This is what happens

escape hoi polloi
stay at home and yet stay smart
failed experiment

In a misguided effort to become more pretentious and possibly better
read, I got a subscription to Harper’s magazine. I just tried to read
some of it, and damn. Translated Nazi discussions from a prison camp, a
possibly non-fiction dialogue written in the 1940s about a stillbirth
(and other terrible, hush-hush things happening at the hands of questionable nuns), a story about a town with a full sewer system ("full" as in overflowing gunk into people’s backyards, requiring everyone to
have a septic system even though they live in the town-proper), and on and on.

Do people think writing has to be staggeringly depressing to be
edifying? Even the funny David Foster Wallace excerpt was about
a creepy baby repeatedly described as "fierce-looking."

Am I smarter now? More pretentious? Does the postman think highly of me as he delivers my Harpers? Will my friends be impressed if they see a copy of the magazine scattered across my floor? "Oh, your baby destroys Harpers… mine just demolishes Real Simple."

I’m going to guess the answer to the above questions is an emphatic No.

I’m also going to guess that I’ll be sticking to my Entertainment Weekly from now on.

Hoi Polloi unite!

a vacation away from everything

Need to get away?
I have just the spot for you
bring suntan lotion

I’m going to recruit my friends to chip in, so we can cordon off an entire state-sized area just for ourselves. A private retreat for stressed out mamas. 

We better act fast, though, while land is still cheap.


This is an open letter to the person (you know who you are) who has gotten me hooked on watching QVC:

I will get you.

It will be when you least expect it.

I will pop your Quacker Factory cherry with a handsome sweater set. Or I will get your kids hooked on pretzel-wrapped hot dogs. Maybe I’ll use a multi-faceted nut wrench in some nefarious way. Don’t even get me started on the animal print tweezers.

All I’m saying is that you better watch your back. I have nine seasons of the X-Files just looking, looking for a new convert. Especially the episode with Burt Reynolds.

You think Chuck Woolery slinging socks is bad? Just wait until you’re knee deep in alien-human hybrid mythology and you call me crying about what’s going to happen now that the X-Files have been shut down.

Just wait.

quack, quack,

any filmmakers out there?

showing your worst side
it’s time for road rage rehab
challenge the devil

OK all you filmmakers out there, I have something for you. All I want in return is a "story by" credit, 5% of all merchandise, and a link to your finished product on youtube.

Here’s what you need to do:

Find a bunch of people and line them up, single-file. Maybe they’re in line for coffee. Or maybe they’re in line for the bathroom. Suddenly, a guy runs up from out of nowhere. He chooses a random place at the front of the line and squeezes himself in. The girl behind him is, understandably, all, "Dude? What the hell?" The guy turns around, his face wild. He flips her off with both hands and screams "FUCK YOU, BITCH!"

The screen goes black. Simple white letters form: "Thank goodness we don’t buy coffee like we drive." Alternately, it can be all women in line, or all men in line and the statement can read "Thank goodness we don’t pee like we drive."

Use your creativity, filmmakers, to create other, similar scenes. Take people out of their cars, but continue to direct them to do the dumbass things they do when driving. Have a young man run up behind a slow-walking grandma with a cane. Have him get right up on her heels, stepping on her feet, breathing down her neck, dodging his head from one side of her to another. Have him yell, "COME ON, GRANDMA! GET YOUR ASS IN GEAR!"

Maybe if people can see how rude their actions are in a different context they’ll try to be nicer when they drive. Or not. At least the rest of us will have something to shake our heads at. A rueful laugh can be fun sometimes.

dinosaurs are cool

big teeth, scales, feathers
not just Halloween costume
or picture of Cher

Hey, so it turns out Newt Gingrich is a big paleontology nerd. I’m really bummed I didn’t know about his talk in Austin yesterday. I would have totally tried to sneak in (which would have been incredibly stealthy as I lugged a chattering 15-month-old, her bag of necessary crap, a sippy cup that would have been repeatedly thrown at people, and possibly a smelly stroller into the conference room. No one would have ever guessed I didn’t belong).

I never really thought I’d have anything in common with Newt, other than the fact that we both know people in Marietta, Georgia. But we’re both geeks for bones, so there you go.

I’ve always thought that when I retire I will split my time between being a volunteer lactation consultant and a person who takes those extended working vacations as an amateur paleontologist (or archaeologist). I can write books while I’m on airplanes and/or while I’m waiting for babies to learn the proper way to latch. I have it all planned out.

Except for the part where I have something in common with Newt. Whod’ve thunk it?

Hello, evening

I’m on the sofa, listening to the Foo Fighters (or as we like to call them, The Footers), waiting for the wee-er one to fall asleep. The wee one is in the shower with his daddy, fighting off a 102 degree temp.

It’s a quiet moment for me, at the end of a kind of crazy day. The day could have certainly been worse, but it’s nice to sit here. Initially, i thought I’d do some writing… finally finish up The Book That Will Never Stop Sucking. But I don’t want to have to use my brain. Just some mindless writing sounds like fun, and so, thank you Blog.

Just a little while ago I administered some Tylenol to the wee one, and his hand shook as he took the measuring spoon from me. His pale face, his burning cheek, that shaky hand… it made me teary. He was so full of energy this afternoon and then BAM, he fell asleep at 4, woke up at 5 with a burning temp, and all that energy was just sucked right out of him.

We’re so lucky that he isn’t a sickly kid. I can count on one hand the number of times he’s truly been sick enough to not want to leave the couch or his bed. So the fact that he turned down Jello and curled up on my lap when I sat next to him on the sofa tells me he’s feeling pretty darn shitty right now. Poor guy.

Anybody watch Farscape? You know how Zhaan can channel the pain of another living being, to help them survive? I wish I could do the Zhaan thing – put my hand on his fiery forehead and suck that shitty feeling right out of him. Even if I have to be a bald, blue alien to do it.

I guess now we wait. We see how he does tonight and how he feels in the morning. I say a little prayer that the rest of us somehow miraculously avoid falling ill. I have a cookie. I go to bed.