Category: observed

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History Day

When I was in elementary school, I don’t think we had History Day. At least not like they do now. Last night we went and viewed about 300 exhibits. The quality coming from these 7th graders ranged from a piece of yellow cardboard with a dozen words scrawled in black marker to life size dioramas with an animatronic Rosa parks sitting on the bus. Well, that might be a slight exaggeration. But seriously, I was impressed. The themes that were repeated the most were Rosa Parks, our diminishing rain forest and Hitler’s regime. One smaller exploited theme, that totally wins the tagline contest, was:

Susan B. Anthony
She Punched Her Chad
And They Got Mad.

Oh my gosh. Pure joy in that.

The quality of Tyler’s exhibit fell somewhere in the middle. But I’d have to guess that it was at the top of the quality chart out of the projects with little to no parental interference. The actual-size, hand sewn era dress made out of maroon velvet with satin quilted piping? I’m guessing a parent might have had a little more to do with that one.

As Joe and I walked around, we started looking to see what kids had put in the most work. The results? 90% of the projects that showed work amounting to countless hours invested were female. I know. I know! I sound so sexist! But, are we females really that dang creative? Or is it that we get excited about large projects and want to add little frilly things and hot glue and pipe cleaners and plan it and start working on it starting the first second that becomes available? And fantasize in our heads about how people are just going to love it and it will be the favorite and end up on the Today Show? And, actually, the projects there that were picked to go to the state History Day show, were done by females. Whereas, boys like my son Tyler, are outside playing sports or hanging out with friends and mastering video game levels and only do the project during the last weekend because that is good enough. I realize I’m making some pretty big generalizations here and it isn’t the same all across the board but I have to believe there is something to this. Do girls care more than boys as a general rule? Does that make us care more what people think? Is that why so many women never feel good enough?

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TrackMeet

The boys had their first trackmeet last Saturday.

Tony got 1st in the shotput. Dude, he’s got an arm on him.

tony_shotput_8

Ty got 1st in the 100m Dash and his team came in 1st in the 400m relay. Look at that stride!

ty_run_close

More here.

Also at the trackmeet, this guy

maybe

who is either Dane or his twin brother Brando I think. I liked The Upside of Anger.

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Big Love

I watched the premier of Big Love on HBO yesterday night. I didn’t have super high hopes for it because I knew the hurdles it would have to overcome to be compelling. But I was looking forward to seeing how they tackled things like polygamy in the Salt Lake valley and the relationships between the wives. Sadly, I think it isn’t very realistic but maybe that makes for better TV. There are only 7 kids, first of all. Only 7? 3 wives? I think there would more like 12. And they didn’t wear garments. And the idea of the daughter Sarah Henrickson (played very well by Amanda Seyfried, who I loved in Mean Girls) working at a fast food joint and being teased by other girls her age was a little too staged. The exception being Tina Majorino‘s character who is obviously playing the friend that will try to activate Sarah back into the mainstream Mormon church. She came through as very true and likeable and completely indoctrinated like most of the girls her age that are active Mormons.

The scenes where they go to the ‘compound’ and you get to see where the polygamists live is a little harsh. I’ve been to Colorado City and haven’t seen that kind of squalor. Again, maybe just better TV that way. I do know the homes are unfinished and when you live there you have to give everything you own over to the community but they portrayed something 3rd world country-ish or something out of a Steven King novel. Also, the Roman character, the head guy going to collect tithing money from Bill Paxton‘s character, who plays the father Bill Henrickson, was a little too mafia-ish for my taste. I don’t think that really happens but I don’t really know. I never lived among the polygamists. It could all be true. I just doubt it. Except for the part where the 14 year old girl marries the prophet. That really does happen. The best moment? Boss wife #1 says, ‘Oh my heck!’ at the table speaking to the other 2 wives. That part was true.

But the winner of things about the show that bothered me: the scene where the 3rd wife, played by Ginnifer Goodwin, uses the bathroom, wipes, and then it cuts to her attacking her husband in bed without washing her hands. Eeeeew. That is so fake. All polygamist women wash their hands…….

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Note to the Rabbit and Those Mean Kids

Not one to give out advice willy-nilly, I find myself yearning and busting at the seams to speak my mind. I hate you humans in the Trix commercials! Be nice! Share. You make me sad to be the same race as you. There are more than enough Trix cereal nuggets for everyone. Don’t you think the Rabbit has paid his dues? Perhaps it’s his turn to eat the cereal that will rot his teeth. Can’t you think about someone else for a change? Eat a banana.

And, Rabbit. Dagnabit, be a man and take the Trix if you want them. Assert yourself. Stand up and be strong. Acknowledge your self-worth. Demand what is yours and take your share of cereal. I think you will find that you, and they, will be glad you created boundaries that are healthy for you. No more passive-aggressive behavior where you dress up as a woman and tuck your ears down to try and trick them into letting you eat. Be the best most real bunny you can be. Alternately, you could also learn to love bananas.

It’s what we call a win-win.

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Things I Have No Patience For

The lid on the hair gel that takes extra-human strength to pop open. Or the door jam. Or a pair of pliers. None of these things works on a regular basis to open the gel, so all may or may not be employed daily.

Tweezers that no longer work well because they have been opening hair gel lids. When I squeeze your two ends together, meet up and tweeze already.

Coffee filters that stick together before I’ve had my coffee. See the never ending circle of sad there?

Sweaty exercise equipment at the gym. Sweat that has dripped out of another’s pores. I don’t want to touch it. Please?

Zits.

Cell phones with no speaker.

No matching socks. All I want is a pair of matching socks. Where oh where have you gone, matches? My feet long for you.

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So – Really?

I’ve gone through some growing pains with this blog. It started out as just a way to stay in touch with my kids when we were living about 300 miles away from each other. About the time I realized that they weren’t reading it that much, I figured out that I really loved writing in here and I wanted to keep writing even if they didn’t read it or if no one read it. I loved writing out what I was feeling and it helped me process all the stuff going on in my day. And then I started doing interviews.

The interviews I do with people are really there because I’m selfish and I want to know what drives other people. I’m fascinated by people. What makes them tick? Why do they do what they do? What makes them what they are? When I find someone that I’m interested in, I pester them until they agree to let me poke them in the brain. Usually it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. Either way is fine, but of course I prefer the former. And if you enjoy them – Great! But I don’t do them every day or even every week. Sometimes I write about just plain’ol me.

So, I can’t really explain it, but now I find myself in the position of lame email stalkers, wonderful loyal readers, casual drive-bys and various family members. Some of those people want to tell me what I should write about and what I should not write about. Some of them think that because they have been reading me for years, that in some way they own a piece of this online persona and they should get to weigh in their thoughts about what goes on here. Well, I have to say to them: sorry, but no. I respectfully decline your offer to tell me what I can and can’t write about. This online persona is attached to a real person – me. I have feelings and thoughts and emotions all my own and they are ME and REAL and will continue to dominate no matter how you feel.

There is this pressure to keep things light and funny and witty. I can do that some of the time but other times I’m depressed, or sad or something bad happened and I want to talk about it. And I can! Because this is my space! Like the past week or two have been insanely hard. The business is growing and we have clients that want work done and not enough people and time to do it. And Joe is going through some major stuff and regrets getting married to me. And there is a divorce looming. And my kids are sad. And I cut my finger really deep. And my ovaries hurt. And things basically suck. So, where can I talk about that if not here? And the minute I think about writing it all out, I get another email from someone asking why I write about mental illness when I can be so funny at other times. Well, guess what? I’ll write about whatever I want to write about. And there are so many blogs out there in the world that I’m sure you can find something that you might like more. So – go. Or stay. Or do whatever. But if you decide to stick around and hate what I write – don’t tell me. I don’t care. Just wait a few days and I’ll have a new interview up or I’ll write about something cute the kids said or post a new photo. It happens. I swear.

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Olympic Coverage

I get asked 6 or 7 times a day if I’m watching the Olympics and what I think about the Olympics and if I’m enjoying the Olympics. I’ve been so half-hearted about the entire thing since it started, what with the funky intro music selections and the entire odd opening ceremonies. But watching the actual coverage has been so HARD for me but I wasn’t sure why until I read Matt H.’s take on it. I agree with his opinion. I would so enjoying watching the raw satellite feeds of each event online instead of the crappy hollywoodized tv coverage.

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Haircuts for Life

Did I tell you about where I get my haircut? From the gentleman that is about 80 and has very shaky hands? They call him Barber Joseph, he’s from England and ever so very sweet. Getting a cut from him is so exciting. Will he cut my neck open? Snip off my ear? Seriously make my hair straight on the side? Give me an eighties-style cut? It’s better than just about any roller coaster and more thrilling than a scary movie. I went again today and while I sat in that chair with a sharp, spiky implement gyrating haphazardly near my ear, listening to Barber Joseph natter on about his kids and grandkids and who’s in baseball and who doesn’t visit enough, I wondered why it is that I come to see him when my very life is in danger as he presses my head to the side, exposing a long swatch of soft neck skin where he might impale me with very pokey, slanted scissors.

It’s because I love him. He is wonderful and caring and British, and who doesn’t love to listen to a British accent? No one. And you can tell by the way he speaks about his family that he loves them all so much. I think it gives me an idea of how great it could be to age to 80 and still be useful and have a full life. And, oddly enough and defying all probability laws, I’ve always left with all of my pieces of skin unpunctured. And my hair always look so great! He’s been cutting hair for 50 years and his snips are always so decisive and sure once the scissors touch the hair strands. Yes, the scissors orbit the planet that is my head, sometimes dipping dangerously close, and the comb frequently jabs my scalp in a most uncomfortable manner and I have to stop myself from flinching because it hurts him to think he might have hurt me and then I feel worse. (how is that for codependent?) But most likely, in 6 weeks, I’ll be back in his chair with adrenaline flowing full speed in my veins wondering if this is the time he will chop off my ear. Bonus: he gave me his home phone number and said to call him anytime. Yowza.

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Unrelated Ramblings

We bought an almost 20-year-old Volvo today. While Alison* and I were waiting in the gentleman’s living room for him to get some of the paperwork together, I glanced up to a shelf along the far wall. In the center spot, which is normally reserved for a trophy, your child’s gilded shoe or photo of Aunt Matilda, there was a wilted cardboard box with bold, black lettering on the side. It read:

FRESH
CURLS
POO.

Well, once I’ve seen a thing, I can’t just unsee it. So I had to keep looking at it and trying not to giggle. Then I mouthed it to Alison when the guy’s back was to me and pointed and waved at the box. And then I felt 13, hormonal, and begged myself to stop, but did I? No. I never listen. Instead, I drove myself crazy with the idea of blurting it out loud to the man. ‘FRESH CURLS POO?? Really?? Your CURLS are FRESH and POO? POO?’ At which point I realized I no longer felt 13. No, I felt 3 with a major chance at ruining my perfect potty-training chart with a sad, empty spot sans sticker for today if I didn’t get it under control. And so I did get it under control. But as soon as we left and had the chance, we both looked at each other and laughed and yelled out loud. It was almost a Laverne & Shirley moment.

On the way home, the bumper sticker of the car in front of me said:

Bringing Friends and Fun Together.
Square Dancing = FUN.

I don’t think I have much to say about that except – ok.

The Office is one of my favorite shows. I love the BBC version as well, but the US version has Steve Carell. From last week:

Michael (Steve): We are just going to sit here until someone comes forward or you are all under punishment.
Pam: What kind of punishment?
Michael: Time Out! You’re all in time out!

My son worked on the LAB portion of his science report over the weekend. His idea = pit a mouse and rat against each other in a race for food and see which one is faster. The twist? First train them both to recognize a color and link it to food intake. He created a maze (and I use the term maze loosely because it was in essence a large box with four horse stalls on one end) and put large swatches of color at the end of each of them. The problem? He didn’t take the time to color-train them, which may be fine because I don’t think they are color-trainable due to the fact that rodents are color blind. He wanted to do a week’s worth of races, one per day, which became seven races in one day which became three races in one hour which finally became no races of any kind and more of a food-fest where the rodents hung out in the middle of the box and ate sunflower seeds, peanut butter and cheese together while speaking of politics and religion. After watching them gorge themselves, my son decided to just make up the results and call it a day. If I was one of those conscientious parents, I would have made sure he actually did the science experiment the way he had originally outlined and told him under no circumstances could he just make up the results. And when I mentioned that to him, he calmly told me that science is not, in fact, facts but more hypotheses and conclusions. I just hope his teacher takes that in to account when she reads his conclusion that the rat was trained better to the red color than the mouse was, thereby making him the winner of the race tourney. His graphs turned out fantastic.

*Go listen to Alison’s new song, A Boy and a Bird.

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Simi Valley Wind

The wind has been hollering and whining at us for days. According to this site, the wind is about 17 mph coming from the North with gusts of 23 mph.

In my opinion, we have somehow chosen to live along the path that leads to a fiery hell and the wind can’t wait to get in there. The winds slow down just enough so that you forget and then they suddenly yell at you again and move everything around outside and threaten to tip over your car until you pee your pants at which point they slow down, you eventually get busy playing Boggle again and then the whole thing starts over.

Where I grew up in Utah, we had a few windstorms but they were so much weaker. Here is the comparison:

The Mormon winds = Tabernacle Choir = Spirit of God = bad Jell-O products and people smiling too much. Slightly annoying but besides poking them, you let it go for the most part.

Simi Winds = The preacher in Footloose giving a speech to young Kevin Bacon = Bunny in Donnie Darko = Fiery Depths of Hell. Scary shit. If you haven’t hid already, it’s now too late.

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2 Unrelated Things

1. While driving to Office Depot to pick up some luxurious 32lb ivory Southworth paper for Christmas card making, I tuned the radio to what I thought was a local NPR station but turned out to be a Christian bible-thumping fest on the air. The topic? WWJD = What Would Jesus Drive. One man, with all sincerity, said that he knew that Jesus would only drive some kind of hybrid vehicle that gets more than 40 miles per gallon, since it is the best for the environment. A woman called in to ask why Jesus wants us to have so many dang kids if He wants us to drive hybrids that don’t seat more than 2 or 3 max and what is she supposed to do now? Just leave a couple of the kids at home? The gentleman answered: “Well, that is just one of those mysteries. And everyone has to do the best they can.” My thought: why would Jesus drive anything? Can’t He fly?

2. At the store, where everyone within a 5 mile radius had also decided they needed supplies from Office Depot and had worked out their schedules so that their trip and my trip coincided, I stood near the lines and debated which one was going to be The One. I am a notorious Wrong Line Picker but it’s not from lack of forethought. I really study things out and try to make the right selection. I just suck at it. So my new system is to find the line that I think is The One and then pick another one that I think couldn’t possibly be it. So, as I stood deliberating, a woman and her friend came up behind me. I thought I would just stand where I was, kind of like they do at Fry’s *, and go to the line that was moving the fastest when it became clear to me. The woman, out of breath and busily talking to her friend, bumped me with her cart, did not say sorry, but moved the cart to the side and then asked, “Which line are you in?”
“I’m in all of them. I’m waiting to see which one opens up and then go there.”
“What?” she asked.
“Are you kidding me?” asked her friend.
“No. I’m serious. If we just wait to see which one opens up, then we can all avoid waiting in long lines behind someone that needs a price check or something.”
By this time, there were about 10 people behind us. One man nodded in agreement.
“Did she say she’s waiting in all of the lines at once?” the friend asked.
“Yes.” said the woman.
“Let’s go in that line over there.” said the friend and pointed to a line to the right. They proceeded to squish their cart around me, push me in the magazines, and go to wait behind the person with 18 different kinds of pens. “Effn Biotches!” I wanted to yell, yet held my tongue as the line was mixed and there were children present.
About the same time, I saw a man that was almost done with his purchase, and I went behind him. I paid for my paper and white board markers and started walking out the door. I passed by the two women, who were still waiting their turn, and smiled as the checker called over the intercom for a price check.
As the automatic door slid open and a blast of outside air hit my cheeks, I looked over my shoulder to see that the line I had created by the magazines had held and there would be many people thanking me tonight for a quicker trip through the checkout at Office Depot. But there would be two angry women cursing my name for the hex I threw upon them and their shopping for the rest of the Christmas season.
The end.

*Fry’s has one of the saddest websites I have ever seen. I thought at first that it was a fake site or someone trying to capitalize on the name what with the prominent billing for DIAL UP SERVICE. WTF? And then I realized that no – this is their website. Holy hell! Someone call their marketing department. Joe and I will do their website upgrade for a discount.

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The Crows

I just want to know what they’re saying to each other
Hundreds of them, circling, cawing loudly.
Each one with his own story, excited to scream it
Over the others – must be the first
And loudest.

It must be pressing
6 O’clock news worthy
To wake me up so early
And make me think
Before I’ve had my coffee.