blue girl

The Little Hockey Pucks

Snag at Befouled made plans to go to a professional hockey game and his boys weren't included.

The least surprising outcome of this plan is my children's rage. One would think I was using their college funds to pay for this. I am, I suppose, although it's not as though there's much set aside for that purpose. I'll frankly be satisfied if the three of them make it to their mid-twenties without doing hard time. Anyway, it's not the adverse effect on their intellectual growth that has them upset, it's the fact that I'm doing something fun and they're not included.

As I've been frequently reminded over the last week, I've never taken them to a professional hockey game. College, yes, but not the pros. I've replied that I've never taken myself to a professional hockey game. When I've gone it's always been because someone else had tickets. The boys aren't interested in logic, however, they're interested in vengeance.

Did Snag escape the attack zone? Read how it all played out.

Things are Upside Down and Backwards

I have friends who don't read blogs emailing me links to blogs I read.

We've clearly gone mainstream.

Well, not me. But other bloggers who write funny posts about old JC Penney catalogs.

Missing the Old Days

Over in the first official 2007 Bake-off thread, (which you should all go read, by the way. It's hilarious) we're trying to figure out what happened to Jedmunds, Res's sancho. My sancho, too, sometimes.

It's weird when someone just goes away. I'll always think of him when I hear this song though. And so will Pinko Punko, I'm sure.

And all the roads
we have to walk along are winding
And all the lights
that lead us there are blinding

And So It Begins

The Third Annual Holiday, Yeah, We Said Holiday, Bill O'Reilly, What Are You Gonna Do About It? Bake-off has commenced! Is commencing! Will commence shortly!

Sorry. Too much sugar. I've been eating Nestle morsels straight out of the bag.

New to blue girl this year? Don't know a lot about this bake-off extravanganza that took teh internets by storm a few years back?

Don't know how I whipped Res into a little whimpering creampuff in 2005?

Then, click over to The Republic of Dogs for the Official Rules, which could change and will change at any moment.

For instance, can we enter babka? Brittle? Borscht?

I say if you can make it lime green and use cinnamon hots, why not. But, I'm not a judge this year, so it's not up to me to decide. It's my job to harrass others relentlessly so that I can enter my award winning Christmas Borchst.

Or click over to the 2006 Cookie Queen's blog to read more. Jennifer's not only a babka, brittle and borscht lover, but also a custard fiend.

Mmmm. Lime green custard. I think I've got a winner.

Join in the sugary, sugary fun, won't you? All are welcome! You'll be so glad you did. And there's prizes. How can you not love that?

One more thing.

NO CHEATING!

That goes for you.

Not me.

A Big Queeny Mess

Read about Res and Miguel's Christmas tree which is shaping up to be a multicolored Festivus horror from beyond all time and out of the depths of chaos.

Didn't Get Much Done Today

"So What" with Miles Davis and John Coltrane.

h/t Ruth at Wheelie Catholic.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to build a fire and watch a movie.

There Is Comfort In the Sound

A few minutes ago, I was walking down the hallway and heard classical music coming from blue kid's room.

I opened his door, "Whatchya listening to?"

"Come in here, Mom.  Listen to this."

He continued, "Look out the window.  See the gray sky?  See the clouds moving?  The limbs of the trees bending in the wind?  See how the leaves are floating on air?

"Yeah."

"This is the perfect music for a day just like today.  It's perfect for this time of year."

We both stared out the window and were silent as we listened to the song together.  And I thought how grateful I am for this kid of mine.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Bring Him On

I'm going to post Mr. Wolcott's latest post in its entirety so that my readers who aren't blogosphere addicts and who don't click links will be sure to read the whole dang thing.

The I-Man Cometh

Rory O'Connor rattles the usual pots and pans over at Huffington Post to wake up and arouse sleepyheads to the dangers of Don Imus's return to radio on December 3rd, and to raise a clamor over the "enablers" who made the I-Man's red-carpet comeback possible. It's the usual din where Imus is concerned, an indictment that doesn't differentiate between bad-taste wisecracks that are a vibrant, unwholesome American tradition--unless you want to ban everybody from Lenny Bruce to Sam Kinison to Karen Griffin to Sarah Silverman from the entertainment pavilion--and ethnic/sexist/racial slurs that go over the ever-shifting line of what's acceptable. It doesn't serve any purpose to cast nuance out the window and characterize a radio host whose daily four-hour broadcast covered everything from politics to country music to sports to the precarious state of Imus's wheezing lungs as if it were a fascist loudspeaker blaring "the most vile sort of dehumanizing hate speech." Most of the time Imus is simply bitching like a bitter old man, and genuine misanthropy has its own kind of craggy integrity in a media biosphere where the on-air talent glisten like fresh produce and need PIN codes to access their emotions. I get the feeling that most of the bloggers recapping Imus's slurs and outrages at the microphone (and those of his former producer Bernard McGuirk) never actually listened to the program, except for a few bites here and there picked up online. Instead, they avail themselves of the Media Matters files or other Googly sites and trot out the same litany of low points, without mentioning the more ennobled sentiments Imus has expressed, such as muttering "war criminal" whenever Dick Cheney was mentioned.*

As for whether or not politicians, pundits, and book authors should appear with the post-"nappy ho" disgraced-chastened-contrite Imus, my feeling is, Let grownups make up their own grownup decisions without flapping our hands in the air and acting scandalized, as if some invisible picket line has been crossed. Right now it's the easy wimpy thing for former Imus guests to claim the high road and decline to sully their phony-baloney reputations by associating with the program that stood them so well in the past. The lack of personal loyalty to Imus by some of his bigfoot media pals is as shabby as the crappy way Dan Rather was treated by so many of his colleagues at CBS when he hit the skid.** Hell, I'd have more respect for some of the "name" journalists in O'Connor's article if they stepped up to the plate rather than cower beneath the umbrella of their company's policy, like those mouse squeakers over at Newsweek.

I admit a selfish interest in semi-welcoming Imus's return. Despite my valiant service at Vanity Fair and as Elaine Stritch's personal assistant (the hours I spent ironing her tights), I seem to be one of the few writers the sum-of-a-bitch never invited on his puppet show. This would irk me and stoke resentment were I not the egoless vessel of unbounded being you see seated before you in the barber chair. So I have no career stake in the Imus platform. He never helped nor hindered my Napoleonic quest. No, my interest is more picayune.

Since his ignominious exit, I've had nothing to listen to in the morning. Once I finish my mediation, I turn on the radio and soon turn it off again, one disappointed little cowpoke. Have you tried listening to that jockstrap yammerfest WFAN installed in Imus's stead? It's awful, AWFUL. The other New York morning shows--nothing but sleet and drivel. I try listening to NPR but I'm just not a good enough person to be the receptacle for all that homogenized reasonableness lightly sugared with whimsey and vitamin-enriched with valuable life lessons. I'd rather hear Imus complain about a dead gnat floating in his herbal tea, or something equally earth-shattering.

And if that makes me an enabler, okey-doke. When it comes to comedy I prefer to lean on the side of leniency and not be too much of a hypocrite about what makes me laugh.***

*Yes!

**Yes, yes!

***Yes, yes, and yes again to this entire post!

I can't wait to listen to Imus again.

***

And for my friends and family who don't surf too much, always read Wolcott and give the others on my blogroll a click. You'll never be disappointed.

I Love When My Parents Fight

My mom told me that she and my stepfather had it out the other night during the Democratic debate.

My parents watched the Democratic debate?

She said, "You know, I told him, Dennis Kucinich can't win and he knows that. So, he just gets up there and tries to make points and tries to tell everyone the way it is. And he makes sense. You have to be half crazy not to see what's been going on the last seven years. Well, he got mad and started blaming Clinton for September 11. The way he cut the budget for the military during the 90s, the way he ruined the CIA...."

She went on for several minutes about their argument and I sat there thinking, Yay!

There's nothing I love more than thinking of the two of them sitting in their living room arguing about politics. My only regret is that discussions like this didn't happen around the dinner table from 1975 - 1982.

Boy, would I have loved that. In all it's uncomfortable, aggravating glory.

It's Been a Beautiful November

Something to be thankful for.