Is it just me,

Or does the Pedigree winner in the Sonoma-Marin Ugly Dog contest remind anyone else of Bill The Cat from Bloom County?

ACK!! GAG!!!

Seriously. I can't be the only one who sees the resemblence!

My furry little alarm clock

I had a hard time getting up this morning. Not sure why, but I just didn't feel like getting out of bed.

Jack came and hopped up on the bed, which did not help -- furry, snuggly purring kitties just make be want to sleep longer.

In the midst of being snuggly and purring, he was also grooming me (both Boys love to groom me -- Jackie grooms my skin, but Dusty, for some reason, wants to groom my head, and I'm always afraid he's going to choke on my hair). Apparently, though, Jack can tell time, and was aware that I was NOT getting up when I should've. The grooming turned into nibbles (normal), then he 'bit' my finger. This is also normal -- it's not really a bite, he just puts his teeth on me, but gently.

But today he didn't let go. Even when I called his name. Even when I patted him on the head. Even when I tapped his nose. NONE of my little tricks worked!

Until, of course, I moved to get out of bed. Apparently that was all he was waiting for!

69 Bites and counting....

So, Peter got back from Scout Camp today, absolutely eaten UP with bug bites. He had lots of bug spray, but apparently the mosquitoes there were determined, and pretty lethal. From his knees down, he's just one big bite, and assorted random other bites above the knees.

He seems to have had a good time; he did the First Year Camper program, which he recognizes the value of (they get a running start on the first three ranks), but said he would've preferred to just do Merit Badges. "They were more fun!" He apparently did get his Fingerprinting Merit Badge, though.

So, we're washing clothes, treating bug bites, and may be heading to the pool. Tomorrow it's acolyting at church, then off he goes to the beach!

Deaths of the Poster People

When I was little (not sure how young, but certainly no older than Grace is now) I loved the Jackson 5. I mean LOVED!!! I suppose they and the Osmonds (who I also loved) were the Jo-Bros of their day; we all (and by we, I of course mean the pre-teen set) loved them, and, to some extent, we all had our favorites.

Michael was my fave. I had many posters of him, but my favorite (a large head shot, his chin on his hand, smiling into the camera, I'm sure many of you had the same poster) I hung on the ceiling over my bed, so I could pretend to kiss him goodnight. (yeah, there are some mildly sexual connotations there, but give me a break, I was 8 and innocent!).

My brother was a teenage boy in the seventies, so of COURSE he had The Poster of Farrah Fawcett, or Farrah Fawcett-Majors as she was called then.

Now, I'm sure that there were many things that those two shared beyond the posters hanging in my childhood house -- the trappings and trials of fame, for starters.

And, as of yesterday, a death date, which is just weird. I'm not sure why we're all so taken with that notion, other than it's just odd for two famous people to die on the same day, for unrelated reasons (sure, there are car wrecks, and plane crashes, etc, but those are different).

I have to admit, I'm mourning MJ a bit.

Yeah, I know, the man was, well, freakish. And quite frankly, whether there was actual molestation or not, he had relationships with young boys that were not appropriate.

But he was also a fantastic musician, and a consumate performer, and quite frankly, I'm reasonably convinced that his issues were not his fault. Kids need to be kids; they do not need to be turned into little adults (or little teenagers, for that matter), or pushed to grow up too fast.

All the Jacksons, but Michael in particular, had their musical career decided for them; not that they weren't talented, or didn't enjoy it. But let's be honest -- a 9 year old who's the lead-man for a band, getting lavished with attention from, oh, everybody, just is not healthy. I think that much of Jackson's oddities were (duh) an attempt to recapture a childhood he never had.

Which is just sad.

But, I have to admit, the allegations have always bugged me; I've had a hard time reconciling my enjoyment of his music with the other side. I LOVED Thriller, and have wanted to buy it on CD for awhile, but also couldn't quite bring myself to, in anyway, support this person with the utterly freakish lifestyle. Yeah, sure, it might not be his fault. But, DANG! And, yeah, the little-boy thing is just wrong.

So, I couldn't do it; no, my money would not make or break him, but I just couldn't do it.

Not while he was alive.

So, this morning I ordered myself Thriller (and Off the Wall, which I also loved!)

My latest favorite understatement

I went to see The Connells last Friday (reliving my college days at The Cradle). I hadn't seen them in years, but it got my curiousity up, so I spent some of my sick time earlier this week googling them.

And found, in an article in Wikipedia, this classic understament comparing The Connells to REM:

"...Connell’s lyrics were clearer and more direct than the often-unintelligible, stream-of-consciousness lyrics of Michael Stipe."

Oh, come on. Often-unintelligible, stream-of-consciousness? You mean you people haven't memorized End of the World? You don't understand the deeper meaning behind, "Swan Swan Hummingbird, hurrah, we are all free now, what noisy cats are we, girl, and dog, he bore his cross"? You have no idea what Michael is saying in Radio Free Europe?

LOL! OK, raise your hands -- how many people consistenly sing "Blah, blah, blah" to at least ONE part of their favorite REM song? (Meg raises hand).

Incidentally, seeing The Connells made me realize that I really have a thing for bands with a strong, but moderately (sometimes highly) pretentious lyricist -- REM, The Connells, Coldplay, Oasis, Cranberries (they wrote a song about Yeats, for Heaven's sake!), Kate Bush (a song about Wuthering Heights!). Not sure what that say about me, but there it is.

Vote for Carrboro!!

Or, at least for the Farmers' Market.

The Carrboro Farmers' Market is in the running for a $5000 award if enough people vote it as their favorite market.

If you've never been there, you should -- it's a great little market; the food is wonderful, the farmers are friendly, there's even a playground for the kiddies.

If you HAVE been there, then you know what I'm talking about.

So, go here and vote for Carrboro!

My girl has fashion sense!

Or, perhaps a sense of propriety.

So, I'm home sick today, and we're watching a home-made Star Wars marathon. We're in the middle of Episode II, where Annikan buries his mother. Ani's step-sister-in-law, the future Aunt Beru, is there, wearing the standard Tatooine uniform of very neutral (ie sand) colored tunic and leggings.

And Grace says?

"White!?!?!?! Why is she wearing white??? It's a funeral!!!!!"

And, yes, I did tell her that in some cultures white IS a funereal color!

Holy Smokes

My daughter has called me about 7 times this morning, on three different phones.

Yowza!

This is the way we wash our clothes...

Peter is home, for 36 hours or so. He'll be with his Dad this weekend, then leaves around 10 am Sunday for Boy Scout camp.

So we're washing cloths.

Or, rather, I'm washing clothes.

Which, honestly, is not that difficult: run upstairs during a commercial, sort and throw first load in. Spin sheets in dryer. I'll run up in a bit during a commercial to take sheets out of dryer, put first load IN dryer and second load out.

But the bad thing is, I'm going to be doing the same thing NEXT Saturday. Peter will get home from Scout Camp about 2pm on Saturday, and will be home for a solid 24 hours this time, before leaving with his buddy Blake for the beach on Sunday.

Sheesh. I think it's time for Peter to learn to run the washer!

Summertime Treat

I'm having one of my favorite summertime afternoon treats: an iced decaf skinny latte with a shot of sugar-free caramel syrup!

Which sounds like an old-lady drink, I know; could I get any more qualifiers in there? And, please, skinny? But the baristas MAKE me order it that way, honest.

And, regardless, it's yummy!

Yay for Peter

Peter is at his basketball camp this week. Today was the last day; they had the final free-throw contest this morning, then the all-camp free-throw throwdown!

Peter did not do so hot in the free throw contest today, but he had won the contest earlier in the week, so he got to be in the finals, and he won!

He was very psyched, and had at least a third of the kids pulling for him -- all the kids from the Chapel Hill area!

According to the coaches, camp will send him "Something nice" as a prize!

Things that make me happy

(A non-inclusive list, in no particular order)

1. Silly movies (Just saw Night at the Museum: The Battle of the Smithsonian)
2. I have my anklet back!
3. Graduations, of all levels
4. Kitties
5. Doggies
6. Ice Cream
7. Blueberries

Schooooool's OUT!

For Summer!

Yep, they're all done. Report cards came home Wednesday (straight A's for Peter, a mix of 3's and 4's for Grace). They both got 4's on their EOGs (have I mentioned I HATE EOGs, but I love that my kids do well on them?).

And the rest of our lives? Well, here's what that's been like since 12:30 pm Wed:

They each had an end-of-the-year pool party to go to after school. I picked Peter up from his around 4:30 (it was at a pool -- it's MISERABLE being at a pool when you're dressed for work!), took him home, and got him to a baseball game. Grace and their Dad showed up in time for the after-game pizza party, and got to see Peter get his trophy and one of the game-balls.

Thursday they stayed with their Dad, then G had a swim meet (they won), so we weren't home till nearly nine -- eggs and fruit for dinner!

Today was running errands, getting things for camp, gettting me to the doctor (my toe is still all swollen), then on Sunday Peter goes to basketball camp. He'll be home about 6 days over the next 3 weeks! Grace will have swim team daily till the middle of July.

Oh, and I of course get to juggle all this with my WORK!

Who says summer is relaxing?????

And I didn't even get any Spidey Powers!

I was at Peter's last baseball game for the season last night, and was amusing myself before the game (the boys need to be there 15-30 minutes before game time) talking to David on my cell phone.

When I talk on the phone, I pace. Not sure why, but I do; always have, and probably always will.

Luckily, at a baseball game, there's plenty of room to pace.

Unluckily, there were yellow jackets (or wasps, or some ungodly stinging insect) buzzing around the clover I was walking through.

One of them got caught between my toe and my sandal, so when I stepped down, I squooshed him. He didn't like being squooshed, so he stung me.

O M G.

I've not been stung much since I was a little kid -- one horsefly bite a few years ago, and a run-in with some fire ants when G was a baby. So, maybe it's just because I've forgotten what it feels like.

But OMG, that hurt SO BLANKETY-BLANKING BAD!!!!!

The last 15 seconds of my conversation with David went something like this:

"Ow! *&#@%!!! ow-ow-ow-ow (*&^ ^%&^%$ (*&)*&^&^% !!!! Ow-^%@#*^$!!!! I-just-got-stung-I-gotta-go OWWWW $%&^#&^%#&^#!!!!!"

I hobbled back to the bleachers, breathed deeply, avoided cursing in front of the kids, and pulled the stinger out. That helped some -- there was no longer the feeling of red-hot needles being driven into my toe with a barbed iron poker, just an excrutiating, throbbing, pain. I got some ice from a cooler, and put that on the sting, which also helped.

But it hurt. And throbbed. And by bedtime was red and swollen, so I took benedryl and ibuprofen. Still red and swollen, so I'm on benedryl and ibuprofen some more today (which is making me sleepy for some reason, which is unusual).

The redness goes down with benedryl, and it's not so bad that I can't walk. But DANG, that hurt! It really hurt! Very much!

And I didn't even get any super-powers out of it...

My new favorite term

Kate (Kayt) -noun, slang: A controlling, OCD, selfish...Um, well, not a nice person. After Kate Gosselin, reality TV star and over-all not-nice person.

Usage: OMG, she is SUCH a Kate!

My Boy!

Today was Peter's fifth-grade "graduation". It was a nice ceremony; there was lots of involvement by the students in either introducing speakers, emceeing, performing, and speaking.

Each of the three third grade classes had a speaker; all the kids wrote essays on what FPG (the school) meant to them; the teachers then selected finalists, and the kids in each class voted on which essay they wanted to represent their class.

Peter was chosen from his class (Mom beams with pride!). I'll post a video of him reading his essay once I swipe it from his Dad's website, but for now, here's the text:

Hi. My name is Peter Cohen, and I have been at FPG since Kindergarten. I have loved every single minute that I’ve been here. Throughout my years here, I have learned many things, such as:

Don’t touch your teacher’s lava lamp at nap time! That happened when I was in Ms. Story and Ms. Potter’s kindergarten class. We had nap time every day, and on that day I decided to lay down next to Ms. Potter’s desk. I had been fascinated by that lava lamp since the first day of school, so when she got up, I stuck my hand up, and touched it. Big mistake. It had been on for a few hours, so it was very hot. No one ever found out, but I have always regretted it.

Another thing that I’ve learned is that when you make a discovery, and want to tell people about it, don’t. Trust me, because the same thing happened to me when I was in Ms. Del Gaizo and Ms. Farrington’s second grade class. I was outside taking my weekly spelling test, and I noticed a large green caterpillar inching towards me. I told Ms. Del Gaizo, and since we were done with the test, we had to go inside and read quietly. Well, yours truly started talking about how he had made a great discovery, and how he was going to be rich and famous. Well, I did make a discovery that day, but it wasn’t the caterpillar. It was that teacher’s have ears like a hawk. Ms. Farrington heard, and I got silent lunch for the first time ever.

The last thing I will tell you about is this:

Teachers love it when you are a good student. They don’t love it when you hate their favorite sports team. That happened to me this year in Ms. Rigor and Ms. Gray-Ford’s fifth grade class. I’m a pretty good student, but my teacher, Ms. Rigor is a die-hard San Francisco Giants fan, and I’m a big Boston Red Sox fan. There has been a lot of arguing, mostly about Barry Bonds and the upcoming World Series. So, she loves me, and she hates the shirts I wear.

These are some memories I have from FPG, and I hope I never forget
them.

That's my boy! (Mom beams some more)

OK, done now.....

So, I had a lovely dinner planned last night. I was over at David's and for some reason got a wild hair and felt like cooking.

The plan was to have steak, fingerling potatoes, spinach, with a roasted beet and goat cheese salad, and homemade ice cream for dessert. Yum, right?

Well, yeah, if it had worked out.

First, I burned the walnuts that I was toasting for the salad. No one felt like going back to the store (I broke the cardinal rule of toasting nuts, and bought the exact amount I needed without any extra for mistakes!), so I improvised and made croutons. Then Tucker (dog) ATE MY BEETS. My lovely, roasted, diced beets! ALL OF THEM!

Suddenly, my lovely roasted beet and goat-cheese salad with toasted walnuts became...mixed greens with goat cheese and croutons. NOT what I was planning, but the steak was good, the potatoes were good, the spinach was tasty, so that part was fine. But I was really looking forward to the ice cream.

The ice cream that, at 10 pm, was still not firm.

Hmph.

So, went to sleep, woke up today, and had the (pardon the TMI) mother of all temperature irregularities while trying to get dressed. Holy Smokes, I could NOT get cool. A sweaty head makes it hard to dry one's hair, and a sweaty body makes it hard to get dressed.

And, of course, hurrying only makes it worse.

Eventually, I made it out the door, got in my car, and cranked the air. And of course was immediately FREEZING. Not that I like the furnace-like properties of my body at the moment, but it's merely adding insult to injury to make me go from inferno to ice-box in, oh, maybe 5 minutes. For one thing, it means that everyone around me going, "you know, it's really NOT that hot" is right, but when MY core temp is, oh, 9.5 million degrees, that's not a heck of a lot of comfort.

So, I made it to work (late, because I hurrying only made me sweat more). I didn't have my badge, I walked into an issue that was keeping users from doing their work, I can't get to my favorite music site to listen to the radio, my swim team stroke and turn judges got yelled at (unwarrented) over the weekend and are upset, and people are talking Ayn Randian politics outside my door.

ARGH!!!!!

It had to happen

Well, it finally happened.

After walking across my kitchen curtain rods for months, Dusty finally pulled them apart, and fell down!

No harm done, either to him or the curtains!

My Girl is playing the Cradle!

Grace is signed up for a Rock Camp this summer.

Rock as in Rock-n-Roll, not geology, which is what her grandfather thought!

She goes to camp for a week (days only -- Mom is not ready for sleepaway yet, even if Grace is), then they play two shows -- one the Friday that camp ends, at a place in Pittsboro.

And one at Cat's Cradle, in Carrboro.

Cat's Cradle.

Cat's-stinkin'-Cradle! How cool is that?!?!?!

For those of you who don't know, Cat's Cradle is an indie music institution, at least in the south-east. It's been around in various Chapel Hill-Carrboro locations since forever, nearly (or at least 30+ years). It's provided a place for up-and-coming musicians to play, some of whom have even become famous!

It's also where I spent a LOT of time in college. Lots. Lots and Lots.

The Cradle is a bar, yes, but it was never part of the bar scene per se. It was one of the first bars to let underage kids in, so that they could see the bands (and oh, boy, you did NOT want to risk drinking with a fake there -- you'd get banned for life, and they meant it, and then where would you go to watch bands?). It went smoke-free several years ago, out of concern for both the employees and the bands who pass through.

The Cradle has a mystique. It has an aura. It has a presence.

And Grace is going to play there!

HOW COOL IS THAT???

Impulsive me!

Some people impulse shop.

I impulse blood-let.

Well, sort of.

So, I saw on the news today that UNC was trying to set a record for the greatest number of pints donated at a single blood drive. UNC used to hold this record, but lost it a year or so ago.

I thought at the time, "Hey, that's cool. I should donate."

Now I have donated before.

About twenty-five years ago... :-(. So I really should donate.

But, of course, I got busy and promptly forgot about donating. Until, that is, I was driving home, and saw the signs.

So, whoosh, I promptly (but, of course safely) exited the bypass, and drove myself to the donation center; the Smith Center.

Now, as a true Carolina fan, I have shed my share of sweat and tears in that building. And now I've shed blood, too!