped us out. Or rather, wiped me out. Standing on a concrete floor for hours is not recommended. Still, the kids had fun, and that's what counted. Both my boys just had to try riding the "bucking bronco". They each lasted about 4 seconds. They got a free cotton candy for trying, and that was the big hit of the day.
Today it was on to a new project for me...I cut out the pieces of the bow-tie and pinned them. I'm a little intimidated by the quarter inch seam, but I figure I'll go slow. Haha, if I go right off the edge it'll be funny. But, I'll have learned something. I believe I am what they call a "process crafter". I love to learn new techniques and different things, and eventually master them. This project will teach me sewing around curves and sewing very narrow seams.
Very narrow seams. Yipes. But if my son likes it when it's done, that'll be all the encouragement I need.
One of my favorite movies ever. I'm just glad I don't have to physically go to the unemployment office to report my work searches for the week. They'd haul me out in a straight jacket because I'd be standing there giggling with the movie playing in my head.
The cloth chessboard worked pretty well. They had to mark the king and queen, because I forgot the king is supposed to be the tallest piece on the board. Oops. Although in my defense, the templates printed like that. They didn't use it to play on, but they did use it to demonstrate proper board set-up. I was particularly proud of the knight piece. I altered the template to look more appropriately horsey rather than rounded and soft and cute looking.
My youngest was manning the chess boards, helping other scouts earn their chess belt loops. He was pretty well-mannered for most of it, until he got bored. (Board, haha. Yeah, I like the bad puns, sorry.)
Even though we were only there for about 3 hours or so, the show wiped us out. Or rather, wiped me out. Standing on a concrete floor for hours is not recommended. Still, the kids had fun, and that's what counted. Both my boys just had to try riding the "bucking bronco". They each lasted about 4 seconds. They got a free cotton candy for trying, and that was the big hit of the day.
Today it was on to a new project for me...I cut out the pieces of the bow-tie and pinned them. I'm a little intimidated by the quarter inch seam, but I figure I'll go slow. Haha, if I go right off the edge it'll be funny. But, I'll have learned something. I believe I am what they call a "process crafter". I love to learn new techniques and different things, and eventually master them. This project will teach me sewing around curves and sewing very narrow seams.
Very narrow seams. Yipes. But if my son likes it when it's done, that'll be all the encouragement I need.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Week's End
I don't know why they call it the "week-end" when there's so much to do during it.
The hanging chessboard is on its way to the hall to be set up, with the glue still drying on some pieces. I have my doubts as to how this will work out, but at least the show is indoors. Away from high winds (or gentle breezes), we have a chance of it lasting through the show. As long as none of the kids gets rambunctious or bored and starts messing with the pieces by sticking them and pulling them off, over and over, we should be good. I'm going to suggest my husband take a stapler with him to the show tomorrow. We have a red stapler, of course. He better bring it back or I'll be burning something down.
I tried to take some pics but as my husband was trying to get the whole thing out the door he waved me off and said he'd take some at the show tomorrow. I may have the wreck of the project to show you instead of the start, but at least it will be amusing.
I feel like I should have got more done today but the chessboard turned out to be labor-intensive and not much else was happening around here. I did get out and enjoy the sunny day while I drove to the big-box craft store after a glue refill and some craft sticks (popsicle sticks, but I guess popsicle is a brand name and they can't use that on the packaging). A really cool worker there saw me wandering around lost and asked if he could help, then proceeded to find my glue and sticks for me AND got me a basket. I really appreciate that, especially since I've been to that store multiple times before and never had that happen to me.
I used to work part-time at that same chain store when I lived in Michigan. While not a lasting career choice, I didn't mind the work and I could easily see taking it on as a second job for some extra money again. The job doesn't offer enough money for anyone to live on, sadly, so it's usually students working there or those who want or need another job. It's no wonder to me that sometimes the people working there are less than helpful, or distracted, or too busy working to help a lost customer. When you're not making a living wage and worried about paying for the roof over your head, it's hard to be friendly to those who seem to have extra cash to spend just on crafts. Yes, it's part of the job to be friendly and helpful. It's how you get customers to come back and pay your paycheck, after all. But in many cases the work needing to be done over-matches the compensation for that work so that eventually people burn out or find something better. I saw that happen when I worked in Michigan too.
Stocking items, cleaning, and ringing people up on the cash register are the easy parts. It's working with the customers that can get difficult. I have seen some customers be breathtakingly rude and mean to someone just trying to help them find what they were looking for. It's that aspect of the job that should be well-compensated. Yet because it isn't, regular people think they can come in the store and unload all their day's baggage on the unsuspecting sales clerk. Yes, that person probably makes a lot less money than the customers coming in. It doesn't make them less intelligent, or less deserving of respect.
I once saw an article in the newspaper (Yes I'm an old-timer, I'll still read a newspaper, wow), around the holidays, asking for people to remember the spirit of the season and be kind to the over-worked cashiers. It was the only article of its kind I had ever seen. I should have cut it out and laminated it. I've been there, behind that cash-register. I had a smile for everyone, even if they shocked me by snarling something rude. I would even work that job again, even with such people. In spite of such people. There was a lot of interesting stuff going on.
Remember, people in retail don't get "week-ends". Saturdays and Sundays are their best and busiest days, and they had better be on their toes. If you have a job that gives you Saturdays and Sundays to goof off and relax and do whatever you want to do, cherish it. And smile at the cashier when you're out shopping. You'll make their day.
The hanging chessboard is on its way to the hall to be set up, with the glue still drying on some pieces. I have my doubts as to how this will work out, but at least the show is indoors. Away from high winds (or gentle breezes), we have a chance of it lasting through the show. As long as none of the kids gets rambunctious or bored and starts messing with the pieces by sticking them and pulling them off, over and over, we should be good. I'm going to suggest my husband take a stapler with him to the show tomorrow. We have a red stapler, of course. He better bring it back or I'll be burning something down.
I tried to take some pics but as my husband was trying to get the whole thing out the door he waved me off and said he'd take some at the show tomorrow. I may have the wreck of the project to show you instead of the start, but at least it will be amusing.
I feel like I should have got more done today but the chessboard turned out to be labor-intensive and not much else was happening around here. I did get out and enjoy the sunny day while I drove to the big-box craft store after a glue refill and some craft sticks (popsicle sticks, but I guess popsicle is a brand name and they can't use that on the packaging). A really cool worker there saw me wandering around lost and asked if he could help, then proceeded to find my glue and sticks for me AND got me a basket. I really appreciate that, especially since I've been to that store multiple times before and never had that happen to me.
I used to work part-time at that same chain store when I lived in Michigan. While not a lasting career choice, I didn't mind the work and I could easily see taking it on as a second job for some extra money again. The job doesn't offer enough money for anyone to live on, sadly, so it's usually students working there or those who want or need another job. It's no wonder to me that sometimes the people working there are less than helpful, or distracted, or too busy working to help a lost customer. When you're not making a living wage and worried about paying for the roof over your head, it's hard to be friendly to those who seem to have extra cash to spend just on crafts. Yes, it's part of the job to be friendly and helpful. It's how you get customers to come back and pay your paycheck, after all. But in many cases the work needing to be done over-matches the compensation for that work so that eventually people burn out or find something better. I saw that happen when I worked in Michigan too.
Stocking items, cleaning, and ringing people up on the cash register are the easy parts. It's working with the customers that can get difficult. I have seen some customers be breathtakingly rude and mean to someone just trying to help them find what they were looking for. It's that aspect of the job that should be well-compensated. Yet because it isn't, regular people think they can come in the store and unload all their day's baggage on the unsuspecting sales clerk. Yes, that person probably makes a lot less money than the customers coming in. It doesn't make them less intelligent, or less deserving of respect.
I once saw an article in the newspaper (Yes I'm an old-timer, I'll still read a newspaper, wow), around the holidays, asking for people to remember the spirit of the season and be kind to the over-worked cashiers. It was the only article of its kind I had ever seen. I should have cut it out and laminated it. I've been there, behind that cash-register. I had a smile for everyone, even if they shocked me by snarling something rude. I would even work that job again, even with such people. In spite of such people. There was a lot of interesting stuff going on.
Remember, people in retail don't get "week-ends". Saturdays and Sundays are their best and busiest days, and they had better be on their toes. If you have a job that gives you Saturdays and Sundays to goof off and relax and do whatever you want to do, cherish it. And smile at the cashier when you're out shopping. You'll make their day.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Every Girl's Crazy 'Bout a Sharp-dressed Man
So, I believe I did threaten to bore you with crafts at some point on this blog. It's in the description, after all. If you're not a crafty-type person you might skip this, or you might choose to read it anyway for some laughs when I have a craft-fail, as I sometimes do.
I'm currently helping my husband work on a large hanging demonstration chess board for the upcoming scout show this Saturday. Yes, I said this Saturday. We have all the pieces; one large white mostly fabric shower curtain (pre-made hanging apparatus, a time-saving trick), some velcro, various glues, some posterboard, and a bunch of black, white, red and yellow felt squares. We have not started assembly yet, or I'd have some pics.
Yes, I remember, it's due this Saturday. But I'm nothing if not a blitz-crafter, semi-decent under pressure. We'll only really run into trouble if we have some sort of terrible gluing accident. Yeah, I'm optimistic too.
While we were at the local big-box craft store picking up the last of the felt squares (they have alligator-skin embossed felt, how cool is that?), I remembered I had promised my elder son I would make a bow-tie for him.
For some reason my son is obsessed with bow-ties. He wanted one for school picture day, but only happened to mention it to me on the phone the day of picture-taking. The school phone. He was in fact calling from school, minutes before he was scheduled to sit down in front of the photographer. I would have had to break the land speed record to go out, get him a bow-tie and get it to him in ten minutes. I considered it for two wild seconds, but my car's engine would never have taken it. (I'm givin 'er all she's got, Cap'n! 'Er engines cannae take any more!)
In fact I would probably have done fairly well just cutting him a construction paper one and sticking it on with tape when I got there (he would have been happy, he's easy to please), but then you get these LOOKS from the teachers and photographers. You know what I'm talking about. The ones that look like they're deciding whether or not to call Child Protective Services on you.
So I told him we'd go and pick out fabric for a proper bow-tie for him at a later date, which happened to be today. He picked out this:
Yes, I did put it against an orange background for added awesome. My son loves green, and he wanted a pattern. The only thing that would have made it better would have been the same colors in a spiral pattern. I love my boy's taste.
So now I have the fabric, I have an online pattern, and I just have to choose the method of fastening, whether clip or sewn elastic. I don't have matching thread, but it should be on the inside and invisible anyways. My husband piped up with the idea of gold embroidery thread for topstitching, which I am giving serious thought to. I believe he may have been joking, because he was half-laughing when he said it, but you do not give me ideas like that and expect me not to try it. I am a dangerous kind of crafter, the one with too many ideas. You add more on and you're asking for it.
The bow-tie will be a project for Saturday most likely, as the hanging chessboard takes priority tomorrow, at least until we start resorting to staples. If I don't embarrass myself I'll have pics when it's finished. Heck, I'll put pics up there even if they do embarrass me, I'm not proud.
I'm currently helping my husband work on a large hanging demonstration chess board for the upcoming scout show this Saturday. Yes, I said this Saturday. We have all the pieces; one large white mostly fabric shower curtain (pre-made hanging apparatus, a time-saving trick), some velcro, various glues, some posterboard, and a bunch of black, white, red and yellow felt squares. We have not started assembly yet, or I'd have some pics.
Yes, I remember, it's due this Saturday. But I'm nothing if not a blitz-crafter, semi-decent under pressure. We'll only really run into trouble if we have some sort of terrible gluing accident. Yeah, I'm optimistic too.
While we were at the local big-box craft store picking up the last of the felt squares (they have alligator-skin embossed felt, how cool is that?), I remembered I had promised my elder son I would make a bow-tie for him.
For some reason my son is obsessed with bow-ties. He wanted one for school picture day, but only happened to mention it to me on the phone the day of picture-taking. The school phone. He was in fact calling from school, minutes before he was scheduled to sit down in front of the photographer. I would have had to break the land speed record to go out, get him a bow-tie and get it to him in ten minutes. I considered it for two wild seconds, but my car's engine would never have taken it. (I'm givin 'er all she's got, Cap'n! 'Er engines cannae take any more!)
In fact I would probably have done fairly well just cutting him a construction paper one and sticking it on with tape when I got there (he would have been happy, he's easy to please), but then you get these LOOKS from the teachers and photographers. You know what I'm talking about. The ones that look like they're deciding whether or not to call Child Protective Services on you.
So I told him we'd go and pick out fabric for a proper bow-tie for him at a later date, which happened to be today. He picked out this:
Yes, I did put it against an orange background for added awesome. My son loves green, and he wanted a pattern. The only thing that would have made it better would have been the same colors in a spiral pattern. I love my boy's taste.
So now I have the fabric, I have an online pattern, and I just have to choose the method of fastening, whether clip or sewn elastic. I don't have matching thread, but it should be on the inside and invisible anyways. My husband piped up with the idea of gold embroidery thread for topstitching, which I am giving serious thought to. I believe he may have been joking, because he was half-laughing when he said it, but you do not give me ideas like that and expect me not to try it. I am a dangerous kind of crafter, the one with too many ideas. You add more on and you're asking for it.
The bow-tie will be a project for Saturday most likely, as the hanging chessboard takes priority tomorrow, at least until we start resorting to staples. If I don't embarrass myself I'll have pics when it's finished. Heck, I'll put pics up there even if they do embarrass me, I'm not proud.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Dopeslapped!
If you've ever seen even one episode of the Three Stooges, you've seen it.
Larry or Curly is working on a task Moe assigned to him, and doing a comically bad job of it. Moe walks up, watches for a few moments with that scrunchy scowly face he gets when he's annoyed, then asks Larry or Curly what he thinks he's doing. They exchange some witty repartee, which Moe happens to take exception to, and as Larry or Curly is turning away, satisfied with himself, Moe does it. Gives him the classic dopeslap. It's an open-handed slap with the palm of the hand to the back of the head, from low to high, and if it's done right (and hard enough), it makes the recipient's head rock forward and in Larry or Curly's case, makes him stumble forward off balance. Hilariously funny, take my word for it. I've been laughing at it since I was four years old.
I have a personal love for the Three Stooges, violent as the comedy tends to be; physical comedy just tickles me every time. Some may think it quite low-brow, and maybe it is, but I just can't stop from laughing out loud when people get hit in the faces with objects or poked in the eyes by a vengeful Moe. I know it's all staged, so perhaps that's why I feel so free to laugh at people seemingly getting hurt. As an aside for another day, the movie "Dodgeball" makes me howl from beginning to end, the scene with the flying wrenches just about killing me.
But back to the dopeslap, the reason for today's post. High-brow, ain't I? Nyuk nyuk nyuk.
I did not realize such a gesture was called a "dopeslap" until recently, while listening to Click and Clack on Car Talk. No, I'm not particularly a car nut, and my car appears to be inclined to run for the moment (knock wood). I love listening to Click and Clack because of their accents and because they are hilariously funny while talking about cars (I can admire that). The instant they used the word dopeslap in an episode one day (an episode that had me laughing aloud while driving, a scene that I'm sure amused anyone looking into my car), I knew exactly what they were referring to.
Today I was dopeslapped by no less than four, count 'em, four of my friends. It was done entirely unknowing by them, over the internet, and in the most gentle, friendly manner possible. After the terrible day I had yesterday job hunting, I was reminded.....I have friends in our industry, and they'd love to help me.
Uh, doi? I should have known that, right? That's why I signed up on LinkedIn and kept all my contacts on Facebook and remember people's emails. Yeah, I should have, but for some reason, I've been feeling adrift in a vast and empty sea, alone in my little boat with a couple of crackers and a little tin cup to catch the passing rain showers. I couldn't see the other boats out there with me, their occupants waving, tossing over goodies and asking me how I was. Wow, the ocean is crowded. And the shore's not so very far off. Why did I think I was so lost?
Thanks for the dopeslap, guys and gals.
Larry or Curly is working on a task Moe assigned to him, and doing a comically bad job of it. Moe walks up, watches for a few moments with that scrunchy scowly face he gets when he's annoyed, then asks Larry or Curly what he thinks he's doing. They exchange some witty repartee, which Moe happens to take exception to, and as Larry or Curly is turning away, satisfied with himself, Moe does it. Gives him the classic dopeslap. It's an open-handed slap with the palm of the hand to the back of the head, from low to high, and if it's done right (and hard enough), it makes the recipient's head rock forward and in Larry or Curly's case, makes him stumble forward off balance. Hilariously funny, take my word for it. I've been laughing at it since I was four years old.
I have a personal love for the Three Stooges, violent as the comedy tends to be; physical comedy just tickles me every time. Some may think it quite low-brow, and maybe it is, but I just can't stop from laughing out loud when people get hit in the faces with objects or poked in the eyes by a vengeful Moe. I know it's all staged, so perhaps that's why I feel so free to laugh at people seemingly getting hurt. As an aside for another day, the movie "Dodgeball" makes me howl from beginning to end, the scene with the flying wrenches just about killing me.
But back to the dopeslap, the reason for today's post. High-brow, ain't I? Nyuk nyuk nyuk.
I did not realize such a gesture was called a "dopeslap" until recently, while listening to Click and Clack on Car Talk. No, I'm not particularly a car nut, and my car appears to be inclined to run for the moment (knock wood). I love listening to Click and Clack because of their accents and because they are hilariously funny while talking about cars (I can admire that). The instant they used the word dopeslap in an episode one day (an episode that had me laughing aloud while driving, a scene that I'm sure amused anyone looking into my car), I knew exactly what they were referring to.
Today I was dopeslapped by no less than four, count 'em, four of my friends. It was done entirely unknowing by them, over the internet, and in the most gentle, friendly manner possible. After the terrible day I had yesterday job hunting, I was reminded.....I have friends in our industry, and they'd love to help me.
Uh, doi? I should have known that, right? That's why I signed up on LinkedIn and kept all my contacts on Facebook and remember people's emails. Yeah, I should have, but for some reason, I've been feeling adrift in a vast and empty sea, alone in my little boat with a couple of crackers and a little tin cup to catch the passing rain showers. I couldn't see the other boats out there with me, their occupants waving, tossing over goodies and asking me how I was. Wow, the ocean is crowded. And the shore's not so very far off. Why did I think I was so lost?
Thanks for the dopeslap, guys and gals.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Over, Unger, Unger, Dunn
It appears, after a bit of time looking through job postings today, that I am either way overqualified or way under qualified for everything out there. Nothing is a perfect fit (not that I'm expecting it to be, but is a pleasant surprise every now and then too much to ask?).
When job hunting lately I spend a couple hours here and there, with breaks in between, just to mitigate the frustration factor. Today this did not work and frustration won. I retreated to a quiet place in the house to re-group and re-think my approach, away from endless internet listings of jobs way out of my reach.
When all is said and done I think I am going to need to return to my roots; art and/or creative writing. Neither is a guaranteed paycheck, indeed I'd be incredibly disconnected from reality to think otherwise in this market. But it's the only option I have that doesn't require extensive re-training from the ground up, something that worries me if I try another profession; if I can't succeed in the (randomly chosen) profession, I've wasted my time and a whole lot of money. Failing is part of learning and doesn't much faze me these days, but with a family relying on you it makes it that much more difficult to recover if you do so. And it makes it incredibly hard to take that leap into the unknown.
I was trained classically in art school; charcoal and newsprint, pencil, pen and ink, watercolors, gouache, oil and acrylic canvases. (I even learned egg-tempera, which uses actual egg-yolk as a painting medium. I think that was Renaissance Painting Technique. I wonder if I could even find real rabbit-skin glue anymore, or if that's been removed from the market for humane reasons.)These days almost everything is digital art, so I'd need to re-train myself using the principals I learned for paper and canvas, and translate them to a computer program. It'd seem more daunting if I didn't already love art, and I suppose that is a good place to start. I've been wanting to get back into art via traditional mediums for a long time.
Writing needs to be done every day. And then rejected and polished, rejected and polished, over and over until someone finally decides your stuff might sell. Although I've heard self-publishing can kick-start you along if you think you've got a hot thing. (Perhaps a bit of blatant daydreaming there.)
Both these options are probably as difficult as training into a whole new job, but the difference for me is that I'm interested in both of them, and neither require a substantial outlay of money I don't have. And lately I have plenty of time. So why not re-train myself while occasionally checking the humorless ranks of job listings for even one job that has realistic requirements for people out of work and not overblown, ridiculous demands that neither new college graduates nor work veterans can hope to meet?
At this point I don't have anything to lose.
When job hunting lately I spend a couple hours here and there, with breaks in between, just to mitigate the frustration factor. Today this did not work and frustration won. I retreated to a quiet place in the house to re-group and re-think my approach, away from endless internet listings of jobs way out of my reach.
When all is said and done I think I am going to need to return to my roots; art and/or creative writing. Neither is a guaranteed paycheck, indeed I'd be incredibly disconnected from reality to think otherwise in this market. But it's the only option I have that doesn't require extensive re-training from the ground up, something that worries me if I try another profession; if I can't succeed in the (randomly chosen) profession, I've wasted my time and a whole lot of money. Failing is part of learning and doesn't much faze me these days, but with a family relying on you it makes it that much more difficult to recover if you do so. And it makes it incredibly hard to take that leap into the unknown.
I was trained classically in art school; charcoal and newsprint, pencil, pen and ink, watercolors, gouache, oil and acrylic canvases. (I even learned egg-tempera, which uses actual egg-yolk as a painting medium. I think that was Renaissance Painting Technique. I wonder if I could even find real rabbit-skin glue anymore, or if that's been removed from the market for humane reasons.)These days almost everything is digital art, so I'd need to re-train myself using the principals I learned for paper and canvas, and translate them to a computer program. It'd seem more daunting if I didn't already love art, and I suppose that is a good place to start. I've been wanting to get back into art via traditional mediums for a long time.
Writing needs to be done every day. And then rejected and polished, rejected and polished, over and over until someone finally decides your stuff might sell. Although I've heard self-publishing can kick-start you along if you think you've got a hot thing. (Perhaps a bit of blatant daydreaming there.)
Both these options are probably as difficult as training into a whole new job, but the difference for me is that I'm interested in both of them, and neither require a substantial outlay of money I don't have. And lately I have plenty of time. So why not re-train myself while occasionally checking the humorless ranks of job listings for even one job that has realistic requirements for people out of work and not overblown, ridiculous demands that neither new college graduates nor work veterans can hope to meet?
At this point I don't have anything to lose.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Emerging from a dream...
Well. Waking from a dream is sometimes a relief, and sometimes a nightmare.
I'm a 40-something ( a lady never tells her precise age!) married mom to two boys, ages 12 and 8, both of whom have Asperger's syndrome.
As you might imagine, this makes life interesting. Every day. If the younger boy isn't screaming at the top of his voice and making the dog scramble comically all over the tile looking for a hiding place, then the elder one is talking nonstop in my ear about a movie he saw two weeks ago and wants to relate to me frame by frame from start to finish. A day in the Dreamer household is never dull with these two bright-eyed inquisitive children.
Last week it became even more exciting when I and nearly all my co-workers were laid off from our jobs. We had just about a day or so of notice, most of us, although some may have suspected a bit earlier. It was not a pleasant afternoon although the weather was nice, sparing us the need to carry our boxes of desk ornamentation and personal documents through a deluge. I appear to be quite a collector of plastic bags; I had about six inches of them carpeting the bottom of my file cabinet. Some day I'll figure out something crafty to do with them.
I allowed myself to mourn my job for a few days, and tortured myself by surfing the job websites finding nothing that fit me or for which I was remotely qualified. The job I had was what I wanted and loved; it really was my dream job. Even though I was laid off and not fired, I still had that confidence loss and sense of guilt (If I had only done something...), and that hasn't completely gone away, rearing its head at the most inopportune times.
I know it will pass, and I'll find something to do, but I'm fearing it won't be as creative or just plain fun as my old job. Hence, a blog, something I'd been thinking about for a while but never started, for one reason or another. Creative, fun (I hope), and potentially enjoyable. I already like the fact I can switch around the look, font, and colors on a whim. I'm a big fan of variety and choices. (Fonts? Who surfs fonts for hours?...That'd be me.)
At least the only one that can let me go from my blog is me.
Excuse me now while I go steal a Spring Oreo before my boys eat them all.
I'm a 40-something ( a lady never tells her precise age!) married mom to two boys, ages 12 and 8, both of whom have Asperger's syndrome.
As you might imagine, this makes life interesting. Every day. If the younger boy isn't screaming at the top of his voice and making the dog scramble comically all over the tile looking for a hiding place, then the elder one is talking nonstop in my ear about a movie he saw two weeks ago and wants to relate to me frame by frame from start to finish. A day in the Dreamer household is never dull with these two bright-eyed inquisitive children.
Last week it became even more exciting when I and nearly all my co-workers were laid off from our jobs. We had just about a day or so of notice, most of us, although some may have suspected a bit earlier. It was not a pleasant afternoon although the weather was nice, sparing us the need to carry our boxes of desk ornamentation and personal documents through a deluge. I appear to be quite a collector of plastic bags; I had about six inches of them carpeting the bottom of my file cabinet. Some day I'll figure out something crafty to do with them.
I allowed myself to mourn my job for a few days, and tortured myself by surfing the job websites finding nothing that fit me or for which I was remotely qualified. The job I had was what I wanted and loved; it really was my dream job. Even though I was laid off and not fired, I still had that confidence loss and sense of guilt (If I had only done something...), and that hasn't completely gone away, rearing its head at the most inopportune times.
I know it will pass, and I'll find something to do, but I'm fearing it won't be as creative or just plain fun as my old job. Hence, a blog, something I'd been thinking about for a while but never started, for one reason or another. Creative, fun (I hope), and potentially enjoyable. I already like the fact I can switch around the look, font, and colors on a whim. I'm a big fan of variety and choices. (Fonts? Who surfs fonts for hours?...That'd be me.)
At least the only one that can let me go from my blog is me.
Excuse me now while I go steal a Spring Oreo before my boys eat them all.
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