In which I also narrate something boring and mundane

My kids are addicted to watching other people narrate playing video games on You Tube.  My ten year old's aspirations aren't pop-singer or movie-starlet but to become a You Tube Vlogger.  My four year old opened his hand knitted Stampy Cat hat Christmas morning and exclaimed "I'm going to wear this ALL DAY!" While I get wearing a hat you love all day the watching of these shows... I just don't get.  I don't watch videos of people narrating drinking beer and playing cards. Though now that I type it I do realize there is a whole series of poker shows with announcers and card by card commentary and a whole industry of sports shows where nonstop barking about the exact actions you are seeing on the screen with your own eyes, is the preferred.  Why don't they just play the game? Why listen to people blab on about their virtual adventures? Why fill the house with an odd niche of voices having one sided conversations with themselves about mining and building and skins and esoteric nerd references that only I am old enough to get?

C.J. Campbell

Have you ever heard a song on the radio, gotten goose bumps and thought... that song is going to be big?

I went to my local story night.  I went by myself.  Just like the first time I went to roller derby, all the people I asked to accompany me backed out or got sick before I went, and I wanted to go so bad - I went by myself.  It was fun.  It's always been a treat to me to put my headphones in and cue up This American Life  to listen to before I clean.  I imagined some of the people would be good and some would be nervous. That was true, but I was not prepared to hear someone's voice and get goosebumps. I did.  This chap told a story that made me laugh, genuinely hard, and think, genuinely deep.  I was happy about having gone.

I went back the next month to hear more people and there was the guy again.  I was sort of excited to hear him tell another story.  I wondered if he was a one hit wonder or if his voice was going to hold and what would come out would give me goosebumps again.  This time he made me cry.  Sitting right there in the middle of the back row, trying to be all inconspicuous and cool, he said things that reached way down into the bottom of my belly and made me want to jump out of my chair and scream "ME! He's talking to me! That's me!" I couldn't wait to see the video later of the story he just told.  A week later I messaged the curator of the space and asked when the video would be up.  He said they had problems shooting and the videos wouldn't make it to the light of day.  I spent time trying to remember the story he told and no matter because it's the voice that does it justice.

There's nothing like watching an artist do what they do well, no matter how many time you re-sing it... you just want the artists' voice. So, I went and heard him tell stories a third time and this time I asked if he wrote them down. I asked him for a card, or a blog, a something. He did write. He has a blog.  He has a book.  That was the beginning of this...

   


I'm helping with this campaign and I am honored to say I'm making the book cover.  As you can see the project is fully funded and then some. So what.  Buy a copy.  It is really excellent art coming out of this desperate place here in the Midwest.  This is the flower that grows in the crack of the sidewalk, the beautiful that grey cement, empty factories and honking cars can't stop.  It's the guy that can make the most hardened middle-aged lady with mascara on, both laugh and cry in the middle of a small crowd of strangers. Go buy it.

***

The Zen of Beard Trimming: Stories of Punk Rock, Poverty, and the Search For Peace by C.J. Campbell

"Like a modern-day Candide, writer C.J. Campbell started his journey to achieve peace in the bosom of a safe environment with a well-meaning adviser to guide him, and like Candide, he journeyed out into a world where everything went wrong, sometimes in hilarious ways, sometimes in excruciatingly heartbreaking ways, but always in entertaining ways. Seven years of his travels are painstakingly detailed in his memoir The Zen of Beard Trimming. Punk rock meets leaving Christian Evangelism meets Scandanavian models meets a mismatched cast of unlikely characters and scenarios in a fearless, brutally honest chronicling of the time-honored search for (meaning, love, peace, an apartment, food, and a damn microphone that works)."

yep

http://www.lunarbaboon.com/comics/miracle.html

Mighty

Some days I feel like I kicked ass.  This day I managed to; get two kids to school and home safe and clean with homework done and snacks/lunches packed, finished an illustration of someone's house, calculated shipping to France, went to the dentist, got two fillings, hit the hardware store, the copy shop and the grocery with a numb face.  Cooked dinner, vacuumed, did a load of laundry all before leading a Girl Scout meeting while simultaneously entertaining a four year old boy at the meeting.  I'm still trying to catch up from when I was sick, so some some days this week have extra things in them, so they look like today but with added phone calls, errands, laundry, coffee and staying up late. Sometimes when people say I should sit down and try a new show on TV or I really should read the book their telling me about I feel like kicking them in the shins.

Human Limits

List of Minor Complaints

1. When your socks fall down inside your boots and bunch up on your feet.
2. Wind-shield wipers that only wipe a few stripes of clean.
3. Empty wiper fluid with salty roads means you have to get out and throw snowballs on your own wind-shield every stop.
4. Chapped lips.
5. Iced car door.
6. Snow in the sleeve.
7. Fogged up glasses

The Day After

I sat up late last night, like too many nights in my life, watching things burn on the television.  Switching between CNN and Fox News and C-Span, tabs open to Twitter, Livestream and Facebook, wondering if the chaos would come to our front door.  I remembered a time when we were at work, with radios on in offices, and televisions on in the break rooms, and loved ones on the phones, watching things crumble and trying to find out if everyone was accounted for.  This is how we are trained to find the truth now.  A press conference, and then we stick news channels in every orifice, and watch the live feed waiting for the anchor to confirm the the flames in front of our eyes.  

In the quiet morning over coffee, I look out to make sure the world is there and sit down to read what headlines were crafted while I dreamed away the smoke. We go on to work and school and sorting socks, the chaos at bay far beyond side-walks that need to be shovelled. We type thoughts out into the communal water cooler of the internet, and eagerly read through the sides of our eyes others' posts, all the while thinking carefully about the world.  We will talk about, how to talk about, how to talk about, how to talk about, why we stayed up late watching things burn, to our children.

***

Michael Whyte  · Rockford, IL · "Playing 'the race card'?" Dude, it's America. The "race card" is always in play. You're talking about a country that only exists because of the genocide of the indigenous people; that only thrived due to the slave labor of what was seen as an inferior race. This isn't ancient history.The Voting Rights Act happened IN MY LIFETIME, not in some distant antiquity. A black president is elected and America pats itself on the back for being able to count votes, pats itself on the back for being "post-racial," while a huge (HUGE!) segment of the white population very publicly loses its f'ing mind...even before the guy takes office. In the meantime, our worthless "liberal media" foments racial divide, the Congress treats the president with less respect than they treat the janitor, but no one is supposed to play "the race card" and we're all supposed to pretend to be be "color blind." What is happening in Ferguson, Missouri isn't about the killing of one young man. It's about what goes on when the cameras are off. It's about what goes on when the TV networks don't have a story to sensationalize. You don't know. You like to think you do, but you don't. That's what's on my mind, Facebook."

Dishes that take Days

Since it got cold I've been turning on the oven/stove more often. The usual banana breads and muffins and brownies are turning out good. I love a great soup, one you can simmer all day. It gives some humidity to the house and anticipation to your belly. Last week I made an unintended huge pot of chicken soup and had too many leftovers and not enough lefteaters. On Monday I got a request for mashed potatoes and suddenly something that hadn't occurred to me in in all my years of cooking and loving soups fell from the heavens and onto our plates.

Mad Gravy

I took left over chicken soup and made it into gravy. 

Some of you just read that and said "duh" and others of you gasped in amazement. I would've been on the gasping side had I just read that elsewhere a week ago.  So, I put potatoes in a pot and a container of soup in a pan.  I added flour and cornstarch a little at a time to the soup and by the time the mashed potatoes  were finished the soup was thick.  It was so good I was mad.  Mad that I had missed the opportunity to make this for the last twenty years but didn't.  Mad that nobody I knew made this. Mad that I couldn't fit more than two plates of it in my belly. 

It seems like all of my favorite foods involve multiple days of cooking and left overs.

Left over chilli = chilli mac, chilli cheese dogs, chilli cheese fries. 

Left over mashed potatoes = potato pancakes, twice baked potatoes, shepherds pie

Stale bread = bread crumbs for everything, bread pudding, great French toast. 

Left over whipped cream = on cereal, in coffee, folded into fruit and yogurt. 

Left over pancakes = jelly rolls, pb&js

Left over Asparagus = fancy omelettes

Left over fried rice = fried rice omelettes

Left over mostaccioli = baked pasta

Left over soup = Mad Gravy, pot pies

We Need to do Better for American Kids

what else is new

ESPN The Magazine Ignores Roller Derby Community by F'n EXpat - 42

*** 

Edit: The original artical posted was the following
ESPN Snubs Roller Derby In Spite Of Overwhelming Fan Vote

Change made after 1st comment below.

Let me Share the Awful.

Last summer I broke my leg.  On the eighth day of having a broken leg I got the flu.  I don't mean lay in bed with body aches flu, I mean jump up and run to the bathroom so your body can turn itself inside out flu. But I had to do that with a broken leg and I wasn't very good at crutches yet and every time I moved my leg fast it hurt. I had it for two days.  Every cell in my body was taxed so hard that on the third day even though I felt better all I could do was lay in bed and have Gatoraide brought to me.  Then, my body hurt from being in bed for so long and I had to flip over every few hours to keep from cramping up into a giant knot of hurt.  Flipping over is hard when you have a broken ankle and no reserves.

That's the whole story.  I got better and my ankle healed and there really isn't any point to this story other than it sucked, a lot and I was sitting here eating toast this morning and thinking "That was awful!" and then I decided to type it out and share the worst out here on the internet, where I will read back one day and agree... yep that was indeed awful. The End.

Rediscovering What's Good

I was trying to describe how loud my house is at any given time in the day to a friend today.  He is young and single.  In my home, about every five minutes someone beckons "Mom!, mom! mom, mom....MOM!" Overlay that with what feels like a continuous soundtrack of Adventure Time or Sponge Bob from the television and whatever You Tube thing is streaming from several personal devices hung from my children's faces and lace it with NPR droning away in the kitchen and the retired neighbour obsessed with leaf blowing and mowing. Throw in the stomping of little feet and laughter and fighting and whining and every five minutes "Mom!, mom! mom, mom....MOM!" and you almost have it.

In the last two days, since the weather cooled down, the kids have rediscovered the forsaken third floor playroom in our home.  Every toy they haven't seen since last spring seems brand new and they're enjoying avoiding the in turn response to "Mom!, mom! mom, mom....MOM!" which is "Did you get your homework done?" "Haven't you watched enough ipad?" and "Who's socks are these?"  Occasionally they sneak down the stairs and into the kitchen for juice boxes and pre-wrapped food to leave on the carpet. (Which reminds me: Ella told me the other day she doesn't like 'crumbly things for breakfast' any more, I have no comment about that I just wanted to note it)

So the last few evenings have been extremely quiet for me.  It's unnerving, having gone from constant noise to just an occasional rumble from the third floor. I feel like I forgot something important.  I keep looking around to see if I left the stove on and walking up to the playroom to peer around the corner at my busy children.  Even now, I have this uninterrupted time to type my thoughts and I keep stopping every few minutes and looking around to see if someone need me to wipe or pour something. I think I'll put the TV on for some noise.

Cue the neighbour's leaf blower.

Correctamundo Kid

Jack liked Halloween because "You can catch some candy and yum it down."

Clueless, Unfunny & Gross

So this comedian I sorta liked tweeted this stuff two days ago about a very nice African-American lady that works on ESPN

Artie Lange @artiequitter · Nov 4

After having 8 illegitimate kids together @CariChampion & I marry at The Knights of Columbus in Linden New Jersey. Prob with that?! F- Off!

Artie Lange @artiequitter · Nov 4

I attempt to whip @CariChampion cuz she disrespected the Jefferson Plantation but she grabs whip & beats me I cum like a fat founding father

Artie Lange @artiequitter · Nov 4

Hey @CariChampion lets me and you get busy!

Pretty offensive right? So people get mad, ESPN says he can no longer go on their network, cue thousands of internet trolls crying about freedom and comedy.  Then the comedian issues this asinine statement:

"I'm about to say a few things I can't believe have to be explained in a rational world. I observed that Cari Champion was a gorgeous lady. I then thought it would be funny to tweet JOKES about that observation. A decision which might be the end of modern comedy. I would rather load trucks for a living then ever apologize to one of these awful PC groups ruining the country. So that's a NO. But if it upset the lady in question that's another story. Let me say to Cari Champion if this hurt u in any way I'm sorry. I'm a comedian. Sometimes I'm funny! For the record my moms disgusted w the tweets. But if I based my humor on my mom I'd be broke.

They're now telling me I can't appear on @Midnight tonight cause of the pressure they're getting from these groups. But who cares. I love the show & it's my living but who cares. These groups have won again. All I care about is Cari Champion. Truly. But I'm sure you'll be ok. You're gorgeous & talented. I hope that didn't offend u. To the PC army. Congrats! U won again! Gluten free cake! I've been asked not to appear on @midnight & uve ruined any chance I had at dating Cari Champion (That was a joke). I'm not racist. I don't hate women. And to u PC groups that did this I wanna be clear. Go FUCK yourselves! Now get back to saving the world. Done. Peace."


I'd like to say: No worries dude, modern comedy will go on without you.

***

Best Holidays

Late October mornings are the hardest.  The days start grinding into gear before the sun is even up.  It's so hard, we decided we should all change the fabric of time, en mass to make it suck slightly less.  I'm for it, always have been. There was a time when that extra hour was a celebrated reprieve of bar time and the bonus magical hour on the dance floor.  It was an hour that appeared out of the sheer will of society and damn if I was going to waste it by not dancing and laughing under party lights and upturned Martini glasses. Making it the same weekend as Halloween was genius, ensuring it as the greatest of Party People's holidays.  Now it is the greatest of People Who Always Need Sleep holidays.

Don't Click Play at Work Mom!

Potty-Mouthed Princesses Drop F-Bombs for Feminism by FCKH8.com from FCKH8.com on Vimeo.

Science Kid

Ella opened her homework folder the other day and I heard her squeal with delight, she said

"Ooooooooooh!  Data compilation!"


That's my girl. She's amazing every day.

Two Birds with Gum-ball Machine Ring

Much like how sugar just seems to accumulate in our house from various well meaning bank-tellers and check-out-clerks we also have a good amount of small toys that just appear.  They come from prizes won at school, pridefully cherished right up until the moment my child gets off the afternoon bus and walks in the house at which time I find the "prize" next to the crumpled worn socks of the day in the front hallway.  They are hastily grabbed in a hard fought scrum of children scrambling for the innards of a pinata at a party. They are begged from the edges of parade floats and given after finishing one's nuggets and fries.  They spontaneously appear in the bottom of my purse and in the floor boards of my car, in the pockets of the children and underneath the couch; these hot wheels and whistles, tiny bottles of bubbles, Frisbees with insurance agents phone numbers on them, squirt guns, packs of just three crayons, maze books, necklaces, temporary tattoos, gum-ball machine rings, rubber lizards, inspirational wrist bands, plastic frogs, tops, fuzzy moustaches and various plastic eggs that crack open to reveal something gooey, sticky and guaranteed to dry into a giant crust of gross on your mother's carpet.

As I find these items I've been throwing them all in one place, along with the missing dice, legos, meeple, marbles and playing cards that will only be important when they are missed.  They go into one giant bowl in my dining room.  Twice this year it's overflowed and I dumped it into a grocery bag with the intention of handing it back to a teacher to give out as prizes again and then having it instead collect dust in the hall closet.  Upon walking past the overflowing bowl again today I realized the most incredible solution!  Halloween. If you get to my house to trick or treat this year, you could get a candy or you could get a little balsa wood plane, or Alvin the Chipmunk on a skateboard. I hope you don't get the goo filled egg.

Morning Alarm

This morning I woke up to PEEP....PEEP..... PEEP! I think the smoke alarm battery is going dead. And I get out of bed slightly and hear it coming from the left of the bed... there's no smoke alarm there, so I sit up wide awake thinking the neighbor's house alarm is going off. I go to the window and tilt my ear and look around furiously, then I hear it coming from the other window... it's really loud now PEEP....PEEP..... PEEP! Standing at the other window it sounds like maybe it could be driving around the neighborhood. I wonder if a small bulldozer is backing up somewhere... I can't really tell where it's coming from... I sit down on the bed and wonder if I should investigate further.  My young child rolls over, it is then I realize... it's his nose whistling while he sleeps.

That Natural Look

It's Halloween and of course I'm looking at a bazillion cool makeups that will end up melting into my contacts by the end of the night causing a dense fog no one should drive in.  I thought I'd try to test a couple out tonight and got the smoky greys and blacks out.  I gently traced the lids with a nice jet black and blended out into grey and then finally layered in a lovely blood red at the end in an attempt to match the red the derby team I'll line coach this weekend will be wearing.  It ended up looking like the coal miner's take your daughter to work day.  Ten minutes of soap in the eye later I started again with liquid liner, drawing the perfect cat eye, followed by another perfect cat eye on the left side.  I stood back and looked at two perfectly non-matching cat eyes. arg. Maybe people will only look at me via profile and nobody will notice. After more soap in the eye, I gave up.  I'm going for good lips.