LaurieWrites

You win.

I have a few posts to write that I'm either in the middle of or avoiding, but I am taking a station break because damned if going through my Google search history (my scary, crazy laugh- and cringe-inducing joyride of a Google search history) today didn't unearth a video of my dog. 

I don't remember putting this video in Google videos. To my knowledge I have never consciously put a video into anything Googlefied on purpose, but such that Google's world domination ensures that they are probably cross-processing the chips and salsa I'm housing at the moment into some kind of electronic food-intake infograph of my 41st year, I'm not surprised at jack crap that Google does. 

I am going to embed that video here, because I watched it today and it made me cry, and it reminded me of the simple joy of playing with my dog, and how nothing that I do at this point really matches it, and that's kind of a problem. It reminded me of learning to raise a puppy and understanding that it was a really, really difficult thing to do, that pointed out several of my character flaws as well as the capacity to take several photographs of a two-pound animal so small he could stand in his own dinner plate. 

I'm in the middle of some big, huge, weird, life stuff, and sometimes it's nice to remember that I can maybe actually get past it and back to a time where I sit in a chair in my living room and bicker over a squeaky miniature football with a being that can't reason or speak. He was old in this clip, probably 12, and had just gotten through a round of seizures that I was convinced would kill him. He was missing teeth and he had so many physical flaws, but I didn't care. He was always a puppy to me, really.

I'll never get him back, which still breaks my bandaged heart to a noteable degree, but maybe, just maybe, another one. Maybe another place, with a lot of love and happiness, some time to sit on the couch without worrying that it's the wrong one. That would be nice. 

I like that I found him today. It bodes well for some hard things that I have on the agenda this week. I'm considering this a peculiar sort of prayer. 

And if by chance, that special place

Self-love is okay, even if that's not what they told me in school. In fact I'm quite certain it was strongly discouraged where I started out, but I graduated, baby.

Hilly designates Valentines Day as Self-Love Day over at her blog and encourages people to do the same. I've been blog slacking lately - long story, this week's version involves a crapload of snow and general inertia. I was not one of the ones liveblogging this shit, I'll just leave it at that - so it seems like a good way to jump back in.

Again.

Seriously, I am the queen of blog breaks.

ANYWAY, this is not about what is wrong with me, supposedly. That's for every OTHER day. This is about love. Self-love. The Jesus-legal kind.

See?

...is the greatest love of all. You thought that, didn't you? At least some of you did? I hope so, because I'd like to at least still be friends.

I DECIDED LONG AGO NEVER TO WALK IN ANYONE'S SHADOW.

I feel the need to yell that line, sorry. Whitney could sing that song and make me forget I hated it. Such was her voice then. Annndddd I'm distracted. (I typed "distractored" accidentally. I think that's a much better word.)

Anyway. What do I love about myself? I'm supposed to pick one thing.

I am not proficient at this task. In? At?

See?

Okay. You know what I think I love? I keep showing up. I don't know what I'm doing or why. I have no idea, honestly. I don't have anything I thought I'd have, I'm not doing anything I really thought I'd be doing. I am certainly not where I have ever dreamed of being. I have hard days and devastating hours. I feel incompetent a lot, like I let people down and say the wrong things and can never remember all of the bills on the right days and never click on all of the right links or fill out the right forms or return all of the e-mails. I am kind of a mess.

But I keep showing up. I am persistent in this trying-to-figure-it-out in spite of not knowing thing, in doing what I can only perceive with all of the facts and intuitive flashes that I have at hand to be the next right thing. And I really do try. Even when I look like I'm not trying I'm usually at least mentally trying really hard. I can be an excellent person to have around in the clinch, really, because I more or less live there.

I'd be a pretty good goalie, I think, is what I'm trying to say. It all somehow comes back to hockey. Funny, that.

And that is what I like about myself, right now, this day.

You are supposed to say something nice about me now. That's Hilly's rule, not mine. Her words, exactly:

Ask or beg your readers to post one thing that they too love about you!!! If your blog friends are nice, you shouldn’t have to beg…much.

I guess that means in the comments? That's the embarrassing part and the part that I'm really not good at. I am not a good begger. I don't even get a lot of comments but all three of you who are here can play along or not.

And then I will say nice things about you, so really, as is not the case at the Olympic Games that you may have heard a thing or two about where some people will win and some people will indeed brutally lose and cry their way through the smoke of the snowboarders back to their Olympic Village bunk (I would totally want to be friends with the snowboarders, of course) we all win.

Really. We do.

I don't know how this whole business started.

Watch it. Ambrosia will fuck you UP.

HAHAHAHAHA.

(That picture courtesy HeavyHarmonies.com. Hi guys.)

No, seriously. You don't want to meet this crew in a dark alley. See?

(Photo courtesy inertron.com who must accept my deepest apologies. And if you want to see it in its original glory, which you really should, plus watch David Pack LIP-SYNC the damned song I've had trapped in my head for 48 hours now, go here. Ashlee Simpson lip-syncs the pants off this guy, is all I can say.)

Could I call Burleigh Drummond's hat a bonnet? Or more appropriately a tam-o-shanter. A top 'o the mornin' tam-o-shanter, matey, but I'd still prefer to call it a  bonnet.

See, I decided to confront this Ambrosia madness head-on, so I searched for the images and decided to, you know, snark it up around here a little bit. It's been too warm and fuzzy lately (yeesh) plus I need a new post today since every time the site pulls up so I can delete one of the million spam comments I'm getting I see my big old head and that's more shock than I need. It's like I'm staring at myself. Weird. And when I did the search, I realized that Ambrosia ALSO did that creepy "I see your face when I have sex with my wife" song, "How Much I Feel". So now they're doing battle in my brain. Because like I said, Ambrosia will fuck you UP. And don't even get me started on England Dan and John Ford Coley.

It's one of the two busiest times of the year at work for me, this one coming conveniently right after "holiday" exhaustion. I'm also in terrible chronic pain from falling in the yard of the house I just moved out of, and altogether this means that laughing at stuff like this and Aleve are just about the only things getting me through right now. Good thing, because I know no one really wants to hear about pain. It's the most boring thing to talk about, which is challenging when you hurt constantly and you're a verbal person and you just want to keep commenting on it. Like when it's 100 degrees outside and everyone knows it but you keep on saying, "My GOD it's so HOT. Stop the MADNESS." It's kind of like that. I might capitulate and go get a heating pad. Sad sad sad.

Should be a good weekend, though. I'm joining the sheep on the last day of the Annie Liebovitz show in DC (I don't like going on the last day of anything but...but...yeah) and the Ansel Adams show is still there, so I'll have time to see that too. too. Such different photographers, so the contrast alone should be interesting. I hope the rain stops and the weather's nice, because today sucked. If it is maybe I'll resurrect my SLR and do some old-school film shooting. I really want to do some Polaroid work. And I also need to spiff things up around here. So much, so much I want to do.

May all your weekendy dreams come true. : )

Elf yourself.

Oh my God this makes me laugh. 

Go ahead, really. It's kind of worth it.

Ho Ho Ho. Yeah, I said it.

RARELY do I ever just regurgitate the countless inane and occasionally insane news stories that float my way across the Interwebs universe, but COME ON! Why would Santa be laughing at everything anyway? Not that he has any really good reason for "Ho Ho Ho'ing" either, but that's just the WAY IT IS.

This was the Sydney version of the AP story that's running pretty much everywhere today...It happened Down Under so it just seems right. And yes it is a biased report, but how else to stir up this kind of deserved outrage? Ha. Ha. Ha.

SYDNEY (AFP) - Santas in Australia's largest city have been told not to use Father Christmas's traditional "ho ho ho" greeting because it may be offensive to women, it was reported Thursday.

Sydney's Santa Clauses have instead been instructed to say "ha ha ha" instead, the Daily Telegraph reported.

One disgruntled Santa told the newspaper a recruitment firm warned him not to use "ho ho ho" because it could frighten children and was too close to "ho", a US slang term for prostitute.

"Gimme a break," said Julie Gale, who runs the campaign against sexualising children called Kids Free 2B Kids.

"We are talking about little kids who do not understand that "ho, ho, ho" has any other connotation and nor should they," she told the Telegraph.

"Leave Santa alone."

A local spokesman for the US-based Westaff recruitment firm said it was "misleading" to say the company had banned Santa's traditional greeting and it was being left up to the discretion of the individual Santa himself.

Never lose it

Duran Duran is opening up the concert for Diana on Vh1 as I type this. Almost 25 years and I still got those old butterflies. Much appreciated was a close-up shot of John Taylor's hands playing "Wild Boys", and no I'm not that embarrassed to admit that.

I hope what Andy Taylor says isn't true, although it probably is. We all get older and to a person we learn some things we'd rather not as well as lots of things that help the whole experience here make sense.

Still, it's nice to have a few illusions, if that's what they are, and things in the present day that stand up to memory, even if it is a bass player who it appears is dying his hair a most unfortunate shade of something I wouldn't have recommended.

Interview This

The lovely and talented Stacy Campbell interviewed me today as part of her general effort to interview the world, or at least as we know it on the interweb. Be sure to check out her website. She is also one of the high priestesses of Indiebloggers, which is worth a look as well.

I answered, because she asks really good questions, and also because someone finally CARED, I'm telling you. They CARED to construct questions just for me. I did name names and share the not-very-sordid details and did not once, you'll notice, mention any reality television show, which is pretty good for me these days. I did, however, refer her to my publicist on all matters related to Jake Gyllenhaal. There are some things I'm just not ready to share. Stay tuned to People.com for that. I'm the one who looks a lot like Reese Witherspoon these days.

Here we go. I only droned on a little bit. Try to pay attention.

1. I notice you love, as I do, the Gary Jules Donnie Darko/Tears for Fears cover. It’s fantastic and, like you, I can listen to it over and over and over again. You say it’s a sad song and I totally agree. Why do you listen to it over and over? Me, I like sad music. What kinds of music are you most drawn to and why?

Ah, "Mad World." Why? Hmmm. I probably listen to it over and over like I re-read old letters that told me they loved me. Just your garden variety sucker. Haha. No, really - in this case, it's the piano, and the violin (I'm especially a sucker for strings.) Also his hypnotic repetition and deceptively simple rhyme scheme...I love songs that are like short stories (I'm a frustrated fiction writer - just can't do it) and this one qualifies.

"And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad, the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had. I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take. When people run in circles, it's a very, very mad world" Gah! So appropriate for my reaction to recent world events, now that I see it in print.

I am drawn to so much music it's sort of ridiculous. One of the greatest regrets of my life is that I wasn't handed an instrument as a small child, because my efforts to learn them in adulthood have been unsuccessful so far. Piano and guitar lessons were soooo humbling. Drums are next. I have a lot of energy to burn and quite good rhythm so maybe that'll work. In the meantime, I'm a fangirl. I have so many favorites. I grew up listening to 70s rock and Motown courtesy of my parents, which morphed into country (I'd probably still cross the street to hug George Strait, and I still love bluegrass especially.) High school was Duran Duran and 80s new wave that turned into hair bands and metal (Metallica is still one of the best live music memories of my life, and the 1988 Monsters of Rock tour one of my best memories period.) Led Zeppelin is...well, very important stuff.

In college I listened to Tracy Chapman's first cd over and over and discovered songwriting. Embraced grunge - loved Soundgarden, and feel that "Temple of the Dog" is one of the best complete cds ever recorded. I'm sort of a hybrid singer/songwriter plus rock and roll/r&b girl, with a deep love for the holy trinity of Al Green, Marvin Gaye and Aretha Franklin. I love the Dixie Chicks - "Taking the Long Way" was arguably the best cd of 2006. I'm currently addicted to Patty Griffin, listen to Prince consistently, and see the Indigo Girls and Cowboy Junkies just about every time they come to town. Hem is a great band and so is Girlyman, a folk-pop group out of Brooklyn (currently). Essentially I like stuff that makes me happy to be alive and listening, and that doesn't suck. I admire and can easily identify instrumental talent, and I like to sing along. Loudly.

2. You just found $20 on the ground and no one is around who could possibly have lost it or could claim it. How do you spend it? Assume you have to buy something for yourself, no more than $20, but you have to spend the entire bill.

If I found 20 bucks I'd honestly probably spend a little more on lunch. Isn't that sad? But lunch is very important. I love it. It's my most communal meal of the day generally and I hate to blow my cash (Although I do. So consistently!!!!) so finding some would ease the pain a little bit. I might also feel compelled to go to Whole Foods and buy some olives and mozzarella. Sweet Lord I love Whole Foods olives and mozzarella. Know how they buried the Pharaohs with provisions for the journey? Those would be mine. If it wasn't food - like if I was feeling okay about lunch - it'd be a book or a cd. I'll know I've made it - if indeed I do - when I can buy either of those things without thinking twice. Full price. Hardcover. Whatever. That would be so excellent.

3. You love reading, and I think we have similar taste in books so I love seeing what’s in your reading list. What were your favorite books as a child? Try to refrain from mentioning the “old standby” books (Cat in the Hat, etc.) and focus on the not-so-mentioned.

My favorite book that I first remember was a hardcover version of "Heidi" that I made my poor grandmother read to me over and over and over. And I remember being obsessed with the part where Heidi's grandfather made toasted cheese for breakfast, because frankly I was quite jealous of little Heidi, 'cause dude - toasted cheese for breakfast. The illustration was such that I kind of thought in my kiddie state that I'd like to eat it right off the page. If he'd made lunch I'd likely have lost my tiny little mind. (All those people who think I've grown up are wrongwrongwrong.)

I still have a copy of that Richard Scarry "I Smell Christmas" book where you could "scratch and sniff" the orange and the pine tree and the gingerbread man. I loved "The Poky Little Puppy" - Golden Book kind of stuff. A rebel from day one, I eschewed "Cat in the Hat" for Seuss's lesser-known "Yertle the Turtle", cementing my interest early on in loveable villains done in by their own pride - and also burping turtles. I read those ridiculous "Bobbsey Twins" books obsessively. They were brown-covered hardbacks and involved two sets of twins who were siblings - Bert and Nan (oh, the insufferable Bert and tight-assed Nan. Killing me, man.) and Flossie and Freddie. Seriously. They were always getting into some scrape or the other, on Blueberry Island, or at the "seashore" or in the country. Mommy and Daddy Bobbsey should have grounded their asses years before. I was also a big Nancy Drew fan - and swore to God I should have been born in South Dakota because Laura Ingalls and I totally would have been friends. You know, if I hadn't been struck dead by the prairie fever. Yes. Geek. All doubts should be removed at this point.

4. You write the animal/pet column for BlogHer, which pretty much means that I will adore you for a lifetime. What do you love most about animals and why? Be specific. What is one of your favorite animal/pet memories of all time?

I love animals in a general sense because we really don't know what they're thinking. It's a great mystery how we coexist (although sometimes humans handle our end poorly) and so many animals are just so beautiful. I love dogs, specifically - because they generally don't know malice and have an infinite capacity to forgive. My dog is the only breathing creature who has always been happy to see me (besides my grandma - and we're getting to that one, yes.)

Favorite memory is hard because I have so many. Going to pick Punkin up from his first home qualifies, I guess - although I had no idea I was going to get him. I had my sights set on another dog - a female, because you know, girl power and all. But he kept jumping up in my lap and climbing up over my leg when I was sitting on the floor, to the point that I just felt like a jerk for rejecting him, because obviously he felt he was the one for me. This is the only time this reaction to that particular tactic has turned out for the good. A second runner up is when I had two dogs - Sunshine died in 2000 - and we lived in Ohio. I'd come home from work and play the White Album, and when "Ob-la-di-ob-la-da" came on, we'd all dance in the dining room (where there was no other furniture.) I can also see them both in my mind, standing up on their back legs looking out the window of the huge truck that I drove us home to Maryland from Ohio in. They looked out most of the way. So cute.

5. You once wrote and submitted to IB a touching post about Valentine’s Day and your Grandma. (She sounds like a beautiful person, by the way.) Other than Grandma, who are your role models and why? In what ways do you strive to be like them?

Thanks for recognizing that relationship. It's been really important to me, obviously, for my whole life.

I have so many role models for different things, but I'll choose what comes to the top of my heart now. I admire people who live with integrity and intention, who are smart and funny and kind. I also admire a great capacity for growth and reinvention - I love Elton John, you know?

My grandfather deserves equal time for his faith and absolute decency. My friend Karen has shown me how to be hopeful and to honor my heart. My friend Audrey - how to show grace and kindness, no matter what, and to be a positive force in the world. Denise for making me pay attention to what's right for me and goading me to stand up for it. My old friend Mike for persistence, and belief in and pursuit of one's best self. My friends Marcus and Carmen for loyalty and strength of character and purpose. Older adults like my friend Bernice who live healthy, productive lives (working full-time and getting an honorary degree at 84 - seriously.)

All the writers and artists I know who consistently dare to put themselves out there in spite of risk and lack of any immediate reward. Women like Margaret Bourke-White and Dorothea Lange who were professional photographers when it was a lot more difficult to break in. Journalists like Molly Ivins and Maureen Dowd who speak truth to power. Anyone who looks out for the good of others and for their community.

And of course my mom for her successful efforts to sustain a family and meaningful career, and her devotion to all of us, and my dad for his dedication to maintaining his commitments even when he didn't necessarily want to and when it wasn't easy at all. My parents are quite remarkable people.

Thanks, Stacy. That was fun. And now I don't have to talk about myself for at least two days, which is a relief.

Firsts

The lovely Stephanie is wading into the meme waters with "five firsts", and tagged whoever wanted to play. Think about your first anything, she said. First car. First meal of the day. First - of course - love. Anything. I've been thinking about the topic since I last read it yesterday, so I guess I'll give it a shot.

First surgery: At six weeks old (I can't believe I ever weighed ten pounds. And couldn't talk!) my lip that had never fused was sewn together - a first attempt at wholeness that's more or less been a recurring theme through my years, it occurs to me now. No photos of me exist prior to my lip repair, and I wish one did.

First print: The first time I ever made a print in the darkroom, I looked down in the developer and saw the black and white tones form an image I had made on plain paper. And I said, perhaps for the first time in my life, "It's like magic."

First Confession: I mentally added my grade school sins to the stain of the original one, and lined up with my classmates on the stained-glass shiny blue carpet outside the row of wooden confessionals in the back of our cavernous church. Once inside, behind the screen, I promptly forgot the words to the ritual. I sat silent and terrified for a minute or two, until the priest - who knew me, who had baptized me, who was friends with my grandfather, said "Boo!", and then laughed softly, and spoke the prayers aloud so that I could follow along.

First date(s): A lovely night at Planet X coffeehouse (that later burned down) and a drive home through an ice storm. Dinner, a movie and awkward conversation on my couch. Another movie and macaroni and cheese on another couch. Mostly things just come to be.

First paid writing gig: I won several two-dollar bills that I still have somewhere in one of those long white envelopes with the plastic address window, for writing the "best poem about the Redskins" in elementary school, the year they won the Superbowl. I know nothing about football, but no one needed to know it was based on hearsay - just that it rhymed.

Googe

The Google Valentine's Day logo is spelled wrong.  (They may have  changed it by now, but as of this linkage it is.)

It's got a chocolate-covered strawberry as the second "g", though, so maybe that's supposed to resemble another "o", so it can just read "Gooooeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyy" in a weird sort of way? No matter what, it's a chocolate-covered strawberry, so no matter how you write it it's still spelled "y-u-m-m-y".

Merry Christmas...mmmkay

A surefire way to get yourself noticed in the Liz Claiborne Outlet Store in Lancaster, PA:

When the version of "Carol of the Bells", sung by what sounds like Point of Grace or SheDaisy or some such girl band of infidels, creeps into your head straight from the in-store music, find yourself, er, ENHANCING the tune by blurting out "All seem to say, DING DONG MMMKAY" just like Mr. Mackey from South Park. And do it over and over, and don't really consciously realize this until the song is just about over. And find yourself in a fit of giggles, repeating "Hark hear the bells, 'mmmkay" all by yourself, all the way to the car, garnering several more funny outlet-mall stares (and not making that whole having-to-pee-really-bad thing any easier.)

Happy freaking holidays, Mr. Hat.

(Oh, and I realized I never disclosed the number of "Feliz Navidads" in the song of the same name, as I've fallen down terribly on the yuletide song blogging. It's 21...21 times he wants to wish you a merry Spanglish Christmas. But doesn't it feel like more? Doesn't it?)