Happy New Year!
I usually get really smart-alecky this time of year and say something like, "My New Year's Resolution is to gain ten pounds and take up smoking!" This year, though, I honestly just feel like, oh, if things just keep going like they've been, that's just fine with me. Maybe I'm content, or maybe it's this good beer I've been drinking. Who knows? Anywho, I resolve not to resolve much.
I'm normally a compulsive self-improver. I read in The Sun that, instead of making a "To Do" list, you should have a "Not To Do" list, and that way, at the end of the day, you'll feel much better about yourself. Well, I tried it. I couldn't think of anything not to do. It was too hard. It made me feel kind of bad about myself that I couldn't think of anything that I wouldn't do that day. So I decided not to make a "Not To Do" list. Then, I realized, that I could have put that on my "not to do" list, not to make the list itself, but that then that in itself would be making the list, and then... at this point I felt my head starting to spin around.
What not to do? Indeed, what not to do.
The gym is always crowded next week. My lesbian basketball club used to be way too full the week after New Year's, too. Suddenly, I wouldn't be the only married girl there. There would be ten extra ladies in sports bras. (The usual gals did not necessarily wear bras.) Then by February, all those straight little bitches would be gone, and it would just be me and my homies again. Attack! Attack! The only move I have in basketball is stealing the ball. Actually, though, that's a pretty good move, isn't it? Ah, the good old days. My new neighborhood doesn't have the dyke basketball league. Alas, I'm deprived. I always feel comfortable sporting around with gay people. Is that weird? Am I the only married lady who feels this way?
Is there a rule about drinking and blogging? Is that like drunk dialing, only worse, because it goes out to all the world?
Truly though, I'm not drunk at all, only making excuses for my penchant for foul language and gay sporting events.
Happy new year! I hope we save the world this time around.
Peace and Happiness This Christmas to You All
Like most cynics, I'm really sentimental at heart. But I think John Lennon said things better than I can, so here it is, my wish to you for this Christmas- and chords, because, hey, why not? Pretty much everyone who reads this is a musician:
John Lennon and Yoko Ono
Happy Christmas (War Is Over)
So this is Christmas
And what have you done
Another year over
And a new one just begun
And so this is Christmas
I hope you have fun
The near and the dear ones
The old and the young
/ D - / Em - / A7 - / D - / G - / Am - / D - / G - /
{Refrain}
A very merry Christmas
And a happy New Year
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear
/ C - / Dm - / Am C / G A7 /
And so this is Christmas War is over
For weak and for strong If you want it
For rich and the poor ones War is over
The road is so long Now
And so happy Christmas War is over
For black and for white If you want it
For yellow and red ones War is over
Let's stop all the fight Now
{Refrain}
And so this is Christmas War is over
And what have we done If you want it
Another year over War is over
And a new one just begun Now
And so happy Christmas War is over
I hope you have fun If you want it
The near and the dear one War is over
The old and the young Now
{Refrain}
War is over if you want it
War is over now
Counting Sheep
I couldn't sleep a few nights ago, so I started thinking up songs that give good parental advice. I had a good long list of them in my head by the time I fell asleep, but by the next morning, the only one I could remember was, "Don't Give That Girl a Gun," by the Indigo Girls.
Musical Therapy
They say that playing Mozart, Beethoven, and Bach for your baby will make her smarter. But has anyone ever studied the long term effects of Led Zeppelin, Billie Holiday, and John Coltrane?
The Arts Are Alive and Well
So, my friend, Julie, is trying to put her baby down for a nap in the middle of the afternoon, around 3 o'clock, on a snowy day last week, while the kids at the nearby middle school (where I briefly taught chorus) are getting out of school. She lives a few houses down from the school, so every day a slew of kids walks by about this time. It's snowing like crazy out, a near blizzard, and Julie hears some sort of noise coming from outside. Annoyed, (she's trying to get her kid to sleep) she looks out her window and (to her surprise) sees a middle school boy, standing in front of her house, playing a tuba in the snowstorm.
A tuba.
Julie considers this. She decides it's just too ludicrous to say anything.
A tuba.
Julie considers this. She decides it's just too ludicrous to say anything.
Finally! Someone who laughs at my jokes.
I made Zelma really laugh for the first time tonight. She has two laughs: a little snicker, which she does so often that, if she weren't so sweet and innocent, we might think she was just laughing at us all of the time; and then she has a real belly laugh, which I've only heard once or twice, and until tonight, it was only Brian who could make her do it.
Tonight, though, I got her to laugh really hard. All I did was lay on my back and hold her over me, parallel to me, to make her feel like she was flying. She thought it was hilarious. I have no idea why.
And in other news... Lake Minona is already frozen over and has snow landing on it. It snowed again today. There are ice fishermen out already. Ice fishermen are insane, the whole stinken' lot of them. Why in the world would you go out and sit on a frozen lake all day? Many of them don't catch a darn thing. They just drink beer. They bring a tobogan full of beer out with them and sit out there and drink. They sit in groups. It's quite the sport. I hear things get real sketchy when you run out of beer out there on the lake. Sitting out there just isn't the kind of thing you want to do sober. I call it "Ice Drinking," actually.
Tonight, though, I got her to laugh really hard. All I did was lay on my back and hold her over me, parallel to me, to make her feel like she was flying. She thought it was hilarious. I have no idea why.
And in other news... Lake Minona is already frozen over and has snow landing on it. It snowed again today. There are ice fishermen out already. Ice fishermen are insane, the whole stinken' lot of them. Why in the world would you go out and sit on a frozen lake all day? Many of them don't catch a darn thing. They just drink beer. They bring a tobogan full of beer out with them and sit out there and drink. They sit in groups. It's quite the sport. I hear things get real sketchy when you run out of beer out there on the lake. Sitting out there just isn't the kind of thing you want to do sober. I call it "Ice Drinking," actually.
It's Not Even Winter Yet
I like snow, but this is a lot for so early. What if, as sometimes happens, it doesn't melt until Spring?
Another Incident
So, I was at the post office downtown yesterday and I met this guy who wanted to promote my music.
This was odd for several reasons, the most prominent reason being that I had no instrument with me, didn't mention playing any music, and well- isn't that enough? It was odd. It started as a conversation about the weather and progressed to an offer to promote my music, which I had never mentioned in any way. The guy was like, "You aren't by any chance some sort of artist, are you?" I declined his offer to promote me, saying, truthfully, that I needed a hell of a lot more practice. He then went on about how he wanted to "bring the music back to town" etc. etc., which is also quite odd because, you know, there's live music all over the place here.
So that was weird. And the whole way home I was thinking about explanations, finally deciding that I grew up around so many musicians that I must just seem like one, myself.
And then I tell the story to Brian and he's like, "That guy was hitting on you."
Oh, Duh.
The reason I didn't think he was hitting on me was because I'm a thirty-something white girl and he was a fifty-something black guy. (I'm a bit prejudiced-not against anything like that, but I just don't notice it as a possibility, I guess.) And also because I never think anyone is hitting me in any way, unless they are more blatant, like an actual "your place or mine" kind of thing, and then that's always very yucky and I get all upset about it.
But then I started to really think about it, obsessingly, really, and I realized, stupidly, that fifty-something black men ALWAYS hit on me! As a matter of fact, I have been flirting with nothing but fifty-something black men (and maybe one or two younger black men) since I moved here- totally inadvertently. I don't know what it is. Either other ethnicities are not interested in me, or they're all just too subtle for me to catch on.
My favorite pickup line is from a certain black-fifty-year-old-martial-arts-master-history-teacher who shall remain nameless. (ha ha.) He asked me, "How are you?" one day and I said,
"I'm fine." He very pointedly looked me up and down said,
"I can SEE that." And I blushed and ran away.
The reason that one is my favorite is because it affected me so. Every time, for months, when someone asked me how I was, I couldn't help but think of him. I couldn't say, "I'm fine" anymore. I opted for the grammatically incorrect, "I'm good." And I was an English major! Is that what he meant to have happen? It's too funny. What a colossally good joke.
This was odd for several reasons, the most prominent reason being that I had no instrument with me, didn't mention playing any music, and well- isn't that enough? It was odd. It started as a conversation about the weather and progressed to an offer to promote my music, which I had never mentioned in any way. The guy was like, "You aren't by any chance some sort of artist, are you?" I declined his offer to promote me, saying, truthfully, that I needed a hell of a lot more practice. He then went on about how he wanted to "bring the music back to town" etc. etc., which is also quite odd because, you know, there's live music all over the place here.
So that was weird. And the whole way home I was thinking about explanations, finally deciding that I grew up around so many musicians that I must just seem like one, myself.
And then I tell the story to Brian and he's like, "That guy was hitting on you."
Oh, Duh.
The reason I didn't think he was hitting on me was because I'm a thirty-something white girl and he was a fifty-something black guy. (I'm a bit prejudiced-not against anything like that, but I just don't notice it as a possibility, I guess.) And also because I never think anyone is hitting me in any way, unless they are more blatant, like an actual "your place or mine" kind of thing, and then that's always very yucky and I get all upset about it.
But then I started to really think about it, obsessingly, really, and I realized, stupidly, that fifty-something black men ALWAYS hit on me! As a matter of fact, I have been flirting with nothing but fifty-something black men (and maybe one or two younger black men) since I moved here- totally inadvertently. I don't know what it is. Either other ethnicities are not interested in me, or they're all just too subtle for me to catch on.
My favorite pickup line is from a certain black-fifty-year-old-martial-arts-master-history-teacher who shall remain nameless. (ha ha.) He asked me, "How are you?" one day and I said,
"I'm fine." He very pointedly looked me up and down said,
"I can SEE that." And I blushed and ran away.
The reason that one is my favorite is because it affected me so. Every time, for months, when someone asked me how I was, I couldn't help but think of him. I couldn't say, "I'm fine" anymore. I opted for the grammatically incorrect, "I'm good." And I was an English major! Is that what he meant to have happen? It's too funny. What a colossally good joke.
The Mother of the World's Smallest Led Zeppelin Fan Speaks
We were forced to play Led Zeppelin's "Physical Graffiti" tonight, as it was the only thing that would calm Zelma down. Sitting around listening to it made me think of all of the Led Zeppelin fans I'd known.
I had a boyfriend in college who was a huge Led Zeppelin fan. He used to dance waving his fists in the air to the beat, which sort of embarrassed me at the time. These days, I don't think I would be embarrassed by being with someone who was dancing funny. Maybe I would just back off a little, that's all, but I would still encourage it. Really, he didn't even dance funny. He danced like Bruce Springstein.
Then there was this bus driver in Durango. He played Led Zeppelin on the bus speakers, on the city bus. Only in Durango! I remember him saying once, "I've been part time, temporary, for six years!" I wonder if he still is.
"Physical Graffiti" is on two disks, and I was using my computer as a CD player. Taking out a disk and putting in a new one takes about half a minute. Zelma started crying the second the music stopped, and stopped crying as soon as she could here it again. I swear to god. Brian was holding her in front of him while the music was playing, and she put her fists up in the air and bounced a little... kind of like that ex-boyfriend of mine, actually.
It Happens
I was taking a bath in the bathtub with Zelma today (because that's how all the books recommend doing it) when something horrible happened. I bet you can guess what it was.
I was just getting ready to get out. I rinsed my face and rubbed my eyes and looked down and- yes, there it was- baby poop in the bath water. "AH!" I yelled, and spat, because I had just washed my face. I looked over and saw the familiar one-toothed grin from you-know-who (no, not Voldemort, Zelma). And that's when Zelma got her first shower with Mommy. Quickly. Immediately. She didn't mind it a bit. Nor the poop, for that matter.
Babies really give you a new perspective on bodily functions.
I was just getting ready to get out. I rinsed my face and rubbed my eyes and looked down and- yes, there it was- baby poop in the bath water. "AH!" I yelled, and spat, because I had just washed my face. I looked over and saw the familiar one-toothed grin from you-know-who (no, not Voldemort, Zelma). And that's when Zelma got her first shower with Mommy. Quickly. Immediately. She didn't mind it a bit. Nor the poop, for that matter.
Babies really give you a new perspective on bodily functions.
Trapped!
Oh, my. The weather outside was frightful! We've been trapped at home all weekend. It's funny how it doesn't matter whether you stay home all day until you truly can't do anything else. Then you feel bad about it.
What happened was, it snowed yesterday, and then it rained a freezing rain, and then it did some sort of precipitation which I will now christen, "SOMETHING AWFUL," and then it froze. Bad, bad, bad. The streets were completely impassable by midday yesterday. At breakfast this morning, we speculated about when our street would be cleared. Tomorrow by 3 PM? Tonight by 9 PM? By 11:00 AM we were snapping at each other as though, I don't know, we didn't like each other or something. Even Zelma, who usually only cries these days for some sort of good reason, was just in a general funk, randomly crying at the slightest provocation, or really at nothing at all.
Then I baked oatmeal cookies, which helped a lot. At least I know it helped me. Miraculously, the snow plow came today at 1 PM. We would have gone out and cheered by the side of the road at the snow plow (which was a monster truck rally sized tractor) except that I was cutting Brian's hair and he was in his underwear. Immediately after the tractor plowed, we went out to shovel, and it was like the world had been given a coating of slurpy, with an inch or two of solid ice underneath it. It was a horrible muck.
There was still no place to go and nothing to do, however, so Brian started playing Christmas songs on the banjo. Zelma took a turn for the better, kicking her feet and smiling. Things were looking up. And then it came to me, the most brilliant idea of the week (or at least the weekend): What if we made a Christmas album and played actual Christmas songs on it? Wouldn't that be something?
The world outside is still frozen. But we have a plan.
What happened was, it snowed yesterday, and then it rained a freezing rain, and then it did some sort of precipitation which I will now christen, "SOMETHING AWFUL," and then it froze. Bad, bad, bad. The streets were completely impassable by midday yesterday. At breakfast this morning, we speculated about when our street would be cleared. Tomorrow by 3 PM? Tonight by 9 PM? By 11:00 AM we were snapping at each other as though, I don't know, we didn't like each other or something. Even Zelma, who usually only cries these days for some sort of good reason, was just in a general funk, randomly crying at the slightest provocation, or really at nothing at all.
Then I baked oatmeal cookies, which helped a lot. At least I know it helped me. Miraculously, the snow plow came today at 1 PM. We would have gone out and cheered by the side of the road at the snow plow (which was a monster truck rally sized tractor) except that I was cutting Brian's hair and he was in his underwear. Immediately after the tractor plowed, we went out to shovel, and it was like the world had been given a coating of slurpy, with an inch or two of solid ice underneath it. It was a horrible muck.
There was still no place to go and nothing to do, however, so Brian started playing Christmas songs on the banjo. Zelma took a turn for the better, kicking her feet and smiling. Things were looking up. And then it came to me, the most brilliant idea of the week (or at least the weekend): What if we made a Christmas album and played actual Christmas songs on it? Wouldn't that be something?
The world outside is still frozen. But we have a plan.
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