This weekend blogger was talking to a friend about how moms refer to themselves to their children in the third person. But, why? Perhaps blogger should do that in all areas of her life?
For the first time in my life I am a dog owner. We got Cody the Cockapoo just a couple of days ago.
Rex had asked Santa for a dog, but Santa told him he couldn’t cross state lines with a live animal. He said he would bring a toy dog. Rex understood. Both the kids got toy dogs, but still wished for a real one. Like in “Miracle on the 34th street” Santa has his ways.
One morning I get a call from my neighbor Joanne asking if I knew who anyone who would like to take a 6 year old, Cockapoo, boy dog. I said, we would. I said “well, bring him by and we will see.” Mark sat nearby and said, “there is no “bringing by”, you see it, you’ll want it.”
It’s an odd story of how he came to be with us. Joanne said another family in our area asked her if they wanted to take him. Why, my friend and adult daughter asked? Knowing Cody was a nice dog. They said they were moving to North Carolina and couldn’t take him and they were going to have leave him at a rescue pound. Last I heard they have dogs in North Carolina, so I don’t know what the story is, but unless a hurricane is about to heat and you have to run for your life I don’t know why you would leave your family dog behind. But, our gain.
The kids were in the back with two of Viv’s best friends when we brought Cody back.
“Do you like this dog?”
“Want to keep him?”
“For the day?” They asked.
“Forever” Vivien jumped and hunged her friend. Rex was speechless.
So far everything is fine except ONE thing. The dog is a bolter. At first I thought it meant he was looking for his old home. But, I’ve been told he did this with them too. So, no open front doors here. He has a huge backyard that is secure he can ramble around, but hasn’t ventured out much yet. Also, they never fixed him so I have to do that.
But, since I’m new to dog ownership I welcome any helpful hints to all this.
Happy New year folks! Getting back into it…
I feel I always greet a new year with optimism, hope, fresh resolve. Now I think, Why bother? Maybe it’s better to adjust my expectations. Then life could look more rosy at benchmark’s along the byways of 2014.
Speaking of Rosey…my family and I went to the Rose Parade this year. It’s that one time of the year where dear old Pasadena, California for one day becomes the center of the country with petals glued to a hulking object over wheels and some dudes from the mid west knock heads ( or Northeast and West this year). People camp out for days to get the primes spots on Colorado Blvd, the main drag of the Rose parade. Why anyone would camp out on concrete over night, save for a political demonstration perhaps, I don’t get. But, I want to witness it. The night before the parade I slowly drove my Cheerio wagon down Colorado with my kids.
“Look, you guys, look at all the people camping out on the sidewalk.” They gapped in wonder at the throngs in their parka’s. Folding chairs, blow up beds, many had wood fires in portable pits. Some sat and drank, some looked bored and then…INCOMING. Whap! Our car was hit with whipped cream.
Rex: “Mommy, what was that?”
“Whipped cream, I think it’s a thing.” wide-eyed and amused we saw a grown man hurl a tortilla at our windshield. It slowly slipped down, left a goo mark as it was coated with honey.
A few more tried to pelt us. There was some silly string. I never felt in danger, yet felt, hmm, this could turn into anarchy pretty darn fast. I moved into the left turn lane as we approached the street I needed to turn onto. Provident, as the car that was left in the right lane was bombarded by three woman with white gooey stuff… some whipped cream type thing. I thought, “Where are they going to the bathroom?” I’m sure they added some porta potties, but I thought, “Where are they brushing their teeth?” It was all too grisly to consider.
The last time, and only other time, I spent New Years eve in Pasadena I was single and I was with one of my best friends Whitney. We use to travel to exotic locales for NYE, but work schedules prevented us from doing so that year ( I was hosting a show for Discovery at the time), so if you can’t go tropical, of course you go Pasadena. We had drinks where an old improv friend was bartending. A pathetic bar that had been a funeral home at one time. Now, that same friend Josh Temple is a successful host for DIY and was wandering the streets of Pasadena for HGTV for their Rose Parade coverage and I’m Not hosting a show for Discover ( ironically, all of those channels are owned by Scripps). I got a text from a friend when I was on my way to dinner, “Josh is interviewing people by floats.” Performing improvisationally is a much better fit for him. Oh, what time will do.
After spending a challenging night on a slowly deflating air mattress with Rex’s foot in my back, neck, face we woke to meet the parade. My sister made a fantastic coffee cake and then we walked a mere 8 blocks and we were right at the barricade of the parade.
No compromising our hygiene for this spot. I thought I would most like to see the floats. There were some pretty ones. Though Trader Joe’s was so lame, “Relish the dream’ with bunches of olives and such. Yeah, we get the message, “We sell condiments!” Come on corporate America, try to look like you care about the greater good. Especially considering all the money I shell out at TJ’s they could have stepped it up. We saw the Rose Queen, KC and the Sunshine band. Clearly since he gave up coke it’s harder for him to keep up his figure.
But, what I really enjoyed was the marching bands. This bands are 10 times bigger than most high schools. Some are forced to wear the most god awful outfits, but they perform very well. Thick nylon ish jumpsuits. There must always be a struggle between “are we performing in cold or heat?” With girls mid sections being the loser. There are some though, that don’t finish on their feet. Maybe they partied a bit too much the night before, or the thick nylon plus heat did them in. For them there are vans, “loser bus” my Pasadena friends called them. I once saw an over heated tuba player prostrate next to his instrument gasping in the van as the crowd jeered.
It was pretty warm and I wish I had dressed in cooler clothes.no mistaking me for the belly daners.
But, didn’t matter what I wore. After an hour Rex was DONE.
He had stayed up to 11 the night before.. trying for midnight. The kids were hot so we walked back before it was done. It is very worth seeing up close. Not, sleep on public street worth it, but couch surfing worth it. It’s a nice moment in a string of various moments. Like a year. Like a life. It’s all about expectations.
Other than popping ibuprofen for cramps this week is all about wrapping and cooking.
Wrapping because the kids are out of school shortly and then wrappings gets complicated. I’m running out of of space above 6 feet high that I can hide stuff.
Cooking because I got one of those organic produce deliveries and I know from past experience that if you don’t use the farm fresh wonders fast I will have a moldering box of vegetable matter.
“What is it?”
“um, think it WAS a radish.”
So, last night I chopped up the kale, mixed with olive oil and kosher salt and popped in the oven at 300 for about 12 minutes. It’s a tasty snack, but you must be alone to eat it as they 1) crumble and 2) get caught in your teeth. So I looked like a hillybilly when I was done.
After about, hmm, 10 minutes.. time stood still has checked on my kale, then I add the pieces of chard leaf. First I thought there is no way I’m getting all of it in this pot, but gradually it worked. Which is another reason I must tackle these produce boxes quickly, my fridge CANNOT hold them. I’d have to swap out something that is really needed around here in order to make room like, milk or that jar of pickles we’ve had for 2 years.
It was done and it was fine. But, maybe it’s the Christmas spirit, but I thought, this needs CREAM. So I made a quick sauce, flour, butter and a cup of half and half. Whisk. I calculated the calories and was briefly appalled… but then I thought, hey I’m only going to eat of fistful of this dish, not the whole pan.
transferred the chard into the creamy sauce, cook a bit with a few pinches of nutmeg.
With it’s green and red look I’m going to make it for Christmas dinner, but I think I will add a little more of something.. thinking smoked paprika or chile powder.
Next I started to cut up the squash to roast, then realized the kids were nodding off So, I stopped to wrap!
1) Still want to hang out with me
2) Still believe in Santa Claus
3) are open and excited and haven’t become cynical jaded f*cks.
That time will come, but till then I’m loving it. I love sharing them with my mom
and going to holiday teas, church Christmas boutiques, (my splurge here from the Solvang Bakery) Last year my splurge was piano playing miniature teddy bear. What can I say I’m weak for Christmas kitsch.
Making hot chocolate, buying our tree. They insisted on flocked this year. I have bought ONE gift so far and need to do my budget of what is possible, but in the last few years I’ve just come to accept that anxiety at what I’m putting on the credit card is as much a part of Christmas time as hot apple cider. Oh, by the way Christmas bazaars, this year no one has had hot apple cider. What gives? I’m calling Fox News.
Christmas time goes so fast that one really has to have everything staged and ready to go. I’m pretty good, but still trying to dig out my Nat King Cole and Frank Sinatra holiday CD’s. Good I have spotify, but I have to skip a lot these modern ballads.. blech.
One reason I have been looking forward to Christmas is so that Vivien can finally wear this exquisite dress that Mark’s cousin Vicki made for her. She visited us earlier this year and we went fabric shopping. She went back to Oregon and then sent us this picture perfect dress. Red velvet, green silk sash, ruching on the shoulders. A one of kind. Years from now when Vivien is off clubbing or running her medical practice I will be clutching this dress, shooing my cats away from its beauty.
Today is the 5th year anniversary of Bernie Madoff’s arrest. And they said it wouldn’t last!
CNBC called me a few days ago and asked me if I would go on camera and talk about how I am coping as a Madoff victim. The producer said she had just spoken to someone who said “they had moved on.” Some people she said “are relunctant to talk about something so painful.”
Me: “That’s cool, I’ll talk, I’ve been coughing up my soul for years.” (cut to montage of my solo shows, stand up, vlogging, after too many drinks at a party) I was the lead plantiff in a class action suit against Stanley “died before convicted” Chais so I have not been a shrinking violet when it comes to my absconded retirement fund. I’ve always been ENRAGED.
As is often the case with these things I don’t love the way it was edited. First off, none of my funny lines made it in. Like when it came up about Madoff talking from prison and I said, ”I don’t want to hear a thing from that guy. Unless, it’s hey, Daphne, there is a box of money I kept hidden and here is it’s location.”They didn’t get me choking up, tears in my eyes.
Can I direct this thing?
Also, the other woman who they interviewed talks about getting the money she originally invested. She must have been a direct investor. We weren’t so we didn’t get anywhere near it. But, whatever. Here is another few minutes in the reality show called my life! CLICK HERE There is an EP of Madoff
suckers victims here. But, scroll down past his ugly mug to the vid with us. I’m glad they got the part about OTHER people, with their own ugly mugs, who have not had to pay the piper. Yet.
The producer said I was good on camera. I suggested I host a show for CNBC called, “How not to invest.” She laughed.
Suck it “We are the world” for my money the best superstar, cause anthem was and is “Ain’t going to play Sun City.” It has terrific energy and even though the haircuts look very ’80′s I think it holds up well after all these years.
It was also one of things that started to make me aware of apartheid. Sun City was a white only resort smack dab in an impoverished black homeland. ( ironically the guy who created it went on to do a casino on Indian land in the US….hmmm)
This is one of the awkward times when I have to admit the age I really am. I was no child when the divestment issue was going on in the ’80′s. I was sitting in and got arrested. It’s easy to see things as black and white when you are a teenager. Youth can be insufferable in their righteousness, but with Mandela’s passing I find myself glad I was not detached.
I would not have been asked to play Sun City and I doubt Run -DMC would have been either (Frank Sinatra did, ouch). My sister and I use to change the lyrics to “ain’t going to play Culver City.” And put in our own hometown references like this:
flashing red light on Overland
lines at Alpha Beta I can’t understand
Sorrento Market isn’t open late
We are driving to the Marina, just to get a bite,
Say it, I I I I, ain’t going play Culver City-tay.. ahhh
But, the song created by Steven Van Zandt did the job. (full story here) Apartheid wasn’t cool and only unhip people participated in it. Love the references to Reagan in the video, the whole thing screams my youth. Some notables who are gone performed on it, like Lou Reed, Joey Ramone and Miles Davis. There is a lot of “wait, who is that guy? Oh, yeah Peter Wolf.”
On the occasion of Mandela’s passing I think of the other greats like Martin Luther King or a nameless protestor sentenced to death after Tiananmen square who did not get to grow old and continue to seek liberty for all. We are fortunate that Mandela was able to fullfill his mission. To survive prison is a feat, to come out and not want to knock heads when you do is inspiring.
This is about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Nelson Mandela dancing to some Irish music and these two dudes start dancing with him. A rainbow world rejoicing in song.
So, I’m going to be cranking “Sun City” because it’s a good song, reminds me that sometimes it’s good to be naive and think you can effect change. Because you can. Mandela would want us to dance. Dance together.
What is the matter with you AYSO? Let me explain.
Blessfully, soccer season is OVER. It was a struggle this year. I made a mistake. Vivien is young for her age group ( September bday) and she is not the most ambitious player and she had no school friends in our league. So, I moved her to a different league, a younger group. My thought was she would have less pressure.
We went from a coach who played tag as warm up to one with a whistle. We went from a team where she knew a couple of the girls for years, albeit not from her school, to a team where she knew some girls from her school, but they didn’t connect to about 3/4 of the way through the season. We went from a small group where all the parents had at least facial recognition to a very large group and I’m still not sure the names of the girls let alone the parents. Mind you I give a lot of love and respect to those who volunteer to coach, it’s a big time commitment and their heart is in the right place. But, some veer a bit farther from what I expect .
I was the assistant coach the last couple of years, but since I bring people skills, not ball skills I bowed out. Let someone who really knows the game take the lead. Mistake. Sometimes it’s better to ask girls what their favorite ice cream flavor is. Does it make them great players? No, our old team resembled the Bad News Bears in our success ratio, but like the Bad News Bears, Everyone played.
Which brings me to my indictment of AYSO. Yes, it’s all volunteer and hard to run an organization like that, but there needs to be stronger controls to combat human nature. Because adults screaming and yelling at tiny little girls on a Saturday morning is really disagreeable. The say this on their site: 3. You’re Enthusiastic and Supportive
Your AYSO kids set their own goals and play the game for themselves. Because you don’t impose your own standards and goals on your child, him/her doesn’t have the heavy burden of having to win games to feel good about themselves. Did you know surveys reveal that 72 percent of children would rather play for a losing team than ride the bench for a winner? Your enthusiasm and support definitely does not go unnoticed.
But, some of these parents can’t help themselves.
One day our opposing team had a mom and dad coach team who I nicknamed, “Mr and Mrs Great Santini”.
The ref should have red carded for their obnoxious shouts. ”ah, c’mon Susie ( name changed to protect the innocent) you can do better than that.” Constant haranguing. Not of the “Go Apple Rockets!” variety. One of our parent/coaches and I ( guest co coach for the day) exchanged horrified looks of the ”Shut up, they are 7 years old” variety. At one point their kid got hurt, was crying. I counted to three before the put downs of her perceived kicked in. Another dad who looked like pre father hood he was probably doing blow in a club on Sunset strip was equally charged screaming at his daughter. In 1992 at the Roxy did he really think this was a good use of his energy?
Vivien has to be cajoled to go to soccer this year. She missed her old coach, her old team. Never a jock, my switcharoo was partly at fault for her lack of drive. So I made it clear to her that this behavior was wrong. I asked the ref if she could eject them. She declined. I would understand it if the college scholarship was on the line, but
1) they are LITTLE kids
2) most, like my daughter are not natural born athletes, look some of them are even hopeless as players, but I thought the point of AYSO is to have fun. Get out, move your body in the open air.
3) Shut up you big loud mouths. Who wants to hear you scream at someone who comes up to your thigh?
A few more weeks of me stating, “Let’s finish what we start.” As I walked her into the park promising a cookie afterward. She had some good games, fun practices, but she was ready for it to be over, as was I.
My straw was broke on the second to the last game. While her parent / coaches of that game were individually nice to the girls I didn’t like what they yelled from the sidelines.
“We’ve got to win it!” No, we don’t. We aren’t even suppose to keep score. One little girl heard my grumbling and said, “He means win the ball.” “Fuzzy distinction” I retorted. Both of the adults in charge yelled repeatedly, “If you don’t hustle we are going to pull you.” Keep in mind Viv was placed on a team where she was the oldest so there were 6 and 7 year olds on this team. They were not played equally as they are suppose to be. It’s one of the reasons our old team didn’t “win”. We could have played our 2 ringers the whole game, but we kept swapping them out for those who might have been the bench warmers.
I decided we would pull ourselves. I didn’t say anything. I just knew it was time to move on. As we walked away, Vivien’s hands full of her post game snack.
“That’s it Vivien we are done.” She brightened. ”Really?”
“Yes, you did a good job, you finished what you started, you really improved your skill set, you made a big effort. I’m proud of you. But, this is not our place.”
Yes, it was great, but I’m eager to get back to life. Thanksgiving week was bit different for me this year as I had lots of work. The kind of work that means I had to sit in a chair all day with other people. I’m only a tad better at this than my my 4 year old son. Friday I was Fried indeed from the Thanksgiving cooking, dinner, hosting, football. We are the low rent Kennedy’s so there is always a football game.
As you can see I bring spirit, if not talent to the game.
Friday day I needed to be sitting. Sitting. Sitting. In work mode. Acting like an adult. So, when I finally got home I was a tad pent up. The last guest remained, my old travel buddy Whitney. (“Hey, kids who wants to see the pictures of our trip to Mexico in 2000? No one?”) So, Whitney caught my vibe ( note: baby sitter scurry away, running toward her car, Mark seen before, ignores us). Click here to see crazy lady dancing around the house
At least as I sat and sat last week I was with people I like who treated me with respect. I thought of friends who are treated shabbily in their work and how soul killing that is . I’m a performer at heart, so even if the job of the day doesn’t entail a performance I need to let the monkey roar.
Fasten your seat belt, the holidays are here. This is it, after this moment count me out. Family has already started to arrive and I have pull the trigger on which vegi side dish to cook I’m think creamed corn. It’s probably just as well I stay close to home as the last couple of gatherings that were “work” related I should have changed my name to Cassandra.
First I went to Deca, my old partners in forming this site and Momversation back in the dark ages ( almost 6 years ago). They were throwing a launch party for a cartoon series. They didn’t make it, but someone on their board did. I nodded as I was told this shoving a bbq sandwich in my mouth. Rebecca Woolf of Girls Gone Child and Kim Tracy Prince, mom blogger buddies were there. I hadn’t seen them in a while so it was nice to catch up. Kim lives far away, Rebecca is close but has 4 kids, two baby twins, so she might as well be in Phoenix. We discussed a few things while we stood there.
1) why has the ability to monetize blogging become so difficult?
2) why is the wine served in pre wrapped glasses? ( they sponsored the party)
3) why did a cartoon with a large busted mom character, that after my brief viewing seemed to be full of hack characters get money behind it to be made? Perhaps because it’s voiced by Miss Eva Longoria.
4) Is there a disconnect between the consumer and producers of content? Or is it I who have the disconnect?
When anyone asked, “Hi, Daphne, how are you doing?”
Me; “Great. You know mom blogging is dead, right?” I didn’t get a lot of protest. None.
I guess I wasn’t too much a Debbi Downer, because this week Kim Tracy Prince invited me to a shopping meca near me to drink free wine and meet Randi Zuckerberg and get her book. The sister to Mr. Facebook worked at FB, and is now doing her own thing and has written a book. ( Her signing was post free wine.) So, they called Kim, who called her blogging lady pals and I had two glasses of Sauvignon blanc. Again, nice to see some of the old gang I hadn’t see in a while.
“You know mom blogging is dead?” I chirped as I shoved a now called fried calamari in my mouth.
“My site was never a mom blogging site, it’s about fashion.” said one blogger.
Randi is a very nice, personable woman. She has good people skills. If she was a posting I would hit “Like”. In this picture I look like I’m so proud of my life partner. Kim took it and she said, ” you guys look like you are going to go on a date.” Hey, I could do a lot worse.
Later at the book signing for “Dot Complicated.” Randi handled it well when I asked, “What did you think about how the movie “The Social Network” made your brother seem autistic. I don’t know him, but from what I’ve seen of him he doesn’t seem like that.” Like a politician she praised the movie from a cinematic stand point, but said 70% of it was incorrect and that the actors did not mingle with the real life counterparts. I also liked that she is focused on getting little girls to be engineers and work in technology. ”If you really want to change the world, be an engineer.” Oh, don’t take improv? I was mis-informed.
I cradled my book under my arms as I waved good-bye to my fellow content creators. ”Dead, it’s dead, it over.” I sang out as the escalator took me down. Then it hit me. It’s great Randi Zuckeberg wants to help young girls, but who is starting the initiative for retraining of sassy middle aged ladies with a creative bent?
Maybe that should be my next project.