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HALP!
No, this will never, ever get old. And frankly, I couldn't be prouder. Yahoooooo! indeed.
Sometimes even just a small thing like this can completely make my day.
Thank you, tryork5ifp. Thank you.
Back in the day, when I was this different person not known primarily as Mommy and barely knew how to change a diaper, I used to spend a good chunk of money on cosmetics and personal care products. Three key reasons for this:
Of course none of these things apply now, so let's just say I've urrrm let a few things slide. To put it another way: I started using Herbal Essences hair care products. [shudder]
I know. I may be beyond help.
Earlier this month marked the 13th anniversary of Kurt Cobain's death -- a moment in history remembered by people of my “X” Generation in a fashion similar to the way earlier Gens recall the Kennedy Assasination, or Pearl Harbor, or, like, Other Big Momentous And Historical Crap. That's right: older folk have shocking presidential deaths and epic acts of war, we have the demise of a sad scruffy dude with a guitar (and before people start preparing themselves to email the crap out of me to remind me of The Challenger Explosion and the fall of The Berlin Wall (oh and Live Aid -- WE MUST NEVER FORGET LIVE AID), let me preemptively say: GET A SENSE OF HUMOR).
In any case, RIP Kurdt, I still miss you despite myself, you big dork. Here's how I'll always remember you.
Having spent most of the weekend in our yard, I thought I'd share some recent spoils of the garden:
My good friend Angela wrote this today. In it she articulates pretty much everything I could ever possibly want to say about what happened in Virginia this week so beautifully that I feel compelled to share it with you all.
You know, there's never any “excuse” for taking people's lives. And really, saying “there's no excuse” is just the tossing around of three words that don't amount to much, and I don't know why we all feel we have to make with the disclaiming all the time. It's the national-tragedy equivalent of “bless you” - just totally empty. We say it because that's what you say. When someone sneezes, you say “bless you,” and after you burp, you say “excuse me,” and before and after you talk in shades of gray about something bad that someone has done, you say, “It's not an excuse.” As if there are large numbers of people running around excusing it and we wouldn't know an actual excuse if we heard one and none of our friends know us well enough to know better.
Though my powers of influence out in that frothing meaty stew of humanity I like to call The World are, admittedly, meager, I feel compelled to spread -- as far and wide as my wee voice in blogdom will permit -- the good word of the following fine musical products by people I happen to love:
Gena Rowlands Band, Flesh & Spirits.
THE GENA ROWLANDS BAND... plays songs about b-movie starlets, x-movie starlets, ex-movie starlets, Academy Award Winning Actresses, people born in the wrong skin, blonde strangers, barstool wisdom, bad parties, the Eisenhower Interstate system, and Kong's words with Jesus in the aftermath of a rough first date. “It's tragic, hilarious, brilliant writing,” according to the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette.
Back when we both lived inside the DC beltway, I used to call my friend Bob Massey (aka GRB) “the Mark Eitzel of Washington,” something I considered a great compliment. Now Bob's in LA and I'm in Baltimore, but even with all those miles between us he's still sending shockwaves of joy through my nervous system with his creative productions. Listen and download Mister Massey's latest, greatest opus yonder or order your copy from amazon.
Look! Its FTD's “Serene Serenity Internet Death Comfort Basket” (available for a limited time only with the “Find Peace” Musical Prayer Box for only $19.95 extra! Act now and save!).
It was only a matter of time before we found ways to express our deepest sympathies to others over their internet losses through commerce. Go capitalism, GO!
No, but seriously, my husband kind of rules. And now if you'll excuse me, I have some important exfoliating and moisturizing to do.
Sort of like The Day The Music Died, but with less teen idol death plane ackshon. (Sorry.)
Anyway, that title is courtesy of my daughter, who -- apparently something of a subtle, poetic soul -- last week related to me her conception of The Big Internet Drama mommy was going through, phrased in the form of a question: “Mommy, did all of your ideas explode?”
Its too perfect.
OMFG MY HEAD HURTS, but MamaPop lives!
Still much work and configuring and content migration to be done, but praise jebus, she's up and running. Come on over and say hello at the new digs, won't you?
EDIT: Some of you have noted that 'mamapop.com' isn't working right now, and that's true. We're in the awkward domain transfer portion of our switch to TypePad, so that url may be unavailable for the next day (or so). In the meantime, direct your browsers to http://mamapop.typepad.com to feel the love! Nevermind, http://www.mamapop.com works fine now!
Hi! I'm putting this up basically just to tell everyone that my host killed MamaPop. It was going to crash their server, so they took it down. Without warning. Suddenly. And they won't put it back up. So I'm in hell, trying to secure big, beefy servering for MamaPop. And losing my mind -- did I mention losing my mind? This has been a complete nightmare. Do I sound like I'm in shock? Yes, yes, I am.
I'm sorry about all of this, everyone. I had no idea this was going to happen, or clearly I would've done something to stop it from happening. I am beyond angry. I'll keep everyone apprised of all developments, and hope to have the BIGGER! STRONGER! FASTER! MamaPop up within the next day.
UGH doesn't even begin to cover it, people.
So its only taken me, what, A MONTH to get up a few of these SXSW shots? Uhh... I've been busy? With umm things? And stuff? Right?
Anyway, I just happened to stumble across these pictures from the conference this morning, and they kind of made me all warm and squishy feeling inside, because in all seriousness these are some of my favoritest people in the whole wide world, and just gazing upon their silly, happy, photo-mugging faces today somehow made everything just a little bit better in my neck of the woods.
Too bad they were such pains in the fucking ass to be around in-person. I mean, they like totally harshed my gnarly interactive geektastic and webilicious conference buzz. snort.
So, umm, here ya go. Pitchers and stuff. Enjoy.
At ten o'clock, you all die.
Its the new “Hang In There Kitten”, updated for the ascending generation of morbidly obese!
Oh enormokitty, I feel your pain. Your bulbous, girthtastic pain.
Yes, this week it is indeed The Sweetney Theater Company Presents... round these parts. You'll live.
[Setting: Our Living Room, Tuesday Evening.]
Him, pointing to a photo of an acquaintance on his computer: See this guy? He's a genius.
Me: Oh?
Him: Yeah. Just brilliant. But he smells.
Me: Like, he doesn't bathe?
Him: No, he bathes. He's just... (searching for adequately descriptive word) (fails to find that word)... all over the place*.
Me: Well, you know geniuses are frequently not terribly concerned with hygiene. Its not really on the top of their list of priorities.
Him: What IS at the top of the Genius List Of Priorities?
From the current soundtrack to my life:
Amy Winehouse “Me & Mr. Jones”. Can't recommend this album enough.
[An updated tally, for those of you keeping score at home...]
Her: Mommy, I miss Jesus.
Me: [swallows tongue] Umm mmfff blaggle?!?!
Her: Jesus is up in heaven. Like the pandas, right?
Me: [choking] Uhh yeah. Just like the pandas... Hey look, here's an album you might like! Its called Black Sabbath. Can you say Black Sabbath?
I guess I could see it as kind of a win that her conception of heaven comes directly from some kooky animation I've inflicted on her... oh who am I kidding.
Delicious chocolatey goodness encircling a meaty center
The appropriate response to this image is probably something along the lines of OHMYHOLYGODINHEAVEN WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!? EVERYONE RUN FOR YOUR LIIIIIIIIIVES!!!
Or, you know, “Happy Easter.” Alternately. cough.
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I'm an imperfect Gen-X Parental Unit from Baltimore. I believe in early afternoon cocktails, the greatness of Jon Stewart, and that being a smartass is a virtue. More about me...
