blue girl

No Sympathy for the Devil*

I came inside a few hours ago from raking out the flower beds. Blue Kid was lying on the couch, hugging a pillow, watching Frost/Nixon. I grabbed a magazine and sat down on the other couch.

"Is this movie good?"

"Yeah. It's really good. All the actors are perfect. They have perfect chemistry. There's nothing fake about them at all."

I tried to tune out the movie while I read my article, but it kept pulling me in.

"Think it was good enough to have been nominated for an Oscar?"

"Yeah. I think it should have won. Mom, Nixon didn't only do bad things."

"I know. Is this movie making Nixon out to be a sympathetic character?"

"Yeah."

"That always happens after time goes by. You end up feeling sorry for them in a way."

"That won't ever happen with George Bush!"

"Yeah. It probably will."

He shot me a look.

"I think the tragedy of Bush was that every role he ever played was pushed on him because of who he was -- the family he came from. The guy should have been a salesman, working trade shows."

"Would he see it that way?"

"Who knows. He's so cocky. Maybe deep down. You would think at his age he has to recognize failure."

Twenty minutes later, the movie ended with Frost and Nixon standing on a beautiful patio, overlooking the ocean. Nixon told Frost how lucky he was that people seemed to enjoy him and he seemed to enjoy people right back. He said he found it odd that he had chosen the life of a politician. One where it's so important to have people like you. He said he never really had that.

"You know, I think there's one person who may never been seen as a sympathetic character, BK."

"Dick Cheney."

"Dick Cheney."

"You know, Dick Cheney was in the Nixon administration."

Blue Kid shot me a look. A few minutes went by.

"I'm gonna go Google it."

"Rumsfeld, too!"

And I heard his door shut and the Googling begin.

***

*Headline changed when I realized I goofed. Of course, BP caught the typo!

Number One Item on the To-do List

The Skimmer woke me up coughing this morning.

“You ok? Honey. Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’ve been doing that. I think sometimes I stop breathing for a minute.”

Well, that was a comforting thought. I tried to fall back to sleep. I glanced at the clock. 6:13. I willed that dreamlike state I fall into right before I fall back into a deep sleep to whisk me away. But, all I could will myself to imagine was the kitchen and the coffee and me. The three of us as one. As I walked out of our bedroom, The Skimmer said, “You gettin’ up?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll just sleep for another half hour, maybe 45 minutes. What time is it?”

“6:22.”

“Maybe another couple hours.”

“That’s fine. Just keep breathing.”

I’m happy to report that he managed it. An hour and a half later he was up, doing his typical Saturday morning shtick.

“Did you make coffee? I have so much to do. I’ve got to cut the grass, fix that part of the fence in the back. Wonder if we have gas in the lawnmower. Look at this moulding. Lego has destroyed it. Wonder if I should go to Lowe’s and get new moulding and replace it today. Have you checked the back door? Is it opening and closing any better now that the weather’s warmed up? The lock on it’s not working right. I need to replace it. Oh, man, I have so much to do. What are you gonna do today?”

“Nothing. I’m too exhausted by everything you say you have to do. I might have to take a nap.”

“I have to work today, too. Three projects. If I don’t get a jump on them, I’m gonna be totally screwed on Monday. What time does the bank close? We have to talk to that one guy there. Wonder if we still have those moles in the front yard. Have you noticed any? Are they back? I need to figure out a way to get rid of them.”

“Why don’t you just sit down for a minute and relax?”

“I have so much to do!”

“It’s only eight o'clock. Just sit down for a minute. Just breathe.”

And he did. And we talked about this, that and the other for more than an hour while drinking our coffee. While Blue Kid slept. While the cats danced around the living room. While the only sounds from the outside world that could be heard were the birds chirping in our lilac tree outside an open window.

It’s always the nicest part of the weekend.

Blue Girl Has a Typo in Her Script and Hilarity Ensues

Well. Pennsylvania. Shaw!

Damn you, fish. (You have been smoted!) Damn you, Zombie Clown. Damn you, plover.

I curse the fact that I now know that just because I can type I can now make movies.

Damn you all! Off with your heads!

Where Glum Avenue and Rhymey Road Intersect

I have two posts in the works that keep getting completely out of control. They both keep going off in directions that are unexpected. Which would be okay if when going their merry way, they'd skip off in cheerful directions, but, alas, that is not the case. For some reason, they keep taking Glum Avenue.

I shall have none of that!

So, I decided to Google quotes on writing to seek inspiration. The thought that was going through my head was clunky, clunky writing. I wanted to find a quote that talked about clunky, clunky writing. When I couldn't find anything, I thought maybe I should just write my own. But all I could come up with was...

Clunky, clunky writing
Clunky funky punk writing
Who needs it
Flunkies
Junkies
Hunky dory plucky monkeys

So rhymey!

I did find a quote I liked by Douglas Adams.

Writing is easy. You only need to stare at a piece of blank paper until your forehead bleeds.

What a plucky monkey.

Now back to that detour off Glum Avenue.

Stand Up

For Bench Monday!

Heckler

Just finished watching "Heckler." A documentary by Michael Addis and Jamie Kennedy. I would say it stunk! But, that would be mean.

Plus, it wouldn't be true.

The Voice of Truth

From Nancy Nall:

Finally, since we seem to be heavy on the popculch today, to the next person who sends me the Susan Boyle video:

Stop it. I don’t care how much you were moved, wowed, whatevered. I don’t care. Don’t you realize how condescending this all is? Don’t you know how much you’re being played? Is there nothing Simon Cowell can’t make a buck from? You know why Susan Boyle is such a phenomenon? It’s not because she’s a great singer; how would anyone know? There are two recordings of her singing two songs extant in the world. No, Susan Boyle is a phenom because she’s ugly. Go ahead, say it: Ug-ly. Leave the nicer euphemisms — frumpy, dowdy — for the weak-willed. The bottom line is, when someone is ugly in our culture, we expect nothing good from them. The idea that a ugly woman could open her mouth and have something beautiful come out flummoxes us — how could she have been cultivating a love for music when she was neglecting her eyebrows and fitness routine so? Doesn’t she know our priorities? If a gorgeous woman had come out and given the exact same performance, you probably wouldn’t even know about it.

That's exactly right.

Although I'd hope that even if that voice came out of a gorgeous woman we would have known about it because Susan Boyle truly has a gorgeous voice.

Blue Kid's Brother

One afternoon, week before last, the doorbell rang. I ran downstairs and opened the door.

"Brian!"

"I lost Blue Kid's cell phone number so he doesn't know I'm here."

"BK's not home, but he should be here any minute. Come on in! It's so good to see you! You get a new car?"

He pointed at the beater in the driveway. "Yeah, but it's not exactly new."

Remembering that I would always go and pick up Brian to come spend time with us, I asked, "Did you have any trouble finding our house? How did you remember how to get here?"

"I have a GPS System. It took me the regular way, though, 77 South. Didn't take me the back way, the way you'd always go."

Blue Kid and Brian met in 1992 when they spent their days together with Mimi, their daycare provider. They instantly became best friends. Blue Kid was three months old and Brian was three. Brian would always give me the full day's report when I'd pick up BK after work.

"Guess what?! BK walked today!" And I'd watch as BK gurgled and drooled, stumbling around Mimi's kitchen floor.

"Guess what?!"

"What, Brian?"

"Come look at this puzzle me and BK did!"

Blue Kid, two at the time, stood proudly, pointing at the Sesame Street puzzle on Mimi's dining room table.

Mimi would shake her head and laugh at Brian's reports and tell me how the two of them were inseparable.

We moved about a half hour away in 1998, but the distance between them did not break their bond of friendship. For the last 17 years, Brian has spent most of his summers with us and all of our family vacations with us. Long car trips to the beach, where they'd joke and laugh and argue like brothers. Trips where they'd watch old episodes of Friends on a portable DVD player in the backseat, prompting a constant "Not touching can't get mad, not touching can't get mad!" for seven straight days.

Rotten boys!

They've taken day trips to Cedar Point and Geauga Lake and Sea World together. Spent sunny afternoons at Indians' games, or playing basketball out in the driveway or just up in BK's room playing X-Box, surrounded by empty cereal boxes and candy wrappers.

Brian's 20 now, so he hasn't spent much time at our house because he has to work. When he showed up on our doorstep last Thursday, I hadn't seen him in almost a year. He came in and we talked about his job and about his plans for the summer. Blue Kid came through the front door, smiling. The two of them slapped hands, hugged then went outside and played basketball for a few hours until it was time for Brian to go home.

Last night, I asked Blue Kid when Brian would be coming for another visit. He said that he might come over one night next week. And then he said, "I told him to be careful driving on the main road to our neighborhood."

"How come?"

"Because the cops will pull him over and harass him."

My mind quickly flashed to all the scenes of drivers I'd seen pulled over for the last eleven years, remembering that nine times out of ten, the drivers were African-American. My heart sank.

"Well, what did Brian have to say about that?"

"Mom, it wasn't some big, deep discussion on the state of racism in this country. You think he doesn't know? He knows the way it is. And it's just the truth."

"Yeah, well. The truth...hurts."

Attack!

...of total cuteness.

Go see what Jennifer sees!

Five Two Lips and a Lamp

And other stuff that surrounds them in my living room.