but i digress... a lot

Sorry, Kids of the Eighties

There are certain films in the lexicon of my generation that I missed out on. I didn’t see The Breakfast Club until I was in my mid-twenties. I still haven’t seen Pretty in Pink and I only saw Goonies because it happened to be playing in a bar one night. I hesitate to share this because it’s always met with the same reaction that lives somewhere between shock, horror, and dead babies. Seriously people? The truth is I don’t care and I don’t intend to play catch up now. Some films are meant to be seen by folks of a certain age and beyond that age they just don’t translate. Yes, I hate the breakfast club. Sorry. 

While the rest of you were having Fast TImes at Ridgemont High (which I actually do like, hello Phoebe Cates!) I was obsessed with Hairspray and anything Busby Berkely. This is not me trying to be cool and/or hipstery. Actually, it’s the opposite. I sometimes wish I could participate in those, “John Hughes was the God of my childhood” conversations. See, I’m a joiner so I really dislike being left out of things. 

Note that I said sometimes. Other times I really don’t care because as stated above I think a lot of those movies are crap. BUT say one bad thing about Mallrats or Heathers and we’ll have to step outside. 

Thoughts on Black Friday

Black Friday is one of those things that you either get or you don’t. I was a don’t until my cousin’s wife explained to me that she could get everything on the kids’ Christmas lists in one go and save money. She also said that she’s been doing it so long that it’s become somewhat of a social event. They see the same families every year.

While I do understand that there are deals and I also understand the excitement and psychology behind being part of such an event, what I don’t understand is the importance of getting every single little thing on a kids list. Not to sound like an old lady but, when I was growing up… Just kidding. Sort of. Okay not really.

When I was a kid we got a few big gifts and stockings full of candy and fruit and nuts (always the last to be eaten of course) and little toys that were the most fun and kept us busy for hours, maybe even days. Paddle ball was my personal favorite and I must give kudos to the adults who were brave enough to let a house full of kids loose with what, in the wrong hands, could be an efficient eye removal tool. We were good kids though so nobody put their eye out. (See what I did there?)

I’m sure we all had lists miles long. I’m also sure I threw some sort of fit at least once because I hadn’t gotten something I wanted, but my point is, I was fine. I am fine. When did parents start believing that their child would indeed die if he or she does not get the latest wi game. (I had to google that.) Or is it that our parents raised a generation of parents who just don’t know how to say no?*

I meant to end it here as I don’t want to be one of those people who goes round and round in circles, especially since I’m no Geoff Dyer, but I can’t. I can’t because to say that it is just parents would be unfair. It’s an entire generation of people who don’t know how to say no. Lest you think I’ve been deluded into thinking I’m not included in this group let me tell you that I am very clear about my own powerlessness in the face of my inner Veruca Salt. I am as guilty as the next person when it comes to complete lack of restraint, despite the fact that I was, on a regular basis, told “no”.

I’m sure the answers are out there, at all of our fingertips just waiting to be pulled up (like the spelling of Wi) but I can’t seem to find them. I’ve asked occupiers and marchers and anarchists and subversives but they haven’t got them either. I don’t want to give up. I don’t want to believe that there aren’t any answers but the truth is, I’m afraid it’s too late. I’m afraid that the days of saying no, of love and fun and family and friends being more important than material goods are over. I hope I’m wrong.

*I do know plenty of parents who say no but they happen to be in the minority. 

Listening to this blues heavy playlist feeling sorry for myself when out of nowhere Tanya Tucker informs me that when she dies she may not go to heaven. It surprised me so much that I jumped. Then I started laughing. Thanks Tanya.

they touched the floor

From Saturday:

“I think, seriously, that I’ve crossed a line. I was laying in bed this morning, trapped in the thought that as long as I did not get out of bed, as long as my feet were nowhere near the floor, no one would die. (Yes, I do intend to take this up with my therapist.) Selfishly I don’t want to go to another funeral. I don’t want to fly in tears for any reason other than I am terrified to plow through the air in a steel trap. I don’t want to say any more goodbyes for a little while.

On the flip side, I don’t want to see anyone suffer any more than they already have. I don’t want to watch my loved ones grow haggard and sleep deprived, aging ten years a day as they hold bedside vigil. “

I stopped typing because it was too personal. Tonight I don’t care.

I’m not what you’d call a “careful” person. I come from a long line of bulls who live in, at or near china shops. We are the kind of people who, given a choice, will plow directly through something rather than go around over or under. Well, I’m tired of cleaning up broken glass and digging poo out of the soles of my shoes. I aim to change. I aim to be careful, to re-read and type slower than my brain thinks. Right after I post this…

I love vegetables. I also love fruit. A perfectly steamed, perfectly in season ______ cannot be beat. My general feeling is that if it must be smothered, covered or dipped to taste good then there’s something wrong with it. Blame my mom for that, she never put anything more on our green stuff that a little lemon and soy sauce. It has nothing to do with being vegan/vegetarian/other, it’s just what I like. 

I’m thinking about this because recently I read that vegans have altered taste buds, that things begin to taste amazing because of all the over processed, over salted, sugary junk. How can that be true though when a vegetable is always a vegetable? A fruit is always a fruit? Even some whole grains have their own delicious, deep flavor. I actually had some brown rice the other day with a little lemon that was incredibly sweet. Now that I’m really thinking about it, I think it’s the opposite. I think vegans probably have more refined taste buds. I can’t remember ever being able to find the subtle sweetness in rice or truly appreciating that a peach can taste and feel like ice cream on the tongue before these simple pleasures were commonplace. 

what say you?