Head, Shoulders, Knees and I Fuckin' Give UP

I kidnapped my friend's 10 year old a couple weekends ago. We had lunch at food carts and shopped around in junk stores and got our toes did. And all while doing so - I sought to understand the world of the pre-teen of now...

"What's hot now with the 4th graders?"

"Squinkies"

"Squinksies?"

"Squinkies. They're little animal and people shapes that come in clear plastic balls and you collect and trade them."

"What do you trade them for?"

"Other Squinkies. I only have a turtle 'cause I'm not that into them"

Realizing instantly that I have completely lost touch with today's youth, I had a moment's silence in memorandum for Garbage Pail Kids and kep the convo going only to discover that this particular 4th grader's suburban grade school no longer allows running at recess.

I had to ask her to repeat that. No running. No getting from the slide to the swings at a faster rate than a speed walk. Which means if someone else is heading for it at the same time, it will be the saddest race one could witness.

Around the same time, I was having brithday drinks with my awesome cousin who is a Phys Ed teacher at a middle school. Since there's been nothing but talk of cuts to education programs and staff, I plied her with liquor and hesitantly asked her if everything was kosher at her school. The good news was, she was still employed. The bad news was that she was no longer the Phys Ed teacher, but the Electives teacher. When I asked what that meant, she said she wasn't totally sure because they just cut a bunch of things including Health and Home Ec. Health would now be taught as part of P.E. and Home Ec was just out, period. I still have the Christmas shorts I made in Home Ec in 7th grade (circa 1992). They're...tighter...but they still fit. It's still my most successful sewing enterprise to date.

Another good friend - and 2nd grade teacher extraordinaire - just had a delightful little baby. I stopped by this weekend to bestow an ironic onesie and coo. I asked if she was looking forward to going back to work at all and her response was yes for the kids, not so much for the current environment. She went on to explain that the P.E. teacher had been forced to retire and now all the elementary classroom teachers had to include Phys Ed in their daily lesson plans. Music was also cut completely. Music. Fucking music. No recorders handed out to each student to take home and practice Hot Cross Buns and Somewhere Out There (Theme to An American Tale). What's truly tragic about this is I still remember the classical pieces of music that I fell in love with in 4th grade music class, Danse Macabre and Prokofiev's Peter and the Wolf.

Here in Portland a measure to raise property taxes to support schools just failed. I don't know if the measure was the right thing for the city, but I know the result will be less music, less physical exercise, less everything. It's starting to feel third world. I realize that's an extreme statement - but when considering we're the United States of Fucking America, I think it's appropriate.

I don't have kids yet. I don't mean that to sound like I've been trying to - I haven't. The reasons for this vary depending on the amount of wine I've imbibed on any given night. However the only explanation I'm willing to give here is that Brendan and I are still figuring ourselves out and until we do, it's just not happening. That being said - it's almost too depressing to contemplate. I know they're a blessing, they change your life, etc., but I imagine being in my friend's shoes when she's told that her child can't run on the playground and I just don't even want to do it.

That being said - I also woke up at 9:30 AM this morning. Something I very much enjoy.

I don't have any fixes - I don't know what the answer is. I have some ideas, but they'll never be reflected through my local or federal government body. So all I can do is sit on my balcony in the sunshine, drink a beer, rock out to Kanye and write a pissy blog. And I'll do it. Because this is America.

Nevermind, I don't know what the fuck that means. Maybe I've had too much of the beer.

Guest Blogging

Where I am right now.

Joan

I meant to show y'all my badass Joanie costume from Halloween! If you don't watch Mad Men, you should still know who this chick is because it's just important. To the world. And other places.

So anyway - this (see below) was the goal with only some hair dye, a vintage store and some excess winter weight to help me out.

The hair went full red. Sadly it didn't turn out as orange as I hoped, but the commitment was made. The incredibleness of this photo lies in the fact that I successfully fashioned a beehive with ALL MY OWN TODDLER HAIR. And a shit-ton of hairspray.I also made the earrings out of a weird set of pendants and some craft supplies found at the local Michaels. Hot glue 4 LIEEFE!


Here's the entire ensemble. You can't tell, but I even have a pen necklace (thank you, Etsy) and my turquoise shoes (thank you, Jessica Simpson...gah) flippin' MATCH my blue and green dress (found for $20 at the thrift store and is from the correct era except there was a weird bunching situation in the front that made me look pregnant when posing).
B got to be Han Solo this year because I made him be Ira Glass last year.

And then on top of it all - I was still able to do things like this, thanks to the help of drink.Yes - I'm holding B's laser shooter gun thing. It makes "pew!" noises.

Anyway - I was damn proud of that costume and since I tend to post a picture of what I go as every year - I didn't want you (dear Internet) to feel as though a part of you was missing for not knowing what I was for Halloween in October of 2010. The end.

This Exists - Part XXIII

Do any of you get Daily Candy? It's a mailing list you can join where every day they tell you how to be cool by informing you about the music you should listen to, the clothes you should buy and the books you should read, etc. I've been on the mailing list for years and while I'd like to say it's because my job is in email marketing and I have to know about these things...it's really just that I need to know what music I should listen to, what clothes I should buy and what books I should be reading.

Once a week they send you a special newsletter with "Deals" for their subscribers. Today's included this:Aside from the obvious skepticism surrounding this being considered a "deal" - I find the following items concerning:

• She calls herself "Psychic Girl". Is this the name of her business? Does it instill any faith? I mean if I'm going to put my future in the hands of anyone, it's going to be "Psychic Woman"

• The "deal" is for 43% off. Why? And how might the discounted price affect the quality of the reading?

• Her name, "Jusstine", has one "s" too many. Excess consonants are shady.

• Jusstine is labeled as a "trusted" psychic. Trusted by whom? And can they also be trusted? Would I leave a puppy in their care? Tell them a secret? Ask them to hold my hand while I cross the street blindfolded?

In this day and age where everyone's trying to make a buck (or avoid gainful employment) I urge us all to question any and everything that is 43% off. Because really - nothing good can come from a discounted 6th sense.

Butt Yoga - A Christmas Tale

Bikram yoga is the new antidote to everything. Go sweat it out for 90 minutes at a time in tree pose and you'll never get cancer, goiters or canker sores.

The room is 105 degrees at all times. I don't know what's magical about this temperature, but it causes tiny rivers of perspiration to follow little Oregon Trails down one's face, arms, back, legs and other places one shouldn't mention. Except I have to because the whole room stinks like unmentionables. Mainly because the men wear shorts like these: And the room is carpeted. CARPETED!

I'm not a huge exercise person anyway. I wouldn't be going to this place at all if I
a) didn't live 4 blocks away
b) didn't have such an affinity for holiday foods in large quantities
c) didn't consider yoga to be one of those "sports" you can half-ass your way through and still see results
d) didn't have a friend already enrolled and applying prohibition era mobster-like pressure

But being a known fainter, I was still scared. What if I'm bending back looking at the wall and - boom - I go down like an anvil on an accident-prone coyote? It's hard to get back up from that without looking not awesome. Like running for a bus. This was a valid concern. However I made it through the first class (while watching old hats occasionally crouch in the fetal position or run for the door with a green face). I even made it through the second. And then the third. And I'll tell you what, if you can get through it (and if you've ever spent a summer in Louisiana, you can get through it) - it makes eating two molasses cookies a day for breakfast all the sweeter.

However - it should come as no surprise that I remain a cynical yoga-ist. I refuse to do the stupid audible breathing and I refuse to say "namaste" at the end of class. There's maybe one brown body on average in that whole room and it just makes us all sound like paleface assholes. And if they don't like it (they don't) then they can passive aggressively suggest it so (they do).

This didn't have much to do with Christmas at all, did it. Poo.

So what's new with y'all? I joined a book club.

Hey.

Lately my favorite thing to do in the whole world is ride my bike around late at night. Clear sky, wind in the trees, no cars so I can go through the stop signs - it's incredible. I can honestly say it's the only time my thoughts aren't racing. When my chest isn't tight. When I don't have a throbbing headache behind my left eye.

I don't have a whole lot to say that I want to hear myself say lately and I really can't bring myself to sit in front of a computer more than I already do against my will, so I'm going to step away for a bit. I don't know how to measure time in bits, so you'll have to guesstimate for yourselves what that means.

However - this blog will not be deleted. If your own blogs are overflowing with words and you want to store some of them here in a guestly posting capacity, you are openly invited to do so. Just email me a condishair@blogspot.com and I'll put your shit up, accompanied by the most inappropriate google image I can find. Don't deny me my amusement.

Anyone still following when I come back will be given a party. With streamers.