kdiddy.org

My identification with fictional characters is pretty strong. At least once a year, a movie or a book or a TV show or a song will hit so close to home that I become a little convinced that it was sent to me for a reason.

I’m an indifferent agnostic, but I guess if there’s one thing that keeps me wondering about the existence of God, it’s pop culture.

Well, I suppose that’s far too simple. A more poetic expansion of that theory would be that art is often the result of someone expressing their feelings and/or experiences into a medium and sharing that art with the world to be experienced, discussed, and hopefully related to.

More than once, I’ve suspected an artist of setting up surveillance in my home and brain because the emotions and words that they’ve captured on film or in music or whatever so poignantly echo my own.

Most recently, this happened with My So-Called Life.

Yes, I know that MSCL happened way back 1994, but that’s what makes this experience so great.

MSCL hit me pretty hard when it originally aired. I was 15, just like Angela Chase. I was a sophomore in high school, just like Angela. I was quiet and tentative, just like Angela. I was growing increasingly mopey about high school and its preamble to adulthood, just like Angela. And I was having a really hard time living in the same world as my mom, just like Angela.

Recently, hulu.com put all 19 episodes of MSCL up. Last night, I decided to watch the pilot for the first time in a few years, since the last time that I happened to catch a rerun on TV.

It was a really weird experience. I still felt so much like Angela. I still find myself wanting to hide under my sweater during whatever is the grown-up equivalent of yearbook meetings. I still have moments where I can’t look at my mother without wanting to stab her repeatedly. My scenery has changed, but I might as well be 15.

But for the first time ever, I saw a lot of myself in Patty, Angela’s mother, particularly last night.

The baby has become increasingly difficult to handle. In many ways, this is not surprising. He’s 7 and 1/2 and has been on vacation all summer without much structure to his days. And he doesn’t have access to many kids his age so he doesn’t have anyone to relate to his energy most of the time. I understand this.

At the same time, I can’t help but become furious at his increasingly shitty attitude. Yesterday in particular, everything that came out of his mouth had some sarcastic bite to it. Obviously, sarcasm is practically currency in our house and in this respect (and this respect only) we’re filthy rich. But beyond the sarcasm in his voice yesterday there was a distinct tinge of meanness. He was being mean to me.

In a more perfect life, I would have a heart and brain big enough to deal with him in a more emotionally intelligent manner. But I don’t.

Last night, while reading before bed, he snapped at me for not turning the pages quickly enough and indicated that the friction of the paper had some direct correlation to my lack of intelligence. This was at the end of an evening during which this attitude had clung to his every word, despite repeated warnings that if he kept it up, all joy would be removed from his life indefinitely.

I’d had enough. I reminded him of the warnings and how they were likely to become realities now. I also appealed to whatever sympathy he might have for me and asked him how he thought it made me feel when he talked to me that way, after I go to work and make him dinner and clean his clothes and whatever else I do in a day that is for him. He started to cry and said that he thought it made me feel sad and that he was sorry for making me sad.

I can’t be sure if the tears were more about the threat of having his Godzilla DVDs confiscated or if he genuinely felt bad for hurting my feelings. In any case, I was extremely grateful for some moment of clarity.

In the pilot of MSCL, which I watched right after putting the baby to bed, Patty and Angela’s dad have a number of disagreements. One in particular hinted at Patty’s frustration at being the mean one all the time. Someone has to be the adult and make sure that the kids aren’t being total assholes. While that isn’t exactly the transcript of the arguments that the husband and I have (mostly because our kid is younger and his bad behavior is still relatively simple deargodgetmeadrink), I often find myself trying to get my family to understand that I feel totally on my own sometimes. They don’t always get it, mostly because it’s hard to hear, “I’m very frustrated right now due to X, Y, and Z issues,” over my refrains of, “WHY THE FUCK AREN’T YOUR SHOES ON? I HAVE TO GO TO WORK RIGHT NOW! OH, SURE, JUST LEAVE THE DISHES PILED IN THE SINK THAT’S MY FAVORITE SHIT EVER!!!! NO, YOU CAN’T BUY THAT BECAUSE WE ARE BROKE MUCH LIKE WE’VE BEEN FOR THE PAST TEN YEARS!!!”

Near the end of the episode, Angela goes to her mom’s room, exhausted from her botched attempt to gain entry to Let’s Bolt. Suddenly, she starts to cry, and apologizes to her mom for having a shitty attitude. I think neither Patty nor Angela expected it, but Patty hugs Angela fiercely and Angela falls asleep in her mom’s arms. The turmoil is over, for the moment.

It was so weird to watch that moment, having just come from a nearly identical moment in the next room. Seeing someone who so typified my adolescence climb into the arms of someone who is starting to typify my adulthood/motherhood/wifehood was like getting a glimpse of my utter confusion that surrounds my identity and my decisions.

I think it really speaks to the craft and brilliance of MSCL that I can relate to it so well both as an adolescent (and perpetual kid) and an adult.

The classics never die.

That is my current attitude. It really does not help that just a day ago I was happily lazing around Tracey‘s house with Angela, reveling in several days spent with good friends, having good conversations.

Today, life is not really up to my standards.

Saturday, I managed to wake up in time for breakfast and went to the opening session, which included a cooking demo using all Wal-Mart ingredients. Helpful, sure, but it’s all Wal-Mart all the time at my house and sometimes I can use a break from the endless parade of Great Value products (Dana commented on one of the unnamed-sponsor lunches, “I don’t want to eat the shit I make at home!”).

There was also an interview with Tina Brown and Ilene Chaiken and another Important Woman who I’ve totally forgotten. I was barely paying attention because I didn’t grab enough coffee. I know that they talked about various forms of media migrating to the internet…which was basically saying, “Print and TV and film are going to take over…soooo bloggers better recognize.” Well, not exactly, but that’s kind of what I read into it. But maybe displaced bloggers can take over TV and movie studios and newspapers? And those will become these retro media giants? And we’ll go back and forth with this power struggle like the Star-Bellied Sneetches? Who have blogs upon thars?

I went to a panel about blogging identity that was pretty interesting. I’m not uncomfortable wearing the title of “mommyblogger,” though it sounds a tad precious. I’m a mother and I write about parenting sometimes and I’m proud of that, but actually the only time that someone has called me a mommyblogger is as an insult. But they were tiny people with the acuity of applesauce anyway so it’s not really even worth considering.

I don’t think the panel touched on the use of the term “mommyblogger” as a pejorative, because that wasn’t the focus. But I guess I was assuming that they were going to talk about how to focus your blog if you’re a parent but write about other stuff, too, but it was more for people who have very topical blogs that aren’t about parenting. Not totally relevant for me but it was interesting.

Things did take a weird turn when there was some vaguely anti-parentblog sentiments thrown around. Well, maybe they weren’t anti, per se, but there was some level of irritation over the fact that mommybloggers receive the most attention from marketers and whatnot. I can imagine that if you’re building a blog audience about a topic and your audience is sizable, it can be very frustrating to be passed over. But things change and, seriously, blogging as a serious industry is still very, very young. I wouldn’t be surprised to see the balance shift in the next year or so.

But I did think about this site and how I kind of just write about whatever. If I wanted to, I could probably build a larger audience by focusing solely on one thing.

The husband’s blog really took off because he has a super-specific topic and there just aren’t many people writing about what he does. (I call him Dooce sometimes because he gets all gushy about his huge readership, which makes me wonder if this just all relates to penis size, and then I threaten to shut his site down because I run things.) But that’s not me and that’s not this site. I’m a human being and therefore multi-faceted. And I’m not sure that the world needs another memoirist so I’ll just plop shit here like so much slop in a trough with the occasional complete steak and let you guys come to it. And I think I just called my readers pigs. I didn’t mean it. I just…I missed the panel on storytelling and metaphor and that was obviously a big mistake.

Lunch!

I can’t remember if I went to another panel on Saturday, besides the MamaPop session. I don’t think I did. I’ll do better next year. But the MamaPop session was REALLY good. There was lots of interesting discussion and debate about pop culture and if there’s a feminist way to gossip. And I’m pretty sure that we won the Big Word competition for “schadenfreude” and “Aristotelian” being dropped.

With a few hours to kill, Dana and I ventured about 20 feet outside of the hotel and went to Niu for dinner. We had, no lie, the best sushi either of us had ever tasted and incredible mojitos.

I hit up the CheeseburgHerz party for a little bit but it became extremely crowded and I had to roll out. In the morning, Dana and Tracey and I went to the recovery breakfast and said some goodbyes before heading to the airport.

My only regrets were not seeing more of the city and not meeting more people. Obviously, I met a lot of people that I’ve known online for awhile in real life for the first time, and that’s always fun. But as far as people that, for whatever reason, I just didn’t know about until bumping into them at BlogHer, I can only say that I met a small handful. So, if I go next year, my mission will be to just branch out.

My only criticisms were that the wi-fi issue was just kind of ridiculous, considering it was a blogging conference, and that the expo booths were a little too girly. More nerdy tech stuff!

The last matter I want to address about BlogHer is the people that I met and hung out with. There is absolutely no way that I can make a complete list (see also: drunk on Thursday; 1,500 attendees). But I do want to touch on a few key encounters:

– Receiving a huge hug from Tanis within minutes of arriving at the hotel and later laughing with her about trying to fit into college writing desks while pregnant
– Receiving a huge hug from Grace after randomly bumping into her in the lobby
– Doing a slow-motion run through a field of daisies on a sidewalk when we first spotted Amber and Miss Banshee and Lena
– Discussing existential crises with Katie
– Flopping around on the Chi Bar couch with Miss Grace (both of us only vaguely recall this, but I’m pretty sure it happened…unless that wasn’t her tattoo but, in fact, Where the Wild Things Are coming to life before my eyes)
– Grinding to Ludacris with Y
– Trying to convince Amy to pull the bottom of her dress up between her legs, diaper-style
– Forgetting that I had gum in my mouth and nearly choking when I ate a piece of unicorn cake, and, though I didn’t introduce myself formally, having Bossy exclaim to me that she had just done the exact same thing.
– Finally succeeding in meeting Kristabella and Izzy
– The MamaPop group hug at the end of Sparklecorn, during which Heather gave me a gigantic kiss on the cheek, complete with, “MmmmmWAH!”
– Reintroducing myself to the lovely Kate, another casualty of Thursday’s beverage-induced amnesia
– Creepily lurking outside of Erin’s door looking for stickers that she placed there for me (feel better soon, lady!)
– Teasing Neil with his cattiness comments
– Just getting to hang out and giggle with Dana
– Just getting to pinch the cheeks of Schmutzie and Palinode, both of whom I love and want to put in my pocket
– Sleeping with Tracey every night (boom chick a bow wow) in the amazing beds at the Sheraton
– Anyone that I didn’t mention here that I even brushed up against that weekend

I also need to send a special thank you to Kim, who sold me her ticket to the conference after she realized that she couldn’t attend. I know that she was extremely sad that she couldn’t go, but she promises to be there next year. Go Kim!

I’m headed to Baltimore this weekend to visit Tracey (she can’t get enough of me) and Angela and some other assorted Baltimore characters. Note to would-be burglars: my very ferocious husband and my very ferocious cat will be home so BACK OFF.

This title was an attempt at some clever adaptation of Superfans.

Get it? Da Bears? Da Blawggers? Chicago?

Anyway. I went to Chicago! I went to BlogHer! It was grand!

I arrived Thursday and met up with Tracey and Dana at the hotel. I had had a gin and tonic on the plane, despite the scandalized glances of my rowmates, because a) my vacation had officially begun and b) the baby sent me off saying, “Bye, Mum! I hope your plane doesn’t crash!”

Safely on terra firma, I was still preoccupied with the vacation aspect and spent the rest of that day drinking and meeting people and forgetting that I met them. I remember at some point crashing some private event and yelling at the bartender, “GIMME A GREEN ONE!” and double-fisting frou-frou drinks at the SocialLuxe party prior to taking the stage to help accept MamaPop’s award for Guilty Pleasure Blog.

It was fun and sorely needed release, but I felt really stupid when I kept reintroducing myself to people only to have them blink and say, “We met on Thursday.” Granted, I met a LOT of people those first few hours, so I was a little overwhelmed regardless. But that convinced me to take it easy the next two nights so that I could actually experience the whole thing.

Friday, we woke up late and while my much deserved hangover wasn’t too bad, my uterus got wind of the 1,500 women on the premises and got the brilliant idea to sync up with its fellow cramp enthusiasts. I groaned through one session in the morning then kind of shuffled around until it was time for lunch, then shuffled around until it was time for one of the mingling breaks (read: more food), then made my way to the Community Keynote. I was really glad that I made sure to attend that.

I think/hope that the prescriptivist hand-wringing over what blogging is doing to writing has died down somewhat. Or said hand-wringers are too busy losing their shit over Twitter’s role in the demise of civilization. Because what I had the honor of listening to at the keynote was some astounding writing. And I mean your professor from your undergrad writing class, the one who first drummed showing-not-telling into your head, would have been dumbstruck…that level of good. A few pieces were funny, a few pieces were serious. They were all inspirational. And not in a corny, wind-beneath-my-wings way, but in a, “Wow, I fucking love writing and I can’t wait to get a moment to be alone with my words and shape them into something even remotely as fantastic as what I’m hearing,” way. I cried a couple of times and completely lost it during Catherine’s reading, which I think scared Jodi a little bit. “Um, can I hug you?” she asked, concerned, after the keynote ended. I gratefully accepted because I needed a hug and something to wipe my nose on…like Jodi’s shirt, for example.

Certainly all of the subjects that are covered by bloggers are not for everyone. I was never a victim of childhood abuse, but I couldn’t help but be stunned by Grace’s reading. I have never experienced the devastation of a child’s death, but Tanis and Heather’s readings gave me just a taste of that unimaginable grief. It really doesn’t matter WHAT we write about, just HOW we write about it. And if you can spin a yarn then you have my attention.

The (thankfully) few times that I’ve received a harsh comment here is when people (trolls) have bashed me for writing at all. They don’t care what some mom has to say about her life and I’ve wasted their time by even putting it out here for them to stumble on. The question of WHY someone would bother to read something that they know they will hate and then take the time to complain about it is not worth pondering.

Anyway, I’m getting off topic. Friday night was MamaPop’s Sparklecorn party and Tracey and Catherine had been running around all day getting ready for it. They asked us to meet them before the party, so we gathered in this beautiful bar in the hotel for drinks and appetizers. There they presented us with the most heartfelt gifts and thanked us for our hard work on the site. I was overwhelmed. The gifts, of course, were lovely but the thanks were so touching. I sat on the couch and glanced around at this goofy group of people, who were all dressed for the party and looked amazing, and realized that not only was I lucky enough to know them at all, but I had the opportunity to be WITH them in a gorgeous city amongst a thousand or so people who understood my compulsive reading habits and frantic scribbles of thoughts. I realized that I have it pretty good, that I’m a really lucky person, and I need to acknowledge that more often.

Now, all of that mushiness is fine, but there is, of course, a much goofier side to me. Somehow, Tracey and Catherine reached inside the collective MamaPop body and grabbed whatever gland it is that makes one ponder things like the feminist and cultural statements of Weeds. They took that gland, ground it up in a Cuisinart, and sprayed that shit all over one of the Sheraton ballrooms. There were posters of all of our favorite cult movies. There was glitter. There were tiaras and boas. There was a unicorn cake. There was rye. I wish I had thought to take video of everyone running around and freaking out at how amazing the place looked.

As the party’s attendees filed in and people got a few drinks in them, the dancefloor filled up. The DJ was fantastic and coifs soon became frizzy shadows of their former selves. It was a blast.

At the end of the night, the last track was Bill Withers’ “Lean on Me.” A small group of people put their arms around each other…then a few more joined them…and soon there was a gigantic circle of tipsy writers, thrilled to be in each other’s company, shouting along to the music. It was fucking awesome.

I’ll have to write more tomorrow because it’s getting a little long-winded as it is. Go get a Vengeful Unicorn. On me.

Things in my house that are dirty:

– everything
– me

Things in my house that are probably housing dangerous molds and spores and stuff:

– the fridge
– the toilets
– me

I really, really need to do some stuff here today but the past week and a half just caught up with me and now I can’t really imagine doing anything but watching old episodes of Mad Men.

Speaking of, and in honor of today’s uselessness, I give you kdiddy a la Mad Men:

The baby had his first soccer practice today. The coach freaked me out by openly talking shit on the parents of two kids who couldn’t be at today’s practice. Not cool. I had to spend the practice attempting to find a dry patch of ground that was in shade so that I wouldn’t combust, which means that I need to go whole hog on this soccer mom thing and buy a folding chair with an umbrella. I need something that will protect my pallor while I hand out Sunny D and say stuff like, “Gosh!” and “Golly!” and “Kick the shit out of it, kid!”

Maybe not that last one. I’m still learning.

Because of the short notice, not many people were able to attend the little party at AlphaLab last night, but it was still a very nice time. AlphaLab is an amazing space and we got to meet some of the people who are building their start-ups there. And we had a TON of food. I even gave away some brown sugar pound cupcakes with brown butter glaze to some ladies who were hanging out at the Double Wide Grill and started fantasizing about operating one of those trucks that tweets their location and sells yummy stuff. I think it would be an especially successful venture if I were to troll popular drunkard locations.

I was badly in need of a haircut. I’m pretty sure my last trim was in February and the last two inches or so of my hair looked like spun sugar gone awry. I realized that I was not going to be able to squeeze an appointment in before I left for Chicago if I didn’t go Saturday, so I pounded the pavement of the main street here. The husband joked that I would come home with poofy bangs since the beauty experts in our area tend to cater to a more, erm, nostalgic crowd.

I had faith, however. What I did not have was an appointment and as you might imagine beauty salons are busy places on Saturday afternoons. In fact, the only place that could take a walk-in was a small place that was decked out with Dean Martin figurines and possessed at least half of the world’s supply of rollers. I was the youngest person there by about 40 years but hey these are trained professionals and scissors are scissors.

I think the results are just fine and there’s not a bouffant or blue hair in sight. And it came just in time for my date with the husband to the Maxwell show which was AWESOME. As I stated last night, I predict that that show will urge a small baby boom and that at least 100 babies were made last night. (None here, though, for the record. I will say that the last time we saw Maxwell live, I was quite pregnant and Maxwell had an indirect role in that development. :-p)

And I know that this might get me kicked out of the sisterhood, but Maxwell’s version of “This Woman’s Work” is amazing and absolutely slayed everyone last night.

I really wanted that song to be playing when I gave birth, and yes I had seen She’s Having a Baby a few too many times, but emergency C-sections tend to blow your soundtrack plans out of the water.

ANYWAY, I’m trying to get myself motivated to do stuff around the house before heading out to the thing later. I think you’ll be shocked to learn that it’s not going so well.

Earlier this week, the husband worked some magic with the Allen wrenches and my house, formerly The Land of Flat Packs, now has some shelving and bins and stuff. When we saw the first patch of floor in my son’s room, we cautiously whispered, “What is that?” Then, when we realized that it was the hideous green speckled carpeting that we had first encountered three years ago before the toy layer was set in place like sediment, there was much rejoicing.

We still have a number of things to do before we can move him into the smaller bedroom that we’ve been remodeling off and on since we bought the place. For your reference, here is what we were faced with when we got here (you’ll have to supply the cat urine smell yourself):

I really wonder why this look was so popular. It’s like living under an oppressive burnt marmalade regime.

And here’s what it looked like when the walls met the business ends our sledgehammers and crowbars:

Work and school and money have slowed the process considerably, but the small room now has insulation and new walls and new trim. I’m really pushing (read: whining) to have this room done by the end of the summer. Then I’ll get to take “after” pictures!

We went to see the new Harry Potter movie last night. It was okay. I was mostly entertained by the previews for 2012, which looks god-awful. Plus, John Cusack is the heroic lead, which is just kind of funny to me, and I think they should have played up this unlikely casting in the script and previews more. “John Cusack saves the world…and mends his broken heart. Unlucky in love but ready to kick some apocalyptic ass!”

We finally joined everyone in 2007 and watched Tropic Thunder last night, which was also okay. It definitely had its moments of brilliance, but I think I was expecting it to be a little more skewering of the movie industry.

On a final, totally unrelated note, when do kids learn how to ask hypothetical questions that…like…make sense? I’m getting really frustrated with my son asking me stuff like, “What if our car was blue?” THEN IT WOULD BE BLUE, DUDE! GAH! I know that I should appreciate his childish wonderment before that fateful day when he first calls me a bitch (you know it’s coming). But how do you explain to someone that hypothetical questions need to pose serious, altering conditions to a situation? Is there some sort of Theory for Tots class I can send him to?

The husband and I went to a wedding on Saturday night. The groom has been friends with the husband for a number of years, but neither of us had met the bride, despite them being together for over two years. She knew of the husband and knew that he was DJing the first portion of the evening. But when she spotted me at the reception she looked a little concerned, like I might be a wedding crasher.

“I’m [the husband]’s wife! Also, you and I are friends on Facebook! Congratulations!” I saw the spark of recognition and all was well.

By the way, the husband’s DJing portion was pretty rad. The bride walked out to “It’s a Man’s World” by Marvin Gaye and then right after the couple kissed and started making their way down the aisle, he played “Lovely Day” by Bill Whithers. It was pretty sweet.

The ceremony and reception were both at Phipps, which was lovely and the couple kept things light by just having a tower of cupcakes from Dozen and hors d’oeuvres. The only flaw with this plan was that they had an open bar (wine and beer) and the hors d’oeuvres were light and limited. Soooo people got kind of rowdy…including a certain blogger we all know and love and whose name rhymes with jbibby.

The husband and I were 1 for 1 for exes present. My ex was easily avoided. The husband’s ex came and sat with us to chat at around Chardonnay #4 on a relatively empty stomach. I remember this conversation going just fine and even commiserating with her over our badly stubbed toes.

After she rejoined her date, the husband turned to me later and said, “You were all loud and kind of snippy with her.”

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? I WAS NOT!”

“Yeah, you were. It’s okay, though. It was kind of funny.”

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK YOU MEAN, JAGOFF.”

And, yes, I do feel kind of sheepish about the fact that my last two blog entries have been about my twisted ability to accidentally get drunk, as though I don’t know what causes it.

Speaking of alcoholics, our useless neighbors forgot to put their trash out again and dumped it with ours. This practice in and of itself doesn’t bother me. I’m scatterbrained and can’t really judge anyone for forgetting such a task. However, it’s the CONTENTS of their trash that infuriates me. In the entry I linked to above, it was a bag of dirty diapers.

This week it was two cases of Beast. *horf*

As we got in the car to leave this morning, I said, loudly so that they might hear it, “I don’t want anyone thinking we drink that shit!” Think of my reputation, jerkfaces.

I realize that it’s been over a week since I posted here. That’s mostly because things have been pretty uneventful. The picture above is from last Friday morning/afternoon. Faced with a day off for the holiday, I drank just a few beers (honest!) while we were out on Thursday night and woke up the next morning surprised to find myself feeling rather crap-like. Luckily, my cat provided the necessary head-to-head services that I didn’t even know I needed.

Other than that, I got nothing. We got W. from Netflix and I’ve been trying to watch for, literally, weeks and I keep falling asleep. It’s not a particularly bad movie, per se. There are some funny moments. And Josh Brolin’s performance is actually kind of creepily accurate (though the parts of him as young W. are just laughable). I just kinda…don’t care.

We’ve also been watching Arrested Development upon several emphatic suggestions from friends. I was skeptical because we had watched one episode while at the beach with Tracey and Co. a few years ago, but I think it was some random episode and was out of context and I couldn’t figure out why the Bluths were so fucking odd. Seeing it from the beginning though has really made me appreciate it. I’ve been in tears laughing several times and have gone to bed extremely late every night this week because of that fateful, “Let’s just watch one more…” declaration that has got to be close to being a psychological disorder in the DSM, afflicting adults in the era of DVDs.

Also, this:

That is Honey Bourbon Caramel Peach pie and it’s pretty much an orgasm in a dish. I was excited about this pie, not only because it promised to be amazing, but also because I thought I would be able to keep it in a cake stand that I bought a few months ago. For some reason, I keep thinking cake stands are bell jars, even though I know that’s not the case. However, the handles on the pie dish prevented the dome of the bell jar/cake stand from fitting properly…so I stuck my head in the oven.

Also this week we spent a small fortune at Ikea on shelving and other bins and crap in the name of organizing our house and now our house is cluttered with not-yet-assembled flat packs and Allen wrenches. I can’t win.

Today we’re going to a wedding of some friends of ours, so I think I’m going to go and, like, shower or something.