What's the fuss?

Wednesday November 29
9:49 pm
12 degrees

There's been a lot of press lately about MySpace. Occasionally {we admit it} we're a little behind the trend curve. So, we decided to take the plunge and find out for ourselves what parents are so darn up in arms about. So, off we went into the nether regions of the internet. And here we are warts and all.

If we could figure out how to use the interface, our page would be way more interesting. As it is, we're lucky to have a few blurbs and pictures. Friends? We needed the MySpace Help Line to figure out how to get friends. In spite of that, we have friends. Four friends. Yes, two of them are The Offspring, one is a friend and one is a friend of The Offspring whom we have never actually met in person. We've poked around MySpace and wasted a few hours that could have been spent cleaning the toilet or picking up dustballs. We see pages with over 100 friends! 100 friends! How can that be. Apparently, Friends sounds better than Acquaintences or Hangers-on. Mayhap our lack of friends has something to do with our decidedly arty and definitely unalluring photo. Would we have more friends if we showed some cleavage in the classic party pose? Whoever we stole this from has 144 friends {please don't sue us}! But, who is counting?

Our assesment? MySpace is the online equivalent of the Refrigerator Door.



Your friends walk in, check out what's posted on the 'fridge: favorite photos, random notes and messages and things to remember. It's messy, just like MySpace is messy--people just slap stuff up. Even the 'fridge has ads. See, there's the magnet for Al's Master Plumbing. Music? Well, we do have an old boom box in the kitchen. It's playing Chet Baker.

People can't comment on your 'fridge, but the comments on MySpace wouldn't qualify as profound. Actual quote"oh and saturday was really cute! haha :) i'll give you the details later" or "see you Saturday. Holler!" Yawn!

Bottom line? Our POV is: you gots nothing to worry about. Parents! Go get yourself a MySpace page! Have some fun! Stalk your children. Guaranteed to waste time and maybe even learn something along the way.

Now, if you'll pardon us, we must go to My Space, do some online mothering and put the smack down.

Listening to: Let's get Lost. Chet Baker playing on my MySpace page.

Just a Lucky So and So

Thursday
November 23
40 degrees

The sun is sort of shining, the birds are singing, music's swinging. It might even get warm enough today to thaw the hose that I left curled across the front lawn. It's just a perfect day to reflect on how damn lucky I am. {When at a loss for words, defer to the music of the incomparable Ellington as sung by Ella.} Not that I'm at a loss, but I was inspired by this song on the radio earlier today.

Absolutely nothing, nothing in the whole wide world to complain about. "We've got shelter, clothing and food, we are blessed."** Not to mention clumping kitty litter. Marvelous things surround us. Is it luck or is it grace? Whatever you attribute it to, whatever God you believe in, acknowledge today, and every day, yes, we are blessed. And damn lucky besides.

**And speaking of inspiring music, check out the soundtrack to Say, Amen Somebody.

11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month

In spite of being a couple of days late, let us take a moment of silence, please, to commemorate Armistice Day. On November 11, 1918 the British, French and German commanders signed the truce in the forest of Compiegne to end World War I. With almost 9 million dead the Brits and French were elated.
The Frogs mobilized 7.5 million men.
Of those, 1.3 million were killed.
4 million were wounded.
The Brits moblized 5.3 million.
Slightly less than a million killed.
1.6 million wounded. All that, in just 4 years.

Armistice is still celebrated in Britain and France. In 1938 the US Congress passed a bill to make Armistice day an American holiday, as well. A day "dedicated to the cause of world peace." Amen.

I posted this poem last year, so it is cheating a bit. But I like the poem and the poet -- Wilfred Owen. A poet and soldier, he was killed in action just a week before the war ended in some godforsaken place in France. This is an excerpt from a longer poem "Dulce et decorum est". Can you imagine him in some stinkhole trench writing poetry?

. . . If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, -
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.**"

**Translation: it is sweet and proper to die for your country.

Hoping for: A headline like the photo above, about Iraq.
Listening to: "Blue Train" Coletrane
Eating: Leftover Halloween candy - Hershey miniatures.

Basement Chronicles

Monday, November 6
45 degrees
Cloudy and foggy

There's nothing I like better than a big project. The bigger and bad-ass the better. On a slow weekend, I've been known to break out the Wonderbar and start to take out a wall. The basement of MadgeWorld has been festering for around thirteen years. The scary basement. Lots of room we never used. It was {briefly} Stinky's bedroom. As the only right-handed child he was relegated to the lower level. Later it became a low-rent fitness center. And a catch-all for the detrius that comes with children moving up and out.







One day The Mister was inspired to tear down the old acoustical tile ceiling. Out with the old. Then, wait two years to bring in the new! See that little hint of a nauseating yellow ceiling?

Here's the Stephen King fireplace that regularly disgorged bats, both dead and alive. Yes, we let it fester for thirteen years. And finally we made our move.


Like the bare bulb look? Very shanty Irish. Radiators mounted in the middle of the wall? Yup, they've gotta be higher than the boiler or the hot water won't circulate. Just a little HVAC factoid brought to you by Al's Master Plumbing.



Finally, now that the kids are all gone, let's fix up the rumpus room. New ceiling, crown molding, bookshelves built to hide radiators. Add a wooden mantle to the fireplace. The cleaning products in the hearth are a nice touch, don't you think?



Paint over the dreary institutional yellow. Bring on the China Blue, Toasted Sesame Seed, Dark Raspberry, and Ripe Pear. Yummy. Thank-you Benjamin Moore! Soon, the pile of Works-In-Progress will migrate to the lower level. And if I can ever afford the carpeting it's one more project to cross off the list. I envision many Ladies Aid meetings and Stitch 'n Bitch gatherings this winter.

Like it?

Anxiously awaiting: the end of political advertising, phone messages and flyers in my door.

This is MadgeWorld and we approve this post.