really, it’s just for fun

I’ve been tagged more than a few times with the “25 things about me” meme on Facebook lately. I haven’t posted the meme myself, for reasons I’m still trying to articulate. It might be because I feel like I  adequately create myself in my online spaces without having to post another list — that is, everything I post via my status updates/twitter is a “thing” about me; I post about one “thing” about me once or twice a day — I’m keeping the social networking guilt at bay. It might be because I’m spending my Facebook time-quota on reading other people’s stuff, and don’t have time to write my own. At any rate, I haven’t posted the meme, and I probably won’t, but it’s not because I’m disdainful of Facebook, or of the several Fb requests I get a day to join causes, return gifts, and become a fan of stuff.

I understand that in being a part of Facebook, I’m agreeing to hang out and weed through my friends’ updates–most of which I find highly entertaining, highly useful, or — dare I say it — comforting in the social sense of “I’m not alone.”

Disdain for social networks is seriously incomprehensible to me. Suddath writes: “[the current meme on Facebook is]  just so stupid. Most people aren’t funny, they aren’t insightful, and they share way too much.”

My response? Ms. Suddath should extricate herself from it — pretty much my standard response to this tack. No one is forcing her to participate, and if she is annoyed or otherwise put out, well, no one is strapping her eyeballs to the monitor. I don’t think.

Plus, the list she compiled to illustrate how UNfunny the meme is appears to have proven the opposite, for me at least:

8. I eat gummy bears by tearing them limb from limb and eating their heads last.
9. I can’t grow hair on my arms.

14. I was born with an extra kidney. I wish I could have sold it on the black market and made some money, but it was underdeveloped and did nothing but cause me to wet the bed until the third grade.
15. I like to tape my thumbs to my hands to see what it would be like to be a dinosaur.

23. My friends say that when they shave my back, I purr like a walrus.

Maybe I’m obtuse, and Suddath is really arguing for how funny people are.  I nearly spewed coffee reading the last one about the back shaving. Or maybe I’m easy, or maybe I’m just simple.

I do know that disdain without examining a cause for such is pretty useless though. Wah.

explanation, snow day

So, a quick explanation for the new name here, and why I left the old acadeemom behind:  in doing some research about paper mills, I came across a website called academon (aca-demon), for which I will not provide a link for obvious reasons (hint: they sell academic papers). I did not/do want to be accidentally associated with such a place. Also: I’ve been wanting to change the name of my blog for a while — acadeee was feeling a little worn — and I wanted to reflect the new outlook I have on life as a result of an extremely hard last semester: the good gravy. Gravy is either the thing you put on something gross to make it palatable, or is the thing you put on something already delicious to make it even MORE DELICIOUS. And how did gravy get invented/discovered? Some resourceful cook needed to make some dried out, day-old turkey edible. S/he dipped into the fat, threw it in a pan with some flour (or sawdust off the floor), and viola (read: VY-OH-LA)! Life doesn’t suck so much anymore. Gravy is a little creativity and whatever you’ve got laying around. Or lying around. You know.

settling in

So, my mom says I’m not posting enough here. Yeah, she’s right. Here’s where I’m at:

A full third into my first semester at the new gig. I’m still giddily happy, though my giddiness is interspersed with moments of holy-crap-I’ve-never-had-this-much-responsibility-in-my-life. But then I remind myself that I began raising children at the age of 20, and that they’re all fairly well-adjusted, healthy, and smart.* And so I can *do this.* And I am.

I now officially have three hockey players. Little J started this morning at our local rink. After a bout of shyness and fear because he was just about the smallest/youngest boy there, he happily ran the drills with the big kids.** H has had a great field hockey season; while I am less-than-thrilled that they wear skirts to play, I will admit it’s a pretty tough-looking sport, and her coach is fabulous: lots of encouragement and team-building.

Still trying to find/make a local running community for myself. I’m on a mailing/listserv for an active runners’ club in Reading, but the drive is too far to make the weekly trail runs. What I need is a GOOD FRIENDLY LIBERAL KINDERGARTEN TEACHER NEIGHBOR who’s got a little more discipline and a little less restraint than I do. She needs to paint home made campaign signs*** and make lemon bars. 

*H is currently brushing her hair for the gad-zillionth time today. Which I suppose is healthy for an-almost-12-year-old.

**SC PA is not like CNY, where people start their kids in hockey before they can walk. Most kids in the beginning hockey class were Big J’s age/size, and Little J was a bit disgruntled: “Where’s the LITTLE KIDS, Ma?? You said there’d be little kids here!!”

***Though I’d settle for running with the person who fashioned this sign:

two lists for friday

The hideous crap I’ve eaten today:
1 monster cinnamon roll
1 pile of the dissertator’s trail mix: Cheetos, Doritos, and Fritos
1 (admittedly smallish, because I needed room on the plate for above trail mix) roast beef and tomato on wheat
1 Grande Iced Coffee, cream and sugar
1 more monster cinnamon roll
(and just let me remind you that the day is not over…)

I think it’s safe to say that 1) I’ve eaten NOTHING of any nutritional value today, and 2) it’s pretty freekin’ obvious why I can’t wear any of my clothes.

The great music I’ve listened to today:
The Proclaimers _Sunshine on Leith_
Tori Amos _Little Earthquakes_
Sarah McLachlan _Fumbling Towards Ecstasy_
Edie Brickell’s _Ghost of a Dog_
Jimi Hendrix _Are You Experienced?_
Simon and Garfunkel _Greatest_
Rockapella _Primer_
Van Morrison _Best of_
Harry Connick, Jr. _30_

I had to take a writing break when Rockapella came up on the player to google Sean Altman. I adore his work and his voice; apparently he’s still around, singing with The GrooveBarbers, a name I’ll forgive him for, that’s how much I like him.

mork

Nearly two full days of watching TV has turned Big J into Mork from Ork. He’s bored out of his mind. Tomorrow, I promise I’ll take them to the pool. Promise.

this is not a real offer for free kids

This pic reflects (heh), somewhat, the mirror situation in the living room. Since I originally posted about the mirrors, my mom has visited and remarked that they aren’t as bad as I made them out to be.

Well, this is my blog, and I’m prone to a little hyperbole for effect. Anyhow, even if they’re a little darkish and smokey, they’re STILL MIRRORS.

In other news, my kids are driving me nuts. They fight and demand and yell and I’m ready to ship them off to the first taker. Any takers? They’re cute when they’re clean. The older two are perfectly capable of menial labor (it’s just the coaxing/bribing them to do it that’s a bit tricky). The small one will tell you spontaneously that he loves you and that you are a “pretty mama” (even if you’re not) which makes his being around halfway tolerable. But don’t let his charming smile fool you: he has the potential for nuclear meltdown in the middle of [choose your favorite public place; today it was the Dress Barn].

no more mr, no more pool, no more buddies. wah.

I got my official email address to from York, and alas, I am no longer Mr. Yonker (at whatever whatever) like I’ve been for lo these many years. Instead, I just get the M: myonker.

It’s the small, expected and insignificant changes like these that jar me.

Bigger unexpected changes simply foster a bit of resignation (and make me wonder why I didn’t expect them?). The struggle of the week has been finding a pool. The past several years we’ve been horribly spoiled by having friends with a great inground pool. Hot day? A trip to the Turo’s would fix that right up–whether they were home or not. We had our own public private pool. Here in town, a pool is much harder to come by, and is far more necessary (ack! the humidity is killing me!). Our friendly neighbors have invited us to visit “the club” where they swim (a local country club), but I am not a country club kind of gal. I mean, I am–because it’s the kind of place I would WORK (as a lifeguard)–but I would feel very out of place as a patron. Plus, I would be certain that one trip would immediately have H and the Js begging for us to join, which is not really in our financial future. Ever.

Other pools in the area are “club-style,” which means a family buys a membership and swims all season. Visitors are only allowed if accompanied by members. The local Y has an outdoor pool that you can buy day passes for, but they are $8 a person. It would be $32 for me to take the kids, and with my luck it would thunder after an hour and they’d kick everyone out (and probably not give us that literal rain check).

There is no city pool here, and to make matters worse, no public beach because — alas — there is no lake! Having lived 10 minutes away from two gorgeous lakes (Oneida and Ontario), each with both free and low-fee access, was something I clearly took for granted. I asked a neighbor where the nearest beach was and she answered, I think honestly (but probably not accurately), “Rehoboth?”

We do have a small brook that runs the edge of our back yard, which the boys spend hours in catching frogs and building dams and such. Another amenity is the Rail Trail, which Moose mentioned in an earlier comment, which runs from here south to the MD border (a little over 20 miles). I’ve used the trail twice for my runs, and it’s pleasant, shady, and well-used so I don’t ever feel like it’s creepy or lonely (although it would be least lonely with a buddy!)

the ugly in me

I’m horribly thrilled that Heather was unable to fulfill the 21-day cleanse.

Something is terribly wrong with me.

small fleeting paralysis

So.

I’m moving in three weeks.

I’ve never, really ever, lived in one place as long as I’ve been here in CNY. Growing up, we moved just about every year, sometimes staying two years, and ironically, staying three once J, my stepdad, began working for the Department of Defense.

I am a moving-kinda gal, in the sense that picking up from one house and moving to another, wrenching myself from one neighborhood and one school to work my way into another, became very normal for me. In fact, I remember being in 8th grade (Thomas Jefferson in Waukegan, IL, if you care to know), and because I’d been there for 7th grade as well, I felt like things were a little off for me. People knew me too well.

But soon after that strange feeling of “too familiar” crept up on me, we moved to Kenosha, WI, where I finished the last 8 weeks of junior high. My teachers were appalled, mostly, that my parents couldn’t wait for the school year to finish, but I was happy. All was right with the world; we were moving again.

As an adult, I have moved pretty regularly as well, mostly trading small town houses for single-families as my own family grew, but also in service of my own figuring out what to do “when I grew up.”

I have really really loved living here. I don’t much care for the extreme weather, but when it comes down to it, anywhere I go there will be *something* I can complain about. Which also reminds me that where ever I go, I can be equally happy, as long as I’m looking in the right places.

Still, though, I’m feeling a bit of paralysis now, sitting in my dining room, surrounded by packages from Amazon of books I need to read (or, look at for an hour or so) for making diss revisions. The windows are open, the sun is patterning itself on the floor, and I’m thinking about packing and U-hauls and the sun hitting a new floor in a different pattern. I’m thinking about finding friends. What used to be easy for me to do as a child (“Hi, I’m new. Can I jump rope, too?”) seems untenable in adulthood (“Hi, I’m new. Can my kids play with your kids, and will your husband talk about hockey with my husband, and will you go running with me??”).

*sigh*

Don’t get me wrong. I’m thrilled to be moving. This (paralysis, anxiety), too, shall pass. But the prospect of, the getting ready for, the doing of, etc, has me mildly wanting to lay on the couch with my eyes shut.

yet another reason…

…to rejoice that this administration is on its way out.

Dick Cheney gaffes again.