All apologies

This wretched, wretched weather has unleashed my Inner Bitch, and all my attempts at posting result in tedious rants. I had a doozy about how DrBob hasn't lifted a finger to help around the house lately, but then he made dinner and picked the Sniglet up from kindergarten without being asked. And he hadn't even seen my Angry Wife rant, he's just being instinctively infuriating.

So anyway, expect a lot of quiz results, memes, and funny stuff shamelessly ganked from other sites until I manage to get my head out of my butt. Like this gem from Izzy Mom:

The following are answers given by elementary school age children to the following questions:

Why did God make mothers?
1. She’s the only one who knows where the scotch tape is.
2. To clean the house.
3. To help us out of there when we were getting born.

How did God make mothers?
1. He used dirt, just like for the rest of us.
2. Magic plus super powers and a lot of stirring.
3. God made my Mom just the same like he made me. He just used bigger parts.

What ingredients are mothers made of?
1. God makes mothers out of clouds and angel hair and everything nice in the world and one dab of mean.
2. They had to get their start from men’s bones, then they mostly use string, I think.

Why did God give you your mother and not some other Mom?
1. We’re related.
2. God knew she likes me a lot more than other people’s moms like me.

What kind of little girl was your Mom?
1. My Mom has always been my Mom and none of that other stuff.
2. I don’t know because I wasn’t there, but I bet she was pretty bossy.
3. They say she used to be nice.

What did Mom need to know about dad before she married him?
1. His last name.
2. She had to know his background. Like is he a crook? Does he get drunk on beer?
3. Does he make at least $100 a month? Did he say NO to drugs and YES to chores?

Why did your Mom marry your dad?
1. My dad makes the best spaghetti in the world. And my Mom eats a lot.
2. She got too old to do anything else with him.
3. My grandma says that Mom didn’t have her thinking cap on.

Who’s the boss at your house?
1. Mom doesn’t want to be boss, but she has to because dad’s such a goofball.
2. Mom. You can tell by room inspection. She sees the stuff under the bed.
3. I guess Mom is, but only because she has a lot more stuff to do than dad.

What’s the difference between moms and dads?
1. Moms work at work & work at home, & dads just go to work at work.
2. Moms know how to talk to teachers
3. Dads are taller & stronger, but moms are the boss cause that’s who you got to ask if you want to sleep over at your friend’s.
4. Moms have magic, they make you feel better without medicine.

What does your Mom do in her spare time?
1. Mothers don’t get spare time.
2. She pays bills all day long.

What would it take to make your Mom perfect?
1. On the inside she’s already perfect. Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery.
2. A diet. You know, her hair. I’d diet, maybe blue.

If you could change one thing about your Mom, what would it be?
1. She has this weird thing about me keeping my room clean. I’d get rid of that.
2. I’d make my Mom smarter. Then she would know it was my sister who did it and not me.
3. I would like for her to get rid of those invisible eyes on her back.

Song du jour of the day: Nirvana's Negative Creep is apt for today, because of the weather and my resultant cold toes and rotten mood.

"Don't wipe your nose on the curtains."

Just another one of the many things I really never thought I'd hear myself say, before I had kids.

In which, once again, I attempt to psychoanalyze a cartoon

What is with my WeatherPixie? Maybe all that purple hair dye has killed too many brain cells? Is she a compulsive liar? Because she's at it again. T-shirt weather, my Aunt Fanny. It's too too yucky out - oop, there's the sun! Oh no, wait, now it's gone. Oh there it - no, it's gone again. So I'm blaming the weather for the Sniglet's cold, which is forcing us to postpone his surgery for a whole month. Apparently you cannot be anaesthetised with slime in your lungs, at least not for elective surgery, which this technically is, unless we wait for it to become an emergency, which no thank you. As you may remember if you were reading this blog when my mom was first diagnosed with lung cancer, incipient medical situations create a persistent "EEEEEeeeeeeeeee..." in my head, which I now get to hold onto for another month, yay.

I took a shortcut on the lesson plan for tomorrow night's ESL class, a hugely risky move considering that my last class bombed so badly. But the house is a mess, because I'd set aside Sunday for housework but instead I spent it alternately sleeping and bolting for the bathroom (me and my whims) (yes, I feel much better, thank you), I haven't even looked at my homework, DrBob needs me to proofread the introduction for his book, I have to start that chicken soup now-now, before the chicken turns green, and I'm feeling the teensiest bit overwhelmed.

So of course, I'm blogging. After all, why do today what you can postpone until it becomes a crisis?

Song du jour del día des tages: Santana's Black Magic Woman. Wishful thinking, much?

bleaarrrgh

Ignatz's stomach bug decided to visit me. That was sunday.

Though not yet fully recovered, I dragged myself to Munich to make up the work day I missed last friday because Ignatz was sick. That was today.

So in case you were worried that all this Not Posting meant I was off somewhere fabulous having fun without you (like ~d and Kelly are)? Um, not so much.

Song du jour of the day: Süperstar by Sibel Tüzün. Yep, still on my Eurovision kick. It'll do until I can get some new music.

more quizzage

from the Goober Queen

Your Quirk Factor: 72%

You're so quirky, it's hard for you to tell the difference between quirky and normal. No doubt about it, there's little about you that's "normal" or "average."

How Quirky Are You?

We saw the second half of a soccer game in DrBob's hometown (about 15 minutes away from here) today. We only ever see the second half of games: we never feel like we can spare a whole 90 minutes plus halftime. It was pretty fun, our guys won 5:0, but neither of my sons were at all interested. I am baffled by this. I would be such a good sportsmom, and I have non-sporty kids. That is just so unfair.

Oh, and Ignatz is better. He was weak and tired all day friday but has now recovered fully and is visiting his grandparents.

Song (virus) du jour of the day: Chainsaw Buffet, by Lordi. Yes, I really did buy the CD.

Be careful what you wish for...

I suppose that complaining that I hadn't had enough time to get everything done might have been interpreted as a wish for more time - in any case, I seem to have gotten it, though not in a good way. Last night (or this morning) around 2 a.m., Ignatz hurtled into the bathroom and barfed in the sink. He threw up again at 3. And again at 6. By 7 we were both exhausted and underslept, so I staggered out of bed to get the Sniglet to kindergarten and then collapsed again. So, um, yay, I didn't have to go to work. Except now I have to go in on Monday. And I got exactly one thing crossed off my list.

All Ignatz did today was lie on the couch, but even so, it was an anxious day for me. He's never sick. Okay, slight exaggeration. How's this: this is the fourth time he's been sick in eight years. So I've never really gotten used to dealing with it. The Sniglet's a bit closer to normal, which was quite an adjustment for us in the first weeks after his birth. There were several phone calls to the hospital that went something like "He sneezed! Twice! Should we take him to the emergency room?"

Anyway. Let's see if I can get one more thing accomplished before my head falls off from yawning.

Song du jour of the day: Is Anybody There?, by John Hiatt. Apropos of nothing, just because I like it.

Is it already Thursday night?

Gack! Where did this week go? My to-do list looks just like it did on Monday. There is one tiny victory to report: my house is marginally cleaner than it has been other weeks, but only marginally. There are still dust-bison in the corners, and nothing else got done. Wow, I didn't used to think housework was a full-time thing, but of course, all that means is that I've never done it full-time.

Was it Phyllis Diller? Erma Bombeck? Peg Bracken? Some really smart woman or other. Said: "Cleaning the house while your kids are still growing is like shoveling the walk before it stops snowing." She was so right. Devoting your attention to housework is basically just a way to stay busy and have nothing to show for it.

Drat.

Song du jour of the day: INXS, Devil Inside. Another one from my fabulous mixmania CD.

crowded days

So yesterday we drove to the children's hospital in Landshut to schedule the Sniglet's hernia surgery and talk to the surgeon and the anaesthesiologist. Then we took him to McDonald's because he'd been so patient (he ordered a salad instead of fries with his Happy Meal - alien child), which left us with half an hour to shop for pants for him. I hate shopping so much that I just blitz it once per year per son - dash into the store, grab everything I can find in his size, make him try it all on, whip out the credit card and zoom out the door. Yes, I did get it done in half an hour. Even DrBob was impressed.

And today I spent the whole morning at the Sniglet's kindergarten, observing, and then met with his teacher and his ergotherapist. After that he had a playdate, and I stayed for the whole thing since he was cranky, while DrBob met with four of Ignatz's teachers for progress reports. Then I had ten minutes to decompress before I had to dash up to Ignatz's school (with the Sniglet in tow) to talk to a fifth teacher, because DrBob had to leave for Munich.

Oh. That must be why I'm so tired. I'd been wondering

In other news, I got my Mixmania CD today! Yay! I haven't had time to listen to the whole thing yet (see above), but so far I'm happy. There are a few things I don't know yet, but the things I do know? Total memory lane cruise. Very fun.

So the Evil Song du Jour of the Day is: Witchy Woman, by the Eagles. Hoo hoo!

Didn't we talk about this?

We DO communicate! Really! We talk about Family Stuff over dinner, we consult whenever one of the kids has a problem, we go see Ignatz's therapist together, ferpetesake! How did we both feel the same about the Sniglet's kindergarten situation and not realize it? The conversation was very brief and full of things like, "I've always gotten a bad vibe from Mrs, but I thought YOU liked her", and "didn't you notice that this whole problem started when he joined that class?" "Well sure, but I didn't think you'd agree..." and "I never thought a fourth year of kindergarten was a good idea, but I thought you..." etc.

So that was quite easily resolved, and he'll go to transitional first grade this September. I feel so relieved! I was conscientiously adjusting to the prospect of yet another year of this kindergarten, busily convincing myself that it was The Best Thing, Really, and now that that weight has been lifted I feel so much better! Whew! Yay! Happy dance!

Song du jour of the day: Hurra!, by die Ärzte, a German punk band with a juvenile sense of humor. Ignatz loves them.

now what do we do?

Augh. Yes, just like Charlie Brown used to say. You might remember a post about the Sniglet awhile back, wherein I described his travails in kindergarten - basically, that he's being a putz. Right, well, um. In addition to judo, his teacher and I discussed a few other options, viz, what to do with him next year.

First grade is right out - his birthday is past the cut-off date and his behavior seems to indicate that he is not ready.

The kindergarten has an "integration" group, which has an extra teacher and tries to mainstream kids with mild social or learning problems. Mrs said that moving him now would probably make things worse. It might have been a good idea to put him there in the first place, at the beginning of the year, she said, but of course you have to tell the kindergarten in January where you want your child to be next September, and he didn't have these problems then. In fact, they showed up when he joined this new group, at the beginning of his third year of kindergarten (arresting thought - maybe the Sniglet is not the problem here...).

Option 3 is called "School kindergarten", and is much like the Transitional First Grade ~d mentioned in the comments a few weeks ago, "basically 1st grade, but with more coloring". This was our favorite option, but it's essentially redshirting - for kids who are the right age for first grade but not socially ready yet - which meant he didn't strictly qualify. We applied anyway, but after my last meeting with Mrs, we decided the change might be bad for him, and it was probably just as well that he probably wouldn't get in.

So the last choice, and probably the most likely, would be that he would spend another year in this same group, same teachers, same room, most of the same kids. Because he's familiar with the protocol there, and part of a community, and yadda yadda. Which would be good if continuity is what he needs, but bad if something in this constellation is causing his behavior problems. A tricky dilemma, made just a little easier by the fact that this was probably the only option open to us.

Until today. Mrs told me that the school-kindergarten told her they probably had a place for Gus. Whoosh. I told her I would discuss it with DrBob, talk to her tomorrow (which is my day to visit the kindergarten), consult with his ergotherapist, and make a decision in a few days. About a half an hour later, the school-kindergarten called me, and they want a decision NOW. And DrBob is not awake. And when he gets up he'll need ten minutes to brush his teeth, and then he'll want coffee and then he'll have to check the basketball scores, and I neeeeeed to discuss this with someone but I can't yet. So I'll just have to sit here and twitch for like half an hour.

That's okay. I can twitch. Actually, I'm getting pretty good at it.

Eurovision final, finally

Sorry for the lack of Eurovision commentary on the Big Night. I spent all of yesterday trying to figure out a knotty PHP problem, and I was brain-dead by the time the Contest rolled around. Struck snarkless. Anyway, yes, they won, and a lot of people are ticked off, and calling them Orcs or Klingons, as if that were a bad thing. And calling for the return of jury-voting - apparently there is such a thing as too much democracy. Also, haters? Such a thing as too much spare time. Go do something useful.

For me, the bottom line is that Finland has been coming to the ESC for 44 years, and um, have tended not to do very, er, well. A lot of other countries flounced out, with less provocation, but Finland stuck it out, and I'm really glad they finally won. Also pleased that the sillyfun entries like Lithuania and Finland got so many votes, because maybe people are figuring out that you can love something and still laugh about it.

So here's the final ranking, with links to the performances, where the folks at YouTube were able to oblige. Well, that was the original plan, but I got bored after awhile. So here are the ones I thought you should see for one reason or another, and that I could find on YouTube. The ones in boldface qualified for the contest next year; the others will have to compete for the ten open places.

1. Finland (w00t!)
2. Russia (ew)
3. Bosnia & Herzegovina
4. Romania
5. Sweden
6. Lithuania
7. Ukraine
8. Armenia
9. Greece
10. Ireland
11. Turkey
12. FYR Macedonia
13. Croatia
14. Norway
15. Germany
16. Latvia
17. Switzerland
18. Denmark
19. United Kingdom
20. Moldova
21. Spain
22. France
23. Israel
24. Malta

And here's the freaky Polish thing with the epaulets.

Cowards

Health and nutrition experts say that women with PMS should stay away from caffeine, alcohol, sodium, refined sugar and flour, red meat and dairy. And chocolate.

But they only say it from a safe distance.

Eurovision semifever

Since it's Friday, and I have to go slave over a hot database for eight hours and then teach a private English lesson with my confidence shattered after Wednesday's disastrous class and THEN take the train home because DrBob needs to stay in the city for a Saturday workshop on sodomy (I devoutly hope it will be all theory and no practice), I probably won't blog today. Oop, except I already have. Whoa.

So a couple items for filler: um, here's one...

What Is Your Battle Cry?

Sprinting out of the candy store, brandishing a jeweled meat hammer, cometh Alala! And she gives a low roar: "You in some shit now, muhfuh! I shall fill the world with the stench of death!"

Find out! Enter username: Are you a girl, or a guy ?

created by beatings : powered by monkeys

It's a cute battle cry, but the two sentences are in completely different um, well, ways of speaking. I mean, I am fairly flexible, linguistically, but I don't usually switch codes mid-battle. I'm just sayin'.

Also, KimberlyDi said therapy's Not That Bad. Are you kidding? I get to talk about myself for a whole hour and the therapist HAS to listen. It's fantastic! In fact, most of my adult life has been a delicate negotiation: trying to act weird enough to convince people I need therapy, but not weird enough to have my kids taken away from me. This time I even managed to get a professional therapist to suggest it, and she thinks it was HER idea! Score! alala 1, therapist 0.

In other news, the Eurovision Semifinal was last night, and I wrote while I watched it, because sitting still is not, um, not one of my stronger skills. Judging from the paucity of comments on my previous Eurovision posts, I think I can safely say that no one besides me is interested in this. Hey, I understand. I'm used to it. Anyway, what follows is all Eurovision snark, so feel free to skip to the end if you're so inclined. Hah, like you even need my permission.

So the whole thing is hosted by Greece, since they won last year, and for the opening act, they have a medley of bad covers of previous winners, lip-synched by people dressed as various Greek gods. You have never seen anything so twee in your life, it totally looks like Amateur Drag Night in a very small town. Aaaand here come the, um contestants. The thing that always amazes me is that most of these people canNOT sing, and no one ever seems to notice.

Armenia. Unibrow Lenny Kravitz clone, and the sound is wretched. It's not just that he's a bad singer, though of course that is part of it. Creepy-weird bondage thing, his backup dancers tie him up and then turn into puppets.

Bulgaria. Oh look, she brought a portly Albino drag queen to yodel for her.

Slovenia. Obv inspired by George Michael. Meh. Boring.

Andorra. oh look, the backup dancers forgot to put their dresses on. Ooops, how embarrassing. The Romanian singer did that a few years ago. She got a lot of points from Spain, as I recall.

Belarus, right. Whoa. Looks like the 80s are coming back, but again with the forgetting to wear pants. I think last year's winner forgot her trousies too, as did um, what, the 2003 winner? The Ukrainian. People may have decided that's the key to victory.

Albania. Cool, kilts and bagpipes. Oh, righteous. Dude in the pom-pom socks is a-rockin'. The singer totally has that boy-heartthrob emoting-with-the-eyebrows vibe. Whatever, this is the least sucky so far, but hey, the night is young yet.

Ooo, Belgium. Oh right, Kate Ryan, big star here in Europe. I think she's boring as hell, but what do I know? Russia sent Tatu a few years ago, and they sucked swamp water, but they still came in second. Wow, that orange dress really makes her tan look fake.

Ireland. Apparently this guy is a big deal in Ireland, has played with Van Morrison and Ray Charles. Song's a sapfest, but okay. Also, I'm going to mug one of the backup singers and steal her dress.

Okay, Cyprus. Hmm, apparently worked as a backup singer for Britney Spears. Oh, no. Oh, no. Very unfortunate dress choice. Boobs are our friends, they don't deserve to have that done to them. Also? The song is horrid, horrid, horrid. Why Do the Angels Cry? I bet they'll stop if you quit singing.

Monaco - um, coco-dance. Or go-go dance? Whatever. Wholly unremarkable.

Macedonia. Oh dear. Are those...cutoffs? They really highlight her very um, sturdy legs. Such a pretty young woman, that's not the feature I'd have chosen to emphasize.

Poland. Sweet blithering Jesus, you have not seen epaulets like this on anything smaller than an elephant. Seriously. Giant epaulets. With tassels. They look like furniture.

Russia. Oh. Kay. Dude has a vibrato you could drive a truck through - holy fuck what the - ew! The pasty-white upper-half of a human just rose out of the piano! She's just sticking out, waving her arms around. That is so gross!

Turkey. Song called Superstar. Wow, that's some dandy tattoos, and I can't imagine the amount of bleach required to get her hair that color. Dressed like a trapeze artist, built like a biker chick, I think I'm in love. Oh yeah. Song is not great, but I don't care.

Ukraine. A student, um, aeronautics, I think the German announcer-guy said. Okay, cute and all, but what the hell is with the jump rope?

Oh, wow. Finland. The Monster Metal band. "They look extremely unappetizing," says the announcer, and suggests that small children should be sent out of the room. Awww, now that's cute. They do look like their usual charming selves, with the claws and leather and decaying flesh and all, but the singer's wearing a cute little Finnish-flag top hat. Right, I'd already decided to vote for these guys, because I'm hoping they'll get to the final and eat the German group.

Holland. Three shouting blondes with big bongos. No, really, they're sitting on drums, and whacking away while they shout. Um. How, uh, how very novel. DrBob says this seems much longer than the other songs. He's right.

Lithuania. Oh right, the super group. Lithuania gathered its 6 most popular singers and boodged them into a super group. The song appears to be titled "We Are the Winners of Eurovision," and is being sung to the tune of that old playground favorite, "Neener neener neeeener". One of the singers looks like an ex-boyfriend of mine (Hi Brice!). Another looks like Viggo Mortensen. Hmm. Oddly, I like these guys more than DrBob and Ignatz do.

Portugal had a televised Big Brother type elimination show thing to choose their entry. They can't sing, can't dance, and are horrid. DrBob likes the one with the foofy feathered back-half-of-a-skirt, that's alarming.

Sweden. Oh gee, another Abba ripoff, they don't do that, oh, every year.

Estonia. Nice, uh, superhero outfit.

Bosnia and Herzegovina. At it again with the soulful traditional thing. I actually usually like these, but I think I'm the only one. Seriously.

Iceland. The Cyndi Lauper knockoff. Well no, that's not fair to Cyndi Lauper, who can sing quite well. But here's an imitator of her Girls-Just-Wanna-Have-Fun persona. Quite dreadful, up until the two guys in fringed pajamas ripped off their trous to reveal silver-sequinned boxies. Hee. Didn't make up for the bad singing, though.

Okay so find all the phones in the house and vote on each one, even DrBob's, I'll just place a vote for him heh heh; weird performance-art time-killer thing to watch while they count the votes; mucho stalling from sorority-girl presenter who needs to be slapped; and here are the ten qualifiers, in no particular order so as not to geek the final vote on Saturday...

- Russia. With the zombie piano chick. Major ooky.
- Macedonia. Um, which was that? Oh right, with the cutoffs.
- BosHerz! Oh good, I wanted them to do well.
- Lithuania. The football song, the announcer says. Heee, that's funny, it does sound like something they'll be shouting in stadiums for the next ten years.
- HAGH! Finland! Wooot!
- Ukraine
- Ireland
- Sweden
- Turkey! Oh good, now DrBob can see who he voted for.
- Armenia. Armenia? WTF?

So there you have it.

A Wednesday

English class tonight, and I tanked. Apparently one does not automatically get better with practice. I shall have to figure out how the better-getting process works, preferably before next week. Actually, before Friday, which is my lesson with Mr.Z

Bleah. Setback. Demoralizing. Depressing. Oh, speaking of depressing, I met with Ignatz's therapist today. She suggested that I might benefit from therapy myself. Heh.

Song du jour of the day = Code Monkey, by Jonathan Coulton. Because there aren't any songs about geeky ESL teachers.

Socks Always Fit

Did you see that movie, um, In Her Shoes, I think it was? About two sisters, played by Toni Colette and Cameron Diaz (I am such a sucker, ever since Muriel's Wedding I will see anything with Toni Colette in it. I saw a horror movie - I hate horror movies - because she was in it) anyway. Where was I? Oh, she has this little speech about how she buys shoes when she's depressed(*) because clothes never look right, food just maker her fatter, and "shoes always fit."

Anyway. I wandered into the Outlet store here in OurTown, and found: Levis. For €20. On the size 36 rack, which is my size. 501s, wooo! Usually run €80-120 here, even more in the city, so you can imagine my little happy-dance. I also found the sheer embroidered tunic of my dreams. They're all over the place right now, but there was always one wrong thing about all the others. Not this time, though. This was the perfect shirt.

Well. Trying on the jeans made me realize just how blobulous I've become since I quit the gym. And the shirt was at an outlet store because it has two rips in the back. There was another one, with a slight stain where the buttons rusted and the rust got on the shirt, but if I wore it, it would just look like I'd spilled coffee down my front - an entirely plausible scenario.

But I did buy three pairs of cotton argyle socks.

(* Not that I'm depressed. Well, I wasn't until I walked into a store containing cheap Levis and the perfect shirt, and walked out with argyle socks.)

---

Totally off-topic: this is just fascinating, although I may be the only one in the room who thinks so. It's an article about the process of designing a database for the Old English Newsletter bibliography, written by a non-techie who had to learn it... well, pretty much the way I did.

Song du jour of the day: Every Song is a Cry for Love, by Brian Kennedy. Ireland's contribution to the Eurovision Song Contest (this WEEK! Hooo-rah!). Watch the video. See him hug his guitar. Think "Duuuude" in a Jon Stewart voice.

Two Things

Musicwise, I sent off my Mixmania CD today. I am now paralyzed with self-doubt. It's not really evil enough, it's boring, it's stupid, it's horrible. The process was plagued with such technical troubles that 1) DrBob had to burn the CD for me, and 2) He's seriously talking about buying a new computer for me, a year and a month before I'm due (every 3 years = tax deductible). Wow. Anyway, I got it done, and sent it off. I hope the person who gets it doesn't despise me completely. Or if she does, I hope at least that she doesn't say so on her blog.

And bookwise, I may have found something. I wrote awhile ago about the difficulty of finding really good books to keep Ignatz engaged in reading. He has a phenomenal talent with language, I've never seen anything like it, but this talent has to be fed with cracking stories by brilliant people who love language. This is difficult, there are a lot of really great premises out there, brought to near-life by mediocre wordsmiths like Mary Pope Osborne and Holly Black and even Lemony Snicket. There are also a lot of brilliant wordsmiths who write books that are just too creepy for an eleven-year-old. Barbara Hambly is one. I've never been a big Stephen King fan, but he may be one as well. So anyway, I buy a lot of kids' books, trying to find the Right Stuff, the perfect combination of style and substance. Eoin Colfer and Philip Pullman are almost, but only Almost. (DrBob asks: are there any kids' books that aren't fantasy? alala replies: hellifiknow, it's all I read from age ten until... um, college, I think.)

So here's a good one: Haroun and the Sea of Stories, by Salman Rushdie. Yeah, him. Which creates one foreseeable problem, as this is Rushdie's only children's book, as far as I know. And Ignatz is really not ready for the Satanic Verses. Hm. I wonder if Umberto Eco wrote anything for kids.

And the song du jour of the day. Bound in a Nutshell, by the Lightning Seeds.

Network Neutrality

Ummm, yeah. I generally try not to tell people what to do or think (and it's even harder than you imagine, because I'm really bossy) but um, I'm about to. Because if you use the internet, and you want to decide which sites you visit, instead of letting AT&T or Verizon decide for you? You probably want to give your senators and representatives a call or an email or something. Mine don't seem to be supporting it, and I'll be writing to ask them why tomorrow. There's also a petition you can sign over here. If my explanation wasn't comprehensive enough, and you need more of a reason than Because I Said So, there's a Network Neutrality primer here, though that's a bit wordy. You might prefer to Ask a Ninja! He breaks it down fairly well.

But seriously, folks. If you're American, and you're here reading this, then this issue probably affects you, and there's a lot of money on the other side of it, so your voice counts.

Interviewed

Fridays you get nothin', usually, because I have to get up early and go work in the city and don't usually get back till late. But here are my (very cool!) interview questions from ~d and their answers.

1. Which character do you most identify with in the movie The Princess Bride and why?
Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die. I just love that he planned that speech for twenty years and then when he finally got his chance to say it, he said it like fifty times. That was so cool. I use it in place of "Hello World" in scripts. I love how down-to-earth he is: "There's not a lot of money in revenge." And even though I never got around to learning how to wave a sword around, I still want to, and he's why. Such a gentleman. Such grace. Such style. I wonder if I could get an outfit like that...

2. Where did you first hear Tom Waits and what memories are connected with that time of your life?
I was dating a real asshole, named Keith. Kelly probably remembers him. It was toward the end of our relationship when I wandered over to his house for some reason and Please Call Me, Baby was playing in another room. I didn't ask at the time, but I searched high and low for the song thereafter, and couldn't find it. This was before the internet, if you can believe it, around 1990. I finally swallowed my irritated pride and called Keith (from the phone hanging outside of Kelly's dorm, that you were only supposed to use to call a resident to get them to come down and let you in, but I used it for pretty much all my telephoning needs) to find out who and what that music was, and as soon as he told me I hung up on him. I think that was the last time I ever called him, actually.

3. You like R.E.M. Do you like Natalie Merchant? Were she and Michael Stipe ever involved? Name two R.E.M. songs that come to mind.
a. yes I do, she has a lovely voice.
b. St. Google says they were.
c. Fall On Me is my favorite. What's the Frequency, Kenneth is my second favorite. At the moment.

4. Have you seen the movie Pecker? Do you know what Full of Grace means? If no, then what was the first 'rated R' movie you remember seeing?
Nope, never saw it, sorry. Full of Grace makes me think of the Sarah MacLachlan song. First R-rated movie...um, was Gremlins R-rated?

5. There was a saying "your mama wears combat boots" How would this apply to you, your life both past and present?
I'm that mama. I've lightened up considerably and my latest pair of Doc Martens is red, but I've been a Sensible (meaning, "I can kick your ass in these") Shoes kinda gal all my life. Cowboy rain-boots notwithstanding.

...

And a follow-up on the Sniglet spitting blood after I brushed his teeth: yeah, it looked pretty horrible, but it turns out (following one panicked call to the dentist) that his six-year molars are coming in, that's all. A freakish event for me, because Ignatz got his with zero fanfare. At some point he mentioned that he already had them, and that was the first I knew of it.

that's what I get for volunteering

This meme is from Kelly over at I Hate Cows. Post a comment, and I’ll give you a letter. You then write 10 things starting with that letter, explaining why. I signed up, and she gave me the letter Z, can you believe that? Are there even ten words that begin with Z? They have to be English words, right?

1. Zounds! I used to like archaic, um, exclamations like this. Also Ye Gods and Gadzooks. I used them in high school, which might have contributed somewhat to my reputation as a pretentious bitch.
2. Zoos. Make me sad. But I love to see the animals, so I go anyway. Even though the zoo people do their best (with, ahem, sadly limited funds) to make the environment as comfortable as possible for them, it's a wretched existence. I also know that even though they are unhappy, this is their best chance for survival, because their normal habitats are shrinking every day to feed human greed. This makes me even sadder.
3. Zero. What a brilliant concept. Apparently the Indians had it first, but the Arabs brought it to Europe in the 11th century. Yet another priceless contribution from Arab culture. Bet they wish they could take it back and make us all do math with Xs and Ls again, after all the Clash of Civilizations bullshit of the last few years.
4. Zodiac. Skeptical, me, but it's so handy for basic programming exercises. Somewhere out there in the internets I have a script that'll tell you how many of you it takes to change a light bulb, based on your sign.
5. Zipper. Was invented by a Swede. Occasionally I try to use this as evidence that we (Swedes) are smarter than DrBob and his Germans, but it doesn't usually fly. I'm not really all that Swedish anyway, it's just a bigger percentage than any of my other components.
6. Zonker. Totally my hero, and definitely the Doonesbury character I identify with the most.
7. Zaragoza. A city in Spain. I've never been there, but I guess I have to go, now that I've gone and put it on my list.
8. Zoot suit. Still waiting for these to come back into style, as I think they are teh sexy.
9. Umm, Zebras. Are they white with black stripes, or black with white stripes? Oh hell, who cares?
10. Zazzafooky. Check her out. She thought she was turning 35 too, and was just as wrong as you were! Hah, that's whatcha get for giving me such a difficult letter! Nyaah, nyaah.
    

just in case...

Maybe I should clarify something, after a brief but huffy discussion with DrBob: if he thought I was saying that all women have to be mothers, some of you all might have heard it that way too. But no, that's not what I meant.

I didn't mean to imply that all women want to or should have kids, not at all. Of course there are women, in Germany as well as everywhere else, who simply don't want to be moms, and there's nothing wrong with that. But it's nowhere near 30%. I'm arguing for the women who do want to have kids, but are not given the option, for whatever reason, and then get called lazy for it.

That's all.

yet another "authority" says German women are too selfish to procreate

Oooo-kay. Social Science is essentially the branch of the sciences that studies human behavior, individually and in groups. Because humans are such a diverse and unpredictable bunch, Social Science isn't as ... well, it's not quite as science-y as the hard sciences like chemistry and physics - you can't isolate humans the way you can isolate protons for study. You can't isolate facts about humans either.

But they sure do try, don't they? It's one of my pet peeves about economists, for instance, that they study human behavior without ever actually considering the properties of humans. So they make pronouncements on how 'workers' or 'markets' should behave, without regard to the fact that workers and consumers are also uh, dang, what's that word? Oh right - people. For instance, that it's often necessary for a business to fire workers, or freeze their wages, to remain competitive, and the workers should accept that, and be flexible. The fact that workers need to eat (for which they need money) is simply not a factor in their theories. But it is an inflexible property of humans, and so the theories are bunk.

So here's a psychologist for you, a professor at the University of Washington, expounding on German women without regard to what factors are influencing their decisions. He has an article in the L.A. Times that is subtitled: "Why are 30% of German women choosing to go childless? Free will, baby."

Wow. The term "free will" really trivializes the sacrifices you have to make in order to have children here. As I mentioned before, having children means choosing "housewife" as your career. In a country where taxes are high, and prices are high, raising a family on one income is becoming more and more difficult, since businesses need to stay competitive. Housewives here are battling for respect from both men and feminists, just as they are in the U.S. It is not a glamorous career choice. It's not a financially sound one, either. I'm trying to enter the workforce at 35, and I already know that even if I get a job this fall, I will never be able to retire. I started too late to save enough.

Of course we who have children know that they are totally worth it, and we'd do it again in a heartbeat, but you don't know that until you have kids, do you? So you can't really expect women to take that into account when they're trying to reach a decision.

He also mentions that "child-wariness...rises from 30% to more than 40% among German women who are college graduates" without noting that in Germany, a "college graduate" has a Master's degree at minimum - University here is more or less equivalent to grad school in the States. That is a critical distinction, because it changes the meaning of the sentence considerably. You don't get a Master's degree so you can spend the rest of your life scrubbing toilets.

Moreover, why is it always about the women? I realize that my immediate acquaintance does not represent a valid statistical sample, and I have no scientific data to back this up, but among the people I know, it's invariably the women who agitate to have a(nother) baby, and the men who say "not yet" and "we can't afford it" and "wait till I've advanced to the next step in my career."

So I'm frustrated. Because this guy is a psychologist, and therefore an "authority", and he's being irresponsible and people will read that and believe him. Argh.

more about the Sniglet

HUGE DRAMA-QUEEN SIGH okay. I guess some clarification on the kindergarten thing would be advisable here.

A first thing you should know is that "kindergarten" in German is actually daycare, more or less. (It's far more structured than American daycare of course - after all, we're talking about something run by Germans.) So if I say he has to go for another year, it's not because he flunked, it's because his late-October birthday makes him too young to start first grade this year.

A second thing is this: when Ignatz was being all ADD, and we were having to talk to his teachers all the time, other people were all "oh pishtosh, all kids forget things and act out occasionally." Here's the thing about that. When a teacher has 17 boys in her class and she tells you yours is being a problem, you can be fairly sure that his behavior is not just normal boy-behavior. That's the assumption we're making with the Sniglet: his teacher sees kids that age all day every day. If she says there's a problem, there's a problem. Actually, that's the assumption I'm making. DrBob is um...resisting.

So the problem. We know he's moody as hell. Lately he's apparently being aggressive, like wrestly- and hitting-aggressive, and not in a friendly way. She asked me for this conference because the rest of the class is turning against him, and she's running out of ideas. She suggested judo, as a way to work off some of the aggression. So did the ergotherapist he sees at kindergarten on Wednesdays.

The ergotherapist suggested that um, six months ago, and we haven't done anything about it. In general, things that involve calling Germans on the phone are DrBob's department, but apparently things that involve the children are suddenly exclusively my department, so even though he said he'd call the Judo people after Christmas in the Spring tomorrow, it emerged today that all this time he's been expecting me to call them. And that epiphany led to the suspicion (if by suspicion you understand "certain knowledge based on actual historical precedent") that I'll be the one to go gear-shopping and attend all the practices and matches and everything, and: Judo is wrestling. I hate wrestling. I hate everything about it. Icko.

So I'm thinking about sticking him in karate. Ignatz too, because he has to pick another sport now that he's given up on hockey, and it'd make my life easier to take two kids to one practice per week. I mentioned karate over dinner, and DrBob, who, let us remember, will not be contributing any time or effort whatsoever to this endeavor - not even to make one phone call - feels that judo would be the better choice. He gets to make the decisions, and then I have to do all the work? Um, yeah, I'm gonna have to go with "I don't fucking think so" for 500, Alex.

SIGH. And little Mr Negative got all grouchy and said he didn't want to do karate OR judo and he would hate me forever, even though he doesn't really know what they are. So then, to clarify, I made him stand up, and I punched him in the chest and said "karate's like that", and then I wrestled him to the floor and said "and judo's like this.* So which do you want to do?" And he jumped up with a big grin and said "BOTH!"

*Gimme a break, you have to explain things in simple terms to a five-year-old.

And before you even start, because I know some of you want to: this is a small town. No kung fu, no tae kwon do, no aikido, no tai chi, not even tae bo. I'm sure you know of something much better, but we don't have that. Just karate and judo.

SO I'm going to make that stupid phone call tomorrow, and start both my kids in karate next week, and we'll move the Sniglet to judo after awhile if it seems like a good idea. And if I can get someone else to take him to practice.

Oh yay, one more thing to have to remember every week.

Song du jour of the day is Rock the Casbah, by the Clash.

I Hate Everything.

Bleah. Conference with kindergarten teacher. Bleah. Apparently the Sniglet is not just annoying, he is catastrophically so, and in need of intervention. Am I in the mood for this? No I am not. We just got our Ignatz repaired and now the auxiliary unit's on the fritz.

Oh well, I guess it just goes to show you, it's always something.

Song du jour of the day: Watch Your Step, by Elvis Costello.

Jiggety-jog

DrBob is home again (home again), and my brief experiment in Making It On My Own has ended. In his absence, I managed to leave the stove on under the coffeepot (we have one of those stovetop espresso thingies) while I left the house. I was stupid about the car. The Sniglet's kindergarten teacher wants a conference because he's been acting like a turkey. He needs to go to the dentist because after I brushed his teeth he spat blood. I put orange juice in my coffee. I geeked out on my homework and did twice as much as necessary. (No, since you're wondering, I did not have any friends in high school, and thank you for bringing up such a painful subject. ) I put the kids' play-tent outside and then had to run and rescue it before it blew into the street (high winds lately). I spent almost the whole drive to the airport today stuck behind slow, gigantic trucks, right up until the point when I got lost.

So. I think I did pretty well! But I'm still glad he's home.

Song du jour of the day: The Lucky One. Mary Lou Lord.

For James

The Germans have an inhuman way of cutting up their verbs. Now a verb has a hard time enough of it in this world when it's all together. It's downright inhuman to split it up. But that's just what those Germans do. They take part of a verb and put it down here, like a stake, and they take the other part of it and put it away over yonder like another stake, and between these two limits they just shovel in German.

-- Mark Twain

just this

Nothing to report except for a day of perfect weather, so here's a filler-anecdote.

Disclaimer: I do not laugh at people who make mistakes in a foreign language. Living in another language is really hard, and anyone brave enough to try it gets an A for effort. But languages are tricksy, mistakes will get made, and while I don't laugh at the people who make them, the mistakes themselves are occasionally entertaining.

So the main train station in Munich has a Burger King. Since it's in a travel hub, it gets a lot of foreign customers. Once when I was there with Ignatz, I heard a young American guy order a Whopper "mit zunehmen". Yeah, prepositions are a bitch. What he wanted was "zum mitnehmen" - to take with. What he said he wanted was a Whopper with weight gain. Haw.

Song du jour of the day: the Pogues' Bottle of Smoke. The song that taught my four-year-old to say "Twenty-fucking-five to one, me gambling days are done..."

the Descent

So once upon a time I was telling Mrs Next Door about what I hoped to achieve with my Database Administration course, and I wrapped it up by saying "...and it'll probably make me even more conversationally awkward than I already am!" and she said "That's kind of what I was thinking." Well, lo and behold, we were right.

I've spent the last six hours or so on this:

1. Write one query that uses a function from each of the following functional types:
     1. String functions
     2. Mathematical functions
     3. Date functions
     4. Grouping functions (aggregate functions)

2. Write two SQL statements that use joins, either INNER or OUTER joins as you choose. Include a description of what each SQL statement is doing, and what the results of each SQL statement should be.

I did about twice as much work as the assignment called for because it was Just! So! FUN! Every time a query worked I got to do a little happy dance, and the hours just flew by! I was so mad when my computer ran out of battery juice and shut down while I was in the middle of a query and I lost some of my work. But then I was happy because it meant I got to do it again!

I definitely need to think about getting some kind of therapy.

The song du jour of the day, therefore, is the Jesus and Mary Chain's Halfway to Crazy, even though I think I passed the halfway mark some time ago.

Speaking of fixing cars...

Aw, jeez. The oil light in the car was on. So I pulled the lever that popped the hood, and I opened it and propped it up with that little stick-thing - see, I'm not totally helpless. But that's about as far as I got. Ignatz had to find the dip stick for me. Then there was no mark showing how much oil should be in there, though there was a notch to show how low is too low. The oil mark was right at the notch. That will be important later.

I found the oil in the garage, too! I'm so good! Um. Gee, there's a lot of tanky-looking ... things where you might put motor oil. I do know that putting the oil in the wrong hole would be bad. So I tiptoed over to Mrs Next Door, who was in her back yard with a lot of big, manly men (okay, two big manly men, Mr Next Door and another guy) and asked her if she happened to know where to put the oil, and she said "I know for MY car..." Which, let me hasten to mention, I knew too, for our last car. AND the one before that. But this one ... well, I haven't gotten around to learning that. (In two years.) So before I could stop her she scampered over to the manly-man who was not her husband, who oh joy happens to be a mechanic - exactly the sort you want to flaunt your incompetence at - and asked him to help me.

Worst of all. After he'd shown me which cap to unscrew, he checked the dip stick and said "you don't need oil. See that notch there? That shows how much oil there should be, and you're fine."

So. I went all helpless and girly and ruffled and pink FOR NOTHING!

Bad feminist! Bad! No chocolate!

edit: Avatar changed to reflect my new status as Girly-Belle McFluffie.

MEME-ries, like the corners of my house...

Okay, but after this I really am going to do my homework. Really.

I am the luckiest person ever, anywhere.
I want eveyone to be happy.
I wish I could fix cars.
I hate self-righteousness.
I fear that I may be self-righteous.
I hear the Jesus and Mary Chain, at the moment.
I wonder about everything.
I am not sure about this meme.
I dance in the kitchen. All the time.
I cry when the hormones hit, even if there is nothing to cry about. Yay for PMS!
I am not always complaining, it just seems like it.
I make with my hands sweaters and hats.
I write too fast, sloppily.
I confuse people with my sense of humor.
I need reminding.
I start waaaaay more things than I finish
I finish ...uh, let me get back to you on that...
I tag you, Lurky McLurken! That's whatcha get for reading my blog and not commenting, hah!

Song du Jour of the Day is Aretha Franklin: Are You Sure?

speaking of duh...

I went to put more milk in my coffee just now, but the fake-orange-juice carton looks so similar to the milk carton that I... yes. I did. I put orange-juice-drink in my coffee. Not even real orange juice, which would be equally gross but somehow... healthier... when I poured it down the drain... um. Okay, not sure where I was going with that.

On one hand, I probably shouldn't be drinking coffee at 10 pm anyway? On the other hand, I think this incident clearly shows that I need it.

Song du jour of the day is from They Might Be Giants: Dinner Bell.

see? I read my comments!

Hm, ~d wants to know why we live here. Hm. In concrete terms it would be because when DrBob finished his Ph.D and we had a new baby and he really, really needed a job, he found it here. His family is also here, and we wanted the kids to know their grandparents and extended family and to have a concept of 'family' that's bigger than just the people in one household.

In more general terms, though, I like it here because it's kind of ... more even. Nobody gets to be Paris Hilton here, but nobody gets to be that homeless veteran who panhandles in the subway station either. Some people have more money than others, but the difference that makes is in your comfort level, not your survival. When you're poor here, it means you don't get to go on vacations or drive a nice car. Poor in America means trying to treat your son's broken arm yourself because you don't have health insurance and can't afford the emergency room fees. Not only do I not want to be in that situation, I don't have a lot of respect for a culture that thinks it's okay for other people to be there. There are some really great things about the U.S., things I miss a whole lot, but um, that is not one of them.

So what this even-ness means for women in the workplace is that we are all in more or less the same boat, and when a solution is found, we will all be able to make use of it - not just the rich and privileged women. There are a lot more options for childcare in the States right now, but the good ones are only for people who can afford them, and I don't think that's fair. And I don't like injustice, even when I benefit from it, which is most of the time.

Did you see Landismom's comment on the 20-hour work week? Man, that is the best idea I've heard in a long time.

Also, I survived another ESL class tonight. I might actually learn not to dread them so, if I can get some lesson-planning fu.

Song du jour of the day? Apropos of nothing, I've just been listening to it recently, The Neville Brothers: A Change is Gonna Come.

more about it

That was actually just a snapshot, because I didn't want to go on and on and on, but the list of laws, traditions, and attitudes that keep women "in their place" here is very, very long.

Questions from cmhl:

what is the rationale behind having the kids get out of school at different times? it seems that that would be a logistical nightmare for the parents!

It is. It's not just different times at different ages, either. In first grade, Ignatz got out at 11:15 except on Fridays, when he got out at 12:15. In second grade, he had two long days and three short. They work up to the 1:00 gradually, and actually, for the first half of this year, he had to go back to school on Mondays from 2:30-4. For art class. The rationale is that Mama's home anyway, all the time, so why would it matter when the kids get home?

do they have after-school care, if there IS a working mother?

There's something called Hort that one single mom I know used in Munich. I think you have to pay for it, though, and as far as I know, it's not available in my town. The other single mom I know simply didn't work until she found another husband. Uh. Actually, "simply" is not the word I want there.

Not everyone is stuck. There are those one or two exceptions that make people say "See? It's not impossible." It's like the Condoleezza Rice thing, oo, look how well Republicans treat Black women! Um, no, just that one.

I do know a mom who works as a translator - from home. And I work. Sort of. I teach one English class a week, that nets me €20 if everybody shows up. I used to be a webmaster, and I did that from home. DrBob hustled that job for me, there's no way they would have hired me if he hadn't nagged them for a year. I work one day a week in Munich, but I only got the job because a friend of DrBob's needed something very specific, and he knew I was qualified because he's known me for ten years. Even so, I couldn't do it without the free unlimited babysitting from the World's Greatest Mother-in-Law. So yeah, some women find ways around the restrictions, but only if we're massively lucky, which I am. And the work I do has earned me pin-money, and kept me with one foot in the labor market (just try finding a job with a 12-year hole in your resumé), but it doesn't add up to a job-job.

I'm looking for a job-job, but those are mostly in Munich. If we move to Munich, we're too far from the mother-in-law, so I could only work part-time. If I only work part-time, we can't afford to live in Munich.

On the other hand. No, not the other hand where it's okay to treat women so shabbily, there's never any excuse for that. I mean the hand that considers the kids. I went to American schools, 8am to 3pm, and I remember hour after hour of pointless busy-work, soul-crushing boredom, social Darwinism on the playground... I'm not sure if all-day school is good for kids. However, not even a part-time job will accommodate a 3-hour school day. Some kind of attempt to find a middle ground would be so nice.

As I understand it, based on a women's studies course I took for my Social Science degree, and reading the occasional newspaper article, the Swedish social model assumes that women want to work just like men, and makes that possible by providing lots and lots of daycare, so you never even have to see your kids awake, if you don't want to. The French model, on the other hand, seems to assume that women want to stay home with their kids, so they basically pay them to do that. The German model appears to make a similar assumption, but addresses it by paying a working man enough to support a housewife and a few kids, which of course falls apart as soon as you put a deadbeat dad in the equation. It's also falling apart on a national scale now, as companies battle for the right to freeze wages, fire workers at will, move operations to more "business-friendly" countries, cut job benefits and refuse to hire people with families.

And the German government is trying like hell to become more business-friendly, while whining about why aren't people having kids and how can we get them to have more kids while taking away their job security and health insurance and blah de blah. Like I said in the last post: DUH!

The Mommy Wars in Germany

So yeah, the thing I've been saying I would write about. An annoying, yet unavoidable and ubiquitous problem. Especially because everyone's all wringing their hands about Germany's falling fertility rates. Well, duh. But then there was an article in Time (the European version), and then Landismom mentioned it, and thus I was reminded of the irksome thing I'd been taking for granted.

The Situation With Women is just part of the daily reality around here, and we all accept it because we have no choice: we have kids, therefore we don't have jobs, aside from selling Avon or Tupperware or something, and this is true throughout Germany. It's not just the second-shift situation that so many American women face, where they have to work so much harder than men. There is so much prejudice here that we don't even have the opportunity to work harder. Employers aren't willing to work around mothers' schedules, which are impossible anyway. Aside from the vast number of arbitrary holidays, kids get out of school at 11 in first grade, at 1 in fifth grade, and they can't legally be home alone until they're 12. That's right. You have a kid, you are basically banned from working for twelve. Years.

Companies have to provide maternity benefits for female employees. They don't have to hire women, though, and many choose not to for just that reason. This is legal here. Many aren't even willing to hire childless women because who knows? She might get pregnant.

And this is what really bugs me, and what isn't being said aloud. Women in Germany, much more than in the States, have to choose between motherhood and a career, yes. But very often that choice is not even in our hands. To choose motherhood, you have to find a man who is willing to support you and some kids. To choose a career, you have to find someone (usually a man) who is willing to hire you. There are fewer and fewer of both kinds of men around, so even women who want to play that game are caught in a double-bind.

So now a government study (referenced here) has come out that says German women are lazy. Apparently we spend less time doing housework than any other women in Europe. Oh cool, that's just what we needed, a rousing game of blame-the-victim.

Yeah, we don't do a lot of housework. We spend a lot of time on leisure activities because we're just killing time. We could be working at job-jobs, you know, outside the house. We're just waiting for someone to give us a chance.

... crickets chirping ...

Hellooooo?

okay...

...I have been writing actually. Technically. I've just been writing stuff like this:

SELECT filename, date FROM Photo WHERE photogID=4 ORDER BY date;
SELECT filename FROM Photo WHERE camID=5;
SELECT filename FROM Photo WHERE kb < 600 AND date > '2004-01-01';
UPDATE Photo SET camID=7 WHERE photogID=3;
DELETE FROM Photo WHERE filename LIKE 'Sundo%';
INSERT INTO PhoComapny (phoCoName, address, city, st, zip) VALUES ('Lightwise','360-5th St','Weed','CA','96094');

Homework. Due Sunday, turned in today. Yeah, you wish you could be as cool as me. Pfff, NOT.

I just found this, and it made me laugh.

So now I need to get tomorrow's lesson planned, and DrBob wants to beat rush hour, and I need him to print out my lesson stuff at the office, so I have maybe four hours to get that done. Last lesson took me, oh, maybe 12 hours to plan, altogether. Best get cracking then, eh?

Did I mention DrBob is leaving for Kalamazoo tomorrow?

Song du jour of the day: The Pixies, Where is my Mind?

just a sec, I'll be right there!

Umm, yes! I'm still alive! Life is kinda...full, and I just haven't had time, exactly. Job + former job + sick husband + school + houseguest = not blogging. Who knew?

Coming Soon to a Blog Near You: incoherent ranting about the German Mommy Wars. I've been thinking about it a lot, but haven't gotten around to writing it down yet.

Song du jour: Bonus Track 1, by Lyle Lovett. It doesn't seem to have a name, how very, um...PoMo.

Sisters of Mercy concert

Well that was really fun! There was so much dry ice you couldn't see more than a few hazy now-you-see-it, now-you-don't silhouettes up there - could've been anybody, really, except that nobody else has a voice like that. But I really enjoyed the show, particularly laughing at the people with cel-phone cameras, taking pictures of the different colors of fog because there really wasn't much else visible onstage. I was also laughing at me, trying to maintain my dour gothy dignity while grinning like a chimpanzee. DrBob was much more dignified, but I bet he didn't have as much fun as I did. Heeee.

Also, I see a business opportunity here. If you could get hold of some rhythm wholesale, I could sell it outside concert venues here in Munich. These people need it desperately, so demand would be huge, especially among skinny girls with big hair and too much eyeliner.

Song du jour of the day: This Corrosion, of course. What else?

the parents meet with the kid's therapist

Eeeerg. Well that was hair-raising. DrBob and I have had numerous conversations about his relationship with Ignatz, and what needs to change (DrBob's answer is always that Ignatz needs to change), and I have been completely unable to get my point across. That is, he hears me, he simply chooses to ignore the possibility that I might be right. So my evil side was quite looking forward to the therapist telling him the same things I've been saying for all these years, to wit: you are an adult and he is a child and it is unrealistic to expect him to do all the work in this relationship. Which she did tell him, today. Hee hee. However. I was not expecting her to do it with me sitting right there. God, I wanted to hide under my chair.

DrBob appears not to have gotten the message yet.

Song du jour of the day is, um, I Don't Want to Grow Up, by Tom Waits.

Yes. I am boring.

Because the DVD-rental place is about to close down, I'm renting DVDs lately. Yesterday there were three: Big Fish, where one character had a fair bit in common with my dad; the Lemony Snicket thing, about some orphans; and De-Lovely, about musicals, of which my mom and I were/are both huge fans. So I didn't actually set out to rent DVDs that would remind me of my dead parents, it just sort of happened that way. And by the end of the day I was um, pretty pensive and not feeling much like writing.

Today no DVDs. Which is stupid, because time is running out! Also, it's not like I did anything else useful today. I did get a phone call from the new webmaster, though, about a problem with uploading new stuff. Tomorrow's the Sisters of Mercy concert (woot!) so I'll be in the city anyway, so I'm going to go see him and help him try to sort it out. It's just too bad I can't be all Schadenfreud-y, though - hah! They need me after all! - because I really like the new webmaster and can't find it in me to wish him any misfortune. Hell, he has my old job, that's misfortune enough right there.

Which is terribly unprofessional of me to say, isn't it? Especially after they already got miffed at me for being um... excessively candid? Remind me not to tell any prospective employers that I blog.

Such a sad, pathetic, half-assed entry. I should be talking about the German mommy wars, since I'm right here in it, but I have to organize my thoughts first. I still have the Newsweek article about it, and have been wanting to point out the key, crucial point that Newsweek missed. And of course I have all kinds of thoughts about how it ties into so many current problems and ultimately points to a single fact: the world's economists desperately need to be lined up and shot. Quick, before they do even more damage.

Or about books! It really is just a weird coincidence, I totally didn't do it on purpose, but right around Easter I read/am reading both "The Big Over Easy" and "The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse." Isn't that weird?

Oh, and we're seeing Ignatz's therapist tomorrow. Should be interesting.

Foggy brain

I can't think anymore. I read three things today which seemed totally unrelated, but seen in the light of eachother, threw up some very interesting connections. But it had to do with the current political situation in the U.S., which is so dense and complicated and rife with assumptions that I don't really have the language to question, that I can't articulate the point I wanted to make, even though I spent most of the evening writing about it. They're here, and here, and here, if you want to try to see what I saw. If you don't want, hey, I understand.

DrBob is an academic, and therefore, basically, a professional arguer. You would think that hanging out with someone like that would be a good way to sharpen your own arguing skills, but it hasn't worked that way for me. My avoidance skills have improved immensely, but my arguing muscles have atrophied. I got in a discussion over Michael Moore with a friend a few weeks ago, and found myself floundering when he started putting words in my mouth - insisting that I was making a point I had no intention of making. I'm so easily confused lately.

Oh yes, and poor DrBob? Look, I'm trying not to be superficial here, but ick. Maybe if he hadn't insisted on showing me his stitches...

Song du jour of the day: Jerk It Out. Caesars.

ho hum

Wow, well I've been really busy, but with all boring stuff like homework. Also, while I was being busy with boring stuff, my house went and got dirty again. Still scratching my head over that one.

I think I'm disoriented because I was really too busy to pay any attention to the holiday, but it happened anyway, with the attendant two weeks' vacation for my kids. Our routine is shot to hell, and all this stuff I've been up to has not fit into any kind of framework, it's just one thing happening after another, which feels chaotic. Especially since I haven't been using my calendar.

DrBob is feeling better, thanks for all your well-wishing. He's feeling a bit too better, if you ask me. He actually wanted to go play soccer yesterday, on the same day as he had surgery. And if you think this is a buncha middle-aged guys tottering around the park at dusk, you're only half-right. Some of them do that, but DrBob comes home every friday with something horrible - a bruised rib last week, about six gashes on his shin the week before where someone with cleats landed on him repeatedly, a hernia last year - for DrBob, soccer is a blood sport. I had a helluva time talking him out of it. And now he's all...um, frisky. He's got a face like a catcher's mitt and he wants to get it on. Jeez. I'm having trouble thinking up diplomatic ways to say 'no effing way'.

that was horrible

but at least it's over now. And DrBob's upper lip is a bit swollen (he looks like a Simpson), so at least there's some humor to be had from the situation.

Now let us pause for a brief interlude of uncontrollable sobbing.

I'll get back to you.

a theme-park and a pity-party

We went to Legoland today! For the last time, because it's kind of a pain in the butt, especially for something you have to drive two hours to get to. We bought year-passes last year, and they're just about to expire so we had to get in one last visit and it was okay. I got a face full of sun, and the kids always remember the having fun bit, and not the standing in line forever bit, so I guess that's a good thing, but it's so dreadfully expensive, and the food is so bad, and the shows are stupid and there are only like seven rides so we've really been-there-done-that. So all right. Enough is enough.
___________________

Okay, do not read past this point. Seriously. I mean it, there is major dental ickiness ahead, and you do not want any part of it. Unless you enjoyed Elemmaciltur's "gross yucky wisdom teeth update" etc. postings, in which case read on. Have a ball. Also, seek therapy.

All right, you've been warned.

DrBob woke up with a toothache Tuesday morning. What it turned out to be, is that when a tooth was removed, 20 years ago, a bit must have been left behind, and now it's infected and will turn into a cyst if it doesn't get fixed. And what he has now is a metal plate in his upper jaw, from which a metal spike extends, and the replacement-tooth is screwed onto that spike. And the infection is up above the plate, so he needs a surgeon to cut his face open to fix it.

Right, so first, anything dental gives me serious heebie-jeebage. I hate anyone messing around with my teeth, cringe at any description of dental squickiness (no, I did not read Elemmaciltur's wisdom teeth posts, and many thanks El for the nice clear titles that enabled me to steer away from what is for me a very touchy subject), I also hate driving, and hate getting up early, and I have to drive him to his 8:00 appointment in Landshut, which is total street-spaghetti, tomorrow morning. And from there we go straight to Munich and work, which means I have to be up and in office drag and ready to go tomorrow at 7:00, cool my heels in a dental surgery office for however long it takes, and then drive to Munich with my drug- and pain-addled husband, whose method of navigating even when he's healthy sounds like this: "Aaaand that's where you should have turned."

Vicarious pain, a case of the creeps, panic, confusion and probably hostility, all before 10 a.m.? I just don't see a down-side here.

oh, should I have clarified that?

In response to the boob-thing, Kelly said

um, what?

Uh, yeah. What, is that not normal? We're at the FIL's birthday party with his five still-living siblings and their assorted wives, and someone comments to my MIL that both her daughters-in-law are so thin. SIL's not there, so all the focus is on me, nd Aunt Leni says I could use another ten pounds, here and here (no I didn't slap her hand away, I was amused), and my MIL says no, her (meaning my) boobs are surprisingly big, given the rest of her, and Aunt Sophie tells me to be glad they're not bigger enough to be a nuisance, and I guess that's where we left it. DrBob seemed to think it was a Bavarian thing, I just figured that relatives get, um, earthier as they age. Hey, I was just glad to be included in the conversation, since I usually don't understand what's going on at all. I think the whole thing was a hoot, and another reason to be glad I married into a big family.

Happy Birthday FIL

After eleven years as Mrs.Dr.Bob, I was finally able to correctly identify all of the FIL's brothers this year. Give me another eleven years, and I'll be able to figure out which wife is whose.

I should really make an effort to learn the wives, since they were the ones talking about my boobs today.

and another thing...

Happy Easter, y'all.

Yes meme, no meme

Um, Thursday: worked, since Friday's a holiday.

Friday: Cleaned the house and then went to see the friends with the new baby, the one I made that stripey-sweater for. Got very little baby face-time, as she decided to be sick for the first time in her whole three weeks of life. Drat.

Saturday: made an ER model for the recipe database. Yes, it took all day. I'm a dork.

So as I have been dull and dutiful, I have no stories for you. Fortunately Kelly tagged me for a meme. Don't know what I'd do without her.

The Rules
1. You can only say YES or NO!
2. You are NOT ALLOWED to explain ANYTHING unless someone messages you and asks!

Taken a picture naked? Yes
Made out with a member of the same sex? Yes
Danced in front of your mirror? Yes
Told a lie? Yes
Gotten in a car with people you just met? Yes
Been in a fistfight? No
Had feelings for someone who didn't have them back? Yes
Been arrested? No
Left your house without telling your parents? Yes
Ditched school to do something more fun? Yes
Slept in a bed with a member of the same sex? Yes
Seen someone die? Yes
Kissed a picture? Yes
Slept in until 3? Yes
Laid on your back and watched cloud shapes go by? Yes
Played dress up? Yes
Fallen asleep at work/school? Yes
Felt an earthquake? Yes
Touched a snake? No
Ran a red light? No
Had detention? Yes
Been in a car accident? Yes
Pole danced? No
Been lost? Yes
Sang karaoke? No
Done something you told yourself you wouldn't? Yes
Laughed until something you were drinking came out your nose? No
Caught a snowflake on your tongue? Yes
Kissed in the rain? Yes
Sang in the shower? Yes
Got your tongue stuck to a pole? No
Ever gone to anywhere partially naked? Yes
Sat on a rooftop? Yes
Played chicken? No
Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on? No
Been told you're hot by a complete stranger? Yes
Broken a bone? No
Mooned/flashed someone? No
Forgotten someone's name? Yes
Slept naked? Yes
Blacked out from drinking? Yes
Played a prank on someone? No
Felt like killing someone? Yes
Made a parent cry? Yes
Cried over someone? Yes
Had sex more than 5 times in one day? Yes
Had/Have a dog? Yes
Been in a band? No
Drank 25 sodas in a day? No
Shot a gun? No

So how'd it go?

Okay, the word for the day is scalable. That means that the lessons I plan should still work okay even if only two students show up. Use it in a sentence: Today's lesson was not scalable.

Yeah. Two students.

Okay okay okay, Two were out sick, and it is Easter vacation, and one is unable to make Wednesdays. We are negotiating to move it to Tuesdays.

Song du jour? Oh, I don't know, something e-e-evilll...

Rockin' good news

So my friend Melanie (who has like a million degrees and certificates in Dealing With Kids Who Have Trouble Behaving) read that post about Ignatz suddenly recovering from an eleven-year ADD jag, and emailed me this:

So, I have a theory. He's 12? 11? Fascinating brain stuff usually happens at that age, including an increased ability to process info (more info at once and faster) AND an increased ability to screen out extraneous crap and focus on what you need to think about. Perhaps the balance just tipped, ie. his brain development caught up with his attention problems. You know all this already, but it was on my mind. Wondering also if he ever came up with an explanation for the change, if so what? I will be really surprised if he could explain it, but if he could - how fascinating!

No, he couldn't explain it, but even so, how totally does that theory WOCK? So that's the one I've decided to go with, because that would mean it's a permanent change, which woot!

Also, I'm teaching again tonight. Someday that thought won't make me panic, right? Please?

Oh, song (virus) du jour of the day: Stay, by Lisa Loeb.

Birthday shout-out!

Everybody go over and give a big ol' birthday SMOOCH to Kelly, who thinks she's turning 34, or maybe 35 ... she's not sure which birthday it is, but it's definitely today! Woot! Happy birthday babe! (Okay, now watch me turn out to have gotten the day wrong, how embarrassing would that be?)

Song du jour of the day, totally ganked from Raindog's blog: Happy Birthday to Me, by the Vandals. Only don't read all the words, okay?

Oh! Also...

I was over at Bumblebee Sweet Potato today - this is one of the blogs I read because I wish I could write like that, and also because I think I might could write like that if I just put more time and thought into it, which means maybe someday I will. When I don't have to hustle so much, like. Not only that, I really, really admire her politics, especially how she gets out there and lives them instead of staying home and thinking them and making excuses, which is what I do.

So anyway, she has this entry called "why we write", which mentions teenage journals and which prompted me to comment that reading my teenage journals makes me cringe. That's exactly the word I used, cringe. And then, almost the next thing I did (the very next thing was to go to Crouching Mommy, Hidden Laundry and see that there was nothing new since yesterday, but the next thing I did after that) was find this via Dooce, and lo! There in the sidebar! The very. same. word.

Perhaps the universe speaks to us through coincidences. Maybe, instead of boring you with Eurovision trivia, I should out some of my teenaged self-absorption (it really is a miracle, and possibly proof of the existence of God, that I didn't actually implode - that's how self-absorbed I was) for you all to laugh at. Hm.

Or maybe I'll just pretend that the mildew ate my journals, since they've been stored in the basement for three years. Actually, I haven't looked at them lately, so that could be true.

monday monday

Cool! Tony's reviewed one of my current favorite bands! And they're touring the States! Robert and I saw them in Munich in January and they were great. Do go see them if you get the chance. And, you know, if you like shouty-punk.

So of course, the song du jour of the day is Art Brut's Good Weekend ("I've seen her naked TWICE!"). Drat these frames and flashes and whatnot, I can't link directly to it, but if you click on "Releases" at the bottom of the screen and then click the play button, you can hear it.

In other news, I'm supposed to be planning my next English class (our theme will be Cars - I'm hoping to spark a discussion around an email I received on rising gas prices in the U.S.) and it needed to be today so that DrBob could print out the class materials at the office for me. Except his University-supplied computer (remind me to rant about German universities and computers one of these days) is having Issues, so I get another day to freak out over this. Um, yay?

absent

Hi all. Worked all day Friday and brought home a houseguest, so I'll be pretty scarce this weekend. Look for me on Monday.

Song du jour of the day is Tom Waits's Tango Till They're Sore. They take apart their nightmares and they leave them by the door...

more meme-itude

Oh, right! When I can't think of anything to write about, I meme! How could I forget?

Thirteen Things I should be doing instead of blogging
1. Get off my butt and exercise.
2. Finish my week 2 homework.
3. Do the reading for week 2.
4. Do the reading for week 1.
5. Plan next week's English lesson.
6. Train giant bats to fetch things for me.
7. Clean off my desk.
8. Set everything out for tomorrow so I don't spend the morning rushing around like a lunatic
9. Get the winter stuff back out. I put it away on the first warm day, and then it snowed again.
10. Wash my hair.
11. Get to work on the recipe database I promised Kelly a month or so ago.
12. Get to work on the publications database I promised DrBob over a year ago.
13. Mend a bunch of Ignatz's old jeans before they're too small for the Sniglet.

Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!

View More Thursday Thirteen Participants

via the Goober Queen

boring. sorry.

Well, today would be the day where I restore perspective on the whole English class thing, and point out that I didn't get hit by a bus so it could be worse and all that. But I'm still feeling crappy so instead I'm doing my infuriating homework.

A major part of our parenting philosophy when the boys were babies was "He's crying anyway". Which means that when they had tantrums we'd take the opportunity to do some hated but necessary task like toothbrushing, hair washing, nail clipping, or whatever, because why ruin a good mood? Pretty clever, huh? And that's not even one of the Top Ten reasons we are rotten parents, it's probably down around number 16. Anyway, taking off my Hypocrite Mama hat today to apply the same philosophy to myself: as long as I feel like hell anyway, I might as well get one useful thing...um, a little closer to done.

And that's about all. Ho-hum.

Song du jour of the day: R.E.M. What's the Frequency Kenneth?

It's all about the hate today

Normally I don't post on the first day of my period because I never have anything positive to say. Everything hurts and I feel like shit, tra-la-la. But today was also my first English conversation class, which I feel was a disaster, because I ran out of stuff to do before the time was up. The students didn't notice (or perhaps they were just too polite to say so - they're Bavarians, not Germans) because I managed to vamp for 15 minutes by asking getting-to-know-you questions, but that is not a tactic that will work for more than three classes or so. And I think I'll have to teach more than that. Once a week until we move away? Yeah, that's more than three.

Also? It snowed today.

So today's song du jour of the crappy day should be Let the Cool Goddess Rust Away, by Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. Because feh.

Ignatz. Ritalin.

Ummm, turns out, not so much. Can't think why I haven't posted about this, because I've talked to several people about it, but he's gotten...better. Somehow. For the last oh, five or six weeks he's been nicer to his brother, doesn't lose things as often, doesn't scream about having to do chores, doesn't forget stuff...as much. There've been no letters or phone calls from exasperated teachers. I mean, he's still disorganized or forgetful or grouchy from time to time, but all kids are, sometimes. He's just reduced it to a normal level.

Now, if you don't believe ADHD exists at all, go away. This post is not for you and I'm tired of arguing that point. This was not a hallucination, or just a phase he was going through, or two selfish yuppies unable to cope with a kid acting like a kid. He was a weird kid from birth, and he was weird for eleven years. LOTS of letters home from teachers. Lots of conflict with his parents and brother. Lots of weirdness in his friendships, lots of bizarre little habits. Daily or weekly incidents, somewhat-normal behavior but with abnormal frequency. We got him diagnosed at a clinic, even got our insurance to agree that there was a problem. There really was a problem.

And now? Poof. It's gone. And I'm...not sure how to feel about that. I mean, yay! This is so great! He's doing better! Not perfect, but really better, and I'm very proud of him. But we don't know why, so we have no idea how long it will last. I've asked him, and he doesn't know why either. We can't identify any kind of triggering incident or anything. So, um, happy! But also apprehensive. A bit.

So now there's no point to trying the Ritalin, because the behavior he's showing now is exactly my best-case-for-Ritalin scenario, wherein he keeps his personality intact but just has his shit together a little better. If we gave it to him now, how would we even know if it worked?

Today's song du jour of the day, then, is in honor of my brilliant firstborn: Aerosmith. Amazing.

Mild irk

I don't think sports is necessarily a guy-thing, though that's how I was raised: Dad and Brother watched televised sports at every opportunity, and Mrs Dad and I read books. I didn't get into sports until I was a grown-up (well, 18), and I'm still not really a big sports-head. I'll watch football, soccer, rugby, basketball or ice hockey anytime they're on, but that's about it. And I just watch, I don't memorize, or even bother to understand, the statistics part. And I was reminded recently (argh, where?) of a point Noam Chomsky made in Manufacturing Consent, how men's ability to memorize sports statistics, and women's ability to keep track of their calorie intake, show that ordinary people can certainly grasp complex ideas and keep track of many tiny details, thus suggesting that economics/politics/globalization/all that crap is not really over our heads, as Those In Charge prefer to pretend.

Anyway. A small digression there. I agree with the overall point, but I brought it up because I wanted to look at this side point: men, sports statistics; women, food statistics? Is this a fair generalization? I mean, some men count calories and some women follow league tables, but as a general rule, do these things tend to shake down along gender lines? Because I'm confronted with an assumption, by a guy, that I should know this stuff, and I'm wondering if he assumes too much or if my knowledge is really deficient.

To clarify: yet again, a (male) database teacher has assigned some kind of sports-database, clearly assuming that all his students will know enough about sports statistics to do this, because he hasn't provided any supplemental information - they never do. And I'm fairly certain a female database teacher wouldn't assign an E-R diagram for cataloging lipstick or tracking a shoe collection, at least not without some clarification on the sort of information she would expect to be stored. So once again, I am annoyed that the default setting is "guy" and that I am some kind of special interest, and am expected to adapt to someone else's definition of normal.

Of course I realize I am a member of more default-groups than special groups, and it is equally thoughtless to assume everyone is straight, white, and computer-literate, to name the first few things that leap to mind. I tend not to notice those assumptions as quickly, because they don't trip me up, but I still recognize that they are unfair and create a kind of pressure that can get really old really fast.

I also realize that this is a trivial problem - the sports-database thing, not the bossy-dominant-culture thing. I'm just taking a moment to be annoyed at how often guys insist on controlling the dialog without even knowing that they're doing it. (Which of course they would say absolves them from all responsibility - after all, they're not doing it on purpose, so they should be allowed to ignore its effects ... and we should continue to accommodate them.)

Yes, lots and lots of stuff is going into this post, some of it trivial and some quite profound, but I've already gone on for too long. I'll do the assignment and all, but I will be peeved about it. Because it's my blog, and I can.

Song du jour of the day: Don't Call Me Baby, by Voice of the Beehive.

um...

Rented Hitch today. Cute, charming, mildly funny, um, tool of the patriarchy but whatever. I enjoyed it anyway. You know, I really don't ask for a lot in a movie. Minimal gore, dialog that is other than turgid (yes George Lucas I am talking to you), and don't ever threaten a child, and you've pretty much got three stars from me.

Also, just because I took the Seahawks logo down, does not mean I don't love them anymore. Verily, I do. But the traffic-hazard lilacs in our yard are just about to bloom, and I want them to know that they are welcome! And they should please hurry up!

(Uh, yeah. The, uh, lilacs... read my... blog. Sure...)

Oh! Song! Du Jour! Of the Day! Luno, by Bloc Party. The intro totally reminds me of New Order. It's just me, right? Yeah, probably.

Just stuff

Reviews of movies you either saw years ago or never had any interest in. Pretty thrilling, huh? I know, I know...I keep trying to be all virtuous and Write Something Every Day, but dudes, I'm not Shakespierce. Single + fabulous + intelligent sports fan + intelligent music fan + living in L.A. = lots to write about. Married + middle-aged + suburban + housewife + datamonkey + kitschgeek = not so much.

So anyway, I rented I Heart Huckabees yesterday. My veteran readers (that means Kelly, pretty much) will remember that we joined some Netflix-like thingy awhile back, but that turned out to suck so we quit. Last month, I think. There's another place I'd been meaning to check out, where you get a card and then check out dvds from a machine, and I finally got around to signing up on Friday, which is a bit on the lame-o side because they're closing down at the end of the month, because it's not profitable enough. Oh well, at least I get movies for a month. A month during which I have time. The MySQL/PHP class I'm taking will be mostly review for me for the next few weeks, and then I'll hit the wall in May sometime. Looking forward to it!

Digress much? Okay, here's my review: I liked it. It made me laugh. But I have a hard time imagining anyone but me liking it, so it was really, really nice of David O. Russell and Lily Tomlin and Dustin Hoffman and Mark Wahlberg and Isabelle Huppert and all to make a movie just for me.

Rachel's keeping up with the Duke rape story. I'm pointing you to her because I probably won't be writing much more on it (doesn't mean I'm not reading and thinking about it), and I think she and Tiffany are doing an excellent job. A few guys in the comments sections, whose agendas I haven't bothered to investigate, think that they (so okay, then, we) are not being suitably objective, but um ... well.

Oh and spring has arrived! Happy happy, joy joy! Also, it's about frickin' time!

Song du jour of the day: Terrible Angels, by CocoRosie. Speaking of stuff that's too weird for anyone but me to like. "If you'll provide the birdbath, then I'll provide the skin..."

Okay, I've been bad.

I called in sick to work because DrBob took the car to Munich Thursday night so I would have had to either walk to the train station or ask Mrs Next Door to drive me there (with her brand-new tiny baby) and then I would have been on the train, which is its own kind of excruciating. Okay, I'm blithering. Upshot = I'm better than I was, but still too sick to take on the kind of activity that getting to work and doing my job would have required. And now it's late and I better get to bed, but I haven't blogged today, so I'm gonna fob you off with another annoying Eurovision retrospective.

Ah, the one and only Cliff Richard. He sang Congratulation for England in 1968. Didn't win, but it was a massive hit in Britain anyway. And I could forgive this song if it were like 1952, because they didn't know any better then. But 1968? He was sort of the "Elvis of England" (i.e., about that famous), which honestly? Makes me kind of sad. We got Elvis, they got Cliff (who later sang the Lord's Prayer to the tune of Auld Lang Syne, in public, for which he is surely going to Hell), and they still think they are culturally superior to us.

Of course, that last snarky sentence can be contradicted into oblivion with two little words. They rhyme with Flonty Squython. Hey, I never claimed to be consistent.