wherefore not Kelsey?

Today is the start of my official campaign to "Let Kelsey Grammer Host the Oscars".

All due respect to Chris Rock (ok, so I was too tired to stay up and watch his stuff--but I saw the highlights on television this morning), we need a VERSATILE comedian.

Kelsey sings, he dances, he's FUCKING FUNNY. Forget that cocaine problem or the car wrecks and the stripper-wife. He deserves it, dammit.

Come on Academy, give the man a chance.

a night out

I needed a night out. By myself. Away from the baby. So after ordering pizza for dinner, I left Christopher with the baby, showered and went out to a movie.

I wanted to see at least one Oscar nominated film before the actual Oscars. But they all seemed so depressing. Vera Drake, Hotel Rowanda, Million Dollar Baby.

So I opted for Finding Neverland. Bad choice for a stressed out mommy.

Ah well. It has Johnny Depp with a Scottish accent. It was worth a few tears for that.

worst small town paper in the world

I should stop reading my husband's hometown newspaper. But I can't help it--they put it up online and I can't stop myself from looking at the train wreck.

The writing, the headlines, the captions. It's all so remarkably bad.

For example. Read the caption on this photo. Then try to read the story.

The writer is the editor of the paper. He's like 100 years old and refuses to retire. When Christopher was going to school and working at the Gas & Sip across from the newspaper's office, Mr. Editor would walk over and buy an ice cream cone at 4 in the morning after putting the paper to bed. Then he would sit in a booth and promptly fall asleep, sitting up, holding the ice cream bar as it melted over his gnarled hand and puddled on the table top.

is there anything worse?

Than being stricken with a raging case of diarrhea when you're far, far from the comfort, privacy and security of your own bathroom?

No.

Oh, wait. Yes there is.

Being stricken while you're in a large public area, sitting in a frigid, public restroom next to a large wheel of industrial grade toilet paper. How many times can you lay a covering flush without having someone call maitenance? Five.

Or is this worse?

Being stricken at the home of your sister while entertaining the new boyfriend. Having to interrupt that awkward, getting to know you chit chat with, "I'm sorry, I've got a raging case of the trots and please don't mind while I vanish for long periods of time into the bathroom."

*sigh*

My sister also, for some reason buys CHEAP toilet paper. It's the consistancy of TREE BARK. She's a lawyer for God's sake. You'd think she would spring for the Charmin.

think this covers the gray?

don't call child protective services

We bought this shirt for Owen.

It's so wrong it's right.

sick of this shit

This shit--it's not metaphorical. It's actual shit. I do realize that some bodily waste falls under the auspices of my stay-at-home-momness but it's getting a bit ridiculous.

Between an infant with a four day case of diarrhea (called the doc, it's a virus and we're just waiting it out) and a recalcitrant cat who's taken umbrage with the location of his litter box, I've had it up to here with other creatures' shit.

I'm going to start buying corks any day.

irrational disappointment

I had high hopes for this week.

Christopher took a week off to get some things done around the house and I was going to be able to do some volunteer activities and get the house really, truly clean for once. And I wanted to be able to be there when Mom had her surgery.

All we've managed to do in six days is order take out food and sleep in shifts.

I know I shouldn't be disappointed. Everyone has been sick. The baby started on Friday night and still isn't completely over the virus. I was sick all day Sunday and Christopher fell ill on Monday.

And yet...I can't help myself.

Even having Christopher around this week has seemed like MORE work. Whenever he lets me sleep in, he can't get the baby down for his morning nap and then when I wake up, I have a cranky, fussy baby to deal with. The kid was miserable this morning in sign language class because he didn't get his nap.

We're supposed to be trying to head to Indiana to visit my mom this weekend. Provided the baby is completely well. And we can get a dog sitter. And Mom gets out of the hospital on time.

I can't even plan for anything at this point because it's just leading to bitterness at the moment.

crazy killers

Three high profile crimes committed here in town over the last two years were committed by mentally ill men.

Samurai Sword Murderer

The I-270 Shooter

Nightclub Shooter

In all of these instances these men were or are seriously ill. In the case of the Alrosa Villa shooting that took the life of Dimebag Darell Abbot, the shooter was killed by a police officer.

I'm sorry that people had to die. But in these cases, these men weren't getting treatment for their illness. The I-270 shooter was diagnosed, but not treated for schizophrenia. The nightclub shooter was discharged from the marines when he was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. His mother not only didn't know if he was taking his meds, she bought him the fucking gun that he used to kill four people.

So the surviving defendants in two of these cases are being examined by psychiatrists and forcibly given medication in order to get them ready to stand trial. They'll be coherent in the court room. Then they'll be sentenced to die or to life in prison. And the concern shown over their "treatment" and medication will end.

I know they killed people. I understand that it's tragic and horrible for the families of the victims.

But I grieve for the sick men as well.

My brother shares their diagnosis. He's rational on meds. And he understands the concepts of right and wrong. But when he's not medicated, you can't apply the same kind of logic or rationality to him that you'd use with a normal person.

Am I saying he shouldn't be subject to the same laws? No. He needs to be reigned in like everyone else.

But if you want the jury to see what kind of person committed the crime. Let them go to trial in the same condition that they were in when they committed the crime. See them ranting and shivering. Frightened and angry. Psychotic and wild-eyed. Threatening and gesturing.

Then let the jury pass judgment on them. See how many death sentences are passed on people who really shouldn't be held responsible for the crimes they commit. Put them in a mental hospital. Forever if you want to. It's not like a vacation. These people are already imprisoned in sick, failing minds anyway.

like I need another reason

Coffee wards off liver cancer.

Make mine a venti.

ode to Billy Joe

I'm watching Green Day on Fuse and I'm loving Billy Joe Armstrong. He's like a rockin' gothy hobbit.

call me jaded and suspicious

My husband is taking this week off to spend some time with the baby and get a few VITAL chores done around the house.

His department at work is in the middle of a huge clusterfuck of a reorg. He's supposed to be up for a management position.

So while he's out on vacation, an email goes out saying that anyone interested in applying for a management position should apply for it, officially by THIS FRIDAY.

What the fuck? I'd like to think it was a coincidence, but his department is too small and he's rubbed the VP the wrong way by refusing to make a last minute trip to Texas with literally one day's notice.

a) he'd already made a trip to Texas two weeks before in which he WOWED the local office and took care of what he was there to do

b) I was going out of town and he needed to be home to take care of Owen.

Besides--ONE DAY'S NOTICE IS BULLSHIT.

If this guy's trying to fuck him out of a position, I'll be pissed.

ironic--in that Alanis Morrisette way...

Mom is having a heart bypass surgery today. Valentine's Day.

I'm hoping it's because her cardiac surgeon has a wicked sense of humor. He better because he's like an hour late with our update. I've already called my sister's cell phone so I know she'll call me as soon as she knows.

It's just that I'm nervous because some guy with god-like prowess has my mother's sternum cracked open like a walnut at the moment.

my dichotomy day

This morning, I took Owen to our baby sign language class. A class full of happy, healthy, well-cared for infants.

This afternoon, we called Catholic Social Services to find a family shelter to donate all the disposable diapers that Owen has outgrown but never got to use. When I called to ask if they needed them, the lady said, "Oh, we always need them. We go through them so fast."

So we drove across town to a very dismal, run-down apartment complex where the shelter rents a unit for their office (and units for homeless families, too). We got there and I hoisted Owen on my hip and balanced the huge box of the remnants of bags of Pampers and Huggies in various sizes on the other.

As the lady was filling out my donation slip, I spotted a wall full of drawings--children's drawings. It kills me to think of children and infants homeless. But they are.

All the way home I was torn between feeling good about what I had given and being horrified that it's not enough.

my teevee president is my political woobie

Karl Rove is sitting in Josh Lyman's office right at this moment.

RUN, DONATELLA, RUN!!!!!!!

they will be mine. oh, yes, they will be mine.

My stainless steel kitchen has been coveting these for a good long while. Months, in fact.

And now that there is a little extra for extras, I may have to indulge.

Why the wall-to-wall stainless? Because I want a 2001 Kitchen, dammit. All clean and tidy. With a soft voice that answers me when I say, "Close the refrigerator door, Hal."

Van Lear Rose

It really steams my clams to find out that the CMA Board completely dissed Loretta Lynn's Van Lear Rose.

It's raw and it's beautiful and it's probably her best work. Her voice is strong and poignant despite the fact that she's nearly 70. She's a FUCKING COUNTRY MUSIC ICON!!!

So all those Toby Keith-loving, Faith Hill-worshipping ass-kissers down on Music Row can bite me. I hope Loretty sweeps all five Grammys she's up for and give you the finger from the podium. And I can't wait to see her kiss Jack White on the lips when she does it.

poor wee man and his poor wee ass.

This morning, Owen's ass was FINE. No problem. Four and a half hours later, a raging case of diaper rash hits.

And not just any diaper rash, but inflamed baboon ass diaper rash--with the screaming and the crying when the diaper comes off.

A warm soaking bath and an entire tube of Desitin seems to have helped for now. It's got to hurt.

Yikes!

he puts a smile on my face every day

my DVD collection

Suffice it to say that my DVD collection is like a bone yard for witty, briliant but cancelled television series.

• Freaks and Geeks
• Farscape
• Firefly
• Wonderfalls

Although at first it looked like I should stop watching new shows that start with the letter "F", Wonderfalls (oh, look, there is an "F" in there) broke that trend. I think I need to stop watching smart tv.

It's painful when you find a piece of work that is funny or witty enough to fill an hour or so of your life once a week only to watch some idiot network executive screw with your entertainment by switching around the schedule to fit in reruns of Who Wants to Survive to Marry My Big Fat Obnoxious Boss After Major Facial Reconstructive Surgery.

Anway, Wonderfalls is out on DVD. Do yourself a favor and hie thee over to Amazon.com and order a copy. You won't be sorry. It's 13 hours of your life that you won't want back.

In fact, it will probably make you want to lob bricks at the programming executive that axed the show.

oh look, the pyramids!

I'm in steadfast denial.

I'm refusing at this point to become immersed in the news cycle surrounding the federal budget or the state budget. That way lies ranting. And raving. And possibly throwing things at the precious television whenever I see the smirking face of the Cheney beast-minion defending the actions of his evil puppet overlord and master.

Suffice it to say that the poor will get fucked with their pants on.

so much pressure

I've chosen a title, a log in and here I am.

I've been recording my thoughts online with Livejournal for so long and I should have at least something to say.

I'm oddly wordless. Or nearly wordless. OK less wordy than usual. Which doesn't count for much because I could talk the ears off a dog.