Yucky Salad with Bones

Sept. something '06

I don't have any idea what day it is. I know it's a weekday and that's about it. Took the babes out of school yesterday, mom-sanctioned hooky if you will, and we went to the arboretum. Looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooove the arboretum, and since it was the only sunny day in Heaven knows how long, I made the executive decision that it was just as educational, nay, more eduational, to go out there and run around in the woods as it would've been for the kids to sit at their desks all day. I wasn't wrong. We had a ball and all learned tons of invaluable things; for instance, the big kids learned that a Japanese maple tree can't survive in weather below 50 degrees, I learned the Beren family lived in the adorable little two-room cabin that's still on the land and Molly learned that if she didn't eat all her lunch the seamonster that lives in the bog would eat her. How she learned that is I said it to her, but before you go all judgy bananas on me understand that ever since kindergarten started, she's stopped eating.

She brings her completely full luch box home from school every day and then complains to me that her stomach hurts and she's super crabby. When I ask her why she didn't eat her lunch, she says there isn't enough time. Dinner is a different matter; she just won't eat it. I have to negotiate every stinkin' bite with her, bribe her with fake promises of ponies and princess dresses and the like, and still she practically gags when lettuce touches her lips. I honestly think she's just gotten out of the habit of eating, and consequently she now looks like one of those kids on the Sally Struthers commercial. OK, she doesn't look like them, but I needed a strong visual.

Short story long, we got lunch out at the arboretum restaurant (new and pretty fabulous, by the way, compared to what it used to be, which was quaint and adorable but fly-ridden and sort of hospital food-y) and she did her usual one-bite-I'm-full routine, so I told her that the sea monster who lives in the bog (we planned to do the bog walk after lunch) only likes to chomp on kids who don't eat their lunches. Well it worked, so crazy like a fox is what, but we all had to sit there for a good half hour while she slowly got through her pb&j and her pickle and her cookie. When I finally said, "OK, hon, all done now," she yelled, "NO mom the SEA MONSTER!" Maybe I should have her teacher tell her the seamonster followed her to school.

Why do little kids hate eating and sleeping, two things adults enjoy so much?

Lessee...oh, we also saw "Invincible" this weekend, took the kids, loved it. Totally knew what we were getting, totally manipulative, totally great. You'd have to be the biggest grump ever not to have loved it, and while I am certainly capable of being a substantial grump, it got me right where it wanted me. My only beef was with the previews, which were pretty inappropriate for a PG audience. I don't need my kids quoting Dane Cook, not yet anyway. Although there was also one for the Ashton Kutcher/Kevin Costner collaboration "The Guardian", which looks like a hilarious rip off of every action/military/disrespectful-young-punk vs past-his-prime-but-still-tough-as-nails-hero movie ever made.

Ashton Kutcher: (super cocky)"Tell that old coot I'm gonna crush all his records."

Peripheral character: "Tell him yourself, he's right behind you!"

Kevin Costner: "You need me on that wall! Faggoty white uniform!"

Ashton Kutcher: (lying on ground, crying) "I got no where else to go!"

That should be good.

Sept. 23 '06

So my friend John got this cool new job which has him camping out all fall in South Bend, writing about his beloved Notre Dame football and anything else that pops into his head.

But he asked me and a bunch of other degenerates to help him compile a football style ranking of the fall tv shows. I would like to say that I wrote mine before I actually watched Studio 60, which I loved. Also, I don't really hate Texas, I just couldn't think of anything else to say and I'm sure the cast members of Desperate Housewives are all lovely women and ditto for that poor anorexic on Gray's Anatomy and...Oh who am I kidding? Let this be a lesson for us all: never answer an email when you're all stoli'd up.

Sept 19 '06

Light rain falling, a chill in the air...I pull up to school to collect the babes yesterday and Molly is standing on the curb with her little pink hood pulled over her head, looking miserable. She climbs into the car, immediately bursts into tears and sobs "My head hurts and I wanted youuuuuuuaahhhhh!"

102 degree fever. My heart breaks every time I think of her sitting at school all day feeling like poop and having no idea it's OK to tell her teacher. She's home today and still running a fever but skipping around in her pajamas playing barbies. It's a lot to ask of a five-year-old immune system that's never spent a significant amount of time away from home to suddenly be an active ingredient in kindergarten soup seven hours a day. She'll adjust eventually; and I have to admit, I like having her back for a day or two.

Dontcha love fall? I mean really, what's not to love? The colors, the clothes, the crockpot...I rode my bike a coupla days ago over to where all my high school cross country meets used to be....fond memories, my favorite part of high school. And the leaves are already on their way to a blaze of glory around these parts, which means the TC marathon is gonna be spectacularly pretty.

And let us not forget the fall shows. This fall has a wealth of interesting new possibilities, and last night I fell head over heels in love with Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. Curse you, network television and your infernal commercial breaks! Just as I'm being swept away by the elegance and eloquence of Aaron Sorkin's mighty pen, (though I never did get into The West Wing) here comes Wilford Brimley harumphing at me about his Diabetes. All right, you got me, that commercial didn't run during Studio 60 but I couldn't remember what had, just that I was highly annoyed. For all I know Wilford lost that battle years ago and my example was about as timely as saying "and here comes Orson Welles wheezing about wine".

There's been a lot of emailing back and forth amongst the sibs and I lately about Entertainment Weekly's recent list of the 50 best high school movies. Obviously, as with any list, it's almost completely wrong.

Most egregious errors, according to me:

Peggy Sue Got Married is number 17. This movie blew hard and shouldn't be on the list at all. Nicolas Cage was a spaz and Kathleen Turner was 74 years old. (Kathleen Turner in her heyday is also one of Hollywood's most overrated beauties, along with Cybill Shepherd and, wait for it...Elizabeth Taylor.*)

(Just for fairness sake, my list of Hollywood's most overrated leading men includes Michael Douglas, Richard Burton and Brad Pitt.)

Grease is number 21. Grease is number 21!! Fer Krispy Kreme, Lucas is number 16! Yeah, that's sounds about right, Lucas is better than Grease...NOT. When was the last time you saw junior high school girls re-enacting entire scenes from Lucas? Hmmm. lessee... on the twelfth of never, that's when. That is a joke, Grease is top five if not higher.

Pretty in Pink is rated way too high, at number 26. This was just not that great.

Fame is number 42; belongs in the top ten.

Valley Girl didn't make it at all. Niether did Better Off Dead. But a bunch of obscure picks obviously there just to try and lend the whole list some artsy credibility did, and pleeeeeeaze, yo, who needs that when we're talking about high school?

Sixteen Candles is NUMBER 49.

THIS MOVIE IS TOP THREE AND POSSIBLY NUMBER ONE, YOU HEAR ME, BONEHEADS AT EW??

Althoug they did list Breakfast Club at number one, and it's hard to argue with that.

My top ten, with the caveat that the top three are interchangeable:

10) Bye Bye Birdie

9) Fame

8)Valley Girl

7) Amadeus (What? I saw it in high school, and I made out with my boyfriend the whole time. What's not to love about that? What was this movie about, anyway?)

6) Can't Buy Me Love

5) Dazed and Confused

4)Fast Times

3) Grease

2) Breakfast Club

1) Sixteen Candles

*Oh yes I did.

Sept 16 '06

I saw the most outrageous thing last night on Dateline; the show manufactured a fake skin enhancement pill, hired a bunch of people to make an infomercial for it and then busted them for endorsing a fake product. Um...exqueeze me? They hired a dermatologist to go in front of a camera and say how great it was, then played the tape back to her and said, "You know what 's in this? Nestle Quick. And do you know who created it? Us, the good and honest people at Dateline. You, madam, are a charlatan." No joke. They just randomly picked some poor doctor out of thin air, who for all they know has mountains of debt because her grampa gambled away the family farm or something, and ruined her reputation. Now granted, the doctor could've done a tad more research before agreeing to endorse a product, but if you ask me, anyone who would buy a wrinkle pill called "Moisturol" at 3 am deserves to get screwed. The name alone should be a tip off it's a bogus product, I mean "Moisturol"? That sounds like an SNL spoof on feminine hygeine products, you were really gonna take that for your face?? The best part is, the Dateline guy had this to say about infomercial companies: "They create credibility where there is none."

Pot, meet kettle.

PS-- I just googled "Moisturol" to see if there was any fallout over this sting operation, and on someone's talent page I found, "I just finished a Moisturol commercial, it should be out this fall!" Whoops, sorry, struggling broke actor, it was just Dateline trying to smear you. Better luck next time.

September 9 '06

I've said it before, I'll say it again: I'm a Libra, aiight? And while I think personality traits being pigeonholed into the signs of the zodiac is total hokum, I also think it's kind of fun.* See? There you go, that was a perfect example of what I'm talking about. I like that ying/yanginess of things, stuff in balance, the possibility that I might be wrong and you might be right and maybe I should never wear black because I'm a summer, but on the other hand, maybe I should, because I'm only human and sometimes I feel fat. You got me? No? Whatever.

What I'm trying to say is, I was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong and I would like to clear the air and my conscience and mea culpa and all that crap.

Tom and Katie are really in love. My admission of this 180 in no way takes away from the fact that I think he's a freak and she's naive, but circumstances of late have made me see the light insofar as their relationship being genuine, and the catalyst to this realization is his apology to Brooke Shields.

Behind every contrite man is an angry woman, especially if she just gave birth.

Interior: the bedroom of the Tomkat mansion. Katie Holmes lies in bed, a sweaty, lactating, postpartum mess, her cold-sore riddled face stained by involuntary tears and pizza. Baby Suri sleeps beside her, and as she looks at her daughter, her emotions cycle rapidly from deep, soul shaking love to an intense desire to throw the kid out a window. Enter Tom Cruise.

Tom: "Hey, how are--"

"Shut up. Shut up and get away from me and get out of this room and don't you dare touch this baby or look at me. I hate you."

"Now, Kate, you don't mean that. You just need some vitamins and excercise and everything will be fine."

"All I need if for you to shut your trap. I may not have the strength to nurse this baby but I will find the strength to shove this lamp up your ass and then you can push it back out without making any noise. You don't know from Mission Impossible oh my gawd, I love this baby so much she is so beautiful GET AWAY FROM ME GET AWAY and TAKE THIS SCREAMING BRAT WITH YOU DON'T TOUCH HER!!"

I'm just saying its a possibility.

*This does not mean that I am down with going any deeper into the dark side, mind, you, I'm not about to mess with tarot cards or ouiga boards or any of that stuff. What do you take me for, some kind of devil worshipper? Is that how you spell worshipper?

Sept 8 '06

My youngest child started kindergarten. Six hours a day, five days a week, she's someone else's problem.

I jest, of course, she's totally still my problem, and I do admit I've had waves of sadness thinking how quickly she went from birth to this week. Surely that wasn't five years, was it?

She loves loves loves it, which I knew she would, and that snappy uniform plays no small part in the reason why.

It was a wonderful summer. Really great, way too short. I'm usually ready for fall, but not this year; we were jobbed out of a week in June and I felt it. Watching the Twins go teets up agains the Tigers.

It's the next day now.

So the city has been doing work on my street all summer, I'm not talking a little work, I'm talking major overhaul kind of stuff that has been more than a little disruptive. Now they've dug up basically half of my front yard, and for the past three days have been using a machine that is so high pitched and loud I seriously think I'm going to go stark raving bananas if they don't stop soon. Not only that, the inside of my house is covered with a find layer of dirt. Noisy and dirty. Did I die and go to hell and no one told me? I should go turn on the TV, and if E! isn't there, I'll know I have. Oh, fer cryin'...here comes some sort of tractor machine, right over my grass.

Sept 4 '06

Boredom washed over her as she stared at but didn't really see the television. "Hoop Dreams"...they'd seen it so many times she could perform it, but whenever her husband stumbled across it on cable he was helpless to continue up the dial. Was it still considered a dial? The beginnings of a cold tickled the back of her throat, and she wondered where she might've picked it up... of course, the state fair. That Pronto pup vendor looked like he hadn't seen the inside of a washroom maybe ever, ick. He and his 3 dollar deep-fried germ pops.

And of course she'd petted that pregnant cow in the miracle of birth tent for a good half hour, as had the person tending to the cow, who had also unblinkingly plunged his arm, shoulder deep, into Bessie's Bessie to try and speed up the miracle. She wondered if a cow's Nancy was as clean as everyone was always saying a dog's mouth was, and if that was even true.

She finished mending the school uniforms her kids would need on Tuesday and folded them neatly on the chair beside her. Arthur Agee's mother graduated from the nurse's assistant program. Again.

She'd read something in her local paper earlier that week, a piece about a new book spouting that staying at home to raise kids was beneath a woman of intellect and education.

"Get To Work" It was called. It was written by a retired professor of Women's Studies.

"She sounds like my husband," she'd cracked to her sister, who was also apparently and unwittingly suffering from stay-at-home brain rot. True, that...her husband was always whispering pretty things to her about his deep belief that someday, she'd go out and make her mark. She suspected he just wanted her to become the main breadwinner so he could play golf all day.

"Nothing doing," she told him, "Us Weekly isn't going to read itself."

That was her real beef with the book, since she cared what its author thought of her life choice about as much as she cared what her hairbrush thought of her hair. What ever happened to "Omerta"? She had a good thing going, she didn't need some angry, balding retiree yelling at her to go fill the Social Security coffers. She had a fella willing to go out and work all day so she didn't have to, and she was the dumb one?

But sitting there watching her exhausted husband snore, she had to consider the possibility that her feeling of ennui was the result of something deeper than too many viewings of "Hoop Dreams".

Then her son, still wet from his bath, ran into the room and dove across the couch, accidentally hitting the remote. Reno 911...gawd, was this show funny.

She loved her life. She was just sick of St.Joe's.

Sept 2 '06

Well howdy-do! I'm recovered from the fair, that is if you don't count the intermittent rumbling from my intestines that began in the early morning hours and continues as we speak, or type, thanks for asking.

Lessee...oh yeah, ok, well, we get there and of course it's 50 bucks just to get in, and 15 seconds later everyone has a corndog halfway through their digestive tracts and Molly is already starting to whine that she wants me to carry her. Carry you. That's a good one, Mol, I'm not carrying you, we talked about this earlier, so just can it or no cotton candy or curly fries. Giant slide, coupla cokes, a chocolate dipped nut roll and those promised curly fries I'm officially broke. We'd been there twenty minutes. The big kids were fine petting goats and watching a pregnant cow wander restlessly around in a pen, but Molly didn't take the news of no rides very well, and we left a mere three hours after we arrived. Never again. At least 'til next year.

Sept. 1 '06

I'm splayed across my couch right now so tired I can't believe I have the energy to type. But type I shall, people, type I shall, even in the face of this bone-crushing fatigue, because that's how I roll.

Watching Andre Agassi's swansong match...he and his opponent are wearing the same hideous shirt, but in different colors.

Oh, why am I so tired? Is that what you asked? I took my kids to the state fair today. Sighhhhhh...not a huge fan, what can I say? I know, I know, everyone loves the fair, I'm a big curmudgeon. There are a lot of reasons I don't love it, not the least of which is it smells like if B.O. and grease had a baby and then cowpoo adopted it.

Mike had to work, but we went with friends who were nice enough to drive. We stuffed all ten of us into their car and made our way over to St. Paul, parking in one of the thousands of makeshift lots courtesy of the fair neighbors. The several block walk to the entrance gate is a trip, every inch of sidewalk lined with one be-tented snake oil salesman after another. Sunglasses, belts, t-shirts, pizza, kitchen cabinetry...kitchen cabinetry?

"Hey, I've been thinking about re-doing my kitchen! I'll just order cabinets from this fly-by-night vendor on Snelling Avenue, that seems like a great idea!"

Then comes the guy dressed like fat Elvis, charging 15 bucks for a snapshot with the king. A few years ago he was Superman. He sat outside the front turnstiles slamming beers all day long but he never lacked for customers; I was amazed at the amount of people forcing their children onto his lap for some keepsake pics of them embracing a slurring, sweating man of steel. Folks didn't seem as enamored of fat Elvis, however, and I attribute that to good old fashioned midwestern horse-sense...you can fool some of the the people some of the time, you know what I'm sayin'?

I'm going to bed. We'll continue this discussion tomorrow.