...to break forth the rhythm and the rhyme.

Just try getting gool ol' Marky Mark out of your head now, sucka!

{Insert evil chuckle here.}

Anyway, it's time for the Carnival of the Babewits. Go read. And the next time someone asks you, "jeez, where are all the women in the blogosphere?" just send them over to Mark's place.

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Dear Jonathan, as I found out recently, is a wee bit fanatical about all things Apple.

I am not, however, obsessed with all things Apple. I think people who buy those things are probably pretty nice, but are misguided and really should be shown the light.

I am also---as you, my devoted Cake Eater readers, already know---a wee bit obsessed with all things Stewie. And as the laptop is named "wee bastard" I've always had Stewie wallpaper. It just fits. But recently the husband, who is never on my computer, has tired of the old Stewie wallpaper. So he went out and found me a new one.

Well, lookie at the new wallpaper the husband found for my computer.

I just had to share.

Heh.

UPDATE: Jonathan emails and tells me Ipods annoy him, despite his adoration of all things Apple. He apparently doesn't know why.

Hmmmm. Could it be that cult membership only goes so far? Perhaps there's hope for these people yet!

Posted by: Kathy at 03:18 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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According to The Elder, I'm supposed to have something called "state pride." I'm supposed to send you over to a blog written by a Hugh Hewitt lackey to vote for Minnesota's quarter because it's a matter of state pride.

Pfft. Whatever.

Dude, I just live here. The minute I win the Powerball I am so outta here.

Seriously. Don't vote for Minnesota's quarter. It's lame and this, despite Downtown Minneapolis being loaded with goateed graphic designers, is the best they could come up with. And then they argued for months about not being able to tell whether that's a loon or a duck in the foreground. It's a loon. Or maybe it's a duck. Who the fuck knows? It's pathetic. Colorado's is better.

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1 I love it! Are those peonies? They're GORgeous.

Posted by: Margi at June 11, 2005 01:39 PM (nwEQH)

2 Yep, they're peonies. My neighbor has several different varieties. and he's begged me to take all the blooms I want. I have a vase of pink ones on the dining room table. I'll go over and cut more later to replace these. Rough life, eh?

Posted by: Kathy at June 11, 2005 02:47 PM (cgZvM)

3 I thought life was a bowl of cherries....now it's a vase full of flowers?! I'm more confused than ever.

Posted by: zonker at June 12, 2005 11:09 AM (/y7q3)

4 Yeah, but what's in the cups...are those candles? For a minute, I thought they were plastic cups full of...nevermind. I have poor eyesight...

Posted by: sadie at June 12, 2005 12:46 PM (2xn/2)

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Mark at WitNit has a lovely collection of some of Yogi Berra's---ahem---finest moments as an English speaker.

I must admit, Yogi's always been one of my favorites, and what's funny is that I've always thought that he wasn't far off with some of these mistakes. There is great truth to some of them. For instance:

I think Little League is wonderful. It keeps the kids out of the house.

Yes, I know, it should be "it gets the kids out of the house," but, honestly, what frazzled mother could disagree with that?

Make sure to go on over and read. It's a good chuckle-inducer.

Posted by: Kathy at 10:37 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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The blog child's on a roll.

Go over and keep on scrolling.

One rule that I would add to this post is that if a man is sick and keeps on whining about it, ignore them. If a man is sick and is quiet, get thy man some medical attention.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:13 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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1 You're generalizing. I always want to be left alone when I'm sick.

Posted by: jeff at June 11, 2005 08:17 AM (L6cb6)

2 Jeff, you're the exception to this rule, it seems. Every man I've been around when they were sick---my father, my four brothers, my husband, ex-boyfriends, my in-laws---has been like this.

Posted by: Kathy at June 11, 2005 10:46 AM (cgZvM)

3 Of course she's generalizing. LOL! And I would agree with her about all save my husband [and now, obviously Jeff! ]. DH is the type that "talks himself out of" being sick. . .but when he finally succumbs? EEEEEEW. And he's very bear-like: he just wants to go to his cave and sleep. But every OTHER man in my life is exactly how you describe. (Including my boy-children.)

Posted by: Margi at June 11, 2005 01:41 PM (nwEQH)

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Did I ever tell you I was on yearbook in high school?

Well, I was.

While I didn't really get along with my fellow staffers all that well, it was an interesting experience, laying out my own designs, writing the content and, of course, taking the photographs. Because you take a lot of photographs when you're on yearbook. Roll after roll of film. Which you then have to lovingly develop and create prints for. (This was the eighties kids, no digital pics here!) And all so you can capture the essence of a year in the life of the student body. Now yearbooks are great when you're in school. You run around and have everyone and sundry sign them. Soon thereafter, however, they wind up packed away in a box, gathering dust and will only be dragged out when the owner gets wistful for their youth and has cracked open a bottle of Jose Cuervo, to help them remember only the good stuff associated with high school, and to help the bad stuff slide away into the ether.

The funny thing about being on yearbook is that you have extra junk to remember your days in high school: plastic sheet after plastic sheet of negatives. Photos that you took that have wound up in your possession because the yearbook advisor threatened you with death if you left them sitting in the lab. Because she sure as hell didn't want to have anything to do with them. And when you run across these, you hold them up to the light, you laugh and note the ones that made the cut, and then you notice all the photos that didn't make the cut.

Since Steve and Robbo have decided to take us for a trip down memory lane in recent days, I decided I'd share a few not-so-choice photos that have heretofore never seen the light of day. Because, you know, they were my pals in high school. Hence they made it into a lot of photos because they were easy that way.

I remember this one well. Like all good high school kids, they were rock star wannabes. Well, let me clarify: Steve-o was; Robbo had different ideas. Steve dragged him into it with the promise of updating some of Bach's greatest hits. Of course, Steve-o was lying but Robbo was more than a wee bit gullible at that stage so he went along with it. They never really did get around to modernizing The Goldberg Variations, hence Robbo was a wee bit miffed about the whole thing and was always and forever threatening to quit the band. Particularly after Steve-o decided it would be good for their rock and roll props to wear their bridles around school. Robbo was just mortified, but Steve? Well, Steve, of course, thought he was hot shit. Even though they were the most pathetic excuse for a band I've ever seen. I have no idea who the other two kids are---they were younger than us---but I remember that the kid directly to the left of Robbo, well, he was in a lot of other pics---he seemed to always jump into shots, like he was auditioning for a Calvin Klein gig---so my editor told me to can the photo.

Oh, God, poor Robbo. Sigh. I remember this all too clearly. Our senior year the drama department produced Fiddler on the Roof and Robbo, God Love Him, was cast as Tevye. I have two words to describe this HUGE blunder on the part of the drama department: pity casting.

Now, Robbo thought this was a pretty cool deal. He'd been involved in every musical and every play since he was a freshman, but he'd never played a lead, because, well, not to put too fine a point on it, he sucked. And I mean he blew. There's just no getting around how awful he was in actuality. Couldn't sing on key to save his life. But he was a good little trooper, always volunteering to paint sets, help with crewing duties even if he was already in the chorus...there was no job that was too small for Robbo to apply his meticulous attention to it. He loved all of it. So, when senior year rolled around, the musical was chosen, auditions were scheduled and Robbo was as jittery as a junebug---and of course had to make sure all of his friends were up to date on all of his conundrums. Which piece should he choose to audition with? Would it be too much, do you think, to have actual dance moves choreographed beforehand? Should I go down to the costume shop and get a fake beard? I mean, he went on and on and freakin' on until we all began to wonder if he was really lining himself up for membership in the Blogistan High Chapter of Future Homosexuals of America, instead of just auditioning for the school musical.

Well, Robbo, blew the audition. Of course. What's surprising is that he knew it, too. His hopes were completely dashed and he moped around until the cast list was posted outside the door to the school theater. Then what to his wondering eyes should appear? His name on the cast list. He'd bagged Tevye, along with two other guys. He fainted. Right there. Dropped like a stone. You really should have seen it: it was like every bone had been plucked out of his body and he simply fell down for lack of a skeletal system. You see, there had been so many other guys who were also seniors, who had been involved in the theater department (yeah, I know, that's unusual, but Blogistan High? Well, it was an unusual place.) and there simply weren't enough male parts to go around: so they had three Tevye's---one for each night the musical ran. Robbo got the Saturday night performance. Only because the drama teachers thought they could sneak him in.

That, of course, was the night my yearbook advisor scheduled me to go and take pictures of the production. This particular photo was taken before everything went horribly, horribly wrong. I mean, Christopher Guest wouldn't have even had to mock anything if he'd seen this play. He would have actually felt sorry for the cast and crew. Waiting for Guffman had nothing on Blogistan High's Saturday night performance of Fiddler on the Roof. Suffice it to say, this photo, three minutes into Tevye's opening bit of Tradition represents the high point of Robbo's theatrical career. This was before he set himself---and the whole backdrop---on fire with the candle he was carrying for the wedding scene. (Yep. Set himself on fire. I know. Pathetic, eh? He actually had to stop, drop and roll to put himself out.) This was before he almost ripped his hamstring in half during the Russian dancing scene after Tevye's arranged for Tzeitel's betrothal to Lazar Wolf. This was before...well, I think you get the gist. The whole thing was like a performance of Macbeth is always supposed to go: it was cursed from the get go.

Hence this photo never made it into the yearbook. My yearbook advisor had also helped out with the musical and wouldn't allow any photographs of Robbo to be included on the pages we'd allotted. Everyone else got their due, but he was strictly VERBOTEN. I remember him asking me when the yearbook came out why he wasn't included. I lied and told him it was because of space issues. He seemed to accept that answer, but I suppose we're all grown up now and he can take the truth.

Now, while Steve-o might have flirted with Rock-n-Roll Greatness, and Robbo had his love of the theater to keep him warm at night, it should be noted that if you ever really needed to find these dorks, you went to the computer lab. Where invariably you would find them hanging out with Bill.

Since computers were new-fangled doohickeys way back when, and the school was keen to promote that they actually had computers, my editor was all over me to go and take some pictures of the few people who actually hung out in the lab. This meant, one more time, being forced to resort to getting my pals to pose for pictures. I remember the conversation going something like this:

Steve-o: Make sure you're getting my good side. Are you getting my good side?
Kath: You have a good side? Hmmph. Who knew? What the heck do you guys do on these things anyway?
Robbo: Search for interesting things to do, of course!
Bill: Which, knowing you two, includes trying to find pictures of South American farm animals
Steve: You know what I want? I want software that will allow me to chop the heads off pictures and replace them with funnier stuff.
Robbo:: Can you really do that?
Bill: {Slaps Robbo Dismissively} No, you dork, you can't. It hasn't been invented yet.
Kath: Bill stop smacking Robbo. There's no violence allowed in the yearbook. Work with me here.
Steve {Wistful} One day they will invent it. I'm sure. And they'll invent a vast thing called the world wide web, and we'll all have these things called blogs, because we named them after the high school, and we'll be able to post anything we want, about any topic...
Bill: Shut up, bridle boy.
Kathy: Oh, for Chrissakes. Knock it off! Just shut up and let me take the damn picture. I need to get out of here; I can feel the geek rubbing off on me. I'm going to have to take a shower when I'm done as it is...
Phin: {Chimes in from other side of the lab} Want me to wash your back for you?
Bill, Robbo, Steve and Kathy: NO!
Sadie: Maybe I'll let you wash my back, Phin. If you're a really good fishie... {insert much batting of eyelashes here}
Phin: Ohboyohboyohboy!
Sadie:...IF Gordo will let me.
Gordo: Nope. Mine. ALL mine. Not sharing.
Phin: Awwwwwww...
Bill: Oh, God. Get me out of here and to Dee Cee!
Sadie: Oh, well. {Shrugs and goes back to what she was doing}
{Insert clicking of the shutter here}
Kathy: I'm outta here!

Sadly, this photo never made it into the yearbook. The editor decided they didn't have space for it at the last minute.

Ah, so there's a couple of choice photos and stories of our high school days. I've got more, sitting right here, waiting for me to go through them, so maybe I'll post some more, or maybe they'll just go back into the box for future use. Who knows?

I believe Madame Sadie and Gordo have taken their own trips down memory lane. Make sure you go and check them out.

Posted by: Kathy at 10:44 AM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
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Random observations gained during my journey around Lake Harriet today:

• What the hell happened to Steve Miller? I'm a picker. I'm a grinner. I'm a lover and I'm a sinner... What a great song. Rivaled only by Jungle Love
• Lileks was not at the lake today. I looked. So don't be expecting screedy goodness about a trip to the beach in tomorrow's Bleat
• Well water is nasty.
• Joe Walsh's "Life's Been Good" came on the radio and Denis Leary came to mind:

  I got two words for Don Henley: Joe Fuckin' Walsh

  Denis is only rarely wrong about such things.

  Whatever happened to Joe? I loved him because he had the most insane facial expressions whenever he played. He was the shit. I knew Don Henley was a poser at age seven. Warm smell of colitas my ass.

• I'm still liking that new Jack radio station. Some I'm sure would like to shoot me, but I can't freakin' afford an mp.3 player, so piss off.
• We have pooper scooper laws in this city for a REASON, people. Pick up your dog's doo so I don't look like I'm playing a game of hopscotch when I'm over there. It's embarrasing enough as it is. Besides, it gets into the WATER SUPPLY! If you live in SW Minneapolis, please learn that your water comes from these lakes. Fecal matter sliding into water is a BAD THING!
• If you happen to be one of the (very) few people I pass, please don't take it personally, speed up and then try and get around me, as if you're proving you're still running with the big dogs. Really, it's quite lame. I can guarantee you that plenty o' people pass me. You're one of millions, hence I take no notice, unless I have to pass you again and your shirt looks vaguely familiar.
• Sometimes it's quite cute when you parents let your little kids ride their bikes, replete with training wheels, around the lake, and on the walking path, no less. I can understand why you wouldn't want them on the bike path: they'd get mowed down by some random rollerblader. But please realize that when they clog up the path because they're too tired to move it along, it gets annoying for the rest of us. I thank you in advance for your kind consideration in not letting your kid do this anymore.
• My ass feels like it's getting smaller. I wonder if it actually is.

And there you have your (not so) regularly scheduled trip into my brain. Now, per usual, get the hell out!

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Good point.

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Hmmmph.

I thought that was just a bad acid trip.

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So, yesterday afternoon was the niece's dance recital.

She's four years old.

Sigh.

I've mentioned in the past that her mom, the husband's sister, is a wee bit out there when it comes to the religion business. I love my sister-in-law, but she and her husband have taken a somewhat reactionary point of view when it comes to all things religion. As in no one should read The DaVinci Code because it's full of "historical fallacies." Not that she read the book or anything and knows first hand, but because her pastor said so, so it must be true. She also homeschools their kids. This is fine and it, to a certain extent, works well for their kids, but one of the extracurricular activities the sister-in-law has set up for the niece, to meet and interact with kids her own age, is dance class.

At a "Christian" dance academy. more...

Posted by: Kathy at 11:53 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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1 I'm sort of speechless. You must love this child an awful lot to have sat through that.

Posted by: RP at June 07, 2005 07:14 AM (LlPKh)

2 And one other thought just hit me. You're going to get to be the cool aunt, the one who will talk to her about boys and teach her how to smoke and drive too fast and put on makeup. You're going to have a blast! It's a critically important role, the cool aunt.

Posted by: RP at June 07, 2005 07:16 AM (LlPKh)

3 And we'll sit through it again next year, and probably the year after that, too The niece is a sweet little girl but I can already tell she's going to be the rebel in the family. Her older brother is very uptight about following all of the rules. She isn't. She gets this gleam in her eye every now and again that worries even me The cool aunt is a role that I relish. I have twenty some odd neices and nephews on my side of the family, and two on this one. I'm even a Great Aunt. I've been honing my skills since I was eleven and first became an auntie. I believe that at thirty-four I'm coming into the height of my powers. Should be a good time all around.

Posted by: Kathy at June 07, 2005 08:02 AM (cgZvM)

4 "Great Tongues of Fire" sounds, well, kinda dirty. You must be guaranteed a spot in heaven just for sitting through this thing. : - )

Posted by: Kate at June 07, 2005 09:44 AM (XargM)

5 Wow. I just could not stop reading that ... I was agog. I was comparing to my own experiences as a child actress - and how professionalism was drilled into our heads ... hahaha - just like you said: I knew how to do a curtain call when I was 8. That's most of the fun of it, for God's sake!! Professionalism and a professional attitude makes you better at what you do. When I finally got out into the real world, I was totally prepared for how brutal the business could be because ... well, the professional attitude that had been drilled into my head during theatre games, etc. (be prompt, be polite, do your work, don't make a scene, just DO YOUR WORK) served me so well. Okay, I'll stop now. That dance school sounds ridiculous. I'm actually angry about it and I know that's silly!!

Posted by: red at June 07, 2005 04:30 PM (qxKkx)

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I've never been ashamed to admit this before, but considering this, well, I don't think I'll be advertising that I was a Girl Scout anymore.

{...}The Girl Scouts of America recently launched a major campaign "to address the problem of low self-esteem among 8- to 14-year-old girls." (Never mind that there is no good evidence these girls suffer a self-esteem deficit.) With the help of a $2.65 million grant from Unilever (a major corporation that owns products such as Lipton and Slim Fast), its new program, "Uniquely ME!," asks girls to contemplate their own "amazing" specialness. Girls are invited to make collages celebrating themselves. They can play a getting-to-know-me game called a "Me-O-Meter."

One normally thinks of the Girl Scouts as an organization that fosters self-reliance and good citizenship. Me-O-Meters? How does that promote self-reliance? And is self-absorption necessarily good for young people?

Yes, say the mental health experts at Girl Scout Research Center. The Uniquely ME! pamphlet tells its young readers, "This booklet is designed to help boost your self-esteem by celebrating YOU and your uniqueness. ... Having high self-esteem ... can help you lead a more successful life."{...}

So, one would assume given this nifty pamphlet campaign Girl Scouts aren't going to be organized in troops anymore. That wouldn't be very "me," would it? To go further along this road, there won't be any more Brownies, because God only knows how denigrating that name is in current society. We can't have Juniors anymore, either, because, of course, that implies that there is someone more senior to these girls and that might hurt their self-esteem, too. Furthermore, the "Bridge to Juniors" from Brownie-dom has probably been deemed bad because the ceremony actually decrees that these young girls have to walk across an actual---gasp!---bridge and they could trip and fall during the process, everyone would laugh and that would hurt their self-esteem, too.

But I'll bet my last dollar that they'll still have to go out and sell cookies. Unilever's grant is only for $2.65 million dollars---and we all know that won't keep the administration in thin mints for more than a year.

Grrrrrrr.

I was a Girl Scout for about four years. I still have my green sash in a box in the storage room. It given to me when I crossed the Bridge to Juniors by the Great Plains Girl Scout Council, and the message inherent in the act was that it was up to me to fill it with badges and pins. Girl Scouts, in that day and age, was an interesting mix of home ec and actual scouting skills. I not only gained what few meager sewing skills I have from the Girl Scouts, but I also learned how to read a compass and start a fire in the wilderness, too. I also sold cookies. Boxes upon boxes of cookies. (Thank you, employees of the American National Bank!) From all of these activities, and more that I haven't listed, I learned. My self-esteem was boosted or dashed based on how well I actually did at these activities. Not because I was told I was to celebrate me and my uniqueness. They're celebrating vanity here, not self-esteem.

One can only assume that they'll just start throwing merit badges out willy-nilly. The failure to earn one might just be too shattering to contemplate, so it's probably best that there not be any work involved.

Bleh.

{Hat Tip: Fausta}

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