Note to CNN

Please. please stop with the Michael Jackson. Please stop. Let the man rest in peace. Why don’t you report some real news for a change?

Cloud Gazing

Clooney has been into geography this year. In his Montessori class he enjoyed doing these punch-out map exercises, and he kind of got obsessed with them, doing more continents than any Montessori student who’s been through his classroom in nearly a decade. In his spare time, he’s been drawing pictures of the states by hand, plus he’s memorized almost fifty state capitals. It’s pretty amusing, not to mention amazing.

The other day, as we were walking back from the beach, Edison gazed skyward. “Look,” he pointed, “that cloud looks like wolf.” Then he saw another one, adding, “and that one looks like a moose or a genie.”

Clooney got into it then, “And that one looks like North America,” he pointed. “And that one over there looks like Spain.”

He also gave me his convoluted version of current events recently. I guess he must overhear things, or perhaps they talk about world events at school, but being six, he can only process them as a six-year-old should. Out of the blue,, he told me, “Russia and China are the biggest countries in Asia. Russia and China are going to be a team of the war and they are going to verse [sic] the Europes. Afganistan and Iraq go together, and they are going to verse France and Spain.”

Smart as he is, I must admit that  a UN career might not be best for him. Congress though — he seems to have about the same understanding of world events as most of those people.

Best Movie Line Ever

Last night we were all sitting around at my dad’s beach house flipping channels, like we do almost every Saturday night in the summer. It’s totally crazy because even though they get every premium cable channel, there’s never anything on worth watching. Everyone shuns the remote because no one wants the responsibility. Anyway, at one point, we stopped on the Mark Wahlberg vehicle Shooter.

We caught it from the beginning, and almost immediately, a debate erupted over whether Mark Wahlberg’s beard was real or a product of the make-up department. My brother argued that it had to be real because what make-up artist would create a beard that looked that bad? And to prove his point, he added that it “looks like he was eating pancakes without a fork, and then went and had his hair cut” with all the trimmings sticking to his cheeks.

At least, I think that’s what he said after “hair cut.” We were all laughing too hard to hear the end of the joke.

Mad Men Will Return Aug. 16th

 

Last night I dreamt of this guy:

 

Jon Hamm as Don Draper on the set of the new season of Mad Men.

 

Not that I want the summer to fly by, but I can’t wait ’til August.

American Idiot

Seriously, I don’t care, but check out this cover:

 

 

What are they trying to say with this pose? Hey World, check out what a poser I am? Oooh, he’s so wild. He’s lying on pillows, his shirt’s open (as are his legs) and it all looks so consciously styled and calculatingly arranged. (Oh, and have you heard – imagine I am whispering here as if it’s shocking – psst, he’s gay.)

I don’t know why, but this cover really annoys me, from the rhinestone butterfly at his crotch to the stupid black puffy shirt. And that belt — don’t get me started on that silly belt, except to tell you that if I see cheap copies of that freaking thing on sale next time I’m in Claire’s Boutique, I will burn that place to the ground.

 I mean seriously. Why the snake? Why?

 

Stupid.

Stupid.

Stupid.

Great Piece

Just wanted to share this story with you by Brian Hickey about his miraculous recovery from a hit and run accident. Brian is a friend of my sister, and we’ve all been following his story since the accident.

Comebacks: Dead Man Talking

 

One Note about the Tony Awards

I’m sure this is actually part of the new incarnation of Guys and Dolls,  not just an isolated arrangement for the Tonys, but do we really need to American Idolize “Sit Down You’re Rockin’ the Boat”?

Not saying it’s not a great performance or a rousing rendition. It’s just that personally I feel that less is more. You can be a great singer without going all diva on us. Sit down. The boat’s rockin’ plenty. Sit down.

I was impressed by his composure with the technical difficulties though.

 

Happy Birthday, Edison!

 

Today is Edison’s 9th birthday!

 

When he was 3.

 

What an amazing guy he is. Smart, kind, funny. He’s got it all.

 

 

Almost 9, playing the angel.

Highway Robbery

A couple of days ago, I thought I might try to get some Green Day tickets for Manfrengensen as a Father’s Day present. It’s been a while (like a few years) since I have attempted to acquire concert tickets for a large-scale venue, and granted, the tickets had gone on sale some weeks ago, but I was immediately disappointed. The only seats I could find were in the nose-bleed sections of the stadium.

Over on the right hand side of the screen though, was an offer for “premium seats,” and even though the nose bleeds cost three figures, I would have been willing to pay almost twice that price for the better seats. Am I stupid or what? The premium seats (2) cost $3925. And frankly, I find that truly disturbing.

Now, I know I am old. I paid $10.50 (plus a $2.50 handling charge) to see Bruce Springsteen way back when you were probably still watching The Smurfs every Saturday morning. I know ticket prices have increased over the years. But I just couldn’t believe these prices. I paid less than the cost of these Green Day tickets for my first car.

There is something grotesquely out of whack about paying four grand for concert tickets. It’s absurd that they would cost that much in the first place, and absolutely depraved for anyone to pay that much for a single evening’s entertainment. 

But what do I know?

 

 

 

Not Ivy League

Hey, I know it always seems like I’m complaining here, but what can I say? I am most often moved to write when I am irked about something, got some kind of stone in my shoe, and I think I am happier with the things I write when I am not.

If you took a survey of all the great writers and all their great writing, by and large I think you’d find most of it germinates from seeds of despair or disgruntlement. 

Don’t be expecting Tolstoy or anything, but that brings me to today’s post:

 

Several years ago, Manfrengensen and I decided to renovate our yard. It was a huge expense, and despite what Manfrengensen will tell you, I fretted over every decision and dollar spent. In the end, it was one of the best things we ever did. I love the yard. Every day, I sit at the kitchen table eating my breakfast, looking at this:

 

Heaven knows I am a regretter of many decisions in this life, but renovating the yard is not one of them. I am not an avid gardener or any kind of gardening hobbyist. Every year I plant impatiens, joking that they are my signature flower, but really I plant them because of the low maintenance factor. I don’t have to dead-head them. I do some weed-pulling, but mostly I leave that to Matt, the Lawnmowerman.

But that doesn’t make me less invested in our yard. I love the yard. I love to see the kids out there, love to watch the growth of the shrubbery. I love the way the sun hits the whole thing for a brief period during the day, and leaves it in the full shade of our house by three in the afternoon. In the summer that makes for good times under the sprinkler for the kids. I fret over the few brown spots in the grass, or worse that patch that looks like strawberries out near the front.

 

I love pretty much everything about our yard except this:

 

 

This is the vile weed that grows on my neighbor’s “fence.” I use the term “fence” loosely because this thing is not properly attached to the ground. It is really just two pre-fab fence pieces that he attached to the hairpin railing with plastic ties. For years the ties would break, and it would blow over anytime a wind above 15 mph came along, so after the last hurricane blew through, he finally put those scrap wood blocks on my side of the railing, screwing through to the wooden fence on the other side. It’s ugly enough in the winter. But then the spring comes along and this weed starts creeping.

Every summer this weed drives me crazy. I have Matt trim it back as much as he can, but the thing grows like crazy. And it’s very aggressive. Back by our garage, I had originally tried to cultivate a vinca ground cover, but this thing jumped off the fence, wrapped it’s roots around those and choked them off. I find the little leaves sprouting everywhere in my garden. I hate this thing.

This year, it’s way out of control, so I decided to say something to the neighbor. I finally caught up with him yesterday. I said, “What’s the deal with this weed on the fence?”

And he cocked his head and said in this kind of condescending tone, “You mean…the ivy?”

IVY??? Is he kidding me? Ivy is something you PURCHASE and plant and cultivate. It’s not something that spontaneously generates. Ivy doesn’t have little pink flowers. Ivy, at least the kind that looks nice, has shiny pentagonal leaves. This thing is a weed. It’s the kind of thing you see growing along the side of a highway.

So I said, “Yeah. Well whatever it is, it’s out of control.” I told him about the aggressive nature of the weed and how I don’t want it in my garden. He offered to trim it back, so we will see how that goes…

But seriously…Ivy? Who’s he kidding?