Back to Reality on a Music Monday

Is that still sand between my toes... why yes, I do believe it is...

(Pssst... for more musical musings, check out Soccer Mom in Denial.
You'll be glad you did!)

Home again. Will tantrumed his way to summer school this morning. I'm moping around, sort of due to the fact that our trip is over but mostly because our air is still not working and it's hotter than hell in the house. And Miss Thing here does not do heat well.

I am consoling myself by remembering our grownup-night out last week, when the kids stayed home and us 'rents went out and tied one on. I'll spare you the details for now, but suffice it to say that I felt the after-effects well into the next day. And Jägerbombs are a wondereous thing. As are sunglasses worn to bed to block out the light. Get the picture?

Anyhoo... We spent a good part of the early evening sitting outside on the water at a marina, sipping cocktails and listening to a blues-jam-band called the Trouble Starters. And today's offering is one of the songs they sang -- "My Baby Is a Seafood Platter." This rendition isn't them, unfortunately, but the sentiment is evident. Heads up: it's a little raunchy and rather silly and a lot of fun. Just like our grown-up evening.

Home.

There's no place quite like it.

And now that's where I am, after my week's holiday.

Home. Good to be here.

Soaking up the Sun on a Music Monday

Pass the sunscreen. And the margarita pitcher, please.

(Pssst... for more musical musings, check out Soccer Mom in Denial.
You'll be glad you did!)

I'm phoning it in this week, using my Gilligan-esque coconut-and-a-piece-of-string communication system. Since chances are, as you're reading this, I'm floating on a raft in the Gulf of Mexico.

I give you a soundtrack for a beach holiday. So even if you're nowhere near a coastline, you can enjoy a little bit of fun in the sun, even if it's just aural.

Holiday...Celebrate!

We hit the sunny beaches where we occupy ourselves keeping the sun off our skin, the saltwater off our bodies, and the sand out of our belongings.
~ Erma Bombeck

Headin' to the beach. For a week.

Yes, Floridians do vacation at the beach, believe it or not. A change of scenery is a change of scenery.

We've been taking our beach holiday for five years now. It's a tradition. Go with three other families. We all stay in different places but break bread together in the evening -- I'm the head chef, dontcha know. I love our locale -- it's very laid-back and extremely non-commercial. The way Florida was when I was growing up. Days are spent in bathing suits and coverups, with the only shoes in the suitcase being flip flops.

It's a great time to rest, relax and recharge. When the biggest decision one has to make is which trashy beach novel to read next. Will is very excited about going -- he loves hanging with the other kids and "going CRASH" in the waves and putzing about in the pool.

It's gonna be a great week. I can just feel it.

Or is that sand in the bathing suit already. Hard to tell...

A vacation is having nothing to do and all day to do it in. ~ Robert Orben

Blog Blast! Education! Important!

I'm participating in a group blogging effort today, spearheaded by the amazing April, to bring some attention to the oh-so-important topic of education. For more perspectives and to show your support, go check our her blog, It's All About Balance.

Up in the mornin' and out to school
The teacher is teachin' the golden rule
American history and practical math
You studyin'’ hard and hopin' to pass
Workin' your fingers right down to the bone
And the guy behind you wont leave you alone...

Education. We’ve all done it. One way or another. Sometimes formally, sometimes not. With varying degrees of success achieved.

Me? Well, I’ve done it now in three variations: student, employee, parent.

And it’s the latter -- the role of parent in education -- where I’m finding that I’m not just a parent, I’m still a student too.

I’m involved in a subculture of education that never fails to amaze me. In a good -- no, a great way. Exceptional education (which I’ll refer to as ESE here on out, as that’s shorter and easier and provides me with less chance of misspellings)

Quick back story on why ESE: Will. Son. Born extremely prematurely at 25 weeks. Share of health problems since birth. Has cerebral palsy, extreme nearsightedness and developmental delays. Aaaand I think that’s it. Save for the fact that he’s adorable and hilarious...

Will has just finished his kindergarten year -- yay! But he’s been part of the school system since he was just over a year old. Thanks to the networking between early interventional specialists at our children’s hospital and the ESE department of the county school system. His vision issues were diagnosed early on and he was placed with a vision teacher who would come to the house to hang out and work with him one hour a week. Our teacher = wonderful. She still works with Will and I consider her a friend.

Once he turned three, Will was eligible to go into an ESE Pre-K class. Where he was for three great years. His classroom had anywhere from five to eight students over that time, a teacher and two assistants. The classroom was in a building separate from the rest of the school -- his class was one of four in that space, which had its own playground and kitchen. It was just like a private preschool in many respects. And in addition to working with his vision teacher, Will also got a hand from the on-site occupational, physical and speech therapists. Fantastic.

We made the decision to change schools when it came time for Will to hit kindergarten. That decision was based on a lot of things, some positive, some negative (more on that at another time...) -- not the least of which was the excellent teacher he was going to have at the new school. A week before school started last year, I learned that the teacher whom I thought we would have had been moved to a different ESE classroom, teaching second and third grade. We would be with a teacher new to the school. I got nervous. All for naught, I soon discovered.

Will’s teacher, while new to the school, was in fact a 30-year teaching veteran who was bored in retirement and went back to work. Lucky us. I could not have asked for a better instructor and guide for Will’s first year in elementary school. The classroom setting was also ideal, with five students, two assistants and a wonderful therapy entourage. He thrived in kindergarten, happily saying every morning “it’s time to go to school” -- even on the weekends. Who could ask for more than that...

I realize that my situation is unique in many ways. The world of ESE is its own universe. It’s different in structure and nature from mainstream classes, where the numbers of students in a classroom can vary wildly and where all hands on deck may often just mean one pair.

I have heard my share of ESE horror stories from other parents who have to fight to receive this, that or the other service for their children. Who have to battle federal and state bureaucratic restrictions and rhetoric to get what they need for their kiddos. Who have to deal with unsupportive and insensitive staff at the school level. It can be a challenge like no other.

We’ve been extremely fortunate. And oh-so-blessed. Never have had to deal with any of bureaucratic bullshit. Or challenging teachers with unhelpful attitudes. *knock on wood* The school personnel we’ve had in our education lives have been amazing. Caring, kind people who have taken as good care of me, as an involved and passionate and often nervous parent, as they have of my child. The hearts of Will’s entourage are huge -- these amazing folks have chosen to work with young people who need something more than the standard issue kiddo. They’re patient, focused, patient, loving, patient, funny, creative and patient. Did I mention how patient they are?

My educational experience as a parent has been fantastic. And I am so grateful -- I have tears in my eyes as I write this. But I know how lucky we are. The exception, rather than the rule. I know there are many others -- both within the ESE system and within the standard school world -- who have to work and struggle and fight to insure that their children get the best education they possibly can. My heart goes out to them -- as parents, we have many roles, not the least of which is advocate. It’s hard work, this advocacy. And I applaud and support every parent who steps out and speaks up on behalf of their kids and their kids’ education. I might not be right there with you on the scrimmage line *knock on wood* but I’m on the sideline cheering you on. We’re really in this together, y’all.

School days, school days,
Dear old golden rule days.
'Readin' and 'ritin' and 'rithmetic,
Taught to the tune of a hick'ry stick.
I was your queen in calico,
You were my bashful barefoot beau,
And I wrote on your slate,
'I love you, Joe,'
When we were a couple of kids.

Seventeen

My boys in green won, y'all. They won it all.

The Boston Celtics are the NBA Champions. For the first time in 22 years.

Ain't it sweet.



I have loved this team for as long as I can remember -- so long that I cannot even recall why I became so attached to them in the first place.

No matter.

We're all Celtics today.

Hot damn, baby. Hot damn.





PS: Go here to read my sad tale of woe about how I almost got to see the WORLD CHAMPIONS play this year... sigh.

Advice to Janie

I have read that Parade magazine Sunday paper supplement for as long as I can remember. The features, the questions for that Marilyn vos Savant (the smartest chick in the world!), the ads for Eva Gabor wigs and hearing aids -- an indicator that I am much younger than the average Parade magazine reader.

There was a celeb-feature a week or two ago that I found pretty interesting: it was a Q&A with famous people regarding "Advice to the Young Me."

And in the spirit of the ridiculous questions in the Personality Parade (inside front cover always and forever) and that interview piece that runs at the end of the mag, here are the words of wisdom I'd give to my young self.

*Your gut instinct is usually right. Go with what it tells you -- regardless.

*Humbleness and genuine gratefulness are traits to continually cultivate. They never wear out their welcome.

*Don't be so shy and guarded. It's OK -- branch out a bit and share yourself with the people in your life. They will still love you. (this is also good advice for grown-up jane... she still hasn't really learned this lesson yet.)

*Learn to let it go. Worry never gets you anywhere constructive. (again, grown-up jane needs to listen to this as well...)

*Follow your passion. Whatever it might be. Trying and testing the waters beats the hell out of regrets.

*Laugh. Laugh. Laugh. Laughter is the salve for many wounds -- even the ones that run deep.

*Try to remember that when things seem darkest, there is always a light at the end of the tunnel. It may sometimes be imperceptible, but it's there.

*Don't be afraid to love with your whole heart and being.

*Sometimes, just for the hell of it, bet on the long shot. You'll be surprised at how often that will pay off.

*Be happy with who you are. Because you rock.

Music Monday: Girls Still Just Wanna Have Fun. In the Love Shack.

Tin roof. Rusted!

(Pssst... for more musical musings, check out Soccer Mom in Denial.
You'll be glad you did!)

I'm about to kick-off a subset season of my summer.

The Trip Down Musical Memory Lane subset.

I've got a slew of concerts on my social calendar and the first one is this week.

The True Colors tour.

Cyndi Lauper. The B-52s. The Cliks. (warning: potty mouth word in the song streaming on their site) Plus Rosie O'Donnell and Carson Kressley.

Later in the summer, I'm heading to Vegas with pals for some grownup R&R and a couple of other gigs. More about that later... promise.

However, today I'm steeping myself in all things Cyndi and B-52s.

Here's Cyndi with a live version of "She Bop" (yeah, I know. I just love this song.) performed on Solid Gold! How's that for a blast from the past!


And here are the B-52s with the title song off their latest album --"Funplex." It's a riot and totally infectious. Been on heavy rotation here at Casa de Jane for a while.



Let's dance, y'all!

Love, Girlie

You know, fathers just have a way of putting everything together.
~ Erika Cosby

He folded my diaper according to the early '60s Yankee infield: Clete Boyer, Bobby Richardson, Joe Pepitone.

He taught me how to mix a proper cocktail. (Although I learned to pump a keg all on my own...)

He showed me how to watch pass plays from both the offensive and defensive perspectives.

He gave me my best writing critiques. Still does.

He instilled in me the values that drive my every move.

He demonstrated the concept of giving back to your community and your world, not for recognition or power -- but because it's the right thing to do.

He gave me a sense of comic timing that serves me well in any circumstance.

He is there for me, no questions asked (ok, maybe one question...) and no matter how old I have become.

I'm his Girlie.

He's my Daddy.

And today is his day.

Here's to you, Daddy.

Happy Father's Day.

A father is always making his baby into a little woman. And when she is a woman he turns her back again.
~ Enid Bagnold

A is for Apple, J is for Jacks...

As it appears my muse has gone on holiday, here's another meme to pass for some scintillating blog material. Maybe that blank page I've been staring at will write itself...

A is for your age:
Wow, this really starts out with a bang.

I'm... wait for it... here it comes... don't blink or you'll miss it... 43.

B is for your burger of choice:
Cheeseburger. Rare. Grilled onions. Ketchup and mayo.

C is for the car that you drive:
Honda Pilot.

D is for dog's name:
No doggie currently. In fact, the only dog I've ever owned was one I received on my fifth birthday -- a datschund I named Hamlet.

That explains a lot about me, doesn't it. (ie: I've always been a weirdo)

E is for an essential item you use each day:
My computer. Top of the list.

F is for your favorite television show:
Current: 30 Rock and Mad Men.
Classic: The Dick Van Dyke Show.

G is for favorite game:
Trivial Pursuit or anything of that ilk. I get really competitive when I play. Like really competitive. So competitive that often my fellow players make me a one-woman team.

I still kick their collective asses.

H is for hometown:
St. Petersburg, FL

I is for instruments played:
Piano (kinda -- I took lessons for 10 years but you would never know it now)
Tambourine
Maracas
Kazoo

J is for favorite juice:
Apple or cranberry. It's a tie.

K is for what you'd like to kick:
The current administration. Right where it counts.

Yeah, you read that right.

L is for last restaurant you dined at:
TooJay's Deli. Dining companion: my delightful eight-year-old niece.

M is for your favorite Muppet:
Grover. Or Miss Piggy. C'mon. We divas have to stick together.

N is for number of piercings you have:
Two -- one in each ear. So. Boring.

O is for overnight hospital stays:
Two for myself: one when Will was born and one when I had my fibroid tumors removed.
I also have done the overnight thing countless times when Will has been the patient. Sigh.

P is for people you were with today:
So far, it's just Will. But we have errands to run, so that will change.

Q is for what you do in quiet times:
Think. Breathe. Think. Read. Think. Sleep. Think.

R is for regrets:
Here's a global one: not always following my passion and my heart. I have some "what if" questions in the closet. Probably always will.

S is for status:
Mother. Wife. Democrat. Brunette.

T is for time you woke up today:
First time: 4:30am
Second time: 7:45 am

U is for what you consider unique:
Every single person on this earth is a unique being.

V is for favorite vegetable:
Proper answer: the carrot
Honest answer: the potato, baby. I never met one I didn't like.

W is for your worst habit:
Hmmm. Let me get back to you on this one...

PS: it's procrastination

X is for x-rays you have had:
Two. Both on my left ankle. Ouch.

Y is for yummy food you ate today:
Define "yummy." I'm on the NutriSystem. Yummy is all relative.

Z is for zodiac sign:
Libra. The sign of balance. HA!

Fabology!

A meme... it just seemed like the thing to do, as the half-dozen half-written posts I have sitting in draft form aren't speaking to me today. Now if only they would write themselves...

Technology
Q: What is your wallpaper on your computer?
OK. You asked for it. Don't laugh. Or do, actually.

It's this:She makes me giggle. Constantly. Totally fabulous.

Q: How many televisions do you have in your house?
Two. One in the living room and one in the bedroom. We must be under average, I'm sure.

Biology
Q: Are you right handed or left handed?
Right handed.

Q: Have you ever had anything removed from your body?
Fibroid tumors. Yeah, I know.

Q: What is the last heavy item you lifted?
My monthly delivery of Nutri-Food. Son-of-a-bitch is heavy. Perhaps that is also part of their plan -- burn calories by literally hauling our shit around.

Q: Have you ever been knocked out?
Other than from dental anesthesia, no.

I have lived a very dull life in this area, apparently.

Bullshitology
Q: If it were possible, would you want to know the day you were going to die?
No. Too much pressure. Just let it happen. And it's a cliche, but you gotta live life with this in the back of your mind. No regrets. And making sure your loved ones know they are indeed loved.

Q: If you could change your name, what would you change it to?
Katherine, called Kate for short. Or Lucy.

Q: What color do you think looks best on you?
Other than the ubiquitous black, I wear purple very well. Or so people say.

Q: Have you ever swallowed a non-food item?
Does gum count? Oh. Heh. Yes.

Dareology
Q: Would you kiss a member of the same sex for 100 dollars?
Maybe. Maybe not. How's that.

Q: Would you allow one of your little fingers to be cut off for $200,000?
Good lord, no.

Q: Would you never blog again for $50,000?
Nope. Gotta write. Gotta express. Gotta rant. Invaluable to me.

Q: Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1,000?
Hell no.

Q: Would you, without fear of punishment, take a human life for a million dollars?
Are you joking? Hell NO. Good grief, what a question. Seriously.

Dumbology
Q: What is in your left pocket?
Chances are, my cell phone.

Q: Is Napoleon Dynamite actually a good movie?
Good? Hmm. Kinda. It's pretty damn funny -- does that count?

Q: Do you have hardwood or carpet in your house?
Hardwood. Save for the bathroom, kitchen and office, which are tile.

Q: Do you sit or stand in the shower?
Stand.

Q: How many pairs of flip flops do you own?
Waaay too many to count. Wait. At least 10. All from Old Navy, where I get them for like $3/pair. I mow through them in the summertime.

Lastology
Q: Last person who texted you?
My brother. Smart ass that he is.

Q: Last person who called you?
Per my caller ID, 'twas Sprezzatura. I had a CRS moment on that one, as I was on the phone A LOT last night. But hers was the last number listed...

Q: Last person you hugged?
WILL! Just now. And he hugged me! So sweet.

Favoritology
Q: Number?
27

Q: Season?
Fall. Temps are cooler, the air is brighter. And it's football and basketball season, baby.

Q: Color?
Purple. Eggplant purple. Gorgeous.

Currentology
Q: Missing someone?
Not really.

Q: Mood?
Sassy. It's going to be one of those days. Good night's sleep and all. Emphasis on the 'all' part.

Q: Listening to?
Squeeze. Singles 45's and Under. Classic.

Q: Worrying about?
Mostly shit I have no control over, no matter how hard I try. I'm not even going to try and list everything. Too long and boring.

And the size of my fat ass here in bathing suit season.

Q: Wearing?
My pajamas. Light blue shorties with a baby doll top. Very summery and acceptable to run into the yard to get the paper.

Randomology
Q: First place you went this morning?
Nowhere yet. But on the list are the gas station (that's an immediate need, as the little "you need fuel, dumb-dumb" light is on), the bank, the neurologist (Will has a follow-up appointment) and the grocery store. Whew.

Q: What can you not wait to do?
Two things:
1. Go on our annual week-long holiday at the beach (t-minus 12 days)

2.Take my grown-up trip with pals to Vegas in August.

Five friends, five days, two concerts, zero responsibility. Bring it on.

Q: Do you smile often?
I do. And laugh too. All the time.

Q: Are you a friendly person?
I am. I talk to EVERYONE that crosses my path. Just how I'm programmed.

A is for Apple, J is for Jacks...

(either I'm losing it or Blogger is -- this bloody thing is on here twice and I DON'T KNOW WHY! My money's on me, actually, being the whacko...)


As it appears my muse has gone on holiday, here's another meme to pass for some scintillating blog material. Maybe that blank page I've been staring at will write itself...

A is for your age:
Wow, this really starts out with a bang.

I'm... wait for it... here it comes... don't blink or you'll miss it... 43.

B is for your burger of choice:
Cheeseburger. Rare. Grilled onions. Ketchup and mayo.

C is for the car that you drive:
Honda Pilot.

D is for dog's name:
No doggie currently. In fact, the only dog I've ever owned was one I received on my fifth birthday -- a datschund I named Hamlet.

That explains a lot about me, doesn't it. (ie: I've always been a weirdo)

E is for an essential item you use each day:
My computer. Top of the list.

F is for your favorite television show:
Current: 30 Rock and Mad Men.
Classic: The Dick Van Dyke Show.

G is for favorite game:
Trivial Pursuit or anything of that ilk. I get really competitive when I play. Like really competitive. So competitive that often my fellow players make me a one-woman team.

I still kick their collective asses.

H is for hometown:
St. Petersburg, FL

I is for instruments played:
Piano (kinda -- I took lessons for 10 years but you would never know it now)
Tambourine
Maracas
Kazoo

J is for favorite juice:
Apple or cranberry. It's a tie.

K is for what you'd like to kick:
The current administration. Right where it counts.

Yeah, you read that right.

L is for last restaurant you dined at:
TooJay's Deli. Dining companion: my delightful eight-year-old niece.

M is for your favorite Muppet:
Grover. Or Miss Piggy. C'mon. We divas have to stick together.

N is for number of piercings you have:
Two -- one in each ear. So. Boring.

O is for overnight hospital stays:
Two for myself: one when Will was born and one when I had my fibroid tumors removed.
I also have done the overnight thing countless times when Will has been the patient. Sigh.

P is for people you were with today:
So far, it's just Will. But we have errands to run, so that will change.

Q is for what you do in quiet times:
Think. Breathe. Think. Read. Think. Sleep. Think.

R is for regrets:
Here's a global one: not always following my passion and my heart. I have some "what if" questions in the closet. Probably always will.

S is for status:
Mother. Wife. Democrat. Brunette.

T is for time you woke up today:
First time: 4:30am
Second time: 7:45 am

U is for what you consider unique:
Every single person on this earth is a unique being.

V is for favorite vegetable:
Proper answer: the carrot
Honest answer: the potato, baby. I never met one I didn't like.

W is for your worst habit:
Hmmm. Let me get back to you on this one...

PS: it's procrastination

X is for x-rays you have had:
Two. Both on my left ankle. Ouch.

Y is for yummy food you ate today:
Define "yummy." I'm on the NutriSystem. Yummy is all relative.

Z is for zodiac sign:
Libra. The sign of balance. HA!

Music Monday: Make mine as rare as you can legally cook it...

Hey! Do tell -- which way do I steer?

(Pssst... for more musical musings, check out Soccer Mom in Denial.
You'll be glad you did!)

It's summer in Florida. Time for some Buffett. Jimmy Buffett.

It's summer in Florida. Bathing suit weather. And I'm still on my diet. Mostly. Aside from the once-a-week Chinese takeout. And the once-a-week homecooked meal.

Hear that sound -- it's my stomach crying out for something that doesn't contain the prefix "Nutri."

So given that, this song seemed like the only appropriate choice for today.

I've loved this song since I was 12 years old. The guy who would eventually become my first serious boyfriend wrote out the words to it in my 8th grade yearbook. Should have been a sign that we were destined for something.

And while this tune sounds just a weeee bit better with a cold draft in your hand, it still works even without.

Enjoy. Mmmmmm.



PS: While looking for a YouTube of this song, I came across this great quote:

"the only people that like Jimmy Buffett are frat boys and alcoholic chicks from the south"

Well. There you are. That just says it all, doesn't it...

Check out the video. In the dictionary, next to the phrase "laid-back," there's Buffett's picture.

Come Plurk with Me, Let's Plurk, Let's Plurk Away...

Latest web addiction. Obsession. Love.

Plurk!

A turbo-cousin of Twitter (and waaaay more reliable, too...) it's social networking taken to the groovy, hep side -- with a time-line format and a threaded conversation feature that acts like a chat/IM. Plus, for us grammar lunatics aficionados, there are options for which verb you want to use for your message -- and they're color-coded too!

There's also this function called cliques -- the ability to group your friends together into categories that you choose. The possibilities for that one are endless -- both from a practical and slightly saucy standpoint.

Biggest appeal for me -- the threaded conversation and chat. It's like having a party-line IM, only a lot cooler and without having to dial up Sarah the town telephone operator to get the shindig started.

So c'mon. Join me on Plurk. It won't hurt -- promise.

If you can use some exotic booze
There's a bar in far Bombay
Come Plurk with me, we'll Plurk, we'll Plurk away

Man it's hot. It's like Africa hot. Tarzan couldn't take this kind of

hot.

For the scoop on Singular Saturdays,
check out Jen in Holland's fab blog.

Whew.

Several hours and bottles of water later, I do believe I'm past the halfway point in my recovery from my inadvertent venture into chemical warfare with my bathtub. Thanks for all your thoughts and good wishes, y'all.

Still feel lightheaded and have a woozy tummy, plus achy eyes -- but other than that, I'm good old me.

Crazy.

When doing a debriefing with the mister, I realized that not only was I using Comet and KABOOM!, but also some stuff to zap the mold in the corner tile and Clorox wipes on the sink.

That's a lot of molecules floating around.

Remember Chemical Ali... just call me Chemical Jane. And heed my warning, y'all. Housekeeping is a dangerous, dangerous thing. Only engage in it when absolutely necessary.

However -- that damn bathtub has never looked better. Thank goodness.

Duh.

Friday Fun Fact:

When they tell you not to mix cleaning products, like chlorine-based Comet and Billy Mays' KABOOM!, they're not kidding.

I'm racing around, trying to get my house company-ready for my eight-year-old niece to spend the weekend and thought I would save a couple of steps and multi-task in the bathroom.

Inhale.

Spots before my eyes. Nauseated (or is that nauseous -- I can never remember which). And dizzy. Pale.

Whoa.

So. Don't try this at home.

I'm now going to go lie very still and take deep breaths of good old O2.

Whooooooa.

One Louder

(thanks to Wildhair for bringing this to my happy attention!)


more graph humor and song chart memes

This One's for All Y'all!

My world just gets smaller and smaller -- or bigger and bigger. I'm not sure which side of things this falls into.

Got an e-mail from the husband of my mom's best friend since childhood -- they live in Baltimore. Have no idea how he got my addy -- must have picked it up from something my mom sent out to a group. The internet certainly makes for interesting and slightly improbable connections.

However, this wasn't your typical "forward something shit-tacular to a hell of a lot of people in your address book." There's a lot of that going around right now in my world -- lots of political stuff being zipped through cyberspace. Most of it spouting views 180 degrees opposite of what mine are... however, that's another subject for another day.

I actually liked what he sent. It fits my mood at the moment.

So here you go, y'all. This one's from me to you, from way down here in the balmy South (and Florida does so count as the South if you're a second-generation native with no one in your family born above the Mason-Dixon line...)

Oh -- this is important... while I don't totally agree with the assessment given to the 'friends' (it's more than a little rough around the edges and my non-southern pals are nothing like that. Well, most of them anyway...) I do like the description of the Southern friends. So focus on that.

And know that not only would I spend the night in jail with you -- I would figure out how to post your bail as well. And be oh-so-mannerly about it all. It's just what we do down here...


Friends vs Southern Friends

Friends: Never ask for food.
Southern Friends: Always bring the food.


Friends: Will say 'hello'.
Southern Friends: Will give you a big hug and a kiss.


Friends: Call your parents Mr. and Mrs.
Southern Friends: Call your parents Mom and Dad


Friends: Have never seen you cry.
Southern Friends: Cry with you.


Friends: Will eat at your dinner table and leave.
Southern Friends: Will spend hours there, talking, laughing, and just being together. And then help you wash the dishes.


Friends: Know a few things about you.
Southern Friends: Could write a book with direct quotes from you.


Friends: Will leave you behind if that's what the crowd is doing.
Southern Friends: Will kick the back-ends of the whole crowd that left you.


Friends: Would knock on your door.
Southern Friends: Walk right in and say, “Hey, y’all! I’m home.”


Friends: Will visit you in jail.
Southern Friends: Will spend the night in jail with you.


Friends: Will visit you in the hospital when you're sick.
Southern Friends: Will cut your grass and clean your house then come spend the night with you in the hospital.


Friends: Have you on speed dial.
Southern Friends: Have your number memorized.


Friends: Are for a while.
Southern Friends: Are for life.

Duh.

It's official.

I am an Idiot. With a capital Id.

Thought I might do a little exercise in the office and threw in a workout mini-DVD into the computer player.

Which isn't built for mini-DVDs. The computer's not even reading that there's a disc in the player. And ergo -- I can't eject it.

See what I mean. Idiot.

Gotta figure out how to get the damn thing out without damaging anything else.

Suggestions welcome. Please. Help.

And mocking is fine as well. 'Tis deserved.

*goes off muttering*

The Heart of the Matter

Priorities.

Just clicked on the home page of my local paper's website to see a photo of a house a-blaze with fire and destruction.

The home of a friend of mine.

Fortunately, she and her family are out of town on vacation. The only folks home -- their two doggies, who have been treated for smoke inhalation.

Priorities.

My friend and her husband, a state legislator, have two small children -- their son being just about Will's age.

They're on their way home to assess the damage.

I cannot imagine.

Not only have they lost their shelter, they've lost a sense of security.

Scary.

Priorities.

Here in Florida, especially at this time of year, we make plans for "hurricane preparedness" -- what to do to try and protect your home, what to have on hand for supplies, what to take with in the event of evacuation.

That you can plan for. Kinda.

A fire -- not so much.

Priorities.

My heart aches for them -- not necessarily for the loss of "stuff", as it were. But for the memories that are now gone or tainted. For the loss of that sense of security. For the uncertainty they must be feeling.

Priorities.

What's really important.

Makes you think.

A Change is Gonna Come

... What you won't hear from this campaign or this party is the kind of politics that uses religion as a wedge, and patriotism as a bludgeon - that sees our opponents not as competitors to challenge, but enemies to demonize. Because we may call ourselves Democrats and Republicans, but we are Americans first. We are always Americans first...

Here's to our Democratic Nominee.

Senator Barack Obama.

Full speed ahead, y'all.

Let's do this thing.

Profound

My chica Sprezzatura has done it again, sharing this piece of cultural wisdom with me:



That just about sums it all up, don't you think?

Young Lovin' on a Music Monday

"And yoooooooou... decorated my life..."

(Pssst... for more musical musings, check out Soccer Mom in Denial.
You'll be glad you did!)


My recent Flashback Friday post has sent me to the Way-way-wayback Machine to the Summer of '82. When my hair was its original color, when I could survive on four hours of sleep and when my possibilities were endless. I consider that summer one of the best segments of my life -- first job, first love, first maturity. Confident. Fun. Happy.

True good times.

In honor of that, here's a playlist of songs that I listened to during those heady, balmy months between graduating from high school and starting adulthood.

And yes, there's plenty of Kenny Rogers on here. In those days, I spent A LOT of time with him crooning in the background. By the way, for maximum effect, he's best listened to while getting whiffs of Polo cologne. Trust me. It's like an instant aphrodisiac.

Wow. Is it hot in here, or is it just me...

Best Math Lessons EVER!

The always (and I do mean always) witty wordsmith Clark shared this site on his blog, and in the spirit of flattery, I pilfered it for my own.

Hi-larious.





Go check out the site: GraphJam. Do it -- you'll love it.

Note: the comments on the graphs are called TPS Reports. Genius.

PS: In keeping with the spirit of Kenny Week (because really, that's what it's become) here in jane's world...