to describe my writing style.
Snarkasim.
perfect!
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight
Yesterday I realized the blender was broken. Since Mr. 15 Year Old has been using it for protein shakes I of course accused him.
"Its not my fault. It just happened to break while I was using it."
A future in politics is a strong possibility.
"Its not my fault. It just happened to break while I was using it."
A future in politics is a strong possibility.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Thursday, July 19, 2007
My Harry Potter Thoughts
Harry Potter fever is at an all time high at our house!
Last week we had to catch the latest movie on opening day. Thank goodness they agreed that they wouldn't turn into blast ended screwts if they weren't there at 12:01am to see the very first showing. They conceded that they could indeed wait until 9 am without any unfortunate transformations. The movie was great (leave the littlest wizards at home though) and now I am quickly re-reading The Half Blood Prince so I can be caught up and ready to dive into the last chapter of the Harry Potter saga. We have pre-ordered our copy, will stake our place in line early to get our magical number and return that night for the festivities. Then my sons and I will fight over who gets to read the book first. When will I learn to order more than one copy?
I have to admit I am going to be a bit sad when the series ends. It has held such a dear place in my heart and in the lives of my boys. I bought the first book when Tim was in 1st grade and home from school with a cold. We blazed through it and were hooked. We read it again during the wait for the second book, this time including Matthew. Around this time concerns were raised around the country that the book promoted witchcraft. Banning and burnings ensued. We couldn't understand it. The biggest lesson of The Sorcerer's Stone was that a mother's love is so deep that she would give her life for her child and so strong that it conquers even the darkest magic. Wow, better not let the kiddos learn that! I always figured that if your kid turned to the dark side simply by reading a book that there were deeper problems there.
Anyway, my favorite HP boy story was when we decided to throw a party to mark Mr. Potter's birthday (July 31). The invites asked the kids to bring a book to donate and stated that the party was B.Y.O.B. Bring Your Own Broom. I had improvised my own version of backyard Quiddich. We had a basketball hoop at either end of the backyard, a small ball for the Chasers to score with, the littlest guys were the Bludgers and had huge beach balls to knock the Keepers over with and I was the ref with the golden snitch in my pocket that I would throw in the air every once in awhile. As I explained the rules to them, one sweet boy looked at me and with all honesty breathed, "Mrs. Ford, can you really make us fly?" Every time I see that now strapping young 14 year old boy/man I think back to that hot summer day where innocence ruled.
Yikes! I just looked at my official Scholastic Books countdown and I have 1 day, 13 hours, 9 minutes and 4 seconds until the book is released! I better get my costume together!
Treacle tarts and pumpkin juice to you all!
Last week we had to catch the latest movie on opening day. Thank goodness they agreed that they wouldn't turn into blast ended screwts if they weren't there at 12:01am to see the very first showing. They conceded that they could indeed wait until 9 am without any unfortunate transformations. The movie was great (leave the littlest wizards at home though) and now I am quickly re-reading The Half Blood Prince so I can be caught up and ready to dive into the last chapter of the Harry Potter saga. We have pre-ordered our copy, will stake our place in line early to get our magical number and return that night for the festivities. Then my sons and I will fight over who gets to read the book first. When will I learn to order more than one copy?
I have to admit I am going to be a bit sad when the series ends. It has held such a dear place in my heart and in the lives of my boys. I bought the first book when Tim was in 1st grade and home from school with a cold. We blazed through it and were hooked. We read it again during the wait for the second book, this time including Matthew. Around this time concerns were raised around the country that the book promoted witchcraft. Banning and burnings ensued. We couldn't understand it. The biggest lesson of The Sorcerer's Stone was that a mother's love is so deep that she would give her life for her child and so strong that it conquers even the darkest magic. Wow, better not let the kiddos learn that! I always figured that if your kid turned to the dark side simply by reading a book that there were deeper problems there.
Anyway, my favorite HP boy story was when we decided to throw a party to mark Mr. Potter's birthday (July 31). The invites asked the kids to bring a book to donate and stated that the party was B.Y.O.B. Bring Your Own Broom. I had improvised my own version of backyard Quiddich. We had a basketball hoop at either end of the backyard, a small ball for the Chasers to score with, the littlest guys were the Bludgers and had huge beach balls to knock the Keepers over with and I was the ref with the golden snitch in my pocket that I would throw in the air every once in awhile. As I explained the rules to them, one sweet boy looked at me and with all honesty breathed, "Mrs. Ford, can you really make us fly?" Every time I see that now strapping young 14 year old boy/man I think back to that hot summer day where innocence ruled.
Yikes! I just looked at my official Scholastic Books countdown and I have 1 day, 13 hours, 9 minutes and 4 seconds until the book is released! I better get my costume together!
Treacle tarts and pumpkin juice to you all!
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Summer To Do List
I just saw my 14 year old's Things To Do This Summer list on his desk. Let me share.
#1 - Acting
#2 - Learn to play guitar
#3 - Jackass
Be afraid mom, be very afraid.
#1 - Acting
#2 - Learn to play guitar
#3 - Jackass
Be afraid mom, be very afraid.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Virginia Tech
Why are we surprised when a tragedy like the one at Virginia Tech occurs? Unless we address the root problems of mental illness, our gun culture, the tolerance of hate speak and our sensationalized media these catastrophes will happen again and again.
Mental illness is still incredibly stigmatized and seen as a weakness of character instead of the medical condition it is. Treatment may be difficult to obtain due to shame, expensive therapy and medications as well as possibility and fear of being dropped by health insurance providers.
The National Rifle Association, founded in 1871, states its goal is to "promote and encourage rifle shooting on a scientific basis," The NRA may hide behind its facade of hunter education and its shooting sports youth programs; but they are partly responsible for the ‘science’ of 2007 in the US – an increase in the of number of guns, the glorified use of guns in entertainment and media, and the dubious honor of having one of the highest gun death rate in the world.
It is also our constitutional right to engage in free speech but when did we as a society start to tolerate the rantings of bigots, chauvinists and hate mongers? In a country where Imus can skip off with millions in his pocket and others seek rehab for their slurs, one wonders if personal responsibility exists anymore. Those who see themselves as weak and powerless engage in hate speak and they may, as we have seen, choose violence as a way to feel powerful.
Our media is increasingly blurring the line between news and entertainment. Our 24/7 coverage brings out the worst in reporters who broadcast speculation and trot out ‘experts’ no matter how removed from the subject they are. For the life of me I can’t figure out why this catastrophe was the lead story on Access Hollywood. The proliferation of tragedy as entertainment entices killers and copy cats with the chance to be famous and remembered.
MSNBC reports that colleges and universities are “beefing up threat assessment training, for faculty and staff as well as students.” If we don’t change our attitudes regarding mental illness, guns, hate speak and our media it will be necessary to train anyone who frequents the post office, Mc Donald’s, Luby’s, school campus or anywhere else in threat assessment.
I pray for peace for all victims of this tragedy.
Mental illness is still incredibly stigmatized and seen as a weakness of character instead of the medical condition it is. Treatment may be difficult to obtain due to shame, expensive therapy and medications as well as possibility and fear of being dropped by health insurance providers.
The National Rifle Association, founded in 1871, states its goal is to "promote and encourage rifle shooting on a scientific basis," The NRA may hide behind its facade of hunter education and its shooting sports youth programs; but they are partly responsible for the ‘science’ of 2007 in the US – an increase in the of number of guns, the glorified use of guns in entertainment and media, and the dubious honor of having one of the highest gun death rate in the world.
It is also our constitutional right to engage in free speech but when did we as a society start to tolerate the rantings of bigots, chauvinists and hate mongers? In a country where Imus can skip off with millions in his pocket and others seek rehab for their slurs, one wonders if personal responsibility exists anymore. Those who see themselves as weak and powerless engage in hate speak and they may, as we have seen, choose violence as a way to feel powerful.
Our media is increasingly blurring the line between news and entertainment. Our 24/7 coverage brings out the worst in reporters who broadcast speculation and trot out ‘experts’ no matter how removed from the subject they are. For the life of me I can’t figure out why this catastrophe was the lead story on Access Hollywood. The proliferation of tragedy as entertainment entices killers and copy cats with the chance to be famous and remembered.
MSNBC reports that colleges and universities are “beefing up threat assessment training, for faculty and staff as well as students.” If we don’t change our attitudes regarding mental illness, guns, hate speak and our media it will be necessary to train anyone who frequents the post office, Mc Donald’s, Luby’s, school campus or anywhere else in threat assessment.
I pray for peace for all victims of this tragedy.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Mosh Mom
I have never been much of a concert devotee. I remember in high school a guy asked me if I wanted to go to Kansas. I had no idea what was enticing about a road trip north of the Okie border. Maybe 6.2 beer instead of 3.2? I finally figured it out. “Oh Kansas! As in Carry on my Wayward Son. Got it!” I never went; my parents put the brakes on that one. I nixed the idea of going to a KISS concert after mom said that she would have to go with me. Oh, the humiliation! No way. Looking back I should have taken her up on it. Knowing my mom she would have made herself up like Paul Stanley.
Perhaps it was the memory of that missed opportunity that led me to entertain my 14 year old son’s request to attend Edgefest. This all day, outdoor concert is the equivalent of Woodstock for the alternative rock fan.
It did sound like a must see to me ten years ago when Sarah McLaughlin and the Toadies played. Now that I’m in my forties going to Edgefest sounds more like a ring of hell instead on heaven on earth. But hey – it is defiantly one for the List.
At this point I should give you a bit of background on my kid. At the age of ten he presented me with a contract outlining the conditions for the purchase of a game cube gaming system. He would only play games I approved of, he would shut it off when I requested and he would buy it with his own money. Impressed with his negotiating skill, he must have been hanging around with attorney offspring; I agreed, thinking he could never come up with the cash. We both signed our legal document and I filed it away. Damned if that kid didn’t rake some leaves, take care of a vacationing neighbor’s cat and got a used system at a deep discount. Not being the type to go back on my word the system sits dormant during the school week and still gets major usage on the weekends.
So I wasn’t surprised when he approached me with the proposition of attending his first concert with his cousin and me.
“Edgefest huh? Hmm. Here are my conditions. #1 you buy my ticket. #2 we will follow the rules set by me and the concert venue. #3 I will keep you both hydrated and sunscreened. #4 I will waive my chaperone fee.”
That last rule came about during the development of another one of my crazy ideas. Last year a neighborhood kid called me and said, “Hey Mrs. F, will you take me to see The Polyphonic Spree? My Mom doesn’t want to go.” What a business that would be – “Don’t want to destroy your hearing while chaperoning your kid? Call me- Mosh Pit Mom. The higher the decibel level, the higher my fee. Dial 1-800 TAKE HIM today. Operators are standing by.” I’ve got to get on that idea. Ooooh, I hope someone wants to take me to the Police reunion tour.
Finally the big day arrives. There is the possibility of being out in the blazing sun from 9:30am when the gates open until 10:30 pm when this thing is scheduled to end. Who couldn’t resist thirteen hours of head-banging fun? Uh, me. After explaining to my son and nephew that rock concerts, unlike the theater, do not start promptly we agree on a reasonable time to leave and off we go.
After we listen to the first band and while the next sets up we wander down to the arena floor and check out the stuff for sale. There’s cheap jewelry, hats and, my personal favorite, the Hawaiian lei made out of silk marijuana leaves. Too funny. Full disclosure here: I have never inhaled. Seriously. Why? Because I know myself and I would LIKE IT. Anyway I am roasting in the sun because I’m wearing long jeans and see a vender selling skirts and the like that must have fallen off some truck somewhere. I ask her for the biggest size she’s got and $20 dollars later I have a slip of denim in hand. Score! My nephew is mortified to learn that his Aunt Linda can pull a skirt on over her jeans and then shuck off the jeans – IN PUBLIC! Oh please, what did I care? In my estimation being able to wardrobe shift in the company of strangers is a life skill.
The boys then go off to check out the scene promising to stay together, keep the cell phones at the ready and check in every half hour. Off they go and now…I’m bored.
I knew going in that this was a ‘no in/no out’ concert. Once you have that ticket scanned you are in for the duration. I walk to the front gate and find a nice ticket taker and try to explain my situation to her. “Look. I’m 42 years old, here with my nephew and kid and I am bored out of my skull. Can I please, please, please go back to my car, get my book and come back in?” She has mercy on me and I make the half mile hike back to the car. I dump my jeans, sweatshirt and then trudge back. I thank the ticket taker profusely and gift her with my extra pair of earplugs.
Back in my seat I am quite the sight. Surrounded by tattooed teens, with my day glo orange ear plugs in I read my Pulitzer Prize winning novel (Middlesex by XXX. Check it out.) and look up and scream ‘YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH! YOU GUYS ROCK!!!!!!!!” at the appropriate times.
At one point the front man for whoever yells, “Let me fuckin’ hear you out there! This is a fuckin’ rock concert. Not church!” He’s right, I was at Mass pre-concert.
In between book chapters I watch people. I see a girl in the mosh pit get tossed over the crowd like a rag doll. As fun as it looks my inner Mom comes out when I involuntarily yell, “Quit that! You’ll get a head injury!” Again it rears its responsible head as I insist that the girls sitting in front of me partake in sunscreen. “You’ll thank me when you’re 40,” I quip.
Since the singers look like little ants from our fabulous seats I watch the two big jumbotrons. The image is a second or two behind the live action making the singers look like the dubbed Japanese actors in the Godzilla movies. There are video screens that flank the jumbos with revolving advertisements. I think the onestating “Randy’s Steakhouse – Dine in Historic Elegance” is wasted on this crowd.
By late afternoon it is official. I am a human ATM. Every time the boys check in there is a plea for money for $5 cokes, $7 corndogs and $25 for a t-shirt. How did I go from cool mom to cash cow? I put my boot clad foot down. “Food first, shirts second. No, wait, no shirts. The only reason to get one is to wear it the next day at school and look incredibly cool. You guys wear uniforms everyday. With the two shirts you already have you can impress away on the weekends.” Off they go again.
I continue to people watch. A trio in front of me has choreographed their head banging. Two bounces forward, three complete turns to the left, one nod backwards, repeat. As I watch I make a mental note to schedule my chiropractor appointment.
A girl goes by with the most impressive tattoo of the night. A huge quote sprawling across her upper back. In Goth letters it states, “Don’t judge me by my failures. Judge me by my dreams.” Interesting, but I think that when she is 80 and the script has morphed to mush she may think that her now fulfilled dream of the tattoo may, in retrospect, prove to be judged a failure. At least it is on her back so she can’t see it all the time.
Finally the headliners take the stage. The crowd has thinned out considerably, probably due to heatstroke or drunkenness I surmise, so the boys and I move forward and are now just behind the security fence that separates the good tickets from the bad. We dance, we sing, it is bliss. Finally the lights come up and the day’s extravaganza is at an end.
As we head to the exit I hope I didn’t cramp the boy’s style too much. I’m proud of them for not balking at my mandate that I go with them. As we trudge up the stairs to the exit I see a man my age wearing a KISS t-shirt with, guess who, Paul Stanley on it. I think of mom and smile.
####
Perhaps it was the memory of that missed opportunity that led me to entertain my 14 year old son’s request to attend Edgefest. This all day, outdoor concert is the equivalent of Woodstock for the alternative rock fan.
It did sound like a must see to me ten years ago when Sarah McLaughlin and the Toadies played. Now that I’m in my forties going to Edgefest sounds more like a ring of hell instead on heaven on earth. But hey – it is defiantly one for the List.
At this point I should give you a bit of background on my kid. At the age of ten he presented me with a contract outlining the conditions for the purchase of a game cube gaming system. He would only play games I approved of, he would shut it off when I requested and he would buy it with his own money. Impressed with his negotiating skill, he must have been hanging around with attorney offspring; I agreed, thinking he could never come up with the cash. We both signed our legal document and I filed it away. Damned if that kid didn’t rake some leaves, take care of a vacationing neighbor’s cat and got a used system at a deep discount. Not being the type to go back on my word the system sits dormant during the school week and still gets major usage on the weekends.
So I wasn’t surprised when he approached me with the proposition of attending his first concert with his cousin and me.
“Edgefest huh? Hmm. Here are my conditions. #1 you buy my ticket. #2 we will follow the rules set by me and the concert venue. #3 I will keep you both hydrated and sunscreened. #4 I will waive my chaperone fee.”
That last rule came about during the development of another one of my crazy ideas. Last year a neighborhood kid called me and said, “Hey Mrs. F, will you take me to see The Polyphonic Spree? My Mom doesn’t want to go.” What a business that would be – “Don’t want to destroy your hearing while chaperoning your kid? Call me- Mosh Pit Mom. The higher the decibel level, the higher my fee. Dial 1-800 TAKE HIM today. Operators are standing by.” I’ve got to get on that idea. Ooooh, I hope someone wants to take me to the Police reunion tour.
Finally the big day arrives. There is the possibility of being out in the blazing sun from 9:30am when the gates open until 10:30 pm when this thing is scheduled to end. Who couldn’t resist thirteen hours of head-banging fun? Uh, me. After explaining to my son and nephew that rock concerts, unlike the theater, do not start promptly we agree on a reasonable time to leave and off we go.
After we listen to the first band and while the next sets up we wander down to the arena floor and check out the stuff for sale. There’s cheap jewelry, hats and, my personal favorite, the Hawaiian lei made out of silk marijuana leaves. Too funny. Full disclosure here: I have never inhaled. Seriously. Why? Because I know myself and I would LIKE IT. Anyway I am roasting in the sun because I’m wearing long jeans and see a vender selling skirts and the like that must have fallen off some truck somewhere. I ask her for the biggest size she’s got and $20 dollars later I have a slip of denim in hand. Score! My nephew is mortified to learn that his Aunt Linda can pull a skirt on over her jeans and then shuck off the jeans – IN PUBLIC! Oh please, what did I care? In my estimation being able to wardrobe shift in the company of strangers is a life skill.
The boys then go off to check out the scene promising to stay together, keep the cell phones at the ready and check in every half hour. Off they go and now…I’m bored.
I knew going in that this was a ‘no in/no out’ concert. Once you have that ticket scanned you are in for the duration. I walk to the front gate and find a nice ticket taker and try to explain my situation to her. “Look. I’m 42 years old, here with my nephew and kid and I am bored out of my skull. Can I please, please, please go back to my car, get my book and come back in?” She has mercy on me and I make the half mile hike back to the car. I dump my jeans, sweatshirt and then trudge back. I thank the ticket taker profusely and gift her with my extra pair of earplugs.
Back in my seat I am quite the sight. Surrounded by tattooed teens, with my day glo orange ear plugs in I read my Pulitzer Prize winning novel (Middlesex by XXX. Check it out.) and look up and scream ‘YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH! YOU GUYS ROCK!!!!!!!!” at the appropriate times.
At one point the front man for whoever yells, “Let me fuckin’ hear you out there! This is a fuckin’ rock concert. Not church!” He’s right, I was at Mass pre-concert.
In between book chapters I watch people. I see a girl in the mosh pit get tossed over the crowd like a rag doll. As fun as it looks my inner Mom comes out when I involuntarily yell, “Quit that! You’ll get a head injury!” Again it rears its responsible head as I insist that the girls sitting in front of me partake in sunscreen. “You’ll thank me when you’re 40,” I quip.
Since the singers look like little ants from our fabulous seats I watch the two big jumbotrons. The image is a second or two behind the live action making the singers look like the dubbed Japanese actors in the Godzilla movies. There are video screens that flank the jumbos with revolving advertisements. I think the onestating “Randy’s Steakhouse – Dine in Historic Elegance” is wasted on this crowd.
By late afternoon it is official. I am a human ATM. Every time the boys check in there is a plea for money for $5 cokes, $7 corndogs and $25 for a t-shirt. How did I go from cool mom to cash cow? I put my boot clad foot down. “Food first, shirts second. No, wait, no shirts. The only reason to get one is to wear it the next day at school and look incredibly cool. You guys wear uniforms everyday. With the two shirts you already have you can impress away on the weekends.” Off they go again.
I continue to people watch. A trio in front of me has choreographed their head banging. Two bounces forward, three complete turns to the left, one nod backwards, repeat. As I watch I make a mental note to schedule my chiropractor appointment.
A girl goes by with the most impressive tattoo of the night. A huge quote sprawling across her upper back. In Goth letters it states, “Don’t judge me by my failures. Judge me by my dreams.” Interesting, but I think that when she is 80 and the script has morphed to mush she may think that her now fulfilled dream of the tattoo may, in retrospect, prove to be judged a failure. At least it is on her back so she can’t see it all the time.
Finally the headliners take the stage. The crowd has thinned out considerably, probably due to heatstroke or drunkenness I surmise, so the boys and I move forward and are now just behind the security fence that separates the good tickets from the bad. We dance, we sing, it is bliss. Finally the lights come up and the day’s extravaganza is at an end.
As we head to the exit I hope I didn’t cramp the boy’s style too much. I’m proud of them for not balking at my mandate that I go with them. As we trudge up the stairs to the exit I see a man my age wearing a KISS t-shirt with, guess who, Paul Stanley on it. I think of mom and smile.
####
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