On a political note, I’m just curious about exactly how many “teachable moments” this country needs. They seem to be coming fast and furious these days, so that tells me we must be *really* stupid and in *dire* need of teaching.

and, personally, I made a complete idiot of myself in front of 400 people. Hooray! I’ve spoken in front of a crowd before, so I don’t know what happened. All I know is that I climbed the stage, approached the podium, looked up, saw over 400 people staring back, then blanked out. I forgot three sponsors names. My face was flush and hot. I giggled uncontrollably.  I nearly wet myself.

Listen to this: picturing people in their underwear doesn’t work. That’s a damn lie.

It was a disaster, but I have survived. Fear not! I passed a couple during the reception who said, “Oh you were so CUTE up there!”

That’s nice of them and everything and it’s far better than, “Wow, your performance was bloody offensive to us! You should die!” which is *totally* what I was expecting –but I don’t know that I was going for “cute” either.

I’m going through that special time in a teen’s life wherein “everything sucks” and also “my parents know nothing, nothing at all.” It’s a special time. I’ve already been through it once, playing the role of “teenager who knows everything” and now I’m reliving it. This time around, however, I’ve been recast as “stupid parent.” I liked the other version better, even with all its foibles and pitfalls. This version can suck an egg.

When the boys were growing up I thought it was peachy that they were so close in age. 13 Months apart meant two boys in diapers at the same time. They hit all the milestones together, making it convenient for me to only have to go through it all at once. Just get the potty training for both out of the way at the same time. Bottle weaning. Walking. Reading. Writing. Certainly very efficient.

But now that they’re both going through the “terrible teens” at the same time? Well, I’m beginning to have my doubts about this whole thing. Now I am reviled by two. Now I am twice as stupid and twice as mean and two times the shrew. Now I’m bouncing from bedroom to bedroom trying to put out fires and maintain civility.

To be perfectly honest, I don’t know that I have the strength to do this. I don’t know if I can keep it up. Right now I’m beginning to think this was all a terrible mistake. Is it too late for a do-over?

I suppose it is.

No matter. I’ll deal with it. But I won’t like it. No, not one little bit. Until it’s over. And then I’ll look back and say, “Awww, I miss when they were 15 and knew everything.”

Maybe. (Maybe not.) (Probably.)

My Son the Man

by Sharon Olds

So JD Salinger has died. Can’t say he didn’t have it coming, he was 91 years old. That’s a ripe old age and if you’ve got to go (and you do) you may as well go with 91 years under your belt.

Stephen King wrote a couple short paragraphs on his passing over at his EW column. I won’t link to it because, like most things on the net, the comments section ruins it. I’m embarrassed BY and FOR those folks.

I’m a fan of Stephen King and I’m not embarrassed to admit that. His more recent work is a little too political and heavy-handed for my tastes, but I won’t hold that against him. I just read (and re-read and re-read) the classics (and they ARE classics, whether you’re a fan or not) and leave the new stuff for someone else. Perhaps that’s why the comments bother me so much. People can be so cruel with the things they say. How big you must feel sitting back on your anonymous high horse, typing venomous vitriol at a person who has done more in the face of adversity than you have even the capacity to dream of! How satisfying it must be for you to tear down the lifetime achievements of another person; you sitting there doing nothing, going nowhere, but talking such a big game. How proud your mothers must be!

All I can say is, fan or no, King is a better person than I. I couldn’t sit there and read the shit people throw my way day after day and not get so disillusioned and cynical that it kills me. Good on him. Perhaps he’s trained himself not to read those comments? Perhaps. But even that is an accomplishment. It would be difficult NOT to read, I should think. More difficult not to take it all to heart. More difficult to climb back in the saddle and write another column, subjecting yourself to more garbage.

Anyway, he writes regularly for Entertainment Weekly and I read his columns because he often has interesting things to say about pop culture, new authors on the scene, horror movies, etc. Check it out if you’re so inclined, I think the title of the column is “The Pop of King” or something catchy like that. Google it and you should be able to find it.  Just avoid the comments section unless you like hateful rhetoric.

This isn’t about Stephen King anyway. It’s about JD Salinger. I just got way off topic as per my usual. I wasn’t a big fan of most of Salinger’s work. I read his books, but none of them really got to me like “A Catcher in the Rye” did. I know, how predictable, right? I don’t care. It was great. I’ve read it at least a half a dozen times over the years and now I feel like reading it again. Caulfield was just such a great anti-hero. And the way he talked, his narrative really spoke to me at the ripe old age of 16 — the first encounter I had with him. I still have that worn and faded original copy from 1966. It was already  23 years old by the time I got my hands on it in ’89. I’ve got other, newer copies, too. Those are the ones I read. I leave the old, original copy sitting on the bookshelf untouched. It’s likely to fall apart if I don’t. I’ve flipped through the pages too many times now.

I remember when the boys were in middle school I tried to get them to read it. The subject matter was a little risky, but I really wanted to connect with them over this one. Jacob read “To Kill a Mockingbird” and loved it. We watched the movie and had a lot of great discussions about it. Kaileb read “Flowers for Algernon” and loved it. Ditto the great talks and movie watching. They both liked “Lord of the Flies” but hated the ending. Can’t say I blame them, but we had a lot of really heated discussions about it, debated it, analyzed it. Both enjoyed “Animal Farm” as well. Things were progressing smashingly and I was enjoying sharing my love of reading with them. I nudged them in the direction of “Rye”, but they just couldn’t get into it. They tried. To their credit they did try to make a go of it. It just wasn’t meant to be. I was really disappointed and probably pushed them too far to try again. They wouldn’t go for it and I eventually gave up.

Perhaps now that they are in high school it would be a better time to give it a go and I might mention it to them again. I might just leave it out on the table and be all like, “What? Oh, how did this book get here? Well, I guess someone should read it!”

I just remember reading it and feeling so exhilarated, so dangerous! It was an exciting book with such a rebellious theme that I was swept up in the adventure of it. Perhaps it was because I was raised in a strict southern-baptist home. I remember thinking, “If my parents knew the wicked naughtiness of this book!” and then giggling hysterically at my little secret. I was no stranger to having books removed from my possession due to their subject matter. It’s no wonder I held so tightly to this one, kept it hidden. I guess I can understand the boys and their lack of understanding. They live in a different time, a different world. It probably doesn’t seem anywhere near as dangerous to them, given all they are exposed to these days. Yet, I’ll try again. It’s worth another go.

I know Salinger was a notorious recluse. I know he shunned media and lived out his days in solitude. I don’t know why though. I don’t know if there was some reason behind his disdain for the light. Perhaps now that he’s died we’ll have some answers. It’s more fitting that those answers would come after his death, he doesn’t have to live with that which he apparently hated most: attention.

Regardless, I hope his final days found him happy and content. I hope he shucked this mortal coil with a sense of satisfaction and peace. I hope that when death found him, it found him serene and ready to go. I hope he died having never read a single internet comment thread.

RIP, Salinger, and thanks for the memories.

I love David and I really hope he got his snail. (click for video)

These two are just lovely. I know that description doesn’t do them good and proper credit, but it’s the best I could come up with. Nothing seems enough. Just lovely.

I saw a Twix bar today that said you could win $10,000 and a trip to Las Vegas. The first thing I thought about was the fact that I was in Las Vegas and the people in Las Vegas who win this contest must be pissed. It’s like they only win half a prize.

My second thought was, “Wait. Just who wins these things??”

Nearly every product out there has these marketing schemes, from cars to candy bars. Win a thousand dollars a week for life if you buy Coke. Win a new Mustang if you buy a carrot. Eat at Joe’s and win a free liposuction. As far as marketing potential goes, I get it.

But who the hell wins all these contests? I’ve never once seen any follow up on it. Have you ever looked in the paper to see “Local man wins twenty million and an Asian bride for opening Pepsi can”? Have you ever actually known anyone who has won one of these contests? I haven’t.

“Hey, that’s a cool Rolex.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty sweet. I got it out of a box of Cheerios.”

That’s never once happened to me. Not even a little bit. What does this mean? Does it mean these contests are all scams? Is anyone keeping track? What if they’re all LYING to us — a strange thought for a greedy marketing department, I know — and we just keep buying all this shit because we think we might actually win something?

Think about it. Have you ever bought one product over another because of the allure of a million dollars, or maybe even just a pair of movie tickets? I mean, all things being equal – price, taste, convenience, whatever – if you were indifferent to it all,  wouldn’t you pick the product with the promotion? I would think so. Human nature seems to suggest so.

If they aren’t lying and they are actually awarding all these fabulous prizes, where are the winners? Do they have to go into hiding? Do they have to sign confidentiality clauses stating they will never speak of their winnings? If so, wouldn’t their friends, neighbors and family get suspicious? Wouldn’t they be all like, “Hey, where did you get the money for that giant mansion and Rolls Royce in your driveway? You work at Sonic Burger.” ?? Wouldn’t it get out somehow?

And that doesn’t make sense anyway because why would a marketing company DO that? They wouldn’t. They would want to get every inch of mileage out of the promotion before having to pay for another one. They would not shut up about it before, during, or after.

“We’re Twix! We’re made of chocolate and caramel! We awarded a 15 year old girl a new Ford Taurus twenty years ago!”

Seriously. They would exploit that shit.

So, I’m asking you? Who the hell ever wins $10,000 and a trip to Vegas from a candy bar?

I am out of town for a conference. The conference location is Las Vegas. Everyone who hears that I am in Vegas says to me, “Oh, how nice. I wish *I* was going to Las Vegas on someone else’s dime.”

And I respond thusly, “Pfffffthhh.”

Vegas isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It’s loud and dirty and crowded and people act like they are the only living thing on the planet and woe be unto you if you get in their way or impede their desires in even the most minute way. I’ve seen multiple car accidents and one pedestrian struck by a car. The other cars were honking – HONKING – at this man who was fallen in the crosswalk. How dare he not to continue to walk right on out of their way after being struck in a crosswalk? How dare he stand in their way? He should have crawled on hands and knees the rest of the way through the crosswalk, so as to not delay them even one minute. I despair for the human race, I tell you. My fingers to God’s ears, we’re a sorry lot sometimes.

The stench of cigarettes, booze and desperation hangs thick in the air. The con artists and smut peddlers are out in full force. It is most definitely a modern day Sodom and Gomorrah. Brimstone. Sulfur. Burning. Ash. What’s NOT to envy?

But it’s a living and it was only a week and  I get to leave Sunday. So I won’t complain about that anymore.

Instead, I’ll show you this article entitled The Art of Giving Up by Dyske Suematsu because it’s a good article and you should read it and then tell me what you think.

Thank you and I hope you are well and good night. Be home soon!

I put up a photo gallery over here: Photatas

and you might, I don’t know, want to take a peek. I got some great shots (if I do say so myself — and I do. Cause I just did.) of an eagle a couple days ago. I’ve posted them over there for your wandering eyes.

I’ve been busy working and crafting and cooking and cleaning and photographying. I’ve got some photographic proof of that, but I don’t have ample time to load them up right now. I’ll make  a mental note to do that.

Otherwise, I’m on Team Conan this week and in Vegas next.

Exciting times!

Oh. La la. It’s a new year!

It’s eight o clock and I’m just waiting for bedtime. It’s the highlight of my evening. I’m like, DYING for bedtime. Come oooon bedtime! Let’s go!

It’s not been a good day, but I’ve resolved to pick myself up by my big girl panties and deal with it. Whining and pouting like a simpering, spoiled nitwit isn’t going to help anything. Well, okay, it does make me feel a little better to hide in the closet and have myself a good cry, but only to an extent. After the first hour it just feels self indulgent and a little embarrassing. Not to mention the carpet burns from thrashing around like a lunatic on the closet floor.

I assure you, I am completely sane. First of all, we have a very spacious closet. It’s huge! I leave breadcrumbs when I go in for my wardrobe.  Secondly,  It was just a long, frustrating day. People are a disappointment and then I feel bad for expecting so much of them so in the end, their failures become my failures. Right? So there’s this person you know and this person doesn’t do the things he or she should do in order to lead a drama-free, successful, at least somewhat happy life. Even though this person knows the right thing to do. They have the answers. They just …don’t choose it. And then this person, this person turns to you like, CONSTANTLY, for validation and a pep talk. “Oh boo hoo. It’s not working out for me. Make me feel better.” Oh ffs, do what you’re supposed to do, don’t do the rest or else don’t come crying to me to make you feel better about your poor, stupid choices.

I assure you, I am completely sane. First of all, that conversation, while technically only in my head and with an imaginary person, it ALSO could very well apply to a conversation that takes place OUTSIDE of my head and with non. ..imaginary… person.

And secondly — I’ve forgotten the second point. But whatever it was, I’m sure it was cleverly constructed in such a way that you’re left with no lingering doubts whatsoever about my sanity.

Psycho killer, qu’est que c’est.