N has been carrying his pumpkin around the house with him, flameless candle aglow, and leaving it places: the living room, the playroom, on the blue chair next to his bed. It is both endearing and a little creepy.
Not sure why they put small amounts of candy into tiny bags and call them "fun size." What's so fun about six peanut m&ms? Ask any kid and they'll say a five-pound package would be loads more fun and maybe then they'd share a few with you.
This is it. I absolutely refuse to answer the phone until after the election. Even if I recognize your name and number I'm still suspicious that you're going to try and tell me why I should vote for your candidate.
Just leave a message.
Larissa at Papa is a Preacher invited me to participate in my first-ever blog hop. And let me just say outright - I was thrilled to be asked. That was last Thursday. And then the link up closed and like many a project around my house - I didn't get it done.
You see there was this caveat - not the part about commenting on other people's blogs, that I can do - it was coming up with something of my own to post.
What do you mean you couldn't think of something to post? You post to this blog all the time.
Yes, yes, I know. But I post a sentence or two. An observation. A Seinfeldism. A random thought. Nothing in complete paragraphs that I could show my ninth-grade English teacher. That's right, get your head out of that Edward Gorey book Ms. Spring - I'm talkin' to you. Little of substance.
I sometimes marvel at bloggers who write daily missives. Where do they get their inspiration? Who's hanging the laundry and prepping dinner while they are writing?
I also know that there's many a site out there to provide inspiration for bloggers block in the form of various prompts and themes and five-minute free-form writing assignments. That I don't participate is my own lack of commitment I suppose. Or maybe it's something deeper.
I want to participate. I really do. I guess I just feel funny about admitting that I'm writing for an audience. That it's not just an online journal and oh look you happen to have found it. Picking a theme or participating in the chat means the jigs up - I do care. There. Fine. I said it. I care. I want you to read this. I want you to like me. I really do.
I feel a bit like Maurice Sendack's Pierre. Now can I fold the folding chair?
Dear Mr. Truck Driver, I understand why you swerved into my lane today to avoid running over the squashed skunk on the middle of your lane. Who wants to run over stinky roadkill? My only concern is that you pulled all the way across the center line right in front of me, and you see it's like this - I'm still alive and would like to stay that way - the skunk was already dead.
Yesterday's NY Times contained a tech story about apps and included a rated listing of apps which have the sole purpose of suggesting to people what apps they ought to buy. Your personal app shoppers. The thought being, there are so many apps out there, you really need an app just to keep up with them. Woah. If you don't know an app exists isn't that proof that you don't need it? Are you better or worse off for knowing about apps that you previously didn't know about? Apps seem like they are getting more existential all the time. If an app falls in the forest, does it make a sound? What is the sound of one app clapping? Have we all gone app happy? I confess. I'm not a fan of apps. You might say I'm anti-app. Though you could also argue that since I'm app-less I'm just suffering from app envy. In which case maybe apps are more Freudian that existential.
In retrospect it would have been easier if I had given my kids names like Stupid, Butt Butt Brains, Stinky, and Poo Poo Head If I had - then when one of them runs over to me and says, "Mommy! He just called me Stupid," I could say - well that's your name isn't it?
My parents celebrated their golden wedding anniversary this weekend.
This means, among other things, that for 50 years my mother has gone to the Congregational church in Waquoit every Sunday while my dad has faithfully attended the Catholic church on Main Street. For half a century neither has tried to convert the other.
Perhaps this is the secret to a successful marriage.
Don't try to convert one another.
Nowhere Man (The Beatles)
Ramblin Man (Allman Brothers)
Travelin Man (Ricky Nelson)
Wanted Man (Johnny Cash)
Magic Man (Heart)
Lucky Man (Emerson, Lake & Palmer)
Southern Man (Neil Young)
Old Man (Neil Young)
Better Man (Pearl Jam)
Rocket Man (Elton John)
Particle Man (They Might Be Giants)
Macho Man (Village People)
Walking Man (James Taylor)
Candy Man (Sammy Davis Jr.)
Back Door Man (The Doors)
Ordinary Average Man (Don Henley)
Well Respected Man (the Kinks)
New World Man (Rush)
Sharp Dressed Man (ZZ Top)
Hurdy Gurdy Man (Donovan)
Guitar Man (Bread)
Piano Man (Billy Joel)
Poetry Man (Phoebe Snow)
Mr. Tambourine Man (The Byrds)
Street Fighting Man (Rolling Stones)
Secret Agent Man (Johnny Rivers)
Devil Woman (Cliff Richard)
Hard Headed Woman (Cat Stevens)
Woman in Black (Foreigner)
Black Magic Woman (Santana)
Evil Woman (ELO)
Witchy Woman (The Eagles)
L.A. Woman (The Doors)
Pretty Woman (Roy Orbison)
American Woman (Guess Who)
Kentucky Woman (Neil Diamond)
Natural Woman (Aretha Franklin)
Coconut Woman (Harry Belafonte)
Honkey Tonk Woman (Rolling Stones)
Here's a brief list of song titles with the word man in them. And a second list featuring the word woman.
From what I can see guys seem to have it over the ladies when it comes to song titles.
Guys get to be carefree, rugged, rambling, or slightly dangerous.
Women on the other hand get to mostly be mean, stubborn or satanic.
That and the Candy Man and the Coconut Woman should get together.
an excerpt from Cheap: The High Cost of Discount Culture by Ellen Ruppel Shell
Few IKEA outlets in the US are accessible by public transportation and since the company does not support a home delivery service, customers willing and able to take public transport rarely do so. As a result, the traffic jams surrounding IKEA stores are so gnarly that customers are discouraged from shopping on weekends when lines of idling cars can back up for miles. IKEA touts its 'green side' by lighting its stores with low-wattage bulbs and charging extra for plastic bags while its clientele burns through gallon after gallon of fuel to buy disposable tables and lamps. Asked his assessment of company practices, MIT-trained urban development expert Wig Zamore said: "IKEA is the least sustainable retailer on the planet."
Since when is being lost in corn fun?
When I was a kid Stephen King ruined corn the way Peter Benchley ruined swimming. It was all bloody scythes, horror, and nightmares.
Guess it's because they aren't 19 yet.
story: Children of the Corn • author: Stephen King
Our condo in North Conway comes equipped with an extensive collection of Disney videos.
Disney movies are like a new strain of the flu for my kids - having not been exposed very often they've built up little tolerance. Last year they happily indulged in the Jungle Book, Peter Pan, and Shrek.
The first pick this year was Dumbo which I'm okay with since I consider it a classic - I mean what kid can grow up without having been thoroughly creeped out by Pink Elephants on Parade?
Last night we almost watched Sleeping Beauty but I talked them into Beauty and the Beast instead. My rationale being not enough action for four boys in a beauty that just sleeps, better add a beast to the mix.
I'd never seen Beauty and the Beast except as a theatrical performance and I'll admit - I was looking forward to it because I remembered that the heroine is a nerdy book geek, so imagine my disappointment when the book she chooses (one that she claims to have read several times) turns out to be a fairy story about a girl falling in love with a handsome prince. I didn't expect her to be reading War and Peace but is it too much to hope for to have her read something of substance? Guess in fairy tales girls can read - but they can only read fairy tales.
Tonight the twins went with Sleeping Beauty since they can abide handsome princes and kissing more than their older brothers can. When I got back from the clubhouse with H & C the movie was already in full swing and let's just say they don't make Disney villains the way they used to: Maleficent: "Now you'll deal with me Prince Phillip! And all the powers of Hell!"
C: Mom. This movie is rated G? It should be PG, they say swear words.
M: Ummm. Well. At lest it's in context.