Wanna join our Dead Pool?

David Carradine, Farrah, Ed McMahon, Michael Jackson, Billy Mays.

OK, let me make a quick confession: unlike everyone in America, I really do not care.

I had no brothers, growing up, so Farrah Faucett's poster was not an important feature. Loved Charlie's Angels, I did, but...that's it.

I did not watch the Tonight Show or Kung Fu. Given the choice between TV and sleep, I almost always pick sleep.

And although I enjoyed the Jackson 5 and Off the Wall and Thriller, once the whole "child molester" stuff came out, I lost interest.

Billy Mays annoyed the living bejebers out of me, but I do buy OxyClean.


Today, the Sons spent a good bit of time Yelling at Each Other as an homage to Mr. Mays.

And then we got to thinking: Who is next?
Hubby picked: Billy Joel
Son #1: David Letterman
Son #2: Samuel L. Jackson
Son #3 George Foreman
Son #4 Billy Joe Armstrong
Me: Walter Cronkite

Clearly, some members of the family take this much less seriously than others. Samuel L. Jackson? Really?

So, what famous individual do you think is next to go?

Oh, and as for Shoe of the Day: I realized upon examination of my closet that the rest of my shoes are either winter-specific or appropriate only for the dance floor. So, y'all will just have to do without images of my fabulous feet.

Ahhh...sorta orderly

I did what I needed to for work, today, and then spent the rest of the day putting the house back together, with assistance from the Sons, who really should not blow smoke at me when I ask them to hold things together while I'm away.

It is 7pm and things are no worse than any ordinary evening, so I figure I'll reload the dishwasher and head out to a meeting that has intrigued me ever since I saw it in the paper a month or two ago: Free Market Economics Reading Group.

I didn't hear about tonight's meeting until today, and obviously the book everyone read is unavailable at the library (and I was sweeping birds' nests off the garage shelves, and making quiche, in any case) so I am going to the meeting like an ignorant ragamuffin.

But a ragamuffin with Interesting Shoes, anyway. These were just cheapie Wal-Mart clearance shelf shoes, but I have enjoyed them for 3 summers now.

Have you noticed? We Short Chicks enjoy a 4 inch platform, now and then.

Obviously, you are not a golfer

Yesterday I covered a golf tournament in Gainesville, VA.

I am sunburned and tired and the house is a mess, even though the boys assured me it was clean both times I called, yesterday afternoon, but I have to work on my article & the photos today so the house is going to stay a mess and I am going to stay tired and aloe vera is my friend.

And here is yesterday's Shoe of the Day: These, I love.

SOTD reprise: Red Sandals at Night

OK, I looked at the photo of today's shoes and just hate them.

Anyone want them? Worn twice, size 7. I think I have several other colors, worn once, by my mother. Honest, they are all yours...

So I changed into something better, to improve my mood

Hubby Holds a Bass, YOU Decide

Hubby ordered a new bass. UPS lost it.

MUCH wailing and gnashing of teeth ensued.

He called the company and they sent him a second bass. Then UPS found, and delivered, the original.

The joy has been overwhelming. Trust me. If you have a musician in your life, you know.

So now Hubby has two new basses and has to decide which one he wants to keep.

Musically, they are identical. Sterling by Music Man. He is in love. But does he want the jet black, or the honeyburst?

He asked my opinion and I can't really muster one.

HELP!

Here they are>Which one should he keep? Which one goes back to the factory?

He has 45 days to decide, so please send all your musically inclined/design oriented/time wastey friends my way, so they can take a gander and vote.

(oh, yeah, and so they can become hooked on my particular style of bloggage. So send your friends with foot fetishes, too, as this is a great time to see shoes).

Speaking of: the SOTD. I do not like these shoes. Maybe I will like them in the fall, when they are not HOT. But as it is, they are not only hot, they are boring. They are another of the "Mom bought shoes she can't wear, so she passed them on to me" collection. We do not generally share taste in shoes, but these are OK for when I want to look boring and professional, right? I need to go someplace nice, so I can put on a cute, strappy sandal. Or maybe I'll just wear some cool shoes anyway...

The Napkin Mafia is After Me

Today I went to the library. The parking lot is large (it's a pretty new library) and it was about 2/3 empty.

I turned into the spot I'd chosen; to my left, was a minivan. Its front and rear passenger doors were open, and a woman was standing in the doorway getting children out of the car.

To my right was the last space in the row, occupied by a very small car--like a Mini Cooper. Tiny clown car. It was parked waaaaay to the right side of its space, right near the curb.

So, to make room for the family on my left, and taking advantage of the space left by the tiny car on my right, I parked about 8 inches away from the extended open door to my left. Perfect fit all around, and as I said the parking lot was mostly empty in any case.

I went in to the library...browsed...decided, as I often do, that I probably have something at home to read, instead...picked up the book that was waiting for Hubby...went out to my car.

Where I found a napkin, tucked under my windshield wiper. Written on the napkin, in big capital letters:

"YOU ASSHOLE;
PARK YOUR SHIT
BETWEEN THE
LINES---
NOT ON THEM
LAST WARNING"

I looked around: No one seemed to be watching my car. And, just as it had been when I arrived, the parking lot was mostly empty.

I'm not at all sure what the "warning" means. Should I bring the napkin to the library security guard and ask him to protect me and my car from violent threats?

Just, you know, FYI: Sometimes, when you come across a car parked in a strange position, it is because that was a safer, more courteous position than the traditional. Not everyone is intentionally parking to irritate.

Also FYI: My name is not Asshole. It is Christine.

Nice ta meetcha.

And the SOTD: Mom bought these, can't wear them, handed them off. Not my usual style, but comfy.

Monday: Sneakers and Places One Cannot Sneak

Monday morning, and here are the sneakers:


And where can't you sneak? Lancaster, Penn.

Up until this morning, you said "Lancaster" and I would say "mmmmmm pretzels." Because that is where I went on a tour of a pretzel factory, as a child.

(trust me, "mmmmmmm")

Saw this, though, and thought, "Hmmmmm....Orwell."

I can understand the appeal of faster police response and less low-level street crime. But my concern is, what happens when someone with more, um, Progressive plans for Lancaster decides that other things should be reported?

Like that chick eating a cheeseburger in her car?
Or the guy smoking a cigarette?
(When medical care is run by the state, will those things become crime?)
Are the people of Lancaster opening themselves up to harassment for, say, congregating in a public area for a political rally or a religious meeting?

Right now, the people who run the system and the government officials who contract with them are all saying they only want information on crime. But this technology must be really tempting stuff. If the officials decide they really should be more hands-on about the way citizens live, what's to stop them?

What's to stop them putting those cameras in ever more intrusive places, too?

Shoe of the Day: A Personal Challenge

I was talking with a friend the other day and mentioned that I pretty much always wear flip-flops in the house. And then I looked down at my flip-flops and thought, "Those things are tired.

And so, in the interests of happy feet, I am going to wear a different pair of shoes every day and post a photo here. Not that you care. Just because if I have to post a photo, it will encourage me to think about it, instead of just sliding into the shoes next to the bed and leaving it at that.

Here are the Shoes of the Day for Saturday night:


Kinda beat, but they match the stripe in my shirt.

And Sunday:



Also kinda beat, but a comfy, low heel perfect for being barely functional on a lazy Father's Day.

Sometimes, being a woman IS a qualification

Last night was Blues Jam. It was a quiet one, as often happens in summer. And although that disappointed a few people, the musicianship was on a decent level and fun was had by just about everyone. Also, as it turned out, I am very glad the bar was not full by the end of the evening.

I was driving. Since the accident, I am more aware than usual of things on the right-hand side of the car. Yeah, especially big, fast trucks that might want to jump out of the sky and crash into me. That's the only reason I can come up with for noticing the man on the side of the road, when Hubby did not.

He was lying in the ditch, his head resting in the gravel just a few inches from the line marking the edge of the road.

Hubby called 911 even before he reached the man. Fortunately, he was only passed out on the side of the road. He jumped up and started staggering away, arguing with Hubby.

"I'm not passed out, I'm on my way home."

Hubby explained that yeah, he was on his way home, and he should get in our car. But the guy was not having it. He was sure the police were coming, and equally sure that he was not all that drunk, he was just fine, Hubby didn't have to help him, everything was cool, he was not passed out or even sleeping on the side of the road, he was "just pissed off, so I left."

Hubby kept trying to get the guy to get in our car, as I slowly drove behind them with my hazard lights on. And I could tell: this guy was definitely not going to listen to Hubby. You could just see it in him:

"No way is this guy gonna tell ME I'm too drunk to walk home. I'm FINE."

He was oblivious. I don't think he even saw my car, behind him. And that is when it hit me: I have a secret weapon.

I leaned out the window and as sweetly as I could I said, "Hi, hon, can I give you a ride?"

"Sure. OK." And he hopped right in, as fast as Hubby could get the door open for him.

Turns out it was his 32nd birthday, and he'd been drinking since before noon, and had gotten into some sort of tiff at the bar we'd just left. It was a little after 1 a.m. He'd gotten about halfway home before settling, somehow, in the ditch by the side of the road.

Times like that, you don't need a man to help you. You don't need some guy making you feel like a lonely drunk on his birthday. What you need, maybe, is a woman.

I'm glad we were there.

I so needed this headline, a few weeks ago

"Mother fought off cougar..."

Because that is pretty much what I did.

Only I didn't save my toddler. I just deflected some unwanted attention from Son #1.

Honestly, the woman who was all giggly-stupid over him, at the orthodontist's office, is too old for Hubby, ok? She has the oldness. She has no reason to get all up in a 17-year-old's business, especially if said 17-year-old is in her workplace, and got there in his mom's car.

Am I painting a picture, here?

Son #1 was fairly oblivious. He just thought the woman agreed with everything he said, and sat really close to him, and laughed all the time, because he is a genius.

Yeah, Son #1 is a guy, alright. Were things reversed, I am sure a daughter would have, in the car, said, "Ewwww, Mom, that old man was totally hitting on me! Gross!"

Last week, I saw The Cougar again. I resisted the urge to tell her how very unprofessional and pathetic her behavior had been.

Honestly, though, Son #1 is stalked by cougars pretty much all the time. Women of a Certain Age need to get a grip.

Yeah, well, so I'm well-rounded

Y'all are used to me raving about the latest blues jam or Hubby's rock bands. And it's true, that is the sort of stuff I listen to most of the time.

But then again.

Last summer I was sent on assignment to a local concert series: classical, opera, stuff I almost never listen to, etc. And I had a great time (although, yeah, I left when the opera started, because I just was not into that).

So, in the interests of Trying New Things Like a Grown-Up, I decided that I would consider returning this summer, if there was anything that piqued my interest.

And this Friday, there is. Dvorak, I like. And live, I think, would be tremendous, as I was much impressed by the sound system.




Now, we just have to hope it doesn't get rained out.

Pray for me

Today, as Hubby was leaving for work after coming home for lunch, he called to remind me that we have some overgrown vines in the front yard.

Oh, dear.

As you may recall, I got a wicked case of poison ivy a few weeks back. I'm still a tad itchy, even. I've been avoiding the yard like poison BECAUSE IT IS FULL OF POISON.

But he is right. The yard needs help.

And so, I am wearing long pants and long socks and a long-sleeved shirt and gloves, in the heat, hoping to protect myself. I'm only going to stay out there for one hour, to minimize the potential for exposure, because I have proven to myself that I could not identify poison ivy to save my skin. And then I am going to shower with dish soap, because I read that works.

After that I think maybe a sage smudge, and a couple times through the rosary, and I'll donate cash to Benny Hinn, and anything else y'all suggest. Because I hate poison ivy, but I don't need the yard looking like we are bucking for Rednecks of the Week, either.

Why we are so darn fat, reason #632:

Two things you need to know about this picture:
The hand belongs to Son #2, who is 6'3" tall. In other words, it's a big hand.

The soda is a size "medium".

For all of you who have lost your jobs...

I'm shocked, really, to see it all over. This is nothing like anything I can remember, ever. I'm pulling for you, all of you.

Sometime soon...

Son #1 will graduate, and move on. And I can see it, in the distance, in a way I could not, before. And I feel a little sad. Proud, happy, but sad.

And all that is normal.

But what am I going to do, when I am getting ready to leave the house, and I don't have someone who will give me an honest, gentle evaluation of my outfit?

AAAAAH

Get ready, world, Christine is going to look kinda "off" when Son #1 moves on, because none of the other men in the house seem interested.

The Presidential Oath of Office has penumbras & emanations too, now?

"I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States."

--the Presidential Oath of Office

"I consider it part of my responsibility as President of the United States to fight against negative stereotypes of Islam wherever they appear."

--President Obama, in Cairo this week

I keep looking for "Defender of the Faith" in there, but I just don't see it.

Clearly, I need to update my gaming skillz

"Mom, you're the Tetris Wizard. It's sorta like the Pinball Wizard's sister."

Yeah, that is the kind of stuff Son #3 says, on a regular basis. Sad, really, because I have not played Tetris in a very long time.

Is that Ed Asner? Yes, it is.

Hubby spotted Ed Asner's voice yesterday, during UP. It always amazes me how he can identify people by voice, because that is something I almost never can do. Even people I know. Yes, I have had some awkward telephone conversations, over the years. Half of you sound exactly alike, I swear. I'm sorry.

But good grief you should go see UP. It is terrific. The texture of the animation is just precisely right. The characters are fun. There's plenty to think about, genuine emotion and adventure and ohmanthatmoviewasgreat.

Son #2 was intrigued by the inclusion of a couple of Asian characters (who didn't make a big deal about being Asian.)

Hubby was surprised that a Pixar movie could show blood. But, don't let that scare you. They're pretty good about sweetening all the danger so smaller kids don't have to worry.

Gotta warn you, though, about half an hour in, the Sons and I were all in agreement that it was the saddest, most depressing cartoon ever.

Yes, worse than Dumbo.

So, pile all your emotionally fragile friends into the theater and watch. It's a great movie.