Travel and leisure

Yesterday I applied for my passport because SD and I are going to Japan in April for his brother’s wedding.  I have been in denial that we are going in Japan because I don’t really want to go.  I know that sounds awful, and I would try to have a better attitude, but apparently I’m not finished being childish yet.

It really bothers me, because I like to think that I’m a reasonable person who doesn’t get upset about ridiculous things like going on an exotic vacation.  That’s like my step-mother complaining about her diamond earrings.  You want to slap me, don’t you?  I’d want to slap myself if I didn’t know it was me I’d be slapping.  I mean, if you put this scenario before me–”there’s this spoiled housewife whose husband is taking her to Japan in the spring, when the cherry blossoms are in bloom, and she doesn’t want to go because it’s ‘inconvenient’ and she doesn’t like Japanese food”–I’d say, “That person needs to be slapped.  Why does her poor husband put up with her?”  But that’s assuming you’d changed the names and everything, or I’d recognize myself for sure.

You don’t have to sell me on Japan, because I know several people who have been there and loved it, and I understand that it’s wonderful, blah blah blah blah blah, I don’t care.  The awesomeness of Japan is not the issue.  I accept the awesomeness of Japan in theory.  I’m sure that once I get there, I will have a rip-snortin’ good time and not be able to believe that I was ever reluctant to travel there.  Maybe I will even slap myself at that time.  I’m not ruling it out.  It’s just this:

1.  We were going to go to Paris.

2.  Or Ireland.

3.  We have to leave the kids with the babysitter for nine days, which I’m not opposed to in theory. I’d prefer to leave them with family, but that’s not a possibility under these circumstances (middle of the school year, family far away, aged grandparents).  I do trust our babysitter–she’s a responsible adult–but something about leaving her in charge of the kids for nine days is really not sitting well with me.  I’m afraid that the house will be in ruins when we get back and they will have eaten nothing but corn dogs and pizza for the last nine days and things will never go back to normal after that.  It’s irrational, I know, but it’s my fear.

4.  We’re going to miss Elvis’s birthday, which shouldn’t make me feel guilty, but it does.  I mean, I would feel more guilty about missing my brother-in-law’s wedding, but I didn’t say I was being mature or rational about this, did I?

5.  I don’t like Japanese food.  No offense to it, but the stuff that isn’t gross is boring.

6.  I’m really not much of a traveler in the first place, and even if we were going someplace that I’ve always wanted to go, I would be very nervous about going there.

So there it is.  Pretty weak, isn’t it?  Do you want to slap me yet?  I’m getting better.  After all, I applied for my passport.  I’m blogging about how immature and irrational I’m being, which is the first step toward recovery.  Any minute now I should start feeling good about the whole trip.  So don’t worry about me (not that you were).  And please don’t tell me how you’ve been to Japan and it’s wonderful and I’m going to have a terrific time because I really don’t need the hard sell on Japan.  I just need to be slapped.  Go ahead, cyber-slap me.*

*Unless you’re my husband, in which case you should a) not slap me and b) say nothing.

Stand up for your rights?

So the other day I saw this story about a 10-year-old in Arkansas who refuses to say the pledge of allegiance until everyone in this country has equal rights.  Or rather, I saw the headline of this story, but I didn’t read the actual story because I’d reached my eye-rolling quota for the day.  (Another 10-year-old has discovered that America isn’t perfect!  Alert the media!)  This morning, however, I heard a clip from a CNN interview with the kid and his dad, and it piqued my interest, so I decided to go back to the article and read it, assuming I could keep my eye-rolling under control.

So this 10-year-old kid, Will Phillips, decided he wasn’t going to say the pledge along with his fifth grade class, for the above stated reasons, and the substitute teacher tried to make him stand up for it, but he refused.  This went on for a few days, and the teacher kept getting more cross with Will and started saying that his parents and grandparents would want him to stand and say the pledge, until finally young Will couldn’t take it anymore and said to the teacher, “With all due respect, ma’am, you can jump off a bridge.”

Shall I be frank?  Historically I have had mixed feelings about the pledge of allegiance, even after I became a red-blooded right-winger.  It has nothing to do with the pledge itself, which is a lovely sentiment.  It’s an ideal, an aspirational statement.  I’ve always been a fan of America, even when I was a big sissified lefty, and I’m a fan of Old Glory and I even like “The Star-Spangled Banner,” so sue me.  It’s a free country, after all.  Anyway, no, I have no problems with the words in the pledge of allegiance, but the act of standing up and reciting a pledge to a flag has at times struck me as kind of…I don’t know…weird.  Just when you really stop and think about it.  Like when you say a certain word a lot, all of a sudden it starts to sound weird, like, “Why haven’t I noticed how weird this word is before?”  Okay, maybe it’s not a shared experience.  Whatever.  I don’t have strong feelings about it, but I’m sympathetic to people who don’t want to do it.

So, fine, don’t pledge allegiance to the flag if you don’t want to.  That’s not what stands out to me in this article.  What stands out to me is that the kid told his teacher to jump off a bridge–and that’s the point where sympathy and I parted ways.  I wasn’t there, so I can’t say for sure if the teacher was really being a suckhead, or if that was just the kid’s perception, but I’m willing to stipulate for the sake of argument that the teacher was being a suckhead.  It doesn’t matter.  I’m against children mouthing off to adults, period.  That’s unacceptable behavior, even if she was ticking you off.  It’s not to be done.

Like Hillary Clinton, I believe that it does take a village to raise a child.  My children are living proof that it takes a village.  If it weren’t for the village, we’d all be screwed.  That’s why my kids, as much as I like to nurture their independence and feistiness, are not allowed to sass the village.  They’re the kids, we’re the adults, and that’s all she wrote, amigos.  Believe me, I have tangoed with teachers and principals who treated my child unfairly, but we had our words behind the scenes.  The school functions in loco parentis, which doesn’t work if kids get the message that they can talk to the teachers the same way they talk to their peers.  I got annoyed with teachers when I felt that they’d provoked Princess Zurg to anger–they were awfully dense and inflexible at times–but my consistent message to PZ was that she was not allowed to disrespect the teachers.  Even when the teachers were being suckheads, if she’d been disrespectful (or, you know, punched them), she had to apologize and take the consequences because children have to respect their elders–that’s the rule.  I’m unreasonable and unmovable on this point.

I hope it’s obvious that if a teacher is physically abusing a student, using racial slurs, or engaging in other behavior meriting termination of employment, that’s another story.  I would really hate to have to write another paragraph on this.

So yeah, I was appalled that this kid’s parents would support him telling his teacher to jump off a bridge and get the media involved so the media can fawn all over him for being such a clever little guy (he’s so smart! he wants to fight injustice!) and on top of it have the chutzpah to demand an apology from the teacher for making their little boy angry.  Jeez louise, people.  Why don’t you just homeschool him and get back to the village when he’s ready to accept his Nobel Prize?

I’m not a fan of this family.

But that’s just me.  I admit it, I’m a reactionary SOB (insofar as it’s possible for a woman to be an SOB–there’s really not a female equivalent of this yet, such are the limitations of the English language).  I’m sure some of you have a different point of view and y’all will probably share it with me–what are friends for?–but as long as we’re sharing, let me talk about the other thing I was thinking.

When I was in high school, if I recall correctly, everyone was supposed to say the pledge of allegiance at the beginning of second period.  Most of the teachers I had didn’t bother with it.  I had one who did, and he made it clear from the beginning that no one had to say the pledge and no one had to place his or her hand over his or her heart, but everyone had to stand beside his or her desk (and be silent, if they weren’t saying the pledge).  The teacher, a former Marine, did not say the pledge himself and always had one of the class members lead it, but he did put his hand over his heart, so whatever that signified, I don’t know.  His requirement for us all to stand didn’t seem outrageous to me at the time, but I don’t know how a Jehovah’s Witness would feel about it.  We didn’t have any Jehovah’s Witnesses in our class, or if we did, they were all very rebellious because everyone stood for the pledge.  Not everyone said it, but everyone stood.  Maybe they felt silly doing otherwise after the teacher had been so reasonable about the other stuff, but regardless, that was how it was.

I understand that it makes more of a statement to remain sitting during the pledge of allegiance than to stand and just not say the pledge.  If you stand, people may not notice that you’re not saying the pledge, and your little protest will be for naught.  If you sit while everyone else is standing, people will notice and really understand how much you hate injustice.  I’m not a legal scholar, so I’m not pretending I can speak authoritatively on the subject (unless you’re a child, in which case, MY WORD IS LAW WITH YOU, SUCKA!), but it seems to me that it doesn’t violate anyone’s constitutional rights to require them to stand during the pledge of allegiance.  I say this because my there’s-no-such-thing-as-an-ex-Marine civics teacher was generally one of the most laid-back cats you’d ever meet, and I would hate to think he was inadvertently being some rights-trampling Nazi guy.  Also, because I really don’t see the rights-trampling.  All you have to do is stand.  If you’re a Jehovah’s Witness, I might make an exception, because that’s your religion and I’m not an expert on what constitutes idol worship, but for people who just don’t agree that our republic aspires to provide liberty and justice for all, I really think you can stand up and have your constitutional rights remain intact.  If you don’t want to stand because you want to make a statement, fine, don’t stand, make a statement–but I don’t have much respect for a person who wants to practice civil disobedience without any consequences.  I mean, if civil disobedience is consequence-free, it’s not really civil disobedience, is it?  It’s legal, so it doesn’t make a statement.  You may as well stand up.

Or, alternatively, you could bow.  That would really get the Man’s attention.

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Madhousewife is the Backtalk Czar for the Obama administration.

What is the news of the day?

I should be grocery shopping right now, but Girlfriend is entranced with a Muppet Babies video, and so what are you gonna do?

You know, I never watched the Muppet Babies as a kid.  I think it may have been a little after my time, but that’s neither here nor there.  I’m going to be straight with you all:  I really don’t like the Muppet Babies.  I can’t honestly say that I’m giving them a fair shake because have I ever in my life sat down and watched a full episode of the Muppet Babies?  No.  But why is that?

Because I really don’t like them.  They irritate me.  Also, I am troubled by the premise of Kermit, Fozzie, Miss Piggy, Rowlf and Scooter and everybody knowing each other as babies, because that’s clearly not the back story established in the original Muppet Movie.  Yes, I realize I’m not supposed to take the Muppet Movie that seriously.  I also know that Kermit and Miss Piggy didn’t really get married in The Muppets Take Manhattan or whatever it was.  It’s just that I prefer the grown-up muppets who met as grown-ups, and also Kermit’s baby voice makes me want to punch him in the face.

Also, it’s bad enough that they have all the muppets living together as babies in Barbara Billingsley’s nursery, but putting Statler and Waldorf in there as the kindly uncles or whoever was really just beyond the pale.  Also, I hate the theme song.  It’s possible that I’m dead inside, but guess what?  I don’t care.

You know, that was liberating.  I don’t think I’ve ever said it out loud before.

What else can I tell you?  Current events continue to disappoint.  I saw yesterday that Pres. Obama bowed to Emperor Akihito and now everybody’s embarrassed.  You know, I’m going to be straight with you again, kids, since that whole Muppet Babies thing felt really good for me.  I must say this story disturbed me, but not for the reason you’re probably thinking.  Surely you must know that I have bigger fish to fry with the President than whether or not he’s bowing to the emperor of Japan.  I mean, come on–Japan?  Japan is harmless.  No, what disturbs me is that Pres. Obama, for all his ideological flaws, has always struck me as a very smooth character, and I don’t really understand why he keeps doing stupid crap like this.  Honestly, I am not saying this to criticize the President because if I wanted to criticize him, I would talk about something substantive.  Also, I am not the type to kick a man while he’s down.  Not a man as nice as the President, anyway.  (Harry Reid I would probably kick.  But I don’t know.  I finally stopped kicking John Edwards, and I would never in a million years have predicted that.  So maybe I’d show mercy to Sen. Reid, too, who knows?  I’m getting off topic.)  No, I’m honestly just confused here.

And no, I don’t mean all snarky-confused like when he says stuff that is logically impossible.  I guess I’ve always thought that when you became President of the United States, it was like that montage in The Princess Diaries when Anne Hathaway learns how to pluck her eyebrows and how to wave from her royal carriage and which fork to use at a state dinner.  Aren’t there, like, advisers to tell you how to act in these various situations?  Or more specifically, people to tell you what NOT to do?  You know, “princesses don’t cross their legs,” “Presidents of the United States don’t bow to other world leaders”?  Where is Pres. Obama’s Hector Elizondo when he needs him (to tell him that you don’t give the British prime minister DVDs that won’t play on his DVD player and definitely not after you sent back the bust of Churchill, which he definitely would have stopped you from doing in the first place if he hadn’t been tangoing with Julie Andrews at the time)?

I’m not saying that Pres. Obama is like some constant embarrassment, or that he does more embarrassing things than other Presidents have done.  Surely not.  I mean, at least he hasn’t puked on anyone yet (unlike some Republicans we could mention…well, really only one).  No, I really just had higher expectations of him, in the smoothness department.  It’s not a scandal; it’s just…disappointing.  I’m not embarrassed for the country–seriously? we’re America, we’ll get over it–I’m embarrassed for him, as a fellow human being.  For someone who is definitely not a cowboy, he just doesn’t seem to be up on all his etiquette.  One can’t be expected to know everything all at once, of course, but that was my point about Hector Elizondo.  We all know our current president isn’t arrogant (unlike some, etc.) and that he isn’t too proud to take advice, so why isn’t someone taking Barack Obama under his or her wing and protecting him from these little missteps?

I’m a little concerned that someone on the inside might be trying to sabotage him.  Or maybe it’s not intentional.  I mean, I hope to hell he isn’t taking his cues from Vice-Pres. Biden, who, no offense to him, is kind of an idiot.  (And by “kind of,” I mean “very much.”)  But that seems unlikely.  Despite the fact that he chose Mr. Biden as his running mate, the President seems to know that the cat is a few tines short of a fork.  (I’m still a little puzzled by that whole strategy.  Is it some kind of Godfather thing–surround yourself with smart people and keep the morons even closer?  But I digress.)

Well, whatever.  I just hope this blows over soon and we can get back to talking about the issues that really matter.  ::::SNORE::::

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Madhousewife would tell you her current Czar position, but she doesn’t want to be blamed for anything embarrassing the Obama administration has done lately.

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EDIT:  Okay, I just watched this video of Richard Nixon bowing to Chairman Mao.  The bow comes at about the 1:24 mark.  Leaving aside the issue of whether or not it’s appropriate for an American president to bow to a foreign leader, and also the issue of whether or not it’s appropriate for anyone to shake Chairman Mao’s hand, let alone bow to him, I have to say that Pres. Nixon’s bow’s got nothing on Pres. Obama’s bow.  In fact, it looks downright awkward in comparison (but still friendly, which is what really disturbs me).  Pres. Obama clearly knows how to bow, whereas his predecessors just sort of faked it.  (Pres. Clinton, I understand, started to bow and then changed his mind halfway through and then later denied the whole thing, or something, but ho hum, whatever.)  I take back all my previous doubts about Barack Obama’s smoothness.  If I want someone bowed to, I’ll send Pres. Obama, by golly.  The rest are all pretenders.

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Madhousewife is the new Bowing Czar for the Obama administration.

Monday check-in

This morning Mister Bubby informed me that he needs a new coat.  He would like a green coat “with not a stupid hood.”  He has previously informed me that hoods make him look “like a jerk.”  He doesn’t want a red coat because red coats make you look “like a girl.”  (Eventually they fade and turn pink.)  “And blue coats are…creepy.”  Okay, then.

Today Girlfriend walked out the front door and said, “Oh, no, Mom–we need more leaves!  We need to get them out of our yard and back onto our green tree!”  I guess autumn is kind of freaking her out this year.

And what do you think happened this weekend?  Yesterday I substitute-taught Elvis’s Primary (children’s Sunday School) class.  Elvis was a little thrown off by me being his teacher for the day, but all he said was, “Where’s Dad?” and “I want snack.”  I didn’t know anyone’s name (except, you know, my own son’s); even though I recognized a couple of the kids, I couldn’t remember what they were called, for the life of me, or who their parents were.  So I asked everyone to tell me their name, but this one kid wouldn’t do it.  I asked if I could call him Steve.  He said he didn’t like that name.  I said, “That’s not my problem, Steve.”  Then one of the other kids betrayed him and told me his real name, so I just used that.

I didn’t hate teaching Primary yesterday.  This differentiates yesterday’s experience from all my previous experiences with teaching Primary, including the time I taught it for six months.  (Or was it four months?  It seemed like eight.  Anyway.)  I think the secret was low expectations.  I didn’t particularly prepare a lesson because my observation has been that there isn’t time but to get about sixteen words in between them telling you about their new puppy or their dead grandpas or how much they like Scooby Doo, and only three of those sixteen words will they actually hear, but they won’t remember them anyway, so whatever.

Yesterday they all asked for their snack first thing, which I also wasn’t particularly prepared for.  The teacher told me they usually started off with a snack, but for some reason I just sort of ignored that.  Ordinarily I am a big believer in plying kids with food just to get them to be quiet for a few minutes, so I think I just must have been in serious denial that I was actually teaching a Primary class.  Anyway, the lesson was supposed to be on fasting, and what better way to teach a bunch of six-year-olds about fasting than by denying them their snack?  Eh?  It was like Providence had a hand in my lack of foresight.

Except that I quickly realized that I really wasn’t going to get by without feeding them, so I rummaged in my church bag for any snacks left over from when I was shoveling food in my own kids’ mouths to keep them quiet during sacrament meeting.  I found some, too.  Fruit snacks.  Quality.  Everyone was impressed.

So they ate their fruit snacks.  I tried to talk a little about fasting and fast offerings, and we all discussed how old everyone was and how many dead grandpas we had (I won that game, as all my grandpas are dead), and then we took a walk around the church building and stopped in the kitchen for a drink of water and disturbed the class that was meeting in the room next door.  When we left the kitchen, we ran into the ward’s new scoutmaster in the hall, and he tried to convince the kids that their teacher was really cool and/or smart, but none of them believed him.  Then we went back to the classroom and did coloring sheets.  One boy painted everyone’s skin green, except for Jesus, whom he painted blue.  And that was my day teaching Primary.

This morning I am so sleepy I could cry.  I don’t remember what I dreamed last night, but apparently it wasn’t conducive to restfulness.  What will Monday bring?

Flat surface day

My husband decided that today we should clean off all the flat surfaces we’ve been letting stuff accumulate on for the last several months (*cough* years *cough*)–surfaces like bookcase shelves, tops of bookcases, tops of dressers, desks, etc.  So that is how we’ve spent our Saturday thusfar.

Several hours later, I must say that the flat surfaces on the bookcases, the dressers, and the desks look pretty freaking good.

The flat surfaces known as “beds” and “floors,” on the other hand–not so hot.

It’s Friday night–date night!

And guess what I’m doing?  I’m going to a party without my husband.

I was just listening to a talk show where they were talking about what you should talk about on a first date.  The host said he’s observed that most people talk about stuff like their favorite movies and foods and junk, and he thought that wasn’t very useful for getting to know a person and whether or not you were compatible because you don’t have to have the same taste in movies or food or whatever to have a good relationship with someone.  So why waste time on such trivialities instead of talking about deeper and more meaningful issues, which information will be more useful to determine the advisability of further dates?

That seemed reasonable enough to me.  But then I tried to remember what my husband and I talked about on our first date, and I couldn’t for the life of me recall what kinds of things we talked about, let alone what was said.  My husband might be able to remember more than I do.  He doesn’t remember much, but he does remember odd things that I don’t.

I do remember that we both admitted that we were nervous.  In fact, I may have said something about wanting to throw up, which I suspect is on the list of things NOT to talk about on a first date, but here I am thirteen years later, married to the dude I was going to throw up on, so what do the experts know?

We went to a movie, which is also another no-no for a first date because you don’t have the opportunity to talk to each other during a movie.  Unless you’re the type of rude person who does talk during movies.  See, it does afford you the opportunity to find out if the other person is a rude movie-talker, or perhaps you will discover that you’re both the type of person who likes to yell stuff at the movie screen.  Perhaps you will have your own Mystery Science Theater 3000 experience and bond over that.  So that just goes to show that going to the movies is not such a useless first date after all.  You should also probably go to a comedy, because if the person has an annoying laugh, you’ll want to find that out sooner than later.

Sugar Daddy and I did not go to a comedy…unless you consider an Al Pacino documentary about Shakespeare’s Richard III a comedy.  It does seem kind of ludicrous in retrospect.  Then afterward we went to Denny’s.  We must have talked at Denny’s.  I just don’t remember about what.  Then we had a snog on my front doorstep.  Yeah, I know.  Ew.  Well, it got me a second date, didn’t it?  (Not that I recommend this sort behavior to young ladies.  I’m just saying.)

Now that I think on it, I can’t remember us really talking about anything of substance until after we were engaged.  That doesn’t seem quite right, does it?

What we should have done was talk about what comic strip character we were and what person we would add to Mt. Rushmore and desired super powers.  Ice breakers, you know. But we were young and foolish then.  We’re old and foolish now.

What about you all?  What did/do you talk about on a first date?  What should people talk about on first dates?

The inevitable super powers questions

Today’s ice breaker question:

If you could be any superhero and have super powers, which one would you like to have and why?

I think I would choose invisibility because I enjoy hiding from people.  And by “people,” I’m talking about my children, because I’m already more or less invisible to the rest of the world, as I sort of blend into the woodwork everywhere I go.  The kids always find me, though.  Being invisible around the children would really help with the whole “hiding” thing.

But on second thought, if they couldn’t find me, they’d just start screaming for me.  I suppose in addition to being invisible, I’d need the superpower where you can’t hear anything.  Except I think that’s called “deafness.”  I don’t want to be deaf.  I just don’t want to hear my kids screaming.  Or anyone screaming.  Of course, I’d make a pretty poor superhero if I couldn’t hear anyone screaming.  Hmmm.  Must rethink these superpowers.

So if I’m going to be a superhero–I mean, that is the question:  “if you could be a superhero”–the sense of hearing will come in handy.  Unless I developed some sixth super-sense that informed me whenever someone was in need.  I think I wouldn’t even mind knowing when someone was in need of juice, as long as I couldn’t hear them screaming for it.  If I could just be aware of needs without hearing screaming, specifically–hearing laughter and music and babbling brooks is okay–that would work for me.

But now that I know there are people in need, I’m still going to need some super-skills to help them, aren’t I?  I’m not sure invisibility is really what I want in this case.  I should probably go with super-strength or super-speed or elasticity.  I’m thinking about Elastigirl now.  Elasticity is a very useful talent, especially for a mother.  I think it will bring me the most bang for the buck.  Assuming I’m paying for these powers and they’re not just some random gift from above.  Even if they are a gift, I could use that “bang for the buck” expression metaphorically.

Actually, I think my life and the lives of others would be infinitely more blessed if I just developed some regular old human powers, such as “patience” or “industry” or “perseverence” or “getting off the internet and doing something useful with one’s life.”

Oh, and pull-backs off the toe.  If I could do pull-backs off the toe, I’d be set.

 

Mt. Rushmore makeover

Today’s ice breaker question:

Mount Rushmore honors four U.S. presidents: Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, and Roosevelt.  If you could add any person to Mount Rushmore, who would you add and why?

Personally, I think I’d take Roosevelt down.  No offense to him, but he’s kind of funny looking.  I’ve always thought he added a “one of these things is not like the other” vibe.  Maybe I’d replace him with John Adams.  Not because he’s any better-looking, but where would the United States of America be without John Adams?  That’s right.  Also, when was the last time someone made a hit musical out of Teddy Roosevelt’s political career?  That’s what I’m talking about.

The question says I can add “any” person to Mt. Rushmore, but if I were to go with a non-president, I’d probably choose a woman because if I don’t, who will?  That’s right.  Maybe I’ll add four, so things are perfectly balanced.  Is there enough rock for that?

My top choices are Susan B. Anthony for women’s suffrage, Clara Barton for the Red Cross, Harriet Tubman for the Underground Railroad, and…Clare Booth Luce because she wrote good plays and also fought the Commies.

Needless to say, if I were going to going to add a comic strip character to Mt. Rushmore, I’d choose Snoopy.  He could lie on top of everyone’s heads like they were a doghouse.

Who’s on your short list for Mt. Rushmore?

If you were a comic strip character, who would you be and why?

I’ve decided that I’m going to try harder with this blog.  Why?  Because it’s easier than cleaning the house, which is the other thing I do poorly.  My problem of late has been that I just don’t know what to write about.  Current events are either a) depressing or b) need no further comment or c) both a and b.  Seriously, what can you say about Ft. Hood?  It’s tragic, and how, exactly, was it not prevented?  It’s not like the guy didn’t give folks plenty of warning that he was psychotic and/or evil.  I don’t get it.  Okay, you see what I mean.  That’s not very interesting, is it?  If you want to read about stuff like that, you’ll read the news, won’t you?

So what do you want to read about?  Answer:  Wait, what do I care?  I started this blog so I could write about whatever I felt like writing about, and if I don’t feel like writing about anything, maybe I should just stop writing.  But wait!  If I did that, I’d have to start cleaning the house and paying attention to the children.  Now you see why the blog must go on.  And yet, I still have nothing to write about.  So what do I do?  I decide to look up some ice breaker questions on the interwebs–because, you know, I’ve been here for five and a half years, but I still feel like you all don’t really know me that well.  Ha ha, that was a joke.  But seriously, this is all I’ve got, so I’m just going to go with it.

The ice breaker question of the day is this:  “If you were a comic strip character, who would you be and why?”

At first I read this as “If you could be a comic strip character, who would you be and why?” and I thought, “That’s easy.  I’d be Snoopy because he’s cool and he does whatever he wants.”  But the question isn’t about which comic strip character you’d like to be, but which comic strip character you are (metaphorically speaking).  That is a bit harder for me to answer because I like to think I’m a bit more complicated than a comic strip character.  Ha ha, that was another joke.  No, the reason it’s a harder question, of course, is that I don’t think I’m going to like the answer.  I mean, one thing’s for sure:  I’m NOT Snoopy.  Number one, I’m not cool.  Number two, I only try to do what I want sometimes and usually fail, and most of the time I don’t even try because I think I’m probably going to fail.  Say what you will about Snoopy’s moral deficits, but he is not plagued by similar concerns.

You probably think you know where I’m going with this.  You think I’m going to say I’m Charlie Brown, because Charlie Brown is a loser.  But Charlie Brown is an optimistic loser.  You’ve got to hand it to him.  He doesn’t have much in the way of self-confidence, but he still goes out there and does stuff.  He doesn’t give up hope, even though he knows he’s a loser.  Part of him, deep down inside, thinks that someday things are going to be different, that someday he’ll win.  He never learns, that Charlie Brown.  He’s kind of like me that way.  Crap. I really don’t want to be Charlie Brown.

You know who I wish I was?  Linus.  Linus is my favorite (of the human Peanuts characters).  Yeah, he walks around with a blanket and sucks his thumb, which I’m not saying I want to do, particularly (although it has a certain appeal, some days), but he’s really the moral anchor of the strip.  He’s the only one who knows what Christmas is all about, if you dig my meaning.  I admire Linus.  Even his faith in the Great Pumpkin is admirable, from my perspective.  Faith saves the intellectual from nihilism.  Yeah, it’s delusional, but it’s not dangerous-delusional.  (Aside from cheating Sally out of tricks or treats, which, if you think about it, was really her own fault.  You want to sit in the pumpkin patch with your boyfriend all night, at least be woman enough to own that choice.  I’d like to think I’m not like Sally.)

All this reminds me that I took a Facebook quiz that told me what Peanuts character I was, and you know what the result was?  Woodstock.  Which is really the best possible result because who is Woodstock?  What does he stand for?  Nobody knows.  He only speaks bird language.  And he looks exactly like all the other birds in the strip.  Which one is the real Woodstock?  Are they all Woodstock?  Was Woodstock cloned at some point?  I don’t know.  What I do know is that Woodstock is whatever you want him to be.  That’s what I’d like to be, too.

No, wait, it’s not.  But apparently it’s what I am because the Facebook quiz said so, and you know those quizzes are SCARILY ACCURATE.

And now it’s your turn, gentle readers.  Which comic strip character are you?  Which would you like to be?

Phoning it in

I found a spoon in my washing machine yesterday.  Yes, amigos, I am laundering the flatware now.  Impressed?

Today the kids have no school.  Elvis has been out of school since Wednesday because of parent-teacher conferences.  We had his conference yesterday.  Apparently he is doing well enough.  The teacher did mention that he has a penchant for inappropriate outbursts, including the phrase “Poop in a bucket!”  (Which, in case you’re wondering, the other 6- and 7-year-olds find hilarious.)

On Wednesday the kids have no school again because of Veterans Day.  I am wondering how Veterans Day observance has managed to survive all these years on November 11 without being relegated to a Monday or Friday to accommodate the insatiable American appetite for long weekends.  It must be right up there with Christmas and New Year’s.  Good for them!

This morning instead of sleeping in, I just stayed in bed pretending to sleep while Elvis demanded that I count all the days of the month of every month of the year on the 2009 calendar (plus four months in 2008).  This was very difficult to pull off.  I’m not saying I succeeded or anything.

I had a somewhat disheartening tap class on Wednesday.  Last week I was under the impression that I had finally mastered pull-backs (single, off the heel), which was awesome because I’ve only been trying to do them for the last three years with little to no success, and I had mostly decided that I was just too old to learn some tricks, but when I was finally doing them with consistency last Wednesday, it was like I wasn’t too old and a whole new world of tap-ability awesomeness was opening up to me.  Then I went to class this last Wednesday and darn it all to hell if pull-backs weren’t just as difficult as they always have been.  I did manage to do a couple of them (rather weak ones), so I suppose I just need to practice more.  (Exaggerated eye-roll with tongue hanging out.)  Where was I going with this?  Oh yeah.  I did find comfort in the fact that I can still do the type where you clip the toe and land on the opposite foot, but big deal, any trained monkey can do that.  (Mild eye roll, no tongue.)  My instructor also had us attempting to do double pull-backs and pull-backs off the toe, which ushered in a new era of suckitude for me.  I was quite relieved when she told us it was time to work on turns instead.  And I hate turns!  On the other hand, once the turns were over, I was able to enjoy the rest of the class.

See how awesome this blog is when I talk about the stuff that matters to me?  Tap dancing and monkey pull-backs?  Does it get better than this?  You’d better pray it does.

Actually, I have to go now because I’m expecting some friends to come over and I should probably pick some stuff up off the floor so the kids have more room to make a mess.  Or something.  I’m going to leave you with this gift of pure awesome that a friend gave me yesterday.

Enjoy the weekend, gentle readers.  Adieu.

P.S.  Girlfriend, having been unceremoniously awakened by her brother’s calendar shennanigans this morning, is now attempting to take a nap on the couch with her feet in a garbage can.  Yes, the garbage can is also on the couch.  No, there’s nothing in the garbage can besides Girlfriend’s feet.  What kind of people do you think we are?