Sweetney

Weighty matters

More diet-related bitching and moaning here. Feel free to skip.

Independence

Okay, so I think we've pretty well established that I'm kind of a big lazy-ass. Or seemingly so. Were I to frame things from my own perspective, I might instead cast myself as “A woman who enjoys leisure,” or “A connoisseur of respite.” For if tasked with conjuring up in my imagination an ideal day-in-the-life of sorts, it would likely look something like this:

• Wake up. Lay in bed and read for several hours.
• Have coffee and pastries brought to me by my hunky man-servant, Emmanuel.
• Surf the internet for an hour or two (well at least I've got that part down, huh?).
• Have my daughter brought to me for in-bed hugs and snuggles by our live-in nanny, Mary Poppins (and then whisked off to some happy hyper-edumacational fairyland of fun).
• Finally get out of bed, shower, and retire to a spa with friends for the remainder of the afternoon (note: this imagined spa would serve lemon drops, give three-hour full-body massages, have free wi-fi, and employ magical spa-gnomes who would, through the deployment of various mystical spells and incantations, transform me physically into a mirror-image of a young Audrey Hepburn) (I SAID IDEAL NOT REALISTIC, DAMMIT).

She doesn't know the half of it

Her, spying my flabby, pock-and-stretch marked belly as I lift a shirt over my head: Mommy! What happened to your tummy?

Me: Umm, I had a baby. You.

Her, with genuine sadness: I'm sorry.

Me: Well, its a little too late for sorry.

So how many dollars worth of therapy do you think that whole exchange (plus having the image of my stomach permanently burned into her mind's eye) is gonna cost me in the not-too-distant future, huh?

My new parenting technique is unstoppable!

PS: She woke up this morning and promptly threw up. TWICE. Think my little, err, indiscretion might have something to do with that?

PPS: HALP! MAY DAY! HALP!

Thinking perhaps a leeettle *too* differently

This is brilliant:

For shame, Apple!

PS: Since starting up Sweetney I've liveblogged the Oscars here every year, but with the advent of Mamapop I'll instead be doin' the do over there this Sunday night, starting at 8pm EST. Join me, won't you?

Oh and speaking of the bald, shiny guy: have you yet entered the Mamapop Oscars Challenge? And have you seen the luscious booty to be bequeathed upon the winner? Time's-a-wastin', folks!

The flesh is willing. The brain? Eh, not so much.

Yesterday I approached the monumental task of going through M's old clothes, sorting and organizing them for delivery to friends with younger kidlets. Which sounds like a simple task, but people, you have no earthly idea of the downright ABSURD amount of clothing this child has accumulated over four short years of life. An incomplete sense of the magnitude of what I've dealt with in the past 24 hours might be gleaned with the following visual aid:

That's SIX trash bags, stuffed to bursting. And that doesn't include the 0-24 month-sized clothing, which consumed another TWO full trash bags. Oh, and did I mention that I still have three full underbed boxes to go through? And a bin in her closet with god-knows-what in it? Gaaaaaaaah.

Clearly THIS is what God and Nature Intended

Regarding M_ and friends recent bludgeoning of my person with a variety of deformed renditions of Blondie's “Call Me”: I may well have found the antidote:

That's right, your eyes are not deceiving you. Debbie Harry and MUPPETS.

Oh and by the by, WHAT THE HELL IS SHE WEARING? AND HOW CAN I MAKE IT STOP?

[thanks, David!]

Sweetney.com Spring 2007 Mix

Though perhaps a little overly optimistic (Spring? Hardly!), the Sweetney.com Spring 2007 Mix is ready and willing, with over an hour of tasty sonic goodness for your listening pleasure.

Tracks include songs by What Made Milwaukee Famous, Spank Rock, Deerhoof, Silverspun Pickups and others. Leave a comment here if you'd like a copy, and I'll be in touch with the hook-up. Word.

Goodbye To Girlhood

Not that we really needed an APA Task Force to tell us this, but the just-released Report of the APA Task Force on the Sexualization of Girls indeed confirms what many of us already knew: that overt sexualization of girls as young as preschool-age is occurring in American culture with increasing intensity and frequency, the result for girls being “...negative effects in a variety of domains, including cognitive functioning, physical and mental health, sexuality, and attitudes and beliefs.”

Yeah. Duh.

The whole thing makes me sick and angry. What the hell are we doing to girls? What is wrong with people? With our society, our culture? THEY MAKE THONGS FOR 7-10 YEAR OLDS, PEOPLE. And worse still? Parents buy them for their daughters.

President's Day Karaoke Revolution Party!

In honor of our nation's forefathers, M_ and friends decided to celebrate yesterday's holiday by taking a page from the culture of those who once bombed the ever livin' crap out of our country in the 1940s. That's right: get out your powdered wig and take a pinch of ye olde snuff for good measure, cuz its Karaoke Revolution Party time, Mister Presidents!

This one goes out to William Henry Harrison... THAT WHOLE MONTH ROCKED!

One Laptop Per Child

I'd heard about this, as you probably have, but I hadn't yet seen the OLPC XO Computer in detail before reading this piece. Its such a wonderful program, and I hadn't expected the design to be so, well, garsh darn cute.

Plus, for $130 a pop, once these babies are available in the states they could definitely serve as a nice traveling laptop for adults, as well as something for the kids to bang on without fear of a huge financial loss if someone's sippy cup accidentally cracks open. Awesome, huh?

Two more, because I'm doin' it for the kids (at least today I am)

In addition to the wonderful Adventure Time, you and your kids (where applicable) are certain to enjoy the hell outta these two clips (after the jump), which M_ and I have been watching on a continuous loop for about the past two hours (god help us).

Adventure Time!

This is the best thing I've seen. Ever.

There are no words. Or, if there are words, I can't find them.

My life: better than a box of witches

This is the third day of no school for M_, due to the snow/ice storm Baltimore was recently pummeled by. This also happens to be the second day of M_ marinating in some sort of pestilence, loping about the house runny-eyed, crabby and feverish, while I struggle vainly to keep her entertained with an endless assortment of audio/visual aids (The Wizard of Oz! Lilo & Stitch! Looney Tunes!).

Why is doing absolutely nothing so completely exhausting, I wonder?

The Saint Valentine's Day Massacre

We're iced-in to the point of total paralysis over here at Chez G-P, so the Little Sweetney and the Other Sweetney are stuck at home with me and all up in my personal airspace today, cloggin' my mental drainz (Somehow that makes sense. Or not. Roll with it.). As a result, I'm struggling to get anything done, and may soon succumb to the powerful temptation to nap. Or instead drink a full bottle of wine (glug, glug) and catch up on TiVoed episodes of The Real Housewives of Orange County and The Bad Girls Club. Such is my rarified, discerning entertainment palate.

My Valentine to you

Continuing forward with the current Mental Instability & Music theme: Lookee! Steve from Blues Clues! AND! AND! JON STEWART!

I for one am feeling the love (oh yes, and the crazy, of course).

Thanks to Ozma for the heads-up!

Courtesy of the other sweetney's insanity

I don't know about ya'll, but there's rarely a day in my life when this particular arrangement of delicious baked goods wouldn't be perfectly appropriate.

This song could save your life

It has mine, for about the past week.

Sometimes that's all it takes: one perfect song to get you through.
(Imogen Heap, “Hide And Seek”)

Squeaky Home

I know what you're thinking: Tracey, how can your sucktastic month get any more sucky? Its just not possible, right? I mean, any Supreme Being by this point would've determined that it would be just plain cruel to throw anymore drama or bullshit your way, because how much can one person take? To burden your already beaten black-and-blue spirit with anything else would be, well, something like kicking a three-legged, anemic puppy. Right? RIGHT?

Well apparently there is no God. We have mice.

Does the body rule the mind, or does the mind rule the body? I don't know.

Remember our pal Ravi's Smiths tribute band? Well they've been playing around NYC, and I thought this video from one of their performances was appropriate for me to post today, all things considered:

More awesome live videoage here, plus tour dates and other info here. GO RAVI!

PS: Note the clever lyrics change “Brooklyn is mine, it owes me a living...” Har.

Worser Living Through Chemistry (with update)

One sentence synopsis: I am in hell and will be taking a few days off from the internet.

(A more detailed, whining version after the jump, for those who enjoy that sort of thing.)

The Good Drugs Are Killing Me

I spent a good chunk of time yesterday at my doctor's, despite having what amounts to near phobia-levels of anxiety about doing so. As many of you are probably painfully aware by now, I hate going to the doctor's passionately and always have, so voluntarily subjecting myself to a trip there is a good indication of just how intense my concerns about my own health have become. Truth be told, I am not now and have never in the past been a very good steward of myself, and tend to only engage the medical profession when encountering extreme pain or body malfunction, almost always allowing the state of my physical union to deteriorate to the point of near-catastrophe before seeking out help. And I think what's going on now qualifies as one of those unfortunate instances where, despite all reason, I've stupidly avoided going the medical route to my own detriment, doing actual harm to myself in surrendering to the irrational anxiety and fear I harbor about Those Evil White-Coated People. Maybe I'll learn something from this experience. Or, umm, not.

Anthems For A Four-Year-Old Girl

Ladies and gentlemen, we are floating in my PMS:

Today M_ and I spent most of the day down in the Strip Mall No Mans Land of Northern Virginia hanging out with my folks, with a roundtrip in the car clocking in at around two and a half hours. During that dead zone of car time, M_ demanded that we play her current favorite tune by Broken Social Scene “Anthems For A Seventeen Year Old Girl” on the car stereo no less than FIFTEEN TIMES IN A ROW, enthusiastically singing along word-for-word with each replay. I can't tell you how heartbreaking this was for me, or how many times I found myself barely able to choke back tears at the bittersweet, Loss Of Innocence/Coming Of Age lyrics she was singing, lyrics that so clearly will mirror some of my own feelings come M_'s rise into girlhood in the too-near future:

Now you're all gone
Got yer makeup on
And you're not comin' back
(Can't you come back?)

Ah me, parenting is such sweet sorrow. Listen.

[weeps]

Blogumentary

I have many thoughts coursing through my brain about this, which I need to collect and sift through before I write about it (which I will, and soon), but in the meantime ya'll should watch this thought-provoking and inspiring documentary:

A “Rain Day”? I'll drink to that!

They closed the schools here in Baltimore today because it rained! RAINED! Oh wait, I'm sorry, that was FREEZING RAIN. BRRR! COLD! I mean, how can anyone be expected to deal with all of that, umm, liquid precipitation? Precipitation bad! Everything must come to a screeching halt! Sure, the streets are clear now, and the temperature is *above* freezing, but lordy, at one point last night it was COLD! And it rained! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! SAVE YOURSELVES!

Bitter? Oh, a tad.

Its been a day befitting a certain song by Daniel Powter

Ever have one of those days where you find yourself trying to reason with a preschooler, and all reason fails?

Ever have one of those days where you hide in the bathroom and choke back fiery tears of anger at the person you love most in the world?

Ever have one of those days where your first stiff drink happens at such an early hour that you find yourself mortified and blushing at your own behavior (and yet heading back for a refill)?

Ever have one of those days where the phrase “shooting myself in the face” has a sort of gloriously lilting ring to it?

Hello, fellow traveler. What'll you have? I'm buying.

PS: Sending me a valentine might help:

(All manner of sedatives also gratefully accepted.)