Sweetney

Give Us This Day Our Daily Dead

McSweeney's LISTS section never ceases to amuse:

Compare/contrast: Horror Movie Titles on a Three-Letter Budget (and Subsequent Blurbs) with Biblical Horror Movies.

See also: this, this, and this.

It is a cherished dream of mine to have a list of my very own on McSweeney's. No, really. I am a small person, with small dreams. Suggestions for titles/topics?* COME ON! WE CAN DO THIS, PEOPLE.

PS: EEEK!

PPS: Okay, I'll start us off (lamers!)! Title: Most Common Thoughts Of Heiress/Singer/Unwitting Porn Star Paris Hilton Just Before Falling Off To Sleep At Night. Now you! Go forth and multiply (with titles of your own design, or list items for the above)!

I don't feel like dancing, no sir, no dancing today

After years of soul-searching and introspection, I think I have finally found myself. And, oddly enough, it would seem that I am in fact an incredibly flamboyant gay man from the mid to late 1970s. Who knew?

And if loving that song is wrong, well people, I simply don't care to be right.

Four

Four years ago today, while in excruciating, mind-numbing pain that I couldn't have even conceived of beforehand, I pushed a small living human out of my body named M_. This photo was taken about five seconds after the moment she emerged:

That image says more than I could possibly articulate in words, as there really are no words adequate to describe what its like to in one moment be a couple and in the next be a family. And while I wish I had access to language that didn't sound trite or cliched to summarize all that her presence in our life has brought to us over these four years, I honestly feel useless before the enormity of that task. She is quite simply my world, my life, my greatest joy and finest accomplishment. That I created her, in all her sweetness and beauty, still leaves me breathless and astonished.

I know I'm not the best mother in the world. Hell, I'm probably not the best mother in my neighborhood. But despite my foibles and inadequacies, I know for certain that my love for this little person is the best love I'm capable of -- that, I think, anyone is capable of. She has grown my heart, and every day I try to be a better human for her. Because, when I grow up, I want more than anything to be the mommy she deserves.

Happy birthday, little sweetney.

Nifty Doo-Hickey

I have no idea what any of this means, but this graph of sweetney.com sure is puuurty:

Who knew I was so, well, clustery?

Go here to create your own website graph.

Last To Bloom

Have a good long look, because this is it until spring comes next year:

Le sigh.

Shameless Self-Promotion Part 3,285

My people,

This is my second letter to you today. Do you think I'm getting, well, a touch stalkery?

Wait. Don't answer that.

But say, do a friend a favor and go over to yon SXSW panel picker and pick the hell out of the panel under the category Blogging entitled “Parent Bloggers 2.0: Diaper Diarists or the New Blogebrities?”* (and you have to admit, that title has a certain ring to it -- as though it should be set to music, yes?). Tis yours truly, plus Marrit, plus some chick named Amalah-something-or-other -- perhaps you've heard of her, hmmm?

Umm, yeah.

So if you would be so kind as to just for a moment overlook the prominent use of the word Monetized within that panel description and go ahead and do us the honor and privilege of being the blessed recipients of your vote, I for one would be eternally grateful. Or grateful for at least the next 6-12 months. Give or take. Several months.

Your most humble and obedient servant,
xo sweetney

Time Management For Dummies

Dear Sweetney Braintrust,

I know a lot of you, like me, are constantly struggling with time management, having multiple projects going and fingers in many pies (fingers in pies... why does that sound dirty to me all of a sudden?). Anyway, I was just reading this wikipedia entry on 'time boxing', and was thinking I may have to start doing something similar soon, and with a vengeance, before my brain and/or life and/or blog(s) implodes.

Which brings me to: do any of you follow any methods you find particularly effective in managing your time? I'm completely hopeless with any system too elaborate to be summarized in three sentences or less -- which is why GTD sort of leaves me cold -- but I'm open to all ideas and suggestions.

Frantically pressing The Panic Button all day, every day,
xo sweetney

Failure To Bounce

I've never been a person who performs well under pressure. I used to tell myself that I was -- that when push came to shove and shove escalated to assault I rose to the occasion and dug deep, pulling out shining pearl-like nuggets of greatness that I didn't even know I was capable of until under duress. This delusion comes mainly from my time in Grad School, when I'd invariably wait until the 11th hour to write the mammoth end-of-term papers required of me, frequently pulling double all-nighters, writing until the words crumbled into incoherence on the screen before my eyes. Yet somehow I did well, despite myself, and this buoyed my sense that stress was my friend, and that I was somehow at my best when the going got tough.

Lies! LIES!

links for 2006-09-25

• Top 10 Web 2.0 Losers » Wisdump
  Vewy interwesting.
  (tags: internet lists web)
• http://allsimps.com | All The Simpsons you need
  Links to every episode of every season of The Simpsons to view online.
  (tags: animation video)
• burning man 2006 - photos by patrick roddie
  A nice gallery of photos from the event.
  (tags: photography)
• The Flash Animation 10
  A nice little review of some very influential shorts.
  (tags: animation web)
• The Internet Address Book
  I can't decide if this is a great idea or a terrifying one.
  (tags: society services reference)
• YouTube - Tickle Me Elmo X TMX Elmo
  I honestly find this a little disturbing.
  (tags: elmo)

Bag Lady In Training

Proof that, for better or worse, she has her mother's taste:

I'll have you know that she picked this coat out herself. I'm tempted to start calling her Little Edie.

PS: Edited to add linky-love: this is good. And so is this.

Running The Gauntlet: Preschooler Birthday Party Edition

It is done.

And it kind of sucked. And kind of ruled. The requisite number of children got hurt and cried. I'm frankly just glad its over with.

And I'm indescribably exhausted.

All Tomorrow's (And Last Weekend's) Parties

I'm in the midst of preparing for M_'s big 4th Birthday Extravaganza, which drops tomorrow, and so I'm feeling a bit scattered. Scattered meaning overwhelmed to the point of paralysis by the 1 billion things I have to do by lunchtime tomorrow. How is it that a freaking 4-year-old's birthday party requires this much work and effort? I swear to christ, throwing down at goddamn Chuck E. Cheese's is looking better and better.

But enough about my inability to cope with even the most pedestrian and commonplace of parental tasks. Let us instead feed my desire for escapism at this juncture and review some of last weekend's comings and goings, which fell by the wayside as I was distracted by my valiant battle with The Pestilence this week.

Expect More Of The Same Between Now And Her 4th Birthday Next Week

M_'s rendition of our family. I think I'm the
supposed to be the huge blonde-haired blob
in the center. Which, really, is pretty spot-on.

And have I mentioned that SHE'S WRITING NOW?
All of a sudden. Or so it seems. [weeps]

Man, this whole turning Four thing is kicking my ass for some reason. Sigh.

My Girl

Girl. Not baby, not toddler. Girl.

There are days when I could just eat her alive. Today was one of those.

Num num num.

Product Placement

It pains me to report that illness continues unabated over here at the sweetney household. I was up at least half of last night, coughing and blowing my nose in the most honking, unladylike manner. Some time well after midnight, I finally snuck into M_'s room and dug up her stash of Vics Vapo-Rub -- left over from her brief time in the east coast Rave scene -- and slathered that shit on like I was a turkey being basted for Thanksgiving dinner. This alone allowed me to breathe and get some sleep, but somehow the combination of mentholated grease and head cold congestion seems to have done something weird to my brain, as I've suddenly been overtaken with bizarre, uncharacteristic thoughts of baking. I can't make sense of it, but for whatever reason my brain craves fresh baked bread, almost as if an equation were formed in my mind suggesting that if only I'd had oven-fresh baked goods, this tragic illness wouldn't have befallen me. ONLY WARM, TASTY MUFFINS CAN SAVE ME NOW.

I have no idea either.

But regardless, I must soldier on. And so let me embark on the catching-up by first imparting the following teensy-weensy nuggets of consumerist wisdom, gleaned from the past week's worth of experience:

Yes, I'm still sick

But maybe this card -- a token of love from me to you -- will help take the edge off this frightening, sweetney-less world.

PS: I have to find someone to send this one to, pronto.

My Desktop

Because I have a crush on every boy:

[click for enlarge-o version]

Whatchu got on yours, hmm (links to pitchers appreciated, but not required)?

/random.

From The Infirmary

Sooooo.... I have much to share from our excitement-packed weekend, including but not limited to:

1. JON MOTHERFUCKING STEWART, dawgs!
2. Tales of a 4-year-olds birthday party that devolved into a 4-year-old nekkid bedjumping free-for-all
3. Pictures of a child that may truly be The Chubbiest Chubby Baby In The Entire Universe (yes, I'm extending this claim to include other galaxies)

And much much more. Unfortunately, as luck would have it, I am dying. And dying makes typing difficult, what with the distracting involuntary muscle spasms and death-rattling and all.

It seems that at some point during the Jon Stewart show on Saturday I contracted a cold-type item from the frothing sea of humanity that surrounded me, and since then I've been on a steady decline that culM_ted in waking up this morning and thinking that if only I could somehow remove my entire respiratory system, shake it out, rinse it off, and then insert it back into my body, why, everything would be just dandy!

These are the thoughts of a very, very ill person.

So I'm thinking the update should wait, and that maybe I should just go lay down for a while. Some hot tea, perhaps?

Suggestions for magically ridding myself of The Pestilence welcome. So long as it doesn't involve blood sacrifices, I'm game for anything.

*OH YEA! BONUS ASSYNESS*: I just walked into M_'s room and discovered that her beta fish, Nemo, kicked the bucket overnight. MY LIFE IS AWESOME. M_ is at preschool this morning, and so is, for the moment, completely unaware of this pet death. So the question becomes do I:

1. Replace Nemo with similar-looking fish, pretend Nemo 2 is Nemo 1
2. Have The Big Dreaded Death Talk and give Nemo the bathroom Burial At Sea treatment
3. Remove all signs of Nemo's existence from her room and answer all queries regarding his whereabouts with “What fish?!”

blaargh. arrgh. uurrgh. gaaah.

You Know, His Wife's Name Is Also Tracey

[Voiced in my best 12-year-old fangirl squeal:] Like, OH MY GOD you guys! I forgot to mention that I'm going to see Jon Stewart tomorrow night! He's flying me to New York to be on The Daily Show and so that he can make sweet, sweet love to me I'll be seeing him in concert with about 16,000 other lucky bastards. Woot!

You know what this means, don't you? Waxing! Photographic evidence and post-mortemy goodness ahoy!

(The pictures may be a little dark. And grainy. And taken from a great distance. AND FILLED WITH THE COLOSSAL MAGNIFICENCE OF MY LOVE.)

Borat's Guide To Wine Tasting

Yeah, its All Video Morning... But I had to share this:

I am CRYING from the funny, people.

More Borat guides to life here.

The Mother Of All Movie Trailers

[snort]

PS: For your viewing pleasure, also be sure to check this out.

Only In Dreams... In Be-U-Tee-Ful Dreams*

I recently received the following email from a reader, which I found to be equal parts amusing and frustrating:

I had a dream last night in which you had just hired me to be M_'s nanny. My internal conflict in the dream (because I seem to have one in all of my dreams) was whether or not to tell you that I read your blog. A big part of me thought that it would be really cool to see what you wrote about me on your blog if you didn't think I read it.

Just wanted to share,
Lisa

My first thought upon reading this? Of course finding qualified babysitting is something that happens ONLY IN DREAMS. And not even in my own dreams, because even my subconscious mind knows too well how absurdly fantastic and irrational such an event would be. I mean, isn't The Qualified, Reliable Babysitter on par with, like, Unicorns and Leprechauns -- existing only in the surreal realms of fantasy and myth? Seriously, I'd have an easier time believing a friend who said they'd discovered Bigfoot rummaging through trash cans in their backyard the night before than one that claimed to have captured The Wily Babysitter. Particularly if that Babysitter was over the age of 12 and didn't have some sort of drug problem. Or visible running sores. Cause I KNOW those don't exist.

For the moment, our lack of babysittage isn't too problematic -- M_ doesn't seem to mind much being locked in her bedroom closet on nights when Jamie and I want to go out and do, like, adult things. But what happens when she gets strong and resourceful enough to jimmy open the closet door? WHAT THEN, I ASK YOU?

..........
*This post's soundtrack courtesy of the late great Roy Orbison.

I'm Basically Just Putting This Link Up To Make Amy Cry

(Sorry, Amy.)

I just ran across this clip -- Jon Stewart's return to TDS after 9/11 -- and had to share it with you guys.

Seriously, I love this man.

Morning Ham

The many faces of M_ in the morning.

I am magically delicious.

Aside To Those Of You Similarly Engaged In The Televised Self-Abuse Otherwise Known As Big Brother

Every time the words “chill” and “town” are employed, I feel myself drawing closer to some sort of psychotic break. One that might involve me tracking down Julie Chen and punching her in the face.

And seriously, did they bring the goods branded with theaformentionedpsychosisproducingtwowordsishallnotspeak into the house themselves, of their own free will? And are they TWELVE YEARS OLD? Did they, like, build a fort in the backyard so they could have a quiet place to perfect their drawings of the Van Halen logo on their Trapper Keepers? What?

Mom's Night Out: Intestinal Apocalypse

It was a lovely dinner... UNTIL IT TRIED TO KILL ME.

Title: Cowgirl With Bowl Of Vomit.

links for 2006-09-11

• The Mr. T Soundboard
  Crazy fool!
  (tags: soundboard MrT)
• McSweeney's: Three New Mac Ad Ideas.
  Warning: Involves worm vomit.
  (tags: advertising humor mcsweeneys)
• Beer Is Good
  Death Metal + Panda + Beer = GOOD.
  (tags: humor video music)
• Tech Digest: Coffee machine for the car
  Just what we need [insert voluminous eye-rolling]
  (tags: car weird)
• CBS: 9/11
  The full documentary -- hosted by Robert DeNiro -- available to view online.
  (tags: video history tv news)
• The New Orleans Kid Camera Project
  Such a great idea.
  (tags: photography society children)
• TGS: Eleven Division Titles!
  How did I miss the new TGS?!?!
  (tags: tgs humor animation)

Crystal Morning.

On a remarkably clear morning five years ago, New York City came under attack. This video memorial, taken from footage shot by eyewitness David Vogler, shows New Yorkers waking up to that grim reality. Crystal Morning tells the story of September 11th, 2001 through fire and ambulance radio calls, the 911 call of a trapped World Trade Center worker, and the lens of local resident who saw an explosion while walking to work.

This video really brought that day back for me.

The Lonelygirl15 Saga.

Have you guys been following this? Apparently the creators came clean, to a degree, last night.

I can see why some who've been fanatically following the narrative on YouTube might feel a little cheated, but then again, it seem a good reminder of all the reasons why emotionally investing in strangers on the internet is a problematic and dangerous business.

Given the clues thus far, I'm betting on this being the lead-in to a horror flick of some sort. And its smart, you know? These filmmakers took the lessons learned from the SoaP phenomenon and moved on to the next logical step: taking the narrative itself straight to the internet and getting people invested in the actual story line before springing The Larger Point And Purpose Of It All on them. Deceptive? Sure, you can see it that way. But only if you still expect something resembling 'truth in advertising/self-representation' on the internet (relative to individuals OR corporations), and the days of those expectations being reasonable -- if they ever were reasonable -- are quite clearly history.

And isn't all of this, in an odd, twisted way, reflective of what we love about the internet? That its the fucking wild west out there, and anything goes?

Whatever the ultimate outcome, I find the whole phenomenon strangely enthralling.

The One Where You Actually Have To Read It Completely To Get It (Retitled).

I must confess that I'm something of a confirmed data packrat, and seeing how my iBook recently reached a critical seeming less-than-two-gigs-free-space-available, I decided to seek out an external storage solution that would give my hard drive some much needed elbow room. After some serious interweb dealhacking, I came upon that which would enable the continuance of my obsessive-compulsive hoarding. Behold the geektastic glory:

(Packaging by Tron, Inc.)

Help Isabel.

This morning I received a very sad and touching email from a reader, which I'm posting an excerpt from below in the hopes that the power of the internet can lend a hand:

I'm writing to you because of my friend Paulette and her daughter Isabel. I met Paulette on a message board a few months before my son was born. Despite many people saying otherwise, my online friend quickly became a real and true friend supporting me before and after becoming a mama. I am doing my best to help support her now.

What started out as Isabel’s flu-like symptoms last week quickly became every parents worst nightmare.

On September 3, doctors announced a preliM_ry diagnosis of Leukemia. Further tests are being done to determine if in fact Isabel is suffering from Leukemia, or worse, Severe Aplastic Anemia. Both are devastating diseases of the blood and bone marrow. And either way, she's going to need a bone marrow transplant. Her mother, father and brother have not left her side. Her diagnosis requires repeated testing and the search is currently on for a matching bone marrow donor.

Isabel and her parents can use all the help they can get right now. As you can imagine, their world has been turned upside down.

They have created a site for Isabel: http://www.helpisabel.us. And please feel free to pass this on via email to others and/or post this content to your own blog or website. Thanks, my peoples.

The Sweetney.com Perfect Post Award.

I just made that award up. Such are my powers.

Behold the pinnacle of bloggy goodness, ye mighty, and despair!

SJ, expect for your trophy to arrive in the mail soon:

Your foot. My REALITY.

Labor Day At The Zoo With M_.

It was filthy. And kind of stinky.

I Am A Woman Who Wears Many Hats. Badly.

I've been working all day trying to get some stupid code into my stupid templates in a way that actually works... which is apparently something I'm constitutionally incapable of. I mean, okay, so I know I'm not a Movable Type rocket scientist or anything, but I generally know my way around my templates. But THIS code.... I haven't a clue. Its some php something or other I haven't dealt with before, and the quote-unquote customer service dudes are, like, SO not at all helpful. They say things like that I need a php include, as though I KNOW WHAT THE HELL THAT MEANS. ARRGH! GAAAH! BLAAARGH! I'm too dumb to have a website AND MUST BE PUNISHED!

On a much happier and less frustrating note, I was just in the kitchen taking a break from template hell to write up a grocery list -- such is the magnificent thrill-production factory that is my life -- when M_ came in complaining that she was hungry. Busy writing my list, I vaguely muttered a few snack options. “I want cheese!” she finally declared. “Okay” I said, “just a minute...” and continued finishing the list. M_ stood there quietly watching me write for a moment or two, and then asked, apparently in all earnestness, “Are you taking my order?”

She was absolutely TORTURED with tickling for that, as you might imagine.

Two Sentence Film Review of Munich, Which I Had Somehow Confused With Syriana And Was Therefore Sorely Disappointed By The Utter Lack Of George Clooney.

Honey, do you think the fact that when we do it I have visions of hostages being shot is a problem?

Two and a half hours of stunning goodness irretrievably screwed up by ten minutes of Spielbergian heavy-handedness at the end.

Aiming To Become The Emo Phillips Of Her Generation.

M_: Wait! I've got a funny one! [Note: These words precede all of M_'s attempts at joke-telling. I think she believes that identifying her jokes as “funny one(s)” prior to their telling MAKES them funny, as if by force of her will alone.]

Okay! Where did Mommy go to college?

Me: Umm, I don't know. Where did Mommy go to college?

M_: POOPY COLLEGE! Where they made you eat POOPIES! [peels of self-satisfied laughter]

Actually, they kind of did make me eat poopies, though not the sort she thinks.

I Have Seen The Future. And It Is Disaffected!

Dudes, you have to see this, which I read about in the NYT this morning:

Disaffected! - a videogame parody of the Kinko’s copy store, a source of frustration from its patrons. Disaffected! puts the player in the role of employees forced to service customers under the particular incompetences common to a Kinko’s store.

...Disaffected! gives the player the chance to step into the demotivated position of real FedEx Kinkos employees. Feel the indifference of these purple-shirted malcontents first-hand, and consider the possible reasons behind their malaise -- is it mere incompetence? Managerial affliction? Unseen but serious labor issues?

Downloadable (for free!) for both Windows and Mac here.

In Which I Contemplate My Place In The Ranks Of The Damned.

I've always been intrigued by the supernatural and paranormal -- everything from ghosts and EVP to psychokinesis and precognition -- despite not being much of a believer. In anything. Seriously, I'm one of those people who thinks there's a decent chance men have never landed on the moon and that it was all some sort of big Hollywoodesque hoax designed so the U.S. could give Russia the finger during the cold war. I am the audience for whom the old X-Files tagline Trust No One seemed to bear a ring of universal truthiness. The skeptic in me, shaped by years of Catholic upbringing that dissolved into angry distrust in my teens, is loud and truculent and demands above all else that which confirms my utter lack of faith: proof. Which is why, if my father is correct, I'll be shuffled right off to the no-mans-land of Purgatory after death, and he'll be forced to spend his hard-earned retirement money on indulgences to buy my heathen ass out of heaven's waiting room. Which makes me not just faithless and godless, but a bad daughter to boot. I WIN!