LaurieWrites

Okay, I'm serious. I have to say it. I hate "Hips Don't Lie" and I never want to hear it again. Shakira's computer-assisted voice freaks me out, and I can't stand hearing Wyclef Jean say her name that way one more time: "Sha-KI-ra Sha-KI-ra" . I want to knock myself out every time I hear it. And it's not like I'm coming across it on the radio and leaving it on or in any other way listening to it on purpose. It was on everywhere in South Carolina, hereby renamed Shakirolina, for the purposes of this post. My sister left it on several times in the car. It was on the television the other day for some reason - and we all know how little actual music gets played on there anymore. I think it'd be much easier for more people to have successful careers in the entertainment industry if we weren't bludgeoned with the same five people and their lame songs over and over and over again. (Like that "I had a bad day" song. What is with that song? It's okay, I guess, and I know it had something to do with American Idol, but a song worthy of a hundred million plays? Not really. No offense to the guy who sings it, of course - unless he himself is offensive.)

A closer look at "Hips Don't Lie" (because I clearly have nothing better to do) reveals some of the worst lyrics ever, which seems to be a requirement for a top-ten hit. Like, remember that old song, "Johnny Get Angry"? I hope, for your sake, that you don't, and that you also don't know off the top of your head that it was sung by a chick named Joanie Sommer, or Somers, or Sommers. Suzanne's mom, maybe? Don't know. Anyway, it was a 60s tune that had these progressive lyrics:

"Johnny get an-ger-y/Johnny get mad/Give me the biggest lecture I ever had/ I want a brave man/ I want a cave man/Johnny, show me that you care, really care for me...Every girl wants someone who/She can always look up to/You know I love you, of course/Let me know that you're the boss."

Wow. Just thinking about this song makes my ears bleed, but I guess the next time a dude really gives me what for (haha. That is so funny. Just ask my exes. Heehee. Just try going all cave man on me and see how far it gets you. Haha. I am really laughing out loud.) I'll know his love is true. Riggghhhttttt...So I guess things have gotten a little better since then. But "Hips Don't Lie" is still stupid, and it makes me cry for the Fugees:

"I never really knew that she could dance like this/She makes a man want to speak Span-ISH/Como se llama, bonita, mi casa, su casa/Shakira, Shakira"

She makes a man want to speak span-ISH? This is his smoother than smooth entre to the most honest (wink, wink) hips south of the Mississippi? Ay carumba. But Shakira clearly doesn't mind, which means that she hasn't perhaps had a whole lot to work with with other boys, because, "What's your name, beautiful? My house, your house," just sets her spinning:

"Oh baby when you talk like that/You make a woman go mad/So be wise and keep on/Reading the signs of my body."

That was madness-making talk? What? It must have been, as she apparently gets drunk in time for the next verse, because it doesn't make any sense:

"Oh boy, I can see your body moving/Half animal, half man/I don't, don't really know what I'm doing/ But you seem to have a plan/My will and self restraint/Have come to fail now, fail now/See, I am doing what I can, but I can't so you know/That's a bit too hard to explain"

This seems to mean that he reminds her of a merman or a centaur, which really gets her going. She then tries to stop herself from doing something (making a Disney movie about this guy, replete with talking father centaurs, perhaps??), but then she's doing what she can, except for she can't, and she finally comes to terms with the fact that she doesn't have a damned clue and can't explain anything. His expert conclusion is to ask her to dance, thereby giving off some "secret signal" that she actually comes from...where she comes from:

"Senorita, feel the conga, let me see you/move like you come from Colombia".

Lame. 

Wyclef, making me cry for "The Score", rounds out the song by talking about himself, concluding that,

"I ain't guilty, it's a musical transaction/ No more we do snatch ropes/Refugees run the seas 'cause we own our/own boats"

This seems apropos of nothing, not that there's much to be apropos of. I just don't want to hear it anymore. One love, Wyclef. Please do something else. Soon.

In other shocking entertainment news, Justin Timberlake has done drugs. Thankfully, the damage to my belief in real love caused by Carmen Electra and Dave Navarro's shocking breakup has been slightly put to rights by the upcoming Pam Anderson/Kid Rock photo op wedding. Britney wants you to behold the eerily awesome beauty of the tiger. And finally, John Cusack is granted a restraining order against a woman who wasn't me. Rocks and screwdrivers, cherie, are a very bad idea.

Flotsam

Happy thoughts at PostSecret. Lord. "I hope they eat you alive."? That's a little extreme. And messy.

"I can petsit all kinds of pets, except for snakes and lizards. Call Nikki (phone number)." - Sign, made on looseleaf paper in orange and blue magic marker, on the wall at the restaurant where I picked up food last night. And people ask me why I need to carry a camera everywhere. So cute.

Catching Up

Vacation photos from South by God Carolina. Really, it's right by God. Just ask the locals.

Clicking on this link hooks you up w ith several shots of my well-meaning relatives drinking beer, a rear view of the finest mullet in North Myrtle Beach (where the competition is stiff), and a bunch of pictures of the ocean at night. What you won't get with the pretty ocean shots is the audio accompaniment of me cursing my $#(*&*@ lens and flash that aren't equipped to do the things I kept trying to make them do. My camera just started speaking to me again. Barely.

Here are a few of my favorites, right off the top.

Design Issues and Blogher

You may be noticing some flip-flopping in the look of my site these past few days. Call me a good little Democrat, I guess...but it's also come to my attention that I have ADD when it comes to the design of my webpage here. I'm trying to settle on something within the constraints of the Typepad templates and I can't. I love the airplane graphic - although it's a little hokey - because it kind of fits with my travel jones for this year. The type in the template is just too light and small, though. It hurts my eyes to read it and I want to make reading my ramblings as painless as possible for everyone who drops by. (Hi everyone who drops by! ; ) ) I'm going to the Blogher conference in a week, about which I am SO excited I can't even tell you, so I'm hoping to get some good design hints there - maybe some that will work with Typepad, or maybe I'll move up to Wordpress. I haven't decided yet. I'm taking a class on iLife and Communication Design in the fall, so I can become truly, truly dangerous. In any event, I've decided to go back to my old standby pending a major overhaul, and I'll probably stick with that for a day or so...Unless I get itchy to change it again and do something else, because I'm crazy like that.

Speaking of Blogher, I've never been to California before, and I'm so excited about it. I spent way too much time on Tripadvisor.com yesterday (my standby travel-planning site, if you've never seen it) researching options for stuff to do in the Bay area. I'm staying a few extra days so I'm planning a day trip to San Francisco. The train is an hour from San Jose to San Francisco, so if I leave really early in the morning I should be good to stay a full day and poke around, in time to get back on the last train at night. I'm really looking forward to it - lots of techie, blog community stuff at the conference and two new cities (plus a tentative sidetrip to Santa Cruz - rock on!) I so need another solo trip.

Bad Dreams

My subconscious mind is trying to kill me in my sleep and it's not making me a very good citizen of the world this week, I have to admit.

Two nights ago, I had a dream in which my ex-boyfriend dropped by (I don't know where I was but I know I lived there) to tell me about his new girlfriend, Orlonda. It seemed to the dream-me that he was seeking my approval, and that was weird. It's really the "Orlonda" part that gives me pause, though. Where would I conjure such a name? And the fact that I remember this detail, for some reason, is really what confounds me about dreams in the first place. How do our brains light upon these things? It's not a name I've ever heard before and it's certainly unusual. He was also sort of shitty in the dream about the whole conversation, which, as it happens, was not my idea to have in the first place as far as I could tell. That always ticks me off in real life, you know, when people initiate weird conversations and then get mad when they don't get the reaction they want (whatever it might be), so this was a dreamlike version of that. God. It was just...uncomfortable. Blah.

Last night was more classic, but still unnerving. I was taking a photography class at the University of Maryland, with my teacher from last semester. It was our portfolio review night, and it turned out that I had NONE of the required components in my portfolio. For some reason, we had a couple of hours to finish, and I somehow thought that I could go around campus and take the rest of the shots I needed, develop them, and then mount and present them in this period of time. Didn't happen. I was a very, very unhappy girl and when I woke up this morning I shot out of bed like I was on fire. Now, my mom had some pretty significant surgery yesterday, and although she's going to be fine it's still been stressful - hospitals and recuperation plans and whatnot. Plus work is going into our busiest time of the year and the pressure is on, so I guess my brain is working overtime. But the deal is that when I finally do get to sleep, I'd like to actually benefit from it as opposed to get swirled deeper into whatever the insanity of the night may be. Tonight I may even break out my old ocean sounds cd. So do wish me an Orlonda-free (!?!?!?) night and may all of my photos be complete and pretty.

Best of Craigslist

How I love thee.

(lifted from dooce, like lots of other good stuff.)

God's Street Team

It's come to my attention as I putter around the streets of this place where I live that church signs have become more threatening lately. And I have to wonder if this is really necessary. When I lived in Ohio, I was a case manager in some rural areas where churches were stacked pretty deep, and I saw some doozies out there, but the harshest were generally quotes of verses from Revelation and whatnot that spoke of the alternatives to godliness in no uncertain terms. I was used to those, though, considered my location and moved along (this is not to imply that all Ohioans are fundamentalist or live in rural farming communities or that the latter implies the former or vice versa. Many of my friends out there were some of the most progressive people I've ever met, and some of them lived in the country! Something about breathing some clean air that can let a variety of thoughts in, I guess.)

Anyway, tonight as I was driving home, I drove by a local church and the sign said, "If you think it's hot out HERE..."

Well, actually, I do. I think it is because it IS pretty DAMNED hot out here, since it's the MidAtlantic region and it's mid-July. There's humidity as thick as your very SOUL out there, my friend. What did you expect? Low 70s and a nice breeze? This is not the Bahamas, or Arizona in February. We're bumping up against August in this joint, which is the time of year where everyone who goes "GOD IT'S SO HUMID! IT'S SO HOTTTTT" gets a boot in the ass from the Obvious Fairy and their ticket to the Slip 'n Slide snatched right back, because, well...duh.

Anyway. Sorry. The fact that it is actually hot (although not as hot as I've experienced in July 'round here in all my sizzling hometown summers. Just sayin.) was the point of the sign designer, though, n'est-ce pas? It's not as hot as HELL, though...which is, I surmise, where you, Mr./or Ms. Church-Sign-Updater, think I'm going when the bell rings, or the horses thunder, or everybody leaves their cars unmanned at the rapture, or whatever the songs say, if I do not darken the cool and humidity-less (sorry) door of the church.

And this is only one of the latest winners from these folks. One of the sign sayings struck me as so snide and nasty a couple months ago that I meant to come home and write it down for no apparent reason other than that I must like to remember snide and nasty things, but I forgot to do it and I thankfully can't remember what it said. It was quickly replaced by one that said "God answers knee-mail", and another one that referred to His wireless connection always being on, or something, which are offensive to me just because they're stupid, not necessarily hostile (and isn't everything I write from the holy pen of heavenly genius? Hmm? No. But I can guarantee I'll never call it knee-mail, so that's worth a few shekels, I hope.) What enters into people's minds who come up with this stuff? Is this what Guideposts publishes now? I can just imagine someone sitting there, going "Let's appeal to the TECHIES and the COMMUTERS and get them to come to church by referencing those E-MAIL thingies and that unchurched wireless Internets addiction, but let's turn it on its ear in a godly sort of way."

Nah. Just say what you mean. Say..."church will make your life better," if that's what you're thinking. Or, rightly speaking by the current version, "Hell is extremely hot - hotter than itself, even. And if you think you're sweating NOW Miss Has-to-have-the-sunroof-open-and-the-AC-on, you're gonna be SCREWED in however many years of godless activity from now that you take the orange beetle down the escalator to the underworld". Say. It. Tell me I'm a heathen. Break my stride. Bring it. I went to Catholic school for 14 years, baby. I can totally pick up what you're puttin' down, and giftwrap it - and we never had signs like this, for which I offer hosannas even though I don't do that anymore. (Sorry, Grandma.)

It's like, AA has a policy of "attraction, not promotion." This means that if you tell someone what good has occurred in your life because of something, or make a suggestion that something may help in a way that does not threaten, badger, cajole or wheedle (are not cajole and wheedle two of the best words ever?), or maybe you just look so lit up from the inside over whatever it is you're into that people ask you about it because they'd like to be happy too, this is more effective than oh, say, a veiled threat of eternal damnation on a sign. Especially when you read said sign on say, the worst traffic evening, and you're already in a foul mood, and what you really need is like the John Cusack angel from God to rub your feet and bring you a Shirley Temple and sing you songs of praise. Usually when I get off of work this is the only kind of sign (or at least a variation on the theme) from above that I need, or certainly that I want, and if you bitch at me and tell me to slap on the SPF45 cause I'm gonna burn, I'm gonna think to myself, "Boy, that sucks," and ride on by.

Of course I had to see if there were any like-minded souls out there (I'm writing the word "soul" an unusual number of times. Maybe it's the signs. Maybe the gods of linguistics are poking fun at me.)  Here's what I found when I typed "worst church signs" into Google, which I love with all of my soulless soul. A quick glance tells me that "Real Dads Git Er Done For God" is my favorite so far, although "Are U Crunk 4 Jesus?" is a WAY close second. If it wouldn't get me fired quicker than my ass will burn in the great beyond, I'd add it to my repertoire at work. You know, just as an ice-breaker. (Christ - sorry - that's funny. Are you crunk for Jesus. That's the best thing I've heard all day. A slow day, perchance, but who in the HELL cares. HAHA!) 

And just for good measure, and to round out the church theme, here are a few photos of t-shirts that I saw on my vacation to one of the reddest states in all the land. What about Napoleon? And shouldn't we be a LITTLE bit worried about atheists? Or do they just get hung out to dry with the rest of the non-knee-mailers? Hmm? And last but not least, "Modest is hottest", because I know there's nothing we like more than a little titillation via abstinence. I neglected to check if  father of the year Joe Simpson owned this store.

And now do please note that some of the greatest people I know who love me very much and whom I love also go to church on a regular basis, and when they talk to me about it, it's cool with me. It's definitely an attraction thing, because never once, not ever, have they asked me if I think it's hot in here. I guess that's the key. 

Really, really random

I wrote a rather overwrought poem today and then I burned it sacrificially in the ladies room at work.

Actually I really didn't, but if all my overwrought thoughts were flaming poetry, that sucker would have burnt to the ground.

Speaking of the ladies room, there's some grafitti in there that really bothers me and therefore I'll mention it. It says "Obediant unto death. PeePee." And apparently it's intended to be Christian in nature because there's a ballpoint-pen cross drawn between these two sentences. Again, it's the attack of the anti-parallellism people. What do those two concepts even have to do with each other? Of course it's easy to see why "PeePee" (the two capital Ps strike me as way too entertaining) would come to mind in this tiny space designed for that purpose, but normally service to the Lord is far, far, far behind - even more behind than it usually is. Anyway, sorry...It's just one of those things I see all the time, but occasionally I look at it and think, "Could I just not see that anymore? Could someone take a hammer to this door please? Or maybe just some bleach?" Not that that would work...I don't think. Maybe it's just the concept of obedience - misspelled or not - that irks me, given my lack of a grip on that concept entirely...but I really don't think so.

Anyway, on a lighter note, (because damn, I'm more enjoyable when I sublimate my wacked out feelings in the addictive miasma of the Internet) do go to the Washington Post home page and check out the cutest panda bear who is so cute I am currently drowning in unbearable cuteness. The video is in the middle of the page. I can't find a link to it exactly.

There is indeed a full moon on Monday (And no, no, not a new one.) and that makes sense because I'm a-sayin', there have been some COMBATIVE people around me these past couple of days. And over stupid things, too. I dealt with a woman today who I swore was going to deck me, for something that was completely not my fault - something I was only tangentially involved in. It's amazing how people get so charged up over stuff that is quite simply, merely, fact...not anything that can be changed, just a procedure -something they may have to take care of in order to get what they want. Unfortunately, I do not have a Bewitched-type of nose that I can wiggle back and forth and magical things just happen. Sometimes your people need to call my people, or somebody else's people entirely, to accomplish stuff. I know it sucks. I too wish I had these diversionary superpowers. But I don't...not that kind anyway. ; )

What is magic is this sales notice, which I saw on the wall outside my piano class last week, and I had to snap a photo of it, of course. This has GOT to come from a business major. 

"Print documents like a lawyer"

"Write letters like Richard Nixon did."

Note: I do not condone the Sonny Bono comment. Not funny. Poor Sonny.

However, "Watch your kid bounce around like Gary Coleman," is, and "Ride bikes with wind in the hair," only a little bit less so.

I will leave you with doctor visit-chic, because My Doctor Cares. She cares enough to give me this excellent garment,

which of course I must model...that fetching, freezing-cold-waiting-for-the-doctor look. It's brand new for summer.

Make it a good weekend. 

For the game show lover in you.

This made me laugh.

Friday

I am officially out of sorts. I'm pissed off and my back hurts and I'm sad and I'm irritable. There. I said it. I'm tired of being nice this week. I'm tired of talking about inconsequential things. I'm tired of being social. I'm tired of taking care of people at the moment. I need a vacation. BLAH. I don't know when the well went so dry. (And before you tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself, please note that this is where I go to unload so I don't.)

I hate when people say "You need" to do this or that, especially before 9 a.m. And when you bring it like that at that hour, on a day like today...Let's just say the results aren't satisfactory for anyone, really.

It's interesting that I recently posted about my grandmother, because I learned yesterday that she'll need to move from her assisted living facilty, because she requires more care than they can provide. I haven't discussed this with anyone in real life, and yet I write about it here. Odd. It's so upsetting for so many reasons that I don't really want to talk about it, which is how I know that something really upsets me (otherwise, clearly I have no problem going on and on and on.)

I don't know what we're going to do for her. I don't know where she's going to go. She's lived in this place for six years, and her quality of life there has been absolutely great. The staff has been good and the setting is beautiful. It's a Catholic facility so she's been able to go to church and there are several retired priests who live there so she gets to chat with them and that pleases her. She was one of the residents who moved in when the place first opened, and I can say with conviction that had she not moved there, she would likely have withered away and died in the place she was in before. It was a typical corporate assisted living - pretty on the outside but lacking a soul, and it wasn't until she got to where she is now (by sheer luck, really) that she turned around. She often says, "If you have to be someplace, you may as well be here," which for her is high praise. 

Placing an elderly relative in a care facility is one of the most difficult things any human being ever has to do, and since most of us don't have unlimited funds, space, free time, or mental and physical stamina that caregiving requires, generally we do what we can with the resources we have. Since I worked in senior services for several years, I understood this process from a professional viewpoint, but nothing can prepare you for when it's your person going through this.

I'm sure it will be fine - or actually it'll just be what it needs to be, because these places have their rules and regulations, and levels of care that they're set up to handle. But it's hard to imagine telling her, much less physically moving her, just because she is so frail. She has most of her wits about her - they're just a little mixed up - so she'll be quite aware of what's going on, and aware enough to be depressed about it. It scares me, because change like this will be so hard, and I have no emotional separation when it comes to her. That was why I couldn't help to take care of her in the first place. There are a few people in my world whose safety and well-being are so important to me that I have very little rational sense when it comes to them. I know that's not good but it's just the way it is, and this is one of those times.