a fattening man

Go read this funny, lovely, and a little bit heartbreaking post about a woman who does not want to have to wear hideous feminine maternity clothes. I’m generally not butch and will never be pregnant again, but I am quite sympathetic to her aversion to the peter pan collar. Gah.

hey mister grumpy gills

This is where I’m at. In case you cared. Not that you should.

mothering and work

Oh, I’m trying to get my (late) annual review done. And there’s this pounding in my head. I can’t concentrate. Am I going crazy?

The problem is that I’ve banned them from the Wii this afternoon because they were fighting over it. Can’t. Win.

Happy New Year

holidayfamily2009, originally uploaded by madyonk.

I may or may not get this out in hard copy to loved ones this year. So, consider yourselves served.

what “acting natural” gets you

via Geeky Mom

100 miles

So, I signed on to do 100 miles in December. Mostly, I signed on because the month of December is normally a month I quit running altogether, opting instead for lots of high calorie latte drinking and sudoku solving.

It’s the 8th day in, and I’ve got 26 miles down. I know this doesn’t seem like a whole lot, but oh my holy gawd, it’s a lot. Would you like to know how I know it’s a lot? Here’s how: today, the amount of food I’ve eaten is now more than even *I* am comfortable admitting to. Before I ran 6 miles during my lunch break today, I ate two huge peanut butter cookies. Then, when I returned, I ate nearly a pound of pasta — literally. I know this because the box boasted it had THIRTEEN ounces (and there, you must read THIRT-TEEN with that double T, in honor of my lovely LooMoo) of gross frozen linguini and shrimp. Gross frozen linguini and pasta that I inhaled. I can’t even recount dinner, nor can I talk about the bag of potato chips and can of Pepsi B brought to bed. Just writing about not writing about it gives me  heartburn.

Also: Scrubs: Med School? Seriously disappointing, so far. Except that Dave Franco is in the cast. Edited to add: and except that they used a Weepies song at the end of the episode tonight.

the most appalling thing I’ve read in a while

My dear LuMu posts today about how the horrible beast of capitalism has sunk its evil, disgusting claws into her soul. She’s purchased a running skirt. 

If I still lived next door to her I’d withhold all raspberry bar deliveries until she came to her senses and burned that shit.

tuesday night motorcycle club

We’ve (the adults in the house) been watching Sons of Anarchy on Tuesday nights. I cannot follow it, I cannot. The network of allegiances and enemies, the rules of the charter, the twisted motivations (who’s bad? who’s less bad?); I can’t keep any of it in my head from week to week. So when we tuck in to watch the latest episode, I kind of watch, but not really (I understand this strategy doesn’t help my inability to follow the plot, I do). Last week B was taking care of locking up the house and whatever during the first few minutes of the show. He came up to the bedroom and asked, “What’d I miss?”

I had indeed watched the beginning minutes, and so I reported, “Something about a gun deal…something about adult films…and then they rode their motorcycles somewhere.” It was the best I could do. And I could have been describing the entire series, not just the opening scenes to one episode.

Tonight I’m reading the Wikipedia entry for the show, which is not a shining example of the interweb’s collective authorship abilities. It’s been moderately helpful. But I still don’t really get it.

 

twitter’s killed the blog

It’s hard for me to muster a post longer than 140 characters, which then doesn’t, to my mind, warrant an entire post. I think in short bursts now when thinking about broadcast:

Reading Frederick Douglass for Rhetorical Theory tomorrow…must be for the 10th time. Still is amazing.

Sore from yesterday’s Hilly 6. My butt especially.

In the throes of advising at work. I’m getting better, but it’s a whole realm of academe I wasn’t prepared for.

Staving off anxiety attacks this week with about a 50% success rate.

And etc. I’m not really thinking (about broadcasting) the whys or discussion. 140 characters doesn’t really invite close examination through writing, it just has room for the grit.

Plus, I have to read Frederick Douglass again. I don’t really have time, anyway.

small victory

Big J plays hockey. You all knew that. He’s on a local in-house squirt team (squirt = 9-10 year-olds). He’d make the travel team in heartbeat, but the cost is double and the word “travel” means we’d be trekking as far as DE, MD, and NY (as well as all over PA) for games on the weekends. Maybe when he’s older and H can drive herself to all her events, then we’ll have time (and maybe the $$) for him to play on the travel team.

At any rate. This is Big J’s second year as a squirt, which means he’s about the biggest kid on his team, and he’s definitely the best skater. And I’m not just saying that. Big J is, like, amazing to watch on the ice. He goes from forward to backward in a sleek, side-switching spin and without missing a beat. He can stop with an effortless backwards lean, throwing a spray of snow up onto the boards.

He can walk just about any other kid down, and if he’s got the puck, no one’s catching him. Even though I’ve posted before about how much I love watching my kid play hockey, it bears mention again here.

They didn’t win today, but the one goal scored was a break away by the J-Bear.