My Little Wonder Muffins

We’re headed to Disney tomorrow morning. We’ve been planning the trip for a year and aside from the fact that I broke my ankle three days ago, I’m ready to enter the Wonderful World of Cheese.

My friends told me last night that I, regardless of being a Disney non-believer, will revel in the delight of my children. I had to lend them the bad news, though. It was a conversation I heard on my way to bed Saturday night.

Claire (age 9): Well how do you think they eat their lunch?

Hazel (age 5): Duh. They just lift their heads off and and put them back on when they’re done.

Claire: How ’bout the princesses? Don’t you think that lunch smears they’re make-up?

Hazel: Yeah. But they have ladies to put it back on for them.

These two wonder muffins have been the most amuzing and frustrating elements in my house as of late. Their big sister, Zoey, is entering her grown-up-girl phase and has left her little sisters to their own devices. 

Like when I took Zoey to purchase her first grown-up-girl clothing item. She stood in the department store sobbing over the fact of having to wear a bra while Claire and Hazel danced in circles wearing double D’s with underwires over their school uniforms. I simply pointed at the black bubbles in the cieling and whispered in my I-see-dead-people voice, “They are watching you….”

Ugh! I’ve never stood witness to more giggling, debating, and solving of the world’s problems.

Oh, and they’ve got all the answers!

This morning Hazel and Claire were watching Wonder Pets. For those of you who don’t know, the the show’s mold is that there’s always an animal in a far corner of the world who needs help. The Wonder Pets get the call and jump into their flying boat to save the animal. This is what I learned this morning:

Hazel: How do those Wonder Pets know where they are going every time?

Claire: They have a GPS.

Later!

-s

David Cook and God and Things

I woke this morning at 7 a.m., as I always do; however, I am not always privileged enough to have my mornings showered in fabricated “I Love David Cook” melodies sung to me by my lovely children. By 7:30 a.m., my friend, Karen, shot me confirmation text that, indeed, “David Cook Rocks”. I no sooner got a foot in the door from dropping off my kids at school before my phone rang. My friend, Mary Alice, could bear it no longer. She had to congratulate me on my win.

To my fans, I say thank you for putting up with me over these past few months. Thank you for tolerating me when I kicked your children out of my gym in the name of rushing home for American Idol. Thank you for riding this ride with me and insisting with me that Cook is one of the most talented individuals in the industry and that American Idol was made for those like him.

In reality, I saw Simon wink on Tuesday night, which left Wednesday’s win slumped at the bottom of the anti-climactic bucket. 

Tuesday night, Simon ushered Cook an ass grinding on his choice of songs and drab performance, but then, with his negatively hardly dissipated, Simon winked. 

Weeks ago, It became apparent that Simon actually enjoyed Cook so that on Tueday night when Simon started putting on his grind, a flag went up in my head. Simon didn’t seem genuine. He was playing a card. He knew then, based on previous weeks’ vote tallies that Cook fans, regardless of Tuesday’s song choice, were not going to sway. Not 12 million of them.

Then the nauseating praise for Archie began to thicken like boiling milk and when it crested, it smelled like a win for Cook. Why else would they butter little Archie like that? It was over the top and cheesy. But the wink sealed the deal. It was dead on. And Cook knew then, as did most of the world watching, that in 25 hours, he’d walk off the stage an Idol.

This was my first American Idol ever. It was a good one to follow. I can’t say that I’ll ever watch the show again, but I’ll be watching for Cook to touch down in Philly.

As for God and Things. I’ll get back to you on that.

Eddie Izzard, There We Go.

(long sigh)

My reaction to something gone wrong is to go back and try it again in hopes of getting it right this time. I’m famous for spending years repeatedly carrying out the same actions in anticipation of, some day, experiencing different results.

But I won’t waste my time running this gamut with Eddie Izzard.

I spent a portion of my morning reading reviews of the show Keyser, Cap, and I attended last night. Review after review after review poured over Izzard’s new material in delight of his new look (he’s no longer a transvestite) and controversial skit content (he doesn’t believe in god). One writer even attempted to give readers a blow-by-blow account of Izzard’s new act, spawning uncomfortable flashbacks of last night’s show.

I am not here to bash poor Izzard. I love the chap. No one can toss Steve Vador and Cake or Death around an auditorium like Izzard. His timing, language, and self-awareness are genius. But last night’s show was littered with mumbling, loss of direction, and bits that served as much to me as the snooze button on my alarm clock; I’ll begin listening again in five minutes.

The show lacked continuity and purpose regardless of Izzard’s numerous references in delivering proof to the audience that there is no god. He said it upon opening the gig. He said it before and after each segment. And a final time upon closing, Izzard left the audience with, “Did god create us or did we create god?”

Wonderful. Bravo. Stupendous.

Except.

I didn’t pay to attend a lecture on theological mortality. I didn’t take a night off work to become philosophically enriched. I definitely didn’t haul my ass downtown for an evening of enlightenment.

Izzard is extremely intelligent. It’s prerequisite for being funny. One must know stuff in order to make fun of it. And across his earlier skits, Izzard’s god and Jesus peices are ass-clapping halarious and position me buckled over in tears every time I listen. Historically, Izzard has touched on religion, spritiuality, mortality, and evolution versus Darwin. But he’s also scattered food market scenarios, science fiction, and political elements into his numbers to keep the scales at an even keel.

But Izzard’s new performance is weighted with a multitude of misplaced references to the role of god throughout the history of the world. Segmented and individualized, portions of the show were laugh-out-loud, only to be smothered by association to the Man Upstairs. Honestly, the last thing I wanted to think about last night was god. I even considered this a biased factor in gathering my negative thoughts together, but Cap felt the same. She claimed that Izzard basically told a two-hour joke, stearing every word that spilled onto the stage in the direction of god. Keyser is always more open-minded and good-humored when events gravitate in a direction opposite from that which has been expected. He left the show with an “either way” attitude and claimed it was good be out with friends.

As it was.

I won’t give up on Izzard. I might even go to future shows. But not in hopes of Cake or Death. And not with anticipation of laughing my ass back to my front door at the end of the night. Because something about Izzard’s performance last night made me feel that perhaps the old part of Eddie Izzard’s life has ended and a new part is in the works. Without his make-up, platform heels, lovely female ensembles, and diversified collection of gut-busting perceptions of the world we live in, he just isn’t Izzard to me.

Keyser, Cap, and I are already planning our next extravaganza. It may be a bomb. I may be a dud. But it will all be in company.

Oh, and since I didn’t get to do it last night, “I LOVE YOU EDDIE IZZARD!!!!”

Eddie Izzard, Here We Come!

Cap, Keyser, and I are heading out next Wednesday to see Eddie Izzard live. I am so stoked! Here’s a little smackeral to make you writhe with jealousy.

(No, I know you’re not jealous. Yes, I understand you could care less. Just watch the damn thing and comment on how you wish you could come, but can’t. Because we didn’t get you a ticket.)

Don’t Get Me Wrong

Here’s the deal with this flim-flammin’ blog presentation on acid. Since day one, I have struggled with chosing a style and sticking with it. I’d love to be like Julie and Michael and Peg and Gary who one day established a blog, chose a backdrop, and carried on.

Not I. No, I have to be difficult. I have to live in constant conflict when blogging on my own blog; hence, the neglect this place suffers.

I like dark things. I like graveyards, skeletons, gray, black, hunter green, brown, vampires, night time, and things that are aged. I also like basements and attics. But I don’t like representing myself across this arena because I feel like I will be stereotyped as being Gothic or twisted or negative or gloomy….well, I can be gloomy, but only because it does, sometimes, feel good to be gloomy. And I’d rather feel gloomy than feel nothing at all because nothing is boring and…..which brings me to my new boring blog design.

In an effort to maintain a normal approach and hopefully visitor-friendly feel, I have decided to change the backdrop in here for the 17th time. I wanted to go for pink. I’ve been feeling pink lately. Even bought a pink shirt. But pink text is bothersome. I may stroll my options again and decide on the pink which brings me to my second point at hand.

I will always be changing the design of this place. As I said before, I’d love nothing more than to be able to stick with a single view and call it day or concentrate more on the quantity. But I say no to keeping things around me looking the same.

On a lighter note, Hazel had her cast removed today. It was her third cast in five years. We look forward to number four. Only because upon cast removal at the hospital today, she promptly tripped over her own foot and fell on the injured hand. We were ushered back to X-ray. Fun day for all involved.

Later!

Mr. Kite

I paid cold, hard cash to see Across the Universe this winter. I wanted it to be something I’d fall into and come out different on the other side.

Instead, I slept through some of it, felt angry about more of it, and suffered extreme boredom during the time in between until Bono and Eddie Izzard, in one fell swoop, made my presence in that theater worth the ten bucks I spent for the seat.

Here they are: (Don’t forget, the movie sucks. This is the only cool part. And you get to see it for free!)

Still Kickin’

 

Yes, I’m still here!

 Just thought I’d pop in and start lubing the place for my summer blog extravaganza.

 Let’s see….how about a few things to catch you up?

 Gymnastics is winding down. Our team is still stuck in the #2 spot for city ranking, but we have a final meet in April that could change that for us. Either way, it’s good. Being #1 feels good, but where do you go from there? Being #2 gives me something to work for. We were killed in tumbling this year due to the fact we focused on all-around events. I will have to think that decision over next year.

I’m brining a new coach in this spring. We’ve all been getting along so well, I hope the new girl doesn’t throw a wrench in the works.

 Hazel dropped a bowling ball on her hand and shattered the bones in two of her fingers. She’s been in a cast for two weeks and just got a brand new one yesterday after a reconstructive surgical consultation. That’s Hazel on the bars up there in that pic.

Claire is sick for the 915th time this winter. She was hospitalized a few weeks ago, because Claire can’t go 12 twelve months without a trip to Children’s Hospital. She caught the high bar for the first time this week and was delighted with herself.

Zoey quit soccer, but is still going strong with Girl Scouts and gymnastics. She’s doing great in school. Keyser bought her a cell phone last month which is wicked awesome because when she back-sasses me, the phone gets taken away. Mwah ha ha ha ha ha.

I stepped outside my box this week and had coffee with friends who were on the verge of becoming “old friends” due to my inability to leave my house outside of gym practice. But I did it. I was frightened and thrown by the angle of the sun. When I take the girls to school in the morning, the sun, although up, is blocked by buildings so that it doesn’t feel “up”. But meeting the ladies for breakfast took place during the part of the morning when the sun crests the buildings and is, well, up. I’m usually tucked behind this screen by then. I’m glad I went. I need to get out more. And be around people who don’t want to talk gym.

Although I will be coaching through the summer in preparation for our trip to Woodward, I have decided to take a break from my editing job. Hope that works out the way I think it is going to work out.

We are going to Disney in June. (I’d rather be damned to hell.)

Cappy, Keyser, and I are going to see Eddie Izzard live in May. Cap and I also might go see Shawn Mullins if I can ever remember to check out when he’s coming to Philly.

 Cap is meeting Mama Peg this weekend for the first time ever. Monumental.

Spank is turning 32 on Saturday but has declared she is not celebrating. I don’t believe in birthdays, which apparently, according to many, is worse than not believing in Santa or the Tooth Fairy. I hold my ground on the birthday thing, though. I just don’t see a reason for it. Birthday celebration is self-promotion. I’ll celebrate a new job or losing an old one or figuring out spam. But one day a year devoted to SELF? I’m not there yet.

Keyser’s parents came for Easter and we had a super visit. We saw Drillbit Taylor, which was great, except Hazel thinks its funny to repeat every phrase in a movie that the theater laughs at. “Suck my balls,” hit number one in her book.

 My mom, aunt, Spank, and my mom’s former/future husband will all be treking to Philly next weekend for our second-to-last gym meet. Of course, Hazel won’t be competing with her purple, fiberglass club cast. (Damn bowling balls.) Cap and Keyser’s sister will be here too for the event. Nothing like a house full of peeps! (Translation: I should launder towels and clean the bathrooms.)

My cat, Emily, turned 12 last month. I am in denial of her age and have convinced myself she will be living forever.

Dr. Deb’s grandmother passed on Easter morning. Prayers for Dr. D. and her family.

And, for the first time in almost two years, I have ABSOLUTELY nothing to do this weekend. YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I will be a spot on my couch for a solid 48 hours. Well, I’ll probably get up to see if anyone comes to my blog anymore.  And, to eat some peanut M&Ms. And I’ll probably play a game or two of chess with Hazel because I feel sad for her poor hand.

 As for my summer blog extravaganza? I’m committing a solid 20 hours per week to nothing but pure blogging.

….okay, yes, that was an embelishment. But I will be posting a lot more this summer since I’m not taking on the editing ship.

 Later.

Monthly Update

How sad is that? Posting once a month. Or maybe it’s been longer and I haven’t noticed.

But, before go beating myself up over this peice of shit blog, I need to get something off my chest.

Finally, after all these years (well, it’s only really been one year), I am responding to Michael’s plea for movies that made me think.

MOVIES THAT MADE ME THINK WHEN I WAS YOUNG:

Stand by Me

The Apple Dumpling Gang

The Jungle Book

Grease

The Neverending Story

Star Wars Trilogy

King Kong (1976)

MOVIES THAT MADE ME THINK I COULD BE SOMEONE OR DO SOMETHING:

The Hours

Finding Forrester

MOVIES THAT MADE ME THINK OF THINGS I’VE LOST:

Trainspotting

Magnolia

The Pianist

Crooklyn

Gods & Monsters

A River Runs Through It

Rory O’Shea Was Here

The Notebook

Love, Liza

Master & Commander

The Lake House

 Me and You and Everyone We Know

Eternal Sunshinie of the Spotless Mind

MOVIES THAT MADE ME THINK OF THINGS THAT I WOULD NOT HAVE OTHERWISE THOUGHT:

21 Grams

Traffic

Punch Drunk Love

My Own Private Idaho

The Lover

Slingblade

Fight Club

Waiting….

Saving Private Ryan

Hotel Rwanda

The Shawshank Redemption

MOVIES THAT MADE THINK THEY SHOULD BE ON THE ALL-TIME FAVORITE LIST:

The Royal Tennenbaums

The Remains of the Day

Good Will Hunting

Dead Poets Society

Eulogy

Empire Records

The Breakfast Club

Platoon

Little Miss Sunshine

Twelve Monkeys

Shaun of the Dead

I’m sure there are more than a dozen titles missing from this list, but it’s been bugging me for a year. At least once a week, I’ve stopped and thought, “I need to get that list out.” Yeah, like anyone gives a shit.

 Anyhoo, back to the grindstone.

Oh, and Spanky’s birthday is on March 29th!

And a big birthday shout goes out to Julie for the birthday she celebrated on December 2 of last year! (Better late than never.)

Tony from Woodward is returning to my home this weekend. I hope to be in a better mood by the time he gets here. It is days like these I just don’t understand why smoking weed is so frowned upon. Really.

Later!

One-Hit Wonder Misunderstood

 

(Me and Spank with Dad)

For years, I thought Hewie Louis was getting a new truck and couldn’t understand why he thought this would change his life to monumental meaning. I also thought that Men Down Under were getting a bitchin’ like some witch, when in reality, they were eating yeast extract sandwiches.

Yesterday, this Primitive Radio Gods one-hitter entered my head. It began with a hum, and then I started plugging words into the melody. But every time the track ran its course, I used different phrases and words, until I gave up and went to bed.

This morning, there is was. Back again. Strumming away in my head. But still, I really didn’t know what that blusie guy in the chorus was belting out. I pulled it up on iTunes for a listen. Nope. Even the title, “Standing Outside a Broken Telephone Booth With My Money in My Hand” did not help me.

Here’s what some others have assumed those gutteral sounds are saying:

“I’ve been down holiday”

“I’ve bend down harder, baby”

“I’ve been down Harlem, baby”

 ”I bend down, Harley, baby”

“I’ve been done farted, baby”

What he’s really saying: “I’ve been downhearted, baby. Ever since the day we met.”

Small Obsession