tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62812455793035491542024-03-18T22:51:07.775-07:00The BlockWrite like there's no one reading. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.comBlogger77125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-6371093295447816962015-03-12T08:32:00.000-07:002015-03-12T08:36:39.362-07:00Barium Cobalt Einstein Koolaid!Obviously I haven't kept up with my one-word-a-day goal at all, so I'm changing the rule to this: I'll post a new word whenever I feel like it and only if I have the time. Hooyah! It's great to be an author! So liberating!<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://ytimg.googleusercontent.com/vi/V4NwTJFOm8M/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/V4NwTJFOm8M?feature=player_embedded" style="clear: right; float: right;" width="320"></iframe> At least I have a good excuse: I finished a book. Yes, my newest YA is at this very moment with my superhero beta readers. (That's right, I have superheroes for beta readers! Which means they're even more noble and awesome. They have to <i>literally</i> stop fighting crime to read my book.) My latest joint (the usage= Spike Lee as opposed to Jimmy Buffet concert attendee) is a story about two teens who start a text game that goes viral and unleashes all kinds of ugly. As I was writing it, the AlexfromTarget saga hit the Web and made me feel like I was controlling the world. Seriously, I almost had a breakdown, because the story is a little similar to what happened to that kid. It definitely poses the same kinds of questions regarding Internet ethics.<br />
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Don't tell my CP's, but I've actually begun my blitzkrieg querying. In anticipation of, you know, not hearing anything for months. If ever.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://ytimg.googleusercontent.com/vi/sY_E5x61-68/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/sY_E5x61-68?feature=player_embedded" style="clear: left; float: left;" width="320"></iframe> I'm fortunate to have a way to weasel out of my epic fail on the blog plan, though. In one of my fave Disney movies, <i>Meet the Robinsons</i> (Reminds me of a Frank Capra film in animated form), a science fair judge is all strung out on a caffeine patch she's invented. She drifts off to sleep for a brief moment (because she's been kept awake for 8 days straight, thanks to the patch) and when she startles awake, she rattles off a series of words. You guessed it: Barium, Cobalt Einstein, Koolaid. In the spirit of this scene, I planned to count back the days I missed and ramble off a series of words, one to correspond to each day. Then I realized I'm too lazy and there are too many days (far more than when I first came up with the idea)! So the caffeine-junkie scientist's words are going to have to do.<br />
Or I could use blitzkrieg....because it's super cool before query, right?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-74147814240224076942015-01-13T08:53:00.000-08:002015-01-13T08:57:44.717-08:00Pannukakku<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today I'm playing catch-up. I found the word in the title of my blog within this Youtube video. In it, Californians taste-test some Michigan foods, including Faygo soda, coney island hot dogs and beef pasties. The last thing they sample is something called a pannukakku. At first, I was a bit confused. I'm Michigander through-and-through, and I'd never heard of a pannukakku. Turns out it's a Scandinavian version of a pancake. The pannukakku certainly garnered the best reaction from the Californians. It made me want to run right out and get one, since it's apparently oozing deliciousness. The problem is, I didn't know where to run in order to obtain this elusive pastry. I did, however, have suspicions.<br />
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I scrolled through the comments below the post. There was no need to go very far. Others had posted rants similar to what I myself was thinking. We've been here all our lives, scarfing down Sanders hot fudge and Better Made potato chips. What the heck is a pannukakku? What's it doing among the Michigan standards? I wasn't alone in not being able to wrap my mind around the spongy body of the thing being devoured aggressively onscreen.</div>
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The answer became clear about three seconds before I reached the post explaining exactly why I'd never heard of a pannukakku (Like I said, I had my suspicions). Michigan has two parts (duh) the mitten and the amorphous blob we affectionately call the UP. The pannukakku hails from the upper peninsula! Sorry, guys, eh! It's not like I forgot about you, eh. It's just--well, how's the air up there? (Okay, I<i> did</i> forget about you, but it's only because you don't appear when I put out my hand to give directions.) </div>
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What people from other states don't get is that the northern part of Michigan is pretty far removed from the lower half. Those guys are actually more akin to Wisconsin. Think of it this way: after watching five seasons of Breaking Bad in one week, I feel closer to the inhabitants of Albuquerque, New Mexico, than I do the UP-ers. You have to have a certain mindset to live in a place that isolated, and that mindset is as foreign to me as that exhibited in <i>The Wolf of Wall Street</i>. In short, I had no clue they were eating Finnish pancakes for breakfast.</div>
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Not that Californians would understand living in a gargantuan state where northern inhabitants have vastly different lifestyles than south-dwellers. Nah. Their experiences are completely unique.</div>
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Anyway, pannukakku is my new favorite word. No idea how to pronounce it. As for today's favorite word, it's muse. I'm off to sweet-talk mine.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-90873603892278615242015-01-11T16:08:00.003-08:002015-01-11T16:08:46.256-08:00Fruition and Thunder<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What's the best thing about the Polar Vortex? Thunder snow.</td></tr>
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These two are irresistible. First there's the exact moment that an idea or plan comes into being. (While everyone knows the best part of any project or idea is the seemingly endless journey leading up to its fruition, there is still something to be said for the actual realization.) Bonus points for including a major food group. I always thought Fruition would make a good name for a smoothie stand. Quick! Someone start a smoothie stand.<br />
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The word thunder evokes the same thrill that hearing actual thunder does. I love storms, but I know better than to chase them; I prefer them to come to me. The ideal situation would be watching from my window, secure in the knowledge that everyone I know and love is safe and sound inside their own homes. Today in church, the reading included a passage that used thunder as a verb, which is an awesome tactic of description. ("God's voice thundered...") I knew immediately which word I'd have to include in the blog. Divine intervention perhaps?<br />
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In any case, fruition and thunder are my weekend words.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-46905622668773923172015-01-09T08:43:00.003-08:002015-01-09T09:09:48.921-08:00Behoove and Facade<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So I forgot to post this yesterday, but I did conjure a word in honor of all the high school teachers I had who made various attempts to spice things up when they were up in front of their classes making mouth motions. "It would behoove you to study for this final," they'd say, dragging out the operative word with relish. (It's a good word to drag out. G'head. Do it. I'll wait.) Most of us sat dead-eyed through behoooooves and the advice it preambled, but some, me included, thought hey that's a silly-sounding word, but kinda cool and attention-grabbing. Those that <i>did </i>perk up over the long o followed by a v that could make even the most chapped bottom lip tingle might've filed behoove away for future use. Maybe in an arena where it was accepted and in fact encouraged to attract attention. (Not high school or jail, in other words, but everywhere else.)<br />
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Behoove, then, for yesterday, when all my troubles seemed so far away. It occurred to me that it's a bit tedious to have 365 blog titles all in a little criminal line-up on one's blog. Then again, it might be cool. Hmm. I could always tweak the concept. At least at the end of this year I'll be able to scroll back through my favorite words on that dreary holiday known as NYE and render tangible the things I love best in the world (besides my kids). I won't have to invite everyone over to a faux New Year's Party and give a depressing tour of the piles of papers and computer files that truly represent my Year in Words. That vein of New Year's Eve Party usually ends with a flash-drive bonfire.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsvR0y43L9tBYQGXw7EewzfpIymIPiT1j_Q7YLuSnyp_0t8-msfbLfyS1V1DUV6hNr-0LK8U1iaqFjsJoRCj8mGVtfqEwWWZ6ORNceXzh178YQRh4tg3Un4BUoS7jJErc5eBxUI0ThSyd/s1600/vik+-+small+things+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsvR0y43L9tBYQGXw7EewzfpIymIPiT1j_Q7YLuSnyp_0t8-msfbLfyS1V1DUV6hNr-0LK8U1iaqFjsJoRCj8mGVtfqEwWWZ6ORNceXzh178YQRh4tg3Un4BUoS7jJErc5eBxUI0ThSyd/s1600/vik+-+small+things+2.jpg" /></a>On to multi-tasking (which is a word that will never grace a post, since I detest it). Friday marks my continued participation in the Celebrate Small Things blog hop hosted by Vik Lit <a href="http://viklit.blogspot.com/">(Scribblings of an Aspiring Author)</a> and co-hosted by a bunch of people I have to check to make sure are still co-hosting in the New Year.<br />
Good thing I checked! The new host is <a href="http://lexacain.blogspot.com/">Lexa Cain</a>. I'm thankful she took over and also for Vik Lit's coming up with this hop in the first place (it's one of my faves) and, of course, for the great job she did hosting. You should join us by visiting Lexa and getting on the list below.<br />
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Today I'm thankful for the word facade. Mysterious and beautiful with its soft c and French roots, facade packs an ironic punch when you discover its meaning because it doesn't come across as sinister at first look (which means the word itself is functioning under the guise of a facade). Bonus points for being easily applied to people, houses, cars and other stuff. Pack facade into your Santa bag of nouns. (It's shoved under the bed next to the bag of adjectives that got ravaged by that bear while camping. Next time tie that thing up in a tree.)<br />
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Facade.
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-55761417833260782192015-01-07T10:35:00.001-08:002015-01-07T10:44:41.128-08:00Wuthering<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I kinda sorta knew what it meant before Googling it, even though it has been years and years since I've read the novel that made the word famous. (I still Googled just to make sure I wouldn't make an ass of myself by claiming it meant something it didn't.) Wuthering (onomatopoeia much?) means a blustery wind of the sort that might blow across the same Yorkshire moors notorious for obsessing a whole household of literary women who in all truth possessed rather ghoulish imaginations.<br />
Now that I think about it, I've learned most of my favorite words from books. While in this case the word is virtually synonymous with the book (I've never heard wuthering used in casual conversation) I usually get a vague sense of meaning while I'm reading and confirm the definition later, finding my intuition to be spot on. Even though the author comes out and tells readers what wuthering means (on page two), we would've figured it out by context if given half the chance.<br />
That's what people did before Google, by the way. Information recall is way better that way, which explains why modern people have such horrible retention. Back in the day, we deciphered new words by piecing together patterns of usage, thus establishing new pathways for neurotransmitters. (You'll notice these have become rusty as of late with apps that pop up definitions without anyone having to do any work.) I'd argue that when you make out definitions yourself by reading sentences that include the unfamiliar word tossed in among more common ones, you're more likely to use the word correctly in the future. Anyway, back then the lame people looked up words in dictionaries, which was kind of like Google, but required more effort. The true bottom dwellers often asked their parents, who said, "How the hell should I know what that means? Stop reading those useless books and go get a freaking job at J.C. Penney's so I don't have to feed and clothe you until I'm eighty."<br />
I enjoyed Wuthering Heights, thanks to the beautiful language, lush landscape descriptions and the thrill of subjecting myself to the atmospheric equivalent of a literary pressure cooker. I hated the love triangle, probably because I'm a firm believer that if you love a man (or a woman), you should tell him so and arrange to be around him often, like with marriage or--you know--something else. Otherwise, you're pretty much guaranteed to be miserable. Those two set themselves up to be utter train wrecks, and I have very little sympathy for them. They're worse than a reality show, really and anyone who gets any enjoyment out of seeing their ultimate ruin (sorry for giving away the end) should be ashamed of themselves. Yet people do.<br />
You might think I'm being a jerk about it, but Catherine and Heathcliff tainted love for me (not in the Soft Cell way), and that's not cool.<br />
For a fleeting time when I was young, I envied Catherine and Heathcliff their dysfunctional brand of "love", which in all honesty parallels a drug addicition. I thought it was romantic to pine away after someone unattainable. To welcome death so I could haunt my true love till the end of time. Luckily I came to my senses before I could do too much damage to my life, or else I, too, would be creeping along the moors, clutching my wrap about my shoulders, listening to wuthering coming at me from all corners. (Are there corners on the moors? I'm thinking not, unless they've since come up with something like that eight corner pizza available at Jetts.)<br />
The tenant is the best catch, IMHO. I totally dig him--although I can't recall his name. (Lockwood, that's it! Checked again!) Arguably the best listener of all times, he's the one who gets my vote of sympathy. Imagine bumbling into that tinderbox of emotion. Horrible luck. If I were him, I would've immediately moved elsewhere. No doubt about it. One of the best things about Wuthering Heights is the first word of the title. I'm off to wuther about.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-37207009252904161902015-01-06T12:20:00.002-08:002015-01-06T12:20:14.899-08:00Goodbye<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Okay, so it's day two and I'm still going strong. Today's chosen word is Goodbye. Most people don't like goodbyes, but I don't mind them. I've found that they are rarely final. Bonus points for this thrilling aspect: when they <i>are</i> actual goodbyes, you rarely know about it in the moment. That gives life the element of surprise. Since goodbyes mark many a pivotal milestone along our respective journeys, they can't be all bad. (Come to think of it, pivotal's not a bad word, either. Future blog post? Time will tell.)<br />
Goodbye is actually a contraction, but don't hold that against it. It's a merging of the phrase God be with ye, which actually makes it more on par with its French and Spanish counterparts. How nice of us to compact the various phrases other languages use to cover all types of farewell scenarios into one tidy package. If that's not efficiency, I don't know what is. And English usually gets a bad rap in this regard. Back in the day, goodbye meant, <i>not</i> I'll never set eyes on you again (How do I know this? Because if it did, the modern word would be Illnersetsonugin. Duh.) but: "stay safe, god willing, until we meet again."<br />
So the goodbye I'm thinking of smacks of both protection spell and text. Yes, text. I mean, why would a culture merge words unless they were too busy to articulate them? The same culture was too manic to waste time on hunkering down to their books to make sure all the appropriate words were represented, which means the spellings handed down are give or take a few letters. Sound familiar? You could say 'bye was the precursor of the hacked attempts at wordings we relay through a vast range of electronic devices in this day and age. And to think it can be traced all the way back to the 1560's (roughly).<br />
No doubt about it. Goodbye is my word BAE today.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-86744349234567355982015-01-05T12:31:00.001-08:002015-01-06T12:24:23.318-08:00New Year. New Blog.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I don't usually bother making New Year's resolutions, but this year I made tons (most of which I've already botched). Let's see, there was the resolution to quit biting my nails. That one was history by, like, 12:05. There was the one to stop swearing. That was going well until I watched The Wolf of Wall Street and allowed moral degeneration to seep through me like chemo. I was kind of hoping the huge financial success would rub off on me as well, but I can see now that was wishful thinking. Sell me a pen. You're right. No one uses pens anymore. It would be hard to sell even the Percy Jackson pen, which--if you don't know--turns into a full-size sword. So much for that.<br />
The resolution of losing weight is still up in the air. I mean, the year is young, but it doesn't bode well that I had a piece of coconut cream pie for breakfast and another for lunch. Plus, I put off exercising in favor of watching two seasons of Breaking Bad on Netflix.<br />
Looks like I should've kept with my tradition of not making any resolutions. There's still hope, though. (Isn't there always?) My last resolution is to keep up with this blog. I plan to stay on track, for once, by revamping the word count. From now on it'll be....a whopping one. Yep, that's my target. One word. The catch is I will update every day. I splurged a little on words today not only because the decadence of the holiday is still lingering, but also because it would look pretty odd to see just one word on the blog with no lead-in or explanation. So, there you have it, fellow bloggers. You are my only hope of finally making good on a resolution. (See how I've unloaded the burden onto you? That's so like me. The old me. The me that will change when I've kept this promise made on New Year's Eve.)<br />
My favorite word today is carousel. I love this word so much, I'd like to have and hold it. I love its origins and how it looks as if I've spelled it wrong when I haven't. Plus I cherish pretty much every song that includes an allusion to a carousel in either words or concept. (That one by Joni Mitchell, for instance,or Jacques Brel's. Those two spring immediately to mind.) I love that I learned a little more about this word while watching Pawn Stars. (Where else but in America, huh?)<br />
Carousel<br />
It's one of those savory words that make us hope that language won't die out entirely, even though the predictions are pretty clear and grim.<br />
Are there any words you're particularly liking today? If so, please share. Whatever you do, don't steal mine.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-70598739009594221192014-12-04T10:04:00.001-08:002014-12-04T10:05:50.656-08:00If I Cancel Christmas, It's On Me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> On GMA this morning, they ran a fluff
story about parents who decided to “cancel” Christmas for their three young
boys. I’m torn about whether to admire them for their stick-to-it-iveness or
view them as child abusers. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Who hasn't threatened this? This couple's actually doing it! Amazing! While I'm tempted to follow suit, I'm afraid I don't have the Christmas balls for it. Or maybe it goes deeper than my backbone or lack therof. *adopts Grinch voice* Cancelling Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Granted, I am a lenient parent. It stems from being the product of one overprotective parent and one who
suffered a mental illness. My mother was on a mission to keep anything bad from
happening a la Marlin from Finding Nemo, and my father was often in a fugue
state. That’s right, he sometimes acted like a zombie, i.e., sitting in a
trance, not paying attention to anything going on around him. He was in a world
of his own. One time, in order to demonstrate this eccentricity, I jumped over
him while he was watching TV. The friend hanging out with me that day thought it
was hysterical, and I got that thrill one always gets in successfully
entertaining an audience. My father didn’t flinch. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not much fun for little Elmo.</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> It never occurred to me how
cruel my actions were. I was just a kid--typically a very good kid--maybe around eleven years old and at the mercy of some forces I didn't understand. (No one told me about my father's mental condition, for instance.) I still should’ve been nicer that day. I don’t know what
got into me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Based on reading this, you’ll probably
dismiss any parenting advice I can give. But I’ll argue that being the daughter of
a man who suffered multiple mental breakdowns and at least as many suicide attempts over
the course of my youth makes me a better, far more understanding parent. Besides,
anyone can give parenting advice. So there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> And
as an officially screwed-up child who grew to be a mediocre mom who--to her credit--tries like
hell to be an awesome one, I advise these parents to reconsider their decision. Grinch parenting is as effective as Finding Nemo parenting = Not Very. If you really want to teach your kids the meaning of Christmas, I would go a less punitive route. Take it from someone who once doled out an overzealous punishment, and has lived to regret it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> About eight years ago, my daughter got
reamed in kindergarten for eating the “special snack” of a child with allergies. (Gluten, I think.) Kindergarten was a horrible year for us. I knew it would be a hard transition, because my older daughter had gone through it a few years before. It's the perfect storm of factors that can cause kids apprehension. The teachers
are getting to know the children. The children are acclimating to school, some
of them without the benefit of having attended pre-school. Patience is a must
in most instances—which is why most kindergarten teachers are the cream of the
crop, chosen specifically to ease the burden of transition and establish a good
impression of school and a firm routine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2pmoYCQ7yWeAcr3lHBkSbKZSo2aspAb4p4oIB2TdK8yBVu2M7hBUIj6H9PIR5uzXrEv7s3xpPYRvxJ08Zg67v1nRDJ20vDptQOBPWwH7KOn2IKxGtwb90h66Zrl9V8OAkJkDAqu4NPLpR/s1600/Winter+Holidays+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2pmoYCQ7yWeAcr3lHBkSbKZSo2aspAb4p4oIB2TdK8yBVu2M7hBUIj6H9PIR5uzXrEv7s3xpPYRvxJ08Zg67v1nRDJ20vDptQOBPWwH7KOn2IKxGtwb90h66Zrl9V8OAkJkDAqu4NPLpR/s1600/Winter+Holidays+001.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The snack thief, eight years later.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> My middle daughter’s kindergarten career
posed even more challenges than usual. The personality of her teacher didn’t
meld well with hers, for one thing. I came to find out years later that the
teacher was basically just teaching kindergarten because she wanted the part-time
schedule to be home with her young daughter. (I know this,
because she told me so, in those exact words.) And my older daughter has since had the teacher for a higher grade, which made it clear that some of the
problems were not entirely my middle daughter’s fault, but resulted instead from this particular teacher's method of dealing with strong personalities. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Back to the Snack Incident. The
kindergarten teacher lost it. She called me in, sat me down with my daughter
and read us the riot act. We were stoic through the onslaught. How could my
daughter steal the snack (a bag of cookies) from a child who is already
suffering from the stigma of not being able to participate in birthday treats
and regular snack time? How could I just be sitting there, not disciplining her?
Don’t I see how cruel and calculating this is? How could I sleep at night
knowing my daughter had done this? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/YleZvTSDC6s?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> That same week, a group of boys snuck a
peanut-butter-smeared item onto the placemat of a child suffering peanut
allergies and the administration laughed that incident off as a
harmless lunchtime prank. (To me it sounded like attempted murder, but what did <i>I </i>know? I was raising the Anti-Christ.) Since the
ranting to which I was subjected echoed what the pre-school teachers had said
the prior year, I figured my daughter was a snotty, entitled brat. The
teacher suggested “severe consequences” while skewering me with her one good
eye. (A glare seems more effective from a one-eyed person, doesn't it?) I took her advice to
heart. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> At the time, my daughter was in a
horseback riding class offered through community education. My husband had
coached kiddie soccer and received a voucher, which we used for the class. I decided
to withhold her next horseback riding session. That would teach her a lesson
about stealing snacks from poor unsuspecting gluten-free kids, I thought. This
course of action would certainly please the one-eyed teacher. (I’m a pleaser,
did I mention that?) Worst. Decision. Ever. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> I took my daughter to the horseback riding
class so she could explain to the instructor in her own words why she wouldn’t
be in class. There were tears from my daughter, a befuddled look from the instructor,
trauma, despair-filled whinnying, snickerings from the other kids (or maybe
that was the horses, too). It was horrible. Essentially I punished MYSELF.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Now, I don’t know what the children of The
Grinch parents did to bring on a cancellation of Christmas, but it should be
more than simply being bratty. Everyone’s bratty. Everyone. Some grow out of it. Some don't. And, if you haven’t
noticed, most people are also losing the meaning of Christmas. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvWW8ZVhty5efUoZ4G1bimNCvD9EfGi1Q7aXs-qkzQtC-AnBhS2yzXhNRoMRtyK4ZV2R79TjjNV5bL8VYgIZtgKkcr-TseLRP9Q5NiBjXb6FhAkLochNd4c5QyFlWK9pl9H2yejnVYtVRY/s1600/Sunbird.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvWW8ZVhty5efUoZ4G1bimNCvD9EfGi1Q7aXs-qkzQtC-AnBhS2yzXhNRoMRtyK4ZV2R79TjjNV5bL8VYgIZtgKkcr-TseLRP9Q5NiBjXb6FhAkLochNd4c5QyFlWK9pl9H2yejnVYtVRY/s1600/Sunbird.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How come they got to park on the street?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Let me tell another story from my
overly-punitive past. My mother didn’t like cars parked on the street in front
of the house. The rule was I could park my car in the street all day, enabling
her to get in and out of the driveway, but in the evening I had to pull it off
the street. Which meant I had to get up the next morning and move it before my
father left for work. We affectionately called this The Suburban Shuffle. One
night I didn’t feel like moving the car. I was either too lazy, too tired, or I’d
figured out that if I parked it on the street (where everyone else parked, by
the way), I could sleep in later than 6 a.m., which is when my father would
have to leave. I worked at a department store and rarely had to get there
before 8. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> That night a vandal came through our
neighborhood and shot out people’s windows with a b.b. gun. He had chosen
random cars to take out—mine and a few of the neighbors’, all the way around
the block. The next morning, I walked out to my car to find the window in
shards. I was devastated. I knew it would be expensive to replace, and it was
also a mess to clean up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> My parents gave me no sympathy. You can
imagine what they said: if I’d parked in the driveway, like they’d suggested,
my car would’ve been spared. What lesson did that teach me? To listen always to
my parents? No (Thank God, because sometimes my parents made mistakes and this
incident actually made me trust them less.) That I had control over bad things?
No. What it taught me was to fear the unknown. It taught me that I couldn’t
rely on my parents for support in times of need. If I asked for help, I’d be
accused of bringing my own problems upon me. Note: The punishment was rendered
not by my parents but by the FORCES OF THE UNIVERSE, emancipating my mom and
dad from the title of “the bad guys”, although they deemed the punishment
fitting with their attitudes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> How does this parallel the boys losing Christmas, you might ask? Obviously, in this case the parents <i>are</i> the bad guys. What if my parents decided to sneak out at night and shoot a b.b. gun at my poor Sunbird for the purpose of teaching me a lesson? No one would support <i>that </i>but isn't it--in a sense--the equivalent of the way these parents are holding their kids up as examples? It might not be as bad as staking skulls on swords outside the castle wall (Game of Thrones moment)...okay I'm gonna drop this allegory in the middle of a sentence. All I'm saying is it's very hard to resist the lure of the distorted view of Christmas that ADULTS have helped propagate. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji3r20ku9LenkzRzSl9js9EydQ5y4cs8dek-VdSJe16FJrwjLL6QJBPpWjbayWrpOUouQEtPX_EkZBR6VJmSVQKFle4t4HUuDzdOOuyDslqp8-RwvA9nkPnaK4CcMxJhRCu6yxkbgy8xvE/s1600/Christmas+Bells.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji3r20ku9LenkzRzSl9js9EydQ5y4cs8dek-VdSJe16FJrwjLL6QJBPpWjbayWrpOUouQEtPX_EkZBR6VJmSVQKFle4t4HUuDzdOOuyDslqp8-RwvA9nkPnaK4CcMxJhRCu6yxkbgy8xvE/s1600/Christmas+Bells.jpg" height="214" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> I’ve had problems and obstacles since my
car windows got shot out, some of which I might’ve “brought on myself” and some
that just happened. They happened regardless of whether or not I followed every
rule to the letter. Just as Christmas comes without ribbons, tags, packages,
boxes or bags. Christmas, you see, is a similar force with the same potential to
be negative or positive. It certainly depends on the perceptions of people experiencing it, but it's also a powerful tradition steeped in history and myth. Unfortunately, it has morphed into a strange cultural hybrid: a multi-billion dollar industry, a
political conundrum, observed legally but defined by laws of etiquette that make it wrong to express Christian sentiments in the same public buildings that close their doors for the holiday. Giving these children the incorrect
impression that they can somehow control this cluster of confusion that Christmas has
become is wrong and damaging. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Let me note here that I think this is a
<a href="http://www.overthebigmoon.com/why-my-husband-and-i-cancelled-christmas/">GREAT </a>idea (check it out on this <a href="http://www.overthebigmoon.com/why-my-husband-and-i-cancelled-christmas/">blog</a>) if it isn’t tied back to the kids’ behavior. Parents who sit their children down and explain that society in general has lost
perspective and that’s trickling down to the family, so they’ve decided not to
do a big thing this year have my full support.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> If not handled this way, I fear that withholding Christmas
might actually bring <i>more </i>attention
to the consumerism aspect. The kids’ goals for next year will most likely include “earning”
their presents back. And what if they behave like angels, yet their dad or mom loses
his or her job and the family can’t afford the presents that allegedly correlate to their
improved behavior? What lesson will that teach? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Of course, it will be all-out brilliant if
next year the boys insist upon the exact same scaled-back celebration, preferring it to the bigger extravaganza. I will gladly eat my words if that happens. Only time will tell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4fBBQzrqxdOZL2IJOtvF7cymSqMZNzdQaomrvWVzDart7OA7jEiEJh4t5KUd3ygxiH_O6dd2vpHyiGwC8Hb0anWnzL9bHFqYUyCAij1vuxB7U7TGZkaU2qcI6VLkyliVWGNlraZa-vatA/s1600/Door+knocker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4fBBQzrqxdOZL2IJOtvF7cymSqMZNzdQaomrvWVzDart7OA7jEiEJh4t5KUd3ygxiH_O6dd2vpHyiGwC8Hb0anWnzL9bHFqYUyCAij1vuxB7U7TGZkaU2qcI6VLkyliVWGNlraZa-vatA/s1600/Door+knocker.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just imagine Mr. Rogers on there. No!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Until then, I advise the parents who have
shouted this non-traditional parenting decision from the rooftops and thus garnered
numerous blog hits, interviews on national morning shows, and my attention (last but not least): Unless you relish
being visited this Christmas Eve (and bitch-slapped) by the ghosts of Dr. Seuss,
Mr. Rogers and Dr. Spock (I know, my head is swimming from the guru mash-up right there),
I’d get those boys some gifts for Christmas. The devolution of our culture is certainly not their fault. At least, I don't think it is. (Is one of them named Damien? If so, all bets are off.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-51878658000812287932014-11-14T06:41:00.002-08:002014-11-14T06:53:12.762-08:00Celebrate Small Football Stadiums<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsvR0y43L9tBYQGXw7EewzfpIymIPiT1j_Q7YLuSnyp_0t8-msfbLfyS1V1DUV6hNr-0LK8U1iaqFjsJoRCj8mGVtfqEwWWZ6ORNceXzh178YQRh4tg3Un4BUoS7jJErc5eBxUI0ThSyd/s1600/vik+-+small+things+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsvR0y43L9tBYQGXw7EewzfpIymIPiT1j_Q7YLuSnyp_0t8-msfbLfyS1V1DUV6hNr-0LK8U1iaqFjsJoRCj8mGVtfqEwWWZ6ORNceXzh178YQRh4tg3Un4BUoS7jJErc5eBxUI0ThSyd/s1600/vik+-+small+things+2.jpg" /></a></div>
This post marks my continued participation in the Celebrate the Small Things blog hop, originated on Viklit's blog (<a href="http://viklit.blogspot.com/">Scribblings of an Aspiring Author</a>). Please join us every Friday in expressing gratitude for everything from tiny triumphs to giant sports facilities. G'head, click on the list below.<br />
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhVbgioItgQqbfa_tXnZIKfgK4l-TmlzmWOawUW048dWWsNRS2K-alGar7peXRepyg1l1NqxwAfetUYCurAvRWFkUNLB4srhSDBZhbOLAPXdqd-pLzY9SZEYoTbFVouakb-rcXMfCHcurx/s1600/footer-logo-mlive-inc.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhVbgioItgQqbfa_tXnZIKfgK4l-TmlzmWOawUW048dWWsNRS2K-alGar7peXRepyg1l1NqxwAfetUYCurAvRWFkUNLB4srhSDBZhbOLAPXdqd-pLzY9SZEYoTbFVouakb-rcXMfCHcurx/s1600/footer-logo-mlive-inc.png" /></a> Today I'm grateful that our high school football stadium has made it to the top ten in the MLive's Best Stadium search. I'm not a big football fan and I only visit the stadium when forced. Since my daughter marches in the band, I'm required to attend every home game, and occasionally I drop my son off on the field for soccer practice. Football is our sport, you see, and when I say football, I'm not talking about the American version. You might wonder why I care at all about the outcome of this vote. I guess I just feel that the fact we've gotten this far in this contest says something about my little town....something that I love.</div>
<div>
<div>
We aren't going to win. There is no way in Hell, MI that we're going to win (Yes, there actually is one. I might even retire there.) The stadium in the lead has 30 thousand votes or so, ten times more than us. The one ranked second is running neck-and-neck with the first one, with votes in the 30,000's. And still we keep voting. It's kind of inconceivable, seeing the odds are stacked so high against us. I vote every time I think about it, and since I'm at my computer all day long trying to make my goal of 50,000 words for National Novel Writing month (1/5 there! Whoo hoo!), it's working out okay. (You can vote every hour on the hour right <a href="http://highschoolsports.mlive.com/news/article/-1579223063028687514/mlives-best-stadium-search-narrowed-to-final-10-contestants-vote-now-for-the-winner/#incart_river">here</a> all the way until November 17). Other people must be doing the same, because--while a neighboring school district that also made the top ten is losing ground--<i>we</i> continue to toggle between seventh and sixth place, and have gotten as high as fifth.</div>
</div>
<div>
We won't give up. No matter how unlikely winning becomes. And that's a pretty good summary of the essence of the people here. When it comes to our kids, we won't quit. We'll keep plugging away, refusing to be discouraged by the gargantuan strides of others all around us. They might think they're on the right track, but only time will tell.</div>
<div>
Unfortunately, I don't think that slow and steady will win this race this time. But it makes for a pretty decent place to live. And a kick-ass philosophy (I'm talking a Kim-Kardashian-size ass too, Like the one plastered across <i>Paper</i>) to apply to larger issues, like real life. Or Nano. (Slow and steady just might win that one.)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmJpAEvLmRPI2OSp_hZTlsft9t0TgeD5lp1OMYAHVQupa2a4dKpdK8f5J4T-4fgPMI3y21tg4d8tIk2zaz3sva8UViphlCfN5dUUpiK_KmIBBYaD78Bn2q7h_l_Juih9uL6TQh4b-qMmrR/s1600/Stadium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmJpAEvLmRPI2OSp_hZTlsft9t0TgeD5lp1OMYAHVQupa2a4dKpdK8f5J4T-4fgPMI3y21tg4d8tIk2zaz3sva8UViphlCfN5dUUpiK_KmIBBYaD78Bn2q7h_l_Juih9uL6TQh4b-qMmrR/s1600/Stadium.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
<div>
Besides, the stadium is super pretty--I mean, handsome. (Football stadiums probably don't consider it a compliment to be called pretty.) Already a backdrop for some fond family memories, it's sure to provide more of the same for my kids over their high school years. Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I'd swear I'm being sucked into an episode of <i>Friday Night Lights</i>. Then I forcibly redirect myself into <i>The Music Man. </i>That's more my cup of tea.</div>
<div>
If you liked this post and have a second (that's literally all it takes), vote for <a href="http://highschoolsports.mlive.com/news/article/-1579223063028687514/mlives-best-stadium-search-narrowed-to-final-10-contestants-vote-now-for-the-winner/#incart_river">Ortonville-Brandon--Blackhawk Stadium</a>.</div>
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And join us on the hop, below!</div>
<!-- start LinkyTools script --><script src="http://www.linkytools.com/basic_linky_include.aspx?id=179014" type="text/javascript"></script><!-- end LinkyTools script -->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-13144322201477330192014-11-12T09:42:00.000-08:002014-11-12T09:42:00.431-08:00Onion Cats<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">(All I can say by way of explanation is: It's Nanowrimo and I'm sorry, cat lovers.) </span></div>
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<b style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Big
Three Automaker Unveils Car Fueled by Cats</span></b></div>
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<b style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> In response to consumer demand for more
fuel efficient car options, Dingler Automotive has revealed a new technology
that enables engines to run on cats. This is a huge step toward the automaker’s
ultimate goal of keeping foreign electric-car manufacturers overseas where they
freaking belong.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> “If you can’t beat them, ban them,” said
automotive CEO Robert Gangston. “I don’t like electric cars myself. I’m
old-fashioned. Give me a good old gas-guzzler any day. But when our consumers made
it clear they wanted options, I was happy to oblige.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> The felines used for fuel fall within a wide
range of breeds, including Siamese, Bermese, Persian and American Short-hair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> “We tried to nab some of those ugly hairless
cats to test the engines too,” said Lynn Ellerton, engineering lead on the
project. “Unfortunately, it turns out hairless cats are rare, so we had to
settle for tabbies. There are tons of tabbies running wild on the streets of
Detroit.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Consumers can also stock up on superfluous
cats at animal shelters or on the foreclosed properties of creepy cat people,
as well as through retailers specializing in car accessories. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Abducting neighbors’ cats for fuel is not
recommended.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho75irRDmdKn6fwKjY4eVrtxZXyc52mnkSaDhaVlGkFrzo4mL-Dyxj-Xg4oklLsfPiS_OzPryeZAE_XMulzwGeo2qslQNLXjP6E2sQHNtPIpPGN-uyHnjkTnL6S5592avDIhdk_bwU5IX8/s1600/cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho75irRDmdKn6fwKjY4eVrtxZXyc52mnkSaDhaVlGkFrzo4mL-Dyxj-Xg4oklLsfPiS_OzPryeZAE_XMulzwGeo2qslQNLXjP6E2sQHNtPIpPGN-uyHnjkTnL6S5592avDIhdk_bwU5IX8/s400/cat.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> “In this global market, people are even
harder to satisfy,” said Gangston. “Addressing their tedious needs sometimes
calls for drastic measures. Companies like Tesla feel they can come over here
and provide a product just because some new-fangled market research has deemed
it desirable to US citizens. Never mind that our engineers have worked their
asses off to come up with two—count them, two—electric car models over the
years. It’s never enough. From an automotive standpoint, the jump from gas to electricity
to cats made perfect sense.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> So as not to make a mountain out of a
molehill, the controversial research was secretively performed in an abandoned warehouse
smack in the middle of a blight-infested downtown neighborhood. Gangston
confirmed that the engineering team had to forcibly remove twelve squatting
crackheads in order to proceed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNk7Z0BDwH2-2unPjXpp6RSnAH9M8OzgjI4u4V4ghuEJ4y2JzzgmM25YNVV3uFJaGIaLL556em4Ktb9qn_IbdsLaNZuUgGhzIafRDUb1EeCRQF7XmRd6lOmvfAB-xksYAWFNfNS0P3xzwB/s1600/Crackhouse.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNk7Z0BDwH2-2unPjXpp6RSnAH9M8OzgjI4u4V4ghuEJ4y2JzzgmM25YNVV3uFJaGIaLL556em4Ktb9qn_IbdsLaNZuUgGhzIafRDUb1EeCRQF7XmRd6lOmvfAB-xksYAWFNfNS0P3xzwB/s320/Crackhouse.png" width="319" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> “They went above and beyond,” he said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> The hard-won results promise to revolutionize
fuel economy. Each cat equates to approximately 100 miles of driving (107
highway), saving the typical driver thousands of dollars per year in fuel. Auto
emissions will likewise be improved, since the festering wounds from cat fights
are contained in special fuel compartments that facilitate the cat-powered
engines. Bodily fluids are then secreted out the tailpipe, where they will be
washed down into the sewer system, which NHTSA is quick to point out doesn’t
fall under the regulatory organization’s jurisdiction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> “We don’t do sewers, thank God,” NHTSA
said. “Just air emissions.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> In
a stroke of poetic brilliance, the automaker is letting the cat out of the bag
just in time for cooler weather. Drawn to the heat of cooling engines, the
felines have a tendency to mold their bodies to the metal undercarriages of
cars in driveways and parking spaces. Many speculate that means the animals had
it coming<i>. </i>In fact, <i>They Have It Coming </i>is the tagline of
the ad campaign that will accompany the cat-engine launch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> “I’ve got all these alerts on my facebook
feed to check underneath my car to make sure I don’t run over any cats,” said
Gangston. “Anything stupid enough to crawl up under there gets just what it
deserves. This time next year you’ll be able to grab the cat, insert it in the
appropriate compartment and be on your merry way! Unless it’s a skunk. Don’t
try it with a skunk.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> The automaker’s stock rose slightly with
the unveiling. Shareholders and automotive employees are optimistic that their
leaders are on the right track to continued recovery from the recession of 2008.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> “That’s what I call enterprise: popping
pussies into cars,” said Ernest “Sweeney” Hobninger, a union steward at the
Lovett Road assembly plant. “At the very least, it should do wonders to control
the stray cat population.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Our publisher contacted the Humane
Institute of America, but the organization was too dumb-struck at press time to
issue a comment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> When asked if there were any concerns about
citations of noise pollution, what with all that yowling going on, Gangston
chuckled.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYTWSZnnRjpn2Cj7QRgcQSRWff7xgSH6PuNqj7775tMF4j3tmiOS0Ma82Z3Y9NPihEUsT0unjFgHuThc1Rb82tVTs7MAytK2F3TTkmsSZfHixsh9pcV1oZNndQcPHPN1OuOgsjdD7O4Q9C/s1600/jamie-dornan-665x385.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYTWSZnnRjpn2Cj7QRgcQSRWff7xgSH6PuNqj7775tMF4j3tmiOS0Ma82Z3Y9NPihEUsT0unjFgHuThc1Rb82tVTs7MAytK2F3TTkmsSZfHixsh9pcV1oZNndQcPHPN1OuOgsjdD7O4Q9C/s320/jamie-dornan-665x385.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know, he looks a lot like Christian Grey.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> “I can’t believe we’ve done this entire
interview with you thinking the cats are alive. The cats are dead, you silly
goose. I mean, anything else would be considered inhumane. What kind of
monsters do you think we are here in Detroit? No, wait. Don’t answer that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> The first model to make use of the new
technology is the 257 cat-power Twitch SE. It will be spotlighted at the 2015
auto show in January. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-19808905308359684872014-10-22T09:19:00.000-07:002014-10-22T11:21:09.344-07:00I am Spartacu--I mean, Renee Zellweger<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><b>The post in which I wimp-out of playing God.</b> Scrolling through my
facebook feed today, I feel like God must feel. Bombarded by the wants and
needs of a world in crisis. Disgusted by the wrongness of it all. It’s
overwhelming, and I don’t even know where to start to make it <i>less</i> alarming. No matter how much I go
around “liking” all the good things on facebook, nothing seems to change. I
probably should just stop reading the feed entirely. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> But I can’t. As Leonardo DiCaprio</span><span style="color: #545454; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">observes
to Kate Winslet as she dangles from the rail of the Titanic, I’m involved now.
I’m going to have to dive into freezing cold water, risk skin-piercing pain and
save my facebook friends by talking them back onto the ship. (Yeah, yeah. I
know it’s going to sink anyway. Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> We’ll start out small.....with<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Item
1:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW4IUIsSEZk0_OyqP7DaYYxtKvtmBlJAcr07qXvR3aZuPeD2W4rgKnwN1Ba-OLoJQGyC-zE3eXE4VMdhpefKEEBAL72lHxLvf-IVz3IhD6xLeX9hp_00YGfSxQ3OatKW28YJ-k47-jZ1Sw/s1600/Renee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW4IUIsSEZk0_OyqP7DaYYxtKvtmBlJAcr07qXvR3aZuPeD2W4rgKnwN1Ba-OLoJQGyC-zE3eXE4VMdhpefKEEBAL72lHxLvf-IVz3IhD6xLeX9hp_00YGfSxQ3OatKW28YJ-k47-jZ1Sw/s1600/Renee.jpg" height="320" width="234" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">...Renee Zellweger’s
appearance. I often wondered what happened to her. Kind of figured she got fed
up with the Hollywood scene of ageism and gender discrimination and took off to
lead a more fulfilling life. Like Ben Affleck when he pulls into Matt Damon’s driveway
in <i>Good Will Hunting </i>only<i> </i>to find his
friend MIA, I noted her absence and smiled a sappy smile, thinking, “Good for
her. She’s meant for better things.” Then I looked wistfully off toward Harvard
or Princeton or whatever college was in <i>Good Will
Hunting</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> A few male stars have likewise
disappeared from the face of the earth at one time or another. Their absences
haven’t been lost on me, either. It just seems like they always come back, tail between
their legs. I respected Rene for actually sticking to her decision. She stayed
away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/lSgO-gFnpSk?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Imagine my vexation when she
reappears in order to attend the <i>Elle </i>Women
in Hollywood event and starts all this buzz about appearance. Stop being so stupid,
everyone! This shouldn’t even be on my facebook feed. Or God’s. Or anyone's. Just walk away, Renee. (I've always wanted to say that!)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Rene Zellweger
looks different in part because it’s been ten years. It can’t be entirely plastic surgery. Plastic
surgery makes you look more like the Hollywood norm, not <i>less</i> like it. She left to avoid having to live up to this ideal and
looks exactly like what she is—a woman living an ordinary life at 46.
It’s Hollywood’s vampiristic refusal to age that has our perceptions all skewed
and unhealthy. The people who stayed in Hollywood are the ones with addictions to Botox and
Photoshop. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Besides, Rene insists she’s happy. Shouldn’t
that be all that matters? The thing is, we’ve been raised to believe happiness
is this miracle elixir that will make you forever young. Truth be told, happiness
doesn’t affect one’s appearance at all. You can be plain and ecstatic or drop-dead
gorgeous and a miserable jerk or any combination of these elements: ugly/happy,
mediocre/happy, miserable/ugly, mediocre/ugly….Urgh, my brain hurts. Quick! Let’s
get the GWH math genius on it. *Matt scrawls out every variation on the nearest
chalkboard while we check out this official <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/10/22/renee-zellweger-looks-different_n_6027230.html?ncid=fcbklnkushpmg00000063">statement.*</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> I’m sorry if you are having a hard time
coping with this “transformation”. No doubt your horror stems from the
suspicion that if it happened to Rene Zellweger (and It here means the normal
aging process), it will also happen to you. Guess what? It will. Your one
saving grace is that <i>your </i>demise won’t
be plastered all over facebook, inspiring dialogues that strive to negate all
the positive changes you’ve made in your life. Sadly, <a href="http://time.com/3529377/renee-zellweger-face-plastic-surgery/">she is used to it.</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> In conclusion, let’s analyze a scene from <i>Good Will Hunting: Ten Years Later</i> (Trust
me, it’s in the works) A wizened Matt Damon shows up at the local bar to meet
Ben Affleck for a drink. Matt mentions he’s recently gained tenure as a professor
of mathematics. The puckish, youthful Ben chugs down his beer and belches, saying,
“Jeez, that’s great, Matt. But you look like shit. If you ask me, you probably
would’ve been way better off staying in town and laying bricks for a living.”
Ben flexes his Batmanesque muscles and slaps Matt on the back. “It’s okay,
buddy. I’m buying the next round with my union overtime.” The prosecution
rests.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> <b>Item
2</b>: <a href="http://www.forbes.com/sites/deniserestauri/2013/07/09/is-this-15-year-old-feminist-a-new-kind-of-gloria-steinem-in-the-making/">This</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhsjpSVQcvzF2tzseS0eF3Wsf6BKlOv1_U4S6HM5Hs_dm-ZE3LADEZnZjn4Nb30sQZIZ_nRAZ9s0i-BkqBqlQj36-Jn1YQyWwPXc9l4tA9Rf5jf-_kgXvnBfV89uWRGYV-fwBWAFxhe4GC/s1600/Adora+Svitak.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhsjpSVQcvzF2tzseS0eF3Wsf6BKlOv1_U4S6HM5Hs_dm-ZE3LADEZnZjn4Nb30sQZIZ_nRAZ9s0i-BkqBqlQj36-Jn1YQyWwPXc9l4tA9Rf5jf-_kgXvnBfV89uWRGYV-fwBWAFxhe4GC/s1600/Adora+Svitak.jpg" height="299" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Holy shit! I wish I
were that articulate at 15. I wish I were that articulate <i>now</i>. I wish I knew whether or not Rene Zellweger was that
articulate (or that I knew anything at all about her current life besides that
everyone thinks she looks bad—or not bad, different, which we all know means
bad). I wish young girls would be perusing the Mighty Girl web site right now and
modeling their vocabs after this young woman’s instead of scouring Instagram
for dorks to model their <i>priorities and bodies</i>
after. I wish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> <b>Item
3:</b> Gamergate<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Is that a thing? Upon
reading <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/posteverything/wp/2014/10/20/rape-and-death-threats-are-terrorizing-female-gamers-why-havent-men-in-tech-spoken-out/?TID+SM_FB">a grim article,</a> I conclude it <i>is</i>
a thing and a deadly one at that, resulting in ugly threats and the attempted
stifling of female empowerment. And in this spot I was about to render an
insightful article on this issue. Unfortunately, people tell me this issue is
dead. Gamergate is no more, which brings up another bad thing about God’s
facebook feed. By the time He gets to the bottom of it, there’s something more important
drawing his attention right back to the top. An unending loop of need and life.
Man, it sucks to be God. Once again, Thank God I’m not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-85180858745817747372014-10-17T10:07:00.005-07:002014-10-17T10:16:08.333-07:00I'm Grateful for My Shitty Computer<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Do your eyes deceive you? No. They don’t. Today for the Celebrate Small Things blog hop, I’m truly
grateful for my shitty computer. That's right. If a person showed up at my door today, right
now, and offered me a free I-Pad, I’d decline. Even if it was an I-Pad
Air. I’d say: No way! I’m good with the computer I have. That old desktop over yonder, on the…well, on the desktop. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsvR0y43L9tBYQGXw7EewzfpIymIPiT1j_Q7YLuSnyp_0t8-msfbLfyS1V1DUV6hNr-0LK8U1iaqFjsJoRCj8mGVtfqEwWWZ6ORNceXzh178YQRh4tg3Un4BUoS7jJErc5eBxUI0ThSyd/s1600/vik+-+small+things+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsvR0y43L9tBYQGXw7EewzfpIymIPiT1j_Q7YLuSnyp_0t8-msfbLfyS1V1DUV6hNr-0LK8U1iaqFjsJoRCj8mGVtfqEwWWZ6ORNceXzh178YQRh4tg3Un4BUoS7jJErc5eBxUI0ThSyd/s1600/vik+-+small+things+2.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> So what if the graphic driver’s shot? I like a
computer that blinks on and off as I’m typing. It reminds me of my
brain. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> And so what if it takes about a million years for the little icons to
materialize on my screen every morning when I turn it on? That gives me time
for another cup of coffee. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> So what if it crashes more reliably than the blood-sugar
levels of a kid who makes a steady diet of Twinkies and Dots? Gives me an
excuse to get off it and go do something else. I guess you could say that my shitty computer has taught me some invaluable lessons.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> Here are a few other things I learned from my crap computer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEWOotqRqDrNb6u7oMFvhwFmzAXyJGxLyiZMabk_SS0XCGmJO78Z_h6BsYPJCW1vstN2wdOesp6hPuUOCTJ2_vPvaO3wg2IIHs3fEPaHPG9ShWMoOEEaHdKo8YH6C28CdjnaheJQKxZLau/s1600/Colin.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEWOotqRqDrNb6u7oMFvhwFmzAXyJGxLyiZMabk_SS0XCGmJO78Z_h6BsYPJCW1vstN2wdOesp6hPuUOCTJ2_vPvaO3wg2IIHs3fEPaHPG9ShWMoOEEaHdKo8YH6C28CdjnaheJQKxZLau/s1600/Colin.png" height="179" width="320" /></a><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Save</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">. Save the freaking document! Save it every
time you breathe, every time your heart beats. Every time you think of Colin O’Donoghue
and how he never wears anything but that stupid pirate outfit on <i>Once Upon a
Time</i>. Save when you imagine you’re getting a whiff of the B.O that needs must waft odiously from O’Donoghue’s leather-encased pits. Save when you find
yourself feeling ashamed for dissing O'Donoghue—who <i>is</i>
after all a one-handed man (or plays one on TV). C'MON! He <i>still</i> should be able to afford an alternate outfit. Trade rum for it, for God's Sake. Rum's a commodity. Where was I? Oh, yeah. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Save! Save! Save!</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Back
it up</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">. Okay, so you forgot to save. Again. No worries, you
have the last draft backed up in the cloud or some other such idyllic, hypothetical place (A flash drive doesn’t
count.) Hurrah for you. Because even if you did save each and every time, something unexpected still might happen. Always have a back-up plan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Your
computer is not alive. </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Sure, it’s been with you right from
the beginning, cheering you on with those indecipherable beeps, challenging you
to rise above the blue screen of death, making you persevere no matter how many
uncertainties the task you're asking of it entails (printing, emailing or just listening). Sometimes you would swear that it's alive. Here's ultimate proof to the contrary. Your computer will be the sole thing that manages to brave your company in November, which marks Nano, an activity that will make you so insufferable that anyone who actually <i>is</i> alive (like the rest of your family and friends) will avoid you like an Ebola-stricken traveler. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I'm sorry to bust your bubble, but d</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">espite the fact that you bounce ideas off
it, swear at it, threaten to throw it through a window and plug most of its orifices
with electrical devices, it isn’t alive--(and you should thank God it's not, by the way, because you might be up on charges if it were, especially after that last line). Don't you realize that any live thing definitely would’ve objected by now to the continuous stream of coffee spittle dripping down its screen? (Which of course would be the equivalent of its face in a live version of itself.) Don't look at me that way!The
Internet is funny and I spit when I laugh. Up until now, you’ve simply
been projecting human traits on it. Calm down! It's understandable. After all, you spend about eight hours of your day immersed in a world of your own imagining. Plus you’ve always been a bit nuts, if you want to know the truth.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtTLYilKih-dktkMuDFE4Uk9w-gmkzcwu4o9jPcp3u0yGs6bnWexYTTSH3KiewVMwjF8MXSmNJ7dmi4EGIOxlj__YPPLlMsvb9P3Chmy2SO7D7KdgvgT2NBf97s_BhzqkmHEvBujJtaVXY/s1600/Sea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtTLYilKih-dktkMuDFE4Uk9w-gmkzcwu4o9jPcp3u0yGs6bnWexYTTSH3KiewVMwjF8MXSmNJ7dmi4EGIOxlj__YPPLlMsvb9P3Chmy2SO7D7KdgvgT2NBf97s_BhzqkmHEvBujJtaVXY/s1600/Sea.jpg" /></a><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Just
because something is nuts, doesn’t mean you have to run out and replace it
right away. </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Chris Cooper said it best in <i>Seabiscuit</i>:
“You know, you don’t throw a whole life away just because he’s </span><a href="http://www.metacafe.com/watch/an-9NAVJ4b2thbmY4/seabiscuit_2003_meeting_tom_smith/">banged up a little</a>." *abandons un-dead computer to watch <i>Seabiscuit</i> twenty additional times.*</div>
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<b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">You can find a bright side in anything if you put your mind to it. </span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">Amen to that! This holds true especially if you’re a writer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">This blog hop is hosted by </span>Vik Lit <a href="http://viklit.blogspot.com/">(Scribblings of an Aspiring Author)</a> and co-hosted by: <a href="http://dianawilder.blogspot.co.uk/" style="color: #929292; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.4799995422363px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Diana Wilder</a>, <span style="background-color: white; color: #565656; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.4799995422363px;">LG Keltner @ </span><a href="http://lgkeltner.blogspot.co.uk/" style="color: #929292; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.4799995422363px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Writing Off the Edge</a>, <span style="background-color: white; color: #565656; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.4799995422363px;">Katie @ </span><a href="http://www.thecyborgmom.blogspot.co.uk/" style="color: #929292; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.4799995422363px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">TheCyborg Mom</a>, and <span style="background-color: white; color: #565656; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.4799995422363px;">CaffeMaggieato @ </span><a href="http://mscoffeehouse.wordpress.com/" style="color: #929292; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.4799995422363px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">mscoffeehouse</a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">If you'd like to join us in finding gratitude in unexpected places, please click below. My computer commands you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;"><br /></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-78637644981365870592014-10-08T08:27:00.000-07:002014-10-08T08:33:56.415-07:00I Laugh in the Face of ADHD (Um, no I don't)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCqfZjaE48JmefI1M3JO-t8UGB93z4p_vJlsbgcXXFh3AXxmXhtEU_wVNu12tDXMx7jtnj0kq84Qw_6FW1y_WLKvlay81wGQMa1b11LZaosLJtUZds2Fv_s2hv_lkbKxTgAbsPx-mVvFxv/s1600/whatever-you-think-think-the-opposite-731623.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCqfZjaE48JmefI1M3JO-t8UGB93z4p_vJlsbgcXXFh3AXxmXhtEU_wVNu12tDXMx7jtnj0kq84Qw_6FW1y_WLKvlay81wGQMa1b11LZaosLJtUZds2Fv_s2hv_lkbKxTgAbsPx-mVvFxv/s1600/whatever-you-think-think-the-opposite-731623.jpg" height="282" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't get it. Does this mean the book is NOT a best-seller?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">This <b>Wimp-out Wednesday</b>, instead of a self-serving
summary (alliterate much?) of my pursuit of employment, I’m delving into an
Important Issue with caps. Content Advisory: if you don’t like serious topics
interspersed with irreverent humor, proceed no further. I’m just warning you. I
plan to blog about <a href="http://www.msn.com/en-us/news/crime/witness-mom-who-tried-to-kill-daughter-insane/ar-BB7XPV9">Kelli Stapleton</a>, who is about to be sentenced for first-degree child abuse after a failed murder/suicide attempt involving her autistic daughter. It’s certainly no laughing matter, but I approach everything with
humor. If I didn’t have that defense mechanism, I would probably be in Kelli’s
shoes. Who knows? Maybe I <i>am</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> As the
mother of an ADHD child, I have experienced a small taste of the stress Kelli
Stapleton had to deal with. Small taste, mind you. Although autism is much more
difficult on families than ADHD, there <i>are</i>
similarities (they are related, after all). Some of the drug treatments
overlap, ADHD kids can become violent and act out in frustration, parent
support of both ADHD and autistic kids is lacking. Being imaginative, I can
easily make the jump. And that scares me shitless. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> I’m
thinking if <i>I</i> can, there are probably
others who can see themselves at risk for this tragic consequence. Others who
haven’t had the best childhoods to set an example for functional family life.
(The news article said that Kelli’s was “chaotic”) Others who might be going it
all alone (while I have a husband who actively participates in the raising of
my kids, Kelli did not). People who are so busy struggling to get appropriate treatments
and therapy for their <i>children </i>there
is no budget left over for themselves. They may not be able to articulate this fear,
but I would bet a million dollars that right now there are women (and some men)
out there who might find themselves in the position of seeing no other way out
than concocting a drastic plot to end the suffering.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> Kelli
Stapleton most likely could be defined as legally insane when she gave her
daughter sleeping meds and lit a pair of charcoal grills inside her van with
the intention of killing them both.That is not something a mother with
fully-functioning faculties (again with the alliteration. MAKE IT STOP!) would do.
But I checked out her blog (and you can too, <a href="https://thestatuswoe.wordpress.com/2013/02/26/what-exactly-is-issys-therapy/">here)</a>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> Now tell
me if that sounds like the ramblings of a crazy person. (Hint: <i>My</i> blog sounds more like the ramblings
of a crazy person.) Correct answer: It does not. She was quite obviously at one
time fully vested in her daughter’s treatment and well-being. Before her mental
health deteriorated, she was an advocate for autistic children; a former molecular biologist who gave up her career to attend to the demands of raising kids in general, and specifically a child with special
needs; a single mom; a woman who had found a good, effective behavioral
treatment program for her daughter and was trying to afford it when she lost
insurance funding. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> Her
husband said she was crazy and that the daughter wasn’t violent. I find that
pretty hard to believe. More likely, Kelli Stapleton was a sane woman who
became so afraid for her own safety that she cracked and lost all reason. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1a_fgDFtp_a-TTcPM8cuBNsj2CwfyR65Gq-yTzvFJ8KQjOWDEmXLuXqgvq_fVjcF7qrT7shpSVTkkdynrxGDXKWvE0sDqrNuDw3Cs0Ge3vQcXThVsqH17Mmr_oMMiQehsyr_dl8k3Jesb/s1600/Horse+Cassie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1a_fgDFtp_a-TTcPM8cuBNsj2CwfyR65Gq-yTzvFJ8KQjOWDEmXLuXqgvq_fVjcF7qrT7shpSVTkkdynrxGDXKWvE0sDqrNuDw3Cs0Ge3vQcXThVsqH17Mmr_oMMiQehsyr_dl8k3Jesb/s1600/Horse+Cassie.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My oldest helping at O.A.T.S</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Autistic
children all have episodes of violence. My daughters volunteer at a therapeutic
horse program for children with special needs, and there are a lot of special
needs kids that volunteer (sometimes in lieu of riding) as well. (I don’t
really see my ADHD child as a volunteer with special needs. Her needs aren’t <i>special</i> special needs—more like moderately
charming and sometimes extremely irritating needs. Or something like that.) Anyway, there is one
high-functioning autistic teen in particular who helps out with the horses. I
didn’t even know she had special needs—she’s <i>that</i> mainstreamed—but when my kids brought their new baby rabbit to
the barn to show the program directors, and the girl I mentioned asked to hold
the bunny, my daughters didn’t let her. I thought it was cruel until I was told
by everyone in the place that she would immediately throw the baby bunny across
the room if it made even so much as one move to cause her any discomfort. No
one wanted to risk a bunny death. Yet her parents deal with the possibility of that
same spontaneous violence every day, like a ticking time bomb. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> My own ADHD
child has threatened me with a hammer, kicked and bitten her siblings, and once
I got the distinct feeling that she considered punching me in the side of the
head as I drove down a winding road. I had to remind her that the car would
most likely run off the road if the driver was rendered unconscious. (Better
safe than sorry, huh?) Once she threw a rock at her brother, chipping his tooth
so that he had to get a root canal at the age of six. The tooth still occasionally
becomes infected, causing him a lot of pain and calling for a dose of
antibiotics. I don’t even know if that act of violence had anything to do with
her ADHD. It might’ve been just a dumb kid mistake. It was kind of a blessing
in disguise, because 1.) it didn’t hit
him in the head and 2.) she’s had the opportunity to witness how an impulsive
act on her part can have far-reaching effects. And I think it scared her enough
to keep her from throwing rocks in the future. That’s what it takes to teach a
lesson to an ADHD kid. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> Guess
what? It takes even more to teach a lesson to a child suffering from autism.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO-9-zKeQFDCduFaEBI_0Py3Xy9hPCL6QA9pMejG1EDtvyamVt2LZ8UJ0czP0SfMoxRer3ad4RzYqCYoVwuafj9kf7r2AeBYFWZm-yQQQTifTMVB97OKljmsLxekV-Xr52q0KU6ZLDXfkj/s1600/Brianna+horse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO-9-zKeQFDCduFaEBI_0Py3Xy9hPCL6QA9pMejG1EDtvyamVt2LZ8UJ0czP0SfMoxRer3ad4RzYqCYoVwuafj9kf7r2AeBYFWZm-yQQQTifTMVB97OKljmsLxekV-Xr52q0KU6ZLDXfkj/s1600/Brianna+horse.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brianna rides sometimes in exchange for helping.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> Our
family has been in our fair share of therapy sessions since my daughter has
been diagnosed, and before she was diagnosed I’d been lectured by a number of
pre-school and kindergarten teachers about the task ahead of me, i.e., raising
The Anti-Christ. You see, they’d written my daughter off at that point as a bad
student, a wicked child, instead of considering she might have an attention
disorder. Even today—five years after her diagnosis—I sometimes wonder if the
early teachers were right about her (It was her second-grade teacher who
suggested we take her to a psychiatrist for evaluation). I often wonder, could
she be bad? Our relationship is so damaged, that I can barely see how to patch
it up—yet I’m trying. I wonder how Kelli’s relationship with her daughter was.
Not good, I’ll bet. So heartbreaking for a mother.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> It’s
hard to tell which behaviors stem from the ADHD and which are just plain
brattiness, because no child is perfect. Mine has had to work extremely hard at
what has come easily to her other siblings: things like empathy, sharing,
appropriate hygiene, kindness. I need the Lady Gaga concept of “She was born
this way” constantly reinforced by her therapist, who also reminds me at every
session that my daughter has a lot of good qualities (all common among ADHD
kids). She’s driven (and I need to stop seeing this as obsessiveness),
quick-witted, confident (and I need to stop seeing <i>this</i> as being a know-it-all), able to appear competent in pretty
much any situation (and I need to stop seeing <i>this </i>as conniving behavior that will someday result in her heading
up a Ponzi Scheme), punctual (And I DO mean punctual. She freaks if we are
running late for anything—even though she is often what causes us to be running
late), demanding of perfection, loyal to the end of days, imaginative (not
manic, as I sometimes fear). I’m sure Issy had her strengths too, but the light
of these was probably doused as she and her mother soldiered on trying to stay
one step ahead of Issy’s disorder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> The
question is: why didn’t this family get help? All they had to do was ask. Okay,
if that’s what went wrong, here, I am officially asking for help on behalf of
every parent of a child with autism/ADHD/bipolar disorder/schizophrenia and any
disorder I might’ve missed. They need help. <i>We</i>
need help. So now that I’ve issued this official plea for help by proxy, does that
mean that if we fail to come to their aid the next tragedy is on us?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">For more information on autism, visit <a href="http://www.autismspeaks.org/?gclid=CjwKEAjwwdOhBRCG0fPrlfO1gGUSJAC1FmHXrHBMIkOfODrJm1YxRonD3PqWrWWyxZ3BiMImouq_NxoCnT3w_wcB">Autism Speaks</a> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Families coping with the myriad challenges related to autism can also call a 24-hour hotline for assistance: 1-800-273-TALK.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-70526725137368703412014-10-07T08:05:00.001-07:002014-10-07T08:05:39.525-07:00A Grocery Ninja I Am Not<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOSP_NLHPdQ9go_8VtHqDxyneZzw4Npy0MlaSw0DDF_5He4M6J3H6LoQuxw-NqEwy-ixxIUMpodm8n3G8Dmpfrg9gFAaoQMUH3EMpqWpZKCcd53PbhwEBTb-YeuNdJBHblOEwwxMHaWjDN/s1600/BxCf6KSIEAA8D0q.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOSP_NLHPdQ9go_8VtHqDxyneZzw4Npy0MlaSw0DDF_5He4M6J3H6LoQuxw-NqEwy-ixxIUMpodm8n3G8Dmpfrg9gFAaoQMUH3EMpqWpZKCcd53PbhwEBTb-YeuNdJBHblOEwwxMHaWjDN/s1600/BxCf6KSIEAA8D0q.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ground-up kitten? I'm there. Cats are so smug.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Must. Blog. *army crawls along floor to old desktop
computer, does pathetic pull-up on rolling chair, arranges self in chair and takes a swig of coffee, being careful not to drool all over the keyboard*</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"Mmm, pumpkin spice."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> The experience of grocery shopping is becoming more and more surreal.
My trip to the local Meijer store yesterday clinched it. The flaws
of the entire world were evident around every corner. Not
only was the place torn up, people were running into each other--with carts,
without them. Items had been moved from one end of the store to another,
rendering all of us grocery-shopping rookies despite years and years of experience. People were coming unhinged. In all fairness, no one wants to be made to feel
incompetent, especially not the average afternoon clientele of Meijer, which includes new moms with young children in tow, retirees, the occasional person
on lunch break…and me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> I overheard various complaints to store
employees about the construction. I wonder what the heck these customers
expected the employees to do about it. No one complained to the construction
workers who were standing around in this hollowed-out pit in the middle of the
produce section. I suppose they were afraid the construction workers would resort to catcalls, because it <i>did</i> appear as if a street of New York had been magicked from some burough and set down in the middle of the potatoes. It just seemed to me that they’d be more likely to have answers about the logistics of the move. Is there some unwritten rule
about not engaging construction workers in conversation? (They don't <i>only</i> speak in catcalls, do they?)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_F9g2qxGhG282UcbGohQBd5CJPklKgF3Uub6jm3zywyb6N11fqSqlZgSzpAfO8SZZw8YGNaDJeECGn6O-gohW8NqwzgdMkpV_uP9mx934lyOr6NjNZ59uNHk-Cox_hokNCl4tJaGi983d/s1600/Empty+shelves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_F9g2qxGhG282UcbGohQBd5CJPklKgF3Uub6jm3zywyb6N11fqSqlZgSzpAfO8SZZw8YGNaDJeECGn6O-gohW8NqwzgdMkpV_uP9mx934lyOr6NjNZ59uNHk-Cox_hokNCl4tJaGi983d/s1600/Empty+shelves.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> Anyway, signs
and prices were inaccurate, full sections of shelving were empty, carts of
merchandise en route to other places were blocking aisles. I saw right away
that it was going to take some extra time to navigate this food labyrinth.
Still, I was confident I’d get out alive, even though from all directions came the sound
of folks exhaling huge gusts of breath in frustration and despair. This was no more discouraging than the venomous glares directed at anyone not engaged
in a fight to the death for groceries. I'm sorry. When did this become The Hunger Games?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> At one
point, when I had made a conscious decision to wait patiently for an older
woman who’d wandered about twenty feet from her cart, leaving it directly next
to another cart belonging to a woman who was scouring a shelf in vain, searching for an item she'd never find because the store HAD BEEN COMPLETELY
REARRANGED, the shopper behind me edged her cart in front of mine trying to
squeeze past. Unfortunately the gap between the two stationary carts was no
wider than a scooter. When it became obvious she couldn’t fit (which is
why I DIDN’T ATTEMPT IT), she stomped out from behind her cart (completely
blocking passage for a cart-less shopper behind her who could’ve easily slipped through the scooter-sized gap if Ms. Proactive Grocery Predator hadn’t decided to make her move). She rolled the
old woman’s cart up, all the while skewering <i>me </i>(yes, me) with a gaze that said in no uncertain terms: “Why didn’t
<i>you</i> think to do this, you dumbass?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOlwBk4RXM41yqPRyYtkYjX3ruD3PWt5bD2PlEqUuaJfQC2Fc1hsddIeZY6AIJ4bB4X_4dTlyv12Jwd2N9pKehi_cbLCsTKpkRi2sHgHe653DtXOSVRniMOj3mBUXw-DwoQGUlAsINh7bg/s1600/Lion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOlwBk4RXM41yqPRyYtkYjX3ruD3PWt5bD2PlEqUuaJfQC2Fc1hsddIeZY6AIJ4bB4X_4dTlyv12Jwd2N9pKehi_cbLCsTKpkRi2sHgHe653DtXOSVRniMOj3mBUXw-DwoQGUlAsINh7bg/s1600/Lion.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> Here’s my
answer, lady: because it’s rude. It occurred to me, fleetingly, that I could
push the hindering cart aside and get past, but honestly I felt the bulking
form stewing behind me and figured Ms. Proactive Predator was about to go in for the kill.
By that time I’d seen about five cart collisions and didn’t want to be involved
in one personally. I’d even observed two women that had already collided meet
up again in another aisle. While this time they were able to ward off direct impact,
they exchanged a chuckle about the irony, saying something like “It’s you
again. Ahhh, we’re two women on a mission. Yuk. Yuk. Yuk.” Yes, it’s so amusing
to run people down over bags of Cheetos (although they <i>were</i> kind of cute—they were shaped like skeletons! Have you seen those?)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> Did I
mention the store was in shambles? ATTN: Proactive Shopper Types. No one’s
finding anything they need! This is the fault of store managers and corporate
executives—NOT mine or the elderly woman who left her cart for about five
minutes in search of something that has been methodically hidden from her under
the guise of making her life better. I’m trying to be patient, here, in the
face of adversity. So chill the fuck out! Capiche?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> Don’t get
me wrong: I can be aggressive enough when the situation calls for it, but grocery
shopping doesn’t call for it. I mean, the actions required for such a task are light
lifting and basic math. I never saw grocery shopping as an opportunity
to show-off ninja skills. To me, getting a can of tomato sauce into my cart two
minutes earlier isn’t worth making an elderly woman feel as if she were just
taking up space on this earth. She's been here longer than I have. It isn’t worth fostering the impression that <i>any</i> fellow human—all of whom have every right to occupy a human-sized area, mind you—is merely in the way. Besides, <i>everyone</i> in
the store was in everyone’s way. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> I could
tell just by looking at this poor, unsuspecting woman who’d haplessly abandoned
her groceries for a brief instant, thinking no one would be affected by this
reckless deviance, that she’d be mortified if someone moved her cart. And
I was right. The moment she saw movement in her peripheral vision, she snapped to attention. Even though she still hadn’t found the object of the
mission that resulted in the unfortunate cart abandonment, she returned with
due speed. Emitting an audible gasp, she meekly tried to move the cart even
<i>further </i>out of the way (I suspect she
would’ve made it disappear entirely if such a thing were possible, although even <i>that</i> wouldn't have
satisfied Proactive Shopper Chick.) She then proceeded to apologize to the
other woman…for her very existence. The cart-moving woman, intent on getting in
front of people who had actually arrived BEFORE her and were thus entitled to
get to their grocery items first IMHO, responded by making some sort of grunting
noise in acknowledgment of the older woman’s apology. I translated it as: “Well, that’s okay that
you’re alive and here, adjacent to me, at this very second. Just don’t let it
happen again.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> I tell
you, it was a most ridiculous scene. (Not the most ridiculous scene EVER, though. I've got tons more where this came from.) I wish I could’ve video-taped the interaction
in order to have it sent out to a university and analyzed by sociologists. I’m
sure it says something about our culture. I’m just too depressed right now to
figure out what. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPaIxQujzh_SIiulaz9F_5Q739T-qaAFOqMnMopL6swjfGcNC47IkwJNz_MqsVkj3-XVLaN-G0feNKv9lpfybQsF2ge2qXsBPw_-CVkTyQ3AGpE4lQVnaLMBaSD4Y-CrYiYxxyABa2JBx3/s1600/Kale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPaIxQujzh_SIiulaz9F_5Q739T-qaAFOqMnMopL6swjfGcNC47IkwJNz_MqsVkj3-XVLaN-G0feNKv9lpfybQsF2ge2qXsBPw_-CVkTyQ3AGpE4lQVnaLMBaSD4Y-CrYiYxxyABa2JBx3/s1600/Kale.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Team Kale</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> You see, I forgot
to buy cabbage, kale (if they even stock kale anymore. I think I saw a sprig of it peeking out from underneath a construction worker's boot, so they must have some <i>somewhere</i>) and cooking spray. I’m
not going back. We’ll just eat grass in place of the kale, timothy hay for the
cabbage, and I’ll grease up the crock pot with some K-Y Jelly. That’ll work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-48412399456645049052014-09-19T10:45:00.000-07:002014-09-19T10:45:38.265-07:00Chill<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaCIP5hjHf0t1tU9SACcFkJPoNHTEtqL92REQz0Zxc6s8eQydEmiZCoyMbZxFj-sdDJli7YSHg3SNjGwIdl9YwXJ_kYPFxFaahTcJdXzEmgs8Rg28HhGjNVqyMyNnJ0aB3U0MAUWjJLTNV/s1600/IMG_4276.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaCIP5hjHf0t1tU9SACcFkJPoNHTEtqL92REQz0Zxc6s8eQydEmiZCoyMbZxFj-sdDJli7YSHg3SNjGwIdl9YwXJ_kYPFxFaahTcJdXzEmgs8Rg28HhGjNVqyMyNnJ0aB3U0MAUWjJLTNV/s1600/IMG_4276.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>Today I'm grateful for apple-cider air ripened with sticks of cinnamon, mounds of pulp and a little smoke chaser--just the way I like it. The liquid equivalent of this magic scent I'll slurp out of a chintzy plastic cup the size of a giant's thimble, while wasps bump at my elbows hoping I'll spill some for them. Generations of orchard-keepers will watch and nod, satisfied their work is done.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8tMlYs2fjO-rrwlL2Lm_fZOwCVJL6sO_mMa8NZ7ZvSRv9YY85UwB1syfUGVvbTK8-viCWt8z_iuXQ8As8Z3ohUv7EQ7M6o3nBRuIUewwvOsVMmgLM9qxLkYprsuzts4soupizrtwFC8EK/s1600/IMG_4273.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8tMlYs2fjO-rrwlL2Lm_fZOwCVJL6sO_mMa8NZ7ZvSRv9YY85UwB1syfUGVvbTK8-viCWt8z_iuXQ8As8Z3ohUv7EQ7M6o3nBRuIUewwvOsVMmgLM9qxLkYprsuzts4soupizrtwFC8EK/s1600/IMG_4273.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>I'm thankful for soft sweatshirts with frayed sleeves, nubby flannels, leaves that make your car windshield into a mobile kaleidoscope, summer flowers hanging on for dear life as full-figured mums nudge them aside. Scarecrows, corn mazes, screaming football fans. The chill that snubs your spine in favor of the nasal passages, leaving you wondering how you ever took a single breath before. I don't care what the results to my color season surveys say. I'm an Autumn.<br />
Happy Friday! Happy Fall!<br />
<br />
<!-- start LinkyTools script --><script src="http://www.linkytools.com/basic_linky_include.aspx?id=179014" type="text/javascript"></script><!-- end LinkyTools script -->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-5337484796288809032014-09-05T10:51:00.001-07:002014-09-07T14:16:46.259-07:00Smooth Sailing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsvR0y43L9tBYQGXw7EewzfpIymIPiT1j_Q7YLuSnyp_0t8-msfbLfyS1V1DUV6hNr-0LK8U1iaqFjsJoRCj8mGVtfqEwWWZ6ORNceXzh178YQRh4tg3Un4BUoS7jJErc5eBxUI0ThSyd/s1600/vik+-+small+things+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsvR0y43L9tBYQGXw7EewzfpIymIPiT1j_Q7YLuSnyp_0t8-msfbLfyS1V1DUV6hNr-0LK8U1iaqFjsJoRCj8mGVtfqEwWWZ6ORNceXzh178YQRh4tg3Un4BUoS7jJErc5eBxUI0ThSyd/s1600/vik+-+small+things+2.jpg" /></a></div>
This Friday, I'm celebrating smooth sailing, which is how I'd describe the first week of back-to-school. I guess I can go ahead and say it now, since it's the last day. That's not counting my chickens, right? Just in case it is, I'm going to throw some salt over my shoulder.<br />
I'm a superstitious person. I'm also a little paranoid because I hail from Detroit, home of the Tigers: you know, the ball club that was seven games ahead of everyone else at one time, and now has fans sweating it out wondering if they'll even make the play-offs. I knew it was a mistake to buy tickets for a game so far in advance. They should really suck by mid-month. Then again, around here it's not over until Aretha Franklin sings.<br />
As for school, you'd think I'd let out a breath. Do a happy dance. Meet some friends for lunch or arrange a bus-stop coffee clutch. But no. My neurotic dog and I pace around, disconsolate in the wake of a sense of impending doom. So what if everyone seems excited in the morning, content when they get home and generally well-adjusted? It might be just an act! It doesn't help that the dog is acting really weird (maybe she's just responding to my anxiety), shadowing me everywhere and the children! The children! They're abandoning their electronic devices when they get off the bus and going outside to walk their rabbits or play football with the neighbor kids. They're laying out their clothes the night before and packing their own lunches. It's like a sequel to the Stepford Wives, The Stepford Children. Do you think they might've been abducted by aliens, injected with some behavior enhancing serum and restored discreetly to their beds without me knowing?<br />
My middle daughter says she loves Middle School, seeming unaware of the horrors that await just around the corner. (Unless perhaps Middle School is kinder to middle children since they're both "Middles"?)<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkFfhciFUI4ENGo8tKG2P3sOjfC-CADWU2b3nufPx4DiYHaUmGup-5XhOyQc29ESVonBoNadeXaTQA3S-X4kYA_uNc4UEiBghpSgmemPEmwU0GvWzCvNul-Mcu1Th-k3wmPNJ69VVUk9us/s1600/Dog+days+14+048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkFfhciFUI4ENGo8tKG2P3sOjfC-CADWU2b3nufPx4DiYHaUmGup-5XhOyQc29ESVonBoNadeXaTQA3S-X4kYA_uNc4UEiBghpSgmemPEmwU0GvWzCvNul-Mcu1Th-k3wmPNJ69VVUk9us/s1600/Dog+days+14+048.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a> My oldest loves high school. She even has a senior (whom she calls "My Senior") to show her the ropes. In my day seniors pretended underclassmen didn't exist. If we called them "My <i>Anything</i>"--unless it was boyfriend or girlfriend--we'd get beat up or otherwise ostracized.<br />
My son in third grade proudly displayed his first agenda book last night before brushing his teeth.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_wgbShHsahfJ4QQ6DRnbA0d0C6o57zD_pb9RGTxIKDFWwqhyq03X5IPO-ZxjHQvwMT5MBmgroYqdEgy2fiHDKie4cSIVQQD4uj4YDnq3_DyzgvKn-b43ZwRjaTE_VfUo9wLJ77VqaOSZq/s1600/Dog+days+14+047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_wgbShHsahfJ4QQ6DRnbA0d0C6o57zD_pb9RGTxIKDFWwqhyq03X5IPO-ZxjHQvwMT5MBmgroYqdEgy2fiHDKie4cSIVQQD4uj4YDnq3_DyzgvKn-b43ZwRjaTE_VfUo9wLJ77VqaOSZq/s1600/Dog+days+14+047.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a> I guess I should just enjoy this peace and harmony while it lasts, but it's kind of hard to do when I'm waiting for an anvil to drop on my head. The real issue, I think, is I see my friends bidding adieu to their college-bound sons and daughter and I know that will be me before I know it. I sense my family on the brink of going their separate ways in both body and spirit, and here I am, backpedaling in vain, desperate to keep us as psychically together as possible. Staying <i>physically</i> together every moment will soon be impossible. I mean, look at these pictures from our trip to the zoo. They're so obviously separate, so contemplative of their own thoughts they couldn't even pose for our traditional fountain picture. Growth is relentless, each little dig on our door frame representing a moment to which we can never return.<br />
Not that I want to stunt their growth or anything. (Can I do that? How?)<br />
This week I'm celebrating that my kids are capable of leading functional lives separate from mine. And cursing that same reality.<br />
This is a hop hosted by the following blogs: <a href="http://viklit.blogspot.com/">Scribblings of an Aspiring Author</a><br />
<a href="http://dianawilder.blogspot.co.uk/" style="color: #929292; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.4799995422363px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Diana Wilder</a>, <span style="background-color: white; color: #565656; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.4799995422363px;">LG Keltner @ </span><a href="http://lgkeltner.blogspot.co.uk/" style="color: #929292; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.4799995422363px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Writing Off the Edge</a>, <span style="background-color: white; color: #565656; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.4799995422363px;">Katie @ </span><a href="http://www.thecyborgmom.blogspot.co.uk/" style="color: #929292; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.4799995422363px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">TheCyborg Mom</a>, and <span style="background-color: white; color: #565656; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.4799995422363px;">CaffeMaggieato @ </span><a href="http://mscoffeehouse.wordpress.com/" style="color: #929292; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.4799995422363px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">mscoffeehouse</a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><br /></span>
<!-- start LinkyTools script --><script src="http://www.linkytools.com/basic_linky_include.aspx?id=179014" type="text/javascript"></script><!-- end LinkyTools script -->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-30316145647812936052014-08-29T09:24:00.001-07:002014-08-29T09:26:13.841-07:00Being Thankful <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsvR0y43L9tBYQGXw7EewzfpIymIPiT1j_Q7YLuSnyp_0t8-msfbLfyS1V1DUV6hNr-0LK8U1iaqFjsJoRCj8mGVtfqEwWWZ6ORNceXzh178YQRh4tg3Un4BUoS7jJErc5eBxUI0ThSyd/s1600/vik+-+small+things+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsvR0y43L9tBYQGXw7EewzfpIymIPiT1j_Q7YLuSnyp_0t8-msfbLfyS1V1DUV6hNr-0LK8U1iaqFjsJoRCj8mGVtfqEwWWZ6ORNceXzh178YQRh4tg3Un4BUoS7jJErc5eBxUI0ThSyd/s1600/vik+-+small+things+2.jpg" /></a></div>
Today I’m thankful for the end of the Facebook Thankful Challenge. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but between the Ice-Bucket challenge and this new challenge to list three things for three days, I’m getting the vibe that people might be overwhelmed. (I certainly am.)<br />
Let me be clear:<i> this</i> blog hop (which is Celebrate Small Things for those wanting to join us) is lovely. It’s just the right amount of thankfulness, thank you very much. A weekly inventorying of tiny triumphs is far more appealing to me than listing huge, far-reaching things (like family relationships and trips). As an added bonus, most of the participants are writers, so the celebrations usually deal with things that only writers can appreciate. Like adding a paragraph to your book. Or sending out a query. (Most everyone else would read that on a list and think: WTF? Seriously, <i>that’s</i> what this person is thankful for?) They’d shake their heads in pity as they scroll away.<br />
Don’t get me wrong, I love seeing what inspires gratitude in friends and family. Still, I find the facebook version to be somewhat skewed. When you know all the responses are going to be viewed by EVERYONE, your answers tend to change. They’re filtered through your impressions about what everyone else will think. For instance, I probably won’t be posting that I’m thankful my daughter practiced her bells on our deck today to get back at my obnoxious neighbor who starts his riding tractor up at 8 a.m and cuts his grass every three days. I'll put up a good front and be thankful about the things normal people are thankful for.<br />
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See, I’ve been thinking a lot about the mentally ill in our nation (still can’t get over Robin Williams’ death. <a href="http://brianlord.org/2014/08/12/a-little-known-robin-williams-story/">Click here</a> to find out about a cool thing he used to do to help the homeless), and it worries me that so many people in crisis might be bombarded with everyone else’s huge triumphs while they are at their most vulnerable. I believe a lot of depressed individuals turn to facebook for support. This might be okay on a normal basis, but when the Thankful Challenge is going on, probably not so much.
Anyway, I participated in the Thankful Challenge because my friend asked me to, but I will not nominate anyone else. The buck stops here. (Um, no it actually doesn't because the chain proceeds, with or without me.)<br />
The same goes for the Ice Bucket challenge. An interesting note about the Ben Affleck one (above) is that he and Jennifer Garner have been in suburban Detroit all summer. They've been spotted everywhere--at restaurants and traffic lights--and have been gracious to all Detroiters. Thus the tee-shirt. The "kid laughter" in the background makes this worth a watch.<br />
My advice for future social networking fundraising campaigns? (Because you know they’re coming!) By all means, take the opportunity to learn about the illness or issue, but don’t ever feel obligated to participate in them unless you want to. These campaigns are geared toward celebrities and the extremely wealthy who can, and should, help out. Donate money—or time, if you can’t spare the money—to the charity of your choice in private and whenever you feel it’s appropriate. And click the link below to join this blog hop hosted <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">by </span>Vik Lit <a href="http://viklit.blogspot.com/">(Scribblings of an Aspiring Author)</a> and co-hosted by <a href="http://dianawilder.blogspot.co.uk/" style="color: #929292; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Diana Wilder</a>, <span style="background-color: white; color: #565656; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px;">LG Keltner @ </span><a href="http://lgkeltner.blogspot.co.uk/" style="color: #929292; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Writing Off the Edge</a>, <span style="background-color: white; color: #565656; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px;">Katie @ </span><a href="http://www.thecyborgmom.blogspot.co.uk/" style="color: #929292; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">TheCyborg Mom</a>, and <span style="background-color: white; color: #565656; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px;">CaffeMaggieato @ </span><a href="http://mscoffeehouse.wordpress.com/" style="color: #929292; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">mscoffeehouse</a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"> </span> for just the perfect amount of thankfulness.
<!-- start LinkyTools script --><script src="http://www.linkytools.com/basic_linky_include.aspx?id=179014" type="text/javascript"></script><!-- end LinkyTools script -->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-67868994479083526162014-08-22T10:35:00.000-07:002014-08-22T10:40:20.885-07:00Celebrating Anonymous Media Whores<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> “One of my favorite authors is Anonymous.”
Ever hear that? And when’s the last time you saw </span><i style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">by Anonymous, the New York Times Bestseller</i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> emblazoned across the
cover of a book?</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0a2036s_tiGJMQ_7qSgc-fD0a4q5NvYuNDZO4K-fstKL0ecS3ehapK7wPzXwNfuWWArQIORbYhO30oAlsGrMIxpE9kL__O2gCM-K-RmZJWi9cDtShDV0ZCOoMnjaeEBHrMCuUlIUgshIC/s1600/Alice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0a2036s_tiGJMQ_7qSgc-fD0a4q5NvYuNDZO4K-fstKL0ecS3ehapK7wPzXwNfuWWArQIORbYhO30oAlsGrMIxpE9kL__O2gCM-K-RmZJWi9cDtShDV0ZCOoMnjaeEBHrMCuUlIUgshIC/s1600/Alice.jpg" height="320" width="228" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Okay, it can be done. But today in honor of Celebrate Small Things,
a blog hop hosted by </span>Vik Lit <a href="http://viklit.blogspot.com/">(Scribblings of an Aspiring Author)</a> and co-hosted by the following bloggers:<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #929292; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px;"><a href="http://dianawilder.blogspot.co.uk/" style="color: #929292; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Diana Wilder</a></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #565656; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px;">LG Keltner @ </span><a href="http://lgkeltner.blogspot.co.uk/" style="color: #929292; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Writing Off the Edge</a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #565656; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px;">Katie @ </span><a href="http://www.thecyborgmom.blogspot.co.uk/" style="color: #929292; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">TheCyborg Mom</a><span style="line-height: normal;"> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #565656; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px;">CaffeMaggieato @ </span><a href="http://mscoffeehouse.wordpress.com/" style="color: #929292; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">mscoffeehouse</a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsvR0y43L9tBYQGXw7EewzfpIymIPiT1j_Q7YLuSnyp_0t8-msfbLfyS1V1DUV6hNr-0LK8U1iaqFjsJoRCj8mGVtfqEwWWZ6ORNceXzh178YQRh4tg3Un4BUoS7jJErc5eBxUI0ThSyd/s1600/vik+-+small+things+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsvR0y43L9tBYQGXw7EewzfpIymIPiT1j_Q7YLuSnyp_0t8-msfbLfyS1V1DUV6hNr-0LK8U1iaqFjsJoRCj8mGVtfqEwWWZ6ORNceXzh178YQRh4tg3Un4BUoS7jJErc5eBxUI0ThSyd/s1600/vik+-+small+things+2.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I’m grateful that publishing usually requires that
authors display their names prominently on their products. Because otherwise, I
probably wouldn’t. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> One
of my favorite authors, Tawni O’Dell, has a darkly humor</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">ous personal story
about having to fight to use her given name in her debut book. I say <i>darkly</i> because it has some really
horrible undertones of the discrimination women authors still face (yes STILL).
So it’s more than just</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> a funny anecdote, and a great read for anyone hoping to
publish. But I’m saving that for my next post on <a href="http://allthecrazyinourheads.blogspot.com/">All The Crazy</a>, a group blog I
contribute to every sixth week or so. (Until then, you should check out the posts of my fellow contributors. There's something for everyone!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> There are writers who rarely get their
names on their work, and I was one of them for about ten years. Copywriters, PR
people, writers for the wire services. In those industries, a code of honor is
what keeps people from claiming work that isn’t theirs. The collaborative nature
of the industry makes it hard to figure out just who did what. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> So when my daughter’s softball team went
to the playoffs for the third year in a row, I sent a write-up to the local
paper again. I’ve been sending press releases all along, since I feel that it’s
especially important to feature girls’ sports whenever possible. Besides, all
you have to do is email names and a picture to the editor. When another mom said, “Did you see the girls in the paper?” I nodded and we talked about their great season. My husband was like “Why didn’t you tell her you wrote
it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhupxNjZbubsCSPAnUoZsUOfUTqXm-8WICiHvkyYg4OyMaAjiH66t37j2L1WE0h8C5-ZPNFBPPan-U0mlr3ksa4bHRtvMaCvUMlLCZ78PnsL7YExxP-hdea0_kql2Ho4qGSrGbBcxi0aWAO/s1600/Team-pic_first-place-finish.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhupxNjZbubsCSPAnUoZsUOfUTqXm-8WICiHvkyYg4OyMaAjiH66t37j2L1WE0h8C5-ZPNFBPPan-U0mlr3ksa4bHRtvMaCvUMlLCZ78PnsL7YExxP-hdea0_kql2Ho4qGSrGbBcxi0aWAO/s1600/Team-pic_first-place-finish.JPG" height="165" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In First Place. Note the lucky rabbit.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Because I didn’t really <i>write </i>it, I argued, I emailed names and
a picture. Then I thought about my real motives, which trace all the way back
to elementary school. Fifth grade was a bad year for me. It was the year my
father tried to kill himself three times. There were probably more attempts
over the years that I didn’t know about, but that time he was forcibly
committed as a result of a psychotic break. My mother’s valiant attempts to keep
his mental illness under wraps (even from me) failed when the police and the court
system got involved. I had no idea what was going on and was, frankly, afraid
to ask.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> At school—where I always thrived, probably to
make up for the bad vibes I felt at home</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 200%;">—there was an ongoing food drive</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">. I happened to mutter the phrase “Don’t
be greedy, help the needy” within earshot of a teacher. She liked it so much
that she included that line in a PA announcement. Maybe I’d heard it somewhere before,
but I like to think it was my first advertising tagline, circa 1981. When it sounded
over the PA, my heart burst with pride, so much so that I mentioned to my
best friend I’d come up with it. She stared at me. “</span><i style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">You </i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">came up with that?” Not only didn’t she believe me, she
proceeded to elicit opinions from the entire class. They all thought I was
lying. The consensus was that </span><i style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">teachers</i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">
write the PA announcements, and Mrs. Kuechle, a charismatic, lovely teacher,
whom I loved as much as any of them, definitely wrote that one.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> My best friend didn’t know that my dad was
suicidal. She didn’t know that I really, <i>really
</i>needed credit for something. Anything. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Hurt at receiving cattiness instead of the
congratulations I’d expected, I didn’t ask the teacher to clear it up. Deep
down I was afraid that she too would deny it. Although I’d never been a
boastful child and wouldn’t dream of taking credit for something I didn’t do, I
realized that people must perceive me as being horrible. It’s like they knew
that something bad was in me. Maybe the same bad thing surrounding the mystery
of what my dad had done to wind up in an institution. Soon I began to doubt whether I’d written the stupid thing in the first place—or if it even mattered. I vowed to
be more careful about sharing my ideas. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Fast-forward to the present. When the playoffs
ended, and the girls had won their championship, I sent another blurb, and
parents commented again. This time, I admitted I’d sent the information. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> “<i>You</i>
wrote that?” one of them asked skeptically. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLECIxh93tdp0Iv6BeNKalK8lfhpAZCJ6RMxxL9HVpVxDbMH_vJJirHpsfwkfduxGDiu6sdwbj3OuwYTDfGjcuSUtXPbhpwr8zTiBuvq4WIdJ0VA-LeM7x9oMqWV_xsf3mQxv0-GCJnUrx/s1600/20140731_200201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLECIxh93tdp0Iv6BeNKalK8lfhpAZCJ6RMxxL9HVpVxDbMH_vJJirHpsfwkfduxGDiu6sdwbj3OuwYTDfGjcuSUtXPbhpwr8zTiBuvq4WIdJ0VA-LeM7x9oMqWV_xsf3mQxv0-GCJnUrx/s1600/20140731_200201.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Season Champs</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> I gulped, exchanged a look with my husband
and said, “Yeah.” Then I winced, waiting for the criticism, knowing I either
spelled a name wrong, switched kids in the picture, listed the sponsor from
last year instead of the current one. There is no end to the list of potential pitfalls.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> “Wow, that was so nice of you. The girls
were excited to be in the paper, <i>twice </i>now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> I took a deep, relieved breath. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> “But won’t people think we’re
media whores?” the parent added.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Watch out, Kim Kardashian. Thanks to me, you just might be dethroned
by the Brandon Township Girls’ Softball team.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!-- start LinkyTools script --><script src="http://www.linkytools.com/basic_linky_include.aspx?id=179014" type="text/javascript" ></script><!-- end LinkyTools script -->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-59109871863272902552014-08-20T08:52:00.000-07:002014-08-20T12:40:17.917-07:00The Space Age (It's Not What You Think) This Wimp-out Wednesday is devoted to a discussion of whether or not there should be one space or two after a period. The change in direction comes as a result of my ennui. My job hunt has gone stale, as has my work in progress. Besides, I have always loved the word ennui. My first exposure to it came as a result of being in the play <i>Anything Goes</i>. I memorized all of the phenomenal Cole Porter lyrics during my brilliant stint as a passenger on the ship. (Yes, that is another way of saying I was an extra.) Ennui is from <i>I Get a Kick Out of You</i>. Isn't it cool? Ennui Ennui Ennui.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh24QlOkPr2Pm7ozihJcC-OtRIjsug5m6A-pqJ-pUakVzvPEGBxThY2uMaWHUA8O_XiheTZ5TzxuvsNPq4OLssws4qWaGhjOhsQe5-vBNS5lAE5xH5o2IwURgk3tYxhTsiu-14OUVFJR7hM/s1600/Space.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh24QlOkPr2Pm7ozihJcC-OtRIjsug5m6A-pqJ-pUakVzvPEGBxThY2uMaWHUA8O_XiheTZ5TzxuvsNPq4OLssws4qWaGhjOhsQe5-vBNS5lAE5xH5o2IwURgk3tYxhTsiu-14OUVFJR7hM/s1600/Space.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not this Space!</td></tr>
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Now back to spaces after periods. I vote one, but never felt too passionate about it until I saw this <a href="http://www.cultofpedagogy.com/two-spaces-after-period/">blog</a>. (Nothing Says Over Forty Like Two Spaces After a Period) The blogger treats the extra space as some kind of writing (typing?) tell that, once noticed by the young 'uns of the world, pegs the writer (typist) as A Person Over Forty. <br />
I call bullshit. I know a lot of 35-year-olds who learned the exact same rule. Last I checked, they are considered to be under forty (unless someone has fiddled with the rules of number progression while I was knitting in my creaky rocking chair). I resented that this blogger was manipulating the debate to make it more about generational differences than industry standards. In my opinion, she was inciting drama where there should've been none. Calling people old.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1mLQL6ul9PLi9Xjolto85QLOg5aNdx84KSqJVUFyI2T9LuGypinHg1PsWKYl-6p7xJ1ukg0GfmBc5bkMC30lwCZMl7slJ8HTiiDJ9y1EFym7VwK3B5V2-1jcFOAbX1nZvB5WUyG0wiLlf/s1600/Number.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1mLQL6ul9PLi9Xjolto85QLOg5aNdx84KSqJVUFyI2T9LuGypinHg1PsWKYl-6p7xJ1ukg0GfmBc5bkMC30lwCZMl7slJ8HTiiDJ9y1EFym7VwK3B5V2-1jcFOAbX1nZvB5WUyG0wiLlf/s1600/Number.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That Space!</td></tr>
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For a nanosecond, I felt as if leaving two spaces after periods belied my age as blatantly as the wrinkles around my eyes. I was humiliated, wondering if I'd left any of these tell-tale spaces in the manuscripts I'd sent to agents and publishers. Was everyone laughing at me behind my back?<br />
<i>She's too old to be an author! In the slush pile with her! </i><br />
I mean, I learned the one way, but I'd changed my habits to stay in tune with the ever-evolving industry of communication that I love so much. I prided myself on being Madonna-esque in adapting. (Oops! Another age-belying slip.) Discovered Find/Replace (It changed my life.) In fact, I recommend it to the twenty-something office worker who griped on facebook about how hard it was to go through old documents and make the change. After all, Find/Replace would be quicker than begging all the teachers of the world to pass the one-space rule on to their students. (Then again, it <i>is</i> pretty tedious to drag down that menu. Aw, heck, why not just wait the multiple decades it would take for turnaround?)<br />
Thanks to this blog's bullying title, I was briefly ashamed of my over-forty status. But then I realized this: Nothing says <i>under</i> forty like suffering from the delusion that you can appear to be an age you're not. I've worked in advertising long enough to know that much. My advice to younger generations (and it is sage advice): Don't fall for it.<br />
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On the record, the rule seems to be: One space in publishing, online writing and advertising. Two spaces in engineering, law and academia. Like many things in life, it really has nothing to do with age.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-61248723931832712822014-08-06T07:43:00.001-07:002014-08-06T07:43:38.431-07:00I'm a SharpieThis Wimp-out Wednesday, I'm voicing my most recent professional aspiration: to be the Sharpie marker of the writing world! This isn't as weird as it sounds. Think about it. When a person strikes out to pursue a profession, doesn't he strive to be the expert in his field? And who's the king (or queen) of markers? Yes! No! (Crayola? <i>Seriously, </i>dude? Go home, you're drunk!) The answer I was going for is Sharpie, of course! (Duh!)<br />
As a Sharpie marker, I'd be a household name synonymous with bold writing (or at least writing <i>in </i>bold). <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS9Mdtl8gBiG9O4W2hpCgFPhByPdxv7IFR9uFzvEu7yMvKZel0XklkbAL-T6l7PgSCsXlrPSDbapXx4DHULL1S-7O9sYAzAlEKoFmpjAju4SWxB8epCxdPeYAYpVtMnHTea9Chml1tk0dE/s1600/Other+colors.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS9Mdtl8gBiG9O4W2hpCgFPhByPdxv7IFR9uFzvEu7yMvKZel0XklkbAL-T6l7PgSCsXlrPSDbapXx4DHULL1S-7O9sYAzAlEKoFmpjAju4SWxB8epCxdPeYAYpVtMnHTea9Chml1tk0dE/s1600/Other+colors.jpg" /></a>I'd embrace all colors. I would not wash out--except with hand sanitizer. (Interesting side note: as an enabler of resistant bacteria, hand sanitizer just might be the death of us all.) Where was I? Oh yeah, I'd cling to many surfaces, refusing to run (unless someone's big, clumsy hand smears over me before I've dried). I'd be the badass marker equivalent of Katniss Everdeen, representing order and justice, ensuring all items get back to their rightful owners.<br />
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That's not to say I don't have a mischievous side. (Far be it from me to take myself too seriously.) Who better to "tattoo" a passed-out person at a party? Or--in a more innocent scenario--the first teen to succumb to Mr. Sandman at a sleepover? At concerts, I'd become a Sharpie Harpie, stalking bands to get an autograph and illustrating my superior persistence.<br />
As a Sharpie, even my scent would be intoxicating to some. Inhale at the risk of getting high! I'd be the quintessential team player. G'head, pair me with name tags, and I become a must-have at every social, professional and academic function. I'm also the tool of choice when you can't afford a ton of mistakes. The less confident choose pencils. The con artists opt for Etch a Sketch. Only the self-assured go right for the Sharpie. I'm as permanent as permanent gets.<br />
Just to clarify: I'd be an original Sharpie, not a Rub a Dub. (Rub a Dub? What's the point of a Sharpie that's not permanent? Oxymoron alert!) Then again, I'm not one to resist change. If a non-permanent permanent marker will enrich someone's life, I'm all for it. Like I said: the Sharpie marker of the writing world. Excuse me whilst I screw my cap back on.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZf7RARJGwdhiAQyXQk6H-y-GFp8Vg26OLwpV3RevokSzO6P95aQkBUqO0WOk6YxfmXuE2YrPlWJk5JIeUeDr5V4jRWwjT6ci-7nGFNfFIN3PRZPnIhroKiFh056Oi-fe4nmemDry1cFfU/s1600/Magnum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZf7RARJGwdhiAQyXQk6H-y-GFp8Vg26OLwpV3RevokSzO6P95aQkBUqO0WOk6YxfmXuE2YrPlWJk5JIeUeDr5V4jRWwjT6ci-7nGFNfFIN3PRZPnIhroKiFh056Oi-fe4nmemDry1cFfU/s1600/Magnum.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Only thing is, if I persist in this sedentary writer's life, I could end up a Magnum!</td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-57810703592458017362014-07-25T13:45:00.004-07:002014-07-27T09:58:47.057-07:00Imaginative Al's Comeback<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsvR0y43L9tBYQGXw7EewzfpIymIPiT1j_Q7YLuSnyp_0t8-msfbLfyS1V1DUV6hNr-0LK8U1iaqFjsJoRCj8mGVtfqEwWWZ6ORNceXzh178YQRh4tg3Un4BUoS7jJErc5eBxUI0ThSyd/s1600/vik+-+small+things+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsvR0y43L9tBYQGXw7EewzfpIymIPiT1j_Q7YLuSnyp_0t8-msfbLfyS1V1DUV6hNr-0LK8U1iaqFjsJoRCj8mGVtfqEwWWZ6ORNceXzh178YQRh4tg3Un4BUoS7jJErc5eBxUI0ThSyd/s1600/vik+-+small+things+2.jpg" /></a>It's time to Celebrate Small Things again, a blog hop that encourages participants to list a few things for which they're grateful every Friday. To join us, click on the list below. (You should! It's fun!)<br />
Today I'm grateful for the return of Weird Al Yankovic with this spoof of <i>Blurred Lines. </i>What former proofreader could resist this song? It takes me back to my youth when Al was tearing up the charts with his catchy rhymes set to the tunes of various blockbuster hits.<br />
I just have to say that with the passage of time, you'd think he'd change his name to Imaginative Al Yankovic, or even Creative Al Yankovic. (Then again, he's always been a bit self-effacing.) Hey, Al! It's not so politically correct these days to label someone weird. Trust me, this kind of thing breeds bullying and the school districts are finally trying to put an end to all of that. If you think about it, that's one good thing resulting from the digital age. Kids might screw up spellings and take shortcuts in communicating with one another, but I'd argue that they are far more tolerant of differences. The teachers are working on it too. They're no longer turning a blind eye to incidents, as they might've in the past. They really are encouraged to try to foster imagination in their classrooms. And that's a good change from when I was young. Still, I can't help but feel nostalgic when Weird Al's getting millions of hits. Who'd have thunk it? (No one's immune to Word Crimes.)<br />
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<!-- start LinkyTools script --><script src="http://www.linkytools.com/basic_linky_include.aspx?id=179014" type="text/javascript"></script><!-- end LinkyTools script -->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-81468355571358392472014-07-18T07:09:00.003-07:002014-07-18T07:54:04.416-07:00It's Live!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsvR0y43L9tBYQGXw7EewzfpIymIPiT1j_Q7YLuSnyp_0t8-msfbLfyS1V1DUV6hNr-0LK8U1iaqFjsJoRCj8mGVtfqEwWWZ6ORNceXzh178YQRh4tg3Un4BUoS7jJErc5eBxUI0ThSyd/s1600/vik+-+small+things+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsvR0y43L9tBYQGXw7EewzfpIymIPiT1j_Q7YLuSnyp_0t8-msfbLfyS1V1DUV6hNr-0LK8U1iaqFjsJoRCj8mGVtfqEwWWZ6ORNceXzh178YQRh4tg3Un4BUoS7jJErc5eBxUI0ThSyd/s1600/vik+-+small+things+2.jpg" /></a>It's time to Celebrate Small Things, a blog hop where all participants give a shout-out to the things for which they're most grateful every Friday. Join us by clicking on the link below or simply visit the blogs of our hosts:<br />
<a href="http://viklit.blogspot.com/">Scribblings of an Aspiring Author</a><br />
<a href="http://dianawilder.blogspot.co.uk/" style="background-color: white; color: #929292; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Diana Wilder</span></a><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #565656; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px;">LG Keltner @ <a href="http://lgkeltner.blogspot.co.uk/" style="color: #929292; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Writing Off the Edge</a></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #565656; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px;">Katie @ <a href="http://www.thecyborgmom.blogspot.co.uk/" style="color: #929292; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">TheCyborg Mom</a></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #565656; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px;">CaffeMaggieato @ </span><a href="http://mscoffeehouse.wordpress.com/" style="color: #929292; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">mscoffeehouse</a><br />
and spread the attitude of gratitude!<br />
Today I'm celebrating a bouncing new baby blog! I"m going to be contributing to this marvel, along with five other writers. My posts will have a feminist-y tinge to them, and I'm going first, so please check it out when you have the chance. It's called <a href="http://allthecrazyinourheads.blogspot.com/">All The Crazy</a>. Since Krissy did most of the work to get it going (design-wise and logistics), a big shout-out to her! You're the woman! *song plays* I'll spare you <i>my</i> little dance, while subjecting you to this one.<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/wjXLSL6YZtM?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe> I'm also celebrating Sleeping Beauty. She gets a bad rap, in my humble opinion. Ellen Page's quote (below), posted on <a href="http://www.amightygirl.com/">A Mighty Girl</a>, pretty much sums up what I've heard about SB. (This also ties in to my group blog post, which is about girl characters as heroes in fiction.) As you can see, the quote insinuates that SB is a meek character because she simply lies around waiting to be rescued. Let me clarify: SHE IS UNDER A SLEEPING CURSE! If you've ever been under a sleeping curse, I'm sure you'll notice that you can't help but lie around. You're asleep.<br />
No one ever put Aladdin under a sleeping curse.<br />
Here's my take on Sleeping Beauty. She was going about her life in her little cottage, dirt-poor but happy, with her eccentric guardians, whom she <br />
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treated with the utmost respect and love. She found out that she was really a princess and thought WTF? (or a more refined version of that, since she's a fairy tale character). It seems like she's giving up her rightful place in the castle to go out with this alluring boy she met in the woods. I'd argue she really just wants to keep living her simple life--because she likes it. Anyway, she's forced to go, gets cursed, gets rescued. THEN--and here's the beautiful part--she smiles and wakes, picks up right where she left off. Gets on with her life, despite the interruption. No bitterness. No whining. Just: "Thank goodness that shit's over."<br />
She is a quiet hero, sure. But that doesn't make her any less of one. She reminds me of a ton of people I've seen going through chemo treatments as they drop off their kids to this and that activity, trying to keep routines as normal and even-keel as possible while they face-off with death. These heroes are almost always women, mind you. Sometimes not, but a lot of the time. Women fight in a different way (Thus, the breast cancer mantra: Fight Like a Girl). They can kick ass from a seated position.<br />
Today I celebrate all the quiet heroes who face the obstacles in their lives with bravery.<br />
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<!-- start LinkyTools script --><script src="http://www.linkytools.com/basic_linky_include.aspx?id=179014" type="text/javascript"></script><!-- end LinkyTools script -->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-64388388904756413832014-07-16T06:38:00.001-07:002014-07-16T06:42:38.952-07:00My Biggest Strength<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRKpiJHTgjFtBGjSmR9SgdlN7CfH_U8FkebAWOcOi5qnRspbbLwuZ06v7ppnaZTZaHATccj_FvrsSEofK50s7XBOUYo-qR4wzPIQh4ZbhwQSvTXDbYzyOqyjrtinh8183KFBC02tBRg6eL/s1600/JK.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRKpiJHTgjFtBGjSmR9SgdlN7CfH_U8FkebAWOcOi5qnRspbbLwuZ06v7ppnaZTZaHATccj_FvrsSEofK50s7XBOUYo-qR4wzPIQh4ZbhwQSvTXDbYzyOqyjrtinh8183KFBC02tBRg6eL/s1600/JK.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">It's time for <b>Wimp-out Wednesday</b>, where I experiment with the interviewing techniques I'm too chicken to attempt during an actual interview. Today I tackle the dreaded whopper: “What is your biggest strength?” This question is an interviewing staple, and especially difficult to answer. My advice is to walk the tightrope between appearing cocky and conveying an air of utter incompetence. One must appear to be choosing
from a long list of strengths (because who wants to hire a wimp?) or risk
blowing it. All the while, you're sweating in anticipation of the pesky follow-up: “What is your
biggest weakness?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> This time around,
however, I’m prepared.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> My biggest strength
is my initials. (Oh no! Should it be <i>are </i>my
initials. This is a writing job. I need to nail the grammar. No, is <i>is</i> right. I
think. Shit! What’s the subject?) That is why I plopped them right at the top
of my resume and used this inflated font to make them really stand out. I want
to be known for my initials, you see. They took up a good three inches before I updated
the layout so I could actually fit some qualifications on there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Let me explain why
my initials are so strong. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6usebE_lTLbXhZDpNVC95b7sWXEsfGo5Fcoe-v8wzRwbALuA-3FAhgAxiIDQVgjAqXq3z5p0AFvwt35lZPeYC4wMqSXFtTxFiLsdaFRUccuSjMrlXsO_aG2cZ3DlAg9Zyhln3RZXkZtCj/s1600/JK.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6usebE_lTLbXhZDpNVC95b7sWXEsfGo5Fcoe-v8wzRwbALuA-3FAhgAxiIDQVgjAqXq3z5p0AFvwt35lZPeYC4wMqSXFtTxFiLsdaFRUccuSjMrlXsO_aG2cZ3DlAg9Zyhln3RZXkZtCj/s1600/JK.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Isn’t it self-explanatory? JK! I mean, tack a
Rowling at the back of them and I’m the most successful fantasy writer in the
world—and British to boot. I even have a theme park, well—my character does. Note that two letters share a stem in my initials. Pretty awesome! JKJKJKJKJKJKJK. They're also fun to type! Add them to a facebook post and they’re an excuse not to take <i>anything</i> seriously. You haven’t changed
a bit JK; Love it! JK; You two make the perfect couple JK. I can back out of
any post by simply citing my initials. They’re like a little disclaimer: The
views expressed in this post do not necessarily reflect my opinion, so you can’t
hold me to it! (Probably want to refrain from this one: So sorry for your loss.
You’re in my prayers. JK) On serious posts, I stay on the safe side and leave
the initials off. The selfie of me beaming like an idiot is enough of an
identifier.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg12bqO_oC1WSpKNul0IqmvMYypgGwbjJ5M9fLUHY-zXjf8McbUUd-d3QfIEo5-s35W2u4yBR1WQekuViKVYSDFQgr5lNE7OzmbKQ07s1OYAidpmLs0tq5dLfuBscLR9arZwaQKbn12I-Ly/s1600/tumblr_mt7yyi2Sjz1rqfhi2o1_400.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg12bqO_oC1WSpKNul0IqmvMYypgGwbjJ5M9fLUHY-zXjf8McbUUd-d3QfIEo5-s35W2u4yBR1WQekuViKVYSDFQgr5lNE7OzmbKQ07s1OYAidpmLs0tq5dLfuBscLR9arZwaQKbn12I-Ly/s1600/tumblr_mt7yyi2Sjz1rqfhi2o1_400.gif" /></a><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Scatter some
letters in between, and you have JunKet. Which I’ve always wanted to try if I
ever got into politics. (Oh shit! Don’t bring up politics on an <i>interview</i>! What are you thinking? Take
it back! I <i>can't</i>. Mental face palm. <i>Mental!</i> Oh no! You did one for real. All right, now JK stands for: <b>J</b>ust <b>K</b>iss this opportunity goodbye. Capiche?)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> My greatest
weakness? That’s easy: hearing inner voices.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-89094050568295904542014-07-11T09:11:00.001-07:002014-07-11T09:12:06.439-07:00It's a Tough Job, But Someone Has to Do It<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsvR0y43L9tBYQGXw7EewzfpIymIPiT1j_Q7YLuSnyp_0t8-msfbLfyS1V1DUV6hNr-0LK8U1iaqFjsJoRCj8mGVtfqEwWWZ6ORNceXzh178YQRh4tg3Un4BUoS7jJErc5eBxUI0ThSyd/s1600/vik+-+small+things+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsvR0y43L9tBYQGXw7EewzfpIymIPiT1j_Q7YLuSnyp_0t8-msfbLfyS1V1DUV6hNr-0LK8U1iaqFjsJoRCj8mGVtfqEwWWZ6ORNceXzh178YQRh4tg3Un4BUoS7jJErc5eBxUI0ThSyd/s1600/vik+-+small+things+2.jpg" /></a></div>
Today I'm celebrating going to the county fair! Not only going, but having an opportunity to plop myself on a bench and write. At the fair! What gives me this rare opportunity, you ask? My leg, of course! And the fact that I haven't been able to finish my book by the deadline. I'm still working on it, and I'm sorry to say the word count is not looking good. It's in danger of being far too long, as usual. When I was at 77 K, I thought it would be perfect, yet I still need to wrap up with my final scene, which has a carnival tie-in. I went a little crazy.<br />
That's why I'm so excited to be headed to the fair. For people watching and inspiration, there is no rival. I'm sure to get just what I need to wrap it up, and my kids will be happy too!<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDE5RI-Ij3GPp-yCjIpWk2odASiXrnFUrcTrOCPHLT2rYj4TaDgKKTCW6S-bd8wLMmis8R-Z0d3whGE_3JE7mwtPfaAfbeModPcEU4KoBwMFRts_tHHxJkbC01biPKHqCgbDcd4hqxzYtN/s1600/017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDE5RI-Ij3GPp-yCjIpWk2odASiXrnFUrcTrOCPHLT2rYj4TaDgKKTCW6S-bd8wLMmis8R-Z0d3whGE_3JE7mwtPfaAfbeModPcEU4KoBwMFRts_tHHxJkbC01biPKHqCgbDcd4hqxzYtN/s1600/017.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last year at the fair.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Enjoy your respective Fridays, everyone!<br />
This post is part of a blog hop hosted by the following bloggers: Vik Lit <a href="http://viklit.blogspot.com/">(Scribblings of an Aspiring Author)</a>,<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #929292; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px; text-decoration: none;"><a href="http://dianawilder.blogspot.co.uk/" style="background-color: white; color: #929292; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Diana Wilder</a>, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #565656; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px;">LG Keltner @ </span><a href="http://lgkeltner.blogspot.co.uk/" style="color: #929292; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Writing Off the Edge</a>, <span style="background-color: white; color: #565656; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px;">Katie @ </span><a href="http://www.thecyborgmom.blogspot.co.uk/" style="color: #929292; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">TheCyborg Mom</a>, <span style="background-color: white; color: #565656; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px;">CaffeMaggieato @ </span><a href="http://mscoffeehouse.wordpress.com/" style="color: #929292; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">mscoffeehouse</a><br />
Please stop by when you get a chance and give them your support!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281245579303549154.post-31755546928054319112014-07-04T12:54:00.002-07:002014-07-04T12:57:49.744-07:00Celebrate Cool JamsIt's time to Celebrate Small Things, a blog hop hosted by Vik Lit <a href="http://viklit.blogspot.com/">(Scribblings of an Aspiring Author)</a> and various co-hosts, including:<br />
<a href="http://dianawilder.blogspot.co.uk/" style="background-color: white; color: #929292; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Diana Wilder</span></a><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #565656; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px;">LG Keltner @ <a href="http://lgkeltner.blogspot.co.uk/" style="color: #929292; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Writing Off the Edge</a></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #565656; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px;">Katie @ <a href="http://www.thecyborgmom.blogspot.co.uk/" style="color: #929292; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">TheCyborg Mom</a></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #565656; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px;">CaffeMaggieato @ </span><a href="http://mscoffeehouse.wordpress.com/" style="color: #929292; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.479999542236328px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">mscoffeehouse</a><br />
Please visit their blogs and spread the celebratory vibe.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsvR0y43L9tBYQGXw7EewzfpIymIPiT1j_Q7YLuSnyp_0t8-msfbLfyS1V1DUV6hNr-0LK8U1iaqFjsJoRCj8mGVtfqEwWWZ6ORNceXzh178YQRh4tg3Un4BUoS7jJErc5eBxUI0ThSyd/s1600/vik+-+small+things+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsvR0y43L9tBYQGXw7EewzfpIymIPiT1j_Q7YLuSnyp_0t8-msfbLfyS1V1DUV6hNr-0LK8U1iaqFjsJoRCj8mGVtfqEwWWZ6ORNceXzh178YQRh4tg3Un4BUoS7jJErc5eBxUI0ThSyd/s1600/vik+-+small+things+2.jpg" /></a>I'm celebrating my first concert in forever (since The Jonas Brothers don't count). My hubby and I attended The Plain White T's/ Daughtry/ Goo Goo Dolls Concert in honor of his birthday. We live a few miles from a really nice, open-air music theater but I had to buy the tickets online, since I sprained my leg and wasn't up to driving even five miles. The ticket booth is at the top of an extensive set of cement steps. The thought of climbing them sent shudders through my body.<br />
<br />
It was meant to be, because the deal I found online included VIP parking (which is as close as the handicap spots). As an added bonus, the seats included access to The Ivy Lounge, a private club for those lucky ducks who hold season tickets to the theater. It was really nice. We had a drink and an appetizer and headed to our seats, which weren't very hard to access because the stairs were those spread-out kind that are pretty easy to navigate on crutches. The crowd ran the gamut of age and socio-economic class (someone cracked out the pot, of course). So everyone fit in and had a blast!<br />
<br />
Under normal circumstances, we would've gotten lawn tickets and sat on this big, grassy hill enjoying the sounds of summer. Seats under the pavilion were a rare treat, but I'm glad we splurged because it made my hubby feel special. And that was the whole point. Plus I didn't roll down the hill and break my leg.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately my poor hubby was too busy maneuvering our car into the line to exit the parking lot to notice the girl who flashed her boyfriend as he waited at their SUV's tailgate with his buddies. That could've served as a supplement to his birthday present. Yet I'm the one who had the honor of seeing it. I tried to describe the sight as best I could, but I'm afraid I didn't do them justice. Ah well, some small things are best kept under wraps!<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03784532496932510371noreply@blogger.com4