But this is fun--at http://glitterparade.com you can see a young gentleman named Charles V. dancing to various tunes suggested by his viewers. I found the site because someone--someone I wish I could get to know--requested that he dance to Kate and Anna McGarrigle's "Travellin' on for Jesus," for which I was trying to find guitar chords. Sadly, it seems that has not yet come to pass.(The dancing. Or, for that matter, the guitar chords.) But I enjoyed the embedded video for "Wake Me Up (Before You Go-Go)."
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Monday, June 18, 2007
Funny, I Have The Opposite Problem
M. is sitting on the couch with S.'s discarded 3rd grade science textbook.
"There's nothing in this whole book about socks! It's all learning, learning, learning. So inappropriate."
"There's nothing in this whole book about socks! It's all learning, learning, learning. So inappropriate."
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Two and a Half Stories About Never Saying Never
1. When I was 13 I got an ill-advised sort of punk 80s-style short haircut that caused unobservant people to think I was a boy. Even, once, when I was wearing a miniskirt. As I said, unobservant. Anyway, after about a year of this haircut I decided to grow it out. And my grandmother, flailing for conversation topics, said,
"Your mother tells me you're growing your hair out."
"Yes," I said. "I figure this is kind of my last chance to have long hair." (In the early-to-mid 80s, grownup women did not have long hair unless they were hippies who couldn't let go).
"Oh, I don't know," she said. "Grandmom (her mother, my great-grandmother) always had long hair. You could wear it up."
WhatEVER, I thought. As if I would ever wear my hair up. Gag me, etc.
So now, thanks to the miracle of modern hair accessory technology, and having tried a variety of short to medium cuts that make me feel, well, not like myself, I have long hair that I wear up almost every day. It suits me. And then I can take it down and do that "Why, Miss Jones!" sexy librarian thing. Nannie was right.
2. For many years I have read magazine articles suggesting that families should exercise together. And I would dismiss the idea with lightning speed. Yes, I wanted my children to participate in sports, and I fervently hoped that they would not find gym class the torment it was to me. And yes, I would, sporadically, seek out some form of exercise for myself--tapes, classes, the elliptical--none of them very family-oriented.
Yesterday I went for a run with NSLR and S, and it was so fun. Okay, they still didn't actually run with me the whole time, because they run nearly twice as fast as I do (6:30 miles to my 11). But it was fun being on the trail, and stretching together, and driving there and back. The parenting magazines were right.
2.5 The fact that I am even running is a bit of a never-say-never miracle in itself. And now I feel like the world is my oyster. I could, potentially, try to learn squash and play with the rest of my family (if they play left-handed or something).
"Your mother tells me you're growing your hair out."
"Yes," I said. "I figure this is kind of my last chance to have long hair." (In the early-to-mid 80s, grownup women did not have long hair unless they were hippies who couldn't let go).
"Oh, I don't know," she said. "Grandmom (her mother, my great-grandmother) always had long hair. You could wear it up."
WhatEVER, I thought. As if I would ever wear my hair up. Gag me, etc.
So now, thanks to the miracle of modern hair accessory technology, and having tried a variety of short to medium cuts that make me feel, well, not like myself, I have long hair that I wear up almost every day. It suits me. And then I can take it down and do that "Why, Miss Jones!" sexy librarian thing. Nannie was right.
2. For many years I have read magazine articles suggesting that families should exercise together. And I would dismiss the idea with lightning speed. Yes, I wanted my children to participate in sports, and I fervently hoped that they would not find gym class the torment it was to me. And yes, I would, sporadically, seek out some form of exercise for myself--tapes, classes, the elliptical--none of them very family-oriented.
Yesterday I went for a run with NSLR and S, and it was so fun. Okay, they still didn't actually run with me the whole time, because they run nearly twice as fast as I do (6:30 miles to my 11). But it was fun being on the trail, and stretching together, and driving there and back. The parenting magazines were right.
2.5 The fact that I am even running is a bit of a never-say-never miracle in itself. And now I feel like the world is my oyster. I could, potentially, try to learn squash and play with the rest of my family (if they play left-handed or something).
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Best Damn Place Of All
I just got back from my 15th college reunion, and I am suffused with love for everyone and everything in the world. Actually, I got back on Sunday, but today was the first day I was fully conscious again. It was fun driving home. The super-secret college that Ergo and I attended is still quite the idyllic place, especially when it is chock full of old people.
I'm still not firing on all cylinders. So much so that I'm not sure that's the right idiom. Or whether it is, in fact, a metaphor. Apparently I was quite drunk on Saturday night--I am told that I kept saying, slowly and loudly, "I am Kick. Ing. It!" I vaguely remember telling a room full of people a secret story about someplace I vomited freshman year.
What else can I say without invading other people's privacy? Not much. Hey, but I will tell you this: I had a Pilates session today and my instructor couldn't understand how I had made so much progress in one week. "Let's do another advanced move," she said in a voice full of wonder. So for dramatically increasing your strength and flexiblity, I strongly recommend a three-day binge of mixed beer, wine, rum, and vodka; five hours of sleep a night; and small amounts of bad institutional food. So much more fun than the Master Cleanse.
I'm still not firing on all cylinders. So much so that I'm not sure that's the right idiom. Or whether it is, in fact, a metaphor. Apparently I was quite drunk on Saturday night--I am told that I kept saying, slowly and loudly, "I am Kick. Ing. It!" I vaguely remember telling a room full of people a secret story about someplace I vomited freshman year.
What else can I say without invading other people's privacy? Not much. Hey, but I will tell you this: I had a Pilates session today and my instructor couldn't understand how I had made so much progress in one week. "Let's do another advanced move," she said in a voice full of wonder. So for dramatically increasing your strength and flexiblity, I strongly recommend a three-day binge of mixed beer, wine, rum, and vodka; five hours of sleep a night; and small amounts of bad institutional food. So much more fun than the Master Cleanse.
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