kellementology

life according to me

Tag: Blogging

  • Begging for tips on how to stay focused…

    There are things I’d like to write about today, but can’t…

    1.) Mahmoud Ahmadinejad at Columbia: Wow.

    2.) Ruben Navarette of the San Diego Union-Tribune & Clarence Page of the Chicago Tribune on the Jena 6: Interesting subtle differences of opinion — or are they?

    3.) Bush’s comment on Hilary having the Democratic nomination wrapped up: Um, could he just not say anything, please? Ever?

    4.) The UAW strike: They’re kidding, right?

    5.) The public’s skewed perspective on public education: I’m getting ready to just let it rip. But not quite yet.

    6.) People who are resistant to change (newspaper vs. Internet): Yes, Dorothy, there are these things called computers. And yes, you can actually “read” whatever you want and more with your coffee in the morning just like you do with the paper. And no, they’re not going to make the sports section smaller.  Get over it.

    7.) The MoH and football season: Oh the hilarity of it all. Even if the Chargers suck.

    8.) Those little racing planes we saw Saturday on the bay: Unbelievable. What will they think of next?

    9.) Exercising at Oh-Dark-Thirty: When is the time change?

    10.) Brunch: food, champagne, and plenty o’ smack: How many people can talk all at once while changing the subject of discussion five times within a single minute?

    I know. You all work and are quite capable of writing as well. In fact, lots of you work, are raising young children AND write. Pat yourself on the back, smile and count yourself as special. Truly. In my next life, I will long to be just like you.

    But now, I’m just wondering how you manage to do both. Let me know, okay? Seriously. I’m already busted because I’ve written this much and I promised to not even read my e-mail. What a complete loser. Can someone please put me out of my unfocused misery?

    In the meantime, be very glad I didn’t bore you with most of what I wanted to write today since I’m full of piss and vinegar. Nothing pleasant would have come of it.

    Have a totally lovely day.

    Like, you know.

    Totally.

    And I’m waiting for your free tips on how to stay focused. 9:01 — gotta go.

  • A Day of Whimsey and Frolicking Cavortingness

    Today, my horror-scope read, “Something may be important without having to be serious. Today, the roles whimsy, mischief and laughter play can’t be under-estimated. Something wonderful comes out of all your clowning around.” Oh. My. Permission to be a bad girl.

    But laughter play? Is that a thing one does? What does it look like? *images of people too old to be engaged in this particular type of activity are conjured frolicking and cavorting in a woodland scene with ribbons and wearing their birthday suits* Bouguereau's Nymphs and Satyr Hey…I recognize those glutes!

    Whimsy and mischief indeed.

    Okay, twist my arm. I had already put on my rubber suit to tackle the RT’s bathroom since I put a serious dent in detoxifying it last week and could see that if I gave it another go today, I might actually come out ahead for the first time in months. The last time my middle son was here he quietly informed me that the RT must have gotten a bit wild with the toilet bowl cleaner because the lid was stained blue. I told him that, “No, I did that just to keep a safe distance” and still have a prayer of getting it clean without having to put a bomb in it. I reminded him of what his bathroom used to look like. End of ratting on his little brother.

    But I tell you, the possibility of whimsy instead of scrubbing the RT’s toilet? Now that’s a pretty tough decision. Moot at this point, however, as I could tell that he’d already given the porcelain bowl a swish or two. *Okay, so he’s actually figured out that there are tools one uses to clean things.* I’m detecting progress here.

    I will have to talk to him about leaving his toilet bowl scrubber next to his toothbrush on the counter, however…Don’t Do This At Home *Don rubber gloves and scrape all articles into black plastic bag…* It’s supposed to go ON the tube… *Hmmm…I know I’ve mentioned to him that the paper goes ON the roller a few thousand times…*

    What does one do when one practices whimsey? *Remove one’s pants with never a care as to where they land, or who finds them…*Does he put them there on purpose?

    I could eat bon-bons and watch old movies all day? How much different would that be on the whimsey meter than blogging? I could paint my toes blue or purple and the dog’s red. I could play hookey, but that’s what I do every day. If that isn’t whimsical I don’t know what is.

    With respect to mischief, I’d need to hire a tutor for that. I’ve never been very good at it. Well, there was that one time a few friends and I went into the surf one evening outside the Ritz Carlton sans some of our clothing. That wasn’t really mischief as much as it was group unwinding after a grueling period at work. And I would never have done it without the evil influence of my friends. I’m seriously out of mischief these days. I’m so boring and put out to pasture relaxed. Contentedly Chewing Cud

    As far as the “laughter play” is concerned, I think snarking is on the agenda this afternoon. So that would be more of a “snark-n-laugh” activity, with absolutely nothing playful about it at all. That has to count for something, doesn’t it? I’ve been called to an emergency get together with some very good friends who are celebrating the announcement of their boss’s premature exit. It seems he wasn’t up to the task expected of him and people had begun to question whether he was all he was purported to be. Pity.

    A Reason to Celebrate They’re heart-broken and will be suspending all clowning around out of respect for the dire situation.

  • Almost Wordless, but Not Quite?

     See updates below…

    I have to work today. All day. Yes. A-L-L. As in all.

    There’s no blogging. Warning Well, this doesn’t really count, right?

    Because I have a lot to do. Gentle Reminder

    Seriously. A. Lot. You know…tons.
    I have several iTunes playlists at my disposal…mac Screen so that should help. *Okay, who in hell purchased Chumbawamba?*

    But I’m going to wonder about that spider outside — right in front of the door at face level — whom I’ve named Clyde.

    Okay. So maybe not? Fat Head

    Update #1: Okay, so, like…I lasted until 11:54 (3.5 hours – not too bad, huh?) when a Liz Story piece came up on my iTunes play list and I decided to Google for sheet music — which I’ve never done. And whoa. There’s not only sheet music on line, but I can get it immediately with plastic money. And print it out. And play it. Do you have any idea HOW long it’s been since I purchased music? YEARS. Then I could park my caboose on that ol’ piano bench and actually play. OMG. There are distractions EVERYWHERE. And no, the time in my post above not correct, so don’t even think you can check up on me, Slick.

    Update #2:  It’s nearly 4pm and my eyeballs have fallen out and are rolling across the desk.  Edu-speak is pouring out of my fingers and making absolutely no sense…wait.  That sounds normal, doesn’t it?  Have….to….finish…

  • The anticipated day arrives…

    The Crack o’ Dawn It’s the end of yet another long month. And while many could be looking forward to a pay check, my head is in another place all together. Although I’ve never been one to turn away from what I’m due after a job well done, my payment takes a different form now.

    As the end of each month nears, my anticipation builds until the day arrives. Not just any day. The designated day. I have whiled away my time and have analyzed and questioned. I’ve mulled and had a bit of angst. I have done my duty by following the protocol. And after it all, I am still left to wait. Time is the one thing I don’t seem to be able to twist to my submission.

    At times, the days drag. The end of the month feels as if it couldn’t stretch any farther into the distance. But when the day arrives, like a child awaiting her birthday, I stay up until the wee hours of the night, or rise at the first light of dawn, creeping downstairs to quietly make my coffee, and then upstairs again to settle in.

    To finally check on the post that has already been written and saved — saved and designated to publish at the appropriate time just in case I happen to be asleep.

    I’ve waited to reveal the photos that have been planned and scrutinized, but kept under wraps.

    I’ve tested my patience to find that I would either bask in the glory of success, or plummet in flames of having tried and failed.

    And the day is finally here. The day that all 97 members of an uber secret virtual society can unveil the results of their latest challenge. Sounds scintillating, doesn’t it? Now you know where Dan Brown got the idea for The Da Vinci Code.
    At the end of each month in an amazing number of blogs around the Bloggosphere, the same recipe appears over and over again. You notice these blogs sport odd badges in their sidebars you never really paid attention to before, and you begin to wonder…who are these people? And was this planned? How….? They hail from France, from the Southern U.S., from Ireland, Canada, Sweden, and the UK. From SoCal and San Francisco, from Ohio and from South America. They’re everywhere, and they’re quite the amazing group of kitchen zealots.

    They’re the Daring Bakers. Daring Bakers Strike Again And I am one of them. Hoo-Zah!

    You do know that I have currently raised my arms to exhibit my biceps, don’t you? And I’m looking for someone with whom to bump chests in solidarity…or something like that.

    Okay, maybe just a high five?

    A wink?

    I love the anticipation of events. Anticipation is the best of everything as far as I’m concerned. And when this day arrives, with coffee in hand, I begin my visit to each of the Daring Bakers’ sites to read their posts, wallow in their despair, or cheer in celebration of a success. It’s rather amazing this business of belonging — this getting to know people you may never meet face to face. And to participate in an event each and every month with them as well.

    It’s amazing. Period.

    Yes, I’ve always loved to cook. And if you’ve been reading my blathering for the past five months, you’ve most likely learned that I’ve been at it since about the age of eight. As have many of the Daring Bakers. No, I haven’t been to culinary school. But some of the Daring Bakers have. And I’ve never worked in a restaurant. But some of those in the Daring Bakers have — in fact, their family has owned one. I’m most certainly not a professional pastry chef. But yes, there are professionals amongst the members of the Daring Bakers. How. Cool. Is. That?

    Some are just beyond talented, creative, persistent, and inquisitive. They’re all awesome.

    My days are often filled with thoughts of food instead of my makeup. I stare at glossy photos in magazines or cookbooks of marinara and walnut tarts instead of whether my abdomen is as concave as it once was. I wonder what a particular recipe might taste like instead of whether others are checking out my new jeans — or my glutes in my jeans. I spend my time questioning whether I’ve got quite enough cardamom for that apple cake, deciding whether to purchase green onions because the grocery store is out of leeks, and risking the purchase of those interesting looking little eggplants to try a recipe for something I’ve never liked. I can’t imagine doing without exceptional flavor, of not wanting a meal to be more than just eating. Of not being interested in any of it at all. What a loss for those who aren’t interested. I weep for them. And I’d offer to light one of those little candles in church to help them out of their misery, but consider it just a thought.

    I’m a hopeless foodie. A gonner plain and simple. I swoon over perfectly sauteed chantrelles with just the right amount of marsala in the cream sauce, and a boca negra with a hint of cayenne and a sweetened tomatillo sauce on the side. When I die and walk through the proverbial pearly gates, there better be a 60″ duel fuel 8-burner Wolf range at my disposal, or someone is going to pay.

    When I do my perpetual laps around the Bloggosphere, please know that as much as I love this particular piece of virtual heaven and all of you who so graciously help to make my days go by, only half of me is here. My heart lies in the land of plenty. Food Land. The land of the Daring Bakers. The land where you don’t have to think about Technorati ranking, or Google Page Rank. None of that matters. All that matters is that I belong. Well, if I constructively participate I belong. Otherwise, I might be gently invited to leave. And why not? Why would anyone belong to something they weren’t involved in….Hmmm?

    Take a walk through my challenges from past to present…and if you’ve never checked out my other blog, well…

    Unofficial First Challenge: Red Velvet Cake (If you eat it, will your mouth turn red?)

    Red Velvet Cake

    First Official Challenge: Gateau St. Honore (This complete disaster looks interesting, but don’t let the brick fool you. Have you ever made puff pastry by hand? You have? Whatever.)

    Gateau St. Honore

    Second Challenge: Honest to Goodness Real Bagels (Yes, they’re hand made. Completely. Not a Kitchen Aid dough hook in sight. Just my mom who is very good at telling me how to think.

    Real Homemade Bagels

    Third Challenge: Strawberry Mirror Cake (Have you ever even heard of this or seen one anywhere?)

    Strawberry Mirror Cake

    Current Challenge: Milk Chocolate & Caramel Tart (Go ahead and melt that sugar with nothing else in the pan and resist touching it until it melts. I dare you…)

    Milk Chocolate & Caramel Tart

    Yes, I prepare savory dishes as well nearly always on a nightly basis. And rarely does a month pass that we have the same meal more than once. Am I swaggering? No, merely confessing my very odd culinary proclivities. Life in my kitchen is just a grand experiment. It always has been and always will be. Realistically, what is the risk? Someone might not like something? Goodness. Life is too short to be worried about not liking something you’ve eaten. Excepting those individuals who have serious food allergies, I’m sad for those who are afraid of trying something new.

    What could happen?

    And consider the incredible sense of satisfaction that can be had by simply trying. Not just the tasting, but the cooking as well. And who cares if others don’t like it. It’s all an experiment. An amazing way to widen the boundaries you’ve set for yourself in life.

    Go ahead. Try the escargot.

    I have. But would Andy Beard…? Hmmm… I wonder… Just an experiment.

    And so have these wonderful people: the Daring Bakers. Not all of them may have posted their challenges today, but I’ve checked nearly all of them, so know that most have. Give ’em a round of applause. Keeping a food blog can be ass-kicking difficult work.

  • I owe, I owe, so off to work I go.

    Well, it’s happened. I actually have a responsibility that will take up quite a bit of my writing time. And I actually get paid to do it. Yes, it’s writing. No, it isn’t creative — well, not creative writing. The writing is for a project that is very creative, and extremely worthwhile.

    So much for languishing in Bloggsville whenever I want for as long as I wish.

    Now I have to figure out how I’m going to manage writing here, writing for submission, and writing for the project. Okay, reverse the order on that list, and that’s the frame of mind I need to be in.

    I know there are most likely people out there who can manage this — in fact, much more — and I would have been able to as well about this time last year. But I know myself. And when I jump off the treadmill, it’s quite difficult for me to jump back on while it’s running at a good clip.

    So schedule it is. Goodness knows I’m good at that. I scheduled every minute of every day for most of every year for nearly two decades. I still shudder with the horror of it all.

    Regardless, I will recommit to the habit of each night, doing my schedule for the next day. It’s a compromise, considering that my life was scheduled from a yearly, monthly, and weekly perspective before. I’m not breaking out my planner. Yet. But I may have to. Ugh. It gives me the heebie-jeebies.

    But I can’t neglect you. It would keep me awake at night, wondering about how you’re doing, and imagining what you thought about why I’d abandoned you.

    So don’t give up on me. Not just yet.

    It’s all for a good cause. I’ll tell you about it later…

    Time is money.

    Sigh.

    p.s. The woman across the street is speaking very loudly to her gardener about making the hole for her lemon tree deeper so the water can run into it. He has an accent and his English is very intelligible, but broken. She must think that if she yells her directives as if he is deaf, he will understand her better. And the man must be quite patient, tolerating such a client.  He’s already completed the task, and the woman is now praising him with the tone a Kindergarten teacher uses on a 5-year-old who has remembered to wash his hands after exiting the restroom. I’d pay money to know what he’s thinking about her right now. Who the hell came up with the idea of “ignorance is bliss?” Jeez.

    Okay, now I’m behind. Ugh.

  • Whining in the Men’s Room

    daily KOS A few days ago, our local paper ran Ellen Goodman’s piece on “The male-dominated blogosphere” where she spent three columns questioning why the “forceful, sometimes demagogic, message-monger organizing tool for the progressive end of the Democratic Party” has “chief messengers [who] are overwhelmingly men — white men, even angry white men.” Hmmm…sounds like nobody chose her for the kickball team.

    The piece continues on to point out that “the typical political blog reader is a 43-year-old man with an $80,000 family income. Is it any surprise that Hillary gets only 9 percent in most online-activist polls, while garnering more than 40 percent in traditional polls?” She’s approaching that high-pitched whine and it sounds like she’s gearing up to blame someone else for something that matters to her.

    Mention is made that “the blogosphere was supposed to be a place where gender didn’t matter and voice was all. So what happened?” Okay. She’s there. Wah-wah-wahhhhhh….

    She finishes by asking, “when will the members of these netroots look more like the nation?” Huh?

    There are so many comments I can make about this, I barely know where to start. So I’ll fudge by starting at the end. She’s kidding that she really expects the netroots (internet political activists) to look more like the nation, right?

    Take a look at some of the characteristics of netroots (for example, those who visit DailyKos.com) taken from a 2006 source:

    these internet users are perhaps more philosophical, financially savvy, and more engaged in online entertainment than the average internet user.Move People Up

    1. Let’s see. How does the routine go? You arrive at work with coffee in hand. You log in to your computer to check your email and your calendar for the day. Or, because you may have set your preferences to open to MSN or Yahoo, or any number of options that would allow you to personalize a homepage to include news, finance information and other snippets of information you’ve deemed important, you’re already “tuned in” for the day. And how long did that take?
    2. Now let’s compare. You don’t work in an office. You don’t have access to a computer that has internet access. Your boss most likely does, however. From the time you arrive at work, you are either in public, serving customers, or out and about taking care of whatever responsibilities your job expects of you. Yes, you may have already done the routine described above before you left for your shift. Maybe. But I doubt it. So perhaps you settle in during the evening after your shift. Hmmm…
    3. But what if you don’t have a computer. Or, what if you have a computer, but no internet access? What if your life is consumed with making ends meet and thinking about anything other than what goes on outside that singular goal, doesn’t matter? It’s too far away. Those people and what they’re campaigning for can’t possibly relate to you. In fact, you most likely don’t know who they are. Nor would you be able to recognize one of their names if questioned about it. Your world is as big as the block you live on.

    Door number 1, door number 2, or door number 3? Chances are, if you’re reading this, you are seriously not someone behind door number 3. Now that I’ve blathered on to this point, here’s the real issue that people like Ellen Goodman completely know and understand, and yet they continue to print their opinions as if they woke up one morning and everything in the country was brand new. Blink. Blink.

    The real issue is, what’s the ethnic, socio-economic break down of each individual in the scenarios I described above? There’s no way that number three involves any great number of whites. Sad, but true. Yes, there are areas of the country where it’s possible, but in what numbers? Remember that my rant is about Goodman’s question on internet political activists “looking” more like the nation.

    I’m fascinated to know what she believes our nation “looks” like, and the extent to which she knows anything real about the people and their lives after she gets past the “looks.”

    When you teach in public schools, you learn quite a bit about this country. I’ll try be completely objective, but will struggle with my sarcasm…You get to read and listen to all the crap that politicians and constituents, the media and supporters on one side or the other, throw back and forth. Spend some time in schools. No, not just an hour for a photo shoot, or for a visit that is prepared for. A real stay. Sit down and listen to the students, the teachers, the parents. No, I don’t mean interview them. I mean sit and immerse yourself in the day-to-day goings on. Listen. They are public schools. You are allowed to do this.
    You learn that a shocking number of families don’t have a place for their children to do homework or have basic supplies like paper and a pencil to work with. There are no books in the home. None. There is no newspaper that comes in the morning. There is no computer — and if there is one, chances are that a few video games are played on it, but that’s all. Discussion about current events concerning the economy, politics, or new legislation? Most likely not. Often, family members can be illiterate in their own language, so helping, discussing what is important to the country — sometimes, not their country — is most likely not going to happen.

    You also learn how many families sit down to eat a meal together. And if they do, whether it’s done without a television on that is tuned into anything but news. And what is news, anyway? Word of mouth information about the latest shooting a few streets over. Rumors of La Migra driving through the streets. Gossip about the new woman who has walked her children to school, and who acts like she’s too good for everyone else. About the man two houses down who is cheating on his wife. And the old man who urinates in the flowerless flowerbed right outside the office every single day in plain view of anyone who looks.

    Yes, I suppose that country could be set up with their own blogs so Goodman will feel better about the netroot being more diverse — more representative of the nation. So why not begin with those on the lowest rung of the economic ladder? Because what I’ve been describing is an economic issue. A societal issue. A generational issue. Poverty. It “looks” a bit different that most think it does. Take a look at the bios listed at Daily Kos. Look at the backgrounds, the experiences, the opportunities. Then think about it.

    Sure. You could probably find someone to fund a project like that. Maybe The National Endowment for the Humanities. I could make it work since there are humans somewhere in humanity, right? Or at least there are supposed to be. Because then, maybe, you’d have a chance of getting the lowest portion of the huddled masses to tune into what’s going on. To have a voice. To belong to a “growing power in politics.” The Netroot. But you’re going to have to get them desk jobs first. And if you can accomplish that, they’ll most likely feel much better about life in general, so may not have the number of complaints that others accustomed to their own rung on the ladder may have. That’s sure to piss everyone off. How dare they show up and like what I don’t like. What are they up to, anyway?

    Correct me if I’m wrong. Don’t people have to want to be involved to um…be involved? And is it just about being involved, or actually believing you are directly affected by what is going on, and that being involved could change your circumstances. You can lead a horse to water… It all depends on what flavor the drink is. And much of the time, if you get even the smallest taste, the experience is powerful enough to change lives. That gets people involved.

    Now, as for the gender side of this issue is concerned, women fit into the scenarios above just like men. Goodman discusses that with respect to the blogosphere, “half of all 96 million blogs are written by women.” But she also expresses concern that “what is touted as a fresh force for change looks an awful lot like a new-boy network.”

    So fine. We’ve all learned that men do talk. Well, of course they talk. They just like to “talk” with their computers. Women can do both. And regardless of the number of political blogs authored by men, women do read, do have opinions, and do vote. Do women want to be in the thick of a new-boy network any more than they’ve really wanted to be part of the old-boy network? A few will, just as they always have.

    And many will continue to rally around their own causes, raising public awareness on what matters to them, and to their families. But until someone figures out how to relieve an enormous number of women who have their own careers, and continuing primary responsibility for running their households and children, I’m thinking time for rolling up sleeves to dig into the arena of internet activisim isn’t going to happen any time soon.

    Lots did take time to get away and attend Blogher, though. Clearly, women bloggers do think and blog about politics. So maybe Ellen Goodman needs to get her head out of the Men’s Room and pay attention to what women are doing.

    Oh, and whining in print is even more unbecoming than in person.

  • Robosapien Spares Bloggers

    Over the past few months since I’ve developed an interest in blogging, I’ve begun to notice other’s reactions to the idea of blogging in general. Several weeks ago, someone mentioned to me that “blog” is one of the “most annoying words” connected with the Internet. I get it. The word is annoying, hence, bloggers are annoying. I’ve encountered a person here or there who will inquire at a get together,”What exactly is a ‘blog?’” hesitantly, trying to feign interest after they’ve learned that “blogging” is what I have been doing since leaving my job. The conversation goes like this…

    “Hey, how have you been?

    “Great, thanks. Good to see you,” I reply.

    “How is work going? What school are you at again?”

    “I don’t work any longer. I quit a few months ago.”

    “Is everything okay? What are you doing instead?” the person inquires because no one sane would give up their job for no reason.

    “I write quite a bit each day.”

    “Really. What do you write?”

    “Personal essays and other pieces. I’m just getting back into the habit of it after several years of not being able to find time the time. I’m really enjoying it.”

    “Oh,” blink, blink…

    Another person approaches us. “She has a blog. You know. On the Internet.”

    “Oh,” the first person repeats, and looks uncomfortable, like I might grab my wallet and throw a photo accordion of my 13 children at her. I’m tempted, but I wouldn’t do that to my kids even if I had 13.

    She and others are most likely thinking, how sad that she has come to this, wasting her time on the Internet all day. Doing nothing. One individual reacted to my writing, struggling to read what I’d written, and succumbed to muttering the words aloud as one might tackle a treatise on an Analysis of Glucose Cycles in Mammals Indigenous to the North American Piedmont and uttered in confusion, “What kind of writing….is…this? Exactly…?” I completely understoond her reaction and was sure it must be the very stylized syntax of sentences. like. this. Or, btw—wtf, yanno? Perhaps a Bwahahahahaha or a snort. Or two. Huh? = )

    Ahh, the frustration of one’s writing being in the hands of an audience it wasn’t intended for. Not exactly a novel dilemma, is it? I say this knowing that writers have always struggled with how their work is received. Anything that requires another’s interpretation is subject to the same risk. I do believe, however, that a person should have an idea about a piece of writing well before getting involved with it. But maybe that’s just me. I’ve lost the source, but I remember reading a particular author who believed his readers “write his books.” Said differently, any reader brings a massive amount of information, experience, and of course, at times, ignorance to a particular reading. With that, a book is understood in an infinite number of unique ways. That perspective either allows the reader to enjoy the book, or to question why it was even considered as something which might be enjoyed. Not everyone will appreciate every type of writing. I certainly don’t.

    I believe it is important to note that those of us who choose to write in this very public way, do so for a variety of reasons. I also believe that as much as it is enjoyable to have others read what I write, not everyone will appreciate all of it. Some may not like any of it. Is audience appreciation always the reason for our writing?

    I write because I want to. Because I need to. Because I can. Although my mother has kept personal journals for more than 25 years, to my knowledge, no one else in my family has been interested in writing. Just more proof that I must have fallen off the turnip truck. I can’t say that a teacher in my past had anything to do with motivating me to write because very few of them assigned writing — let alone taught the craft of writing. No, I was never even forced to write the venerable Five Paragraph Essay. Ahem. And we know how many of those are published annually.

    Most likely, reading has influenced my need to write, as well as a well-developed ability to observe and remember nearly everything I see. Each author has a new perspective, a different voice, a way of allowing me to see through their thoughts. With that information, words and stories of my own evolve. As much as I enjoy writing my thoughts and observations, that is all they are. The way I choose to write them is exactly that: a choice. One that I value.

    Yesterday while I was perusing others’ blogs, I came across one that featured a book review. The point of the review was clear: People like myself are amateurs. The business of writing is not something we are good at. In fact, people like myself are to blame for destroying the foundations of society, and card-carrying readers of “drivel” who will hardly be lining up “to read Shakespeare.” It was stated quite plainly that writers such as myself are only about “monkey business” and that all those who count themselves as “professionals” should work to find solutions allowing “those with talent to flourish.” I do have a suggestion: Write something others would enjoy reading. Fairly basic. Writing a few sentences about writer’s block doesn’t quite cut it, though.

    So let me get this straight. I’m a professional if I write about education because I was employed as an educator. But if I choose to write about my life, my observations, my opinions, my ideas—which all belong to me, are connected to me, and referenced with that which is relevant to said life, observations, opinions, and ideas—I’m an amateur? And I need to stop this “monkey business” so the “professionals” can get a word in edgewise? Interesting.

    I have to confess that reading the post, some of the comments, and comments made at amazon got the best of me. I haven’t been that worked up about anything for months. Embarrassing, actually when I consider all of the very important issues I should be worked up about. But I recognized what was causing my irritation. It all seemed so like the junior high students I had worked with for many years. Smug, egocentric, cliqueish. Very much a case of, “Hello? I’ve done the seat time required for the label I’m applying to myself, and while I’m at it, I’m going to pass judgment on you, on your admirers, and hell, our quickly disintegrating society in general because:

    1. Bloggers exist.
    2. Bloggers attract attention.
    3. The attention is distracting others from noticing those who are more deserving.
    4. Like me (The Professional).
    5. Society is falling apart because no one reads Shakespeare.
    6. Or gets in line to buy Shakespeare.
    7. Because they’re bloggers.
    8. Or readers of blogs.
    9. Bottom dwellers.
    10. Destroyers of the English Language.

    William Faulkner said,

    “Read, read, read. Read everything— trash, classics, good and bad, and see how they do it. Just like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and studies the masters. Read! You’ll absorb it. Then write.”

    Well said, Bill, even though I never really enjoyed reading your writing when I was in college. Mind you, I know you’re called one of our best writers, and that you were A Professional, but I just didn’t “get” your style. Maybe I was too young to truly understand considering the experience I approached your writing with—or lack thereof. Did you actually write Sanctuary for college sophomores? You’re in good company, because Will Shakespeare isn’t my cuppa tea either. Was he A Professional? If I remember correctly, he had some issues with written English. But who am I to bring that to anyone’s attention. I’m only an amateur.

    One who is contributing to the downfall of society one post at a time.

    What will become of us all? Will we drown in technobabble? I doubt it. We’ve continued to survive legalese and eduspeak. We are engaged in trying to survive Dub-Yah.

    But Monkey Business still abounds. Damn technology.

    Robosapien & Roboraptor Professional Smackdown

    Weak-Assed Whining Professional Gives Self Away

    Robosapien Smells a Snob

    In the End, Amateur Minions Lack Seasoning; Save Society

  • There’s No Vacationing in Bloggsville.

    This business of blogging during the summer is rather interesting. I have come to realize how much I expect certain individuals to just “be out there” and when they have the audacity to go on vacation? Well, it’s kinda quiet in Bloggsville. The kind of quiet that happens when you arrive at a friend’s front porch and knock on the door expecting them to be there, and then they’re not. But you’re still there under that porch light. The one with the golden glow that hasn’t stopped the moths from practicing their persistent dance around its perimeter. Standing there. Alone. Holding the tuna casserole you baked especially to share. *ewww* I’m thinking a few nights there were actually crickets chirping just loudly enough to punctuate those bloggers’ absence.

    Vacationing?

    You were vacationing? Is that allowed? I mean, come on.

    There’s no vacationing in Bloggsville.

    What? Your life matters, and you have a family? Whoa. Where’s your commitment to the cause? Your dedication? Your principles? Sheesh.

    And no, I wasn’t getting even by not writing since Friday. Technically, I wrote that wonkin’ meme on my other blog, so that counts. You know we have weekend-itis around here. We christened the opening of our local race track this past weekend by flopping down in our sand chairs, stretching out our legs, lazing in the overcast greyness of the day and slapping two dollar bets on the “grey horse,” “number 8,” “that good jockey,” or the “50/1” horse.

    Where the Turf Meets the Surf

    Okay, so those are the kind of bets I make. And I usually make the bet to place or show — rarely win. Why? It’s economical. More chances to actually win something. I think I cashed in on a whole $3.20 on one horse. Is that cool, or what? That’s like income to me about now. Let’s see — earn over 100% on an investment that pays out in less than two minutes while I’m sitting on my caboose. Not bad. Not bad at all. My husband does the whole numbers thing — of course. The Racing Form, past performance, adjustments in class, blah, blah, blah…I usually do as well as he does for all his analysis. It’s a numbers addiction. I’m telling you. Numbers…Mmmmmm…numberzzzzzzzzz.. On the way home, we were treated to a lovely sunset and a view of the hot air balloons that launch from Del Mar each evening. Wouldn’t that be something to do… Um… Honey?

    Balloons at Sunset

    If you add up all the weekends we’ve been making like tourists, it comes close to a vacation. It’s fairly easy to pretend to be on a vacation here, which is nice. We have successfully avoided the Zoo and Seaworld — which is about 10 minutes from our house — but I did see a gleam in my husband’s eye the other day when the Zoo came up, because they have “Nights at the Zoo.” Has anyone figured out all the animals are asleep? What do you look at for hoot’s sake? Owls?

    It looks like our turn for a real vacation is just around the corner. We weren’t sure we were going to make it, but it looks like we’ll be gone for about eight days with friends and their families. No hotels. No maids, no room service, and lake water as cold about as warm as the ocean in Paradise. All night poker games and trashy romance or crime novels. We’re chipping in on a Lake Tahoe rental near the beach (completely more cost effective to stay on the Left Coast). So we’ll be cooking up a storm, and making beds ourselves. Raiding the refrigerator in the night. Parading in “public” in our jammies. And swimming, and hiking, a possible sunset cruise on a catamaran, and horseback riding? Water skiing? Kayaks? Maybe. I’m sure there’s a casino visit or two on the agenda as well.  Fun will be had by all. Well, except maybe for my youngest whom we’re dragging along. We were hoping to bring along his cousin, but that didn’t work out. The doldrums of pseudo only-childness at the age of 15. We’ll keep him hopping and he’s a good sport, so all should be quite well.

    My older boys will hold down the fort while we’re away and put a dent in the food in the freezer and fridge. I’m sure I’ll have a wealth of hairballs and pet yack to scrape off the rug when we return. I think it’s the way the mules get even with us for leaving them.

    Of course, like the very responsible person that I am, I will try to keep you enthralled from afar. I’ll bet you just can’t wait. But if I can’t figure out how to do it, then I want you to remember those crickets chirping mournfully in the dark when you click up to my bloggstep and I’m not home.

    Just don’t throw your Swedish Meatball Delight at me.

  • No Palm Trees — Just Reality TV

    I know you are sick and tired of hearing about how seriously no whoop-tee-doo great it is to live in Paradise: endless days of grey blue skies and overcast sunny weather; squawking birds and lawn mowers waking me up and the crack of dawn palm trees rustling gently in the dank air warm breeze; and the cold and murky glistening blue Pacific at my doorstep whenever my friends drag me kicking and screaming I wish to go for a dip, or sit on the beach to completely wreck my skin relax.

    But isn’t it better than having me blather about Search Engine Optimization? Or monetizing my blog? (Yes, I know it says that at the end of my posts, but I didn’t put it there, and I’m seriously not going to try and take it off now that my blog is working fairly well) Or how to increase traffic to my blog? Who cares? W-H-O?

    It reminds me of someone who has heard that they can make great money if they open a restaurant. They don’t know how to cook, they aren’t especially great at creating ambience, they may not even enjoy food that much. But hell, they’re going to get people to think they want to eat there anyway. They’ll do absolutely anything to get people to think they need to eat there — even if there’s nothing to eat. Even if there isn’t a menu. At least with Hell’s Kitchen you get a show.

    Chef Gordon Ramsay

    Speaking of Hell’s Kitchen, we’ve been rotting our brains with quite a few summer TV shows I’ve been meaning to bring it up from time to time, but my self-indulgence always gets in the way. Although I’ve got my opinions on whether the shows are actually worth watching, one can get quite the education on the various ways the f-word can be used syntactically. That’s fairly entertaining coming from Gordon Ramsay. I like the way his mouth is scratched out when he’s ripping someone a new sphincter. Why bother watching? Because I don’t like the shopping channel? Or re-runs. Because we watch them together — en famille. *sigh* What a concept, huh? The RT isn’t tied to the sofa or anything, so occasionally he drifts upstairs with his iP-OD. Or the MoH will grab his laptop so he can look at Arctic Basket Weaving stats, or Hungarian Handball updates. Numbers, remember? He’s gotta see those numbers or he gets pretty cranky.

    I get the shows we watch mixed up. Not just the nights they’re on, but the people who are in the shows. Somehow, I thought Adrian who was recently booted off The Next Food Network Star was the chef from San Diego who’s really on Top Chef — Brian. And don’t get me started on the issue of why I am challenged to know exactly WHICH episode of Top Chef I should record from the 89 that are shown in one day. Gimmeabreak. Of the three cooking shows, at least it seems some of the individuals on Top Chef can actually cook — the real reason I like the shows. I keep hoping they’ll really show cooking. Stupid me. And I can tolerate most of the contestants — well except Hung who is completely and arrogantly obnoxious, reminding my of the less than tolerable Marcel, the runner up of last year’s competition. They have got to tell the contestants to act like this, right? They can’t possibly be that insufferable all on their own. And can he cook without putting foam on something? It truly looks like the remnants of my dog’s yack, and who would want that on their plate? Blech. What I’m not good at tolerating are this guy and this woman. They’re so wishy-washy with their comments. So…sanctimonious. But I love the fact that Anthony Bourdain did a guest blogger spot and agreed with me about Hung and Marcel. Smart man. Okay, so maybe he isn’t quite agreeing with me, but I wrote it before I read that he thought it, so, close. He also had some interesting advice that I found quite useful…A little humility; a willingness to accommodate what people are likely to enjoy and appreciate, instead of pursuing that which honors only his own perceived genius, would be a good adjustment.

    A man after my own heart. Ahem…revisit paragraph two above.

    Speaking of “perceived genius,” I’ve had some trouble with The Next Food Network Star show from the beginning. So why am I still watching it? Amy’s from San Diego, and I guess I’m rooting for the home team. Plus, she actually knows how to cook. What completely pisses me off is that it seems they’re not really interested in that. She uses vocabulary that it too challenging, or uses correct terminology for her equipment, or isn’t baring an ubsurd grin and dropping food down her cleavage. She refers to herself as “The Gourmet Next Door,” and I guess that won’t go over well with Wall Mart shoppers. As for the show, there’s too much drama, and we are continuously reminded that The Food Network is about food. Oh, okay. I forgot.

    Can TV execs get a serious clue that not everyone in the TV audience is stupid? Those of you who completely avoid TV — yes, I know you think the rest of us are stupid, and I was like you one upon a time — but you need to get over it, okay? I’m glad you think television is mindless drivel and I agree with you about 95% of the time. Now, what was I saying? Nothing important, I know…

    I know the execs conduct their perfunctory market analysis crap and that drives everything, but a TV show where a grin is worth more than knowledge or experience? Really? Oh. I forgot about news anchor folks. Yah. Shit then. Sign me right up. I’m there. I want to be one of those people on CNBC in the morning who talk about stocks, trading, and the economy. They look like they have fun arguing about all of it. I love it. And I could do a fairly great job of faking it. I’d just need to occasionally mention things like “leading market indicator,” “hedge fund,” European Market,” and “Consumer Index” or something like that. At least someone would fix my hair for me every day and pat makeup on my face. Okay. That rant is over. Back to reality TV. Are you still there?

    The show I actually enjoy is So You Think You Can Dance. Season One

    It takes skill to move your body like that. And your face. They have to learn their routines in five hours. Five. Okay, you might be able to convince me that making something edible from vending machine items is also very difficult, but save it, okay? Because I can make meals with crap I find in my refrigerator. But that’s a post for my food blog. When I watch this show, I think about how much our society does ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to encourage or support the arts in public school. If someone learns to paint, or dance, or sing, it usually isn’t because of the public school system. You’ll occasionally hear someone who has managed to gain some attention or a bit of fame thank a particular teacher for their support and influence, but that isn’t because of the public school system. No. It’s because of the passion and dedication of that particular teacher. That one person who spots a kid and just knows there’s something special about her — before someone else gets their claws on her and tells her success is all about getting into the corporate world — whether she wants to or not. Whether she’s good at it or not. Whether that world wants a kid who isn’t interested in, nor particularly inclined toward Technology, Science, or Math. I’m not going to say those areas of study aren’t important — they just aren’t important to everyone. Shoving a kid into a program full of Science and Math when he just wants to dance is like cramming a square peg in a round hole. It’s painful, and it doesn’t work. If you can actually pull it off, the individual suffers forever. Our schools do it every single day. Unfortunately, so do parents. Ah…rant number two?

    Fred Astaire & Ginger Rodgers

    I love to watch people dance. It makes me want to dance. To sway and move with the music. To have dancer’s legs and muscles — but maybe not their aches and pains. To leap and spin and wonder how it would feel to be tossed from another’s arms and land exactly as I should. Except the guy would need a hydraulic lift for me. And the strains of Tschaikowsky’s “Swan Lake” wouldn’t exactly work as I landed on the stage in a lump. I love the costumes, those high-heeled dancing shoes, and all that heaving and sweating they do. It’s so much more difficult than getting on a stage to sing.

    And it’s definitely more difficult than sitting at home on the couch watching people who can’t sing…well, not singing.

    But maybe not quite a difficult as reading to the bottom of this page today, right? I do appreciate you and promise to work on my humility.

  • Schmoozer, Schmoozetta & Schmoozerino

    Clouds 3Clouds 1Clouds 2

    Ahhh…the beauty of the skies we’ve been having here. It’s been such a break from the gloom and overcast skies we so often have. So lovely to be outside and wallow in the glory. Don’t you think? So I’m off to do that again today, but not until I take care of some very important business.

    My food blog, Sass & Veracity, has been recognized by a lovely person — The Mad Goat Lady. Don’t you just love that name?  I found her in Bloggsville one day with her post on Lucky Lucy that had us truly hooting over the hilarity of it all. I can’t imagine!

    The Schmooze award was begun by Mike of Ordinary Folk and Danielle of Pink Reviews to recognize people who have a positive influence on the blogging community by developing and nurturing relationships. You know — commenting on other’s blogs, joining in on and sustaining a “blogversation.” Yep. That. And of course, it’s my turn to pass this along. This is one of the easiest awards for me to nominate others for. It’s easy because they’re the ones who consistently respond to my posts, and to comments I make on their blogs. Oh faithful followers of my short hair science here at kellementology, and dutiful foodies at Sass & Veracity. You are what helps to make this so much fun. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you and the time you take to read and respond. Truly!

    I hereby annoint the following humans with the Power of Schmooze Blogging Community Involvement Award. Tah-Dahhhhhhh!

    Schmooze Award

    Lis at La Mia Cucina is a lovely human and cook blogger extraordinaire. And she’s completely hilarious. Lis cofounded a group called the Daring Bakers of which I am a part. Each month, one of the members puts out a baking challenge to the rest of us. We have a month to all cook the same recipe, then post our results on the same day. It’s a tremendous amount of fun with all of us checking each other’s posts and drooling over each other’s photos. The group now has more than 80? people in it. Is that right, Lis? Unbelievable. Talk about blog community? It’s incredible. Lis, you have an amazing presence in bloggsville. If you ask me, you are The Queen of the Schmooze and totally deserve this award. What size crown do you wear so I can get right on that?

    Phil at Thought Sparks is another person who looks out for others. He not only chimes in to my odd world of short hair science, he creates very thoughtful and useful posts for the rest of bloggsville. When I read Phil’s blog, it’s always a pleasant surprise to find some new kind of learning — and not just blog or computer info (which really comes in handy). His posts are kind, thoughtful, and always very refreshing. He’s always on the lookout to lend a helping hand. When you comment on his blog — he’s right there with a response. What a Classy Schmoozer!

    Going back to my cooking world I have to recognize a foodie who always take the time to let me know what she thinks of what I’m cooking — and it’s always supportive. Cheryl at Gruel Omelet. I enjoy her blog because she tells it like it is about what she’s cooking. It takes time to comment on a person’s blog, and I appreciate that she does that. And take a look at her archives. There’s some tasty stuff there if you have a sweet tooth — she’s sure to Schmooze you!

    Dave at Wandering the Ether is a great person who has very involved conversations with his readers. The comment section of his posts are even more involved that his posts at times. The ideas he puts forth, and the content of his writing is mind-boggling. He is actively involved in getting people to wake up and get involved themselves. But he also takes time to put up with my less than mind-boggling content. Pithy Schmoozer, that Dave.

    Meleah at Momma Mia Mea Culpa is a blogger who is everywhere! When I’m reading other’s blogs, I see her doing what she does so well — supporting other bloggers with her comments. She always takes time to comment — no matter how unworthy my content is at times. She’s funny, touching, edgy…but above all, someone who is a star in Bloggsville. She’s an electric Schmoozer!

    And I have Rockin’ Blogger Awards to hand out, too. And Creative Blogger Awards. But I’ll save that for now. Awards will be coming out people’s ears. And I’m pooped. Completely. I sucked it up and went for another ocean swim this morning. News at eleven.