Little Lawyer

The other day Oldest and I were chatting about camp, school, life, High School Musical and other topics of great importance to a 9 year old. We were having a lovely chat when she looked at me seriously and told me, "Mommy, I don't want to grow up. I want to be little and stay with you and daddy forever." Now this is nothing new. She, and the other two have been saying this for a long time. But this time she was so very serious. And this time, she is nearly as tall as I am. I can tell she doesn't like the fact that she is getting so big and can't easily curl up on my lap. She looks with envy at youngest who is still small.

"I never want to be apart from you!" Oldest announces.

"Well you say that now, but you might change your mind when you grow up," I say.

"NO! I will never change my mind!" she shouts. "I don't want to get married! I don't want to have babies! I just want to stay with my family forever."

"Oh that's so sweet," I say. "I should put that in a contract and make you sign it! Also put in a clause that you will never put Mommy and Daddy in a nursing home!"

"What's a contract?" Oldest asks.

"It's a legal document and it just puts in writing an agreement between people," I explain.

"But why would you need a contract?" Oldest asks suspiciously.

"Well I'd put it in your memory box to remind you of what you said. Cause people change their minds as they grow older."

"Well I said I wouldn't change my mind!"

"I know, hon, but you never know..."

"And what's a nursing home?" she asks.

"Don't worry about that sweetie, just agree that you will never put Mommy and Daddy in one and everything will be just fine."

"Well, a contract sounds like a good idea, but maybe you should also put in stuff about how much allowance I get and what my chores are and what the other girls chores are, you know?" Oldest asks.

"Uh huh," I mutter.

"I mean I should get more allowance as I get older, right? And when can I get my own phone? And when am I allowed to wear makeup? And what about Angus and Youngest? Don't they have to sign too? And I think you should put in that they are not allowed to play with my stuff unless they have my permission..."

"Ha Ha, I was just joking about the contract?" I cut her off. "Ha ha! Big joke! Forget I said anything. Just go play."

Later on I hear the three girls playing together when suddenly I hear Angus yell out, "What do you mean I have to give you my pokemon cards if I touch your stuff without your permission! I'm not signing that!"

Uh oh.

Oh Writer Where Art Thou?

One of my favorite movies is "O Brother Where Art Thou?" by the Coen Brothers. It is based on Homer's epic poem, The Odyssey, but is set in the deep south during the the Great Depression. The reason I bring it up is related to my manuscript but first let me give you the set up. For those of you who have never seen it, in the movie, George Clooney (Everett), John Turturro (Pete), and Tim Blake Nelson (Delmar) play escaped prisoners who are out to retrieve a hidden treasure. Along the way, 3 beautiful women (sirens) singing and washing their laundry by the river's edge, seduce the 3 men with liquor. When Everett and Delmar wake up, they find Pete is gone, and all that is left is his clothes and a large toad within them. So here is the scene from the movie:



So I am reviewing all the comments that Da Man has given me on my manuscript, most of which are incredibly helpful and wonderful catches. Towards the latter half of my story, the hero and his group discover a beautiful spot where heavenly maidens bathe and frolic by jade green pools deep in a mountain valley and the maidens inform my MC of the treasure he must find. On the paragraph after this scene Da Man had written the comment "We thought you was a toad!" I just about bust a gut laughing. It reminded me of how well he knows me that he knew I would find that hysterical. But it also reminded me of how many references and nods to other books can be found in most people's writings. While I don't think my book is completely derivative, it cannot help but have similarities with so many quest based novels.

If you look at Harry Potter or even the Chronicles of Narnia, you can see alot of concepts that are similar to Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, and look how successful these books have been. Eragon has been criticized as having the same plotline as Star Wars but told through the same world of the LOTR. And yet Hollywood even made a movie based on it (not a good movie, but still). Similarities occur everywhere, and what might be derivative to one reader may be fresh and new to another. For example, older readers criticized Eragon for being a hodge-podge of stolen plotlines and concepts from better novels. Yet young readers were opened to a new world of fantasy they had never seen before. And surely the success of the trilogy, speaks for itself.

If someone were to make a similar comparison to my novel, they might call it an Asian based LOTR. But would this be an accurate analysis of my book? I would hope not. I would hope that my creative East Asian mythlore take on the old "quest" devise would give it a completely new spin. I would hope my execution is what will keep it interesting and fresh and so very different from Tolkien's world. And yet to have your work compared to Tolkien would be an ultimate compliment. One that could bring a similarly themed book to a new audience.

But at the end of the day, it is hard to know what interpretations a reader will bring to your book. I would never have thought my YA Asian historical novel would raise similarities to "Oh Brother Where Art Thou?" but that is the correlation Da Man saw. Was it a good thing or bad thing? I'm not sure. But I can only hope, that when the last page is turned, and the book is finally put down, that whatever interpretations were made added to the reader's enjoyment of the book.

Random Funny Things My Kids Say - Part 12

Da Man was in a particularly foul mood the other day and yelling at the kids for any perceived disrespect. In fact, he even went so far as to ban them from playing with their barbie dolls. This I did not understand. Ban TV, ban computer and all other electronic devices, ok - I get it. But to ban creative free play with their dolls and dollhouses? I'm not sure I would agree. So I had 3 mopey girls sitting on the couch next to me commenting on their daddy's bad mood.

Oldest - Boy is he cranky.

Youngest - No he is really really angry.

Angus - He's Crangery!

Oldest - Crangery? That sounds like a drink! A yummy drink!

Angus - NO! It's a Daddy drink. And it tastes really really sour and you make a sour angry face. (Angus makes said face. They all begin to giggle madly.)

Oldest- No when you drink it, it tastes real bad like horrible medicine and makes you want to throw up.

Youngest - No it tastes like throw up!

Angus - No it tastes like diarrhea!

The conversation has now been reduced, as usual, to disgusting bodily functions.

Me - That's enough! Stop with all that disgusting potty talk! I mean it.

Quiet for a few minutes, then the whispering begins.

Youngest - Mommy is crangery too.

Oldest - No that's a Daddy word, we have to find a new word for Mommy.

Angus (starts giggling) - She looks real mad and she's definitely cranky. She's Manky!

All 3 burst out laughing and start chanting "Manky Mommy! Manky Mommy!"

You know, I think I would rather be called Crangery. Manky sounds vaguely obscene.

******

In other news, Da Man is definitely in my good lists again as he managed to finish reading my manuscript in less than a week, a new reading record for him. To top it off, he gave me probably one of the best compliments I have ever received. He said that when he finished it he felt the same mixed emotion of regret and anticipation he had after watching the first of the Lord of the Rings movies. Regret that it was finished and excited anticipation to know there would be two more coming. I was actually quite moved by his comment. It is hands down the nicest thing he has ever said to me. I am verklempt!

Scaredy cat

Copyright by Yves Lorson via Flickr.com

I'm from a family with apparent supernatural psychic abilities. All my life I would hear my parents make comments about a certain place having bad spirits or disturbances in the spirit world, etc. Even my sister could apparently sense a ghostly presence in certain areas. Whenever I hear my parents and my sister talk about all these ghosts around us that they can sense, it would always freak me out. In fact, a shivery tingly goose bumpy flesh crawling feeling passes me whenever I even think of their connection to the spirit world. In fact, I have that terrible sensation even now as I type. shudder.

For some reason, like the gardening gene, this sixth sense ability completely passed me over. There has to be a really really strong presence for me to feel it. And it has happened only twice in my life. Once, I walked into a building where I literally felt such a horrible feeling of malevolent evil that it frightened me so badly I ran out of there. I never knew what it was about that place that was so bad, but I would not have been surprised to find out that something really bad happened there. The only other time I sensed something otherworldy was passing by Ground Zero a year after the towers collapsed. I became nearly overwhelmed with a swirl of emotions, the strongest of which was incredible sadness, but it also felt scared and angry and so very confusing. But other than these two instances, I never sense anything else. It is an extraordinary blessing for me for I am a horrendous scaredy cat. Oh yes, loud mouthed, obnoxious, opinionated me is a big pansy. I can't watch ghost movies anymore. The Ring scared me so bad I had nightmares for months. In fact a few weeks after I saw the Ring, Oldest, who was about 4 or 5 at the time, walked over to my side of the bed in the middle of the night. She had had a bad dream. Trouble was she had long straight dark brown hair which was hanging down in front of her face, just like the girl in The Ring. To top it off, she didn't say anything cause she was still sort of sleepy, and just stood by my bedside waiting for me to open my eyes (I am a light sleeper) and notice her standing there. Well I did wake and I did notice her and I did scream my head off, which frightened her so much that she ran screaming back to her room and burst into tears. The next day I took her to the hair salon and had her hair chopped short. Yes I am a big baby.

Growing up, my parents loved telling ghost stories from the old country. And for some reason, their ghost stories were a million times scarier than anything you can read in the horror section at Barnes and Nobles. Their stories were always about real people that had really horrible things happen to them for doing things their parents told them not to do. They didn't need to turn the lights off and shine a flashlight in their face. All they needed to do is start with "Once there was this person..." in that serious quiet way they had, and my hair would rise off my neck. My mom's stories always had a murdered child or girl in them while my dad's stories were famous for the unexpected scary ending. My dad is the king of the long drawn out dramatic pause. He could really drag out the tension and suspense in a story with his dramatic pauses. Only problem was sometimes the pause started as a pause but ended as a memory lapse, at which point the suspense would be ruined. One time, in the midst of telling the dramatic conclusion to a particularly horrific ghost story, he fell asleep. I didn't realize he had fallen asleep because I had my eyes closed in fear. I only opened my eyes when he started snoring. I got real mad and poked him. He couldn't remember the end of the story. Til this day, I don't know what happened to the girl trapped in the closet with the decapitated body of her murdered boyfriend and the blood hungry forms of her now dead friends pawing at the splintering door.

But the thing is, what made their stories even scarier was when they would end a freaky story with a personal anecdote about how they were reminded of that story because on their way home that day they passed by some spot where they were opportuned by the murdered spirit of a child seeking its mother, or they felt the malevolent presence of evil spirits seeking to do harm. One time, my mother told me that there was an evil spirit of a child murderer lurking in the mailbox at the corner of our street. For a year, I walked all the way around the block to avoid that mailbox. One night my dad thought it would be funny to tell me that a ghost lived in floor of the hallway leading to the bathroom and that sometimes in its desperate attempts to take form, it would tickle his feet as he walked past. During the day, I would try my best to tiptoe across that floor, pulling a spiderman and nearly climbing the walls whenever I inadvertently stepped on a creaky floorboard. But at night, I would risk peeing my bed not to have to walk to the bathroom. I secretly think that they would do this to me and run behind their bedroom door and laugh their asses off at me. I was a difficult kid, always getting in trouble, always in the principal's office. This was their way of getting back at me. Sickos.

So when I had Oldest, Da Man and I had moved into a larger 2 bedroom apartment in a brand new building down the street from our old building. The new place was built on a site that had an abandoned warehouse. We'd been living in the apartment happily for several months when my parents came down to visit and stay in the baby's room with Oldest. Next morning, my Dad came out and complained that he didn't get any sleep. The moaning and groaning of disturbed spirits had kept him awake all night. My Mom announced that something terrible happened at this site. All of a sudden, I get a tingly disturbed feeling along with inadvertent shudders and wonder why it is I didn't sense this before we moved in and made this terrible mistake. A month later, my sister came to stay for the summer and began to tell me similarly, how there were lots of sad, bad and angry spirits at our location. That tingly feeling became a full firehouse alarm and I began to campaign strongly for us to move to a new house. A year later, we finally moved into our current residence. But before bidding on the house, I compelled my sister to come and walkthrough the house with me. Only after she proclaimed that she could sense no spirits anywhere, did I agree to buy the house. We've been living here happily for seven years now. And I have no intention of ever moving out.

Why your husband should not be your beta reader

Da Man is one of my beta readers because he demands to be one. He used to be a law review editor in law school so he thinks it makes him an editing genius. I was not too keen to hand it over. After all, it took him 6 months to read my first manuscript. Yes, 6 months. When someone you respect takes a long time to read something you wrote, you feel as if you are imposing upon them and that your work is really crappy because they can't make themselves read it. And unlike my beta readers, who I know have busy, hectic lives and I am just grateful for any time that they can devote to reading my work, I can see just exactly what my husband does in his free time. Like endless hours watching cheesy late night cable shows, going fishing, playing soccer, playing basketball, lifting weights, surfing the internet for I don't want to know, going to Sports Authority, talking on the phone way too long, sleeping on the sofa, picking his nose and scratching his ass. But mostly he watches way too much TV. He watches TV so much I think an antenna should start growing out of the top of his head. And everytime I see him watching TV, I think, WHY ISN'T THAT BASTARD READING MY BOOK?!!!!! Yes, it took him 6 months to read my first manuscript. But it was also 100,000 words long. At least this time, my new manuscript is only 52,000 words. Maybe this time he might be a little faster? I was unsure.

But he said he wanted to read it and I really do value his opinion so I gave it over to him, with the caveat that he needed to make it a priority and read it sooner than later. He printed it out and told me he would bring it to the beach and read it over vaca. After all, there would be plenty of downtime at the beach to read. I was hopeful. Well, we got to the beach and LO AND BEHOLD, he forgot his copy of my manuscript at home. Hmmmmm. Mortified and seeing the steam rising from my ears, the thinning of my lips and the reddening of my face, he promised me that as soon as we got home Friday night, he would devote the weekend to reading it. Yes I was disappointed and sad about it. But he promised, again, and I was sure he wouldn't break another promise.

Friday, we spent the whole ride not talking to each other because he is an ASS and got mad over something so trivial that I am too embarrassed to even write about it. he sulked for 3 hours straight, dropped us all off and drove off to sulk some more. He then spent the night watching stupid MTV shows all night long and not once cracking open my manuscript. Saturday night, after noting my Botox-like expression, he picked up the manuscript at 1:30AM and tried to read it. He got about 7 pages in before he crashed for the night. Sunday, he slept til 12, lumped around all day and didn't even try to crack the manuscript open. Monday, I thought for sure he would take it with him to read on the metro ride back and forth from work. But no. It lay abandoned and forlorn, next to the sad little pile of blankets on the floor he must now sleep on. Part of me feels brokenhearted that he has so little care for my creation. Had the roles been reversed, I would stay up all night to read whatever he had written. But he would rather watch Cribs or endless hours of boring fishing shows. Yes, I am a little hurt.

Last night, as he slept, I watched him, oh great love of my life. He likes to sleep with his arm raised over his head, a position of such peaceful repose. I looked down on him, sprawled out on the floor, and think to myself, I'd like to wax his armpits and show him what true pain is all about. His armpit hair is nice and long too. It would really catch the hot wax well. The amount of pain would be excruciating. I tingle with anticipation of his horrendous scream of agony. But wait, is waxing his armpit torturous enough? Who would even know of his shame? Perhaps an eyebrow instead? That may be just as excruciating, but adds the element of humiliation. Yes, his left eyebrow, cause he likes to sleep on his right side. I'll do it from behind, so I can race out of hitting range. Maybe that'll teach him to break another promise.

Over at Jason's

Hey everyone, I've got an entry up at Jason's for his latest contest. Please pop by and take a look. As usual, his contests always gets the best entries. It's always a blast to read them all. Mine is called Speed.

Back to Normality - I hope

Beautiful Beach copyright by Esther** via Flickr.com

We just got back from the beach. But not the beach above. That would have entailed flying. No, instead we drove to a local beach in Delaware where the brown muddy waters are about as inviting as an ice bath in a blizzard and the crowds of people with their blankets and chairs encroaching upon your space could have made Mother Theresa a sinner. But it was the beach, and it was for the kids.

We debated whether or not to go at all due to Youngest's walking pneumonia. But Oldest was finally getting better and Angus had been all cured a week earlier and they would have been crushed if we had cancelled. So we went back to the doctor and got his professional opinion. He said we could go provided we monitor her progress and watch out for any problems with her breathing. What he failed to mention was that the disease turned our normally even tempered, happy-go-lucky, sweet 4 year old into a nasty, angry, whiny, screaming, irritating, demanding, foul horrid monster. Everyday there would be a minimum of two horrendous temper tantrums lasting anywhere from 20 minutes to over an hour. Where she would scream, howl, rant and rave like a madman for some perceived offense, like asking her to pee before leaving for the beach. Unfortunately my husband is as stubbornly pigheaded to get his way and when Da Man and Youngest would go head to head, the rest of us all suffered, including our family friends who came on vacation with us. The only good news about her ugly temper tantrums was that the doctor had asked me to make sure she would do lots of deep breathing exercises to work her lungs and keep them from collapsing. All her shrieking and screaming gave her all the deep breathing she needed for the week.

In an interesting bit of karmic energy, on our last day at the beach, Youngest had a singularly bad meltdown right on the beach. A friend of the girls had accidentally kicked sand in Youngest's face and had gotten in her eye. No amount of consoling and bribing would settle her and she refused to leave the beach, instead proceeding to shriek bloody murder about her eye. For nearly an hour after finally shutting up, she would continue to whine, sulk, brood and be particularly nasty to her family and friends. She finally fell asleep for a nap under the umbrella and me and Da Man sat on chairs right behind her, revelling in the semi-quiet.

The waves had been acting up, forcing us to move our blankets back earlier, but we were definitely on high ground and in a spot that the waves couldn't get us. Our blankets were at the top of a high incline safe from the waters. That is, until a huge monster wave built up in the sea, racing for the shore, at a good five feet height over the heads of those standing waist high in the waters. Angus had gone inside with my friend so I looked to see where Oldest and my friend's son were. They were standing halfway between where the water was supposed to stop and our blankets. The wave when it hit them, came up to their armpits and thundered by up the incline and onto the blankets where Youngest was sleeping. The split second that I realized the wave was coming at us, I had jumped out of my seat, reaching for Youngest, but I was a second too late and the wave rushed over her. The scream she emitted is one I will never forget and hope never to hear again. I could not have gotten to her faster, the wave was too fast for me. But I did grab her just as the wave hit so she didn't actually swallow any of it.

The monster wave reached nearly to the boardwalk, it was so big. The entire beach was filled with shocked people picking up the mess the waters had made of their stuff. Everyone's stuff got washed several feet away. It could have been worse. The undertow was pretty bad and could have swept Oldest and others into the sea, but it didn't. My cell phone got corroded and my camera got f**ked up, but my pictures were safe and my smartchip card was fine. No one can control Mother Nature. I'm just glad it wasn't worse. We were quite lucky.

Youngest is still a little cretin at least once a day, but we are hoping and praying that she snaps out of it as she gets completely cured. Otherwise, I will go completely mad. While we were at the beach, I had no wireless access and my laptop got screwed up trying to get the foreign wireless access so I am now working off my kids computer until my laptop gets fixed. Another headache I shall have to deal with. Sigh. But at least things, I hope, are starting to normalize. If not, don't be surprised to read a headline, Crazed Mother of 3 climbs Washington Monument with bare hands and suction cups singing "You are my sunshine" and flinging a variety of different snack foods and juice boxes at the crowd below.

Nothing funny to say

After my last post, Youngest kept getting sicker. We kept going to the doctor but they couldn't figure out what was wrong. Meanwhile she kept getting sicker. Finally today, we found out she has a bad case of walking pneumonia, right before our annual beach trip. Oldest has also been diagnosed with beginning pnemuonia. Both are now on heavy duty meds. I've been surrounded by sick, whiny, crying children at home and sick, whiny, crying students at school. Hopefully now with medication, the girls will all get better. I really hope so. I haven't had a good nights sleep in weeks and this continuous cycle of sickness in the house has made me absolutely miserable.

So my inability to blog and visit my favorite blogs has now been explained. I have no idea how much longer I will be out of commission. But I can only hope and pray that Youngest and Oldest both get completely better soon so they are no longer so miserable.

Zombie Mommy

It started with Angus. I shall blame her. She came home from the last day of school with a cough and fever which came and went for a week before I finally took her into the doctor and found out she had walking pneumonia. Feeling like a terrible Mom, I immediately bought her a toy to try and cheer her up. Now she keeps whining that she is still sick and requires more toys to make her feel better. Bad Mommy.

4 days later, just as the medication has begun to make Angus feel a little more like herself (so that I can finally yell at her that I am not buying anymore toys for her, and that's final!), I have to rush Dumb Man to the emergency room with a badly sprained ankle and hamstring injury from playing soccer. He comes home in a cast and crutches and a bad attitude. Instead of feeling sympathetic and sorry for his injury, I feel very sorry for myself who now has to deal with another whiny injured baby in the house. Put upon Mommy.

5 days later after lots of cranky, whiny Dumb Man behavior and having to drive his dumbassery back and forth into Washinton, DC and still make it to work myself, and take all the kids back and forth to camp, and grocery shop, and cook, and clean, and do never ending piles of laundry, Youngest comes down with a vicious case of the stomach flu. 48 hours of chronic barfdom (seriously the little thing lost lots of weight cause she was just puking up saliva and bile) with very little help from gimpy and I am beginning to look and smell like a zombie. Stinky Mommy.

4 days later, the earache Oldest has been steadily complaining about for over a week seems to be getting worse so I take Oldest to the doctor. I've been to the doctor more times in this two week period than in the entire year and it just so happens to be the cute, sexy in that smart geeky way, doctor that I totally have a crush on, except I look and smell like crap and am at the point of just not caring anymore. Cute doctor tells me Oldest has a severe infection with a blood blister in her ear leaving me feeling terribly guilty and remorseful and so I immediately drag Oldest and Youngest to Target to buy them toys. Angus stays with her auntie and gets nothing. Rotten Mommy.

1 day later, I wake up with a horrible headache, aches, chills, fever and a terrible sore throat. And to top it off, my stomach is not feeling too hot causing me to run back and forth out of the bathroom and sweating like a ravenous fat man at an all you can eat buffet. Zombie Mommy.

The only good news from this whole ordeal is that:

1. I lost 4 pounds which I shall immediately put back on as soon as I feel well enough to eat an entire pan of brownies by myself.

2. I finished my YA manuscript. I was on a mission to finish and finish I did. Am making some revisions and getting ready to send it out to my beta readers. But the first installment of the Seven Kingdoms trilogy set in ancient Korea is done. WOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Now I shall go rest my weary little zombie head. I shall come visiting as soon as the urge to gnaw on my extremities passes me.

I won't be around til next week

Angus has walking pneumonia, I've got friends in from out of town, trying to finish my WIP, and grading papers like mad. You won't see me around the blog-o-sphere til next week, which will hopefully help cure this maddening case of the stupids I have. I shall be marking google reader as "all read" until I get a grip on everything and then I shall be back. So don't forget me while I am gone and I shall see you in a week, I hope. But I will leave you with Youngest's latest attempt at negotiating.

This morning Angus is home sick. The walking pneumonia has given her a terrible headache, cough and diarrhea. But my friend's kids are also here and Youngest loves my friend's daughter. So this morning I'm trying to drop Oldest and Youngest to camp. Usually they love to go but today they are both malingering. They want to stay and hang out with the other kids, of course. Youngest being very resourceful keeps complaining of many different types of ailments.

"My head hurts, my tummy hurts, I have diarrhea, my eye hurts, I can't walk!" Youngest cries.

"You're going to camp, that's final!" I say.

"I have to go to the doctor, I'm sick, I need a shot!" (Unlike the older two, the girl is not afraid of shots!)

"You are not sick and you are going to camp!"

"I am sick and you don't care about me anymore!"

"Don't say that, honey."

"I'm going to run away and never come home!"

"No you can't"

"Yes I can!

"No you can't."

"Yes I can!"

"No you can't because you are sick."

"No I'm not!"

"Good, then you can go to camp."

"I mean I am!"

"Too late."

"I want Daddy!"

Addled Brain

Once every few months, something happens to me and I get a vicious case of the stupids. The synapses don't fire correctly which affects my motor skills making me clumsy, my brain is addled and turns me into Patrick Star from Spongebob Squarepants. I find myself unable to focus my attention on what people are saying, instead I become absolutely fascinated with a stray nose hair or a long stringy booger or a sesame seed stuck to their bicuspid. God forbid they have a wandering eye! I can't focus, I'm too easily distracted. I'm officially stupid.

Today, I was reading Lisa' Kenny's post on Green Porno and decided to call Da Man. So I asked Oldest to go get me the porn.

"Huh?" she says.

"The porn, the porn! Get me the porn!" I repeated several times before realizing exactly what I was saying and substituing the right request. Luckily she didn't know what I was talking about.

Yesterday, at the office while working on a document for nearly 2 hours I closed out of it, not realizing that I had downloaded the document from my email because I had emailed it to myself to work on at the office, and I had not saved it in a new word document. I lost all 2 hours worth of changes.

I pulled a soda out of the fridge and dropped it on the floor. Since it was the last soda, I decided to put it back in the fridge so it would settle down before I opened it. Not even five minutes pass when I realize I am thirsty and open the fridge, relieved to see there is one soda left. I open it, forgetting it was the one I dropped just a few minutes earlier. Now me and the open fridge are covered in soda.

The other day I pulled out my wallet to empty out the garbage I have collected in my bag. I made two piles - things to keep and things to throw away. When I'm done, I put all two piles back in my bag and throw my wallet away.

I swear I'm certifiably going mad with stupidity. If anyone knows of a cure, please let me know.

Disturbing Sight

The other day I saw a disturbing sight. The little boy across the street had on a Boston Red Sox t-shirt and a Yankees baseball cap. I was so troubled by this I told Da Man that I was going to go have a word with the twerp, I mean kid.

"Take it easy on him, he's only 5!" he says to me.

"Five is old enough to know better!" I reply as I head out the door.

"Hey Opie!" I yell out. "Who dressed you this morning?"

Opie beams and admits proudly to dressing himself.

"But honey," I ask sweetly, "Why are you wearing that shirt with your lovely hat?"

"Cause the Boston Red Sox rules!" he shouts out at me.

I swallow the bile that comes up into my throat at such sacrilege.

"But you shouldn't wear that shirt with that hat!" I say.

"But you gave me this hat," he says.

"Yes, I know, but not to wear with that shirt. That's a dangerous thing you are doing little guy. It could get you badly injured if you were to show up in a NY or Boston street like that. I mean if you can't handle the awesome responsibility that comes with the wearing of this hat, maybe I need to take it away from you!"

Opie blinks and then laughs and says "Aw you're just kidding!"

Since Opie's Mom has now come out to join us, I smile and laugh and agree that I am just kidding. But I ask him not to wear the hat with the shirt as it would be disrespectful to both teams. Ok he says, with a big grin covering his adorable little face. He runs into the house. A minute later he comes back out wearing a Boston Red Sox cap with the Boston Red Sox t-shirt. Little traitor. I'm taking my hat back.

I am afraid of my Google Reader

I have it on my igoogle home page. It waits there for me to click it, glaring at me disapprovingly while the parenthetical counter ticks ever up.

I loved it at first. A great way to stay on top of my blog reading, I thought. Oh look! What a good little reader you are! It counts how many new posts have popped up! Good reader. Good good reader.

The first time I used it, I relished marking the new posts off as read. It gave me a sense of accomplishment seeing the number of new posts click down from 50 to 0. I was so proud of myself. But then the next morning, the counter would be back up to 50 again and I would feverishly be trying to catch up. A few hours later, it was as if I had read nothing. I was making no headway. At one point, I was off my computer for a whole day and that night after class, I came back to a counter that read 124 new posts! No longer is Google Reader my friend. No - we are now sworn enemies. We do battle daily and nightly, and it always wins.

But how can I let an inanimate computer program get the better of me? Because I am weak and it is technologically advanced. And it kicks my ass every single day. I feverishly click through all my posts and read as much as I can, trying to desperately keep that counter at (0), but to no avail! When I get it to (0), it lasts about 15 minutes before someone is posting again and ruining my nothingness. And I'm beginning to resent prolific posters. Some blogs seem to post every few minutes. And I think to myself, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE!!!!!!!!! HOW MUCH DO YOU ACTUALLY REALLY HAVE TO SAY OF INTEREST?!!! But they are interesting and I must read the posts, of course. Can't not read the posts. Have to read the posts. I'm like a clicking junkie fiend. Give me another hit baby, just another hit...

Perhaps I have too many blogs to read. It's true I have added more than I used to read in the past, but they are all so good! And then everytime someone new visits my blog, I have to follow them home. Like Mary's little lamb, following it home. And there it is... another interesting blog to read. The junkie wants more. Give me more! Find me more! But I can't handle more!!!! I think I need an intervention, or a good ass whooping.

I live in terror of Google Reader. I get nervous, my hands shake and my palms start to sweat as I wait for my homepage to load up in the morning. The question isn't will it be high, the question is how high. And I am scared. Very scared. I now have nightmares. I dream I am in a padded room of all white. The walls around me are covered with gigantice Google Reader pages. The counter keeps clicking ever higher. Past 100, then 500, up and up until the zeros overrun the pages and I shriek in hysteria as the numbers start spinning faster and faster, higher and higher. And I wake up in a cold sweat and slap Da Man in the head to orient myself. He gets up and screams at me, "WTF is wrong with you!" This immediately makes me feel better and I can go back to sleep. But I can't keep slapping him in the head every night even though it hurts my hand more than it hurts his head. He keeps threatening to have me arrested for spousal abuse. My defense would be that Google Reader made me do it.

Perhaps someone can explain what it is I am doing wrong. Perhaps someone can tell me their method of keeping Reader in check. Perhaps someone will get me a prescription of Xanax and a couple of beers and sing me some Marley. Or perhaps Google Reader and me are just not meant to be.

Random Funny Things My Kids Say - Part 11

Yesterday was an incredibly hot day. Over a 100 even in the late afternoon. I decided to take the girls to the pool after school. There were a lot of kids already there. Mostly boys. The water was so warm it was like a bath but still refreshing from the incredible heat.

There was also an attractive woman in a very revealing black bikini. She was standing on the steps into the pool with her back to Youngest as she paddled by. Youngest stops right behind her and calls out to her.

"Excuse me lady! You have a rock on your butt!" Youngest says in her loud cute carrying voice.

"What?" Bikini lady asks.

"YOU HAVE A ROCK ON YOUR BUTT!" Youngest shrieks.

By this time I have grabbed Youngest and am trying to pull her away from the scene she is causing as little boys start gathering to look at this lady's butt. Bikini lady finally figures out what Youngest is going on about.

"Oh that!" she says with a strained smile. "That's just a mole."

"A MOLE?!!" Youngest shrieks. "It looks like a nimple. A nimple on her butt!"

She turns to me and says again, "Mommy, she has a nimple on her butt!"

I am trying to cover her mouth as the little boys start chanting nimple, nimple, nimple, butt, butt, butt! Poor woman. Luckily, Youngest then farted in the pool, leaving a trail of bubbles as she promptly announced "I farted in the pool and felt bubbles come out of my butt!"

All the boys forgot all about nipple butt lady trying to turn the pool into a jacuzzi.

I decided to get out before a real accident occurred.

Guest Post over at Moonrat's!

Moonrat graciously allowed me to guest blog over at her celebrated blog Editorial Ass. Please pop by and let me know what you think!

Selfish Parents

Yesterday I drove down to the bus stop to pick up my girls from school. Because of the layout of our neighborhood our closest bus stop is 4 blocks down an incline and I end up driving in order to not hear the complaints of walking home uphill with heavy backpacks. Anyway, the bus technically is scheduled to arrive at 3:20 but always comes at 3:30. However, I always head to the bus early because of my paranoia at the thought of being late to pick up my kids. Turns out that yesterday the bus came extra early and when I arrived at the bus stop, I could see the bus pulling away and leaving a large group of little kids UNATTENDED.

Legally, the bus driver is not allowed to leave kids at a bus stop alone, especially since there are kindergartners in this mix. So when I pulled up and saw ten little kids, including my own two, with no parents anywhere around, I got mad. I asked the kids if there had been any parents at the bus stop when the bus arrived. They said yes, there had been a few parents who had picked up their kids and left in their cars and one who lived in the apartment building behind the stop. I was astounded. It explained why the bus driver left. He saw parents there so he left to keep his schedule. But it doesn't explain why the other parents would have left too. I parked my car and waited 15 minutes for their parents to show up because the thought of leaving little kids unattended is unthinkable to me. This is a particularly busy corner with alot of traffic. I never leave the bus stop until I see that all the kids have been accounted for and I would hope that someone would do the same for my own kids. To see that a bunch of parents had not done this simple and important courtesy makes my blood boil over. I am grateful that I happened to arrive when I did but I wonder what would have happened if yesterday had been one of those days I decided to pick the girls up from school instead of the bus stop? When I showed up, the 6 and 7 year olds had already thrown down there backpacks and were running around wild in the grass and into the parking lot below. I shudder to think what might have happened if they had run unattended into the street.

So I am going to have some choice words to say to the parents of the kids that left. One of them is a nanny, but that is no excuse. All adults have a responsibility to keep children from harm. This could have been a dangerous situation and for the adults to abandon the children was irresponsible and selfish. I can only imagine their thoughts. Hey I was here early to pick up my kid, they should have been too. That's just wrong. Maybe they didn't think that, maybe they were too engrossed in their own schedules to even look around to see or care about someone else. Honestly I think that is just as bad. I am disappointed. I am mad. They should have known better.

Unfortunate Lingering Odors

The problem with the public library is that it is public and thereby I have no control over the people who may or may not sit in my general vicinity. I would personally like to put out a ten foot no fly/walk or passing of gas zone radius around my body that would be effective at all times unless you have been specifically approved to enter into my personal space. And of course at any given times, people normally allowed access to my personal space could be arbitrarily kicked out for specific offenses commited in my safe haven.

I say this because especially at the library, I have been the unfortunate victim of the Lingering Odors phenomenon. There I sit, earnestly typing away or reading for research, breathing, like I normally do, the clean and pleasant odors of books and paper, occassionally interspersed with the slightly unpleasant very old book smell that occurs when someone is perusing the stacks and opens an oldie.

And then it happens. Without fail. Someone will either burp, fart, take off their shoes or just have failed to use their deodorant on an unusually hot day and I begin to suffer.

Listen I'm not trying to be mean about this, I just happen to have a very sensitive nose. It is really more of a curse. I spend most of my life breathing through my mouth to avoid unpleasant smells. I am cursed by sympathetic vomiting not because of the visual but because of the odor. Taking the NYC subways all my life was the bane of my existence because nothing smells funkier than the subway tracks. I am paralyzed by port-o-potties and would rather crap my pants than go into one. But I would rather jump in front of a Mac Truck rather than crap my pants. At least I would be dead.

So the other day a pungent offender came to sit next to me. The acrid BO smell had high notes of gamey meat and low notes of garlic and middle notes of IthinkI'mgoingtovomit. On top of the complexity of his STINK, he had compounded his offense by spraying himself heavily in some expensive I'mgoingclubbingtonightandhopingtogetlucky cologne. Holy crap are you kidding me? Let me explain something to you, showering in cologne does not actually make you smell better if you don't actually clean yourself first. And to make matters worse. Oh yes there is a worse. Everytime he shifted in his seat, you could smell nasty butt stink. That actually made me angry and in a huff of gagging fury, I packed up my laptop and books and ran away to another available spot across the room from Stinky butt man.

I thought I was safe, I really did. This time I was seated next to a woman. Women usually smell better then men. But not this woman. Perhaps she had a glandular problem. Perhaps she ate a particularly pungent meal that day. Perhaps she was related to Stinky butt man. I don't know what it was, but it was nearly as bad. Nearly. At least next to her, it wasn't a lingering in your face odor. Hers came in waves. I'd be typing along at a fast clip and suddenly a wave of sweaty dirty sneaker odor would hit me and make my eyes water. Then it would pass and I would be fine and then a few minutes later I would smell sweaty musky underarm odor. And then someone in my area burped and I swear they must have been eating hot dogs and onions. You could almost smell mustard in the air.

Not the type to pretend and ignore such a stink, I waved my hands frantically in the air and glared at all three people sitting in their separate cubicles next to and in front of me. The two guys in front of me wouldn't even look up but funky woman next to me had the audacity to sit there holding her nose and glaring at me! Can you believe the nerve? Her stinky ass giving me the evil eye?

Indignant, I had to defend myself.

"That was not me!" I whispered at her.

I could tell from her facial expression that she did not believe me.

"I'm telling you that was not me! I did not have hot dogs or onions for lunch!" In a louder whisper.

All of a sudden another wave of odor hit us, making my eyes cross. We turned to stare at the men sitting in front of us, both studiously avoiding eye contact. I looked at her and stuck out my hand at the men, as if to say "See! Told you!" She nodded her head and then turned an evil eye at the both of them. By this time, I am nearly hyperventilating because I'm trying not to breathe through my nose and I'm mad and I think it is the old guy right in front of me and I have a sneaking suspicion he is deliberately blowing them my way but I can still smell musky woman next to me and when the next wave of onions hits me I have had it!

"That's it! I can't take it anymore!" I muttered as I angrily packed up my stuff and glared at both men. This time they looked up at me. The younger man seemed a bit bewildered to see me glaring while the older man was indifferent. Musky woman eyed me sympathetically and glared at the men again. But it is too late, the odors have done me in and I left the library and headed home where at least I knew I would be safe from unpleasant odors.

At least until the kids and Da man get home.

I think I need to invest in a gas mask.

Dove Film Parody

Ok - this is pretty funny...

Parody on the Dove film

Lardo:

CINDY ROCKS

This is just to congratulate my friend Cindy whose PM Announcement was made this week:

May 27, 2008
Children's:
Young Adult Cindy Pon's SPIRIT BOUND, set in an ancient kingdom
based on Chinese folklore, myth and magic, to Virginia Duncan at Green
Willow Books, in a three-book deal, for publication in April 2009, by
Bill Contardi at Brandt & Hochman (NA).

How cool is that?

THANK YOU!

Thanks to everyone who came and took part in the discussions yesterday. I read every single comment posted yesterday and came away the richer for it. Yes, even the anonymous ones! What a terrific reminder of how diverse and rich our world is from a discussion on such an important issue. I feel enriched and invigorated and I am welcome to the challenge of changing the world, at least in my own house. And so I thank you all for being part of a greater good.

And in keeping with the theme of our discussions, I'd like to leave you with this excellent Dove film:

** Author Event - The Lolita Effect**

Recently, I was driving to pick up my daughter from preschool and watched as a group of girls in middle school were walking home. They couldn’t have been more than 13 but they were dressed in outfits more suitable for 20 year olds on a night out clubbing. This all brings in to mind the scandal about Miley Cyrus and her racy Vanity Fair photos. Is it appropriate to photograph a 15 year old girl topless wearing nothing but a bedsheet? The photographer and Vanity Fair editors all contend that these are beautiful artistic pictures. But Miley Cyrus herself admits to being uncomfortable during the shoot and even more so in seeing the end result. While the photographer states that she spoke to Miley about the shoot and that her parents were there and all agreed that it was a great way to take her picture, one cannot help but wonder if anybody thought about the appropriateness of showing an underage girl in such a sexy and risqué pose. Did anyone stop and think, hey, she is only 15! Miley is a role model for millions of girls in this country who faithfully watch her Disney channel show, Hannah Montana. But now, she is another aspect of the sexualized marketing geared towards young girls in this country.

Dr. Gigi Durham has a term for this. She calls it the Lolita Effect and now has a new book out by Overlook Press titled, The Lolita Effect, The Media Sexualization of Young Girls and What we can Do About It. To understand what she means by the Lolita Effect, we need to dissect the original Lolita by Nabakov and compare it against the contemporary use of the term. Dr. Durham points out that todays usage of the term Lolita is to define a girl who is a walking taboo, an overly sexualized girl who is by legal definition too young for sex. Thus the term Lolita indicates a “deliberate sexual provocateur.” But the original Lolita was nothing like this. She was an innocent girl who was the powerless victim of her stepfather, who was an adult sexual predator. Quite a different meaning from what has become of the term. And so it is similar to the mainstream corporate media construct of sex and sexuality being pushed onto the mindsets of young girls. These images are out there to “serve their own market needs and profit motives, and they are powerfully alluring, especially to the young girls whose vulnerability they exploit…Rather than offering girls … thoughtful, open-minded, progressive, and ethical understandings about sexuality, our media and our culture have produced a gathering of ‘prostitots’ – hypersexualized girls whose cultural presence has become a matter of heated public controversy. This is the Lolita Effect.”

In her book, Dr. Durham criticizes the media for its sexual representations aimed at the young. She states that studies by the Kaiser Family Foundation and other research organizations show that sexual content aimed at children has increased steadily since the 1990s. Think about the rise of MTV, the popularity of Britney Spears and her sex kittenish look, tweens with plenty of disposable income and you can see how this group became a new consumer base for marketers. According to the market research firm Euromonitor, by 2007, 8 to 12 year olds’ consumer spending was $170 billion worldwide.

When asked why she thinks there is so much sexualized marketing towards young girls, Dr. Durham states that it is a growing problem fueled by marketer’s efforts to create cradle-to-grave consumers. She states that “A lot of very sexual products are being marketed to very young kids. I'm criticizing the unhealthy and damaging representations of girls' sexuality, and how the media present girls' sexuality in a way that's tied to their profit motives. The body ideals presented in the media are virtually impossible to attain, but girls don't always realize that, and they'll buy an awful lot of products to try to achieve those bodies. There's endless consumerism built around that."

In her book, she discusses five myths of sexuality perpetuated by mainstream media facing our girls:

1. If you’ve got it, flaunt it – skimpy clothes and the myth that “sexy” means to bare as much skin as they can.
2. Anatomy of a sex goddess – The perfect Barbie body.
3. Pretty babies – tarting up little girls to look sexy.
4. Violence is sexy – the rise of the slasher films and other gratuitous violence against women in media
5. What boys like – the media messages that bombard our girls is all about how to please the boys.

All of these myths are based on media reinforcement of emphasizing the importance of looking sexy and hot. In our media oversaturated environment, how can we combat these myths? Dr. Durham discusses the implications of these myths and offers strategies to help girls analyze and challenge them.

I read Lolita Effect in one sitting, nodding my head in agreement and shaking my head in disgust. It reminds us of all that we have to fear for our daughters but it also provides smart advice and information on what we must do to combat the problem. The time is ripe now for all of us to make a change. We have a responsibility to speak with our daughters, our sons, our grandchildren, with our students and our friends, and talk to them frankly about healthy sexuality. We must do something to combat the harmful messages of the media and corporate marketers. Dr. Durham has sounded a call to arms. We have a responsibility now to educate our girls, debunk these myths and empower them with new, healthy views of themselves. Today Dr. Durham is here to answer your questions. To start it all off, she was kind enough to answer a few of mine first:

Ello: Hi Dr. Durham. Thank you so much for being here today and agreeing to answer questions from our readers. One of the things that really struck me in your book is that you discuss the issue of the Disney cartoon heroines being so scantily clad like the Little Mermaid walking around in a sea shell bra and Pocahontas in a scanty buckskin dress. Comparatively, the male counterpart is always fully dressed. You further state that in general, you can see that Disney princesses all have large breasts, tiny waists and long legs. Just like Barbie dolls. On top of this, I heard in an interview that you mentioned that little girls watching a movie like Cinderella would have lower self esteem after watching it then a movie like Fantasia that had dancing hippos. This is troubling to me. What we are hearing is that it isn’t just the MTV videos and the Bratz dolls but something as classic as Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty that can cause self esteem issues. It is easy to point to Britney Spears or the girls in the MTV videos and say why it their clothes are inappropriate. It is less easy to do for a Disney princess. When every little girl wants to be a princess, what can we as parents do to combat the underlying negative message?

Dr. Durham: The best thing we can do as parents is give girls a multidimensional view of girlhood. Because of our culture and the media emphasis on the "princess" model of girlhood, every girl is infatuated with princesses. Rather than make that a taboo, our job is to broaden their horizons so that they realize that girls can be astronauts, forest rangers, and poets, and that princesses belong in fairy-tales. There are wonderful books and movies that explore alternative possibilities, from the fabulous Dora the Explorer to the long-beloved Pippi Longstocking to films like Akeelah and the Bee for older girls. In addition, we can discuss the princess imagery with our girls, asking questions like, "Wouldn't it be hard to ride a horse in a long gown like that?" Or, "Wow, she's so skinny. Could anyone in real life have a waist that small and still breathe?" (My own daughters understand clearly that cartoon bodies are nothing like real-life ones!) Finally, we should compliment girls on things other than their appearance, praising them for their intelligence, artistic abilities, athletic skills, and other aspects of their personalities. It's important to make it clear that the "princess" image is not one that works for real-life girls, and to make them feel really good about their real-world attributes and capabilities.

Ello: What about the boys? A lot of what you say in your book about helping girls understand the exploitation of media and the unrealities of the Barbie body is excellent advice, but as you point out, it is also an important conversation to have with boys. But society has long had a double standard on how boys and girls are treated. Is discussing these issues with boys enough? What can we do change the double standard?

Dr. Durham: Staying in dialogue with kids and sharing your values is the best thing you can do to sensitize both boys and girls to these issues. But talking back to media corporations is a good move, too. Demanding alternatives to violent video games, for example, or challenging the highly gendered imagery in advertising can bring about positive changes, in time. (Game makers are now realizing that nonviolent games like the Nintendo Wii are highly profitable!) Male activists like Jackson Katz and Byron Hurt conduct workshops for teenage boys and young men about confronting harmful concepts of masculinity, and their websites are terrific resources for parents of boys: www.jacksonkatz.com and www.bhurt.com

Ello: In connection with the issue of the double standards of boys and girls, you raise an issue of violence against women that has been rising in recent films and that boys and men are the targeted audience for these slasher films. And you raise a valid point that it isn’t that these films are increasing violence against women, but that it is reinforcing the environment of violence that already exists. What else can we do to help protect our girls?

Dr. Durham: This is a huge issue. As the writer and activist Jackson Katz points out, girls are not causing the violence. He focuses on helping good men take a public stand against violence against women. We can try to raise these issues in schools so that boys are as aware of the problem as girls are. We can develop community-based responses to violence, similar to Neighborhood Watch programs. We can make sure girls take self-defense classes so that they can protect themselves in the event of an attack. We can boycott the "gore-nography" that symbolically brutalizes girls and women. But the problem has social roots that will take a long time to address and change. We all need to be active in this effort.

Ello: Yes I completely agree. In fact I enrolled my girls in tae kwondo classes for this very same reason. I think my last two questions point us really towards a call to arms so to speak. We as a society should rise up together to battle the media conglomerates and big businesses for the sake of our girls and boys. For by helping our girls, we teach our boys to be better men. Do you think it can be done? Do you think we can effect change?

Dr. Durham: I truly do believe this can be done. The first step is recognizing the problem, talking about it publicly, and developing a consciousness that will lead to widespread action. This is how all major social movements have happened: if people hadn't believed in change, there would have been no Civil Rights movement. There would be no polio vaccine. I do believe in the human spirit as a force for change; as the anthropologist Margaret Mead (one of my heroes) said, "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has."

Thanks Dr. Durham! We are now open for questions. Dr. Durham will start answering and responding to all questions and comments posted today. She will begin in the morning and will take an afternoon break from 1:00 pm to 4:00 pm for her class. She will be continue to answer questions through the night so please don’t hold back! And thank you all for coming by today for this very important discussion.

Another failed dieting day

I should preface this by saying I had 4 days of smart and healthy eating choices before I crashed.

Yesterday we had ourselves a big old family barbecue at my house. Short ribs, spicy pork, steak, hot dogs and vegetables all went on my grill. Yes my grill. I am the griller in the house. Da Man does not grill, unless you consider burnt things barbecued. Weirdly enough, I love to grill. Something about standing in front of hot flames watching your food cook is very satisfying to me. And the taste, muy magnifico!

But when you invite a whole lot of people to your house, they usually show up with extra stuff, like fruit salad, wine, beer and dessert. And the rule at a barbecue is that you eat until you explode. And yes, I exploded. I started with a nice Corono light to drink as I grilled, I ended in a food coma on my sofa.

I tried talking to my stomach.

"Now Cupcake! (my girls named my stomach pooch, Cupcake) I need for you to behave! You only need that one plate of food."

Three plates of food later, I'm wrestling Cupcake away from the chocolate covered cream puffs that Da Man bought to torture me with.

Now let me explain. My plates of food are nowhere near as full as other peoples plates. Because I cannot have different types of food touching on my plate. Fruit cannot touch my meats and veggies. Dessert must be on a separate plate. Condiments must stay in their perfect little corners. Bread must be unsoggy and protected from all other items on my plate. And God forbid if some pickle juice taints any of my other foods! However, it is amazing how much food I can pile into discrete non-touching piles.

Angered by my forcible separation from the dessert table, Cupcake started hitting on the chocolate covered cream puffs telepathically.

"Hey little babettes of chocolate covered goodness, why don't you roll on over here so I can lick some of that creamy goodness all over my belly."

The cream puffs giggled coquetishly all the while exposing their rich chocolate glazed silky smoothness.

In alarm I tried to have an exorcism, "Evil Cupcake, foul beast! By the Power of Christ, Begone Wretched Eating Demon!"

Cupcake just looked up at me and said, "Bitch, get your fat ass over to those cream puffs and feed me some of their luscious goodness before I have to give you some serious intestinal pain."

Round 2 to Cupcake. Tomorrow I shall institute a truce of some kind. But today, we are battling Round 3 over the Carvel ice cream cake currently sitting in my freezer.

**************

*** Don't forget to come Wednesday for a discussion and Q&A session with Dr. Gigi Durham, author of The Lolita Effect, The Media Sexualization of Young Girls and What we can Do About It.***

COMING EVENT! THE LOLITA EFFECT

On Wednesday, May 28th, 2008, Dr. Gigi Durham, the author of a new groundbreaking book entitled The Lolita Effect, The Media Sexualization of Young Girls and What we can Do About It, will be here for a Q&A session to talk about her new book. I hope you will spread the word and bring many others to interact with Dr. Durham on a very important issue that affects us all, but most particularly parents of daughters.

As a mother of three young daughters, it is extremely important to me that my children grow up into strong, bright, independent women. But how can we do so in an age where our media and the world around seems to promote the oversexualization of women and they aim these messages at younger and younger ages? Please join us on the 28th to discuss what steps we can take and what needs to be done for the sake of all our girls. Dr. Durham will be happy to answer any questions you may have.


M. Gigi Durham, Ph.D., is a professor of journalism and mass communication at the University of Iowa. Her research on adolescent girls and media has appeared in Youth & Society and Critical Studies in Media Communication, and she served on the editorial board of The Encyclopedia of Children, Adolescents and the Media. A passionate advocate for children's rights and social justice, she lives with her husband and two daughters in Iowa City.

In The Lolita Effect, University of Iowa professor and journalist M. Gigi Durham offers new insight into media myths and spectacles of sexuality. Using examples from popular TV shows, fashion and beauty magazines, movies, and Web sites, Durham shows for the first time all the ways in which sexuality is rigidly and restrictively defined in media—often in ways detrimental to girls’ healthy development. The Lolita Effect offers parents, teachers, counselors, and other concerned adults effective and progressive strategies for resisting the violations and repressions that render girls sexually subordinate. Durham provides us with the tools to navigate this media world effectively without censorship or moralizing, and then to help our girls to do so in strong and empowering ways. (Overlook Press)

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

I was fortunate enough to find a copy of this book in my mailbox one day, courtesy of blogger/author Trish Ryan, who I must say is one of the funniest authors out there. Her blog is over at Trish's Dishes so do check it out if you haven't popped by before.

So when I first saw the cover of the book, I laughed. The title and cover are awesome, aren't they? But it wasn't until I actually got the book that I saw the subtitle, " A MEMOIR OF FINDING FAITH, HOPE, AND HAPPILY EVER AFTER." Uh oh. Seriously, books about faith are just not my cup of tea. And I get utterly irritated by stories about women desperately seeking a husband. I have to admit, therefore, that I very procrastinated, hemmed, hawed and only very reluctantly opened this book, because I did agree to post about it. Fast forward a hundred pages and I am laughing, wincing and overall enjoying Trish's book because she does what everyone hopes the author will do when you open a book, and that is to entertain your reader. Trish is really funny writer and writing funny is not easy. Especially for 300 pages. Like when she is surprised to see a Christian woman in a chic outfit. She states "Their sophistication blew my preconceived notion about Christian tackiness to pieces..." Yes this cracked me up because I too have that preconceived notion of the Little house on the prairie type housecoat, staid and boring, etc.

Not to say that this is some kind of humor book. It isn't. Trish is a very warm and reflective writer and you really get to see so much of what happened in her life that helped to define her. She relates stories about previous heartbreak with a winsome regret and a wry look back at her old self. Actually there are some quite poignant moments of revelation that are not easy to read, especially for a on again off again Catholic such as myself. But it didn't lose my interest. And where I felt faith was taking centerstage and there were moments where I was not comfortable, to be honest, I still read on because I wanted to know what happened. I wanted to see her happy ending. Believe me when I say it didn't disappoint me.

Why I'm back on my diet

So the other day I am brushing Angus's hair in the bathroom when she sticks out her belly and announces that she is so fat.

"No you are not and don't say such things in public because it can be offensive."

"What do you mean?" Angus asks.

"Well if someone who is really fat were to hear you, they might be hurt," I said.

Angus puts her hand on my arm and looks up seriously at me and asks, "Mommy, did I hurt your feelings?"

I have been sulking for two days now. Can't believe my 6 year old thinks I'm fat. Sheesh, I'm not fat, I'm just overweight. I mean just because the girls have named my tummy pooch "Cupcake" does not make me fat. Just because I'm 3 sizes my pre-pregnancy size does not make me fat. Just because my Mom likes to borrow my jeans, put them on, pull the waistband out and laugh about how she can stick another person in with her, does not make me fat. Like Youngest says, "Mommy, you are not fat, you just have smushy parts!"

I could blame the media and the toy and fashion industry for their unrelenting obssession with being thin, but I can point to something else closer in proximity. My friends and other skinny ass moms from school. Were I to sit on them, my size 10 butt would snap their size 2 frames in half. I don't get it! My friends who didn't have babies, I can easily discount. After all, pregnancy ruins your body. But these skinny ass moms had just as many babies as I did. That is so wrong!

Talking to them is painful enough.

I never eat desert.
Bitch.
Salads are my favorite thing to eat.
Crazy Bitch.
Oh I can eat anything I want! I never gain weight.
Die, Bitch, DIE!!

So I had a recent conversation with another Mom from Youngest's school. A lovely lady who has 2 strapping boys and yet has managed to maintain her pre-pregnancy figure of a size 4.

Skinnyass - I'm so bad. I've been grazing on snacks all day long!

Fatass - What kind of snacks?

Skinnyass - Oh you know, granola, nuts, carrots, celery...

Fatass - Hey I didn't know they made celery flavored Doritos!

Skinnyass (laughing) - Oh E you are so funny!

Sheesh, I wasn't kidding! But apparently when she meant grazing, she really meant it. I equate snack with tasty and it takes a lot of ranch dressing to make celery tasty.

So I'm back on my diet again. The second day and once again I have failed miserably. Today it was not really my fault. We had an all day long faculty meeting and one of the professors brought in a box of pastries. I tried to hold out but the pastry started talking to me.

Hello Ello! The cheese danish said. At which point I promptly ate it. Because as you all know, it had me at Hello.

Guest Post - from the Da Man

Da Man demanded his own blog entry with dire consequences to me if I were to alter his post in anyway. So here it is, warts and all:

Da’ Man is Back!

To those who doubted, distrusted, or otherwise disbelieved in Da’ Man (the “Dissenters”), I say “boo” to you (as in the most rabid Yankee fan taunting the Red Sox at a home game – Ello should appreciate this).

Anyway, I am back from lonely troll land in all of my glory and regalia so let the world know that Da’ Man has returned! So I say “HA!” (or “Ha Ha” or even “Ha Ha Haaaa”) to the Dissenters!

As for sleeping on the floor these past few nights, it’s actually been a pretty good deal as Angus and youngest still like to creep over in the middle of the night to crowd Ello all the while pushing me to the edge of the bed. Moreover, [ELLO SPOILER ALERT – the following is an Ello Spoiler, i.e., #3326 from list of things you don’t want to know about Ello. Stop reading lest your misguided faith in the Ello be dimmed], Ello does cut a mean . . . snore (admit it, you thought I was going to say something else, didn’t you) from time to time, and on those occasions if you can put some distance between your ears and her nose, you would be wise to do so. Consequently, I won’t say she snored every night of my banishment, but I will say I am a well rested soul.

In regard to that big ol’ diamond Ello keeps referencing, I would like to take this opportunity to say I too am waiting for that big ol’ 24 foot center console with twin Mercury outboards. But do I complain? No. For I understand that patience (and a good agent) are a virtue, and that in time Ello will realize (and have the royalties) to make Da’ Man an even happier Da’ Man.

Finally, thanks to those who believed in Da' Man and urged an end to his exile (more commonly known as the "Enlightened"). Your support is always appreciated. As for that self-folding laundry machine everyone keeps wishing for. Ello actually had one long ago in a galaxy far, far away. It was called “Da’ Man.”

Da’ Man

Aerin got me

With another meme. This one is of various things so here goes.

A Meme about Various Things

What were you doing ten years ago?

I'm supposed to remember 10 years ago? I can't remember what I had for dinner last night. Sometimes I can't remember if I closed my freaking garage door as I turn the corner from my house!! I've been known to pull out a diet coke, open it, take a sip. Then go back to the fridge and pull out another diet coke and open it before realizing I already had one! 10 years ago? Sheesh, let me go ask the Troll.

Ok apparently 10 years ago, I had left public broadcasting to join the production side of National Wildlife Federation. My friends were all laughing because my idea of protecting animals is to keep them as far away from me as possible. And my idea of loving nature is buying an Ansel Adams calendar. I don't like zoos. They depress me. And the smell, OMG! Between the farm and the zoo I find myself half gagging on my own vomit.

What are five things on your to-do list for today (not in any particular order):

1. Work on WIP
2. Answer whiny emails from students asking for reconsideration of their grades. HA HA, No.
3. Laundry. I am the Queen of the Neverending dirty laundry. It is the bottomless pit of dirty laundry. I hate laundry. I hate folding laundry. Why can't they build a machine so that when clothes are dry in the dryer, they come out already folded? I would pay big money for that.
4. Nag the Troll about his list of neverending things he has been procrasting on forever. He steam vacced half the rugs last night. I might give him an extra pillow for the floor, where he shall continue to sleep for the time being, if he finishes it up.
5. Keep working on WIP - seriously, I am getting close and it feels so good.


What are some snacks you enjoy?

- Chocolate
- kettle corn
- ice cream
- chocolate
- mangos
- potato chips
- chocolate
- pistachios, sunflower seeds with dried cranberries
- chocolate
- blue doritos
- coffee cake
- chocolate
- apple tart (only the one I make cause I make the best apple tart)
- chocolate

What would you do if you were a billionaire?

First I would fill my very large bathtub with dollar bills and I would bathe myself in money.

Next I would go buy myself that big ass diamond I have been waiting nearly 15 years for already.

Then I would hire a great chef and a personal shopper so that I never need to cook or shop ever again.

Then I would buy a Barnes and Nobles franchise so that I can have every book I ever want whenever I want it forever and ever.

Then I woud hide all the rest of the money in the Cayman islands and tell the kids and the Troll that all the money is hidden away for their own good because it is not good to spoil your children or your husband. This is for their own good. Builds character. But if there were very very good and did everthing I said, they would get some kick ass presents at least once or twice a year.

What are three of your bad habits?

My dad said it best here

What are five places where you have lived?

Brooklyn, NY
Queens, NY
Washington, DC
Bethesda, MD
Atlanta, GA

What are five jobs you have had?

1. Producer
2. Lawyer
3. intern at the city morgue
4. Waitress
5. Editor

I'm changing Aerin's last question because I can't remember books I've actually finished lately because I haven't been really able to. I've started several and not finished any because I've been so busy. So instead I shall answer a different question.

What are my favorite lines from a movie? I shall list the lines. Let's see how many of you can name the movie it comes from:

1. "I don't want to talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough wiper. I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries."

2. "Every time I put my line in the water I said a Hail Mary, and every time I said a Hail Mary I caught a fish."

3. "He has a wife, you know. You know what she's called? She's called... 'Incontinentia'... Incontinentia Buttocks"

4. "Tyrone, you know how much I love watching you work, but I've got my country's 500th anniversary to plan, my wedding to arrange, my wife to murder and Guilder to frame for it; I'm swamped."

5. "Our first bachelorette is a mentally abused shut-in from a kingdom far, far away. She likes sushi and hot-tubbing any time. Her hobbies include cooking and cleaning for her two evil sisters. Let's hear it for Cinderella!"

Rotten Egg

Da Man had a bad day Tuesday. He woke up in a bad mood and took it out on everyone. Yelling at every single one of us and making all the girls cry right before school. He was supposed to go to work late and attend Youngest's cute little muscial concert that morning, but he was so foul I told him he didn't have to go and HE BELIEVED ME!!! And so he stomped off to work like the nasty ass Troll he had turned into. I took a whimpering Youngest off to her concert where she perked up in time to turn in a terrific performance which I taped but have not yet shared with Da Man who shall henceforth be referred to as the Troll.

I picked up the girls from school and as they ran to the car, Youngest shouts, "First one in the car is a rotten egg!" as she runs into the car first.

"No silly! It is last one in is a rotten egg!" Oldest says.

"I mean, last one in is the rotten egg!" she corrects herself.

"Mommy's the rotten egg!" Youngest shouts with glee as I drag myself into the car.

After everyone is buckled in, Angus has apparently been mulling over the rotten egg business.

"You know, Mommy really isn't the rotten egg in the family," she says quite thoughtfully. "Daddy should be the rotten egg cause he yelled at all of us, even Mommy, I heard him!"

"Yeah! He yellded at me too!" Youngest says.

"And me," Oldest sighs.

"I know!" Angus says. "When Daddy comes home we'll all ignore him and not talk to him, ok?"

They all agree eagerly. I don't say anything because I have already made up my mind that I was not speaking to the Troll for the rest of the day. All afternoon, the girls are giggling about how they are going to ignore Daddy when he gets home. When finally they hear the door open and Daddy comes upstairs, they quieten down right away.

"Hey," the Troll says as he looks around the room.

Oldest and Youngest studiously ignore him. I turn my back on him. But Angus takes one look at him and screams, "Daddy you are the Rotten Egg in the family!!!"

And with that the girls fall down like a house of cards as they explain to him how he mean he is and what he has to do to make it up to them. As the Troll apologizes profusely to them and tries to avoid actually giving into blackmail involving new DS games and pokemon cards, he tries to apologize to me. I ignore him. The girls become suddenly aware that Mom has turned into an Ice Queen. They are now watching fascinated as the Troll tries to hug me and extort my forgiveness. For the sake of the kids, I give him a half-assed pat on the back and subject myself to his hug. Satisfied, the Troll heads upstairs to change and I turn back to washing dishes. Behind me I hear Angus say, "Mommy is still mad at daddy." Oldest agrees and says, "I think Daddy is sleeping on the floor again."

Oh yes, my girls are smarter then their Daddy cause the next morning, Daddy was in a bad mood again, but this time from sleeping on the cold hard floor. HA HA!

Congratulations to Stuart Neville aka Conduit!

Blogging buddy and exceptionally talented writer Stuart Neville, whose pieces of short fiction have left me speechless in amazement, has landed himself an agent. Uber agent Nat Sobel of Sobel Weber Associates, New York. You know the guy who represents James Ellroy and Richard Russo? He is now representing Stuart Neville among his list of elite writers and let me tell you, Stuart can hold his on there, that's how talented he is.

Congratulations Stuart! I had no doubts that you would get an agent and I am so thrilled for you!

Random Funny Things My Kids Say - Part 10

A close friend of mine who likes to lurk on my blog, has threatened to rat me out so I shall beat her to it and admit defeat myself. Although technically the bet was only for how long I could go without posting about bodily functions. I never actually said I wouldn't TALK about it, cause anyone who knows me knows that is virtually impossible. They don't call me the BurpEllo for nothing you know!

So I was out to dinner with my friend and both of our youngest daughters and I relayed her a funny Youngest story when she casually stated that she had read my blog post and so she would probably have to delurk to tell everyone that I had lost the bet. Damn. And yet relief as I now no longer have to hold back. And special thanks to all my Facebook Friends, the low down bums, who were taunting me all week by sending me Poop and Fart buttons for my flair board.

So here is the story that busted me,although I had only told her part of it at the time:

Youngest comes home and says, "Mom, I know how to do a Fart Roll!"

"A what?" I reply.

"FART ROLL! I learneded it at school from Mr. D!"

I'm smiling and shaking my head. "I don't think it is called a Fart Roll."

"Yes it is, just watch. I tumble and land on my butt with a big bounce."

Oldest, who has been listening, interjects in a highly superior way. "That's a forward roll, silly."

"No it isn't! It's called a Fart Roll! Cause when you land on your butt, sometimes it pusheded out a fart! Watch me!" Youngest does a Fart roll and sure enough a little toot sneaks out. Angus is cracking up and insists on trying this with Youngest. Pretty soon, fart rolls abound with and without accompaniment.

"That's enough!" I shout. "Enough with all the farting!"

A particularly loud and disturbing sound fills the air as suddenly Youngest jumps up and races off to the bathroom shouting, "I gotta go POTTY!!!"

"Me too!!!!" Angus squeals as she too races for the other bathroom upstairs.

"Your children are disgusting!" Oldest says as she stalks away.

So if you are ever constipated, try a fart roll. They are apparently very effective.

********************

And if that story wasn't gassy enough for you, try this fun little video.

How Women get away with Farting

Random Housekeeping

Sorry that I do not have a Forgotten Friday book today. It's been a little too chaotic for me to do anything overly substantive. So today is some random housekeeping notes. First of all, I noticed that my blogroll has been a little off lately. I've got lots of blogs I've been visiting that aren't even on my sidebar and some links that have gone bye bye for some reason. If you would like some linky love, please drop your linky to me.

FYI - I have asked Da Man to provide a guest post and put down the challenge that he couldn't be half as funny as I am. To which he responded that he is thinking of a post on "Things you don't (want to) know about Ello." But he is lazy and I think it will take him a year, if ever, to actually write the post. For example, we had broken ceramic tiles on the kitchen floor that every single one of us kept cutting our feet on except for Da Man whose troll like leather feet can't be penetrated by anything but athlete's foot. He wouldn't let me hire a handyman to fix it because he was too cheap and he kept putting it off and putting it off until a year passed and I threatened to take all ten of his fishing rods and reels and run them over with my van a couple of times. A year and two months from when the first tile broke, we finally got new tiles in our kitchen. So am I worried that he will tell you all my dirty little secrets? Puh-lease.

So have you noticed I am still reSTRAINING myself from posting anything on the subject of the last post's bet. I am MOVED by everyone's bets on how long it will take to break me. BUT I am a Taurus and as all people know about the bull, we are very stubborn and have great CONSTITUTIONALS. It is too bad because Youngest told me the funniest story which I cannot share with you. Too bad. Hey, GAS is so expensive these days, huh?

HA HA!!!!

Since I have told you all that my maiden name is Ha and my married name is Oh, it is time to talk about the power of having an Interjection for your name.

Yes, the laughs and the sorrow, ha ha, and oh no.

Yes, the disbelief, "Your name is an exclamation?"

Yes, the jokes, "Ms. Ha? So where's your brother Mr. Ho?" "Your family reunions must be a barrel of laughs."

Har, har. Note - not HA HA. For Har connotes sarcasm. HA connotes humor. HA HA means I laugh in your face you stupid cow. Seriously, only a true Ha can HA HA someone with real true force. Anyone else that HA HAs is HA HAing without having any backing. But if you are a Ha, your HA HA has the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval. It's in our blood. No other HA HA is like it. Except for Nelson Muntz from the Simpsons, that kid is good. But all others, bow down before the master, and I'll show you the proper way to HA HA. For example:

1. So I am standing here watching as your bratty kid smushes all the Kit Kat bars and Reeces Peanut Butter cups in the grocery aisle while you stand and watch indulgently, never once admonishing her to stop mangling the wares that someone else now cannot buy. What a little turd. I mean you, not the brat. Awwwww, poor thing just hit her head walking like a dumbass into the corner of my shopping cart that she was standing next to the whole time and now she is screaming her head off like I do when I inadvertently catch Paris Hilton on cable pretending to act. Oh yeah, that painful. You don't look so snooty arrogant anymore. You don't look so indulgent anymore. In fact, you look as if you have really bad hemorroids and haven't been able to take a crap in a few weeks. And no matter what you do, the little drama queen won't stop shrieking and everyone is looking at you like you are the worst mother of the year. I feel it coming. I really do. I can't control it... HA HA! Sucks to be you!

2. Hey, look at you multi-tasking as you are driving. Don't you have such a crick in your neck from holding your phone like that? And is that the largest size Starbucks coffee drink you could get? The Vexme? The Vanity? Or some shee shee poo poo sounding Italian term like that. Yeah, I never use those frou frou terms. I'm a peasant and the sizes are small, medium or large not Tall, Grounday, and Vendreday. Hello! The light's green. You can go now......... Any day now. I'd toot my horn but it is such a wimpy little thing, I'll let the big mac truck behind me blast his instead. I'm covering my ears. WHOOOOOHOOOOOOO! That was loud. Did that startle you? Did you spill your Vexme all over yourself? HA HA! (Here I pull around the driver to make eye contact and exaggerate my mouth and point my index finger so you know I'm laughing at you even though you can't hear me.)

3. So I am walking to the Target counter with my one item and you happen to see me and decide you need to rush past me to the one cashier that is open with your overflowing cart of scented candles, throw rugs and cheap household products. You immediately started unloading your tremendous load of crap as I stand behind you with my one single freaking item cursing you for the selfish miserable turd that you are for cutting in front of me instead of giving me the courtesy of going first. Oh look, your total is over $200.00. Wait, did your credit card get declined? I'm beginning to smile. Here goes credit card number 2. It got declined too?! Don't look at me and explain about your husband giving you the wrong cards, I don't give a crap. Here comes the Amex card. Ok, there is no limit on that sucker so that should work. WTF? It doesn't work either? You have to leave your stuff behind? Aw, too bad, so sad. HA, HA! (This is most effective behind your back as you walk out trying to look dignified.)

4. I am at the movie theaters trying to enjoy the movie, but you won't stop talking loudly and laughing, even during a dramatic scene. My loud hushes only cause you to talk louder and what the hell is that smell? Did you just sneak a squeak? Oh, no you took off your stinking shoes and is now your stank ass foot near my head. Fortunately, I carry a large safety pin in my purse. I surreptitiously fold my arms and stab your foot with the pin in a quick jabbing motion. Before you begin to scream obsenities, I throw the pin onto the ground and kick it several rows ahead. When you do attack me, I scream for help and have the ushers come and usher you away. As you are leaving, I let out a loud HA HA! This causes the audience to cheer in delight and also join in the HA HAing.

This concludes our lesson on HA HAing for today. Remember, if you are not laughing at someone, then someone is probably laughing at you. So beat them to it.

Random Funny Things Other People's Kids Say

I was at Nordstrom's Department store buying shoes for the girls when Angus needed to go to the bathroom. As I waited outside her stall, I heard the sweetest cutest little voice talking in the stall next door. She must have been 2 or 3 tops and she was chatting away to her Mother. I could even see her little black Mary Jane shoes walking back and forth on the floor under the stall door. I wasn't listening to her talking as I was impatiently waiting for my own kid to finish up when all of a sudden I heard her announce something loudly.

"Good job Mommy! You went poo poo in the potty!"

Oldest and Youngest, who are standing next to me begin to snicker. Youngest says, "Ew, yuck!" a bit loudly.

The Mommy is hushing her child but I can't hear what the little girl says because all of the sudden loud flushing. She rushed by in an embarrassed flurry as Angus also comes out and we all head over to wash our hands. The little girl beams at us as we come to the sink next to them and announces to Youngest, "My Mommy did a big poo poo in the potty!"

"How big?" Youngest asks.

"Really, really, really big!" Little girl replies.

"Ew! That must be stinky!"

"Yeah, really stinky!" They both began to shriek with laughter. I am biting my lips trying not to crack up and I glance over at the Mom wanting to give her a sympathetic look but the poor Mom looks absolutely mortified and quickly leaves with her daughter.

I feel for her. I do. Kids say anything. But you gotta laugh about it. Wish she hadn't run off so quick. I'd have been happy to tell her about the time Youngest informed everyone that Mommy's legs were scratchier and hairier than Daddy's cause I hadn't shaved all winter. Or when Angus used to mistakenly call a woman's private area the tushie. And scream out "You've got a hairy tushie!" at the locker room of our local pool. Oh yeah, kids say the craziest things.