I had a vision of my grandma the other day, standing over the live-catfish-filled kitchen sink with a hammer in her hand.
A scent drifted through the open window that was oddly reminiscent of freshly caught fish on a warm summer day. Now, I’m pretty sure there were no freshly caught fish out in the street below, but you know, make of it what you will. Sometimes reminders catch you at odd moments, when you least expect it.
It’s ok to eat fish. Cause they don’t have any feelings.
Looks like she’s actually peeling potatoes but this is the same sink, same grandma. This is a still from one of my (her) Super-8 videos I had transferred to DVD last year. I seriously had the most Super-8 films transfer-er had ever seen (over 100, so many I just can’t even remember right now). I didn’t even get them all done due to the cost… Yes, I have documented the (ok, my) 1970s in full. Any buyers?
This is a story about soccer. First off, I am NOT a soccer mom. I just happen to have a kid that
plays soccer (ok, well, plays might be too strong a term) is on a soccer team. Now, I never really liked soccer, if only because I grew up a white kid in the rural Midwest in the 80s. We played baseball and softball. In the middle of the day, the middle of the summer, all summer long. Flashback to 1984: we play a game or two of soccer in PE, and that’s the extent of my soccer playing career. Flashback to 1996: the US women’s soccer team takes the Olympic gold medal. A huge day in woman’s sports! These women really made an impression on millions of young (and old) girls and totally strengthened the visibility and viability of female sports in this country. Flashback to 2002: I watch Bend It Like Beckham. Hey! Soccer looks kinda cool. Present day: soccer is everywhere. Our formerly soccerless community kinda likes soccer around here. We have our own county league, and the high school has a soccer team! Girls and boys compete on the same teams. Girls kicking boys’ asses! Seriously, if this had been available when I was a kid, you better believe I would have been all over kicking boys’ asses!
In our county league, a kid can play soccer at the tender age of 3…and therein lies the problem. Three-year-olds are not, in general, very interested in, or very good at, competitive sports. Neither is my 4-year-old. You see, I am what you might call old school when it comes to sports. Winners are winners and losers are losers. You don’t get a trophy for last place. You play to win. You don’t stand around, twirl your hair, and look at the ground. You don’t play a sport UNLESS YOU WANT TO. I cannot bear to watch my kid stand around, twirl her hair, and look at the ground. What have I done? Three is too young. Four is too young. Five? Probably too young. So, chalk this one up to lesson learned. Next year, we’re playing T-ball!!
I’m a pathetic excuse for a blogger. I didn’t even edit this bastard.
Shit yeah you are. Can't even clean yo fucking windows. Ffft ffft! Screeeee!!!
To hell with diamonds. Spring flowers are a girl’s best friend.
A tisket, a tasket: it's just a meaningless nursery rhyme.
Just got back from a family mini-vacation (a stay-cation, if you will), in Memphis. We took the munchkin to the zoo and downtown to Beale Street. It was St. Patrick’s Day, ok? There was a parade. Let me just say that we will be going there again. Oh yes! But probably not to the zoo. I’m gonna have to say that the St. Louis Zoo is better (and it’s free). Words of wisdom: if you do go to the Memphis Zoo, go as early as humanly possible. This means WHEN IT OPENS. Which, of course, we did. But when we left, like just after noon, the lines were long and full of more sniveling kids than you could possibly bear just for a bear, if you know what I mean. Come to think of it I hate zoos, and am reminded of it every time I go to one…
In the mind of a 4-year-old, the top 3 for the trip was, in this order :1. the parade, of course; 2. the elevator in the hotel (duh); and lastly, 3. why, the zoo (what zoo?). I kinda liked the liquor store over by the zoo (Joe’s). Very cool with lots of plants in there and, uh, liquor…
Here is where I should bring the hotel into this. I may actually write a review of this hotel on Trip Advisor or something. The Doubletree Downtown Memphis Hotel was absolutely awesome. The nicest staff ever plus we ended up with an oversize room for being a rewards card member (ooh! exclusive, right?). There’s my plug. Seriously. Lastly, what’s not to like about Beale Street? And a St. Patrick’s Day parade on Beale Street in sunny 75 degree weather?
My favorite part.
Why are they all standing on one foot? Good question.
The bears are laying in a large sandbox. Slowly dying…
The eagle has landed.
I did have one (or four). Not recommending the food coloring though.
It’s Wonder Woman. My hero.
Oops! Sorry, I dropped my change.
Now, if I was only 25 again…sigh.
Been looking at those damn chicken wieners way too long. Every time I log in here, well there those greasy bastards are. Why hasn’t anyone stepped up to the plate and posted already? Its been over a week, dammit! Well, unfortunately I’m still at a loss for words. But that’s ok, I’ve got some pictures.
Three of the four are taken with Hipstamatic, a totally awesome (yeah, I said totally awesome, fuckers) iPhone app. Been using a double exposure lens (it’s an internal lens via app; don’t get all excited and don’t ask me how it works) with a black and white film (ditto), and I’m super inspired to keep on clicking with the hipsta since every shot is different (kinda like a snowflake…) with this lens (FYI it’s the Salvador 84 lens). I took these in response to a photo challenge on my Numero Uno favorite app Instagram. If you have an iPhone and haven’t tried Instagram, well, you should (if not then screw it, your loss).
Ok forget all that. On a serious note, the last pic is taken with my regular iPhone camera and ran though Blender, another very nice app, for the double exposure. This is a World War I memorial in the cemetery near my house. Salud!
Well that last post was a doozy, eh? It’s a bar song, alright? Kinda random, I know.
Here’s something: a little iPhone art. I’ve entered my blue period. In a very un-Picasso-blue-period kinda way.
I’ve got nothin’…but this.
This is my brain on Saturdays.
I have become comfortably numb.
A little something I found in my draft folder, written prior to Christmas. Applicable to Valentine’s Day. How convenient, cause I’m pretty much void of any comprehensible thought, wit, or wisdom today. Here we go:
Instructions for shopping at a bookstore when you don’t read to begin with (and I’m assuming you are trying to be cool and buy your bookish friends/family something for the holidays [uh, Valentine's Day that is]; a noble cause but just get a damn gift card):
1. Just get a damn gift card.
2. Get the fuck out of my way. This is a bookstore, dammit, not Wal Mart.
3. Look! Over there, it’s the magazines. At the end of the Romance aisle. You belong there. And there.
4. Uh, seriously, no one likes “coffee table” books. No one.
5. Coffee. Is that coffee? Go over there and sit. Don’t talk. Just sit. Maybe read a magazine. Or a Romance.
6. Now, exit the store. Go to Wal Mart. Go on, you deserve it. (But please don’t buy the shitty chocolates there for your reader friend/spouse/lover. You should have a least bought Godiva at the B&N. God, what a loser you are.)
I wanna sleep here.
Don’t hate me. It’s just that I’m too nice in real life. I have to get the sarcasm out somehow. And why am I capitalizing Romance?