kdiddy.org

Why, yes, I did just quote “Karma Chameleon.” What of it?

I am cranky today. I’m having a lot of trouble getting work for various jobs (9 to 5, internship, freelance gigs) done and it’s making me alternate between anxious and furious.

So, to cheer me up, I’m going to share some pretty pictures with you.

Do you recall a year or two ago when color photographs from the 1930s and 1940s were making the rounds on the internet?

Photographers from the Farm Security Administration and the Office of War Information took these pictures around the time when the Great Depression was winding down and when World War II was gaining momentum. The photographers aimed to document the hardships of Americans during that time and to spur government aid.

A few years ago, the Library of Congress put the exhibition of these photos online.

To me and to many others, the pictures were so stunning because they suddenly brought the very recent past to the present. I think if you grow up with color photographs being a given, like I did, you draw an imaginary line in your cultural consciousness. On this side is color and that which I can relate to. On the other side is black-and-white, long ago and far away, and intangible hardships that I could never possibly grasp.

Suddenly, with just a glance at a picture like the one above and those raspberry dresses, it all seems real. You can smell the dirt and feel the heat of the day and hear the sounds of the carnival that might have been a huge treat for the whole family. The kids are most likely well into their 70s now and somehow getting to see them this way makes their experiences that much more understandable.

Now, if those weren’t cool enough, the LOC also has a gallery of pictures taken by Sergei Mikhailovich Prokudin-Gorskii. They are also color photographs but they are from 100 years ago.

Yes, really. Go check them out and be sure to read about the colorizing process. I’m going to go try and be less bitchy.

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.

I’m still working on my recap of our trip to Detroit, even though each day that passes makes it more irrelevant but whatever. It’s my blog, I’ll post what I want and you’ll read it and you’ll like it. In fact, next week I might post about Valentine’s Day and how wack it was. If you don’t read it, that just shows how uncommitted you are to this relationship.

In fact, this isn’t working out. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s what I’m going through. But let’s have angry and weepy break-up blog sex real quick before I help you find your Wii games. Jerk.

…

Anyway, I have this vague sickness going on and it’s weird. It hasn’t knocked me out and only makes me feel really crappy every so often. My throat is sore but not killing me and I’m getting what can only be described as hot flashes. I must have that throatal menopause that I’ve heard absolutely nothing about.

Last night I went to bed pretty early and when the husband came up a little bit later, he found me drenched in sweat and panting. And I imagine he resembled Bill Murray in Ghostbusters when he said of would-be girlfriend Dana Barrett, “Okay…so…she’s a dog.”

He popped a thermometer in my mouth and I didn’t have a fever, so I don’t know what happened.

…

I’m kind of not watching the Penguins game right now because I am HIGHLY concerned at this point and instead have been attempting to take a picture of the baby and the cat with whatever photographic devices in reach (ie, husband’s iPhone, my laptop). They fell asleep next to each other on the couch, but with the cat’s butt perilously close to the baby’s head and god damn if that ain’t one for the baby book shameless mommy blog.

“And here’s the time that the neutered cat teabagged you…”

…

All of this is to say that I’m not totally “with it” right now, so bear with me. Oh ALSO I have to do a “field observation” for my class on Friday, so I’m going to watch the staff at Starbucks interact from 9:30 to 11 a.m. And you know what my sophomore classmates said when we decided on that time? They said, “Hmm…well, yeah…I guess I can get up that early.” ISN’T THAT THE MOST PRECIOUS THING YOU’VE EVER HEARD?

So, through a weird twist of events, I’m attending BlogHer in July and I figure since I’m going to a blogging conference, I should probably do some of that there blogging that I’ve heard so much about. (Aside: I’m obviously going through some pretty serious writer’s block and I’m trying not to freak out about it but…I’m freaking out about it.)

We were in Detroit over the long weekend for the DEMF (Detroit’s Electronic Music Festival for you squares). This was my sixth annual trip there and, as usual, there were many hijinks and good times and a few episodes of drama.

We drove there somewhat early on Thursday with our friends Adam and Carleton. We talked a lot about Pittsburgh and the state of music there currently (nutshell: fucking grim).

When we got to Detroit, our first stop was Archer Record Pressing. Adam had to pick up the latest release from Technoir and the husband was picking up the first release on the label that he recently started, Love What You Feel. The record is by a guy who goes by the name of Disco Nihilist and do you like how I don’t write here regularly for months and then I pop up with this entry about records and Technoirs and disco nihilists? You love me.

Anyway, Archer was a really REALLY neat place. We were too late in the day to see any actual records being pressed but the guy that owns/runs the place gave us a tour and a brief explanation of how records come to be.

That’s the husband checking out one of the records. It may not look like it, but I could tell that he was really excited to finally be holding it in his hands. He had worked really hard on it and it was something that’s he’s been wanting to do forever, so it was cool to capture this moment.

We stopped at this place, Simpson’s Records, which Carleton told us about. It’s been in business for over 40 years. Detroit has a TON of independent businesses. Because it’s so spread out and public transit isn’t very good, these businesses operate in markets/neighborhoods that consist of people of very limited means that need to attend to all of their shopping within walking distance (at least, this is what I could gather just from observing). So, these small businesses usually double or triple up their services. Simpson’s sells gospel records, candy and snacks, and you can get your taxes done there. We also passed a barbershop/barbecue restaurant, which sounds gross but I can assure you that the barbecue was outside, away from flying hair.

Carleton is from the Detroit area, so we drove him to his house before making our way to our motel. His mom is currently kicking cancer’s ass and she and I talked about my dad’s recent struggle. Then I made a cancer joke and I think, uh, it might have been too soon because she just kind of looked at me and I felt like the world’s largest jackass.

After we were settled in our room, we went in search of a place to watch the Penguin game. Weirdly enough, Hockeytown was closed. I don’t know what kind of managerial genius you have to be to decide to be closed during the Stanley Cup playoffs. But I had checked the PG’s list of Steeler bars and already had a back-up place that was likely to be Pittsburgh-friendly. I didn’t see any Steelers paraphernalia there and the bar itself was pretty butt, but they were showing the game and they were nice enough to turn off the Stevie Ray Vaughn garbage that they were blasting so that we could hear what was going on.

Friday was full of record shopping at Melodies and Memories and picking up various characters as they arrived in the city. Frank flew in from NYC, Kenny took the train from Ireland (not really), and another friend…we’ll call him Hot Mess, flew in from Atlanta. Incidentally, the husband had described Kenny to me as his Irish doppelganger and that turned out to be a creepily accurate description. Lookit:

Kenny, by the way, was rarely without a drink in his hand the whole weekend and never appeared to be the slightest bit intoxicated. He’s kind of my hero, especially considering my poor performance later on that evening, which we’ll get to in a bit.

We met up with other various members of the Pittsburgh/Pittsburgh-friendly crew for dinner at some touristy but semi-decent Tex-Mex place in Greektown and then started to prepare for our first night out on the town.

Since we had some time to kill we drove around Detroit for awhile, checking out various parts of the city that we’d never seen despite all of our trips there. You probably know that things in Detroit are not great. We saw a lot of heartbreaking poverty and so much evidence of the glittering Seventh City that Detroit used to be. The population is now around 800,000 which is roughly four times the size of Pittsburgh. So it still seems huge to me. But when you see all of the abandoned buildings, you realize that at some point not that long ago, all of those huge buildings were needed to house and employ all of the residents. And now they just sit there, neglected and unnecessary. It really hit me just how many people left, out of fear or necessity.

We also saw some of the most gorgeous mansions sitting on the most pristine lawns, just a few steps away from burned out houses, which are the playgrounds for children whose parents may or may not be watching over them.

Remnants of wealth and a healthy middle class represent the entire life cycle of capitalism in one city block. It’s heartbreaking and beautiful, because out of this, nothing is left but life and survival and tears and thoughts and joy. And as the festival always teaches us, wonderful music is born from that pain and joy.

Later, Hot Mess showed up at our room wearing a Corona tshirt and swimming trunks and bearing a bottle of cheap champagne. He was soon followed by Kent, our buddy who we hadn’t seen in two years!

The “official” kick-off parties weren’t really tickling our fancies but the husband had heard about a house music night at a club not terribly far from where we were staying. I was already kind of tired before we went out, so Kenny and I went to the party store two doors down where I procured some vodka and Red Bull. The elixir was effective…perhaps too effective. See, the vodka gets you drunk (read: rowdy), while the Red Bull wakes you up (read: hyper). Rowdy and hyper. Really not a good combination.

Since it’s getting late in the day and this post is shaping up to be rather epic, I’m going to slap a “To be continued…” here. But, here’s a preview:

My new photography technique is unstoppable.

I turned on Toddlers & Tiaras a little bit ago because nothing else that I wanted to watch was on and I thought it would be a good release to watch something really stupid/infuriating.

This shit is boring. I mean, yeah, fucking freakshow parents and hideous clothes, but it’s…too easy? I don’t know. This particular subculture is so self-contained and weirdly populated with seemingly “normal” people. The problematic aspects of it are just so blatant it’s not even worth thinking about.

Plus, the top prizes in these pageants have titles like “Grand Supreme” and it’s all just getting way too close to some KKK shit for me.

Anyway, I’m watching crap to decompress. I had a HUGE paper due today and had to give a presentation on it. I later described the presentation as a cautionary tale. I got all freaked out beforehand and saved like 5 different copies of my presentation all over the place and I guess uploaded the wrong one in my frenzy. So, halfway through my presentation, I was out of slides. So I said, “Uh…my slides are missing. This is just like a nightmare I once had.”

Luckily, I had printed out hard copies of the notes pages so I just kept going without slides, lubricated by the five gallons of sweat that came pouring out of me. But my professor said that I did really well so COOL.

My back is killing me and has been really achy for the past couple of days. I think I’ve been holding the stress of the paper there or something. I’ve also been spending hours hunched over my computer writing the damn thing.

How are you?

I fear that I am perhaps the last-ish person from the MamaPop crew to post about our Vegas Vacation (a movie which the husband tells me we watched several nights ago but I have no recollection of this whatsoever which caused the husband to rest his weary head in his hands but whatever because like I was telling him last night while I was “reading” for class, I can read paragraphs of stuff and realize that I’ve absorbed none of it and it’s like my mind has two tracks: one that is sieve-like and does what it should be doing in the most begrudging manner and the other that thinks about more important things like cupcakes and bunnies…just like you’re doing right now). So you might be over the whole thing by now, but that’s too bad.

As I’ve mentioned before, this was my biggest trip ever (I don’t get out much) and the fact that I was going alone had me extra paranoid. My flight out of Pittsburgh was supposed to depart at 8:20 a.m., so I estimated that I should be at the airport at 6:20 a.m. and, using kdiddy math where 2(x+y) = casserole, I determined that I should order a cab for 5:30 a.m. “Worst-case scenario, the cab is an hour late and I’m still there in plenty of time because there won’t be traffic. Best-case scenario, the cab comes on time and I can just press my nose on the glass of the airport until they let me in,” I reasoned.

It was kind of a long day. Pittsburgh to Chicago, 2 hour layover, then Chicago to Vegas, then shuttle from the airport, surrounded by members of the Sigma Alpha Douche fraternity who had big plans to PARTY AND FUCKIN’ PARTY AND YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW HARD I’M GONNA PARTY, DUDE, to the hotel where I met up with Tracey and blinked and said, “I don’t understand when this is.” Because the time zones were totally fucking with me. It was like that scene in Spaceballs where they’re like, “This is now now. Everything that’s happening now, is happening now.”

When most of the rest of our crew got there, we went to the Bellagio for The Buffet where I was still too tired to eat and I nearly wept when I saw the desserts that I passed up AND sipped on quite possibly the worst wine ever.

But the weekend wasn’t about the food or the wine or the cost of everything (because, really, I’d rather not get into it), but about hanging out with the people who, up until this weekend, were all 1s and 0s. We sat at the Bellagio and gaped at the cover band’s track selection (“Ants Marching,” then “Smooth,” then “Fire and Rain?!?!?” Seriously?!?!). We trekked a billion miles to a karaoke night that was discontinued just a few weeks before we arrived. We Twittered and Twittered and Twittered.

The driver of the cab that Jason, Tracey, Sarah, and I took back from Failaoke added insult to injury by subjecting us to Nickelback. I will never forgive him.

Black Hockey Jesus and his wife welcomed us into their home for brunch on Saturday, which was quite possibly my favorite part of the trip. I mostly sat and listened to everyone and thought about how it was cool to hear them all laugh.

Sarah and I went shopping after brunch to get pretty dresses for dinner that night. I blushed a little at how much I spent on my two dresses (one for dinner and one I just couldn’t live without), but when I got dressed that night and rushed through the lobby to meet Sarah, who looked lovely in her dress, I felt a few glances in my direction and I let myself feel snazzy.

The Venetian is indeed a gorgeous place. Bouchon was impressive, though not mind-blowing. I did get to eat the best creme brulee I’ve ever had and laughed until I thought my ribs might break, mostly at the expense of our misguided waiter who I think was in Vegas trying to break out as a stand up comedian. Good luck with that, dude. My trout still had its head, which didn’t phase me, but apparently freaked everyone else out. I am a bad ass, no?

Tracey went back to the room feeling ill while the rest of us wandered around the Venetian’s casino and wondered how anyone could get addicted to gambling, since it is SO BORING. We had an impromptu karaoke session outside one club where the band was playing “You Shook Me All Night Long.”

Schmutzie and Palinode retired for the evening so we bid them farewell and lamented the fact that our time together was so short. Sarah, Amber, Danielle, and I went to the Bellagio to watch the fountain show, set to that obnoxious, “I’m Proud to Be An American/God Bless the U.S.A.” song.

Back at the Flamingo we watched the waitresses shuffle about in their blazer/dress things, their eyes heavy with Vegas life and presumably landing there after they turned 30. Finally, we bid each other goodnight and farewell.

Tracey and I got room service in the morning and lounged in bed eating eggs and drinking coffee, talking about life and shit. Vegas is a tad bleaker during the day, without the darkness and flashing lights to cover up a multitude of crap. But it is constantly appealing to your senses, with mixed results. The flap-flap of the people handing out trading cards of prostitutes all along the strip, the constant ding-ding-ding of the machines, the occasional cheer of that elusive pay-out, the can’t-put-your-finger-on-it scents pumped in to the hotels, the smoke, the booze, the snippets of conversation, the palpable sense that you’re getting away with something just by being there.

I joked later that we were all ramping up for a crazed weekend, especially in contrast to the many bloggers at the wholesome Blissdom conference. But we were all in bed by 12:30, no one got especially drunk, and I even got some homework done.

You might say that we did Vegas all wrong and you might be right. But I sat at the bar in the Flamingo on Sunday, sipping on my gin and tonic lunch and chatting with bartender Lil Joe about the Steelers, killing time, the last one to leave, and felt my chest tighten. I just had such a good time. I missed my husband and my son. I couldn’t wait to get home to them.

But I really missed my friends, too.

I started this post the other day. Go ahead and read through and then I’ll meet you down at the bottom.

As I mentioned the other day, my semester is finally over. It’s a relief, sure, but I find myself uneasy about my final grade. But there’s nothing I can do about it now, so let’s discuss parties.

The baby had his birthday party this past Saturday and it was rather awesome. The Oaks Theater is available for parties so we booked that and showed one of the baby’s favorite Godzilla movies for him and his buddies. It was especially fun for the kids since they got to talk and giggle and wander around the theater during the movie. A taste of the forbidden! The guy at the Oaks also wrote a happy birthday message to the baby on the marquee, which was really cool for him to see.

It was a small group. The kids in the baby’s class don’t seem too big on birthday parties. But that was fine. Less noise, less stress, etc.

So, I highly recommend the Oaks for special events. I will note that it was a tad pricey (not surprising, really) and I’m thinking this will be our last big birthday party for awhile.

Of course, the baby started feeling crappy right as the party was ending and spent the rest of the weekend fighting off a nasty head cold.

I made cupcakes for the party, continuing in my deranged domesticity. Amber requested a picture of a cake wreck and I’m happy to deliver.

Those are chocolate cupcakes with mint icing, as per the baby’s request. I bought this pastry bag set the other day and it’s one of those crappy home baker sets, not a professional one. I don’t harbor any delusions that I am hiding a cake decorating superstar, but the pastry bag experience was rather frustrating. This is as far as I got the other day.

Anyway, yes, cupcakes. I went at them with the pastry bag set not really looking to make them fancy, but it just seemed easier to ice them with that than a butter knife or whatever I normally use. Not so much. But they tasted awesome.

AND I got my final grade for grammar and it’s an A minus. I’m not really sure how I pulled that off but I will so take it.

The title of this post refers to a story I was going to tell you about this yinzer baby shower I went to on Sunday and how I cleaned house during the loathed shower games. But it’s left me.

In fact, I am totally sapped of writing energy. I had an article due on Monday and I guess that and the usual end-of-semester meltdown have rendered me useless. I’ve been sparing you and subjecting the readers of MamaPop with my semi-coherent rambling. Lucky them.

Aaand I’m out of nothings to say. Instead, I’ll leave you with this clip from Sade’s Lovers Live DVD, which we started to watch last night and were stunned by it’s awesomeness.

‘Twas the night before Thanksgiving, and all through the house…

Dudes were sleeping and drooling all over that heinous couch.

The pie crusts were baking, the mum without care…

…for she knew that wine would always be there.

I would totally translate the whole thing into “‘diddy” but I’m a tad too tired at the moment. But I will say that I am thankful for my family, for my opportunities, for writing, and for having time to think with a full belly. We saw Synecdoche, New York earlier and I’m thankful to know that I’m not the only one who thinks such weird things. I’m just glad that Charlie Kaufman puts them down on paper and has beautiful actors speak them for the screen. I’m thankful that art helps me to feel human. I’m thankful for my son, seeing the best pieces of me in him, knowing that I help people to experience him and all of his amazing thoughts and actions. I’m thankful for the husband and our life together.

And I’m thankful for Sidney Crosby and Yevgeny Malkin. 😉

I was reading about photic sneeze reflex because I sneeze nearly every morning when I wake up and it’s been like that for as long as I can remember. Essentially, I am allergic to being awake and I think I need to parlay this into a doctor’s excuse from, like, life and stuff.

So, dude! I’m turning 30 in less than 48 hours. I feel like I should…I don’t know…squeeze in a couple ill-advised relationships and get some high-interest credit cards and binge drink in the next few days before all of that stuff magically switches from charming anecdotal material to outright stupidity.

I was thinking yesterday about how I’m pretty reserved on this blog. On my LJ, I used to rant often and extensively about anything that was on my mind. I really don’t do that here at all. There are a lot of circumstantial reasons for that, mostly me being busy with work and school and life and just not having the time or energy to sit down and write just for recreation.

I think it also has a lot to do with me just not really knowing who’s reading this and just feeling kind of protective of what I put out here. I will admit outright that I’m insecure and while I definitely feel myself giving less of a fuck about other people’s opinions of me as I get older, it’s a hard habit to break when you’ve been like that your whole life.

And, of course, I have my professional reputation and the reputation of the people close to me to think about. I’m probably even a little too careful about censoring myself in the fear of me doing something that I love to do, namely writing with an (mostly) interactive audience, affecting my life and career. I often worry that my profanity could cause problems, but I honestly don’t think so.

Anyway, I think the space on the internet that is most “me” these days is Google Reader. I subscribe to an obscene number of sites. I’m like Johnny 5 in Short Circuit. I need input. I would read or otherwise absorb information about almost anything all day if I could. One of my favorite things about Google Reader is sharing stuff that I find interesting and reading the stuff that my friends share. I’ve been thinking recently that it would be really fun to post just a list of stuff that I share in Reader on here once a day, since while I don’t always have time to update here, I’m always reading stuff.

In order to do that, I feel the need to sort of re-introduce myself to those of you that only know me from this space and didn’t interact with me on LJ. I’m sure it’s no surprise that I’m a registered Democrat, and I remain so despite having serious qualms with the party and their pussyfooting. I’m actually far more to the left and I wouldn’t bat away any accusations of being, ideologically, a socialist. It’s just how I get down. I will admit that my misanthropy seems to clash with a lot of my politics, but I don’t know. I dislike most people, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want them to have health care or an education or just to be able to live a good life.

I’m not exactly pro-Obama. I like the guy. I think he’ll make a decent president and I hope he wins. I do have serious qualms with his stance against gay marriage and the telecom immunity bullshit. My respect for his obvious intellect and compassion does not erase the fact that I know that he is a politician and is in it to win this thing. But I’m choosing to view his more questionable moves as tactical means to an end.

I really dislike McCain and Palin and just the whole MO of the GOP at this point in time. I know why millions of people will vote for them, but I’ll be frank and say that I think that’s a dumb move.

So, all of that is to serve as a sort of disclaimer that a lot of what I’ll be posting here from Reader will be anti-McCain/Palin and, you know, I’m sorry if you have a problem with that but please don’t see that as an invitation to hit me back with some anti-Obama stuff. Not only is most of that just plumb moronic, but it’s directed at the wrong person.

Besides, I’m turning 30 soon and I see that as my pass to start telling people to get the fuck out of my face with that bullshit.

So, to start off, here’s a selection of what I’ve shared this week so far:

As Abstinence Pledges Falter, A New “Middle Class Morality” Emerges

Economic miracle, environmental disaster

Domestic Violence Awareness Month and the Hudson family tragedy

Irony Overload: Hottie Reality Show Contestant Complains About Sexism

How Media Deregulation Kidnapped Natalee Holloway

Ancient mummy hair suggests drug use (aka ancient motherfuckers be trippin’)

Hooman gets in, goes away, returns with fishez

Excessive water consumption is b.s. My comment on reader: “word. i hate drinking water just to drink water and i’m glad i don’t have to feel “guilty” for not doing so anymore.”

Sandra Schultz Newman and some bullshit

Giant Candy Corn Still for Sale. My comment on reader: “they’re still for sale because that shit’s fucking stupid. then again…I’m actually surprised they haven’t shown up on my street yet.”

Sarah Palin, proud socialist

12 Abandoned Houses, Homes, and Ghost Towns

I should also point out that a LOT of what I share first comes to me via Angela who might possibly be a more voracious reader than I am. She finds the best stuff and she needs to be hired by someone who will pay her obscene amounts of money to do so.