Saturday, November 24, 2007
Pardon His French
Friday, November 23, 2007
You've Been Ninjad
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
A is for Apple, Pi is for Pie
Tonight I made the apple pie. While the apples are homegrown from our own front yard, I confess that the crust is Pillsbury. (Ernest disagrees with me on using a ready made crust, so I made him responsible for making the pumpkin pie crust from scratch.) He also made the vent holes: the pi symbol, in case it's not clear. That's what you get from a math whiz. He's also wearing Frank's old t-shirt:
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
I feel really mean when...
Thursday, November 15, 2007
No Mo Ho Ho Ho
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
I've got it too...
Monday, November 12, 2007
First Illness of the School Year, or Don't Read This if You Can't Deal With Vomit
This year I have been less vigilant with the Airborne. I just haven't seen that many snuffly noses.
Until last week. I must be prepared. There were many upset stomachs, diarrhea, vomiting, and fevers last week. I washed my hands. Compulsively. All the time. So far I'm OK. And back on the Airborne.
On Saturday night, my own Ernest came into the TV room just before bedtime saying, "I upchucked." This is the child who never vomits.
(A footnote... Frank, the older brother, had a really strong gag reflex as a toddler, and would vomit if anything tickled or choked his throat. A lot. I had a constant dialog with his daycare directors, saying: "was he eating? then he just gagged on something, he's not sick." I got used to being spewed on. A lot. Mostly on my nice black wool blazer.)
(On the other hand, Ernest, the younger brother, has only vomited 3 times in his entire life. I think the prior time he was 4 years old; he had an outpatient surgery to remove a bump on his neck (I was told it was a lymph node but it was only an impacted hair follicle!) and the pain reliever made him nauseous.)
So if Ernest's vomiting, he's sick. I cleaned up the bathroom floor (TWICE). Ernest can't go to his loft bed if he's going to be sick all night. So I sent the HH to the guest room and settled Ernest with a bucket on the side of my bed closest to the bathroom. Smart move with the bucket. There were at least 3-4 more incidents before his tummeh calmed down at 3:45 in the morning.
So we've been zombehs, once again.
(Excuse the lolcat talk, we find it funneh.)
I'm still sleepeh.
Roger Waters and the Trucker Fight
Frank is a big fan of Pink Floyd.
So this trip was to see Roger Waters, at the Verizon Wireless Ampitheater (why do I read that as Anteater?) So much easier and locatable to think of it as Irvine Meadows.
Remembering that the drive to and from Irvine sucks, we got motel rooms just south in Laguna Hills. Lots of traffic, checked in, went straight to the concert, ate yuckyburgers, and settled in for...wait for it... a REALLY GREAT SHOW! Totally worth the long (3.5 hour) drive. First half, Pink Floyd and RW hits, lots of The Wall. They launched a giant pig balloon (Animals). We heard rumors that the pig balloon launched at the previous night's Hollywood Bowl show landed on a freeway somewhere. Loved the pig. Watched it fly away, far far away. Second half...the complete Dark Side of the Moon. Yes, many smelly cigarettes surrounded us. But we don't do things like that. Anymore.
Then, there was the one hour wait to get out of the parking lot. We backed out of our space, then sat there for one solid hour before traffic began to move. This is the worst parking lot of any concert venue I've ever been to. Consistently.
So after we were out of the parking lot we were glad to drive only 5 minutes to the motel. The next morning, we ate breakfast and went home. The three hour drive stretched to FIVE F---ING HOURS due to multiple traffic accidents.
Just south of Summerland, in another accident backup, a small semi truck apparently got fed up and passed us and others on the right hand shoulder. He cut, slowly, across traffic into the left lane and tried to drive on the left shoulder too. Another bigger truck got pissed and cut him off, totally blocking the left lane traffic. The driver of the bigger truck got out, hauled the small truck driver out of his cab, and totally started whaling on him. Pow, pow, fists were flying. We saw all of this while stuck in traffic. Two other cars stopped behind the two trucks; the drivers got out to join the fracas. We were close to a freeway exit and I begged, just get out of here...
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Frank has made some interesting comments, which I shall relate:
When your children smell a funny smell during a concert, what do you say? Do you admit you know what pot smells like? (Ernest has always had a very sensitive sense of smell and notices strange odors... I think we told him they were funny cigarettes.) We smell the most "funny smells" at the local concerts, not the far away big places. (Run your mouse over that sentence, because I worked hard on it.)
As we were reminiscing the other night, I asked Frank, "Did you smell pot at the Korn concert in Bakersfield?" He said, "No, it was mostly body odor." Eeeww.
And then I was wondering how many concerts we had gone to this year. Frank said, "Just check my t-shirt drawer." He has Alice Cooper, Korn, Rush, and Roger Waters. (He's missing a Pretenders/Stray Cats shirt. Too 80s? )
Handy Husband and I went to a few concerts without kids: Harry Connick Jr. for my birthday, Norah Jones (Ernest was there but fell asleep), and Bruce of course.
We DAMN the White Stripes for cancelling their September 19th (Frank's birthday) concert. Due to anxiety? I'll show you anxiety!!
Stay tuned for Roger Waters and the Trucker Fight!
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Here's One for the Dads
A reminder, I'm the fat baby, on the left this time. My poor daddy looks a little stressed. "What do I do with this thing?" I bet I pooped on his hand right at that moment! I've got that look on my face. My uncle Jim looks a little happier. Maybe my cousin has better timing!
Uncle Jim is so tall, 6'6" I think. I remember visiting and being swept up and then my head touched the ceiling. And he is a great storyteller. There was one story about someone named Smallsill, and he would whistle through his teeth every time he said the Ss. I begged for that story every time I visited.
My dad is very brilliant. When I was 6 I was obsessed with tickling his feet. He told me, "I'm only ticklish on Sundays." I mentally scratched my head, wondering if that was true. I tested him, many times (sorry, Daddy!). He was totally consistent. Monday through Saturday, he would sit there with no reaction. Sunday he would laugh like he couldn't stand it. Methinks he was a good actor! Thanks for giving me so much fun on Sunday mornings!
Kudos to two great fathers.
On to Bruuuuuuuce. Last Tuesday. It took 4 hours for what should have been a 2 hour 20 minute drive. Good thing it was just me and the handy husband. The kids would have been freaking over the drive.
Big buck$ for the tickets, 20 buck$ for parking, 20 for food, 20 for a bottle of wine (thank goodness there was wine, but no glass allowed so they poured it into a big gulp cup), 40 for a T-shirt. Good thing I had twentied-up at the bank before I left.
And the Sports Arena? Kind of a poor relation in the large L.A. venue family. Built in 1959, a little run down but supposedly earthquake safe. It does have a large multi level parking structure.
Tickets said 7:30, so there was waiting, waiting. But once Bruce and the E-Street gang started playing at 8:40? The drive time, the cost, the tackiness.. It didn't matter. The Boss was back:
Men in black hoods carry out a coffin and set it on the ground. Is this Sweeney Todd?
A hand rises from the coffin, grasping a guitar. "Happy Halloween, Los Angeles!"
And they blast into Radio Nowhere, one of the best Springsteen songs ever. "This is radio nowhere. Is there anybody alive out there?" And the house lights came up and the crowd of 15,000(?) went wild. And you hear this sound like booing, but you know it's not. It's "bruuuucing." Bruuuuce, Bruuuuuce, Bruuuuuuuce.
"I just want to hear some rhythm. I want a thousand guitars. I want pounding drums. I want a million different voices speaking in tongues...I just want to hear you swoon." (And that sums up the whole show!)
Oh, my god, why did it take me 25 years to see him again?
And Patti, his wife? She's really hot and you should listen to her album too. I think she wore black thigh high boots but I couldn't really see. (Old eyes, and faraway seats.) Or maybe I am thinking of Chrissie Hynde. That's another blog.
It was a short show for Springsteen, only about 2 hours and 15 minutes. And I was too far away to throw any panties. Not that I would have, but... *
The drive back wasn't so bad, except that the only way to get on the freeway was in the wrong direction, and we were stuck in a walled off carpool lane for about 5 miles, before we could turn around. We got home around 2 a.m. and were zombies the next day.
Speaking of zombies, we're seeing Ozzy Osborne on November 30th.
*The only times I've been within panty throwing distance was at Donny Osmond and Weird Al Yankovic. And for them you just don't. That would be creepy.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
I had a really nice comment from a fellow blogger about Alice, so this is for you, Bunny Bunster. I've loved Alice Cooper since 1975. Welcome to My Nightmare. Apparently, other kids at my high school did too, because in 1976 this guy painted a mural of Alice on the wall of the yearbook room:
We ran wild on the yearbook staff that year. But the powers-that-be painted over it the next year. I never saw Alice in concert back then.
A few years ago we started taking our kids to concerts, starting with Weird Al and moving up to Van Halen, Aerosmith, etc. Gotta introduce them to good music. The HH and I started talking about groups we'd like to see. "I'm sorry I never got to see Alice Cooper, " said I. Lo and behold, Alice is still touring. Every year. Nearby. So we've seen him FOUR count it FOUR times, twice at the Greek Theater in Los Angeles and twice at the Ventura Theater slightly closer to us. He does the greatest show!