tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24418737454005944312024-02-18T19:54:17.508-08:00Orange and SilverTDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00665343970056841693noreply@blogger.comBlogger109125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-9968253580646819882015-10-10T18:17:00.000-07:002015-10-10T18:17:33.258-07:00Down Home Stories<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The NPR affiliate in Washington, DC is WAMU. It’s run by
American University, and is the home of the Diane Rehm Show. For a few years in
the mid- to late 80s, it was also home to Down Home Stories. Down Home Stories
were three-ish minute weekly commentaries written and read by my dad. As the
name suggests, the subjects were slice of life-y little vignettes that addressed
whatever happened to be on his mind at the time. Not unlike my humble offerings
here, when you come right down to it. This was at the height of the Garrison
Keeler/Lake Woebegone craze, and people listened to Prairie Home Companion like
it contained secret important details about the coming apocalypse that would
ensure survival. My dad’s series was well received, and the radio station even
had him record a dozen or so of them on cassette to use as an incentive during
their fund drive one year. I don’t remember all the subjects he discussed, but
a couple stand out in my mind.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the time we had a Burmese cat, and a twenty year old
washing machine. The relationship between these two as described by my dad was
that they were the two things in our house that made the most noise. Burmese cats
are similar to Siamese; they have a similar deep, distinctive meow. The cat,
whose name was Barnaby, used to stand in the stairwell leading from the first
to the second floors, and meow. The acoustics of that space were such that his
voice was amplified by a factor of about ten. The problem was, he would not
shut up, and he often decided to do this at two in the morning. I don’t
remember what else my dad</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">had to say
about it, but this torment ended only with our move to a new house in 1987.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The washing machine was in the basement, and was there when
we moved in. It had a maddening feature (for want of a better word, but feature
seems to me to imply a positive trait, which was not the case in this instance)
that would cause it to stop and buzz if the load got off balance. My father
said he couldn’t understand why it needed to do this, as, he pointed out, water
seeks its own level, but it did. If you didn’t hear it buzzing (and because our
house was built in the 1930s and used plaster and lath and was well insulated,
you often did not) you’d go downstairs after the amount of time it should have
taken the wash cycle to complete, only to find it had stopped twenty minutes
previously and had been making a noise like an enormous angry bumble bee ever
since. The only solution was to redistribute whatever was in the drum and try
to get it started again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">These commentaries had a fairly devoted fan base. It wasn’t
large, but it was enthusiastic. My dad said the nicest compliment he ever got was
from the movie critic for WAMU. He said, “Whenever one of your segments comes
on, I stop what I’m doing for three minutes and just listen.” Another fan was
my history teacher, Bill (I went to a fairly progressive school started by
then-hippy types—who ended up, of course, being guys like my dad—and we called
all our teachers by their first names).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On Valentine’s Day of 1985, Bill walked into History class
and said, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Trace.” I’m pretty sure I gave him a weird
look—why was he wishing </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">me</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> a happy
Valentine’s day? Freak. (I </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">was</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
fifteen.) He asked me if I’d heard my dad’s commentary that morning. Being the teenage
asshole that I was, I’m sure I rolled my eyes and said no.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The subject of that day’s offering </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">was Valentine’s Days through the years, with
me being the final mention on a list of recipients of his affection. What Bill
was repeating to me was the last line of the piece.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In retrospect I’m a little surprised I didn’t know about
that particular mention, because I would help him time them after he’d written
them. Once he’d typed them out on his Smith Corona using the fairly low quality
yellow typing paper he always bought (low quality because it was cheap and he
went through a lot of it) and typing in ALL CAPS, which was a hangover from his
television news reporting and writing days, he would read them out loud while I
timed him with an analog stop watch he had. They weren’t supposed to be over
about two and a half to three minutes, with three and a half minutes being the
final cut off.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For all their local success, my dad’s commentaries never
went any further than WAMU. It may have been that he was considered a poor man’s
Garrison Keeler. He told me himself at the time he was probably too much like
Keeler to be viable, and like so many writers, he wasn’t great at
self-promotion. He never figured out how to differentiate himself, which I can
sympathize with. It’s even harder today with the accessibility of blogs as a
publishing medium. Explain how your funny words about X are different from
fifty peskillion other people’s funny words about that subject. It can be hard
to come with something beyond, “Because they’re </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">my</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> funny words.” No longer is voice sufficient; you have to have a
hook, an angle, a twist.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Periodically I</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">have
the urge to dig out his tapes (the print versions are long gone) and do
something with them. Maybe I will. </span></div>
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Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-70011946624464764792015-10-09T15:28:00.004-07:002015-10-09T15:29:35.472-07:00Reduce, Reuse, Recycle: Chipdrunks<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm rerunning an old favorite today.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When we bought our first “big” house (one with more than two bedrooms), it came with an in-ground pool. We couldn’t believe our luck. We could actually afford this? Really? It was true. So we jumped on it, and spent four years with an amazing luxury in our yard.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes, it cost us some money—about $300 a year to get someone to open and close it, and each year we had to shell out on average $300 to repair or replace some piece of equipment or other. Ultimately we had to have the pool deck replaced, and the pool resurfaced, but honestly I don’t think if you added up those expenses, plus the cost of the chemicals (which was minimal), it would add up to more than we would have spent on a pool membership, with the club house minimums and dues that involves. Plus it was ours all to ourselves, was open from whenever we wanted to whenever we wanted (not Memorial Day to Labor Day), and available 24x7. The pleasure far outweighed the pain.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There was, however, one experience we had with this pool that a pool membership would have spared us. Drowned chipmunks.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Overhanging the pool deck was a mulberry tree. All spring, summer, and fall, as the mulberries ripened, they fell on the pool deck. They’d sit in the hot sun, and ferment. They’d become boozy, high octane berries. Chipmunks like mulberries and they weigh about 3 ounces each, so they have the alcohol tolerance of a 19 year old sorority girl. They’d eat some berries, and be half in the bag, staggering around the pool deck.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The stages of drunk must be slightly different for chipmunks than for humans. It’s my experience that thirst doesn’t really hit until the alcohol wears off, and it’s part of the hangover stage. Evidently chipmunks get thirsty right away. These stupid chipmunks would lurch over to the pool and try to get a drink of water. The only problem was the level of the water they were trying to drink was about 6 millimeters further down from the lip of the pool edge than the length of the average chipmunk. You probably don’t need me to spell out the result of almost every single one of these attempts.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Another fact about chipmunks is they can’t swim. Squirrels can—one jumped in and went for a dip while I was sitting out there one day, and I chased that little asshole right out. But chipmunks are hopeless and pretty much drop like sinkers as soon as they hit the water. Chipmunks have a lung capacity of about ¼ of a teaspoon, so they also drown almost instantly. We were constantly hauling drowned drunken chipmunks out of our pool.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hope you’re curious about what we did with the corpses, because you’re going to find out. The house behind us was empty—the people who lived in it moved out about two weeks after we moved in (a coincidence? I don’t know) so the yard was overgrown with ivy and other vines. We would scoop the chipmunks out of the pool with the long handled skimmer, and using it as a sort of catapult, fling them over the fence into all that brush.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just about the time we were moving out, someone started renovating that house behind us. They started with the house itself, and hadn’t gotten to the yard before we moved to the other side of the country, so I have no idea when they may have discovered the chipmunk mass grave at the far edge of their property, nor what they concluded when they did. I myself would probably have assumed it was some kind of Jonestown/Heaven’s Gate scenario, but with chipmunks. I’m also not sure what the people who bought our house are doing with the drowned chipmunks now since our disposal option is not available to them. Because I’m quite sure those stupid chipmunks are still getting shitfaced on fermented mulberries and drowning in that pool.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-87344840319510866612015-10-07T20:21:00.000-07:002015-10-07T20:21:45.444-07:00Halloween Candy: What to Avoid<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Kids love Halloween and kids love candy. As we grow older,
we forget that all candy isn’t created equal. Just dropping a morsel of sugar,
regardless of its pedigree, into a tyke’s
sack isn’t enough. It needs to be decent candy, good candy. With the rare
exception, good equals chocolate. Tread carefully around things with peanuts, even if they're chocolate, (although it’s hard to find candy that doesn’t have some form of peanut in it),
but by all means, lean toward chocolate. The problem is that candy that is not
chocolate is so often something completely weird and beyond consumption.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Take Bit O Honey. Having recently read the
ingredients on these, I can assure you that the name is well suited, as they
contain about as much honey as my body contains manganese (which is to say,
very fucking little). These are bits of sweetened hard plastic shaped into
squares. I believe they were invented by a dentist whose business was slow. Once
he started distributing them, he saw an increase in child patients with
cavities, and additionally in their parents, who had yanked their fillings out
and needed to have them replaced.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Similar to Bit O Honey are Mary Janes. Instead of honey
flavor, Mary Janes are peanut butter flavored. They have an almost identical
consistency, and were probably created by someone who was both a dentist, and whose
father in law was a peanut wholesaler. These are made by the same company that
makes a candy that is in competition for the Worst Candy Ever Made in the History
of the World. I speak</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">of course, of NECCO
Wafers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyone who grew up in New England, or to a lesser extent in
the Middle Atlantic states, knows NECCO Wafers. Because they’ve been manufactured
since 1847. Because of this NECCO wafers have a shroud of nostalgia-induced
legitimacy around them. Your grandmother remembers getting them for Halloween
when she was a little girl. They’re imbued with cultural history. They’re an
historical part of the fabric of society.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is all fucking bullshit. NECCO wafers are round disks
of sugar which, based on their consistency, are made of chalk. They are
flavored with the polishing paste your dental hygienist uses when you get your
teeth cleaned. The flavors are similar—chocolate, orange, wintergreen. No one
actually likes them, and children despise them because eating them is like repeatedly
licking a flavored blackboard eraser.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On the other end of the consistency spectrum are Jujubees. Not
gritty or dusty, but more like chewing a wad of allegedly fruit
flavored rubber bands. Jujubees come in the approximate shape of the fruit they’re
supposed to taste like, but the shapes all look more or less the same, so you
have to go with color to determine flavor (assuming you want to eat them in the
first place). Like Gatorade and Kool-Aid (and probably any other product whose
name ends with the sound –ade), Jujube flavors are usually described as their
color. Red flavored, yellow flavored, etc. Their actual flavor (corn syrup)
defies description.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But worse than any other candy (maybe worse than NECCO
wafers—it’s a close call) are Circus Peanuts. Circus Peanuts get <i>my</i> vote for
the worst candy ever. Worse than anything made of chalk or rubber, Circus
Peanuts seem to be made of foam insulation. I’m sure that I could take the
spray foam my husband uses to seal off the cracks around our hose bibs and form
it into this candy. To make it less edible (in case you didn’t realize that was
possible) Circus Peanuts are banana flavored. I am not a fan of banana in any
form, but artificial banana flavoring is what sin and betrayal and despair and
failure taste like. All in one.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Please avoid all of these candies unless you’re eager to
redecorate the exterior of your home in the style commonly referred to as November
First Shitty Candy Givers. It’s easily recognizable by a notable presence of
both toilet paper and broken raw eggs. Remember, when in doubt, <i>give out
chocolate</i>. </span></div>
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Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-87498217294575232102015-10-06T20:38:00.001-07:002015-10-07T08:35:40.571-07:00Salted Caramel Cheesecake: I'm Cheating<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<class align="left" separator=""><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is cheating, I suppose. This is a post from another blog I used to have. Republishing it because I need content for this challenge!</span></class><br />
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<class align="left" separator=""><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This post has gotten so much traffic via Pinerest that I have to comment further on those who say, "It's too salty." The idea is that it's a salty caramel dessert. But, everyone has a different level of salt tolerance. So, here's my suggestion--make the crust with just a little salt--a teaspoon or two. Then make the filling with just a teaspoon or two of salt. Then TASTE IT. People watch Food Network and see those people just scatter in some salt, take a small taste, and go, "Mmmm GOOD!" But that's just TV--they're supposed to say that so they don't spend precious air time adjusting the seasoning. You MUST TASTE as you go. Make the filling with everything but the eggs (raw eggs can be dangerous--I can't recommend eating anything with raw eggs in it) then TASTE it. The idea is that you taste some salt, but not that you go, "Ugh, salty." You're supposed to taste the contrast between sweet and salty. If you don't like things pretty salty, just leave the majority of the salt out and make a caramel cheesecake--caramel cheesecake is delicious too! If you taste it and it's not salty, and you want it salty, add a 1/2 teaspoon salt at a time until you get it to where you think it tastes OK. But I strongly recommend you taste as you go.</span></class><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">N.B. It was brought to my attention that if this recipe is made with regular salt, it is WAY too salty. I always use kosher salt. Don't use table salt or this will be truly inedible. My apologies to anyone who may have tried it already without that caveat!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here it is at last. I’ve been trying to get a picture of a single slice of this for months. And you know what happens? That’s right—every time I’m ready to photograph it, I look for the slice I saved as my “model” and it’s gone. Someone has eaten my model. So you’re just going to have to content yourself with the picture of the whole cheesecake that I happen to have snapped once with my camera phone. It doesn’t really do it justice, but you get the idea.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I made this for Thanksgiving in 2010. It was proclaimed, “The best dessert you’ve ever made.” Praise, indeed. Well, actually, considering all the desserts I’ve made in 15 years of marriage, plus probably 3 years of dating, that could be saying quite a bit. In the event, I was asked to make it again for Christmas. And again for my husband’s birthday. And again for our anniversary. And every time I made it, I would post about it on Facebook, and my friends would say how much they wanted a piece. Finally, in August of 2012, I made a cheesecake, and invited all my friends over for a Friday night Happy Hour and Cheesecake Devouring Event.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I could have taken numerous pictures of my friends eating it, but when the dust settled, once again, I was left with no model. In fact, <em>I</em> didn’t even get a piece. So the next day, I made <em>another</em> Salted Caramel Cheesecake. I took it to a birthday party for a friend, where once again it was completely consumed, and while I didn’t have anything left to take a picture of, at least I got a slice of it this time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, rather than make you wait until November for this recipe, when I might actually be able to get a decent picture of it, I’m giving it to you now and <em>you </em>can make it for Thanksgiving and Christmas and your husband’s birthday and your anniversary. I hope it’s the best dessert you’ll ever make.</span><br />
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<strong><u><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Salted Caramel Cheesecake</span></u></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Serves 2</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ha ha! Just kidding—I’ve served up to 20 people with one cheesecake. Ideally it probably serves about 10-12 people.</span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For the crust</span></u></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">About 15 graham crackers</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3 tablespoons granulated sugar</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 stick unsalted butter, melted</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 1/4 teaspoons kosher salt (note: I reduced this from 2 teaspoons. A number of folks in the comments said they found it was too salty. I made this recipe 4 times before posting this, and checked the measurements pretty carefully, I thought. However, I made it for Thanksgiving 2011 and realized that they WAY the crust is distributed in the pan can make it seem quite salty--if there's a significant slope between the bottom and the sides, that fairly dense piece of crust can be overpowering to the rest of the recipe. So I'm recommending the reduction to the salt to account for the possible variations in the way people make the crust.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1. </span>Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. In a food processor, grind graham crackers to crumbs. (If you’re using premade crumbs, you want about 8 oz or 2 cups, and you’ll want to do all these steps in a bowl.) Add sugar and salt and pulse to combine. With motor running, add butter through feed tube. Process for another few seconds until combined.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2. </span>Transfer the mixture to a 9” or 10” (I have a 10” myself) springform pan sprayed with cooking spray. Pat crumb mixture into the bottom of the pan, and up the sides about 2”. Don’t worry if it’s not perfectly even around the top; you just want to be sure it’s deep enough to hold all the cheesecake mixture.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3. </span>Bake crust until slightly brown. You’ll just be able to smell it. This will take anywhere from 10-12 minutes. Remove crust from the oven and allow to cool on a rack. Reduce oven temperature to 300 degrees F.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<u><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For the cheesecake</span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3 8oz packages cream cheese, at room temperature</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 13-14 oz. can dulce de leche</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2 tablespoons all purpose flour</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3 teaspoons kosher salt</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 ¼ cup granulated sugar</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 tablespoon vanilla extract</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4 large eggs, at room temperature</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpLast">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1. </span>In a stand mixture fitted with the paddle attachment beat cream cheese until smooth, add dulce de leche and beat to combine.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2. </span>Add flour and salt, beat to combine, stopping to scrape down the sides as necessary. Beat until smooth and fluffy, about 5 minutes. There should be no lumps.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3. </span>Add the sugar and beat to combine.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4. </span>Add the vanilla, and then beat in the eggs one at a time until just combined, about 30 seconds each. Don’t overbeat once the eggs are added; the cheesecake will puff up too much while baking, and the top will crack.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5. </span>Pour the cream cheese mixture into the cooled crust and smooth the top.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6. </span>Bake at 300 degrees F for 55 – 65 minutes. The center will seem to be only slightly set, and will be wobbly if you nudge it. The sides will puff slightly.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7. </span>Cool completely on a rack, then cover and refrigerate 8 hours or overnight (I have gotten away with a 5 hour cooling, but I was on edge that it wouldn’t turn out; overnight is really best). When I put it in the refrigerator to set up, I remove the ring from my springform, and put the cheesecake on a cake stand. You can leave it in the springform if you don't have a cake stand.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<u><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For the caramel</span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">½ cup granulated sugar</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3 tablespoons water</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">½ cup heavy cream</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2 tablespoons butter</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 teaspoon kosher salt</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 teaspoon vanilla extract</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpLast">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1. </span>In a large saucepan over medium heat, combine the sugar and water. Swirl to combine. All those warnings about stirring caramel and brushing down the sides of the pan with a wet pastry brush to avoid crystal formation? I avoid all that by just never stirring it at all. If I need to move it around the pan, I just swirl it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2. </span>Continue cooking until the sugar turns golden brown, swirling occasionally. You’re looking for something that’s about the color of dark honey. The problem with caramel is that it goes from perfect to burnt in the blink of an eye, so just when you find yourself thinking, “Any second now…” pull it off the heat. It should take 3-5 minutes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3. </span>Off the heat, carefully add the butter, then the cream. Don’t wait until the butter is melted; toss in the butter, give it a whisk, then pour in the cream. It will foam up, seize, and otherwise look like a total failure. Persevere! Add the vanilla extract and salt and continue whisking.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4. </span>Return to medium low heat and whisk until smooth. (Added note: if your caramel is too thin, let it cook for awhile over a low heat. I've actually let it boil a bit--unintentionally--and just when I thought I'd ruined it, it turned out to be perfect.) Allow to cool slightly, about 15 minutes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5. </span>Remove cheesecake from the refrigerator and pour caramel over the top. I try to encourage mine to pool in the middle, but if you’re more of a drip-down-the-sides type, you can go with that. I just think the drippy makes sort of a mess on my cake stand, but maybe that doesn’t bother you.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6. </span>Return the cheesecake to the refrigerator to let the caramel set, about 30 minutes. To serve, cut in slices (it’s pretty rich) with a sharp knife, wiping the blade clean after every slice.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-73608205023923993142015-10-05T09:57:00.002-07:002015-10-05T09:57:45.500-07:00Six Children's Games That Teach Adult Skills<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Kids, I know you think your fun and games are
all…well, fun and games, but what you may not realize is that some of your
games are teaching you skills that will serve you well in adulthood. Not all
games are both entertaining and prepare you for the challenges you face as a
grown up and a parent, but some do although you may not realize it, because
they may be quite subtle.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Matching games</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At first it may not seem that remembering which
card was Elsa and which was Olaf in the Frozen memory game is applicable to
adult life, but this skill will actually prove more useful than you imagine.
When doing laundry, sorting socks is nothing more than a never ending game of
matching pairs. Remembering where the Hanes ankle sock or the Adidas soccer
sock was when you pull the other one out of the basket will save you from
having to root through the entire goddamned pile in front of you on the table.
It may also be beneficial in the endless search for your car keys that will
consume your entire adult life.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Jenga</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Although the concept is somewhat reversed, loading
the dishwasher is very similar to this game. Instead of removing pieces from a
precarious stack of intricately entwined blocks, you’re trying to create a
pattern that maximizes the number of items you can get into a predefined space.
Of course, there’s almost no chance that the dishes will topple and break, but
a poorly configured load of dishes will result in some of them not getting
properly clean, which means they’ll either have to go through again or be washed
by hand. This can cause the same sort of “Oh shit!” reaction as the destruction
of a Jenga tower.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Clue</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Your suspects may no longer be a collection of
fictitious characters named after various colors, but your ability to make keen
observations and keep track of facts will go a long way toward figuring out
who’s responsible for the drawing on the wall, the milk spilled on the kitchen
counter, or the dent in the driver’s side rear fender.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pick up sticks</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The skills you gain in this game may not seem
particularly applicable to parenting, but you’d be surprised how similar easing
the sticks away from one another without moving any of the rest of them is to getting
out of a sleeping infant’s room without waking it. You move extremely slowly,
hoping that shifting your weight from one foot to the next doesn’t make the
floor boards squeak. You ease your way to the door with bated breath,</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">sure the sound of your heart pounding with
fear will wake the little bugger up. As with pick up sticks, just when you’re
sure you’re free, you realize you didn’t take into consideration the complete
trajectory of the stick—or in the case of the baby, the click as you turn the
knob to slip out into the hall. Dammit!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Hopscotch</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There’s no better practice for the jumping and
balancing required to avoid the dreaded experience of stepping on a fucking Lego
in the minefield of the playroom than a few rounds up and down a numbered board
in quest of a rock or bottle cap.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Twister</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Left hand, feeding spoon; right hand, sign
permission form; left foot, push puking dog off rug; right foot, prevent
toddler from reaching scissors on kitchen counter.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-20087625266306764212015-10-04T18:44:00.000-07:002015-10-04T18:44:53.455-07:00Signs Your Boss Secretly Hates You<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Your performance
review includes a section describing in detail all of your annoying personal
habits</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This includes the way you constantly click your pen in
meetings, picking your nose in the elevator, and the fact that you sometimes
chew loudly. It’s the reason your performance rating </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">is downgraded from “on track” to “falling
behind/needs immediate improvement.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He or she leaves Post
It notes on your monitor that say “I Hate You. Signed, [Your Boss's Name]”</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This may seem like a lighthearted, playful gesture, but
studies have shown that when a boss leaves a note saying they hate you, signed
with their own name, there’s a 1 in 5 chance it’s true.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Your boss “forgets”
to invite you to every single staff meeting, and the company holiday party and
picnic</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All through the year you hear your coworkers talking about
the helpful time management seminar from the last staff meeting, or that
hilarious thing Jason from IT did to Mike from Finance with the ketchup bottle
at the company picnic, and you realize that the invitations to those events
never showed up in your email or mailbox. If you confront your boss directly, she’ll
deny having excluded you, saying it must have gone to your spam folder, or that
everyone knows the mailroom guy is a total stoner jerkoff who should be fired.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When you walk up to
your boss’s office door, he picks up the phone as soon as he sees you, and
starts pretending to talk to someone</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As soon as you appear in the doorway, your boss grabs the
handset of his phone and says, “So, Pete, about that RFP we were discussing. I
have a long list of questions for you that will probably take at least an hour
and a half to get through. Maybe two hours. Definitely until lunchtime, if not
longer. You OK with that? You are? Great!” Then your boss then looks at you and
shrugs his shoulders to say, “Whatever you need will have to wait; this is has
to take precedence.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">During fire drills,
your boss tells you it’s OK for you to stay at your desk and work instead of
practicing how to evacuate the building in the event of an emergency because
your work is so vital to the success of the organization</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This one is really subtle. It sounds like he’s doing you a
favor, not making you get up and walk down fifteen flights of stairs, and then
having to wait around for the elevator for ten minutes to get back up to your
desk. But the day there’s an actual emergency, you’re going to be at the mercy
of your boss to know just where that emergency exit is at the bottom of the
stairs, and since your boss hates you, he’s not likely to tell you where it is,
or worse may intentionally point you in the wrong direction. Don’t be fooled by
this one.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When you mention you
have weekend plans, your boss asks if you’ll be doing anything that might
result in a tragic life-threatening accident</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You know what? Forget this one. She’s probably just worried
about your safety and well-being.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-31463696349766220782015-10-03T15:42:00.000-07:002015-10-03T15:42:53.799-07:00So You Want to Be an Internet Troll<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So you want to be an Internet troll. Bravo. It’s a growth
industry.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Having said that, there are a lot of trolls who make some
very basic mistakes when leaving nasty comments. You don’t want to be one of
those—you want to be the best troll you can be. Here’s a quick primer on some
things to watch out for when spewing your venom and vitriol across the
Internet.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Actually read the
article, not just the title</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Understand what the author is saying, and what their intent
is. Try not to intentionally misunderstand the author’s message. If they’re
expressing an opinion, do not assume what they’re really saying is, “This isn’t
just my opinion; it is the truth and the light. If you don’t agree with me, you
are </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">wrong</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> and you should be </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ashamed </i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">of your </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">shameful wrongness</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">.” If they’re trying to be funny, even if it
isn’t your style of humor, try not to be a massive dick about it. If they’re
suggesting something completely ridiculous (like, oh, people actually setting
out to be Internet trolls and needing instructions for things they shouldn’t
do, to offer a </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">completely random example</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">)
don’t take them seriously. Try to act like you have a sense of humor that
extends beyond knock knock jokes and the kind of shit you read on Bazooka
bubblegum wrappers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Brush up on grammar,
spelling, and punctuation</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Remember, you’re slashing a writer here. There’s a pretty
good chance he or she knows the difference between your and you’re, and when to
use who versus whom. Stupid shit like using 12 periods in between each
sentence, or blatant misspellings (hint: almost every comment section has a
Spell Check built into it; make it your friend), are going to arouse scorn and
mockery, and we will laugh at you in our writer secret Facebook groups. Your
comment will be dismissed as pathetic bullshit from an uneducated moron. I
mean, you’re leaving a nasty trollish comment anyway, so you’re pretty sure to
be dismissed even if your prose is a miracle of linguistic composition with
flawless syntax and dazzling arguments, but try not to embarrass yourself on a
technical level as well.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Don’t bother slamming
the piece as “poorly written”</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You may as well just skip that part. Especially if you haven’t
heeded the previous tip. But even if your comment meets the aforementioned bar
of flawless syntax and dazzling argument, your critique of our writing style
really doesn’t matter to us. You’re not our editor or our English teacher, so you
can fuck off with condemning our output as poorly written garbage. If you think
you can do better, we challenge you to try.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Which brings us to…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Consider doing some
writing and trying to get published yourself</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m willing to bet most people who troll sites have never
published a damned word. I said most—I’m sure there are authors who are also
assholes who would go after a fellow writer. But most writers know the pain of
rejection, the struggle it is to make it into print (even digitally), and the
fierce competition for eyeballs on the published work. They’re less likely to
lash out at a comrade who has traveled such a long and agonizing path for even
the most minor of professional exposure. We suggest you write about something
that’s important to you, then get it published (yeah, good luck with that) and
see how much you appreciate the trolls coming in and passing judgment on your
feelings, with no opportunity for you to reply to their nasty attacks.
(Because, please—you’re a troll, and this isn’t a </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">dialog</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">; just vomit up your rude and hateful opinions and never
darken the door of </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">that</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> comment
thread again.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hope with this list to improve the quality of the nasty responses
I see on websites. It’s incredibly frustrating for an author to write about
something that’s important and personal to them, and have a bunch of people
come in and leave asshole comments that are that are rude, conceived from a
position of ignorance, and poorly constructed. As a troll you owe it to the
author you’re slamming to provide the highest caliber of nasty comment you can.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidIHiBSyxvANgm3zAHwl4gE1js8YwVuHS2eIcBaOCAH3lM8evmWRMaAZ5YcVoppbAsZNjPMwxrdvQHPUWy3q1MpY5K7tYm-WfDAfrf_7pnK_ls7Y02-UVfGg1HC5M4VJfWuSRVjZjYDPo/s1600/internet+troll.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="536" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidIHiBSyxvANgm3zAHwl4gE1js8YwVuHS2eIcBaOCAH3lM8evmWRMaAZ5YcVoppbAsZNjPMwxrdvQHPUWy3q1MpY5K7tYm-WfDAfrf_7pnK_ls7Y02-UVfGg1HC5M4VJfWuSRVjZjYDPo/s640/internet+troll.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-27370044478735959542015-10-02T10:19:00.001-07:002015-10-04T07:15:16.026-07:00On Writing<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our topic today is writing, and this is quite timely, as I can use this opportunity to inform (warn?) you that I’m taking part in
a month-long writing challenge. The goal is to write and publish every day in
the month of October with the theory that writing every day brings new ideas into
focus, and helps stimulate creativity. The reality is that by October 15<sup>th</sup>
you may be getting posts that consist of little more than my grocery list, or the
lyrics to “Stairway to Heaven.” But we’ll see about that.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For today at least, I have a subject of some significance in
mind, and that is writing and the creative process.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Most of the readers
of my blog are themselves bloggers, so I suspect they’ll be able to relate. Writing
down words is a very personal act, almost an intimate one. It’s the print
version of not just showing the boys your underwear in the cloakroom, but
showing them to everyone in front of the whole class. It’s scary. The words on
the page represent your brain, your soul. Even if you’re being funny, you’re
baring a part of your <i>self</i>, leaving it open to criticism or worse, to ridicule.
Additionally, the writing landscape today is so volatile. What’s hot and exciting
today is forgotten tomorrow. A writer’s emotions follow a pattern, a repeating
roller coaster of ups and downs that only someone who has dared to brave the
terrors of the ride can genuinely understand. Let’s examine this pattern.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Step 1: No one is
going to pay any attention to this. But I’m putting it out there anyway.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With great reluctance you put your modest offering out to
the world, either on your own blog, or by sending it to a sympathetic site for
publication. You’re pretty sure no one will read it, but in your secret mind
you can’t help but think, “It </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">might</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
be big. It might go viral and get picked up by major media outlets.” You tell
yourself the odds are so small, but in that tiny part of your heart that you barely
admit exists, you’re hoping so hard you’re clamping your virtual butt cheeks
together.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Step 2: Wait, someone
likes that? Well, I might be an OK writer</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It goes live, and within a few minutes, someone has
commented favorably on it. You get a few more comments—positive, supportive, “I
love this!” You sit up a little straighter, and unclench your virtual butt
cheeks. Maybe this won’t be so bad. Maybe it’ll even be fine. Maybe you’re even
a pretty good writer!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Step 3: Hey! They
like me! I'm pretty good!</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Many more comments, all of them nice—“You’re hilarious!”
“You always make me laugh!” “THIS!” Maybe even a few shares on social media. Oh
boy! They like you, they really, really like you! This is just incredible. You
are high on recognition, and drunk with affirmation. And who knows? Maybe this
one </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">is</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> your ticket! This is the one
that will catch just the right attention. You could be on your way to widespread recognition! Ohpleaseohpleaseohplease.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Step 4: Wait? Where
are you going?</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But time passes (not much—an hour in the blogsphere is like
seven years to a dog. Or something) and you’re not the shit anymore. Someone
else has published something else that’s grabbing the spotlight. You’re old
news, and your piece has only been out in the world for six hours. You try a
little promotion—Facebook, maybe even a Twitter link (although you know that
can be perceived as a sign of desperation). You just can’t compete with that
other attention-grabber.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Step 5: I’m not as
good as X.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You click on the link of the piece that’s splatted all over
your Facebook feed, being shared by all your friends, writer and non-writer
alike. What the fuck? This? This is what pulled the attention away from you?
Yeah, OK it’s amusing and all, but is it really that much better than your
piece? You read it again. And again. It…it really is better, isn’t it. Damn it.
You’re not as good as s/he is, and why didn’t you think of that topic first?
You’ve got tons to say about it. Damn. Damn. Damn.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Step 6: Maybe I
should try to be more like X.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe you should try to be more like the person who’s in the
spotlight now. You read through some old posts of theirs, and jot down some
ideas that you get. You notice how they present a joke,
how they tackle a sensitive topic. You can do that. You’re as good as that. You
snap open a Word doc and dive in to write something with their voice still in
your head. You got this!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Step 7: I can’t do
that—that’s not me. I’ll never be anything.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After half a dozen attempts, you realize you’re not going to
be able to do it, because we can’t stifle our own voices. Despair sets in. You’ll
never think of a good topic again. Screw this. You have ice cream. And Oreos. And wine.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You may spend several hours, days, or even weeks in Step 7.
The funk is real. Then one day inspiration strikes, and you write something
again. The cycle starts all over.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And this, people who do not write, is what it’s like to be a
writer. The stress of coming up with a fresh angle on a topic.The fear our work won’t be accepted, the delight when it strikes the
right note with an audience, the let down when it’s brushed aside like sand in
the gutter, and the despair of ever finding inspiration again. Over and over
and over. Day after day.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">People who dismiss any form of written output, no matter how
small, as “just words” or “no big deal” have never felt the pride of having
their work recognized, nor the pain of having the feeling or opinion they’ve
shared dismissed, belittled, or credited to someone else. Those feelings are
real, and they are strong.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Be gentle with writers, for behind all their fine words,
they are insecure, and easily hurt by carelessly flung barbs and thoughtless
criticism. They really crave only acceptance and affection. If you can’t offer that, it’s
best to just walk away without saying anything.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeTiZpKFarc0BlwdF1zwS62NvjiPVfVvZk5AT0Gt_3LNhK-NEi_eOH6Pm7-dz2xpViOEg9xjsjM1Bfys7d17zw1OtEeAqtP48qwvCKyL4KWC1381aIf1Q1h_ABP46JM6AK8LZ1mNCcRvg/s1600/on+writing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="536" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeTiZpKFarc0BlwdF1zwS62NvjiPVfVvZk5AT0Gt_3LNhK-NEi_eOH6Pm7-dz2xpViOEg9xjsjM1Bfys7d17zw1OtEeAqtP48qwvCKyL4KWC1381aIf1Q1h_ABP46JM6AK8LZ1mNCcRvg/s640/on+writing.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p><br /></div>
Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-3050767954212304242015-10-01T08:06:00.001-07:002015-10-01T08:06:57.711-07:00Embrace the Single Space<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There’s been a lot of talk about <a href="https://www.facebook.com/berkeleybreathed?fref=ts" target="_blank">Opus’s presidential campaign and his “wedge” issue</a>. Opus is advocating for two spaces after a
period. I think Opus is as qualified for office as any of the candidates, and in
the case of Donald Trump, he may even be more qualified (given the choice
between Donald Trump and a fictitious cartoon penguin, I’d vote for the fictitious
cartoon penguin any day). The factions are vehement in their support of what
they see as “right.” The rallying cries of, “bossy Liberals!” and “antiquated Neanderthals!”
(as artist Berke Breathed characterized the two sides in one of his strips) are loud and
many (and second only to those who want someone to take up the cause of the
Oxford, or serial, comma, which really doesn’t need any help because it’s easy
to prove how necessary it is with the Strippers-JFK-Stalin example—Google it).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I myself am a devoted one-spacer. When I typed on a
typewriter, I was a two spacer, but when I started using Facebook and Twitter,
which count spaces as “characters” I switched allegiances. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When you can add two or three or even four
extra characters to a post or tweet, and when those characters can make or
break a joke, I see a strong argument for converting. Sacrifice an unnecessary
space in favor of a laugh? I’m in.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have a friend (ahem*Jeff*ahem) who continues to adhere to
the outdated, archaic practice of two spaces. His logic (inasmuch as one could
call it “logic”) is that it makes a text easier to read. It’s more elegant.
Well, so are hoop skirts, but you don’t see them on the street anymore.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My argument is that we’ve evolved beyond the need for two
spaces. Just as we no longer use or need our appendix, two spaces is an idea
whose time has passed. It’s not the only thing from earlier generations that
has outlived its usefulness. New information has caused opinions to change and for
us to ultimately reject many beliefs we previously regarded as nearly scriptural.
Let’s have a little looksee at some of the wisdom we once accepted that has
been proven false.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For starters, once upon a time there were four food groups.
In that scenario both ice cream and cheese were considered a serving of dairy,
providing calcium to build strong bones. Today cheese is a protein, and ice
cream is in that unreachable tippy top of the pyramid, the Rapunzel’s tower of food,
labeled, “sugar, added fats and salt: use sparingly.” What once would have been
acceptable to consume daily as part of our necessary nutritional intake is now
an occasional treat.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As a child, I was allowed to stand on the front seat of our
VW bug with my head pressed against the roof. When forced to slam on the breaks
suddenly, my mother would fling her right arm out to prevent me flying through the
windshield. When I was too tall to stand (by about age four), I sat in the
front seat and the same flinging arm restraint was employed. Today we wouldn’t dream
of letting our four or five year old ride in the back seat without proper
restraint, much less in the front seat, but back in the day it was the norm.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Automobile safety wasn’t the only thing we were misguided
about as a society. How many times were we told to wait an hour to go swimming
after we ate? Mothers cautioned us about the dire cramps we were liable to get
if we went swimming too soon after lunch. We’d cramp</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">up and drown, they said, and we all believed
this, in spite of the fact that no deaths caused by ill-timed aquatic exertion
ever made headlines.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of course there are also things like red dye #2, chlorofluorocarbons,
DDT, and cigarettes.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All things we now
know to be harmful, but which at one time we used and celebrated.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And so we return to the second space after a period. The
argument for its pure aesthetic is a weak one. Studies have shown that the two
space format does not, in fact, enhance readability in a text. To be fair, the argument of using only one space for the same reason
doesn’t hold water, either. A single space saves real estate, whether in
printed material, or in an electronic version. To continue to use two spaces
when there is no real benefit or need is foolish. To do so because “that’s how
we’ve always done it” is short sighted indeed. If that were the case, we’d be
driving around without our seat belts, and smoking three packs a day.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The world evolves. Things change. Two spaces after a period
has outlived its usefulness. Let us move forward as a society, and embrace the
single space.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-57668685366700983212015-09-30T12:04:00.002-07:002015-09-30T12:04:42.343-07:00Here, Have a Meme or Two <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9zn6qlyaxEC7ewT2BaCZmyxwwr3v19p0pboLHR2lT-OvYWMp2IbE-lFr4X-9-qQiu4oh5CmUzqq4GvgHTiGI_1CKvN-1UN3zIFyZ2lXmfPYvftIbhaYmlDU4MYG5erYzXRdf27pOMT48/s1600/How+Badly+Do+I+Want+That+Toy2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9zn6qlyaxEC7ewT2BaCZmyxwwr3v19p0pboLHR2lT-OvYWMp2IbE-lFr4X-9-qQiu4oh5CmUzqq4GvgHTiGI_1CKvN-1UN3zIFyZ2lXmfPYvftIbhaYmlDU4MYG5erYzXRdf27pOMT48/s320/How+Badly+Do+I+Want+That+Toy2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This one is a favorite and, sadly, is all too true.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Parenting math: ("Pick up your socks" + </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Take your bowl to the kitchen" + </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Stop punching your brother") </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">x ten billion = a one way ticket to the Funny Farm</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bonus meme! Because I give like that. It's what I do. I'm a giver.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've never said this out loud. Yet.</span></div>
<br />Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-17843126807806008882015-09-29T11:35:00.001-07:002015-09-29T11:35:19.589-07:00Five Ways Toddlers are Better Than Tweens<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m just about to have four tweens, and as I look back at
their toddler and preschool years, I think that while they were a bigger
challenge in some ways, there were some things that were much easier to manage
when they were little.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tantrums</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Toddler tantrum caused by your refusal to let him “ice
skate” on the hardwood floor using the potholders as skates. Duration:</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">three and a half minutes. Ended by
distracting him by showing him how he could be Godzilla and knock over block
towers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tween tantrum caused by your telling him his computer turn
is over. Duration: five minutes of him telling you you’re </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the worst mother ever</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">, followed by an hour and a half of sulking in
his room with his ear buds jammed in his ears. Ended by his finally deigning to
speak to you to demand that you to drive him to his friend’s house to hang out.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Spelling Things</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A friend of ours was taking all four of the kids to the
movies, and she wanted to know if she should get them pizza afterwards.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She spelled out the key word when she asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She said, “Should we stop for p-i-z-z-a on the way home?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Janey, they can all spell,” I told her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gone are the days of negotiating activities or treats via spelling
out important concepts in conversation. It was a lot easier to plan when I
could spell out the destination without raising hopes. My kids overhear my
husband and me talking about going someplace, or possibly doing something, and
they immediately spin up with excitement over it. Then as the conversation
progresses, if it turns out that in fact the plan won’t work after all, they
are disappointed. If I could still spell everything, they wouldn’t know what
was happening until I chose to reveal it, and I’d be spared their whining when
fun things didn’t work out.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lies</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know there are mothers who think it’s a crime to lie to
their children, and I think they’re missing out on a great coping strategy.
When my kids were little, they’d bring me their (loud, obnoxious) battery powered
toy saying it had stopped working.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Oh gosh, “ I’d say, “I think the batteries are dead. Guess
we’ll have to wait for Daddy to come home so he can change them!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When they asked if I could do it, I would say I wasn’t sure
where they went, or where the new batteries were. I’m quite sure that they got
to a point where they thought I was a total moron because I couldn’t figure out
how to change the batteries in</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Chicken
Dance Elmo, but I really didn’t care. Because by the time Daddy got home,
they’d forgotten about said toy, and I’d bought another day of respite from
listening to it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then came the fateful day that they figured out how to take
the battery panel off the toy and change them for themselves. True, by that
time they’d outgrown Chicken Dance Elmo, but they’d replaced him with something
equally noisy and irritating.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Talking</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I may be in the minority here, but I preferred toddler and
preschool babble to tween babble. Even though it was hard to really get a
coherent story out of them, and it was often endless unanswerable questions, it
was adorable and charming. Now it’s about Minecraft and Boom Beach, or a million
“what if” questions. The adorable and charming moments still happen, but
they’re scattered between lectures about going OP, how much bigger his
headquarters can be once he gets to level 11, or what if the world ends
tomorrow. I try to care about the video games, really I do, because I
understand it’s something they’re passionate about, but it’s hard to concentrate
for fifteen minutes at a time. I guess it’s sort of the way they feel when I
say things like, “Don’t leave your Go Gurt wrappers all over the couch—they go
in the trash can!” So hard to pay attention through the whole thing.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bathrooms</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I admit to being a complete germaphobe. Public restrooms
gross me out beyond words, even though I’ve read all the studies about how the
pen at the bank is more unsanitary than the toilet seat in the ladies room at
the movie theater. Combine this with the fact that my children aren’t what you
would call obsessive about washing their hands after they use a public
restroom, and I’m over here basting myself with Purell just typing this.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I never had these problems when they were in diapers. Sure, I
was wiping their shit covered asses, but at least I knew the level of
sanitation of everyone involved. I would far rather change a diaper on a
blanket in the back of my car, because I know just how clean (or not) my car
is. Public restrooms are a total crap shoot (sorry) and give me the
heebie-jeebies.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And when they were in
diapers I had some control over when the change occurred. While I didn’t want
to leave them in a wet diaper for long, if we had to go an extra ten minutes
before we got to a rest area, we could. Now if they have to go, we need to find
facilities fast, and of course they’re never synchronized in their needs.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know better than to tell my friends with small children
about any of these things. They would scoff and remind me of the constant
chasing, the inability of small children to get their own damned Cheerios, and
any number of other disadvantages to having people around who are under three feet tall
and have the self-control and maturity level of Sean Penn and Justin Bieber
combined and then halved. They would be right, of course, and it’s just
nostalgia that makes me think any differently. Although it would be nice to
still have children who didn’t roll their eyes every time I opened my
mouth. But I guess that’s the price you pay for not having to wipe their asses
for them anymore.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-1548796262748630812015-09-14T12:28:00.000-07:002015-09-14T12:28:23.262-07:00My Children's 238 Favorite Toys<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In June I made a Christmas wreath out of my kids’ old toys.
(Yes, in June. Shut up. Between homework and holidays there’s no way I can do
anything that even remotely resembles a holiday craft after October first.) I
bought a wreath form, wide red ribbon, and a tube of pretty strong adhesive at
Michael’s and brought it all home. After wrapping the form in ribbon (if you
try this, be warned—you will need a longer length of ribbon than you could ever
conceive of, and Styrofoam sheds like a motherfucker, so wherever you’re
working will end up looking like an outpost of Santaland at the Macy’s in
Herald Square) I tripped down to the basement to check out the toy situation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Like many families, we have relegated old toys to plastic
storage boxes in the basement. Once upon a time my super-organized nanny
printed out pictures of things like Matchbox cars, toy people, and Mr. Potato
Head parts and stuck them on the front of the boxes so my children would know
what toys they were supposed to put in the bins, assuming they actually put
toys away when they were done playing with them, which HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Of
course they don’t do that. So now I have all these plastic bins with pictures
of what’s supposed to be in them, but what’s really in them is a huge mishmash of
plastic toys from the past ten years of accumulating child-related shit.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I dragged three or four of the boxes upstairs with me, and
began rooting through them. I found some very big toys to use as anchors, lots
of medium and small toys to cover the majority of the surface area, and a bunch
of small stuff like marbles and dice to fill the gaps. On the dining room
table, I grouped them and started experimenting with positioning. Kids started
drifting in, and asked what I was doing. I explained, and continued with my
task. As my kids started poking at my piles, I got down to the business of
attaching toys to the wreath form. I was interrupted by what sounded like the
wail of a wounded wild animal whose favorite toy is about to be glued onto a
Christmas wreath for all eternity.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"What? You're gluing that to
the wreath? NO! I want to play with that! I want that!"</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="uficommentbody" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="uficommentbody" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Um, no, that is a Mc</span><span data-reactid=".u4.1:4.1:$replies1636927379895131_1636930063228196/=10.1:2:$comment1636927379895131_1636943159893553/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Donald's
Happy Meal toy that has been kicking around in a plastic storage bin in our
basement for three years. You don't give a crap about it. You just see it now
and <i>think</i> you want it. If I let you
keep it, you will play with it for another twelve minutes before you abandon it
in the living room, where it will stay for four days until I get sick of
stepping over it, and pick it up and put it back in this bin. Then it will be
returned to the storage area in the basement, where it will stay until your
father goes on one of his quarterly cleaning jags and weeds out a bunch of
stuff to sell at a yard sale, and makes up a few bags for Goodwill, which is
where this will end up. To save us all time and effort, and contribute to our
festive holiday spirit later this year, this is going on the wreath!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I mean, Jesus, AMIRITE? The only
thing worse than “OMG I haven’t seen that toy in forever but it’s totally my
favorite toy that I ever got and I will die if you get rid of it” is the one
where it’s a completely undesirable toy that they have zero interest in </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">until a sibling expresses an interest in it
at which point it becomes the best toy ever which they must have or they will
simply curl up and blow away from the unbearable devastation of their loss</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">.
After all, the best toy to have is a toy that someone else wants, and by preventing
them from having it you are inflicting a sadistic and strangely pleasurable
form of torture on them. Kids can be such assholes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I managed to make the wreath without having them absorb any
of those toys back into their orbit, although there were a couple that were
highly coveted.</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The remaining toys are back in the basement, never given a second thought once they were out of sight again. Just as I predicted.</span><br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-47227871304908941912015-09-08T08:04:00.000-07:002015-09-08T08:04:42.603-07:00Parenting Network: Shows for Modern Moms and Dads<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tune into Parenting Network for a great new line up this
season! Parenting Network offers a range of shows specifically for parents, covering
timely topics such as whining, temper tantrums, and teenage angst. There’s
something for everyone on the Parenting Network! The best thing is that we understand how real life moms and dads live—our format offers ninety
seconds of programming followed by a four minute commercial break to give you
the opportunity to referee fights, clean up cat puke, and change the laundry. Grab
a bowl of goldfish crackers and a juice box and join us for the fun this Fall! Here's a sneak peek at some of what's coming your way!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Teen Clean</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Parents pay the show’s team to completely clean out,
repaint, and update the décor of their teen’s room while the teen is away for a
weekend. On Sunday afternoon the parent reveals the refurbished space to their
child, resulting in the teen having a complete breakdown over the invasion of
their privacy, and the disposal of their precious “stuff,” crying that their
parents just don’t “get” them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Tween Jeopardy</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Using the same format as the iconic original, Tween Jeopardy’s
topics target the interests of modern tweens and teens (Minecraft, the
Kardashians, proper eyebrow grooming). The twist? When contestants present
their answer-in-the-form-of-a-question,
the other participants and the host tell them they’re wrong, and argue with them.
The show will be moderated by a different guest presenter each week, including pop idols
Zayn Malik, Harry Styles, and Zendaya.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>What’s For Dinner?</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Three moms are challenged to make dinner with what they can
find in the show’s pantry (consisting primarily of Cheetos, canned tomatoes, snack size boxes of raisins, and mayonnaise), in between helping three children to complete
math and spelling homework, and finish a science fair project assigned three weeks ago, completely ignored at the time, and now due the next
day. The winner is the parent not actively having a nervous breakdown at the
end of the show.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>School Countdown</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Kids have twenty minutes to get ready for school—get dressed,
brush their teeth, collect their backpacks, and get to the school bus. Every episode
offers a special challenge such as <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">I can’t find my homework. No, I swear I left it <i>right here</i>.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">I need a green pot holder, four plastic soda
bottles, and a traffic cone for a project <i>today</i> or I get a zero.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-stretch: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;">Have you seen</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"> my shoes?</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Viewers will be on the edge of their seats to see if the
kids make it to the bus on time!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Are You My Family?</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Join in the hilarity as four families swap kids around, sending them to live with other parents! The children discover that all parents are mean, make their kids do homework, and refuse to let them have unlimited screen time. Parents learn that all kids are whiny assholes sometimes, which of course they already knew.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Easy Living Summer</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Follow the summer vacations of three families. Watch the
parents’ resolve slowly deteriorate until the kids are eating popcorn and
American cheese slices for breakfast, watching television and playing computer
games all day long, and staying up until midnight every night. Share their pain
as the kids morph into unresponsive zombies, hell bent on unlearning every
particle of information from the previous school year. Each show ends with the
parents confessing the complete abandonment of their will to live. You’ll cry
and plead for the sweet release of death along with them!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6KRg2PkL7h59YR3Jg1xVZDxUdY4p6lrybOmgDcjXaGsEMfu9b-LU5igaU7zo-_wCEZnfIEJJdDF_CBtq1cbouI1ND-vMmwq-pncyf7MVgEDgf07ZWrmCWy2a-YYODpA59ykqGpf2fwVE/s1600/parenting+network.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="536" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6KRg2PkL7h59YR3Jg1xVZDxUdY4p6lrybOmgDcjXaGsEMfu9b-LU5igaU7zo-_wCEZnfIEJJdDF_CBtq1cbouI1ND-vMmwq-pncyf7MVgEDgf07ZWrmCWy2a-YYODpA59ykqGpf2fwVE/s640/parenting+network.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-62377922269938580432015-09-05T08:22:00.000-07:002015-09-05T08:22:09.573-07:00Holiday Weekend Placeholder<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As we reach the "other end" of summer, like so many of you, I will be grilling things and eating pie and such. Here's a meme I made of a tweet I wrote about an experience I had. I hope everyone has a happy Labor Day weekend!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1o1gFqGlw6hrCXK_TgSLe3Db_-PcmY4-OjnRMJqOA4KyqRXUpJSymBmwY2WXY9Sk9KeVkM0URgLjJCorXhvSpfI7Qo-Ll-zjTW5qplGKnRhRk2OBcCCUi3Xs3i6_ir7fUADPp3kU6-aw/s1600/interior+wall.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="536" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1o1gFqGlw6hrCXK_TgSLe3Db_-PcmY4-OjnRMJqOA4KyqRXUpJSymBmwY2WXY9Sk9KeVkM0URgLjJCorXhvSpfI7Qo-Ll-zjTW5qplGKnRhRk2OBcCCUi3Xs3i6_ir7fUADPp3kU6-aw/s640/interior+wall.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-11735353358326014812015-08-20T14:02:00.001-07:002015-08-20T14:02:54.181-07:00Summer Reruns: "Knights" In White Satin<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wrote this post a couple of years ago. School starts in ten days, and while I don't mind the nice weather, I'm kind of over the whole lack of structure summer thing, to the point that I can't even force myself to be productive. So like the television networks, here's a rerun for you until I can get my act together sufficiently to come up with some new material.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A couple of weeks ago, I was reading a blog entry, the subject of which was, “I always thought…” (people said things like, I thought talk about euthanasia was about youth in Asia, or I thought Kosher pickles had no pork in them, that sort of thing). In the comments, people added hundreds and hundreds of further things that they misunderstood, in some cases for years. A <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">lot</i> of people thought Roy Orbison was blind because he always wears those sunglasses.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of them was this:<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I thought the Moody Blues song was “Knights In White Satin”. I couldn’t understand why the knights wore white satin & not armor.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I confess that all these years I too had thought that song was about actual guys jousting and wooing ladies faire, not the part of the day when it’s not light outside. I mean, read the words—they really could be about anything:<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Nights (or, if you’re me, Knights) in white satin, never reaching the end,<br />Letters I've written, never meaning to send.<br />Beauty I'd always missed with these eyes before.<br />Just what the truth is, I can't say anymore.<br /><br />'Cos I love you, yes I love you, oh how I love you.”<br /><br />Etc. (Sure, there are two more verses, but one is exactly the same as the one above, and the other is just some philosophical bullshit about figuring out who you want to be. Or something. I confess I don’t really know, but since I spent the better part of thirty years thinking that the song was actually about guys who had been recognized by some king or other for their outstanding behavior, I’m not sure I’m the best candidate to analyze the lyrics.)</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I mean, seriously all you’ve got there is a generic love song. And the “Late Lament” (the spoken bit at the end) doesn’t really add a clarifying element. It’s just there.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But when I posted about this on Facebook, several people thought I was nuts. Mostly guys who were old enough to remember when the song was a hit. One friend pointed out that the album has a very specific theme that, had I listened to the whole thing, would have made such an error impossible. But I had this specific set of images that went through my head when I heard the song, and the news that they were completely wrong just took the wind out of my sails.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I decided to share this amazing news with someone who I was sure would get it. I went in to talk to my boss. She’s about the same age I am, grew up in the same general area of the country, and has a lot of the same cultural background that I do.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I said, “So, I was reading this blog entry about things you misunderstood. And there was this one that said, ‘I always thought the Moody Blues song was, ‘Knights in White Satin’ like actual guys in armor but apparently it’s ‘night’ as in not daytime…’” And as I’m saying this out loud to her, I can see the same look crossing her face that crossed mine when I read it the first time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was the look that said, “You mean…it’s not?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For almost the same length of time, she too had always had an image of guys in white satin suits cruising around doing chivalrous things. So it was nice to know I wasn’t alone. And really, I was even less alone than I’d originally thought, even taking into account my manager’s company in this age-old misconception. It turns out that in the comments section of this entry, there were dozens and dozens and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">dozens</i> of people who had always thought the same thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And the truth about this song that caused me so much angst? Yeah, I actually don’t like it very much. It’s a very irritating and persistent ear worm for me. Even as I write this, I am tortured by it running through my head. And it will be with me for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">days</i> now, dammit. But on the plus side, I did know Roy Orbison wasn’t blind.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyGYio7AJhjFYjXohm8GjG3j_lrux53jFPSQuPDg3nwV2Di_AdwSxP9bGQq-sH3QkJ27sOeQyaIGW3BsAJsmf9F3UbOPYsLmmS50i9x2ANGN7eKFxZjh_Go-5-KTbWmq_KrCwnwX295Ew/s1600/Summer+Reruns-+Knights+In+White+Satin.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="536" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyGYio7AJhjFYjXohm8GjG3j_lrux53jFPSQuPDg3nwV2Di_AdwSxP9bGQq-sH3QkJ27sOeQyaIGW3BsAJsmf9F3UbOPYsLmmS50i9x2ANGN7eKFxZjh_Go-5-KTbWmq_KrCwnwX295Ew/s640/Summer+Reruns-+Knights+In+White+Satin.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-1008706046158059302015-08-08T08:22:00.000-07:002015-08-08T08:22:42.025-07:00Five Ways I Revealed I Was an American Without Ever Opening My Mouth<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I just spent ten days in the Scottish Highlands. Being an
American, I obviously sound like one (although I did have one person mistake me
for Australian, which was odd because Australian accents are far more similar
to British accents than American), but beyond that there were apparently a myriad
of other signs that exposed me as a tourist, without my ever opening my mouth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In Scotland you can get wine in two sizes—175ml or 250ml.
Since the Brits are known for their “Oh, I just couldn’t” stance when it comes
to indulgences, I suspect that the “large” size is on the menu intentionally to establish which restaurant patrons are actually from the UK, and which
are not. In fact, it may even be that the large is put there specifically to
lure Americans into revealing themselves by ordering it. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I’m sure I could have written “Chardonnay,
please—large” on a sheet of paper and shown it to them (so as not to reveal
myself through my accent) and the waitresses would have said to themselves, “Ah,
American.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of course, even if I ordered a soda, as soon as they saw me
pick up my knife and fork they’d spot me as a Yank. I use my left hand to cut
my meat. Also, I don’t use my spoon for much of anything. The highway sign for
dining options off of an exit in the US is a crossed fork and knife. The
same indicator in the UK is a crossed fork and spoon. I saw more people doing
creative things with their spoons while eating—using them as a sort of trowel
to load food onto their forks— than I ever have in the States, where the spoon
is mostly ignored unless one is eating soup or stirring coffee.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Americans aren’t much for the higher denominations of coin,
either. We’re comfortable with everything up to the quarter, but anything
beyond that we pretty much ignore. Therefore, Americans are always quick to
pull out some ridiculously high value of paper money to pay for small
purchases. The British for the most part make it easy—the larger the coin, the
higher the value—but there are a few exceptions, like the 2p coin, which is
almost as big as a 50p coin, but is round and copper, and the 20p coin, which is
almost the same size as the 5p coin, but mostly big equals high. It’s just that
as Americans, we’re used to having four coins from which to choose. The Brits
have six, plus the one- and two-pound coin, for a total of eight. While usually
circumspect and disinclined to engage in excess, the Brits have a shit ton of
coins to choose from.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of course probably the most famous US-UK differentiator is
the “side of the road” driving distinction, in which each nation accuses the
other of driving on the “wrong” side. Right or wrong, if you’re in the “other”
country, it’s backwards for you. I got pretty good at remembering which side of
the car was the passenger, and walking to it, instead of trying to get in the
driver’s side, but every now and then I’d flub it, and my husband would say, “Wrong
side.” There was no questioning my nationality at that point.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The final thing that apparently marked me as an American was
one that would never have occurred to me. I was in a grocery store with my
brother in law’s girlfriend (they were our traveling companions on this trip).
The shop </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">had a single queue leading up
to the multiple registers. We were looking at something near the end of the queue,
but weren’t actually waiting in line just then. A red headed kid, about eight
or nine, straight out of the Central Casting call for “Young Laddie from the
Scottish Highlands” asked if we were in the line.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“No, we’re not,” we replied.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The kid gave us a skeptical look.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Are you Americans?” he asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Yes,” we told him, “How did you know?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You’ve got accents,” he said, “and you’re wearing
sunglasses.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The accents were a given, but the sun glasses? From that
point on, I looked carefully at the people around me, and with the exception of
a German woman I saw a day or so later, no one was wearing sunglasses,
certainly not the locals. I happen to wear mine all the time. Even when the sun
isn’t out, my eyes are very sensitive to light, so I wear them when it’s cloudy
as well. But clearly they marked us as Americans.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don’t really mind being singled out as an American. Other
than the occasional individual who wanted to hold me personally responsible for
every stupid thing that asshole Donald Trump has said in the last two months,
and one grouchy train steward who seemed convinced that every Yank was just
one “Howdy, partner” away from being The Ugly American, most people didn’t seem
to care that we were Americans. After all, we were spending money and supporting
their economy. Mostly they were quite nice to us, and willing to repeat
themselves when we weren’t quite sure what they were saying. Which, I’m sad to
say, was often, and probably marked us as Americans more than anything else.</span></div>
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Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-61048112398632798762015-07-22T11:00:00.000-07:002015-07-22T11:00:40.411-07:00Summer Standards<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Summers are supposed to be relaxing. They probably are for
my kids, who don’t have to go to school, but I still have a full time job, so
not only do I have to figure out how to amuse my kids, I also have to work. That’s
not to say I don’t relax in the summer. I do. I relax my standards.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From the time school lets out to Labor Day, my standards go downhill faster than the Jamaican bobsled team. We say farewell to nutritionally balanced breakfasts and lunches. By the end
of the summer my children are subsisting on whatever they can scavenge from the
pantry and refrigerator. Their meals sound like an episode of “Chopped.” Our
normally rigorous schedule of bathing and sleeping has gone mostly out the
window (bedtime gets a little more attention because by the end of the day I’m
ready for them to enter a state in which they are unable to talk to me for twenty
minutes at a time about Minecraft or Boom Beach). My once-reasonably-neat home
bears close resemblance to a condemned building, and probably isn’t far from
actually being condemned, if anyone were to call the City and report our
squalid conditions.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To illustrate the contrast, I offer the following examples:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last Week of School: “You need to eat something real for breakfast even if it's just a Nutrigrain bar.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last Week of July: “There are some Tostitos in the pantry if
you decide you want breakfast.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last Week of School: “Showers on Saturday, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday. No exceptions.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last Week of July: “I think you need a shower. Wait, you
went in the pool three days ago? Eh, that counts.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last Week of School: “You need to have a vegetable with that.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last Week of July: “Sure, lemonade counts as fruit.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last Week of School: “Dirty clothes go in the hamper in the
laundry room.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last Week of July: “Dirty clothes go…oh, screw it, who
cares?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last Week of School: “Thirty minutes of computer time, ONLY.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last Week of July: “Just be sure you stop and go to the bathroom
now and then. I don’t want to have to treat you for a UTI.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last Week of School: “Twenty minutes of reading </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">every day</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last Week of July: “Sure, reading the ingredients on the
yogurt cup counts as reading.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last Week of School: “Time to do your chores; here are your
chore lists.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last Week of July: “I guess we can go another day without
vacuuming. That biggest wad of hair is the dog, right?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last Week of School: “The television doesn’t go on until 6 p.m.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last Week of July: “Whatever. I don’t care. Yeah, you can
watch television.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As you can see, I grow lax and careless as time goes by. I’ll
rein them back in when we get closer to school starting, and my rules and
routines will be fully back in force by September, when they’ll need the
structure to get them out the door on time, and get homework done. But in the
meantime, things are pretty laid back, and that’s really what summer is all
about. Now if my boss’s standards would just lower to meet mine we’d be all
set.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"> FreeImages.com/Brian Lary</span></div>
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Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-16390455562099233892015-07-01T14:02:00.000-07:002015-07-01T14:02:48.339-07:00Head Games<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of my boys ended up in Urgent Care last week. He had a
gash across his forehead that required three stitches. He’s fine. This is not
our first head wound rodeo. I have three boys, so head wounds are kind of a
trend. All three of them have now had one, and the one last week was round two for that kid. Right now we’re two for two on a plain old accident
versus a really stupid choice.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The very first one was an accident. One kid slipped and hit the
back of his head on the corner of the wall. That was my first experience with a
head wound, and holy shit. In case you’re not aware, when you gash your head,
it bleeds like a stuck pig. It’s incredible. My husband was standing patiently
over me while I sat with the kid in my lap, bathing in his blood, completely
freaking out.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You have to calm down,” he kept saying.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Are you kidding me? This kid looks like he’s going to need
a transfusion in about three minutes, and you want me to calm down??”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Since my husband is a) a boy, and b) an Eagle Scout, he knew
about the bleeding. He’s also far less inclined to flip out over things that
have to do with the kids than I am. He told me later he was prepared to take
the kid to Urgent Care if it hadn’t stopped bleeding when it did.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next time someone came to me gushing blood from his head I managed to keep my cool. We were at the
softball field watching my husband’s men’s league game. The kids were off
playing. My oldest was about six, and I turned around to see him walking toward
me with a wave of blood flowing down his face and dripping off his nose.
Because he knew there was something going on, but couldn’t tell what, he had
his brow furrowed in a way that made it appear that he had a six inch gash
across his forehead. As calmly as I could, I grabbed a napkin and a bottle of
water, and wiped the blood off so I could see the actual injury.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There were three small nicks, the largest of which was the
size of the head of a pin along his hair line. When I asked him how it happened, he said they were
throwing rocks up in the air, and watching them fall back down again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Next time maybe take a step to the left after you throw
them up,” I suggested.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Honestly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next accident occurred at a family Christmas
celebration. It was about three days after Christmas, and we were at my aunt’s
house. The kids were out back playing, running races back and forth across her
patio. One of the twins got to the “finish line” and his brother somehow
managed to shove him, causing him to sit down hard and whack his head against a
concrete planter. The result was the expected fountain of blood. He got a
staple and some ice cream.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All of which brings us to the other night. Again, the scene of
the crisis was the same softball field, and again, there was a rock involved. This
time, however, it was one of the twins and his sister, playing with one of
their friends. They were playing War. And throwing rocks at each other. Because
of course they were. I got a call from my husband to come get my daughter so he
could take our son to Urgent Care. The result was three stitches. And ice cream, of
course.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m sure this isn’t the end of our relationship with Urgent
Care. I think we have a few more years before they’re past the point where they’ll
throw rocks and end up with head wounds. Yes, I’d like to think they’ve learned
that throwing rocks = blood = stitches, but these are boys. Lessons like these
are learned slowly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-65513076300548675052015-06-24T10:16:00.000-07:002015-06-24T10:16:58.880-07:00Possibly the Worst Gift I Ever Gave My Grandmother<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yesterday<a href="http://orangeandsilverblog.blogspot.com/2014/10/the-greatest-cake-of-all.html" target="_blank"> my grandmother </a>turned 102 years old. She’s in
pretty good shape for 102. She lives in an efficiency apartment in an
independent living facility. She doesn’t use a walker, although she has
conceded to a cane to steady her. She’s not on oxygen, and she takes no
medications whatsoever. She even still worries about getting fat. She says my
husband makes the best Toll House cookies she’s ever had, so periodically I
take her a box as a gift (because what else am I going to get someone who’s
that old? It’s not like she needs anything) and she eats a couple, then freezes
the rest to have when people come to visit her. My friends and I all agree that
if we make it to 102, we are going to eat <i>all
the cookies</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As it happens, I have a friend with very outspoken opinions
on grandparent names. She says (and I think she’s quoting some comedian) you
hear perfectly rational adults say things like, “Well, I’m off to the airport to
pick up MeeMaw and PeePaw,” and they just sound like idiots. We don’t call my
grandmother MeeMaw (nor was her husband PeePaw), but we do have a sort of
unfortunate nickname for her. And I gave it to her.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My grandmother has a cousin who has always been referred to
in the family as Cousin Lucy. I don’t think I’ve ever met her—I’m not even sure
she’s still alive. My grandmother always kept in pretty close touch with her. She lived with Cousin Lucy and Lucy’s husband, Cousin Clifton, at one
point when she was young and right out of school. In any event, Cousin Lucy
became a grandmother before my mother and her siblings started having children.
Cousin Lucy’s grandchildren called her “Gumpy.” My grandmother always thought
this was just the dumbest thing, and swore her grandchildren wouldn’t adopt
anything so foolish for her.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was the first grandchild, and when I learned to talk there
was great concern as to what she and my grandfather would be called. I don’t
mean to imply that she worried about it on a level with the Cold War or
anything, but she was determined that her “grandmother name” would be something
sensible. Why we didn’t just go with “Grandma” or “Granny” has never been
explained, except maybe she didn’t like either of those options (I’ve never
thought to ask her—I suppose I could; I did just say she’s still alive and
pretty sharp mentally), possibly she </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">didn't feel old enough to be a grandmother--she was only about 57 at the time, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">or maybe she was worried that a two year old
would bastardize it and she’d end up as Gamgam or something equally abhorrent
(since clearly that’s what happened in the case of Cousin Lucy).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My mother’s brother and sister were in college at this time, and still living at home. My grandmother’s real name is Eleanor,
and my aunt and uncle used to call her Elsie as a joke, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">because of Elsie the Cow--my grandparents had a farm and raised beef cattle. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My
aunt suggested Elsie might be a good “grandmother name” because it was, after
all, a real name </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Oh, well, that’s all right with me. Tracy can call me
Elsie,” she said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Except, of course, I was unable to say Elsie, and what came
out was “Ahtee.” (Pronounced just like
it’s spelled "ah" like you're having your throat checked + tee, and which spell check always wants me to change to “hate”
which I think is pretty unkind of it, and a bit rude when it doesn’t
even know my grandmother.) There’s a four year gap between me and my next
youngest cousin, and by the time she came along, Ahtee was pretty well
entrenched. My cousin’s brother is ten years younger than she is, so of course
there was no turning back by then. Ahtee she is to this day, and with the
exception of her actual children, everyone in our family calls her Ahtee.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At one point when I was a teenager, I got kind of embarrassed
by the whole Ahtee thing (as teenagers do, convinced that everyone around me
was judging me for this stupid nickname I was calling my grandmother in the grocery
store, when in fact they probably called their own grandmother something equally
as silly, or possibly even worse) and tried to call her Elsie, as had been
intended all those years ago. It was, of course, a complete failure, and I was
never able to retrain myself. Even if I had been, I’m not sure she would have
been able to adjust to answering to it. And so Ahtee she is, and Ahtee she will
be, forever and ever. I mentioned to her once that I wasn’t so sure she really
came out that much better than Cousin Lucy, and she agreed, but I think after
almost 50 years she’s made peace with it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><i>Do your grandparents have regrettable nicknames? Are you responsible for them?</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyHRuxFlYyk8KDgcOk6u4uBX80bRl1rDfBpnAAuTdu110NYeT1491I9MwxLWtFmrTQyH9R2kTwdV_sPbOceWkHstNahBOHkJMxjqiulaECmbqmt6ZvqIzGJsIIGaBlJMyvJxOQIrejqeI/s1600/That%2527s+-Elsie-+to+you%252C+kid.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyHRuxFlYyk8KDgcOk6u4uBX80bRl1rDfBpnAAuTdu110NYeT1491I9MwxLWtFmrTQyH9R2kTwdV_sPbOceWkHstNahBOHkJMxjqiulaECmbqmt6ZvqIzGJsIIGaBlJMyvJxOQIrejqeI/s640/That%2527s+-Elsie-+to+you%252C+kid.png" width="425" /></a></div>
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Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-41237065417205065442015-06-15T09:33:00.000-07:002015-06-15T09:33:35.796-07:00Four Things I Learned at BlogU<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I shared my <a href="http://orangeandsilverblog.blogspot.com/2015/06/blogu-or-i-can-make-ass-of-myself-away.html" target="_blank">humiliation</a> and <a href="http://orangeandsilverblog.blogspot.com/2015/06/blogu-ode-to-skippy.html" target="_blank">horror</a> from my BlogU
weekend with you, but I really did learn more than how to embarrass myself (I
didn’t need a conference for <i>that</i>)
and what happens when a squirrel lands on the roof of your car (squirrel blood
on the windshield, which, when we noticed it, was almost as traumatic as Skippy’s
death in the first place). BlogU is packed with useful information, and
encourages introspection and self-examination. They present you with all the
directions you <i>could</i> go: it’s up to
you. Here, in no particular order, are just a few of the things I learned at
BlogU.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You don’t
have to do all the things</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I took a couple of sessions that were enjoyable
and informative, but that I walked out of thinking, “Yeah, that’s not happening.”
It was useful to learn about SEO, but the impetus of it is to make Google think
you’re an expert on your subject. If I were still food blogging, or if I were a
beauty or fashion blogger who needed authority behind my information or advice,
the SEO session would have been gold. As it is, I consider myself a humor blogger.
What’s Google going to think—that I’m an authority on being a sarcastic wise
ass? (On a related note: I AM.) So while I was interested to learn about SEO,
it’s not anything that I’m likely to spend an exceptional amount of time
implementing. And that’s OK.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">BlogU is as
depressing as it is inspiring</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know that doesn’t sound like a positive take
away, but hear me out. There’s so much information to absorb, so many ways to
improve, so many people with similar goals, it just seems overwhelming. But as I
was thinking about how much there is to do, it occurred to me that breaking
down a massive amount of work into manageable actions is what I do all day
long. I can apply my professional skills to my personal goals as they relate to
my blog and a writing career.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Beyond that, I can apply my professional skills <i>in</i></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> my writing career. As in, I can write
about what I do and how I do it. Plenty of people are unsure how to create a
plan, what the process of planning involves, and how to go about it. I’ve
gotten countless marriage</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">proposals from
other women over the years because they want me to “run” their lives. Instead
of doing that, I can teach them how to do it for themselves, how to create
repeatable processes, along with the documentation, scheduling tools, and risk
mitigation strategies that a plan entails.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To be fair, this has been percolating for awhile. In
fact, it started when I was reading Jen Lancaster’s most recent book</span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I Regret Nothing</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. She had some </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">very</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> depressing (and unfortunately
accurate) thoughts on the state of the publishing industry and its future. She
talked about starting her own business, in addition to writing. After years of
women saying, “Will you marry me?” and trying to help my children create
processes to keep our lives from imploding into a swirling supernova of chaos
and despair, I realize that I have a marketable talent, an area of expertise. I
haven’t thought through the whole thing yet, but I know what I’m not: I’m not a
professional organizer, nor am I a life coach. I’m not going to tell you to buy
a bunch of plastic totes and stick pictures of the shit you put in them on the
front, neither am I going to help you figure out what you want to be when you
grow up. What I can do is help you get from point A to point B with a clear plan
that takes into consideration possible detours and roadblocks, and when
appropriate, I can help you make that process efficiently repeatable. More on this
later—I’m still putting together a plan for it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Write “you”</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was reinforced in a couple of sessions. In one case it was was explicitly stated, in another it was implied. But either way the point is you have to write your material in
your voice. You can’t go read Jen Lancaster or Tina Fey or any of ten thousand
other funny people and try to imitate their style, or write on their subjects.
I understand Jenny Lawson said something similar at BlogHer last year, which
was to write your own story; everyone</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">has
a story, and it’s what makes them unique.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I confess in the past I’ve been guilty of being untrue
in this way. I try to think like Jen Lancaster and figure out what overarching
project I could embark on and write about. Or like David Sedaris and try to
decide what two or three stories I could intertwine to instill an undercurrent
of meaning into my essays. This is all wrong. I can’t do those things because I’m
not them, and if I tried to imitate them my output would be as pale as copies
made when the toner is low in the printer, with uneven streaks and wan imagery.
I have to sit down and write what’s in my brain from my experiences, using my
voice. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ve stopped thinking I want to
be the “next” anybody, because what I need to be is the first me. I know the
day will come (fingers crossed!) when I’ll have to draw comparisons for the
purpose of illustration, but for now I’m focusing on what sets me apart from
the million other voices screaming on the internet.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Don’t
change your clothes three times a day at a conference</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It will confuse people and they’ll forget who you
are because you were wearing a skirt two hours ago and now you’re in jeans.
Also it will mean your suitcase is super full and there’s a chance you’ll risk
breaking the zipper when you shove everything back into it to go home. </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Not that anything like that happened to me</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">.
I’m just observing. (On a related note: why is it that the stuff always fits
into it fine on the way to your destination, but when you go to pack for the
trip home, everything seems to have swelled and now it doesn’t all fit? </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Even if you didn’t buy anything new</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">.
Every damned time.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilVoUmqEMG8YSi1bIq0mvIds8iG9g5qkDuFcP9Bs8w9IlBwGARbr8lAJwmyIVm6O25NatnsVaNdYMTCypa8-QZHAhUIN00eSl02REYsHtNRpnReyGjJbmSxj0_gVcMKSntYRyoT8pxMQQ/s1600/Four+Things+I+Learned+at+BlogU.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilVoUmqEMG8YSi1bIq0mvIds8iG9g5qkDuFcP9Bs8w9IlBwGARbr8lAJwmyIVm6O25NatnsVaNdYMTCypa8-QZHAhUIN00eSl02REYsHtNRpnReyGjJbmSxj0_gVcMKSntYRyoT8pxMQQ/s640/Four+Things+I+Learned+at+BlogU.png" width="426" /></a></div>
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Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-6560207367437662982015-06-10T07:35:00.000-07:002015-06-10T07:35:47.711-07:00BlogU: An Ode to Skippy<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">BlogU was a great experience in many ways—meeting wonderful
people, learning lots of things, generally having a good time—and although I
<a href="http://orangeandsilverblog.blogspot.com/2015/06/blogu-or-i-can-make-ass-of-myself-away.html" target="_blank">managed to embarrass myself</a> (it was pretty much inevitable), overall it was a
great experience.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Except for one thing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I killed a squirrel.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Everyone says it’s not my fault, and I know they’re right,
but Skippy’s death still weighs on me. (He was a squirrel--of course his name wasn't really Skippy. I just decided it was an OK squirrel name, and since I killed
him, I owe it to him to at least give him an identity beyond just “that
squirrel I killed.”)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is what happened: I had dropped a couple of friends off
at the dining hall (I don’t think I clarified that BlogU is held on a college
campus with the attendees having the option to stay in the dorms; meals are
served in the dining hall), and was going to get myself a bottle of water. I
was driving along the road back out of campus at a measured pace—there was
nothing reckless or imprudent in my speed. As I passed under a large oak tree,
I heard a horrible, loud WHUMP on the roof of my rental car. I slammed on the breaks, and just as I was wondering, "...the fuck...??" what looked like a fur-covered burrito rolled
down my windshield and off the hood of the car.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I threw the car in park and jumped out. There on the
pavement lay Skippy. The worst thing was he was
still twitching. He wasn’t dead, but in another five minutes he was going to
be. That squirrel was a goner. I covered my mouth in horror and stared at him. Two
other conference attendees passing on the sidewalk stopped and stared with me.
They told me there were actually two squirrels up in the tree, and they’d heard
them chattering, and seen them chasing each other. I started to wonder if this
really was an accident. It was starting to look like maybe Humpty Dumpty was
pushed, <i>if you know what I mean</i>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The thing is, wildlife would do well to steer clear of me.
There seems to be a trend in negative survival outcome with undomesticated
creatures that fate casts into my path. Cats and dogs do fine, but squirrels
and birds not so much.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The first time this happened I was about nine. We found
a baby bird, and did the whole shoe box house-cotton ball bed thing. I don’t remember what
we fed it, nor how long it took to get to a point where we could release it,
but the day surely came. A deceptively beautiful early summer day, a day which
doubtless this innocent creature in no way suspected would be his last.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’d been told I could release him. I took the box with the
bird outside and sat down on the bench on the front porch. The sky was a
perfect cloudless blue, a slight breeze whispering through the trees. I spent a
minute just savoring the moment. (I was kind of a weird kid. I know. Shocker.)
I opened the box, and the bird hopped up to edge of the box, then down onto the
bench next to me. I could practically see him take a deep breath before spreading
his wings and soaring off to land in the grass of my neighbor’s front lawn. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At
which point our cat lunged out from under a juniper bush and killed him,
because I’d forgotten to make sure she was inside before I set the bird free.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oops.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There followed a few
more birds and a baby squirrel named Davey who didn't make it, and bunch of box turtles who, to be
fair, did not perish in my care and were actually saved from fairly horrible
deaths to be set free in our back yard, although not before peeing all over the
floor of my mother’s car. I don’t get it—every damned one. We’d pull over,
pluck the thing from almost certain annihilation under the wheel of some other
car, and put it on the floor of the passenger side, where it would show its
gratitude by instantly peeing all over the floorboard in terror. Or something. Assholes. Fortunately we didn’t have carpet floor mats.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Since this whole thing makes me sound like a really horrible
wildlife ambassador and possibly some distant cousin of Josef Mengele, I’ll
leave you with a happy story about me and an animal I rescued.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One evening when I was about 24, I was watching TV with my
dad. We heard a sort of scratching noise at the metal screen door of the house. My dad was passing the front door when we heard it, so he opened it and
almost immediately slammed it shut again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“It’s a skunk!” he insisted.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Not beyond the realm of possibility, because at one point
there was a skunk living under our front porch, but there was something wrong
with the idea of a skunk scratching at the door. I opened the door slowly and
looked out. What I saw on the porch was not a skunk, but a ferret. At the time I
worked for a veterinarian, so I had some familiarity with them. I brought it in
the house, gave it some of the cat’s food, and let it spend the night in the
garage with a litter pan. We put up signs, but after two days there was no
response to them. I didn’t want a ferret (they’re a weasel—they have a funny
musky scent to them) so I took it to the vet’s office and one of the staffers
adopted it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So there, you see? I didn’t kill every wild thing that was
placed in my hands by the universe.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Except now that I think about it, ferrets are considered domesticated animals. Poop.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAMWUVZ7p_z20q7p66djTshyphenhyphendpY-4YEy75lUxeIZ6popnzCuh2hjje231Es_j8D1HjBNT5n_H8Ahi1dQ-iL8_aqWbpUsiVFzVPT6DpBx6Z0A3-cPESYGSKCn2kjAFLAiA5IBD-wUKNv7U/s1600/skippy.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAMWUVZ7p_z20q7p66djTshyphenhyphendpY-4YEy75lUxeIZ6popnzCuh2hjje231Es_j8D1HjBNT5n_H8Ahi1dQ-iL8_aqWbpUsiVFzVPT6DpBx6Z0A3-cPESYGSKCn2kjAFLAiA5IBD-wUKNv7U/s640/skippy.png" width="426" /></a></div>
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Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-8504731123168134182015-06-08T12:37:00.000-07:002015-06-09T09:17:34.894-07:00BlogU, or I Can Make an Ass of Myself Away From Home Too!<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You’re about to see the Internet explode with praise and
enthusiasm for a blog conference called <a href="http://bloguconference.com/" target="_blank">BlogU</a> (and it is well-deserved praise
and enthusiasm, I might add) that I attended this past weekend. This was the
second year BlogU happened, and I couldn’t make it last year, but I’ll be
making it next year and any other year they'll have me. BlogU offers “classes” on subjects of interest to bloggers
of all kinds—subjects like SEO, collaborative blogging, and building a brand.
There were many fabulous faculty and guest speakers, including New York Times
bestselling author Jen Mann of <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/" target="_blank">People I Want to Punch in the Throa</a>t. She’s also
the editor<a href="http://orangeandsilverblog.blogspot.com/p/buy-my-books.html" target="_blank"> the anthology in which I was published</a>, so I was looking forward to <s>stalking</s>
meeting her. The story I’m about to tell you is really only funny if you know
who she is, so if you need to pop over to her site and familiarize yourself
with her (although why don't you already know her? Because she is hilarious), be my guest. Maybe <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/p/buy-my-book.html" target="_blank">buy a book</a> while you're there. I’ll be here when you get back.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ready? OK, Jen Mann is very down to earth, funny, and
approachable. She posted a comment in the Facebook group for the conference on
Thursday evening that she was in the lobby of the hotel having a drink if
anyone wanted to join her. I had gone out to dinner with a few folks, and saw
it when I got back to the hotel. I messaged her and said if she was still
there, and still looking for company, I’d be happy to join her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Sure! Come on down!” she responded.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I got to the lobby and joined the group of ten or twelve
women. I introduced myself to a few of them, and we chatted. Jen was involved in
a conversation with someone else the whole time I was there, and I didn't want to interrupt. I finished my wine
and headed back upstairs because it was getting a little late, and I knew have
other chances to meet her, so no big deal if it didn't happen then.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I sat down in front of my computer for one last social media check, a message popped up
from Jen.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Are you coming down? We’re wrapping up here.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I replied that I’d been there and had just gotten back to my room. I
asked if she wanted me to come down, that I was still wearing regular
clothes and so forth.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Yes!” she said. I went down and we
had a lovely chat about this and that. I assume I gave the impression I was a normal person. That wouldn't last.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Friday morning I was sitting in an almost-empty
auditorium waiting for the first session to start. Two ladies a couple of rows
back were discussing the upcoming parties (one on Friday night, one on Saturday
night). They were a bit alarmed that we’d been given only two drink tickets at
check in. Was that it for the weekend? Only two drinks? Of course I couldn’t
help but overhear them, so I turned around and joined in their conversation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I think it’s a budget thing and it’s only two drinks
tonight, but on Saturday it will be unlimited. I wasn’t here last year, so I’m
not a hundred percent sure, but that’s what I’d guess. I mean, you know, don’t
quote me or anything…”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the women began (jokingly) grilling me. “Yes, what’s
your authority on this? I </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">am</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> going to
quote you. What’s your name?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I held out my hand and said, “Hi, I’m Jen Mann.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Since everyone at the conference knew who Jan Mann was, and I
clearly was </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">not</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Jen Mann, we all had
a laugh at that.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fast forward to the Friday night party. I found Jen and said,
“Hey, Jen, can I tell you something funny?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Sure!” she said. I told her about my conversation with the women
in the auditorium and that if she heard of anyone going around campus
impersonating her, it was me. Thankfully, she thought it was funny.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next morning the first session I attended was one Jen was teaching. Because I clearly have anxiety about stupid things, I got there early to get a seat. Jen and her lovely
co-presenter JD Bailey (of <a href="http://www.honestmom.com/" target="_blank">Honest Mom</a>) were getting ready. Brown nosey teacher’s pet
that I am, I picked a seat in the front row. JD was doing something with the
computer, so Jen had a free minute.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I said, “Hey, Jen, can I tell you something funny?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Sure!” she said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I proceeded to relate to her </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the exact story I told her at the party the night before</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. When I
finished, she just looked at me without blinking for whole seconds (yes,
seconds are short, but several seconds strung together are </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">very, very </i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">long, especially when you’re sitting in front of a New
York Times bestselling author whose next anthology you'd like to be in—</span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">trust me</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You told me that story last night, and I laughed.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Awesome</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I swear I wasn’t drunk, wasn’t stoned (I don’t even do that anymore),
was completely in what’s left of my right mind. I just have a terrible memory
at this point, which is why I write down anything I really need to remember. Apparently now I also need to start writing down things like,
“Told funny story about impersonating her to Jen Mann at Friday night party. DO
NOT TELL HER AGAIN.” Talk about embarrassing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">However, I will say this, I got a lot of mileage out of the How
I Humiliated Myself in Front of Jen Mann story for the
rest of the conference. And in another conversation, Jen mentioned that a few times she’s met people and said things like, “Great to meet you!” and they’ve
said, “We’ve met before—we had lunch together last year” or something, then she feels sheepish for not remembering them. I don’t think that’s going to be my
problem. I think</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">next year when we meet
(assuming she doesn’t avoid me the way you avoid a hyper chatty semi-stalker
who for all you know is a psychopath and can’t remember what they said twelve hours earlier), she’s going to say, “You’re not gonna tell me
that fuckin’ story again, are you?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She’s probably hoping I won’t even remember her. But I will. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because I wrote it down.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-54784506777586637102015-05-16T11:06:00.000-07:002015-06-14T08:11:09.014-07:00My Top Ten Time Wasters<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If
wasting time was an Olympic sport, I would be a gold medalist. If they made it
a triathlon with procrastinating and being lazy, I would rule the event. These
traits seem to have gotten more pronounced as I’ve gotten older. I think having
children was responsible. A very wise woman whose identity currently escapes me
once told me that when you have children, “The days go on forever, but the
years fly by.” I think it’s this sensation of the days going on forever (which
they do—the longest six hours of your life are the twenty minutes you have to listen
to your kid trying to play “Hot Cross Buns” on the recorder) that has made me
more inclined to waste time now that I’m older.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Most
of my wasted time is spent on some website or application. I don’t game, but I’m
very happy to wander among the diversions available on the internet, distracted
by every new pretty shiny like the lazy ADD procrastinator I am. Here are ten
ways I fritter away my life.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Facebook</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I
have about 350 friends on Facebook, and didn’t really spend that much time on
it until two things happened. First, Facebook revealed its dick personality and
changed their algorithm so I no longer see everything from everyone. I only see
what they think is “quality” content. This means I’m doing more stalking, going
to the timelines of friends I haven’t “heard from” in awhile to make sure that a)
we’re still friends and b) they haven’t posted a status about some massively life
changing event. The second thing that happened is that I got invited to a couple
of secret groups. Posts in secret groups are visible only to those who are in
them. It’s like having a private soundproof room where you can go talk to like-minded
folk about whatever the theme is around the secret group. Now I can spend
literally hours on Facebook, chatting it up with people who are in the books I
was in or have interests and ambitions similar to mine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Twitter</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Another
massive time suck, because even if I’m not on it, I’m constantly trying to
think of things to put on it. And of course Twitter never stops. Twitter alone
could consume a whole day.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
New York Times/The New Yorker</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We
recently got subscriptions to both of these so we now have unlimited access to
their electronic content. One could argue that at least this is somewhat
educated frittering away of time. And that’s true, except that you don’t know
what I’m going to tell you #4 is.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Celebrity
Gossip Sites</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes,
I am one of those people who reads celebrity gossip and then whines about how
we can’t seem to get rid of the Kardashians. I am partial to The Hollywood
Sigh, Celebitchy, and Go Fug Yourself (which is less a gossip site and more of
a fashion site, but I count it). I read thoughtful, well written essays on current
events and world happenings, and then go kill a few brain cells reading about
what Kim Kardashian wore to the Met Ball. (I mean, was that dress ugly or
what?)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Humor
Sites</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I
have a list of blogs I visit regularly, of course, but I also love sites like
The Onion, Clickhole, Obvious Plant, and McSweeny’s Internet Tendency (see
guys? No hard feelings over that rejection). Sometimes I use these sites as
inspiration—I’m always looking for ideas for funny activities, or occupations
to use in my own writing. I’m not taking their topics--I’m unlikely to write
about the actual activity of flicking wind chimes—but I jot down things like “flicking
wind chimes” or “probation officer” and who knows when I may need a pointless
activity, or an unlikely occupation in something I’m writing?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Advice
Columns</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mostly
just the one in my local paper, and mostly for the train wreck quality of it. I
can’t resist reading about other people’s problems and how the columnist
suggests they resolve it. It’s kind of an everyday people version of celebrity
gossip.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Amazon
Reviews</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I
love to read product reviews on Amazon. Sometimes they’re intentionally funny—the
Bic pens for her and the banana slicer are the two that spring most readily to
mind. Equally funny are the ones where the reviewer has completely missed the
point of the product. The review left by someone named Matthew on the Organ
Transport Lunch Cooler was classic. He gave it one star and insisted that
anyone who used it would be “advertizing [sic] you are carrying at least $15
grand.” My guess is that Matthew is the kind of guy who generates a lot of sidelong
glances among people with normal senses of humor when he attends social
functions.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Google
Maps</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ever
since Google Maps has offered street view of almost any location around the
world, I can’t get enough of it. I go look at my high school, my grandparent’s old
house, my insurance agency’s headquarters. Perfect example: I read about an
underground city of sorts in France where a bunch of soldiers in World War I
had written their names and countries of origin on the walls. One from America
had written his address. I immediately clicked over to Google Maps, dropped the
address in, and found his apartment building in the Bronx, which is still an
apartment building. I thought that was pretty cool.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">IMDB</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I
love all kinds of trivia, and little back story bits about movies are always
fun. I love knowing that the horses in the Emerald City scenes in “The Wizard
of Oz” were tinted green with Jello crystals (they had to film quickly before
the horses started licking the powder off of each other—who knew horses were
such Jello fans?) and that “Miracle on 34<sup>th</sup> Street” was filmed
during such a cold New York winter that the cameras literally froze (but it was
released in the summer—go figure). The older and more iconic the movie, the
more trivia there is, but even for contemporary movies you can find quite a
bit.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wikipedia</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Every
single site that I’ve mentioned prior to this feeds into Wikipedia, and Wikipedia
is the ultimate time waster. I look up everything: the Geneva Conventions, the
biography of David Sedaris, the Doppler effect. The problem is Wikipedia links
to related articles so I finish reading about David Sedaris, and I decide it
might be interesting to read about his sister Amy. Amy was in “School of Rock.”
I didn’t know this, and after reading it, two things are likely to happen:
first, I will click on the link and read about “School of Rock,” and then I’ll remember
that I’ve never read the trivia about “School of Rock” on IMDB, and will jump
over there to check it out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now if you'll excuse me, the internet beckons.</span></div>
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Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-61050935339856885352015-05-05T11:10:00.002-07:002015-05-05T12:40:41.232-07:00Wrong.<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few weeks ago I saw someone on Twitter asking at
what point kids go from asking a million questions to thinking you’re an idiot
who knows nothing, therefore not asking questions at all. My own experience is
limited to children up to age twelve, but so far, he still asks me a million
questions. The difference between age four and now is that now when I answer
him, he tells me I’m wrong.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At this point he’ll argue about anything at all.
The temperature, how long it takes to fly to Disneyland, or what kind of bird
that is in our yard. A month or so ago, we had this exchange:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Him: “What’s the date?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Me: “The 17</span><sup style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">th</sup><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Him: “No it isn’t.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Really? I thought, </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">really</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">? You want to fight about </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">this</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My favorite argument is the one we have about
whether or not he argues about everything. That one always makes me feel like I’m
in the middle of some kind of Dada-inspired performance art piece.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So far I haven’t gotten too many dismissive
gestures, although I am proud to tell you that over the weekend my instructions
regarding some</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">chore or other were met
with an eye roll and a “blah blah” puppet hand. So that’s quite a milestone. I
have always maintained that while Tweens have embraced eye rolling as their
own, they learned it from their mothers</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The fact is, I can’t really be too surprised that
he’d argue with a stop sign. One of my own earliest memories is standing in my
crib, leaning on the railing while I jumped up and down on the mattress. My
mother saw me doing it, and cautioned me against it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You’ll fall out and crack your bean,” she said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I remember looking down at the floor next to my
crib and seeing the soft fluffy blue </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">oval </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> rug
with the white lamb on it—my “lambie” rug, as I called it, that was on the
floor, and thinking, “No I won’t—my lambie rug is there. I’ll land on that and be fine.” I
didn’t say it, but I remember thinking it. I was about two years old.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So with that kind of genetics it’s no wonder he
looks at every verbal exchange as an opportunity for debate.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ve heard when they get to be teens they clam up.
Instead of telling you you’re wrong and arguing about it, they just roll their
eyes and turn up their iPods. I’m not sure which is the better choice. The silent
treatment is probably more maddening (“You could at least </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">answer</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> when I speak to you!”), but I have to tell you that spending
every waking minute of every day having my responses challenged by someone who can’t
tell when his shirt is on backwards is pretty exhausting.</span></div>
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Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441873745400594431.post-60950903734186415972015-04-17T10:52:00.000-07:002015-04-17T10:54:13.245-07:00And As If That Wasn't Enough...<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By now you've all gotten your copies of "I STILL Just Want To Pee Alone" and read the hilarious and heartwarming essays by me and my fellow bloggers. (If you haven't, well, click on that little link over there that says, "Buy My Books!")</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
My colleagues and I aren't just hilarious in long form, we're also funny in short form. And by short form, I mean Twitter. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Twitter can be exhausting. You have to weed through so much unfunny stuff to get to the really good stuff. For instance, here are a few gems from my timeline right now:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Small acts of compassion each day is good for your soul</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">60 retweets, 103 stars</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
He checked my phone and now won't speak to me anymore...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">13 retweets, 32 stars</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Sometimes a complete silence can make them hear you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">60 retweets, 89 stars</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Can we agree that the above are all horrible tweets? The first one is grammatically incorrect (and sappy), the second one only makes sense if you know the person who tweeted it (I don't), and the third one is just trite. And yet as you can see, they've all gotten starred and retweeted multiple times. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My favorite part of Twitter is the philosophical musings and sage life advice from a bunch of high school sophomores. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Well, thanks for telling us what we already know because we too live on Planet Earth and have seen some of the garbage that passes for entertainment on Twitter. But what are you going to <i>do</i> about it? you may be saying.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Contrary to my usual behavior of whining about things and not offering a solution, this time I have one.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
TADA!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtmKFWYhD5Y6aievzRj2sBhV7ZZz1IpRgrpNseX9Bqa_y32Y6Tb1dUnFMKYQBirVp88HH_8jqc9K749-mdl9dx0f9k4E2EpRkQhkYXTS8KIMaP6weM1s9xKobcvisTAg_Wi-5LT22g7vE/s1600/front+BBOPT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtmKFWYhD5Y6aievzRj2sBhV7ZZz1IpRgrpNseX9Bqa_y32Y6Tb1dUnFMKYQBirVp88HH_8jqc9K749-mdl9dx0f9k4E2EpRkQhkYXTS8KIMaP6weM1s9xKobcvisTAg_Wi-5LT22g7vE/s1600/front+BBOPT.jpg" height="400" width="262" /></span></a></div>
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</span><br />
<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">That's right--a whole book of parenting tweets by 48 people you won't believe have been allowed to procreate. Wisdom and observations from Moms and Dads, all of whom are the funniest people you've never met. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here's the list of contributors--I'm sure you'll recognize some of these names:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@Cheeseboy22</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@TheAlexNevil</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@QuestionableCIP -->Also a contributor in the awesome anthology, I STILL Just Want to Pee Alone</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@amydillon</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@funnyisfamily</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@DomesticGoddss</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@andyasadjective</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@AndyHerald</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@bpmbadassmama -->Also a contributor in the awesome anthology, I STILL Just Want to Pee Alone</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@bradbroddus</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@designerdaddy</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@mcarisa</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@really10months</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@ParentNormal</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@FullMetalMommy</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@novicefather</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@mylifesuckers</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@zoevsuniverse</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@HousewifeofHell</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@buriedwithkids</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@outsmartedmommy</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@alfageeek</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@kalvinmacleod</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@tchrquotes</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@kcmoore51</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@letmestart -->Also a contributor in the awesome anthology, I STILL Just Want to Pee Alone</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@workingmom86</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@TheBeardedIris</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@LindainDisguise</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@modmomelleroy -->Also a contributor in the awesome anthology, I STILL Just Want to Pee Alone</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@sarcasticmommy4</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@marlebean</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@MaryWiddicks</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@really10months</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@pjtlynch</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@moooooog35</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@est1975blog -->Also a contributor in the awesome anthology, I STILL Just Want to Pee Alone</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@simoncholland</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@StellaGMaddox</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@lurkathomemom</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@qwertygirl --> This is me, by the way!</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@maughammom</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@yuvizalkow</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@CrazyExhaustion</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@dadandburied</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@fatherwithtwins</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@McSwtrvst</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@mommaunfiltered</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@nicoleleighshaw</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@onefunnymummy</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@PaigeKellerman</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@sheepandrobots</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@steveolivas</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@XplodingUnicorn</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So let's summarize what we now know:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1) Twitter is full of twits </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2) There IS funny stuff on Twitter, if you dig deep enough</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3) We've done the digging for you, and put out this awesome book</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4) You're welcome</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So go to Amazon to buy the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bigger-Book-Parenting-Tweets-Featuring/dp/0996226206/" target="_blank">paperback</a>, or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bigger-Book-Parenting-Tweets-Featuring-ebook/dp/B00W0ME9DU/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=&qid=" target="_blank">Kindle edition</a>. You'll thank me, I promise!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
...<br />
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Why are you still here? You didn't go to buy your copy? Maybe you still don't believe me that it's hilarious. OK, I'll prove it:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh17bNbVoFjyywvFvqFhnRuxUkwc-XvME2rlcAXlzHCw2yB4rgG5EnoRr_lk431MKRlscKQNSgK1jTkUdG_553XKieJfmrKLh39QSzIWs82zObYl8W1oh-H3oUqwQPPUU0Bhq94nRfr5tQ/s1600/andyas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh17bNbVoFjyywvFvqFhnRuxUkwc-XvME2rlcAXlzHCw2yB4rgG5EnoRr_lk431MKRlscKQNSgK1jTkUdG_553XKieJfmrKLh39QSzIWs82zObYl8W1oh-H3oUqwQPPUU0Bhq94nRfr5tQ/s1600/andyas.jpg" height="400" width="351" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_pEFBuRWKZJdoH_qbrbL2FM1cRfgvA2PygM07ROYsJg94uk1euGATZiQaXcdhG4z_KjXnCnHqxHjiDJWKv7cJLnYBOyTPqt6Jjw28v5hyphenhyphenkU63vWfIwbheiXYX9uHaV5T2TTNlgG4lHsc/s1600/acarisa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_pEFBuRWKZJdoH_qbrbL2FM1cRfgvA2PygM07ROYsJg94uk1euGATZiQaXcdhG4z_KjXnCnHqxHjiDJWKv7cJLnYBOyTPqt6Jjw28v5hyphenhyphenkU63vWfIwbheiXYX9uHaV5T2TTNlgG4lHsc/s1600/acarisa.jpg" height="400" width="351" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjmNFgwygm4y3O93dmSB6PVarcKnnEYuBbv-LWwKSxm-bKrXL_6Q4LRfN82HdNLnqRtP2zaocxNZoneIhdU7dbhCaoRZOXo6ZySCqE03TyNG9XGqs2o70W3srmJvRqvUttv5mkKJ8_bik/s1600/akate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjmNFgwygm4y3O93dmSB6PVarcKnnEYuBbv-LWwKSxm-bKrXL_6Q4LRfN82HdNLnqRtP2zaocxNZoneIhdU7dbhCaoRZOXo6ZySCqE03TyNG9XGqs2o70W3srmJvRqvUttv5mkKJ8_bik/s1600/akate.jpg" height="400" width="351" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, off you go! And thanks!</span></div>
Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11942223629303845455noreply@blogger.com2