Wake me when it's over

How much more political news can I take? Rock-bottom is very near as I find myself sitting in my car for extended periods so I can geek out just a few more minutes listening to XMs POTUS '08. When I come home I rush through all my ridiculously petty responsibilities, like feeding my family - nothing seems quite so important as to trump the FUTURE OF THIS COUNTRY - or so it seems. With that pettiness out of the way I can sit down in front of my internet machine and read, watch news clips, read some more, scan headlines, watch a few more news clips, and on, and on, and on, and on. And yet I still miss big moments such as McCain's brain fart when trying to recall the specific Secretaries of State who have thrown their support his way.

I almost felt a little sorry for him there until I remembered he's running for PRESIDENT of the United States and I'm tired - so very tired - of listening to a President who comes across as a jerk at a tailgating party rather than leader of the free world. And seriously. He can't get by without taking and reading copious notes. Do we really want an Oval Office plastered in little yellow Post-its?

Someone needs to yank the needle out of my arm. Or just push the plunger down and wake me up when it's over. But only if it's good news.

Edited to add: I don't know what's up with the video. I have tried multiple codes and tried to track it down from the source, Meet the Press, and it seems that someone's showing McCain some love and preventing me from spreading this gaffe out there to all my many throngs of readers. A sign, perhaps? Naaah - just bad code.

Edited AGAIN to add: I guess blogger got itself figured out and the video is now working. Guess Someone is on my side after all.


What friends are for

It is so good to know I've got friends out there who've got my back. If not for KT this might have passed me by, unnoticed. And THAT, my friends, would have been a Very Bad Thing.

Now YOU can rest easy knowing that I'VE got YOUR back and you too can enjoy the brilliant genius of David Sedaris. Because you've either pondered the same question my writing hero explores in this article and will enjoy his analogy and anecdote or you are the subject of this article and need to read and consider it very strongly in order to justify your continued use of oxygen on this planet.

Just my way of spreading the wealth.


A heapin' dose of sanctimony

Don't you just love reading, listening, talking to people who think they know everything? There was a time when they used to irk me, and truth be told, sometimes they still do. I AM a living, breathing human being after all. But I think I have outgrown the tendency to let the Holier-Than-Thous get me down.

I have turned that frown upside down and NOW I get a big ol' hoot out of 'em.

Like today. Bubble Boy and I had a date to go Early Vote and try a new Mediterranean place in the 'hood. We so crazy! How liberal can you get? Add in some fair trade double hazelnut skim soy latte and we'd have had ourselves a perfect trifecta of leftist, anti-Americanism. But we didn't so it was just our normal liberal selves as we wrapped up our civic duty when Bubble Boy ran into an old colleague back from his Working For the Man days so we got to do a little catching up. Upon mentioning some of the projects he's working on, including some educational software stuff, this person made some kind of monumentally weird jump and proceeded to school us on the pitiful state of our public school system.

Not only are 'the public schools' (all of them - no exceptions) pathetically, utterly pitiful but she would never DARE to THINK to POSSIBLY send HER children to a PUBLIC school! NEVER! Ugh! I mean, seriously? CAN you IMAGINE?

Uh. Yeah. Can imagine. Since we do. How could we possibly, you ask? Isn't it obvious? Must be that we don't love our children as much as she WOULD love hers.

That is IF she had any. Or was ever going to have any. Or even WANTS children. But since she never has and never will she has subsequently declared herself EXPERT on all things child-related as only someone who has never HAD children can.

Oh yes, these self-declared child-raising experts can talk the talk and even walk the walk for a while when practicing with a friend or relative's child. The breakdown in their thought processes doesn't start until after a few consecutive days with the child. Once the kid is done with the trying to impress and seeking the positive attention. Maybe they're a little tired and no longer willing to allow themselves to be distracted from whatever their mission happens to be (GIVE ME JUICE! NO! I WANT IT NOOOOWW! NO! NO! STOP! AAARRUUGH!!! etc...). It's a little bootcamp of sorts for the Non-Parent-Know-It-All. And oh so much fun to watch.

So she provided BB and I with fun conversation over our baba ganoush and tabouleh. Thank you Sanctimonious Lady!


What is a decade?

Ten years, right? 3,650 days. A long time and yet, not a long time at all. Surely the first ten years of my life crept by at a glacial pace. The next ten didn't seem much quicker, maybe even stalled a bit there between 14 and 16 as I anxiously awaited the freedom that was magically waiting for me when I turned 16 (fooled again!).

The third decade moved along at a fairly slowish, steady pace for the first half and began accelerating at that mid-point range. College was over, some life experiences were under my belt and life was chugging along like a train finally getting up to speed. Then along came Big E and someone cut the brake lines.

Now life is more like that bus from Speed, where Sandra Bullock can't let the bus get below 50 mph or the bomb the crazy man installed on the bus will blow up the bus and everyone on the bus, including Keanu Reeves! I am driving that bus but there is no bomb. I'm just powerless to stop this relentless acceleration of time as we throttle full speed down this road.

So, yeah. Big E turned ten last weekend. I think having a child who is turning ten forces one to become momentarily philosophical. Something about TEN. A decade. A tenth of a century. I'm guessing there will also be a similar moment of introspection at thirteen, maybe sixteen and definitely eighteen. Then there's twenty when the 'teens' are over to cause one to look back and reflect on how that could possibly be.

But ten. Double digits. Not just a big kid but bordering on becoming a much bigger kid and seeing glimpses, tiny little flickers, of not being a kid at all but a young woman. How can there be these little peeks of the person she is going to be when she was only last week a warm, soft, sweet-smelling infant learning to sit, an enthusiastic toddler learning to talk, walk, and run, an always smiling preschooler playing Polly Pockets or plastering the walls with her abundant artwork, a kindergartener who kicked the backs of the car seats when I failed to pick her up with a juice box at the ready, a child anticipating Halloween starting in July, a slightly bigger child with slightly bigger opinions, and then a kid who not only has those bigger opinions but articulates them with sophistication and clarity that causes me to stay on my toes - or else.

And she's almost as tall as I am.

Yep. Time to put on the brakes. I wish.


I am Chicken Little

Every time I sit down at my little silver laptop that links me to the Wide, Wondrous World where heretofore I found hours of entertainment and news, or turn on the radio I am overcome by the nearly uncontrollable urge to run down the street screaming "The sky is falling! The sky is falling!" I guess you could say my personal consumer confidence level is in the sewer. Thank goodness we don't have TV.

Since I really don't want to spread more panic than is already sweeping across the world I guess I'll settle for sticking my fingers in my ears while I sing "Lalalalalala!!!".

That's much better.


Quite a legacy

This has been around a while but seems even more relevant given the last couple of weeks...I guess it ain't over 'til it's over!

Bush Tours America To Survey Damage Caused By His Disastrous Presidency


Blue Bell

Not sure what Pierre Cardin was going for with this number. My first thought was it must be a new hybrid of blue pear and they're adding it to a new designer line-up for Fruit of the Loom. Then I thought what a practical combination of a warm and cozy shawl and a hooded ski jacket. But what is that little stem on top? An antenna? Some teletubby inspiration?


My name is Bubble Girl and I'm a Politi-Junkie.

Everyone all together now! Hello Bubble Girl! Some people know better than to go here...but not me! So here we go.

Y'all. When I am home I can barely rip myself away from the limitless political news and video available on this miracle called The Internet. Maybe you'd heard? There's an election in just about a month and the very future of the country depends on the outcome. As Sarah Palin so eloquently fear-mongered last night we may find ourselves telling our littl'uns about the good ole days back in aught-eight when we still had "national security freedoms". I'm not sure what a national security freedom is exactly but it sure does sound important and I sure don't want to have to explain to my grandchildren why having economic security and trying to end a war that has no definition of victory other than "we'll know it when we see it" were more important than the national security freedoms they can be eternally grateful to enjoy while they're picking through garbage cans.

You see? I can't stop it. There is a constant diatribe going on inside my head of these things. We played Palin Bingo last night (Bubble Boy won) and cringed when she winked and when she pronounced nuclear not as the correct "NEW-klee-ur" but "NEW-cue-lurr" a la our Decider-in-Chief, GW. During these past weeks of "Debate Camp" couldn't somebody have fixed that? It is not endearing. I promise. Sarah, dear, click here. Give it a listen five times. Practice it five times. Repeat every day for a week. I think you can get it. Also, she sure was counting on the NATO commander in Afghanistan backing her "surge principles" but couldn't seem to get his name right. She must have been misreading it from the stack of papers on the podium that she couldn't stop shuffling and reading. McKiernan DOES look a lot like McClellan at first glance. Then it turns out that wasn't exactly what he said...it was kinda the exact opposite. Whatever...let's not get lost in the details, people. Let's talk some more about energy independence.

One can hope, but not surprisingly, she did not run from the stage in tears or begin speaking in tongues. She appeared comfortable and amazingly self confident given the horror of the past week. I wish I could muster a smidgen of that self confidence when addressing more than five people at a time. I probably would have passed out from dehydration approximately 12 minutes into the debate from the copious sweating that would have been taking place. This is what I looked and felt like when speaking in front of a couple of dozen people, most of whom were actually friends.

I know I'm being mean and I just can't help it...I've held it in a long time! Sarah Palin seems like a nice enough person. But so do lots of people and that is not a qualification for being Vice President of the United States or else we could be electing Kelly Ripa. I can even acknowledge she's smarter than your average moose and even more charming.

Favorite quote of the post-debate analysis: "It's like watching 'Gidget Goes to Washington'."

There are a lot of people who feel like the 'gotcha' media is coming down hard and unfairly on her. The real issue is not her. It's what she represents which is more than what she is alone. How did she come to be in this position? What decision-making process went into her addition to this campaign? A one hour phone call and a hasty offer only to be backed up with cocky condescension when someone dares to question the qualifications of someone who could possibly become President of the United States?

You betcha.


Eight years and one sledgehammer later....

We have deck demolition! Bubble Boy and I have talked about ripping out the eyesore that was our deck from the day we moved into this house eight years ago. But that conversation inevitably led to What to put in its place. Another deck? A patio? Concrete? Stained? Stone? Pavers? Cover it? How about a pool? A pool would be nice. But then there's the upkeep. Oh, and we need a shed. Bubble boy has a healthy amount of tools, not to mention his brewing hobby, those things along with all the bicycles, paint, wagon, camping equipment, etc...and our garage is on the full side. And that leads to the question of where to put the shed. Build a shed or buy a shed?

You get the point. We can talk ourselves out of just about anything and have been very good at doing so for the last eight years. Until last weekend! Bubble Boy shocked me and walked out the back door and just started taking it apart. Just like that. I don't think this was his way of taking out some built-up frustration and/or anger. But if it was I'm happy to start driving him crazy and ticking him off. Just say the word, BB!

I have by and large removed myself from the decision-making regarding what is going to take its place and have chosen to just trust that my sweet, handy husband will replace it with something aesthetic and practical.

This is where the shed will go. We'll be moving some of those plants. Wish me luck. I've had less than spectacular results when moving plants in the past. They die a horrible death, the only bright side to which is that it is fairly quick. It won't help that most of them are stressed from the unrelenting drought and my lack of additional watering.

I'll keep you posted.