Monday, March 31, 2008

Nausea, Hartburn, Indigestion, Upset Stomach, Diarrhea

That's not an ad. Those are the symptoms of whatever our clan has had for the past two weeks. Not fun.

Originally, I thought we'd all gotten sick because of some bio-hazardous material we found in the girl's room. It was moldy cottage cheese, if anyone's wondering. Disgusting, I know. You may be thinking, "What kind of parent lets their kids have cottage cheese in their room long enough for it to spoil?" Well, the kind who doesn't know it's in there because of all the clothes and dolls and stuffed animals constantly covering the floor. And now you may ask, "What kind parent doesn't make their kids clean their rooms, or do it for them?" My response would be, the kind who doesn't want to be a warden or a maid. Both my husband an I have tried to get the kids to be more tidy. We've tried bribing, punishing, rewarding for periods of cleanliness, and even a few unorthodox methods. Nothing. Our kids are slobs. They'll either grow out of it, or, well, I'm not sure what the alternative is. And frankly, I don't want to think about it.

At any rate, it turns out this illness has been going around, and it's not directly related to the putrid finding. The idea that it could have been, however, disturbs me and I believe it may be time to take some drastic measures. In the meantime, we've been drinking lots and lots of water and eating relatively bland foods. This too shall pass...

Updates on our stratagem will be posted in future blogs.

*note: As I was typing this, my husband was taking out the trash (to the dump, we live in the woods). He'd asked the boy to put new liners in the garbage drums. Instead, and I shit you not, both kids decided to climb into them and put the lids on. Oy vey.

Monday, March 17, 2008

It's Been St. Patrick's Day For Hours...

...and I'm still not drunk yet! Although I did have a Guinness with lunch at Ned Devine's in Herndon.

There's only a small percentage of my bloodline that's Irish, yet the German in me accepts any reason to drink beer. Or is it the American in me? I find that a lot of Americans use holidays, especially those with traditions tied to "the old country", to get snockered. Perhaps this is because we're party people. Or, perhaps it's just a way to celebrate our shared American heritage. The U.S. is, after all, a melting pot. And while we've developed our own unique culture in the world, there will always be a throw-back to our roots.

I recently read an article about a bar in NYC whose Irish owner has banned "Danny Boy" from being sung throughout the month of March. (I won't go into the details of his decision, just click on the link if you want to know more.) To that I say, "Lighten Up!!" So what if it's not Irish tradition? We've made it our own tradition, and it happens to coincide with a holiday that originates in a different country. I mean, it's his bar, and he can do whatever he wants, but COME ON!

Whether it's Irish-American, African-American, German-American, Asian-American, Rasta-American, Mexican-American, or Hillbilly-American tradition, it's still American. Nothing makes my heart swell with patriotic pride like fucking up a perfectly good traditional holiday and slapping the suffix American on it. It's just our way of giving props to our forebears while we celebrate our current position as a heterogeneous society. Hell, sometimes we just make them up to show we're still proud of our ancestry, like with Kwanzaa and Columbus Day.

Whatever holiday(s) you prefer to celebrate every year, or however you decide to celebrate is just aces with me. I, like many true blue Americans, prefer alcohol. So drink up! Everyone's Irish-American today!!

Friday, March 14, 2008

Change in all things is sweet*

In about a week, I'm dread-locking my hair. Well, strictly speaking, my husband and my niece will be locking it. There's a lot of it, and it will take several hours. It's definitely at least a two man job. At any rate, it's a big change, and one I'm very much looking forward to. (Forward to which I am looking? Meh, whatever.)

I am a supporter of change. (Not in a politiciany kind of way. I'm not running for office. Ever.) Implementing change in my everyday life is apparently something I do often, and fairly well, I think. I hadn't really noticed the frequency of these alterations until my husband pointed it out yesterday when I made my hair decision. I also hadn't really noticed that these things generally manifest themselves in the form of hair styles. About three years ago, I had my hair bleached and dyed pink, and quite often after I've grown my hair out very long, I get a very short hair cut. I guess it's a safety net, of sorts, since it will grow back to it's previous magnificence eventually. Hur hur. I suppose I'm just not suited for monotony. I'm a happy person in general, but I find I only possess the ability to challenge myself when life throws me a curve ball. However, I can't just sit around waiting for the pitcher, I've got to fire up the pitching machine every now and then. I heart baseball analogies.

This frame of mind probably stems from my childhood experiences (don't they all?). I was quite young when my father was diagnosed with cancer and had his leg amputated, resulting in his inability to support our family the only way he ever knew how (he had been a butcher since he was 15). Unfortunately (as if cancer isn't unfortunate enough to deal with), my mother was so set on returning our lives to "normalcy", she became incapable of making adjustments to start a new life. At the time, of course, we all wanted things to be the way they were. However, over time her obsession made it difficult to acclimate to anything. Even when I moved out in college (which is not necessarily unusual for adult children to do), it seemed to cripple her. I had decided before that, but confirmed at the time, that I would never let the status quo decide what I do with my life. It was scary at first, with no guidance, but I was triumphant. And it was all due to the little changes I made on a daily basis.

I realize that change is not an easy thing to embrace. It is, however, inevitable. And whether you force it or not, change can be a wonderfully exciting thing. It doesn't have to be big or traumatic or even profound, but if you let change into your life, you might just learn a thing or two about who you are and who you're meant to be.

Quotes on change:

There is nothing permanent except change. - Heraclitus

Only in growth, reform, and change, paradoxically enough, is true security to be found. - Anne Morrow Lindbergh

It is never too late to become what you might have been. - George Eliot

He who rejects change is the architect of decay. The only human institution which rejects progress is the cemetery. ~Harold Wilson

It is not necessary to change. Survival is not mandatory. ~W. Edwards Deming

When you are through changing, you are through. ~Bruce Barton

They must often change, who would be constant in happiness or wisdom. ~Confucius

We did not change as we grew older; we just became more clearly ourselves. ~Lynn Hall



*Aristotle

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Money, Gunpowder, And The Salvation Army

Hubby and I have season tickets to The Shakespeare Theater Company in Washington, DC. Last night, we had the pleasure of seeing George Bernard Shaw's Major Barbara. It was brilliant!

Previously at the Sydney Harman Hall Theater, we had experienced complete and utter discomfort. However, we've been personally assured by Michael Kahn, the Artistic Director, that the poor seating problem will be solved in the near future. Meanwhile, we've been moved to the first row of the mezzanine. Boffo. Also, the set was magnificent. I found the use of optical illusion on an already large stage quite remarkable. I also really liked the subtleties, like the red buckets outside the armory sheds (where you're supposed to relinquish any incendiaries) looked astoundingly similar to those the Salvation Army uses for money collection on the street. The following is my review of the play itself, summarized by the roles of the three main characters....

Major Barbara takes place in early 20th century, London, England. Specifically, the play opens "after dinner on a January night in the library at Wilton Crescent." However, for my purposes, that really doesn't matter. I'm not writing a synopsis, I'm blogging about my impressions of the play. Besides, if you get a chance to see it, you should.

Admittedly, I don't know much about Shaw. According to the playbill and Wikipedia, he was a socialist (ah, college!), which seemed odd to me considering his most eloquent and convincing character is an ardent capitalist. Not only is Andrew Undershaft a capitalist, he's a producer of Weapons of Mass Destruction™ and the estranged father of Major Barbara Undershaft, a soldier in the Salvation Army. Often referred to as a silver-tongued devil or Mephistopheles, Mr. Undershaft has the ability to persuade other characters (eventually) and certainly the audience of the importance of war and capital gain in the history of humanity. Salvation, to Undershaft, is in wealth and political power that surpasses all governments. Sin is found in monetary poverty.

Major Barbara Undershaft, on the other hand, has relinquished her comfortable income in order to micromanage the West Ham Shelter for The Salvation Army. Jesus' Army: "Saving souls one piece of bread at a time." In addition to her adamant belief in God and Salvation™, idealism makes her blind to the real social ills of humanity and the recognition of her own exploitation of the financially poor.

Barbara's fiancee, Adolphus Cusins' views represent the middle ground of sorts. Adolphus (Dollie) seems to know right from wrong on a social level, but when it comes to religion and salvation, he has a relativist morality. His participation in the Salvation Army is purely out of love for Barbara, and he is much more inclined to quote Greek philosophy than linger on anything that links his Soul™ to God and Salvation™. He also believes that if One *must* control the world through waging war, at least One can make sure the good guys win.

The catalyst -- in the form of Andrew Undershaft's generous donation to the Salvation Army -- causes Barbara much dismay as she vehemently despises the means by which it was earned. It is enough to send her into a soul searching spiral of self doubt. Of course, that is generally how the catalyst works. Her thirst for saving souls, in the end, outweighs her moral scruples with her father's business, and she agrees to marry Dollie and run the company by his side. This by no means deters her from her higher purpose. On the contrary, Barbara is determined that she will be tested more deeply by saving souls who are physically well fed and spiritually starved.

Conclusion: War happens, people fall on hard times, evangelicals MUST save souls, and morality is relative.

One hundred years later, this play, in my opinion, still has clout. GB Shaw has been immortalized by his spot on observations of humanity and his profound wit. I recommend seeing this play, and particularly this production. Unfortunately it doesn't run for much longer, so see it soon.

I absolutely enjoyed every bit of it!

Credits for Major Barbara:
Directed by Ethan McSweeny
Set Designer, James Noone
Costume Designer, Robert Perdziola
Stage Manager, James Latus

Major Barbara Undershaft, Vivienne Benesch
Adolphus Cusins, Karl Kenzler
Andrew Undershaft, Ted van Griethuysen
... and many others

Sunday, March 9, 2008

This Weekend Rocked My Ass!

This weekend, hubby and I were lucky enough to be kid free. Can you guess what we did? We sat around watching TV.

This seems to be a trend with us. Even though there are plenty of times when we have something planned that requires a kid free period of time, when given the opportunity to randomly do something when the kids are gone, we opt to loaf. Or veg. Or whatever other food groups the situation warrants.

I'm not really sure if that makes us "old" or lazy. Perhaps it's just how it is when you're a parent. Once all the energy required to properly rear a child has been depleted, and the environment is suddenly quiet and zen(ish), it's natural to sit around and do "nothing". Bringing order to chaos is a taxing job, so relentless it feels like a reward to lounge in your favorite chair, and maybe even take a nap. GASP!

There is one thing that bothers me about lazing around while the kids are gone. I feel like I should be taking advantage of the time by reorganizing the disaster the shorties inevitably leave in their wake. Let me explain further. I don't feel this way because I give a shit about repairing the state of, well, disrepair. It's because so many other parents (moms mostly, and furthermore, MY mom) think that, as a parent, your work is never done. They believe this so much, they actually implement peer pressure to make themselves feel justified. More on that in future blog posts.

In the meantime, I say "FUCK THAT!" The ol' man and I wanted to sit around watching TV, then eat, then drink beer, then watch more TV, then fuck, then go to bed. And that is exactly what we did.

Saturday, March 8, 2008

Dirty Jobs...

...are not for the fainthearted. And Mike Rowe is a dirty, dirty man.

I've just jumped on this fandwagon recently, and I must admit I had no idea how many dirty, filthy, and very necessary jobs there are that make our lives easier. I've been to farms, I've worked in nasty restaurants, and I've had two kids, but Mike Rowe really knows how to find the dirtiest of the dirty. This is largely--Mike would say entirely--due to fan suggestions.

In this television clusterfuck of reality TV idiocy, Dirty Jobs is a ray of sunshine. The handsome host thing has been done to death, but Mike Rowe really gets into his job. He's artificially inseminated pigs, changed a giant pump in a sewer treatment facility, salvaged a toilet flooded basement, and has even wrestled an alligator. He only does each job for one day, but it's all him. On-the-job training has a new meaning. Especially considering a vast number of the people he works with have gotten degrees to do what they do, and the rest have been doing it since they were just tots. (That's a potato farmer joke, for those who haven't seen the show.)

From a viewer's perspective, Mike Rowe's snarky comments and earnest interest in the jobs he "slows down" are refreshingly entertaining. He makes his crew as much a part of the show as the workers he highlights. After all, they're "in it" with him. He enjoys himself (mostly, I'm sure, because he only has to do each job for one day), and sincerely appreciates meeting and working with the people he meets.

His father was a pig farmer, and as an actor who was often in between jobs, Mike started this show as a tribute to him. His resume is quite impressive. Especially now that he's been doing this "gig" for three seasons.

Ranging from bug breeding, to exterminator, and abalone feeder to fish farmer, Mike Rowe has done it all. Or so you'd think. He still insists at the end of each episode that he'll soon be out of a job (dirty or otherwise) if his fans don't keep sending in suggestions. From what I've seen, there's no shortage of dirty jobs, at least not in the near future. Not for nothing, but if Mike Rowe wants dirty, he can watch my kids for a weekend. They're not even in diapers anymore. ;)

Bus Stop Adventures

So even though my blog is new, I have written a few rants in the form of emails to my friends. (Sorry, friends). Also, really things like this don't happen to me very often re: "events that warrant ranting emails", so I've dug this gem out of my archive:

Subject: Crazy Bitch

Some crazy woman yelled at me today at the school bus stop. What would provoke such a thing, you ask? Well, here is my story of terror and awe:

You see, there's only enough room for two cars in the lot right outside our "gate" at the bottom of the hill. This woman decided to take up as much room as she could without looking like a total douche when she saw that I was going to park next to her. (Of course, she WAS a douche, but that's farther along in the story.)

A few minutes after my son, and the other young boy I pick up, got to the car, they noticed a bug on the inside of the window. My son carefully opened the door so as NOT to hit the SUV, and I watched him stand between the SUV and the door while he swatted the bug away. Just after that, the woman moved her vehicle (finally) further away from my car.

OK, here it comes....

As soon as the high school bus showed up, she got out of her car and huffed over to my window. She started yelling about how my son had "FLUNG the door open" and hit her car. Whatev. She went on and on about how she paid for her car, and "I don't know, I guess you didn't pay for yours since you clearly don't care about damaging it!" WHAT?! I thought about the pod that had landed in my backyard and how my car had sprung from within it, but I didn't have the heart to tell her that that's REALLY where cars come from. Clearly, she's a hard working individual and must be acknowledged for her accomplishments. So I reminded her that there was a sign that I was parked right up next to which prevented me from parking further away from her. Her response, "I don't care! You could have parked up the hill!" To which I responded, "So could you." Then, and you're never gonna believe this, she says: "I WAS HERE (.59 seconds) BEFORE YOU!!!" FIRSTIES! She called FIRSTIES! Can you believe it?! No, that's something you do on the playground, or MAYBE when you only have 2 items in the checkout line at the grocery store and the person next to you has two cartfuls.

Anyway, I managed to snap a picture of her before I had to roll up my window from all the spittle. Tomorrow, I WILL CALL FIRSTIES! And if I'm lucky, KING OF THE HILL!!

Crazy beeyoch!

My first blog ever..... re: Jonathan Coulton @ The Birchmere

As the title suggests, this is my first blog. It's been many moon cycles since I've even so much as kept a journal. I often find my writing pretentious, but, ya know, whatever. At least it's there.

I digress. The subject of my first shiny new blog (also found in the title) is a brief review of the magnificent show I had the privilege of attending last eve: Jonathan Coulton and Paul & Storm at the Birchmere in Alexandria, VA. Here goes:

O.....M.....F......G......Z!!!!! The show was amazing! I laughed so hard!

There was a point during Paul and Storm's set where I shouted out "EDDIE PRAEGER!" (because The Ballad of Eddie Praeger is my favorite song of theirs). So Paul sez, "Eddie Praeger?" And I said, "Yeah! You didn't play it last time!" And he said, "OH, ok...... MOM!" And they totally played it! They're totally my bitches! (I know, I'm such a huge nerd!) Also, it's tradition to throw panties up on to the stage during their performance of Opening Band, and the pair we threw (with a $5 bill stuck on by a lovely P&S pin) wound up in Paul's pants. Hilarious!!

And of course, JoCo was awesome, and funny, and handsome! He played a few more of his new songs (not Beige Bear, though we gave him a beige bear anyway), but there were many classics as well. The encore included The First of May and...... wait for it.... Sweet Caroline! He had done that song as a joke the last time he was at the Birchmere and everyone on the rest of the tour started requesting it. It comes 'round full circle. ;) He also did a similar cover tangent during his performance of Soft Rocked By Me, including such soft rock hits from the 70s as songs-that-I-always-recognize-but-never-know-the-names-of. Sorry. It would have been better if I was taking notes on the lyrics. I was just having too much fun!

Seriously people, if you have the privilege of seeing JoCo (and hopefully Paul and Storm as well) in your town, DO IT!