You let your mind out somewhere down the road

Links you can use. For good or evil. Links like a dandelion spreading its seeds on the wind,  links like sugar, Johnny Applelink, Malcolm Gladwell's Link.

You know, links you might find mildly or wildly interesting.

David Cay Johnston gives us a Tale of Two Healthcare Plans. Warning: contains graphs, charts and the mention of taxes.

Paul Krugman (who had a cameo in Get Him to the Greek, much to my surprise and delight because if I have to sit through a film featuring Russell Brand and a scene where his character demands that his handler smuggle drugs up his butt (the handler's not his own), then I'm going to need some sort of smartypants liberal elite elixir to provide some balance. One can't sue Hollywood for brain atrophy, can one?) Where was I? Oh, yes, Paul Krugman. His piece on obstruction and exploitation. Also known as <redacted>.

I'm trying to not curse. It's an experiment, an exercise in self restraint.

Which reminds me, I'm listening to the audio version of Frank Delaney's Venetia Kelly's Traveling Show: A Novel of Ireland and have laughed uproariously while driving to and from work. Which is saying something because lately I have been in one pissed off and holler mood. To crack this marble face takes some true comedic talent.

I bring this up because in the book, there's a character who seasons every sentence with a sulfuric dash of that oh so versatile word fuck. When the narrator reports any conversations he has with said cuss monster, his mother insists he use flock instead of the other very bad word.

To wit:

...why in the flock does she need a flocking ladder to get to the flocking flowerboxes when I flocking told her that I would flocking help her in a few flocking minutes.......

It is perfect, of course, with the Irish brogue.

Douglas Coupland offers some advice to writers. Specifically, to young writers, but who's to say what's young anymore? I'm not biologically young, but my writing is young. Anyway, it's a bullet point list so it won't wear you thin with paragraphs and contains some points I haven't seen elsewhere in my search for enlightenment about writing (a procrastination tactic familiar to writers the world over.)

Gwynne Watkins interviews Amanda Palmer.

Super8. Have you seen it? Sophie interrupted her own raving about it to ask me to watch it with her. I said I'd watch a few minutes and then probably get back to whatever it was I'd been doing. Two hours later, I was still glued to the television. It held my interest enough that I didn't multitask once during the entire viewing and it made an ELO fan out of Sophie.

Bra Recycling. Surprisingly, I don't mean turning bras into charming chapeaux. Although one could, I suppose, but let's leave MathMan out of this.

I'm reading Rachel Maddow's Drift: The Unmooring of American Military Power. Talk about taxing my ability to remain curse word free. I'm only up to the part about how Reagan funded the Contras in Nicaragua and have already worn out the phrases holy shit, motherfucker, Jesus Christ, What the hell? and I'll be damned.

Please just stop. For all that was good and holy in Mrs. Johnson's 7th grade language class, please. Stop.

And finally Fred Armisen on Alec Baldwin's Here's the Thing. Via the incomparable Bob Lefsetz. If you've been asking if you should keep chasing your dream, you must listen to this.

What's making you click these days?

30 Day Photography Challenge - 13 Things

First I took a photo of myself with thirteen books that meant something to me.

Okay now that I got that out of the way, here's one where you can actually see the books and not simply the narcissist with the camera and a mad penchant for photo editing.

1. Steven King's On Writing given to me by Lola Sharp.

2. The 3 a.m. Epiphany by Brian Kiteley, a gift from Kirie.

3. Trouble De Ville by Steve Denton who has also published the graphic novel Hip Deep Mountain High.

4. Do Not Disturb - Hotel Sex Stories, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. My friend Lillian Ann Slugocki has a deliciously erotic story included.

5. The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. One of my favorite stories ever.

6. The Adderall Diaries by Stephen Elliott. Writer's crush does not even begin to describe it.

7. Betsy Lerner's The Forest for the Trees. This book and Betsy's blog opened up a whole new world of friends to me and I'm forever grateful.

8. The Pat Hobby Stories by F.Scott Fitzgerald. I can still see myself reading these as I munched a turkey on rye with lettuce, tomato and mayo in the cafeteria of the Rotary International building in Evanston, Illinois. Back then it never would have occurred to me that I would take an active interest in the writing of screenplays and scripts.

9. Elizabeth Berg's Say When. It's the first of Berg's books I read. I have quite the collection now. 

10. The Art of Table Dancing by DC Stanfa. Pee your pants funny. DC does things I only wish I had the gonads to do.

11. The Preacher's Bride by Jody Hedlund. As a sore-headed agnostic, I am clearly not the target market for this book, but I was lucky enough to win this from Jody's blog and by page three, was a fan. Between topnotch research and wonderful prose, Jody writes the kind of historical fiction that has broad appeal.

12. The New Bedside, Bathtub and Armchair Companion to Agatha Christie. It's full of detail about the novels and the movies. And Christie's relationship with her characters.

13. Philip Roth's The Plot Against America. I love Roth's novels. This one knocked my sandals off.

And then I had an email exchange with Randal who gave me an idea. He asked if I'd be photographed with thirteen bags of kitty litter? While that would have mass appeal, I'm sure, I don't have thirteen bags of litter hanging around. (I wish!) I thought about other items I could photograph myself with, but ended up dismissing them mostly because I didn't have 13 of this or that.

1. Thirteen cats. (We're six short and I intend to keep it that way.)
2. Thirteen sex toys. (Where would I hide that many?)
3. Thirteen clean towels. (It is to dream.)
4. Thirteen whistles. (I wish I had thirteen whistles!)
5. Thirteen vintage cars. (Alas I am not Jay Leno.)
6. Thirteen jars of olives. (Not even on my best stockpiling trips did I snag that many jars of olives!)
7. A baker's dozen of donuts. (Come one, like they'd survive past the first photo intact?)

Having hit all those brick walls, I went with this which I fondly call The Writer's Life. The sound I was making was like a cross between the yowling the cats make when I don't feed them fast enough and Fran Drescher's laugh.

Geoffrey makes glorious sounds. Please go and tell him that his butt looks fine.
Summer offers swoon worthy sunsets. SWOONWORTHY.

Did we miss anything?

Dictators fall. No, not really. Like an old sitcom featuring Tom Hanks before all those awards cluttered his mantle, they scamper away dressed like women. Or maybe they slither. That seems more fitting. Oh, screw it, I do so enjoy the vision of them tottering away on high heels, confusion clouding their faces. Toe-heel or heel-toe?

Claimstakers and stakeholders clutch their Blackberries. A talisman for today. What does it mean? Perspiration trickles from somewhere to somewhere, a manifestation of their need to have it all interpreted into dollars, euros, small shiny things that mean the world. Hungry, greedy mouths open. Baby birds craving the spin. Up or down, damn it! The uncertainty is killing us.

I scratch at the mosquito bite on my leg. Disinterested in this week's BIG STORY. When is Masterpiece Mystery going to show something new? So who can dance whether they think they can or not? Who survives? What song of Glee? Whom shall I Idolize? What chef mastered, what Kardashian smoked, what did the chiseled-cheekboned forensics beauty say about the body in the library?

The internet is running slow again. The "R" on this keyboard has gone all wonky. How many days can we go before they shut off the water? Could those gas prices come down any sooner? What are we fighting for? How about a kiss. It was only a kiss. Who has the remote? Did you see my......? Got enough money on your account for lunch this week? I found the missing cable, should I send it to you? I've got no service where I am right now. I keep hearing R.E.M. in my head. What were you laughing at in bed last night while I was trying to sleep? Oh, man, which cat did that? Well, let's refreeze them, make sure we cook them well and hope for the best.

I think world domination is one of those things that sounds good in theory, but the practicalities of it are too taxing for the human spirit. Best to leave it to the aliens when they get here.

We would make great pets,

Lisa

P.S. New post at PoliTits. A shorty.

P.S.S. If you've blogged today, please put your link in the comments. My feed reader is out of control and I don't want to miss your posts. Thanks.

A Thousand Kisses Deep

I know it's Wednesday and I'm supposed to post something today, but last night I actually went out and did something social that wasn't demented and sad and now I have a pile of work to do and so writing a blog post is way, way, way down on the list of priorities.

It's not that I don't love you. It's just that I needed last night. I needed to go out and be with adults and listen to some fine, fine music in a beautiful venue. Blame it on the stars that twinkle among the blue and the wispy clouds of the fabulous Fox Theatre. Blame it on the cold that is making me sit here in socks and sandals. Blame it on that gorgeous creature Beth Coffey who suggested the night out in the first place. Wait - don't blame Beth. Thank her. Thank you, Beth.

Because now I release you from the thrall (not) of these words and into the magic that was last night.....

Or this



And oh my - this...



And THIS, and, of course, this, and this.

You know, last night as I sat and just absorbed the music, it occurred to me that the longer I walk this planet, the more I get Mr. Cohen's music......

Until next Wednesday,

Lisa

(photos)

He Feels Pretty

Oh so pretty! He feels pretty and witty and....well you get the idea. And if pretty is as pretty does, Steve of Steve Denies Any Wrongdoing is as beautiful through and through.

Just look what he went and did now. I mean, can a guy get any nicer? Or funnier? And how lucky am I to be showered with this kind of love and support? I could lick the cream off his kitten toes, he's so wonderful.

Just watch. And try not to focus too much on the thought of me licking the cream off his kitten toes. I mean, MathMan banned me from that kind of extracurricular activity. Again. Sheesh! (The prude.)

Thank you, Steve, for the order, the links, the support for my new business and for understanding why my tongue isn't.........well, you get the idea.

Now the rest of you go tell Steve how fabulous his skin looks!

Magpie Brain

Things grab my attention
And won't let go
Even as I flit to the next thing
They hang on.
Other things just get stuck in my craw.
And then there's all the crazy shit that goes on around me.

One.
I listen to NPR and think in the shower. Yesterday as I shaved my legs, I fretted about the people we know in Australia. Were they near those devastating wildfires? FranIAm has the update. Thank you, Fran. Now I can go back to fretting about Jessica Simpson's unfortunate wardrobe choices and practicing singing Red Hot Chili Pepper songs in the shower so I can ace them on Rock Band at the expert.

Two.
A few days ago, Kay posted about her miscarriage. A commenter, anonymous, of course, made some hideous statements about hoping that Kay had learned her lesson about "sleeping around." I was so stunned by the callousness of this commenter who clearly thought he/she was doing some god's work by making such inhumane remarks. I want to make a deal with my religious friends - I will continue to tell my atheist friends to not call you a bunch of superstitious loons if you promise to smack "religious" people around when you see this kind of thing sullying your faith. It's going to take all of us calling bullshit on this kind of intolerance to get past our differences. Thank you.

Three.
Of course Kellogg's would go all priggish on us and cancel Michael Phelps' endorsement because he was caught smoking weed. This comes at a very inconvenient time for Golden Manor. You see, we just stocked up on Kellogg's products because we had coupon build-up. And Kellogg's products were on sale at Publix. So here's the thing - we want to participate in the protest/boycott of Kellogg's. But what do you expect me to do? Leave the boxes of cereal to go to waste? Take them back to Publix? Can you really see me standing in line at the customer service to return Apple Jacks and Pop Tarts?

Don't count us out, though. We're going to boycott from here on. And I've instructed The Spawn that when they do eat the Kelloggs' products, they are NOT to enjoy them and they are to do it with bitterness in their hearts and a very angry face.

I'm doing what I can here, people. And I don't even smoke weed. You read this blog - you get peeks inside my hamster infested brain. I ask you - how would weed enhance this?

Four.
I was fully prepared to shout at the television tomorrow morning when I got my masochistic freak on watching Morning Joe. But this time I had some perspective. The shouting, though ineffective as usual, was oh so much more gratifying.

Five.
Willis blogs. Oh yes he does.

Six.
I found some old journals. Hoo boy, can't wait to see what kind of revelations can be found amongst the whining about old jobs and the perceived horror of being a twenty-something married chick before children. I'm afraid if I really go back and delve into them, I might owe some people big,fat apologies for long forgotten slights and misdeeds.

Seven.
Cupcake has a new name again. We're going to call her Garbo here on the blog. Along with hating school and making herself throw up, now she's got a thing about wanting to be alone. Alone, of course, means in the master bedroom with the good television and crumbly foodstuffs that leave nasty gifties in the bordello bed.

If she keeps this crazy up, we're going to call her Sybil.

She spent all Sunday rotting her brain watching America's Next Top Model. When MathMan sent her to bed, she protested with the kind of vigor reserved exclusively for television-related tantrums. MathMan held firm and directed her to bed. A bit later, his cell phone rang. I watched him across the desk as he answered, a bemused look on his face.

"Daddy...." I could hear Garbo's sweetest, most cloyingly precious voice from where I sat. He smiled as he listened briefly to her pleas. When they reached a crescendo of television withdrawal screechings, he said calmly into the phone, "Listen to my answer...." and then he clicked his hang up button.

I roared with laughter. I'm sure Garbo could hear it from down the hallway where she was probably standing at her door, waiting for her daddy to cave in and say 'Of course you can go watch that stupid program just so I can have some peace and quiet.'

It's always worked before. This new resolve is not sitting well with Garbo. A few seconds later, MathMan's phone rang again. He rejected the call. This time, a text message came through. Turns out, it wasn't a text. It was a picture.....

Her mother ought to tell her that her face is going to freeze like that.

With Singular Focus or a Lack Thereof...

I do believe that the combination of amphetamine and coffee is making me more frantic and manic than usual. I wish I were kidding you. Currently, I am multitasking at unhealthy levels. Even for me.

I'm uploading pictures to flickr. Reading and commenting on blogs, reading work emails and responding to them, working on this post, listening to music, having short online chats with friends, updating contacts in my email, going through my sitemeter to see who is visiting, updating Facebook, twittering (tweeting?), fretting about the upcoming busy weekend, and trying to figure out how to edit a video using Picassa so I can upload it to youtube and bore you to death with a snippet of life from Golden Manor.

Plus my hands feel dry and I need to dig out the lotion from my purse, but if I stop typing now and do that, I'll end up doing six other things before I get back to this post. Now I just paused to read a text message on my phone and before I got back to this post, I checked my gmail and deleted a couple of things without reading them, took a drink of water and thought for a second about opening my flickr tab because pictures have uploaded and I need to tag them and finish the process.

Please, oh please, tell me that you are just as scattered.

I remember when I was a kid and my siblings and I would be sprawled out over our M&M colored beanbags watching The Price Is Right or The Flintstones and my mother would say something to us through the passthrough to the kitchen. Not one of the three of us would respond and she would raise her voice and would finish by bellowing at us that we couldn't do anything when the television was on. Her point was that our focused attention was a bad thing. We were not so easily distracted.

I do believe I have said the same thing to The Spawn. Now I'm thinking that the ability to do just one thing and to focus on it completely is a skill I need to relearn. Seriously.

So, on to the real purpose of this post. I have been asked to dig through my obsessively sorted and categorized photo files because susan has tagged me with the photo meme. I cannot deny susan who thinks possibly naughty things when she sees the milk mustache advertisements, so here goes. Business first, though.

The Rules:

1. Go to the 4th folder in your computer where you store your pictures.
2. Pick the 4th picture in that folder.
3. Explain the picture.
4. Tag 4 people to do the same.


So here is the picture in my 4th folder. My folders go like this: Baseball, Birds, Blogging Pix, Bloomington, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

That is MathMan in 1990 during one of our trips to Indiana. We'd already graduated from Indiana University, where we met and married. When we visited my family in southeastern Indiana, we would typically swing through Bloomington. On this particular trip, we went through the campus and took a bunch of pictures.

MathMan is standing in front of the old arcade at the corner of Kirkwood and Indiana. What was it called? Spaceport or something like that? Anyway, look at him, so young! So hairy! Dang, he was such a hottie back then. (Still is.) No wonder I propositioned him the second time I met him........

Oh, and about that shirt - it was a gift from my parents who had just returned from a cruise. Looking back over the years of grief I have given MathMan, the message on that shirt seems a bit cruel. I think I'd better have a word with my mother about that........of course, she'll have to turn off the television and put down her crossword puzzle so I can speak to her.

Consider yourself tagged, my happy little amphetamines:

Kulkuri
Nan
The Earth Bound Misfit
SaoirseDaily2

Quick Hits

The Actor walks into the kitchen, takes one look at the television and says "I should never have to see Tucker Carlson this early in the day."

I hope Citi flies their new plane over what will soon be the former Golden Manor so they can see how the weeds are growing up so nicely in the once glorious garden (bitter? you bet.)

I like silly.

Don't call him a pansy.

All work and no play does make Jack a dull boy.

Sometimes, things just can't be explained.

Jimmy Eat World. The Middle.

Friday Flashback: High Five

Warning: this post is link-loaded and you won't want to miss any of them. I promise there's a theme here.

Remember back when things were even more angsty at Golden Manor? I was moving out and MathMan was going to stay with the kids and our marriage was crumbling? I know, it seems so long ago now. In fact, it's coming up on a year so I'm using this post for my Friday Flashback. Here's a preview:

The knockdown, drag out verbal fights were rare. Our disagreements were woven with words of biting sarcasm, strained Victorian manners, and really loud, tense silence punctuated by my sighs.

Finally, we're learning to talk to each other. I guess we realize that if we're going to make the divorce work, we're going to have to be more clear with each other. Especially where The Spawn are involved.

When I saw this video via Jill at Brilliant at Breakfast who found it at Crooks and Liars, I laughed because, not only is it wonky funny and loaded with political references, but also because it so beautifully describes how I feel about the political atmosphere right now. It's hard to put into words, this sense of guarded optimism, disgust for the Bush Administration, a desire to push the new Administration to pursue justice and a resolve to take a wait and see approach before I get too impassioned about any of it. Well, I guess I found the words, after all.

Anyway, watch the video and do this - see how many people you recognize. That will tell you just how much of a political geek you are. Me? I bet I got a 98% and the people I missed were pop culture icons and celebrities more than political ones. Yeah, I know. Could I be any more cool? No wonder my friends who are far more hip and wordly than I make those faces when they think I'm not looking.

Oh, and DCap? Your favorite gal is there, too. She looks like she smiling just for you! High Five!

(Picture credits: Found at Facebook. Senior Class Trip to Washington, D.C. March 1984)

Sunday Wander

This morning the only sounds disturbing the quiet of the house are the sounds of me tap-tap-tapping away at this keyboard and the background noise of the movie Only Angels Have Wings . The Pussies for Peace have been fed and at least one of them has likely already hurled its food onto someone's shoe.

Our five minutes of snow last night has now turned to a gentle drizzle. Gloom prevails. When I sent out this morning to feed the outside cat Pyewacket, I noticed an English feel to the air. The finches and sparrows are already squabbling on the feeders. A couple of crows are surveying the ground around the plates of birdseed near the cedar tree.

As I made myself some coffee and a bit of breakfast, I moved quietly around the kitchen. The Actor and two friends are still sleeping in the living room. We were all up really late. They were watching inappropriate movies, killing things electronically and playing a late-night game of hide and seek. Three thirteen year old boys is like a house full of puppies. The longer they sleep, the better.

I took my coffee and went back to bed to nibble some toast with apple butter and flip through the channels. I tried to get my political motor revved by turning on C-SPAN, but they were running an advertisement for a video contest. In my Sunday morning state of mind, I have an abbreviated attention span, so I switched to MSNBC to see that Morning Joe is running a special Hate on the Incoming President edition. No thanks. So Cary Grant it is. With a special nod to runner up Colin Firth who is starring in Girl with A Pearl Earring on IFC. It's Cary Grant's birthday, so of course, I'm going to choose him. Who am I kidding? I would always choose Cary Grant.

It's going to be that kind of day. I may hang out in my room with the computer and the best television in the house all day. The weather is certainly cooperating with that idea. I ran all my errands yesterday and there's food in the house. I might have to cook at some point. The Spawn aren't always satisfied with my half-hearted response of "there's the kitchen, find something" nor can I ply them with pancakes for three meals a day, everyday. I suppose the litter box needs to be scooped, but that can and will be delegated. The couple of loads of laundry that I need to do will easily fit into the breaks from the computer that I should take at some point. If I don't walk away every four hours or so, my fingers start to fuse with the keyboard and I can feel myself getting sucked through the air intake fan, along with gobs of cat hair and dust.

So I will force myself to move about some so that I don't completely atrophy. I don't do it willingly, though.

Yesterday, I noticed, nothing motivates me more to clean a bathroom than knowing that someone else's children will be using it. My own can use a bathroom of their own filthy, careless making, but heaven forbid someone else's child see toothpaste smeared on the sink, a muck flecked mirror, and that hair, dust and pee-splash mosaic at the base of the toilet. So that's done.

So the day stretches out before me with no have to activities written in Sharpie marker on my forearm. Some practice on Rock Band after those other kids leave, I think. I want to perfect my guitar skills. Okay, perfect my be too strong a word. I want to improve. First, I need to ask The Actor to show me again, how to turn the machine on and make the game play.

I love these kinds of days and I'm going to remind The Spawn now how I inted for it to go - obligation free, light of argument and with as few threats of karate chops as possible. MathMan is having fun and working his butt off in chilly Washington, D.C. As that trip unfolds, it's getting more intriguing. They are really getting to do some very cool things. For updates, you can follow him on Twitter. He's tweeting the trip.


Oh, and about Cupcake. She and I had a swell time alone yesterday. We shopped for shoes, went to the library and stocked up on groceries and junk food for the long weekend (good thing since we ended up with a case of The Boys). She survived her time with me and I didn't lose my temper with her. I asked her about school and it really does come down to the fact that, much like her mother, she hates being obliged to be somewhere everyday. She likes to wake up each morning and just let the wind take her. I laughed when we discussed this and thought about myself as a college student. I'd wake up every morning and decide if I was going to class or not. No wonder I never reached that much-rumored potential, thus disappointing my mother, The Big R.

Speaking of The Big R., I talked to her on the phone last night and mentioned the drama surrounding Cupcake's dislike of going to school. She reminded me that I went through something similar in the second grade. I didn't want to leave my much-loved teacher at the end of the year so I started feeling sick all the time. I'd remembered that I'd gone through something like that and I was grateful to The Big R for filling in the details. Maybe I can use that to help Cupcake sort out her own feelings about what's going on and get her back on track.

So now I've wandered all over this house and said very little with too many words. If you're still with me, thank you for spending a bit of your Sunday with me. I guess it's time for a little more coffee. I'd better check to see what The Spawn and friends are getting up to, as well. I can hear some movement of creatures larger than cats around the house........