Ugh. I think it is.
Monday, October 29, 2012
Friday, October 26, 2012
It was the first time we watched with Gareth, and I got to thinking: what a great way to teach kids about politics. I certainly don’t think comedy should be anyone’s only source of news, but it seems comedy could be a good vehicle for engaging youth. You usually have to know something about what’s going on to get the jokes, after all.
And it doesn't hurt that comedy can make even bad news entertaining.
60 second parody of Trump's offer
"Chaos on Bullshit Mountain" - from a month ago
and an unfortunate 10 minutes long, but still has me laughing
And good god, they have Rush Limbaugh. If you dare venture to listen to his red-faced, spittle-laden hate-speech for more than sixty seconds, it will surely leave you feeling that you need a shower. I don't begrudge Rush's right to say what he wishes, but I’d trade his world where hatred rules, for Bill Maher’s “New Rules” any day.
Bill concluding his argument that if we can't manage to tolerate offensive language in others,
we end up with "The Least Interesting Man in the World."
Romney: "Not only do I believe in drones, I am one."
Spoofing the first presidential debate
Everywhere I turn, someone’s making me laugh about an election that otherwise makes me want to cry. That has to be good for my health, right?
With our country so polarized, and our political commentary so full of vitriol, I am grateful that our family can rally together around laughter instead of hate.
And no, it is not lost on me that I just posted a bunch of videos full of crude jokes and profanity and claimed them as something my "family" can rally around. I guess that's the beauty of having a teenager!
Keep smiling! J
Friday, October 19, 2012
|this perfect (but inedible) pumpkin volunteered in my herb garden this year|
Fall is well upon us, and not a word from me. That just shows you the power of Mitt Romney to distract, because I love this time of year, and I haven’t been enjoying it nearly as much as I should.
Even though the election has distracted me from the more introspective aspects of the season, I have still been incredibly busy with the preparation that October requires. I have tomatoes, beans and fruit put up, herbs drying, and green stuff like broccoli, kale and collards moving weekly into my freezer.
|out of focus - i couldn't hold my camer still while standing on a chair!|
Then I forgot about it. Imagine my surprise when the order came in six weeks later. I opened my bucket of “wheat,” only to discover a surprise guest: a mountain of black beans, all shiny, new, and expectant.
Steve doesn’t know.
If you live in a small house, how do you hide 96 cups of black beans from your husband?
Other women hide new stuff like Jimmy Choo pumps or Prada handbags. Me? I don't really even know what those things are (I googled "fashionable shoes" to find cool names). I have 6 gallons of dried beans lurking in my laundry room and approximately 20 covert chickens stuffed into a “new” freezer we inherited from my parents.
It’s not that Steve doesn’t know that I store our food for winter. It’s just that I don’t tell him about the bill when it happens (if he was a more faithful reader I could worry about outing myself but…that’s not a problem!). It’s OK. The cost will work itself out later, in the minimal grocery bill we’ll enjoy all winter. For now, I plan to stay mum on the chickens and play oblivious to the beans.
Meanwhile, I need a break. I think I have food storage fatigue. I know I have election fatigue. And I'm missing the fall.
So tonight we went for a walk.
|steve and my block-headed |
but lovable dog named Maybe
|a bee showing up for "last call"|
Winter and summer can drag on. Too much snow gives us cabin fever; too much sun gives us heat stroke. The extremes wear us out, and by the end, we appeal for change. But not so with the in between. I mean, when was the last time you heard someone say they were tired of fall? Or sick of spring?
|a pink mum|
|summer marigolds still hanging on|
|decay is part of the beauty of fall|
Sunday, October 14, 2012
What Republican would risk his or her reputation by basing a policy decision on [gasp] science?! Well, as it turns out, not Paul Ryan. When it comes to abortion, he can't seem to see the woman for the bean.
If I can trouble you for one more click, you can read more about my thoughts on Ryan's "science" over at Opinionista today!
Thanks for checking it out!
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
A sure mark of this coming-of-age: Olivia's friends want to go to the mall for entertainment--truly the moment I have been dreading for the long length of her short life.
I do not like the mall.
But I have a fine line to walk here (and incidentally, I have really big feet. Steve likes to call them floppers. Is it easier or harder to walk a tightrope with floppers?)
On the one hand, I'm holding the line. No makeup and no cell phones. She does have short shorts and skinny jeans, but not because we bought them that way, rather, because she's grown so much in the last six months they've turned out that way.
So far, Olivia respects my decisions. I'd say she's disappointed (about the phone especially), but tolerant. I know this won't last, however, and when the day comes for her to push back, it won't help my case at all if she sees me as a cooky and clueless "hippie mom" who hasn't even heard of the store Pac Sun (When my sister, Laura, told me to shop there for Olivia's birthday, I said, "What's Pac Sun?" Laura has mothered 4 teenagers. She could only answer, "Lord help you.")
I need some mall savvy quick. Perhaps there's a map I could study? When Olivia says, "Let's go to Pac Sun!" I need to be able to answer, "Oh, no problem. That's just this way on the other side of
Except I hate the mall.
For one, the mall wastes so much energy. Energy on lights, climate control (they crank that AC in the summer!) even electric signs. Energy on the production, shipment and disposal of unnessary stuff: a foot massager we use once, another purse, or an expensive lamp made so cheaply it only lasts a year. Energy on packaging: packaging that we then carry around in a bag. Energy on the bag. Waste. Waste. Waste.
And don't get me started on the plastic at the mall. Oh the plastic!
And the chemicals. I'm pretty sure there's nothing Bath and Body Works can do for me that I couldn't do for myself with a box of baking soda, a bottle of vinegar, a few essential oils, and an herb garden (and perhaps a little help from my friend at Musings of Kitchen Witch). Why pay such a hefty price to waste all those plastic bottles and rub nonfood-grade substances into our precious and vulnerable skin?
Clearly, I'm not much fun to shop with. I rant; I mutter, and if you don't feed me regularly, I start to foam at the mouth--but don't even offer me anything from one of those chain restaurants with their centralized food distribution systems!
Nobody ever invites me to the mall.
Except now I have this daughter who thinks the mall is the coolest place ever. I've only taken her there once, to get her ears pierced years ago, but now that her friends have taken her, she's got the fever.
I still squirm about all that waste, but what I really need to worry about are the messages: messages about beauty, bodies, sex and self-worth. Feeling pressured to shop at the mall for Olivia's birthday, I ventured into Abercrombie with my mother and found myself beseiged by images of bare-chested young men. With shocks of hair hanging carelessly in their eyes and pouty mouths that begged for relief, I gathered they were verging on some kind of climax and turned to my mother with a surprised, "Oh!" One young gentleman had his pants unzipped so far, I just may have seen a pube. I considered getting out my reading glasses to check it out, but thought that might appear unseemly.
The really insidious thing about all this is the idea that if you buy stuff, you can be sexy too. This is how the mall turns shopping into entertainment. With the low lights and the thumping music, Abercrombie feels more like a club than a store. For admittance, just buy the overpriced clothing and carry it in a bag around the mall. Then you too can show a pube and climax while looking good in a cami, a scarf and a pair of low-cut skinny jeans.
I've been shielding Olivia from these messages as much as I can. But that strategy won't work anymore. As she confronts a consumer culture that tells her to look outward and buy stuff that makes her feel better, I have to teach her to look inward and find stuff that makes her be better.
To do that, I can't be a clueless hippie who sits home with my "fresh face" and my hairy legs rejecting everything that entices her.
No. To do that, I have to put my big floppers in some trendy shoes and go to the mall.