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Wednesday, May 20, 2015

I was just doing what any hero would do

Image result for parks and recreation ron gif

Right off the bat I want to say that I like Jim Gaffigan's comedy.  Beyond the Pale is delightful and some of it was so funny it made me cry.  Mr. Universe, same.  So you know that when I say I expected better of his new show it comes from a place of love.  And I should watch it before I judge too harshly, but I saw a promo photo for it yesterday, and it looks like the main cast is four dudes and one lady?  Like, even his wife's best friend is a man?  And then he tweeted a picture of a cast list, and it was, like, the biggest sausagefest.  Five women and twenty-eight men--many of the men are cameos, so I don't know if that's one episode or multiple episodes or what, but still.  C'mon, Jim.  Let's get some women in there, unless that is in fact representative of your real life, in which case what a disappointing world this still is.

And since I spent yesterday avoiding work by watching Parks and Recreation, I am reminded that I love that show.  I love all the characters, I love how they've grown and blossomed over the years, and I want to hug them all, except Councilman Jamm, whom I hate so much.  

Okay!  I'm lying, I didn't really avoid work the whole day.  I was trying to write something and it was so, so terrible.  I keep getting about two pages into a story and then it's so bad I have to close it down and start a new one, which is just as bad, repeat to infinity.  

I will not miss David Letterman.  He's gross and creepy.  

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

no you cain't get a man with a gun

Someone told me the other night that they couldn't imagine me getting angry or yelling at my kids, which I guess means that I'm successfully passing as a nice person.  Good job, me!

I mean, I am generally nice, in that I don't believe in being rude for no reason, and I almost always accept food assignments for funerals and such, and yeah, I try to help children improve their literacy even though they act like jerks, but my gooey center is not a sweet one.  I think my gooey center probably tastes like tobacco spittle.

While slogging my way through the twitters I realized that when I scroll using the touchpad my computer makes a barely-audible clicking sound, sort of like ruffling pages in a book, and I am so annoyed by this now that if I were a baby I would be fussing SO MUCH, and my parents would probably have to buy a white noise machine to drown out the sound of the clicks so I could sleep.  Except, here's the part I've never figured out:  how can anyone sleep with the sound of white noise?  "Hey, you know that noise you hear when your radio station isn't coming in very clear?  That sound that's so irritating that you'd rather not listen to the radio at all?  Let's make a machine that makes that noise all the time, and it will sell like hotcakes!"  Babies are crazy is what I'm saying.

I don't think I ever missed the bus when I was in junior high or high school, but I drive Grant and/or Emmett to school at least once a week.  This is how you know I'm not doing a very good job on them.  At least they're not on drugs, that we know about, but if they could add "can catch the school bus" and "is considerate of others" to their resumes it would be really neat.

Thursday, April 30, 2015

you remind me of the babe

The neighbors I'm goatsitting for live over by a huge swampy area called the Black Slough, so every spring they have terrible problems with gnats, tiny little no-see-um gnats that bite you everywhere.  So since I have been playing midwife I have gnat bites all over in my hair and around my ears, and if I lived in a place with no-see-ums?  Would move.  This is no way to live.  And yet half of the people in our ward deal with the gnats every year.  You can't even go outside!  Poop on that is what I say.  A few years ago my uncle Kenny, whose house is also near the Black Slough, was talking about how much he hates going to the doctor--he was going through chemo at the time--and he said, "I would rather thin beets with a short-handled hoe in the gnats than go to the doctor."  For people who understand sugar beets and hoes and gnats, that is a powerfully vivid image.

A girl I know is getting a roller skate tattoo for her birthday, and it caused me to wonder--what is a relationship with a tattoo artist like?  Do you always use the same person, or do you bebop around?  It seems like going to a new artist would be even more awkward than changing hairdressers, but maybe tattoo artists aren't actually very territorial.  Maybe they understand that certain artists are right for certain designs, and they have no problem with you using the best artist for the job.  It's a tricky world to navigate, man.  So many feelings to consider.  

I wish it were always fall, so I could wear boots and cook ham and it would rain instead of snow.  Which is the autumnest of states?  Vermont, maybe, or New Hampshire?  I should move there I guess, except for I'm pretty sure those places get snow, yuck.  Washington seems pretty autumnal, and maybe Montana, but I refuse to move to Montana unless forced by global climate change.  And I'm sure they get snow.  Snow is horrid.  Why is there not a machine to create a portable climate, so everyone could be where they're the happiest?  This is probably not even the fakest thing that we could invent.  This is just money waiting to be made, guys.  

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

new new york's hottest club is whimsy

Well, friends and neighbors, I have good news and bad today.  Bad news first, so we get it over with.  I went out to check on the goats this morning and discovered that Hazel had died kidding last night.  No babies survived, because it looks like she died pushing the first kid--there were just some hooves poking out and that's it.  This is really sad for me, because Hazel was my good little buddy.  She loved me from the get-go and followed me around like a dog.  She was the calming influence on Sally and Minerva, and if they are manageable at all it is thanks to her good example.  She was a great mother, the best of all our goats.  Little Hazelnut, you will be missed.

The good news is that I'm watching our neighbors' goats for them while they are on vacation, and Sage, who is Hazel's sister, kidded triplets last night, two girls and a boy.  They were all dry and happy when I found them, so I moved them into a separate pen where they'll be away from the trampling of the other goats, and doctored their navels.  They're pretty cute.

That browny-bluey roan in the foreground is a female, which is super cool, because she'll add some great color to the goat consortium's herd.  And Sage has a great udder with nice big teats, so those are good genes to perpetuate.

I bought a Purple Prince crabapple to replace our Shogetsu flowering cherry that died like the weak sauce it is.  Fellow Northern Utahns:  do not be tempted by the flowering cherry.  They are so gorgeous, but they are not built for our climate.
This is a cute little fellow, and I love that bronzy foliage.

I'm cooking some dinner for a friend who has stage 2 non-alcoholic cirrhosis, and I'm a little freaked out that I might accidentally kill him?  I'm going to try French toast with yogurt and fruit and hope for the best.

Friday, April 24, 2015

I've got a better idea--how about we don't?

Last night I was bringing Grant home from his basketball games at a high school that was basically like a palace or maybe an understated casino, and we stopped at Nielsen's Frozen Custard so that he could build some nice garbage muscles.  We talked about how you can't outrun a bad diet, and that someday he will pay for the way he eats, as I am paying now, but honestly he doesn't eat garbage that often, so burgers ahoy I guess.  Anyway, we ordered a quart of lemon custard (can't outrun a bad diet what?) to take home, which is about an hour away, and without even being asked those lovely people packed it all in ice in a plastic container so it would stay as hard as possible.  We usually look to Nielsen's for aloof, sluggish service which we put up with for the custard, but they were really great last night.

We heard pieces of that horrid "Dear Future Husband" song a few times on the radio and I ranted to Grant a little bit about how gross and retrograde it is.  When "All About That Bass" first came out everybody was like yay, here is a feminist, body-positive message for the young girls of today, and it took people a minute to even HEAR the misogynist "tell those skinny bitches that" lyric, or how the whole song was STILL about pleasing the male gaze, and now as more of Meghan Trainor's catalog is released we start to get a clearer picture of her platform, which seems to be that she just wants fat girls to be treated like sexy, infantile pets in the same way that skinny girls are.  A giant leap for mankind.

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I am making over a gallon of yogurt today, because I forgot to cancel our milk order this week.  So yes, I have our menu for next week planned, thank you for asking.

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

hey mister, you're drinking a candle

It is so windy outside right now, and I'm just getting angrier and angrier as I sit here listening to it.  So I guess you got my attention, wind, good for you.  I guess negative attention is still attention, right?  Jerk.  


I planted four tomato plants on Saturday, right up next to my house, and I'm predicting BUCKETLOADS of tomatoes this summer, as long as there isn't so little water that all the plants die and we have to hermetically seal our doors and windows to prevent the dry desert air from mummifying us in our sleep.  I think I'll buy two or three more plants and then I will regret it because too many tomatoes.  Maybe.  

Last week was spring break and we sat around and watched lots of Chopped and Iron Chef, and we visited some friends and the kids played laser tag, and we watched Night at the Museum Whatever the Third One is Called, and then on Saturday we had a sandwich-making competition and I successfully argued that my creation was, in fact, a sandwich.  It was an open-faced sandwich of French toast, sliced bananas, vanilla pudding, and whipped cream, and it was delicious.  

I found a hardcover copy of The Poisonwood Bible for $2 yesterday at the D.I., yay for me.  I find the best books at the D.I.  There was a copy of The Deathly Hallows there, but I thought I'd already bought a second copy of that, and now I see that I haven't, so I'll have to go back and snag it before some other nerd beats me to it.  

Our chickens are finally all laying eggs, so there are some days when we get six eggs at once.  It's been a long time, brothers and sisters.  I used to be so excited about my chickens, and so excited about my goats, and now they just make me tired.  I'm not cut out to be a pretend farmer.  Maybe in the End Times, when there's nothing more interesting to do and we can't drive anymore because the oil is all gone, maybe then I'll be a good homesteader.  

Thursday, April 2, 2015

every which way buttercups sway

Yesterday I was at the dentist's office, which thankfully no longer plays country music in the waiting room, because I complained and told them that it delegitimized their business.  I have been friends with the dentist since grade school, so it's okay if I tell him that his music is okay at the feed store or county fair, but not in his office, because it's true.  Country music, are you kidding me?  I don't care if it's Utah, this is not appropriate.


Anyway, we were listening to some lovely jazzy tunes in the waiting room and reading our lame magazines (that's the next thing I'm going to complain about) and one of the other people waiting started watching a video on her phone, it sounded like one of those "evolution of ____" things, and it was really loud!  Is that not rude public behavior?  One doesn't watch videos without earphones in a confined public space, am I right?  I think that what I'm trying to say is that when in a confined public space, it is our duty to behave in such a way that the other people in the space might be able to forget that we are there.  

Now I'm off to my guitar lesson and I haven't practiced very much, as usual, because the practicing makes me so sad.  If I were a child I would deserve to be yelled at by my parents for wasting their money.