Sweetney

durable prom attire.

proof that there's more crazy people out there than you might think.

thoughts after watching the documentary film “DIG!” last night.

[for your ready reference]

1. the complexity of these people's psychological messed-up-ness deserves attention and extensive study by JAMA.

2. i knew far too many people like this in my 20s. seriously.

3. why is it so often the case that the assholes get all the charisma?

4. i have never heard a single complete song by either of these bands. and by the end of the film i still can't decide if that's a good or bad thing.

5. BJM may have some of the best album titles EVER: “Their Satanic Majesties' Second Request”; “Take It From the Man”; “Thank God For Mental Illness”...SHEER GENIUS.

6. you (yes, YOU) should see this.

a dispatch from deep within the training fortress of solitude.

this evening the dog trainer who has truman in his controlling grasp sent me the following pictures of him, “in case you forgot what he looks like.”

no, as a matter of fact, i haven't forgotten what he looks like. essentially, i am paying hundreds of dollars to train him because of his memorable physical appearance -- for were truman not so ridiculously cute we'd have stuffed him into the dumpster back out behind the dunkin donuts/baskin robbins franchise down on harford road by now.

(and before i get a deluge of hate email about that last line: yes, its A JOKE. NOW GO TAKE A VALIUM.)

the picture above astounds me: is that MY dog? sitting still, as though he were trained to “stay” on command?

NO. WAY.

what if truman has simply fallen in love with this ken dog trainer person? what if he returns all angry and filled with doggie vengeance because i took him away from HIS KEN?! what then???

you are right to fear me; i will never listen to you. my heart belongs to ken and ken alone.
now go away. you bore me.

ps: the more i look at that last picture, the more i think we should have named him brando, not truman. what were we thinking?!?

i'm a saint.

i washed WINDOWS today, people.

and, like, i did the thing where you make the window fold down like an oven door, and I WASHED THE OUTSIDE OF THEM, TOO.

where's my golden medallion? where's my etched crystal globe, inscribed with my name and the date?

no, seriously.

song of the week.

remember back in the day when these guys were supposed to save/transform the rock?

yep, they're baaaaaack...

edit: its suped-up, hipsterified moody blues! [/end epiphany]

doggie boot camp.

this morning i dropped truman off at a local dog trainer's home for some intensive, week-long in-house whipping-into-shape. it recently became clear to both jamie and i that, despite our best intentions and hopes to be all DIY and shit with the dog's training, neither one of us has the time to really get truman under control and trained... and i had this nightmare where i woke up two years from now and we had THE MOST PSYCHOTIC AND POORLY-ADJUSTED DOG EVER. in this dream, we kept him in a small, dank corner of the basement tied to an old rusty radiator, surrounded by the rended carcasses of disemboweled chew toys -- a kind of subterranean version of The Madwoman in the Attic. increasingly, this nightmare seemed like a real possible future. plus there's the piranha-like nipping and the knocking-down of toddlers like bowling pins to be considered (he's a small dog, but with a good running start his body transforms itself into a fuzzy, fawn-colored cannonball).

basically, our dog kicked our ass, so we're calling in the professionals.

we'll be paying several hundred dollars for this pleasure of course, but it will be worth it if he comes back even mildly under control. best-case scenario: his spirit will have been entirely broken, and he'll return transformed into something akin to a medium-sized tan suede handbag; easily transported, pliable, and soft to the touch. a girl can dream.

let this serve as a lesson to you: dogs -- but especially puppies -- are WORK. had i known exactly how much work, i doubt we would be in this position now, as i would've gone ahead and given in to jamie's desire for another kidlet BECAUSE A PUPPY IS EQUIVALENT TO THE WORK INVOLVED IN HAVING A CHILD. anyway, good thing we didn't opt for the procreation path; if i've learned anything through this experience it is that we are in no way ready to have yet another living thing to take care of -- presuming we don't want that living thing to devolve into psychosis and sociopathic behavior.

yeah, umm, thanks but no thanks. i'll pass.

blogtimore.

add yours here.

via the ee to the bmore.

slow on the uptake.

lately i've been having these weird experiences where i meet someone completely new (usually a cool parent, as i've been meeting a lot of those these days), and end up having a conversation with them wherein New Person innocently drops the name of someone i know into conversation, and i have no idea how they know that i know that person (did that make sense?).

example: i met this woman lisa through M_'s preschool who is totally rad (her son goes there as well; we were magnetically drawn to each other as the resident 'freak moms'). she invites me & jamie over for dinner. at dinner, something comes up about the tattoo museum and lisa off-handedly says to me: “oh yeah, kristen's ex used to work there.” kristen. okay, see, the weird thing is that i know *exactly* who she means because of the context (tattoo museum, ex-boyfriend), but the weirdness creeps in when i stop for three seconds and think: HOW THE HELL DOES SHE KNOW THAT I KNOW KRISTEN?!?! its not like i'd mentioned kristen or anything....

eerie, dude.

but of course all of you know precisely what i'm going to say next, and why these people know things about me and about who i know... because you are quicker than me, and because until recently i had no sense of scope regarding how many people read this stupid thing, or who exactly reads this stupid thing. but it turns out that apparently this stupid thing is getting read by a lot of people and i don't (or rather didn't) know it. and now, well, people know things. and what's funny is how they drop that knowledge casually into conversation, as though OF COURSE i should expect them to be reading my blog and for them to know all of this crap about me.

its a little unnerving, to be perfectly honest. and kind of awesome too, as its like giving people new to my life a primer on traceydom: get to know me in 50 posts or less!

i know, i know -- that's reductive.

actually, now that i think about it, if you read this, this and this you'd pretty much have the cliff notes version. such is my expansive depth and subtlety.

3 reasons why i bothered getting up this morning.

(despite the fact that i'm breaking out like a 14-year-old from stress.)

1. the letter i received yesterday, thanking us for RnR.

“Dear M_ and Tracey,
Thank you
Raina and Mom
I'm sorry about the drum” {note: our kid drum kit was kind of wrecked by the kids on saturday, but big whoop. cute tho.


2. when i walk out onto our porch it smells as though i just stepped into the wake of someone's freshly-sprayed perfume.


3. this morning she drew the letters G, I and J (badly, but recognizably).

rockheals update.

i recomposed myself back into functional-human-body-shape just to tell you about it.

M_ & R_ get their storytime on.

more pix of our morning taken by sonicage.

you would not believe the day i've had.

no, seriously.

[collapses into shapeless heap of flesh]

further desecration of my childhood memories.

tinged with pathos: the parade of unfortunate star wars costumes.

heh.

dooogle.

something regarding the apple's nearness to the tree.

aside: i was a little concerned about how M_ was going to react to saturday's rockfest magically materializing in her very own backyard, but i have to say that she genuinely took it all in stride, and clearly had a great time (it was more time with R_, who she is obviously completely in love with, and that fact alone doubtless helped quell any anxiety she may have felt).

[M_ and her beloved, pre-romp, chillin' by the keg:]

evidence? at one point during the proceedings M_ came up to me, and -- wholly unprompted -- simply said: “mommy, i like this.”

that's my girl.

headshrinking.

so i started therapy (again) this morning, and must say i'm amazed at how articulate i can be when i know i'm talking to someone who is analyzing every word that comes out of my mouth. this as opposed to standing before a backyard full of mildly tipsy parents and their kids, microphone in hand, mumbling a few awkward band introductions, as i was forced to do this weekend.

so, in essence, i may not be emcee material, but i'm a fabulously competent crazy person! goooooo me!!!

(okay, so i'm not really crazy... just broken in all the usual, boring ways most of us humans are to one degree or other. i went back and forth about whether i should mention this therapy thing or not here, and concluded that since i feel no shame about it -- and feel that no one who engages in such things should -- talking about it was the way to go.)

the rock that was.

many thanks to everyone.

pix courtesy of sonicage

song of the week.

the making up for lost time edition.

the new hottness.

now playing on the sdtk in my head: memories of detroit-motown-the-motor-city.... you may be dreaming, you may be bleeding, you may be in this box.

because i know i owe ya.

so, so wrong.

after the reaction to that last post, i can't think of anything humorous to type in this space about the following that won't offend and make people think i'm even more of an asshole than i really am (heh), and so i lamely say:

go here.

[cough]

ps: thanks, debbie.

dear childless people of baltimore.*

i know and love many of you -- you are among the niftiest people i have met in our fair city. i know and love your stylish and unsoiled clothing, your uncomfortable-but-fabulous shoes, your beautifully cut and coifed hair, and your subtly-applied make-up. i am, frankly, sweet on your encyclopedic knowledge of all the new underground/indie/punk releases, your thoughts on the latest “hot” band or obscure film, and your tales of last-minute getaways and debaucherous nighttime soirees that run long into the following morning. am i jealous of your freewheeling, devil-may-care lifestyle? in a word, yes. yes, i am. but you see, once i was you. and, having lived that life, i am, overall, quite happy to be in this other, different place.... a place of comfortable yet unfabulous clogs, where chapstick is the only “make-up” applied with any regularity. its quite alright -- i still have the pictures of my(FABULOUS!)self in my 20s to console me during those long, dark nights of the soul (see: when M_ refuses to go to sleep and instead screeches like the siren on a firetruck for THREE FREAKING HOURS). no no, please don't worry bout me, i'll get by... (sigh).

yet despite my warm feelings for you, childless people of baltimore, i need to tell you -- and this comes from a place of love, mind you -- to BACK THE HELL OFF. for, since the Q&A ran in our citypaper, i have heard tell that some of you are actually pissed off that you will not be able to attend rock-n-romp. [snort] and... hmm...how shall i put this? YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME.

you -- the beautiful, manicured, hep and in-the-know childless people of charm city -- you need to realize something: YOU OWN EVERYTHING. cool nightspots? check. rad clubs with live music? check. cool eateries with exotic cuisines and cloth napkins? check. the ability to -- on a moment's notice -- enter a bathroom and use the facilities without some small, troll-like person clawing their way in and demanding to sit on your lap while you pee? check. dudes, seriously, you have it all -- all the cool shit. so please, for the love of god, STOP WHINING about rock-n-romp.

we, the beaten-down, bedheaded, and generally frumpyish people with children of baltimore deserve this ONE COOL THING, and we deserve for you childless folk to be gracious about it and not fucking harsh our buzz with your xxxxtreme-energy-drink-fueled 'tudes. seriously, you have better things to do anyway. i mean, shouldn't you all be out getting liquored-up, smoking, and picking up strangers at clubs or something? don't you have some drugs you should be doing?

love,
sweetney
(aka rock-n-romp::baltimore den mutha)

*NOTE: this post is meant to be funny, so laff, dammit. because i think people sans kids getting pissed off about not being able to go to a wholly family/kid-oriented event is funny (just as me getting pissed off about people not thinking it appropriate for me to bring M_ to the ottobar for a friday night rock show would be funny). and, really, were it back in the pre-M_ day, i wouldn't have been caught dead at something like this. i was too busy ingesting mind-altering substances and doing other completely irresponsible things to and with my body. and if you don't have kids, that's how it should be, dammit! anyway, my point is: DEPLOY YOUR SENSE OF HUMOR-O-MATIC, please. danke. xoxo.

rain... why did it have to be rain?

(ala indiana jones)

yes, i'm FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.

if i have to reschedule this thing i'll cry. and then i'll jump on a plane to atlanta, catch a cab to the headquarters of The Weather Channel/weather.com, find their chief meteorologist, and punch him in the face. because they did this to me.

clearly sweetney is not an easygoing sort.

T-Minus 1 Day and counting.

now we just need for it to STOP RAINING, DAMMIT!

houston, we have a COMPLETE DORK.

i think this really nails just how rambling and multi-directional my thinking is... which in print comes off as RETARDED.

worst.spokesperson.ever.

on the plus side: could M_ be any cuter?

rockheals update.

including poems by me, because today is my day to embarrass myself ALL OVER THE WEB.

growing things.

quite changed since my earlier photos here.

cipher.

its been a rough week over at casa de sweetney, which cannot be elaborated upon in such a public space. suffice it to say that the well is poisoned, the sky is falling, and i'm not sleeping well at night as a result.

and so i bring you this here poem, which many of you aren't likely to read, but which nevertheless i have typed to make myself feel somehow, inexplicably, understood.

Out There Where the Morning
by Denis Johnson

out there where the morning
is, the automobiles and citizens
are clattering along just
like pieces of the universe. from

my place by the window i can
examine an airplane as it crawls
from speck to speck on the glass.
i know that it is with
the same arrogant mechanical

lust that the pipes of the kitchen sink
are dissolving. i am
ready to believe that everything else is,
too. for instance this
room i am sure is
atom by atom taking leave. but here in

the disappearing room i am not too
heavily alone. printed on the
label of this cookie can is
the one assurance:

each cookie contains a joke.

and i know that this is somehow good. i can
call my mother and say, mother
it is not what is true but what
is good that now matters. mother,
mother, even here in this tumbling
jar of selves,
each cookie contains a joke.

each of us offers himself up whole
to some nearly invisible,
tasteless affirmation.
such sensation as we derive is derived

only from the joke. mother,
i am this morning electric. i am spinning
into the staccato punch line,
the end and the crumbling. i will

hear the laughter as it breaks up
and dissolves farther out in space,
as it grinds and echoes against the metal.

the sun says: blogs are bad! run for your lives!

Blogland is a sprawl, fast encroaching on the fragile landscape of the finely wrought essay. While blogging has its place, it would be tragic if, 300 years from now, there were no essay from our era as powerful as Swift's for future generations to reflect upon and admire and instead just the diarist musings of writers whose most salient talent is their spontaneity.

could they sound any more alarmist and shrill? blogs may lead to the collapse of culture --- nay, civilization -- as we know it!!!

[grumble] christ i hate this reactionary elitist binaries crap.

mom jeans.

“i'm not a woman anymore -- i'm a mom.”

i promise you, no matter how old i get, i'm never going there.

three-five.

so today is officially The Day. after today, i'll be nudging my way closer to 40 with each passing nanosecond.

sympathies and condolences welcome (though according to the death clock, i've got until Sunday, October 5, 2042. hurrah.).

rockheals update

aye, matey.

canaries in the mineshaft.

this is the worst i've felt allergy-season-wise in recent memory. daily i suspect that my sinuses are gonna finally burst, and i feel all itchy/sneezy/watery-eyes-y/hacky-coughy pretty much 24-7. this despite taking prescription allergy medicine AND sudafed for good measure. anyway, today M_ -- who is clearly cursed with my pathetically weakened immune system -- has been crabilicious since waking; she must be suffering as well. and though my sympathies are with her, the constant whining has frankly begun to grate on the nerves. i often think that were we born in an earlier, less medically advanced age, my entire family would've been knocked off early in our lives by way of ridiculously trifling ailments like ear and sinus infections. without antibiotics, i doubt i would've lived to see teenagehood. and prior to that, i would've been the archetypal Brontean wan, sickly girl: forever clothed in my nightshift, shut up in a room somewhere for my own good, watching dust motes drift through the few shafts of sunlight filtering through shuttered windows. mother, may i have some more tea? i'm feel a bit faint...[swoons]

then again, had we lived in an earlier age -- perhaps one with a less chemically compromised and polluted atmosphere and ecosystem (see: prior to the combustion engine) -- maybe i'd have less of a problem fending off allergens and the like. in any case, as it stands now, i am one among many who are not anything close to approximating the fittest, and yet thankfully survive.

guest blogger. kinda.

my good pal angela posted something over at her blog that perfectly articulates for me how i felt/feel about DC:

You know it's all around you, but it's hard to point and say, “There.”

(conversely, for a brief -- and incredibly sappy -- overview of how i feel about baltimore, proceed.)

I am buried up to my neck in contradictory flies.

i have no idea how i feel about this new film by gus van sant.

some random catch-up stuff.

1. i spent most of my weekend (including about 75% of the daylight hours on mother's day) painting our front porch railing, which -- though it might sound like a simple thing to do -- is a total beeyatch. and yet for some reason or other i found it vaguely soothing and zen-like -- so nice to be focused on something concrete, physical -- to the exclusion of my brain's typical anxious jibber-jabber. anyway, my point is that i think i might have inhaled a little too much fumeage over the past several days, as i feel all i'm-a-gonna-hack-up-a-lung-esque. my chest feels as though it is filled with chunky-style phlegm (and yeah, i know the smoking probably isn't helping. shut up.). and it burns! BURNS!!!

2. i was interviewed this morning by mister bret mccabe over at the citypaper, and though he was funny and charming and it turns out we know a lot of the same people and blah blah blah, i was nervous as shit. i have no idea why. at a couple points i actually started having that why, i'm floating up to the ceiling feeling while i was speaking, which is of course utterly distracting, so i'd kind of lose my train of thought and just abruptly stop talking. he may or may not have noticed what a complete dork i am. please don't tell him, k? (ps: Q&A to run in next week's issue.)

3. damn you, hay fever. and the dander-producing mammal you rode in on.

4. and speaking of mammals: for mother's day jamie got me a copy of [the eye of the] tiger (aka “liger”). which just goes to show you that i'm not the only flaming geek in our household.

5. thanks to everyone who responded with suggestions and offers regarding my recent rock-n-romp debacle. thankfully i've been able to fill the slots for the first show, so *all systems are go.*

whew. that was close.
too close.

6. i just started reading the corner, and i can already tell its gonna be a massive timesuck. think M_ can take care of herself for the next few days while i get some good reading time in?

7. sorry for the listyness. i know you deserve better. forgive?

best. birthday cake. evah.

saturday night jamie duped me into going out for a birthday dinner that actually turned out to be a birthday dinner surprise party. it took me a while to get over the shock of that... but i was in no way prepared for the coup de grace -- my birthday cake:

yes, it was all edible. including the sword. [thanks to debbie for the pix, charm city cakes for THE ROCK]

and my apologies to the good folks at atomic books and to the adorably ass-kicking secret crush society -- i told ya'll earlier in the evening that i'd be back to the anniversary party later on, but then i had no idea what was in store for me (not like you were all, uhh, waiting around for me and shit, but i like to be a gal of my word). i mean, i was barely able to move for several hours due to my stupefaction. well, that and the drunkenness. anyway, i'm sure you understand.

[yes, we have a thing for pirates and all things piratey]

sith happens.

[sorry. i couldn't stop myself.]

i hope its true about stoppard having written revenge of the sith. the series deserves one last unembarrassing hurrah.

plus, i love me some rosencrantz & guildenstern. Audiences know what they expect and that is all they are prepared to believe in.

fraud.

i just finished writing up some responses to questions sent to me by someone over at the urbanite (a baltimore mag) for a piece on local bloggers. to give you a sense of the tone of my responses, here's a sampling:

Q: What are your trying to do with your blog? What’s your
blog’s philosophy?

A: if i have a goal (and i'm not sure that i do), it is simply to amuse and entertain myself and others. i make no claims about bettering people's lives, enlightening anyone, or bearing my soul so that others might benefit from my wisdom and experience. i'm basically here for no cause greater than imparting a few fleeting moments of interweb amusement to those seeking respite from the paralyzing morass of pathetic, hollow lies they refer to as their 'lives' (or 'jobs.' whatever.).

so yeah, it'll be interesting to see if anything i said gets printed.

this -- along with the recent attention to rock-n-romp -- have raised up some old demons for me; something akin to woody allen's “i'd never want to be in any club that would have me as a member”, but without the humor-value. i've always been plagued by this (irrational) sense that any attention given to me is somehow misplaced.... my dear friend christine calls this “the imposter syndrome,” the nagging feeling that you really aren't what people think you are -- that you've somehow managed to dupe everyone into thinking you're actually competent, smart, interesting, yada-yada -- and that soon you will be unmasked as the shameless fraud you really are. where the hell this comes from, i don't know, but obviously it has a lot to do with self-esteem and self-perception and all kinds of other self-help-book-type matters. all i know is that this has been with me for as long as i can remember -- when i won art awards, got stuff published, got neat-o jobs, achieved any recognition for my scholarship in grad school, and when i taught college -- at every turn, with every achievement and recognition, i could never fully enjoy what i had done for the crushing sense that i really didn't deserve it, and soon others would realize i didn't deserve it, too.

yeah, obviously i had a messed-up childhood. shut up.

in i-owe-you-all-a-follow-up news: have any of you seen that currently oft-running commercial on TV in which some dude is sitting at his kitchen table, calmly eating cereal, only to look up and find a nearby window literally covered by thousands of bugs (insert voice-over intoning menacingly “its termite swarm season...”)? when i saw it a few weeks ago i remember thinking how ludicrous advertising had become, as i thought the visual depiction of the “swarm” had to be a gross exaggeration. well, i think this no more.

my discovery of our little termite problem came about because i just happened to come home from dropping M_ off at preschool at the precise moment this 'swarming' happened (and apparently this is often the only visual evidence one has of a termite infestation... until walls in your home start collapsing and such). as i drove up to our house, i saw quite literally THOUSANDS of tiny winged insects emerging from the ground in a flower bed in front of our house. the air was so thick with them i hesitated to inhale, fearing i might infect my lungs with tiny icky buggy body parts [shiver]. not knowing what to do, i ran inside and grabbed a bottle of ant spray (close enough, right?), and attempted to use the spray-stream to plug up the gaping hell-hole from whence they came (and though the ant spray seemed to stun them a little, still they spewed forth). eventually i retreated to the indoors and frantically called in professionals to deal with this, as i was clearly out of my depth. it was all pretty horrifying and hitchcockian in feel (dude should've done the bugs).

unrelatedly: is it possible to just remove one's sinuses for the duration of spring? put em' in a little formaldehyde, let em' pickle a little until you need them later? just, you know, wonderin'...

rockheals update.

smells like chicken.

aside:

so i'm being interviewed next week by the baltimore city paper regarding rock-n-romp (they want to take a picture of me and everything! its like i'm famous! [snort]), and i'm trying to figure out how to conduct myself and phrase things without letting on that I NOW HAVE NO BANDS TO PLAY THE FIRST FRIGGIN SHOW.

i shall speak only of bands-in-the-abstract.... of the platonic band, as it were...

bah. this sucks.

ingredients.

recipe for my absence:

in a large mixing bowl (your skull will do), combine the following:

--a few thousand termites, gnawing their way through my yard, attempting to consume our lovely cedar tree, and rapidly making their way toward our home.

--$1500 to [in voice of daleks] exterM_te! exterM_te! (note: money was intended for my birthday party and a vacation. all gone, all gone.)

--two houseguests, and the attendant furious cleaning/prettifying.

--one remorseless email from a booking agent noting that the bands scheduled to play the first rock-n-romp in THREE FUCKING WEEKS won't be making it.

--a temperature drop of about 20 degrees today in less than 5 hours.

--gray skies, frowning at me... nothing but gray skies do i see.

mix well. the salt from your tears will add an extra-special pinch of flavor.

set oven to 400 degrees. leave the kitchen and walk out of your house, leaving the front door wide open.

keep walking.

today's epiphany.

Harold & Kumar go to White Castle + Garden State = me.

That is all. Further transmissions shortly.