And All This Time I Thought I Was Sorta Sweet
It being Halloween, I figure I should let you know just what a scary person I am.
Apparently, if you listen to Mark Warner, I’m rather threatening to the average American. NRA? Check. Christian? Check. Pro-lifer? Check. Home schooler? Used to be. OK, so technically I may only be 75% scary. Boo!
(If he’d only add “Southern” and “Irish dancer” to the list, I’d be, like, the ULTIMATE WEAPON! Evil dictators would be ponying up “one million dollars” for me and my threatening self. I’m so ninja.)
WASP Heritage = Wonder Bread and Velveeta?
I’m feeling a tiny bit put upon. Today is “Heritage Day” at school. Three of the Fantastic Quads are doing this big project for their Social Studies class. They each have a shoe box and were supposed to fill it with items relating to their heritage to turn in yesterday. And today, they were supposed to bring in a food to celebrate their ancestry. Think a Gin and Tonic would be inappropriate? We are so white bread.
We pretty much just concentrated on the ancestors we had actual paperwork for. On my side of the family, one of my ancestors (last name Gatchell or Getchell) came from England to the US in 1603. 1603! So pretty much any American food is our food. I finally dug up a recipe for Banbury Cakes that date back to the 1500’s in England. Lemme tell you, they are delicious! Lots of butter and sugar and puff pastry–how can you go wrong? Sort of a pain to make, and too messy for me to set the kids free on, so I spent the whole day yesterday making them.
As for the Irish ancestors on Sugar Daddy’s side, I made Irish Soda Bread. I know, boring. But EASY. Only after I bought the ingredients did I research it and find out that this bread first came into being when baking soda was introduced in Ireland in the 1840’s. The decade after his family moved to America. Too damn bad, I had already bought two quarts of buttermilk and would not waste it. After I made it, I realized that had I thrown in a handful of golden raisins, it would have been called Spotted Dick. I’d have loved to send in some with a big sign announcing what it’s called. I’m so mean to my kids!
Maybe I should have just explained that our ancestors all moved to the South after they got here, and then sent in buckets of fried chicken, some watermelon rind pickles, and biscuits. Now that makes me think of my relatives!
Naps Rock!
Was looking through some pictures from last winter. This is what happens when you allow an 18-month old to skip her nap . . .and then don’t act quickly when she gets quiet while watching Noggin.
Don't you just wanna snuggle up and nap with her?
State of the Union
It pains me to say it, but when I see the current polls and read the papers, I get the feeling that my team is not going to win this election. When I mentioned that to my mom, she said, “I guess we know now what the Democrats have felt like the last eight years.” Touché. So when the anxiety hits me in the pit of my stomach, it helps to read something uplifting. Even if it’s from the last election.
And for that I turn to Jen Lancaster. In her book Bright Lights, Big Ass, she writes an open letter to America. She originally wrote this in 2004, after the presidential election between Bush and Kerry. But I think the sentiment is still appropriate for our current election. Regardless of the outcome, someone is going to be pissed and feel disenfranchised and be all bitter. Who knows? It could be me. But any anxiety I was feeling about the political climate melted away as I read this letter. You can almost hear the Star-Spangled Banner playing in the background with a great FOX News graphic of a billowing flag as your visual. To my friends from church reading this: there will be profanity. I warned you.
Dear America,
Okay, what the hell is going on here?
Is there a bizarre weather front passing through, thus making you completely and utterly goofy?
I figured today had the potential for weirdness when the bike messenger in front of me ordered a nine-shot espresso at the coffee shop. Nine shots! In one cup! I asked him if he was going to drink it or mainline it, which apparently cracked no one up but me. (Seriously, my wit is wasted on the staff of the Randolph Street Starbucks. Also, did you know it’s Gingerbread Latte season again? Served in the festive red snowflake cups? Woo!)
Anyway, when I got to the office at my temp job, I started listening to talk radio and I heard all kinds of assorted foolishness. Apparently there’s a movement calling for the Blue States to secede from the Red States to better reflect the nation’s political leanings.
Um, yeah . . .it took six months and a multimillion-dollar advertising campaign when Chicago residents had to switch area codes, and seven years later, people are still dialing the wrong numbers.
So trying to teach citizens an entirely new currency system and national anthem?
Sure. That will happen.
As soon as my dog Loki creates a formula for cold fusion.
Later I heard John Kerry’s already gearing up for a possible 2008 bid for the presidency. Excuse me, sir? A little friendly advice? Relax. Give yourself a minute to catch your breath. Why don’t you take your wife on a nice cruise or something, you know, chill, kick back, maybe drink some banana liqueur cocktails before you make that kind of decision?
Anyway, after I returned from lunch, I heard how suicide hotlines and Canadian immigration officials have been inundated by those wanting to escape Bush’s second term. Mental health professionals all over the country are working overtime to counsel those of you despondent over the election results. Apparently people are seeking postelection trauma therapy in droves.
Now I’m sorry to have to do this, but I think at this point our nation could use a little tough love and now I’m going to have to go all Dr. Phil on you guys.
Ahem.
People?
Get a fucking grip on yourselves!
Pull it together! You’ve had a whole week to feel sorry for yourselves–it’s time to move on with your lives. Enough with the moping, wailing, and navel-gazing already! Move on! It may seem hard at first, but I know you can do it because you are Americans. You and your ilk are responsible for the likes of John Wayne and the Ford Mustang and Microsoft, for crying out loud! And as Americans, you were spawned from the baddest motherfuckers to ever walk this earth! Those ancestors of yours huddled inside rickety old boats trying to get here, battling storms, sickness, hunger, fatigue, and fear, carrying with them nothing but the will to live free.
And you know what? These people–your people–helped create the greatest country in the world with the best form of government known to mankind.
Does this mean our system is perfect? No. Does this mean sometimes despite your hard work, your guy or gal doesn’t get elected, even though you have empirical proof he or she was the better candidate? Yes.
And it’s okay to be disappointed when this happens. Because it does happen. Every election.
But please don’t let your displeasure with our system cause you to lose your peace of mind, toss away your citizenship–or worse, your life–over fears about the direction this country may or may not be heading in because your team didn’t win.
Because it’s flat-fucking-ridiculous. And you’re better than that.
You’ve had plenty of time to feel your feelings. Now it’s time to organize. Get off your therapists’ couches and use your pent-up energy to gather the kind of information that will change minds and perceptions. If you hate the elected officials presiding over you, then it’s your duty as an American to make sure we never get stuck with them again.
Rally.
Act.
Be an agent for change.
So leather up, you nancy boys and girls, and get busy.
Because you’re going to be okay.
Best,
Jen
P.S. If I could endure the fraternity party otherwise known as the Clinton administration, you can deal with President Churchy McJesus.
P.P.S. If Bush were so intent on imposing a stringent Christian lifestyle on everyone, wouldn’t he have started with his kids? As it stands, the twins are but a Jell-O shot away from starring in the presidential edition of Girls Gone Wild.
P.P.P.S. Still, nine shots of espresso? That’s just messed up.
I don’t care who you are–dem, GOP, Nader-ite, libertarian, librarian–doesn’t that make you feel better about the whole thing?
I’m A Sucker For The Right Marketing
You may have heard that wine companies spent millions of dollars each year to research and develop label designs that will make people want to buy their wine above all the other bottles on the shelf. I have read about this and when I pick up a bottle of wine with a “pretty label”, I will laugh inwardly at what a sucker I am. There was no laughing when I saw this bottle, though. I HAD to have it. And I’m thinking that I need to buy a case or more to hand out to my friends. It’s just lucky that I am a pinot grigio fan.
I love the chair facing the corner.
The back label says,
We all know that being a Mommy is a difficult job. A Mommy’s Time Out is a well deserved break. This wine is delicate and fruity. It comes from some of the finest vineyards in Italy where the best grapes are vinified, resulting in a long lasting finish. It is a great complement to chicken or fish or may be served as an aperitif.
Talk about going for the emotional jugular. Two short sentences on “Mommy” and the rest reads like any other cheap bottle of wine you find in the store. But they got me. The marketers who came up with this one deserve a raise.
