scraps & lagniappe

it was just an honor to be nominated

I don't know if you heard, but I've been awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature  in the lesser known among prizes,  Dumb Blog Category.  Sure, it's not as sexy as the Nobel Peace Prize (which I was also nominated for, being that I haven't murdered anyone in the 35 years I've been annoyed by people) or some of the other prizes, and hell, I don't even get a gold statue like at the Oscars.  It was just an honor to be nominated, so you can imagine my reaction when I got the call.  It went a little something like this:

Me: Hello.

Nobel Prize People: May I speak to Kerry Branton Faler?

Me: For real.

NPP: Um, okay.  Mrs. Faler, this is Georg with the Nobel Prize for Literature Committee.

Me: What the hell kind of name is Gay-org?  Is this a joke?

Georg: It's Swedish, I'm Swedish -- listen, I'm calling to congratulate you for winning our Prize for Literature in the blog category.

Me: Cool!  What do I win?

Georg; A medal.

Me: A medal?  Like a gold medal?  Like the freakin' Olympics?  Hell yeah, it's about time.  My blog is like a damn decathlon of awesome.

Gerog: Well, it's gold-plated.

Me: I'm more of a silver person or platinum, of course. 

Georg: You don't get to pick, Mrs. Faler.

Me: Alright.  This is in Sweden right?  Do I win like a Ikea gift card or something?  I do love the Ikea.  You know, Georg, you could live in an Ikea.  Really, they have food and everything. 

Georg: No, just the medal and there's a reception --

Me: I hope there are Swedish meatballs.  Those are some good.

Georg: The menu hasn't been set yet -- Mrs. Faler, I take it you accept?

Me:  Hellz yeah!  I'm there!  Oh, which post was the winning one or is more of a cumulative thing?

Georg: The award is  --

Me: I bet is was my Christmas post about when I got the Crown Royal bag of change from one of my aunts.  Good times, good times.

Georg: No --

Me: Oh, the New Year's post about when I was stuck at the party when I was 17 and got a ride home from Ray Ray and Tiny? Ah, memories.

Georg; No --

Me: The Eff-it List?  That was funny.  Or maybe y'all go for the more meaningful stuff like my Carry That Weight Post?  I thought that was some mighty fine writing if I do say so myself.  I mean, it was the Semi-Serious Kerry, not the Silly Kerry that writes about way too much about boobs and naked people furniture and 80's post-punk music.  Hey Georg, you know a good band who was Swedish and kinda cool -- Roxette.  I haven't written about them.  Yet.  Maybe one of my music posts won.  I write like two of those a week, but I wouldn't think those would be Prize worthy.  I mean, not when I write such gems as the post on my Thanksgiving trip to Shreveport last year and that insanity, oh and the Ghetto Sno-Kone mobile.  Georg, my blog posts are like my children, I can't pick a fave, you know what I mean?   Come on, Georg, don't leave a sistah hangin'.

Georg: uh

Me: Georg?  Grand Master G, you there?

Georg: Mrs. Faler, it is, as you said, more of a cumulative thing.

Me: Ah, gotcha.  Have you ever read my blog, Georg?

Georg: No, Mrs. Faler, I just make the phone calls.  

Me: Oh, okay.  So, you have no idea what I've been talking about?

Georg: No, Mrs. Faler.

Me: Well, Georg, you'll have to excuse me, I have this undiagnosed-as-of-yet form of Tourette Syndrome, where I talk with absolutely no editing filter, saying potentially embarrassing things.  Like all the time.

Georg: I don't think that's a real disease.

Me: Oh, I beg to differ, Georg.  If I didn't have it, why would I have said the words "Hello Kitty vibrator" while having lunch with friends a couple of months ago?   I mean, normal people don't just blurt that out over pizza, Georg.

Georg: No, of course not. 

Me: And I didn't even realize I said it until I told another friend and she said "you said 'Hello Kitty vibrator' out loud in front of so and so" and I said yes, because I obviously cannot control it and like that sort of thing just comes up in conversation.  That's what I'm talking about -- having no editing filter, so just ignore what I said about boobs and naked people furniture, okay?

Georg: What kind of blog did you say you write?

Me: Shouldn't you have that in your handy-dandy info, Georg? 

Georg: My information says that you write a hobby blog on scrapbooking.

Me: Yeah, about that -- it started out being about that, but kind of went in a different direction, hence the "lagniappe" part.  That means "a little something extra," except that my blog is mostly lagniappe.  And clothes and Beyonce and sometimes I live-blog stuff and talk about the crap you can buy in the Sky Mall catalog.  Oh, and sometimes I even post something about scrapbooking.  

Georg: It was a pleasure speaking with you, Mrs. Faler, but I have to call a few more Prize winners now.

Me: Same here, Georg.  Hey, you know -- you should show up with balloons and a giant check like the Publisher's Clearing House people, that would be cool.

Georg: But we give medals --

Me: I can't wait for those meatballs, Georg!  You take care now! 

islands in the stream of consciousness

So, I've spent all day in front of not one, but two computers working on the ScrapFest! site, composing an email for da Fest, and making new graphics.  Yeah, it's been awesome.  What else did I do today?  Waited on the new mattress to be deliverd.  Don't be jealous.  I'm tired and in bed, but can't sleep because I'm all wound up from Grey's Anatomy.  Damn show.  So, here's more stream of consciousness, because attempting a real post would take real thought and I'm hoping the Unisom will kick in any minute.  Am I too honest with you people?  Probably so. 

My life is an open book.  Or at least a magazine.  Probably an old one in a doctor's office with a couple of pages torn out, but still readable. 

I can't wait for the new recession reality show "Who Wants to Marry a Guy With Decent Credit?"  Totally stole that from Jimmy Fallon.  It's late and that made me laugh. 

Project Runway is making me quite angry this season because Michael Kors and Nina Garcia haven't been on in 4 episodes and if I don't hear someone say "that dress looks like a $50 hooker-with-a-heart-of-gold prom" soon, I'll refuse to watch the rest of the series.

I didn't get any cell calls for three days and realized it yesterday.  After rebooting my iPhone, I had a brazillion messages, so people really do like me after all.

The barista at PJ's thought it would be funny yesterday to tell me they were out of the stuff to make a mocha.  I yelled "don't do that to me!" at her.  You don't joke with people about their caffeinated beverages. 

Andrew has show and tell at school Friday. This will obviously be more show than tell.

I made a great joke to my neighbor this morning while waiting for the school bus, but she's German and has never heard "Hee Haw," so it was a joke wasted. 

When the delivery guy showed up today, he asked where I wanted the new mattress.  I considered telling him to set it up in the kitchen.  On the phone, when he called for directions, he said "you got the 666 mattress?" say what?  The Satan mattress?  I don't think so.  Then he said "king size?"  I said yes.  He then went on to mispronounce my last name in a way I've never heard (and I've heard them all - Faller, Taylor, Sailor) and when I told him where my subdivision was, he said "oh, off Bootlegger Road?"  then pronounced the name of the subdivision wrong and said "we'll see ya."  I specifically asked for a time frame and his window was "we'll see ya."  Thanks, Bubba.

I had to defriend someone from Facebook the other day for several counts of douchebaggery and general stupid foolitis.  Pitying fools is tiresome.  I think I'll leave it to Mr. T for a while.

Our bus driver does the pageant wave when he passes our house.  This is equally funny and disturbing.

I forgot to wish y'all a happy first day of fall the other day and I apologize.  I love fall.  It's awesome for lots of reasons, but mainly because I get to use one of my favorite words -- autumnal.  It's fun, try it.  Next time someone compliments your mantle or whatever, say "oh, yes, maize is always part of the Faler autumnal decor" or at Starbucks, "I'll have the pumpkin spice latte, it's one of my autumnal favorites."

My new Pottery Barn sheets are the softest ever.

The Target didn't have Folex the other day.  This is a travesty.

Last weekend I sent the hubs upstairs to print something for me.  This was the first time he has used my iMac.  When he came downstairs I asked him what he thought of it and he said it was okay, but the zebra scared him.  Then I remembered that for some reason I picked a big ole zebra face as my wallpaper for fun

The Lucy dog ate beef jerky and got sick, then I learned what "step into a Slim Jim" really means.

Y'all be good.  Come back Sunday for an 80's rewind.

goodbye, John Hughes

One of my heroes passed away today. 

John Hughes was a brilliant screenwriter and director and I know much will be written about him in the coming weeks about his contribution to the film industry, his impact on my generation, and the group of actors he introduced to America.  And while I marvel at those things, what sticks out in my mind is how he was able to develop characters like Andie Walsh, Samantha Baker, John Bender, Philip F. Dale, and of course Ferris Bueller. 

Those  characters had depth you don't see much in film anymore.  That saddens me.  Ferris wasn't just a guy who wanted to skip school any more than  Sixteen Candles was a movie about a girl's birthday.  Hughes made us care about his characters.  I was 12 when Pretty in Pink came out and saw it at the old Joy Theater in Shreveport, LA.  I knew little of the social dynamics of school at the time, which was the theme of the film -- but I knew I loved Molly Ringwald's character because she believed in herself.  She was cool.  She had style.  When I reached high school, I appreciated the movie on different levels.  I understood the social element, the romantic element, and the setting.  PIP was the first movie I HAD to have the soundtrack of, which, as I have blogged before, I have replaced more than any record, tape, or cd I've ever owned. 

Hughes got teens.  He didn't talk down to them, he didn't dumb-down his movies.  He presented his stories and gave us something to think about as well entertainment.  I miss that in film and hope someone will take up his mantle. 

I've found a few of my favorite short scenes from my favorite Hughes films for you tonight.  The first and the last are great scenes without dialogue, the others are great lines.  Enjoy.   And watch a Hughes flick this weekend. 

what would hemingway do?

The Pottery Barn catalog came yesterday.  Usually I flip through the catalog and toss it, but not today. 

Someone at PB has read my mind.  As I've written about before here on the blog, I'm a sucker for typewriters.  I love everything about old typewriters -- the ding one makes when the carriage returns, the sound of hitting keys, and smack of the letter striking the page.  I love the way typewriters look, the anti-tech of the machine.  I love that my favorite old authors were discriminating typists and that my man Hemingway would only write on a Royal. 

I have to think he would approve of my next purchase.

Those are six beautiful canvases, aren't they?  

Writers are a weird breed, as I've said on occasion.  We have little superstitions, write only with certain pens, are fond of particular notebooks, specific times of day to write, but that's not all.  Weird things about writing creep into everyday life.  Like these canvases.  I haven't made up my mind as to where to hang them.  Common sense says the scrap office, but these are so special they may hang in the living room on the wall I still haven't figured out what to do with after four years in this house.  I'm fairly certain they will be hanging on that wall soon. 

I'm working on a post for later tonight, but right now I'm going to check Ebay for that elusive  Olivetti Valentine.

350

Dear Friends and Readers,

Here's hoping this day is treating you especially superfantastic and you're having a good hair day, you found five bucks in your pocket you forgot about and you did that cool look you give to the mirror when you know you're looking cute (oh come on, you know you do it too).  Why?  Because you're my interwebs friend and we spend a couple of minutes together a few times a week and I want you to know that I appreciate you coming here.  You could be off reading the news (bor-ring, kidding, y'all know I'm a news junkie) or looking at lolcats  (love me some lolcats), but you're here and that's great. 

So, why am I all mushy and thankful?  Because it's a special post day in The Kerry Blog world.   I suddenly feel the urge to write "tonight on a very special Blossom."  Girls my age will get that.  Anyway, this post makes 350 posts on The Kerry Blog, Scraps & Lagniappe.  That number comes from the Wordpress entries I migrated over to Typepad, combined with the Typepad posts.  That's not counting the first two versions of the blog (I'll go into that shortly).  Y'all know I can't do math, Typepad shows how many posts there are on the dashboard, I didn't count anything, don't worry -- my head isn't going to explode. 

35o. 

That's a lot of words, pictures, random musings, lists, rants, music, letters, videos, and a whole lot of TMI.  I'm not fond of the acronym TMI.  I tend not to like anything in all caps, plus it makes me think I'm trying to spell Tim, but I got dyslexic for a second.  I'm not dyslexic, but my brain is faster than my typing (and I type pretty fast), which explains all the mistakes and ommitted words you've seen in this blog.  ADHD is something else, obviously I can't stay with one thought for more than two sentences.  See, I did it again.  Back to the subject of too much information -- in "real life" I'm not one to over share, save for a few close friends and the hubs, but for some reason on the blog, I tell you people semi-personal things that in a day or so after I write, I've forgotten about.  Then someone stops me in Target and says "that was funny about your bra sticking up past your shirt."  And I'm all, "yeah, that was funny,"  trying to think of why this person knows about my bra issues (of which there are many) and wondering if I have multiple personalities, one being a stripper.  Then as I walk away, I realize it's from the blog.  I'm guessing this kind of thing doesn't happen to most of you. 

The funny thing about this blogging thing is you may start out blogging about one thing, and end up with something very different. 

I started my first blog on Homestead back in in 2002 when the hubs' job brought us to Ft. McMurray, Alberta, Canada as a way to easily have one place for our family back in Louisiana to see what we were up to, pictures of Molly (and later, Katie), pretty normal mom stuff.  In October of 2004, I found myself bored.  We'd moved to Mandeville, where the hubs grew up, and his job once again sent him out of the country.  This time it was Afghanistan.  It was the first time our little fam was living apart and I found myself pretty depressed and emotional, which wasn't fun.  I'd joined the MOPS group at our church and started scrapbooking again with some friends I'd made in MOPS, but I was missing the hubs terribly.  Then two weeks after he'd left for the Middle East, I started thinking maybe I wasn't just a little emotional and lo and behold, the EPT test didn't lie.  I was put on light bedrest and grew very addicted to the computer, since I couldn't do many of the things I was used to doing, and so, being bored out of my mind, I started a blog on Blogspot.  It was a very family-oriented blog, lots of pics of the kids, a few funny stories, and for the most part, short entries, nothing big.  The pic is from the era of the Blogspot blog taken at the Audubon Aquarium.  Molly's running out of frame and Katie is attached to my hip.  I was rockin' the twinsets as you can see (y'all know I don't post many pics of myself -- goodness, and full length at that, so enjoy).

As moms do, I got busy with the things of life, neglected my blog and pretty much abandoned it.  When I attempted to start blogging again, I found the Blogger platform a little limiting (this was two years ago before the new Blogger rolled out) and switched to Wordpress, deciding I would focus on having a scrapbooking blog.  Scrap & Lagniappe was born.  The name meaning it would be scrapbooking and a little something extra. That lasted a whole 8 posts before I read about a woman who was suing Victoria Secret because a rhinestone or something popped off her thong and hit her in the eye -- this was clearly something I needed to contribute my thoughts to.  That was the day I found my blogger voice, so to speak.  Sure, it was to expose the tackiness/ridiculous in the world (and make fun of it mercilessly), but someone had to do it.  Occasionally I post scrapbook layouts, but it turned out this blog became more about the lagniappe.  And that's fine with me. 

Apparently it's fine with you too, because I have more readers than ever.  Last week's Grey's Anatomy Finale post was a record night, with over 870 hits in two hours -- that's something I never expected when I started this little blog.  And it's still my little blog.  As you may have noticed, there is no sponsor of this blog, no advertising, no PayPal tip jar -- this is my outlet for sharing (and over-sharing) part of my day with you.  Many of you are friends from childhood, high school, college, and so on.  I think most of the family stopped reading long ago (irony, man).  Many of you are friends of friends.  Many of you I've never met, will probably never meet, and that's okay, I appreciate you stopping by just as much as my bestest friends.  What's still not okay with me is that the comments aren't working, but I've gone on about that enough in other posts, I suppose. 

I thought that since this is a post about you, I'd share some things I find interesting about you.  This week there have been as many of you in Melbourne, Australia reading as in Shreveport/Bossier, LA where I grew up.  You have no idea how much that makes me laugh.  The hometown is almost getting beat by the Aussies.  Somehow, I always knew I'd be big in Australia (that's a joke, yo).   I've been visited this week by people all over the interwebs: from Modena, Italy to Mountain View, CA from Tokyo to Murfreesboro, TN and everywhere in between. 

This week's top keyword searches that brought some of you to this blog were:

Brandon Flowers INXS
TJ Maxx commercial redhead
Skymall happy feet
why does hank williams jr always wear sunglasses (yes, I mentioned this once)
vampire scraps (I don't even understand that one)
"i miss you i miss you i miss you" 80's song (that would be "Cut Here" by the Cure)
what not to wear dr appointment
Anna Bess Simmons (shout out to AB!  woot-woot)
and
sky scrap for ceiling (I don't get that one either)

So, that's the ins and outs of The Kerry Blog.  That's the past and the present.  So, what's for the future?  Your guess is as good as mine as life goes on this long and winding road.  I can tell you that as long as wacky things happen to me, I'll write about them; and as long as there are wacky things happening in the world, I'll write about those too.  After all, someone has to be here to tell you about her crush on Anderson Cooper and the stuff that passes for news.  Someone has to ask the hard questions and live-blog award shows.  Someone has to tell you what tunes you need on Tuesdays and give you a Sunday rewind to the 80's.  But, for the immediate future, here's a heads up: the blog will get a complete make-over at the end of June.  That's right, people, I'm taking it bigtime.  Or something like that, since I've commissioned a real blog designer to do it.  And in July, the month of my birth, I'm predicting high anxiety as I turn the numero 35.  I am not happy about this, because I don't feel 35, whatever that feels like, and I'm pretty sure that's officially thirtysomething.  Last year on my birthday, I wrote the 34 things I know, this year it will be 35 things.  I'm hoping I've learned a few things so I'll have something to write about, 'cause at this moment, I got nothing. 

Once again, thank you for reading.  I'll see you back here tomorrow or the day after with something new.  Be good. 

xxxooo,
Kerry

I shoulda been a screenwriter

There are a few things in life that I know for sure: 

9 to 5 jobs aren't for me.
Beauty really is in the eye of the beholder.
The Beatles recorded the best songs in the history of popular music.
If there is a puddle anywhere in the vicinity of where we are, my children will find it.
Elvis is everywhere.
If I decide to sleep in one of my neighbors will mow their grass at 7 am.
Jesus loves me.
Thanks to my Mammaw Patsy's recipe, I make the best sweet potato pie on the planet. 
Children and Sharpie markers do not mix.
I will be the person the crazy person in the checkout line decides is their new BFF.
It's okay to be yourself.  Yourself is pretty cool. 
Every scrap of paper and envelope with a phrase or poem I've written will be found one day and I will be the modern Emily Dickinson. 

The last thought has stayed with me the last few days.  Dickinson had fewer than a dozen out of 1,800 poems published in her lifetime and posthumously became one of our most celebrated American poets.   While I'm not primarily a poet (save for my vicious haiku), I have had about as much success as a published writer as the Belle of Amherst, so far anyway. 

As I've pondered this: my love/hate relationship with writing and the difficulty an undiscovered author has getting one of the publishing houses to look at a manuscript, let alone getting having an audience of readers (unless Oprah happens upon your book, then look out); I've come to a realization.  I should have been a screenwriter.

Here's a haiku for you.

Oprah, read my book

it's a love story, kinda

it's one girl's story

Okay, so I'm thinking the one industry where you can garner an audience and have your name in front of millions is in film.  Granted, people wouldn't be reading my work, at least it would be out there.  And if it was good enough for F. Scott Fitzgerald when went broke, then heck if it isn't good enough for Kerry Branton Faler.  Hell, I don't even have anything to sell out to.  Fitz was a brilliant author, I'm just a girl who can write a decent sentence every once in a while.  

And besides that, you don't have to be brilliant to be a screenwriter.  What am I talking about -- you don't have to be mediocre these days.  Have you seen what's making it to screens near you?  For the life of me, I can't figure out how I can get published, and yet I see trailers for Mega Shark vs Giant Octopus.  It's a real for real movie.  I'm not making this up.  It stars Lorenzo Lamas and Deborah (Debbie) Gibson and some big ass sea creatures.  Don't believe me?  Fine.  Here's the trailer.  

Yeah. 
That's a movie.  Someone named Jack Perez is the writer and director.  That's right, he wears two hats on this film.  Two. 

I'm going to self-publish something and I'll direct the heck out of the movie, too.  I'll star in the movie!  I have no acting experience, but neither did Debbie Gibson and she's in the big ass shark vs ginormous freakin' octopus movie!  Maybe I should switch genres and write science fiction.  I could write about aliens and monsters and stuff.  As long as the aliens and monsters have inner dialogue and anxiety.

it's not about you, it's me. but not really

Dear Readers,

It's not that I don't love you, I do -- really -- I've written Mrs. Dear Reader in Sharpie on my Trapper Keeper a dozen times, it's Typepad's comment thingie that's preventing you from leaving comments.  The truth is Readers, I've always loved you and I always will.  You're like a cat, Readers. 

Why a cat?  Well, you see, I'm allergic to cats, but I love them.  I am allergic to most everything, if you want to know the truth. When I was a little girl, I had just been given a tiny white kitten and on Easter Sunday my mom, sister, and I were waiting in the blue station wagon with wood paneling on the sides for my dad so we could leave for church.  From the car I saw my dad open the front door, my kitten come out onto the porch and then -- the worst moment of my childhood.  My dad stepped on my kitten.  I remember this all in slow motion. I was devestated and cried all the way to church.  

We had dogs all through my childhood, but I wanted a cat.  I didn't care that I was allergic to them, I wanted one.  So, when I was almost 18 and my bff asked what I wanted for my birthday I asked for a cat.  And my cat was the best cat ever.  Sure, I was allergic to him, but we co-existed happily, I loved him, he loved me -- great relationship -- even with the issues, not unlike our relationship, Readers. 

I've always wanted to write.  I write for you.  You come to the blog and attempt to leave a comment, but the comment thingie is not behaving and you can't leave a comment and that makes you mad.  I understand.  It would make me mad, too.  It's a crazy Typepad thing and I can't do anything about it, much like my cat couldn't control being a walking, meowing allergen.  And so Readers, we will have to live with Typepad being crazy and y'all emailing to tell me it won't let you leave a comment to say whatever it is you want to say.   It's a love/hate relationship, we love each other and hate the issue, but love wins out in the end.  And no allergy shots!

xxxooo,
Kerry

this should explain a lot

Although I've never been diagnosed with ADD (not the hyperactivity part for obvious reasons), I believe I have it and no one can convince me otherwise.  I've had the hardest time trying to write a post for the past few days.  Several times this week I have sat down with my laptop with an idea in my head (where I keep all my best ideas), write a title, start a sentence -- maybe two, and something breaks my train of thought.  Actually "train of thought" isn't such a great phrase for my thoughts.  Maybe a "minivan of thoughts," maybe even a "caravan of thoughts," but I'm fairly certain I've never strung together enough thoughts to constitute a "train of thoughts." 

Anyflaky, so I thought I'd walk you through the types of things that have happened while trying to blog over the past day or so. 

I sit down to write about recording the commercial with my trusty laptop, cup of coffee, notepad, Sharpie pen, and phone.  I get as far as the title when the phone rings. 

• Scott calls to say someone called him about a job in Angola (the country, not the prison).  What is he thinking?  I'm going to have a stroke.  For real this time.
• I Google "Angola" to make sure it's in Africa -- yeah, it's still in Africa.
• I sing the song "Africa" by Toto to myself
• check the ScrapFest! email to see if we've received the MP3 of the commercial, nope
• check Facebook and comment on stuff. 
• back to the blog
• Andrew comes over for a snack.  I tell him I'm not making blueberry muffins and no, he can't eat the baking powder.  He finally accepts some Goldfish crackers.  I have a cookie.
• I decide to change my shirt, then end up putting on lipgloss, and look in one of my bags for my Pandora bracelet that is currently missing. 
• phone rings, it's my mother-in-law telling me to call my sister-in-law about the party this weekend
• for some reason I give Andrew some Tootsie Rolls (this will haunt me later).
• back to the blog, write exactly three words, hear Lucy bark and look outside
• check email -- no commercial
• check Facebook, chat with a friend for a bit, check Kirtsy.com and look at a few popular stories (find a supercute outfit), check our bank account, check CNN
• phone rings, it's Megan, Scott beeps in to say Angola's not that bad blah blah blah blah
• check my email -- ooooooo-- Mignon Faget for Valentine's Day.  Look at mignonfaget.com, decide they really should have made the bee earrings in silver to go with my pendant, but no one asked me.  Think about making a Valentine's wish list, maybe earrings.
• more coffee
• read exactly half an article in Rolling Stone, Andrew wants to watch Thomas the train, so I put his DVD on, find that he has ground some Goldfish into the carpet, I vaccuum the Goldfish
• back to the laptop, someone's trying to talk to me on Facebook, we chat, I watch Leslie Hall's "How We Go Out" video and laugh, check the weather for tomorrow, ponder what to wear to Andrew's speech eval, do some dishes, check SF email -- no commercial, check my email -- ooooooo -- there's a perfect Olivetti Valentine typewriter on eBay.  Now, that's a Valentine's gift!  Think about Valentine's again.  Think about Mardi Gras, should the kids and I go to S'port?  Houston?  Why the heck is school out for a week for Mardi Gras?  Remind myself I live in south Louisiana.
• phone rings, it's Scott saying he needs a table for his apartment.  I try to blog while talking to him, can't -- check out lolcats, FU Penguin,tell Scott to get a card table as we do not need another table, check out coolmompicks.com and email Molly about a funky kids clothing site. 
• back to the blog, check SF email -- no commercial, call Megan and laugh about what music they could possibly put behind our voices on the ad.  I was pulling for "Love Shack" or something else by the B-52's, the original southern party band, and Megan likes "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun."  I say we should have "Lowrider" and Megan agrees. As everyone knows, that is our original theme song for scrapbook trips.  I put a few things in the dishwasher.
• back to the blog, sing "Lowrider" and go to the iTunes store -- I'm pretty sure they have subtly changed the interface, but I'm not positive.  Ben Fold's "Bitch Went Nuts" comes on, I cringe when he says the C word.  I'm not big on cursing, but not especially bothered by cursing, but the C word is just cringeworthy.
• iTunes has a Paul McCartney EP, interesting.  I hear Andrew say "uh-oh" and get up to see what he's doing -- he has gotten himself stuck to the carpet.  It looks like he had fallen asleep while eating the Tootsie Rolls and they are stuck to his cheek.  Brilliant!  I ponder how to remove my son from the carpet and decide a warm wet washcloth should do it.  He cries while I go get the washcloth, cries while I apply the washcloth to his face, cries as he is freed, runs off to go upstairs and yells "thank Mom!"  no, not "thanks," he says "thank."  I clean up the carpet, wonder why we ever got carpet in the first place, decide that we should get wood in the living room and contemplate ripping up the carpet myself.  Decide that's probably not a good idea.
• back to the computer, completely forget what I was doing, never listen to the McCartney EP.  Call Beth and tell her about the recording studio experience so she can have something to laugh at.  My left eye starts watering -- it's always my left eye -- wassup with that?  Stupid allergies.  Chat with Mandy on Facebook about having lunch this week, I remind her to remind me to give her the clothes I have for Emily in a big Hefty bag that I've been driving around for almost a month. 
• pour myself another cup of coffee, losing track of how many cups that makes.  Notice that it's kinda cold and think I should put on socks.  I hate socks. 
• back to the blog, write exactly 0 words when the pop sound tells me someone's trying to say "what up?" on Facebook.  I say "word."  I notice I have a Friend Request and have no idea who the person is requesting my friendship.  I email another friend to ask who this person is, as I have a memory like an encyclopedia of uselessness and can't place them.  It dawns on me that I perhaps possibly may have gone to prom with this individual, then realize I went with another guy with the same first name.  Whew. 
• look at the clock on the microwave and realize I never ate lunch.  I do this everyday.  Everyday, unless I'm having lunch with a friend.  It seems as an adult I cannot remember to make a deadblame sandwich for myself as I make lunch for the kids.  I feed the kids and usually get busy with other things and realize at 2:30 or so that I'm starving.  This is a problem.  Not life or death, but a problem, nonetheless.  I wonder if there is some kind of service, like a wake-up call at a hotel, that would call and remind me to eat lunch -- then I realize that is one of my dumber ideas. At 2:30 I don't know what to eat for lunch, it's not lunchtime, it's not dinner -- what would Elvis do?  I have cheese and crackers, like a grown-up Lunchable.
• back to the blog, check our email -- no commercial. 
• It's 3 o'clock and the girls are getting off the bus.  I realize I have accomplished a big fat zero of nothing and try to think of a better answer to the question "what did you do today?" for when I talk to Scott later, because "some stuff" sounds stupid.  I contemplate telling him I have ADD, but I know he would just shake his head and say "you've been on the computer all day, haven't you?" to which I would reply, "no, not really," which is the truth. 

So, next time the blog isn't updated for a day or so, just know it's the ADD.  Or mad cow, I'm not sure.

holiday pet peeves: edition 5

After spending half the morning looking for my glasses, now I can see to blog.

The Christmas Letter in lieu of a perfectly fine card is something that annoys me to no end.  I have friends who send these and I mean no harm, really, it's just the idea of it.  Since I received the first of many Christmas letters years ago, I have pretty much hated the thought of them. 

Last year at MOPS Convention, author Julie Barnhill echoed my feelings and spoke about it.  She encouraged us to write a "reality Christmas letter" and I printed mine in our MOPS newsletter. I rather enjoyed that exercise in honesty.  But for a moment, indulge me in what the majority of Christmas letters sound like.  Let me give you an example, totally made up, by me.

Dear Family and Friends,

Holiday greetings from the Perfect Family!  We hope this letter finds you well and in the holiday spirit.  So much has happened this year and we'd love to share how great the Lord has been to us in 2008. 

Back in the spring, John was promoted to Chief Officer in Charge of Everything Important with his company.  Of course this came with a hefty increase in salary and the best parking spot in company parking garage where he parks his new hybrid Hummer that runs on only electricity and good thoughts.  In the fall, John headed up the church mission trip to Timbuktu where he baptized nearly all of the indigenous people of the area and started a school for blind children and their seeing eye monkeys.  I'm just so proud of him and all the good he's done!  He even asked that I make a donation to the Foundation for Seeing Eye Monkeys instead of getting him a Christmas gift this year.  He only thinks of others!

In case you didn't hear, Mary was valedictorian of her graduating class in May and is attending Juliard on a violin scholarship.  We could not be more pleased.  Unfortunately, Mary will be unable to come home for Christmas, as she has been selected to perform at Carnegie hall with Yo Yo Ma for the big Christmas concert.  The concert will be televised on PBS as part of the annual "Christmas with the Prodigies" program.  It's so nice that she is being featured a second time!

John, Jr is no slouch himself!  He's the only sophomore to letter in football, baseball, basketball, and synchronized swimming in the history of Our Lady of Perpetual Perfection School for the Gifted. 

And me?  Well, it's the same old same old with me.  Once again I chaired the annual Locks of Love Hair Raising Ball and set a new record for the most hair cut.  It was quite a success, but you know I'm not one to brag.  Next spring I'll be going back to school to complete my third Masters, this time in Marine Biology.  I was so inspired when we took our vacation to Atlantis and swam with the dolphins that I just had to learn more about our friends in the sea!  Going back to school will leave little time for my little hobby, showing champion Cavalier King Charles Spaniels.  I must admit, I will miss going to Westminster next year, but I think little Prince Kajagoogoo Pumpernickle will miss the show even more!

Well, that's it from our little family.  We wish you the happiest of Christmases and a blessed and bountiful new year.
The Perfect Family

I don't know about you, but stuff like that makes me want to throw up.  Here's what the Kerry Christmas Letter would sound like. 

Dear Friends and Family,

I'm sorry I'm so late in getting this out, hopefull you will receive it by the New Year.  Anyway, Merry Christmas! 

We've been so busy this year I've hardly found time to get this letter together, but I know how much everyone looks forward to our holiday updates, so I'm writing in a hurry.  Where to start?  Well, Scott is hard at work looking for work and doing little "honey do" projects around the house.  Last week he attended a meeting for his professional organization where he won a gift basket of beer from around the world!  I'm just so proud. 

Molly is doing well in her second year of first grade.  She failed the school eye exam and had to get glasses, which she loves.  This year her much loved cat, Tinkerbell, ran away after we put her outside for a little bit when she jumped out at the kids on the stairs and scared them to death.  Molly asks if Tinkerbell will ever come back and I always tell her there is always a chance, but I'm almost positive she has been eaten by something.

Our high-spirited daughter Katie is quite something.   She's loving Kindergarten and is very fond of the cafeteria.  We're working with her on her irrational fear of bears and smoke detectors, hopefully she will not need therapy to get over her phobias.  And we're happy she's down to three or four tantrums a day and only telling me to be nice or Santa will not put anything in my stocking once a day. 

The baby, 3 year-old Andrew, is working on getting potty trained, hopefully that will happen before the landfills are full of Pull-Ups.  He is still not talking as much as he should be and we're enrolling him in speech as soon as the speech people call me back, which at this point should be sometime before he's 12.  Of course, he may not be potty trained by then, so no one may notice his speech.  Andrew is also working hard at destroying our home by painting the living room carpet yellow, writing on walls, and pouring tea on the sofas.  He is so talented at deconstruction, I'm sure he will be an artist one day. 

And me?  Well, it's the same old same old.  I tried Nutrisystem in my endless search of diets that work and lost one size in three months!  I gave up my position in MOPS to have more time for ScrapFest! and the family, and I'm trying my best no to volunteer for anything for a while.  Ironically, since I've decreased responsibilities, my medication has increased.  Funny how that works. 

Well, that's it from our little family.  We wish you a Merry Christmas and a happy new year!
The Faler Family

That's more like it.  That's wonderfully ordinary and truthful and I love that.  I'd rather get a picture-card of your dog dressed as Rudolph than most of the Christmas letters I've read.  And I hate those picture-cards of dressed-up pets.  You know your dog thinks you're a moron when you put antlers on him and an elf hat on the cat.  It's a good thing pets can't talk because there would be a lot of upset pet owners at Christmas time.  That's all my pet peeves for today.  I'm off to track some packages online, seems Santa isn't as fast as he used to be.  Be good, peeps.

Why write?

I read today article on Nola.com about a man who didn't leave New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina, choosing to stay in a public housing complex instead.  He kept a sort-of diary on the walls of the apartment in the two months that he stayed after the storm.  You read that correctly, two months -- no water, no electricity.  Here's the first few paragraphs:

Elton Mabry offers a guileless explanation as to why he picked up a black Sharpie pen and started writing on the walls: "I had run out of beer," he says, "and I thought writing might relax me in a way."

But this is only one of many reasons he offers for the diary he kept on the walls of an apartment in the B.W. Cooper public housing development after Katrina. Looking back nearly three years later, his explanations vary, depending on his state of mind, his train of thought and his ability to focus.

"I was feeling lonely," he said on one occasion.  "Expressing yourself is kind of like a breath of fresh air," he said on another.  It gave me something to kill the time," he said on a third.

Chances are, there is truth in all these explanations -- and many more. He was afraid, he was alone, he was hungry, he was worried, he was bored, he was uncertain, he was uncomfortable, he was unhappy. He was also evading the Housing Authority, dodging the National Guard and hiding out from a Trenton, N.J., police unit. And most important, he was trying to stay put in a place that somehow, in spite of the 2 feet of water inside and the utter silence outside, felt secure and comforting to him.

He got the urge to write when he ran out of beer.  Isn't that true of all great writers?  Well, maybe Hemingway.  Anyway, the guy ran out of beer and started writing a line or two on his walls everyday for two months.  The article goes on to say he's had run-ins with the law and spent time in prison, was an alcoholic, crack addict, and homeless before the storm.  The apartment he was in was an elderly woman's he was staying with.  There are several pictures in the article and a well put together video featuring the Sharpie marked walls.  I looked at all the photos.  I paused the video to read the writings of Mabry.  Sadly, many of the entries recall Mabry's drinking and hangovers.   It's a mash-up of his writing about the heat, who he'd seen, and drinking.

Conservators from the Louisiana State Museum  actually removed the paint from the walls of the apartment (before its demolition) to recreate in a permanant Katrina exhibit in Jackson Square.

I'm dumbfounded by this.  I'm not a heartless person.  I understand that there are circumstances that leave people homeless, but it should not turn into a lifestyle.  Mabry is originally from Jackson, MS, where he learned to work with sheet metal at Hinds Community College.  At one time he was in the working middle-class.  The article talks about how Mabry shoplifted over the counter drugs and sold them on the street, but had to stop shoplifting because of foot and leg problems.  He then started collecting cans and sold them for recycling.  It goes on to say Mabry hasn't had an income since 1984 when he lost his job and went on unemployment.  1984.  Katrina hit in 2005.  Mabry says he's been sober for 8 or 9 months, but the article doesn't say what he's doing presently.  He lives on $132 a month in food stamps.  Okay, but it says he had backup plan (it actually says that):  "So occasionally I try to pick three in the Powerball. On Wednesday and Saturday, I get my little lottery tickets. It's a morale booster because you keep thinking today could be your day."

Times-Picayune writer Elizabeth Mullener, now you're just messing with me, right?  No one else kept a diary during Katrina?  In a culture-filled city of artists, no one kept a diary worth putting on display in Jackson Square?  Maybe even a police officer or fire fighter?  Nobody?  Okay.  Not one of the politicians in the area?  They were all there.  A city employee?

Certainly Mabry was lonely and needed an outlet, the walls.  I sympathize with him.  I just wonder how much the Louisiana State Museum is spending on this project.  I only know about preservation from the History channel, but I know it's not not cheap to preserve and restore things, so I wonder if it would have been better to help Mabry find a place to live and a job.  Help him learn a skill so he can support himself.  Get him off food stamps.  Maybe I'm crazy.

We do need to remember Katrina, but we need to get the people of New Orleans back on their feet first.  I live on the Northshore across the lake from New Orleans and the area my family lives had little damage from the storm, mostly tree damage.  My husband's grandparents lost the home in New Orleans where they had lived for 50 years; we know many other people who lost their homes as well.  Like I said, I sympathize with Mabry, but Louisiana can do better than putting his walls on display.  With this kind of thinking we'll never do better than we were pre-Katrina.