life according to me

Category: Snarking & Snipping

Good Old Days?
One way I can tell the economy is rotten is by the increase in spam emails I’ve been getting. A portion of each morning is spent deleting yet another “You, too, can make money at home” message or invitation to “join me in getting out of debt.” Most are automatically caught as junk and deleted, but a few make it through.

Occasionally someone I know will actually send me an email, and if it’s my mother or her sister, it’s one of those feel good messages with the giant multi-colored text. You know, in case someone doesn’t know where her reading glasses are, she’ll be able to read it from a 15-foot distance. Ironically, both of those factors cause me not to want to read the emails, but I did this morning, shaking my head the entire time I was reading. I know it’s meant to be — well, I’m not sure. Boastful? Condescending? Perhaps sarcastic? Maybe funny. Hmmm…

Maybe you’ve seen it:

The idea of a parent bailing us…
CONGRATULATIONS TO ALL THE KIDS WHO WERE BORN IN THE 1920’s, 30’s 40’s, 50’s, 60’s and 70’s !!
First, we survived being born to mothers who carried us and lived in houses made of asbestos.
They took aspirin, ate blue cheese, tuna from a can, and didn’t get tested for diabetes or cervical cancer.
Then after that trauma, our baby cribs were covered with bright colored lead-based paints.
We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets or shoes, not to mention, the risks some of us took hitchhiking.
As children, we would ride in cars with no seat belts or air bags.
Riding in the back of a Ute on a warm day was always a special treat.
We drank water from the garden hose and NOT from a bottle.
Take away food was limited to fish and chips, no pizza shops, McDonalds, KFC, Subway or Red Rooster.
Even though all the shops closed at 6.00pm and didn’t open on the weekends, somehow we didn’t starve to death!
We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle and NO ONE actually died from this.
We could collect old drink bottles and cash them in at the corner store and buy Fruit Tingles and some fire crackers to blow up frogs and lizards with.
We ate cupcakes, white bread and real butter and drank soft drinks with sugar in it, but we weren’t overweight because……
WE WERE ALWAYS OUTSIDE PLAYING!!
We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the streetlights came on.
No one was able to reach us all day. And we were O.K.
We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and then ride down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. We built tree houses and cubby houses and played in creek beds with matchbox cars.
We did not have Playstations, Nintendo’s, X-boxes, no video games at all, no 99 channels on cable, no video tape or DVD movies, nosurround sound, no mobile phones, no personal computers, no Internet or Internet chat rooms……….WE HAD FRIENDS and we went outside and found them!
We fell out of trees, got cut, broke bones and teeth and there were no Lawsuits from these accidents.
Only girls had pierced ears!
We ate worms and mud pies made from dirt, and the worms did not live in us forever.
You could only buy Easter Eggs and Hot Cross buns at Easter time…….no really!
We were given BB guns and sling shots for our 10th birthdays,
We drank milk laced with Strontium 90 from cows that had eaten grass covered in nuclear fallout from the atomic testing at Maralinga in 1956.
We rode bikes or walked to a friend’s house and knocked on the door or rang the bell, or just yelled for them!
Mum didn’t have to go to work to help dad make ends meet!
Footy had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn’t had to learn to deal with disappointment. Imagine that!!
Our teachers used to belt us with big sticks and leather straps and bullies always ruled the playground at school.
The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke the law was unheard of. They actually sided with the law!
Our parents got married before they had children and didn’t invent stupid names for their kids like ‘Kiora’ and ‘Blade’…..
This generation has produced some of the best risk-takers, problem solvers and inventors ever!
The past 70 years have been an explosion of innovation and new ideas.
We had freedom, failure, success and responsibility, and we learned
HOW TO DEAL WITH IT ALL!
And YOU are one of them!
CONGRATULATIONS!
You might want to share this with others who have had the luck to grow up as kids, before the lawyers and the government regulated our lives for our own good.
And while you are at it, forward it to your kids so they will know how brave their parents were.

Kind of makes you want to run through the house with scissors, doesn’t it?!

Outside of this giving me a few interesting memories about my own childhood and that of my sons, being the born party pooper I am, I couldn’t help but think of a few other things as well.
- Yes, many of us did grow up in houses with asbestos — right up until it was scraped off the ceiling about 10 years ago — well past my childhood. No men in white suits showed up to remove it. My mother and my oldest son used spray bottles and sheets of plastic, scraping it off with wide spatulas. My oldest son has never been able to breathe to begin with, so Hell. Why not take on this little Do-It-Yourself project? Just because something was tolerated in the past doesn’t make it appropriate to ignore it today.
- On the lead-based paint? Absolutely many people survived — most noticeably the person who wrote this email. But those who happened to have their cribs positioned near windows that could be chewed on when teething didn’t quite survive the same way. They ended up with permanent brain damage and have needed medical attention, and special assistance in school to the tune of millions and millions of tax payer dollars. They never had a chance, and their parents didn’t know, because lead-based paint is what was used. You could call Oliver Stone to see if he has a film in the works about a government conspiracy on this…
- Childproof caps were definitely a horrible thing to inflict upon the unsuspecting public. But I’m thinking it may have been necessary since the “If you touch this medicine, I’ll knock the shit out of you” threat to children had seen better days. Anyone who’s been beat by a parent more than once will confirm this.
- Seatbelts? Well, just go back up to the lead-based paint issue. If you survive a car crash but have injuries so severe that long-term medical care is required, ultimately the tax payer is paying the bill to keep you alive. (Just think about all those “child-proof” caps you’ll have to deal with.) And if you survived that car crash even though you didn’t have a seat belt on, I’m thinking you should have to foot the bill for your own care. I’m tired of paying for my health care AND everyone else’s. How hard is it to just buckle the damn thing?
- The reason there were no lawsuits from injuries caused from falling out of trees or needing stitches because the neighbor’s kid ran over you with a bike is because 1) there weren’t very many lawyers. College was something most couldn’t afford — hence, fewer lawyers; and 2) People couldn’t afford lawsuits even if they realized that sometimes the losers in the world DO need to be accountable for their actions. The tree I was in and fell out of when I was 8 was on private property. I was trespassing and stealing fruit. If anyone needed a lawyer, it was the farmer.
- Yes, I had a teacher who had a paddle and used it. She was pissed because I wouldn’t hold hands with a boy during a game, so she lifted my dress (ahhh…remember when girls had to wear dresses to school? So lovely to have to tolerate that while playing on the monkey bars…) and paddled my butt in front of the entire class. Should kids today have to tolerate that to grow up and say, “Look at me! I survived a teacher who whacked me! Should any kid have to deal with a bully anywhere? At some point, just sucking it up in those situations is weak. Teaching kids how to stand up for themselves and to know what’s okay, and what isn’t matters. Of course, today, bullies often have guns, don’t they?
- Drink milk with Strontium 90? And survive? Evidently, the concentration is key to whether you end up with bone cancer, cancer of the soft tissues surrounding the bone, or leukemia. It doesn’t just come from cows grazing in a field, it’s connected with weapons testing, which has decreased tremendously since the government was forced to realize that it was affecting people’s health. You know, like benzene in drinking water. Scary stuff. And sure. I’m totally angry that the government has regulated this out of my environment. Not.
- “Mum” may not have to go to work to help Dad make ends meet today, either. In fact, “Mum” may have a college degree, and realize that working all day, and taking care of her house and family after she gets home is like having two jobs for less than what Dad earns, so how stupid is that? “Mum” can now choose to stay at home to raise her children instead of paying the childcare provider her entire salary AND have a title: SAHM. Some of us refuse to call ourselves anything of that nature, however.
- Yes, the “Good Old Days” are gone, aren’t they? Just think. Without our beloved laptops, computers, Macs, PCs or however you lovingly refer to them, we wouldn’t be able to write and send emails such as the one above, would we? We’d actually be getting the work done that our employers pay us to do! What an interesting concept.
I could keep going, but this is way past the length all those You Too Can Make Money At Home Blogging gurus mention. God forbid that whatever is on my mind exceeds a few paragraphs.

Goodness. What a snarky woman I am today.

I’ll write about something pleasant next time, or just avoid reading those emails.
April 7, 2009
Food Stamp Soap Box

It’s been nearly two weeks since the Inauguration of Barack Obama, and I’ve listened. I’ve listened and I’ve watched, and I’ve held my tongue, at times turning off the television or changing the station when the talking heads begin their endless hair-splitting. It’s not because I’m a total Pollyanna, but more that I’d like just a small amount of time to let everything sink in.

I’m not talking about all the pomp and circumstance, or the history, or nauseating Booyah going on about which side won and which didn’t, or why, and what if. It’s more about watching how the new president goes about beginning to dig our way out of the disaster we find ourselves in after nearly a decade. Everyone agrees that it’s a daunting task.

Daunting. What an understatement.

I find myself wanting to rage about Rush Limbaugh’s desperate groveling to secure himself a position for the next many years by being an even bigger ass than he already is. But I don’t. I want to smack the faces of the talking heads on television who just have to sustain talk to earn their paychecks, and I can’t help but sling a few comments at the television, but nothing that would singe anyone’s eyebrows. I read a blog here, and a blog there, beginning to comment, and find that I don’t want to make the effort to express myself, knowing that at this point, only those who truly understand politics or bottom dwelling are filling comment boxes right now. I have no desire to be a deer in the head lights on any of it.

No, I’m a big chicken. A big deer chicken in the headlights. Or an ostrich.

But when I saw Blog: Living on Food Stamps by Sean Callebs on CNN.com/US, I had to say something. I had to acknowledge my reaction to the reporter’s decision to live on $6.28 a day, equivalent to what a single person would be given by the government if he or she qualified for food stamps, or what is currently known as the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP).

Sean. You know you can’t, and you’re not supposed to because it’s a supplement, but you already know that, too.

If you’ve happened by today thinking, “Oh my. Kelly’s written twice in three days!” and you’re still reading, wondering where this is going, I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. I’m not going to wax about how horrible it is that anyone could be expected to live off of that amount of money because they do in other countries all over the world every single day with money earned making products sold in this country. I’m not going to sling aspersions at the reporter who found a good angle for his story — and one I’m now planning on following. No, instead I’m going to sort through my feelings about it all and wonder why it makes me so angry.

Evidently, as part of the Economic Stimulus Package (clearly different than those Dubyah created by padding our wallets with some bucks that our family summarily spent in Italy last summer….) those qualifying for the SNAP program are to get a 13% raise which is sure to send many opposed to the new administration howling over the injustice of it all.

I don’t completely disagree with them, because I’ve had the opportunity to work in places where I can see just how assistance is spent. It’s been many, many years, and I’d yet to have a family of my own to feed, but when I was a cashier at a local grocery store where many of our customers used food stamps and saw just what went in their carts, even the naive young woman that I was knew something was not quite right.

Most of my attitude about this comes from my mother. She had very little growing up and her mother even less. When it came to grocery shopping, my mother went twice a month, and so we had to learn to ration. If we were pigs and ate our portions — risking all kinds of wrath from my stepfather — then we were done until the next trip to the grocery store. There was no such thing as extra food. We ate everything on our plates, period. And no, there was no cola in the fridge, or expensive treats. We ate simple food but our meals were well balanced. Okay, except the nights we had waffles for dinner — but I guess that would be another off shoot of this problem, right? If you want veggies and well-balanced meals, then you do have to have more money. Or a great garden in your yard. Erm — apartment? Yah, right.

I know. I’m preaching at this point, but if I don’t just let it rip, then I’ll stop and the next thing I’ll do is hit the delete button — which happens quite a bit now. But the tone comes from quite a bit of conflict. How did I experience a growing up with very little, at times with a single mother, or as part of family with one meager income, and not only make ends meet without assistance, but not realize we were poor?

How?

I have no tragic story to tell about doing without because I didn’t know we didn’t have what others had as far as food went. But you don’t get any press when you don’t have a tragic story to tell that has given you angst in life. That wouldn’t happen in our family because we’re all from the same mold: SUCK IT UP. You may have to do something you don’t enjoy to earn money, or get training to learn a new skill, or give up a few of the things you’ve enjoyed for years, but too damn bad.

Now, it’s completely not politically correct for me to be spewing about this, because what I’m saying with far too many words is that just giving people money doesn’t work. It doesn’t help, it hinders. When you get something for nothing, there’s no intrinsic feeling of accomplishment or motivation to continue to strive to improve. There’s just an outstretched hand and then bitterness and accusation if the hand isn’t filled. There’s animosity for those who have money with no regard for the fact that the money was earned with hard work, and skill that was learned over time with persistence.

Yes, I understand generational poverty. Trust me. Professionally I saw it day in and day out in the children who came to my classroom each day. But I’ll never forget the huge baskets of food in the grocery store, loaded with products our cupboards had never seen and then have to watch the customer pay with food stamps, and worse — assist her to a Cadillac or Lincoln to load them in the trunk.

I’m old enough to know that in those cases, fraud was most likely the reason, but I’ve never forgotten them. And it helps me think about all of this business of “bailing out,” or increasing support to those who are needy.

I could keep raging about this, but won’t.

My cracked wheat bread is done with its second rise and I need to put it in the oven.

Hmmm…I wonder what the difference is between the cost of a homemade loaf of bread and one that has absolutely no nutritional value and is wrapped in plastic?

Definitely a very big soap box today.

February 2, 2009
10 things from my brain today
Random thoughts and observations after returning from my morning walk today (which is saying quite a bit considering I wasn’t thrilled with the idea to begin with…):

1. Holding my coffee cup under the drip as the coffee is brewing makes for an excellent rich roasty first cuppa in the morning. The second? It has to be what swill tastes like.

2. The kids in carpool this morning were mumbling about their plans for after school as usual, but “not being able to meet tonight because I’m going over to so-and-so’s house to watch the debate” surprised me. From an 8th grader? How cool is that?

3. The Clean Eating magazine I picked up at Whole Foods the last time I was there and filled my basket for much more than the $40 my son tells me is possible to spend, is something I shouldn’t be feeling snarky about. I’m sure that their tag line of “Improving your life one meal at a time” doesn’t include butter or whole anything and that the recipe on the cover for Cheesecake Pears has far fewer calories than the Key Lime Cheesecake I just made. *sigh*

4. The swill-tasting second cup is growing on me, because let’s face it. It’s coffee, right?

5. Lots of people were out walking and jogging this morning and as I approached each person walking in the opposite direction, I looked up, got ready to make eye contact, and say, “Good Morning,” with a smile on my face. Now you could argue that I’m full of shit or just plain phoney, but I’ve learned that I’m the one that gets the perks from it. It makes me feel good.

6. Mostly women don’t return the eye contact or the greeting. And I don’t think it’s because I look like some perky idiot. I’m fairly reserved and pleasant about the whole thing. The men respond. They smile pleasantly whether they’re jogging, or on a bike, hell, even the guys setting up for their day’s work responded pleasantly. What is up with women anyway? How hard is it to be friendly? Pretend, okay?

7. Is it just me, or does “LOW-FAT HOLIDAY MENUS” sound like an oxymoron?

8. I’m reading a piece by Frank McCourt in William Zinsser’s Inventing the Truth and he writes:

“You were made conscious all the time, for instance, of how you had to prepare to go to confession. You had to examine your conscience. This was a form of introspection that was imposed on us. But it was valuable. It forced us to think, “Were we good?” or “Were we bad?” and to think about our various transgressions. Before you went to the confession booth you would go over the seven deadly sins to see if there was one you ought to mention. The one that always confused me was pride. How could pride be a sin? In America you hear, “Walk tall, be proud of your heritage.” But we were taught that pride is what got Lucifer kicked out of heaven because he thought he was equal to God, if not greater. You were supposed to think little of yourself. Get rid of that evil.”

Actually, demonstrated pride was totally smacked down in my family. [Yes, it was.] Thinking about it now, it relates to the idea that perhaps we weren’t as good as others, so shouldn’t act as if we were. We didn’t deserve anything and weren’t worth anything, so shouldn’t act as if we deserved more than what we had. It sounds pretty awful writing it, and even more awful reading it back to myself now. But yes, that just about sums it up.

9. I’d love a small, old house close to the beach. *waiting for thunderbolt* Maybe that cute one I saw this morning with the shiny garage floor I’d totally trade in for the grungy carpeted floor in my house and the chic framed vintage travel poster hanging on the wall. Or maybe the house with the walled patio topped with bright fuschia bougainvillas. On second thought, maybe the one with the weathered flagstones leading up to the bright red front door and the large paned windows…Clearly, I’m over the not feeling like I deserve things. I was never that good at it anyway. Ever.

10. Must go iron hair. Have to meet with contractor today about remodel that will most likely not happen now since no one is lending money to anybody, regardless of status as bonafide tax-paying stalwart American middle class “we can shoulder everything, so just stick it to us baby” diehards.

Can’t quite figure out whom I should thank first:
- all the realtors who talked people who couldn’t afford a house on a particular salary into that house and made off like bandits with their commissions;
- purple kool-aid drinking I don’t feel sorry for you people who actually believed the crap they were fed; or
- the mortgage company that approved the loans and then passed them off as soon as they could.
Wait. Perhaps Richard Fuld, the now defunct Lehman Brothers’ former CEO can front us. Surely someone who made that much money while his company took a swirl down the drain has a dime to spare. Okay, so maybe a million dollar painting he doesn’t need anymore? Just a drop in the bucket, doncha think?
October 7, 2008
Pundits and Forum Whackos

It’s kind of sad how days go by and this space sits waiting to take on the color of my days. It waits quite a bit now, but not by design. I haven’t lost interest, though.

Most of the time, I feel like one of those clowns that shows up at a kid’s birthday party who works his ass off and nobody gets it. Maybe I should start a link train. Or present poorly written content laced with spelling errors about products and information thinking others will actually read it so I can make millions from the page views.

Trick.

I do have quite a bit to say about how obnoxious I find all the pundits backpedaling over McCain’s VP nomination. You know, Obama doesn’t have experience, but she does. Blah, blah, blah. I don’t have an issue with “her.” I have an issue with the extent to which some politicians find voters stupid — women voters in particular.

That they’ll vote for McCain now because he’s got a woman on his ticket who is pro life and eats moose burgers.

And maybe some of them will.

How sad is that?

Very.

Even more sad? The number of whackos who respond to forums and the disgusting content of their comments regarding race and gender.

And they get to vote.

August 29, 2008
Yeah? So — what of it?

Last week, one of the bloggers I’ve come across in foodland wrote a post inquiring about what readers like or don’t like in a blog. Although I always enjoy this particular person’s posts because she’s extremely smart, very opinionated, and an excellent writer, they’re unusual in that they aren’t always about recipes and food porn shots.

No, not THAT kind of food porn. This kind.

She attracts tons of comments, also unusual for much of foodland. No, not the sheer quantity, which is quite impressive, but the quality. Nearly every commenter has something substantive to say about whatever she has written.

I know I’ve been hooked more than once to chime in — whether it’s in response to what she has written, or to what one of the commentators has mentioned. And although I’ve taken liberties before with her generous space (she allows 3000 character comments…whoa!) to respond in a near post, I’ve waited on this one, just to see if the slow burn that I developed reading that day would dissipate.

Nope.

Maybe it’s because everyone has an opinion and that’s annoying. No, that wouldn’t work since I’m the leader of the pack.

Or, it could be that a blog is such a personal thing as compared to a magazine, or a newspaper, and, well, it’s free. So as much as we all wonder at times who reads our blathering and who doesn’t (or why), it isn’t like we’ll go out of business and stop the presses if no one reads. We just hobble pathetically along, right? Uh-huh. Whatever.

I think my favorite comment had to do with “lengthy blog posts” which is probably why I’m still simmering.

When have I NOT done a lengthy post? Excuse the hell out of me, but Hell would freeze over first. I found it quite ironic, since the person making the comment was doing so on a blog that publishes lengthy posts. Excellent posts, mind you, but lengthy. Glad I’m in such good company. In much the same way that there are political cartoonists who turn huge issues into a few words and an image, some choose to write, far too many talk whether anyone is listening or not, and some joke. I’d rather not read blogs that only publish one short silly post after another. What’s the point? They didn’t invest any kind of thought, so why should I? *Tsk, tsk. Cranky, aren’t we?*

A few comments had to do with changing things on the blog. They were concerned that something would change.

News Flash. Things Change. You know, like the planet? Or haven’t you noticed? Half the fun of having a blog is to CHANGE things. What? It’s difficult to read the words and the thinking behind the words if the font changes? Or the header? Or the widgets…wait, I need to fan myself…

Some of the commenters groused about music players on blogs — you know, where you open a blog and the author has a favorite piece playing?

I’m thinking that it’s not TOO CHALLENGING to lower the volume if you choose not to listen. But perhaps for those individuals, finding the volume button is.

Even better? Some mentioned that since they read blogs while at work, the players were on loud and that others might hear.

WAIT. Let me get this straight. A person is reading blogs at work instead of working, but she wants YOU to not have a music player on your blog so HER coworkers can’t hear it... Okay, the line forms to the left for egotistical maniacs. Seriously.

Another chimer-inner and subsequent dittoers voiced their complaints about blogs and awards. That they’re tiresome. That they know the only reason people give out awards is to get credit for links.

Actually, at least from my speck of perspective, when I pass on an award that someone has given me, it’s because I believe that person deserves it. Go back to the point about investing time in reading blogs. When you do that, you can actually say thanks to someone else, and recognize that effort in a meaningful way. Oh, but wait. That would be a long, involved post, wouldn’t it? And you’d actually have to be able to say why you enjoyed someone’s blog for a reason other than it’s short. But what do I know?

This one’s the doozie. Some mentioned that the only time people comment on their blog is after they’ve posted, and only because they want that individual to come comment on theirs.

Huh? You’ve got to be kidding. And then some people defended themselves over this crap, like they actually needed to dignify it with any kind of response other than bull*hit. So let’s see. I spend my time writing which is no small investment of time, and then my reward is to visit those I enjoy reading AND look around for new ones, and that’s categorized as fishing for comments? Bear in mind this is BEFORE I do my housework for gawdsakes. What if I read other’s blogs first? Wait. I do my email first, and that actually takes a while. So if I read blogs first, and commented — which I almost always take the time to do — I’d never get around to posting. Who are these people and why are they so whiney?

Last, but not least. Advertisements. I bet you knew this was coming? Several people mentioned the ads and how annoying they are.

Fine. Ever looked at a magazine? Newspaper? Watch television? I know. I don’t like commercials, either, which is why TiVo exists, or why I wait to go to the bathroom on the commercials — you know, to piss off the advertisers. Except for Target. I love their ads. Where was I? Oh yes, advertisements on blogs. Guess what? Don’t pay attention to them then. It’s really not that difficult. Sure, if a site has ten pop-ups then it’s a problem, but you should have figured out how to block those a long time ago. Tune into this Bat Channel, yanno? As for the sites that run lots of those square tech ads? Hell. Click on them once in a while. They actually lead to sites that have good information if that’s what you’re looking for. It’s not like some boogie man will pop out and bite your head off. But now that I’m thinking of it, that’s not a bad idea. At least it would spare us the inane comments.

And while I’m on the subject…my ads pay for my hosting service. Would you bend over and pick up that check if it blew up against your shoe? Now it would be swell if they paid for all the time I spent writing and managing, cooking, shooting, and editing. But it doesn’t. The MoH pays for that, and I’m sure he’s wishing I’d get off my butt and actually write something that involved an advance and some sales.

But he’s a very patient man.

So, what’s your take on all of this hooplah? I’m being overly sensitive, right? I should just shut my mouth and get back to work?

Pass you a slice of that cake?

Hell, I’m relieved none of them said they were sick of people who plastered stoopid photos of themselves all over their blogs all the time.

Heh.

August 12, 2008
Un-jetlagging

We arrived back in Paradise last night at about 7:00 after an 11-hour flight from Rome to Cincinnati, then yet another delightful 5-hour flight just about as far as one can go in a Southwesterly direction in these United States. Long.

Did I say long?

Way long.

I peeked out of my left eyeball in the taxi on the way home from the airport, not quite able to see normally after failing yet again at trying to sleep sitting up, and squeezed in the backseat between my boys, weighed down with carry-on bags the driver couldn’t possibly crush in his already packed trunk.

In my next life, I will live on the Right Coast so that I can enjoy shorter flights to Europe.

It’s 4:20 am, Italy time right now — tomorrow. And considering I’m on that time about now, and that I’ve been up 16 hours today so far, I should sleep quite a long time tonight. I’m running on fumes. Or espresso.

But it was worth it, because I’ve learned so much about Italy…and me.

For example:

It is totally possible to ride on nearly every type of transportation possible on a vacation. Didn’t they make a movie about Planes, Trains, and Automobiles?

The cars are very small.

There are young people everywhere, and I wonder who their parents are. Okay, so I really don’t, but still. What you can’t see is the open market surrounding this guy.

When you think something is old, stop, think again, then understand there’s a whole different level of old. Julius Caesar was stabbed on the steps of a temple that used to be here. Like that old.

It would be nice to have a produce market to go to each morning.

Fresh squeezed orange juice is 6 Euros a glass, and isn’t it nice that there wasn’t a menu. Can we have two glasses, please?

Espresso can actually come in a cup that holds one tablespoon. Really. For 3 Euros.

Bad hair days can be experienced by everyone.

It is still possible to get all worked up over religious iconography. Like, you know. Moved to tears.

But, yes, we’re back. And since I’m falling off my chair, I’ll wait to put this all in some kind of order.

‘night.

July 14, 2008
That Summer Feeling

It’s the last day of school and because 99.9% of us have spent time in a seat in a classroom counting the days and minutes and seconds until we could say, “It’s the last day of school!” we know it’s a special day.

And then there’s another portion of us who stood in that classroom in front of those kids, and later, in front of those teachers, and thought the very same thing. This particular experience gave new meaning to the phrase, barely contain my glee…

Okay, so for some — those of us who still have children at home — this day conjures conflicting emotions:

A. You’re ecstatic that you no longer have to get up at 6:30 (or even 6:57) for your 7am car pool responsibilities.

B. You’re in a quandry because your almost 16-year-old son will be home every single day for 10 weeks (too old for camp, not able to attend summer school to make up crappy grades in Spanish and Algebra II because his perfectly delightful and generous but most likely too indulgent parents are taking him to Italy) attempting to put a pet rock to shame with inactivity and behaving quite charmingly the entire time.

A. You’re seriously glad that you no longer have even more children — little ones — at home who now need you to be the summer tour director, organize appropriate television viewing time, snack time, nap time, play group time, reading time, craft time, and errand-running-time with said children in tow which was always so much fun.

B. There’s no B on this one. Trust me.

A. You no longer have to ask (prod, cajole, encourage, motivate, hold a mirror under his nose to see if he’s breathing…) aforementioned teenager if he has homework to do, classwork to finish, quizzes or tests to study for, papers to sign, grades to keep an eye on, or projects to complete, and compose yourself long enough to stimulate chronic eye twitching.

B. You no longer have time to do all of the above because it’s the last day of school and all of the above didn’t exactly work, so you’ve resorted to Plan Z in preparation for the next school year. Already.

A. Even though you’re a million years older than you once were when you couldn’t wait for the Last Day of School, you still remember that the Day After the Last Day of School was a very special day that meant you’d lay in bed as long as you possibly could waiting to feel that feeling you’d waited for all year. You know. The, “IT’S SUMMER AND YOU DON’T HAVE TO GO TO SCHOOL!” feeling. The one where your days stretch in front of you, yawning with possibility.

B. Since The Day After the Last Day of School is Tuesday this year, and that’s normally a car pool morning for me, see the first “A” above.

A. You’ll finally, finally get to see your wannabe artist son’s art portfolio knowing it will make you smile, appreciating his ability even though the world wants to browbeat artists, guilting them into thinking that begging on a street corner spouting formulas and quadratic equations in Spanish will gain them more handouts than painting or playing a violin. Okay, so an electric guitar maybe?

B. I’ll finally get to maybe think about possibly considering looking in his backpack, hoping against hope that there are no apples in the bottom, left to ferment for weeks. But if there are apples, I’ll be reminded that sometimes apples do fall far from the tree, and that is fortunate.

Happy Last Day of School!

June 16, 2008
The effect of Paradise and marine layers on golf.

I think by now you know that I have a “maybe like – sorta meh” relationship with this palm-laden place I begrudgingly refer to as Paradise. I know that there are many cities I could live that pale in comparison are much more interesting, but my grousing is about more than the monotonous weather that draws people here.

It’s about mindset — as in the mindset of many long time residents and other self-elected expert representatives of the region as a whole. Somehow, as large as this city has become over the years, the only thing that ever seems to matter to visitors is the weather.

So why am I on this particular toot this morning?

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June 11, 2008
Best Buy: I’m their poster sucker.

Clearly I’ve uploaded a new version of WordPress and well…I have a mess to clean up now. At least I won’t be bored this weekend, huh?

There is simply nothing quite like waking up on a Friday, looking forward to actually eating something before 1pm and screaming at the latest supervisor on the phone with Best Buy. But I’m not going to bore you with the sordid details because I’ve recovered from my searing anger, am no longer shaking, and have managed to pull myself up knowing that sometimes, telling myself that I should have more patience simply does not work. I ran out, okay?

I opened a book my mother-in-law gave me a few years ago called Simple Abundance. It’s one of those hefty tomes that is somewhat of a day book with a page designated for each day of the year. January 11th’s entry for thought is entitled, “Is it Recession or Depression?” It begins with some words from Hellen Keller: “No pessimist ever discovered the secrets of the stars, or sailed to an uncharted land, or opened a new heaven to the human spirit.” The entry then proceeds to inform me that I must put thoughts of lack behind me, but to do that, I must change. I must make a fundamental change — but have to take a deep breath first. I have to learn to be an optimist.

Um.

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January 11, 2008
Silver linings and Butthole dragging dogs.

As Far As Today Has Gone…

What was annoying?

Getting up the second the alarm went off, getting ready for my first official day as a person who actually goes to work after a year (only part time) and is ten minutes late because of traffic. Three miles in twenty minutes is a problem. I am not someone who is ever late. Ever.

But what’s good about it?

Not getting pissed off about it. I got to work. All was well. And tomorrow, I’m taking another route.

What’s gross?

Realizing that the dark smudge and related four-foot streak across one of the only clean places left on the carpet this morning was caused by the dog who couldn’t take an extra minute to poop outside, so came upstairs, summarily parked her butt hole on the carpet, then proceeded to skooch forward using all four paws, removing whatever offending turdlett was hanging on for dear life. It worked. What a genius.

Where’s the proverbial silver lining?

Obviously not on the carpet. But the image of the dog dragging her butt hole is completely, side-splittingly HILARIOUS even though the spot remover didn’t quite remove the stain. The bottle lied. I’m an expert at lying carpet stain bottles. And in knowing that she doesn’t have worms or clogged anal glands.

What makes me want to rip my hair out?

After pulling off a B+ so close to an A in Algebra II during the first grading period this year, the RT has systematically worked to destroy his grade (okay, so it’s a B-) by not doing most of his homework because he doesn’t feel like it. He’s knows it’s more than strange that he’s engaged in this rather highly developed form of academic suicide, but hey! He’s good at just not thinking about it.
Why do I grit my teeth, grinning to bear the agony of this revelation instead of ripping his lovely brown eyes out of his skull?

He’s in more agony about it than I could ever be. Daily, he procrastinates, then doesn’t do the work and the routine begins again the next day. He must love the torture. Plus, he must love my rather lengthy and antagonizingly argumentative discussions about life and work and responsibility. And the concept of beginning to look for a job now that requires no degree and a cheap place to live while employed in said fashion. In San Diego, that would be a cardboard box.

And the bright side of this debacle is?

He gets this flat look about the eyes, like I have the calm audacity to suggest he will have to fend for himself in this world, and that he may not get it right. It lets me know I’ve gotten through. And then I get to tell him that he’d better figure it out because he only has about six years of math left to take in his life if he isn’t planning on the minimum wage job route. It doesn’t matter that he most likely will NEVER use any of the math he’s required to take, but you can all rest assured that at least with my kid, the good ol’ U S of A will have a chance to compete. You know. Mathematically. In the world.

Could someone tell Edwards for me please? He was sweating bricks over it during the minute or two I listened to the debate today on NPR.

Oh, and the RT completed his math while I wrote this, so clearly it’s not challenging.

Like I said. Torture.

December 5, 2007