Grown-ups went trick-or-treating tonight.
They brought their babies: sweet, adorable creatures fresh from heaven, none of whom had any concept of candy or the ability to consume it.
A few of the adults held babies; a few more held pillowcases. The baby-carriers showed us their tiny bundles, then their partners stepped forward and held open the pillowcases.
WHAT: Morrowind Xbox Game
WHAT HAPPENED: Whilst patrolling his household, the Mojo Meister came across this strange item and destroyed it as best he could, because he realized it was capable of extracting countless hours from human lives, as well as a worthy number of brain cells. Or maybe Mojo just prefers Playstation 2.
TIGER’S REACTION: It was my fault, Mom. I left it on the floor.
BONNIE’S REACTION: Aw, Tiger, that takes all the fun out of it. How am I supposed write up a “Monday Morning Mojo” if you start acting all mature?
SQUIRT’S REACTION: Suckup!
HUBBY’S REACTION: Good job, Mojo! Good dog! Any time you feel like chowing down on an Xbox game, help yourself, little buddy. How about the Xbox console? Here. I’ll unplug it for you.
REPLACEMENT COST: None. See “Hubby’s Reaction,” above.
I birthed them, bathed them, wiped their noses and their bottoms. I kept their vaccinations up-to-date and I never poisoned either of them with my cooking. I transported them safely to various places like the playground, the supermarket, and grandma’s house… all by myself.
So why do they suddenly think I have no idea what I’m doing?
Squirt: Turn on your blinker.
Me: I know when I’m supposed to turn on my blinker, and I’ll do it when I’m good and ready. (turns on blinker)
Squirt: Oh! Pass this guy up. Get into the next lane!
Me: Jeez! Lay off, will you? I’ll get into the next lane when it’s safe, and not a minute before. (moves into the next lane)
Squirt: The speed limit is 45! You’re doing 47. You better slow down.
Me: I KNOW WHAT THE $!@?$! SPEED LIMIT IS!
And it’s not just driving, either. For some reason they believe I’m totally clueless in every aspect of my life. Like if it weren’t for them, I’d be sitting on an anthill somewhere with my thumb in my ear.
Tiger: Flip the pancake now.
Me: It isn’t covered with bubbles yet.
Tiger: Sure it is. It’s covered with plenty of bubbles. That’s enough bubbles.
Me: Not enough bubbles. Not yet.
Tiger: The bubbles have bubbles! Flip it!
Me: NOT UNTIL IT’S COVERED WITH BUBBLES! There. (flips pancake)
Of course, their faith in my abilities is suddenly restored if the job is something they should be doing themselves.
Me: This is your bathroom toilet. Note that it is clogged.
Tiger: Uh, why am I here?
Squirt: He did it! Not me!
Me: And this is a toilet plunger. Note which end I am holding.
Squirt: Oooh, no… no… no, Mom!
Me: Stay with me here! Grasp the stick end, insert the plunger end, and plunge. You try.
Squirt: (backs away) This never works when I do it.
Tiger: Me either. Mom? Nobody can plunge like you can.
Occasionally I even impress them with my “abilities.”
Me: It isn’t rocket science! You pick up the plunger… (picks up plunger) you face the toilet… (faces the toilet) and then… (the toilet immediately gurgles and unclogs)
Squirt: Wow!
Tiger: Whoa, Mom! Bwa ha! (runs out of the room) Dad! Dad! Mom’s got a face that can unclog a toilet!
Look what students in Europe and Asia are doing:
The first satellite to be designed and built entirely by European students on the internet was successfully launched from a site in northern Russia, paving the way for what its backers hope will be more pioneering student projects in space.
The micro-satellite, named Sseti Express, blasted off on the back of a Russian Cosmos-3M rocket from a cosmodrome in Plessetsk with satellites from China, Germany, Iran, Norway, Japan and Britain sharing the ride.
“‘Student project’ satellite launched from Russia,” Tony Paterson, Oct. 28 2005
Cool, hunh? Gee whiz. Kids nowadays — whew!
My kids are no slouches, either. In fact, Squirt is a founding member of a brand-new club at his high school! Here’s a flyer:
When the time comes,
are you going to be a SURVIVER? [sic]
Or a screaming WUSSIE?Be prepared! Join the
ZOMBIE SURVIVER CLUB!
We’re very proud.
When my boys were little I told them 7th grade was the cut-off point for Trick-or-Treating. “Nobody goes out begging for candy after they hit junior high,” I’d say, and their eyes would grow wide as they contemplated this tragic consequence of aging.
Yeah. Well. I was wrong.
In our neighborhood even high school seniors go Trick-or-Treating. The girls go out dressed like can-can dancers or french maids. The boys usually go out as psychotic murderers or psychotic murder victims. Neither gender is ashamed of itself, either, not even when some of the boys sing “Trickertreat!” in baritone.
I guess this okay, as long as they still aren’t holding out pillowcases to strangers when they’re in college. And I suppose it’s time for me to confess: I used to profit from this extended childhood in a most shameful way.
Armed with the Official Child Safety Mandate to protect my children from poisoned candy and razor-bladed apples, I’d search through their pillowcases, secretly pocketing some of the best goodies for myself. (Mounds, Peppermint Patties, Reeses — hoo yeah.)
I can still wrestle a bulging pillowcase from a sweaty teenager, too, but now they’ve read this article, I think they’ll fight a little harder.
Despite e-mail warnings, scary stories, and Ann Landers columns to the contrary, there have been only two confirmed cases of children being killed by poisoned Halloween candy, and in both cases the children were killed not in a random act by strangers but intentional murder by one of their parents. The best-known, “original” case was that of Texan Ronald Clark O’Bryan, who killed his son by lacing his Pixie Stix with cyanide in 1974.
There have been a few instances of candy tampering over the years—and in most cases the “victim” turned out to be the culprit, children doing it as a prank or to draw attention. With the exceptions noted above, no child has been killed or seriously harmed by contaminated Halloween candy.
[SNIP]
Children are in far more danger from being hit by a car on a dark street.
“Candy Fears are Mere Halloween Phantoms,” by Benjamin Radford, the Skeptical Inquirer, 25 October 2005
Yeah. Well. There goes my best source of free chocolate.
On second thought, maybe I can just confiscate all the chocolate with my Official Bulldog Safety Mandate, instead. After all, chocolate is dangerous for dogs, right? And our bulldog does get into everything, right?
And if concern for our Mojo doesn’t work, I’m pretty sure I still outweigh the younger kid. Poundage — combined with years of pillowcase thievery — is on my side. I’m not out of the game yet.
WHAT: KMS Daily Fixx Clarifying Shampoo and Conditioner
WHAT HAPPENED: Mojo the Whirlwind selflessly punctured and mauled the Insidiously Vile Bottles of Chlorine-Removing Shampoo and Conditioner hiding inside Tiger’s swim bag — and he would do it again, too — even though it makes the Whirlwind blow bubbles for about two hours afterward. Or maybe he just wanted to remove chlorine, hard water deposits and styling product buildup from his gums.
TIGER’S 1st REACTION: Can’t use ‘em anymore, Mom. They’ve sprung leaks all over. (Jumps when he sees his mother’s expression) Don’t look at me like that! He pulled it out of my swim bag! Not my fault!
SQUIRT’S 1st REACTION: Dude, you’re totally busted. You left your bag on the floor!
TIGER’S 2nd REACTION: Played any good games on your Gameboy lately?
SQUIRT’S 2nd REACTION: SHUT UP!
BONNIE’S REACTION: Of course, the damn bulldog couldn’t chew up the old, empty bottles, oh, no. He had to go after the brand-new bottles. He had to make sure he had enough to spread all over the floor. I knew it: he has it in for me.
HUBBY’S REACTION: Omigosh, do you think he’s been poisoned? Tiger! You could’ve killed our dog! (examines bottles) This stuff needs a warning label!
REPLACEMENT COST: $18.00.
Yesterday I survived one of those two-sided arguments I sometimes have with myself, the ones Hubby says I should never tell anybody about.
This time it was my Conservative side that started it. “Bush says Harriet Miers is a conservative,” she said, examining her fingernails, “and maybe they both believe it, but I ask you: what kind of conservative can possibly be in favor of affirmative action?”
Of course, my Liberal side is always willing to jump in and argue about anything my Conservative side says. “Affirmative action?” she snorted. “Affirmative smacktion! Sure, she’s okay with minorities getting good jobs, as long as they aren’t gay, or want an abortion!”
My Right side looked incredulous. “What the hell are you talking about? Don’t you find it telling that the article you cite mentions Miers’ strong feminazi supporter, Louise Raggio? Heck, ole’ Harriet even raised money to promote a lecture series that featured Gloria Steinem! Sounds like a closet feminist to me.”
“So you say!” snapped my Left side. “Planned Parenthood and Molly Ivins say Miers will ban abortion if she can, and if they say so, it must be true. What the hell kind of feminist is that?”
My Right side sniffed indignantly. “I don’t know about such extremist groups or columnists. If they’re right, how come even that lefty rag the LA Times says Harriet will be the only Supreme Court justice who ever complied with your precious Voting Rights Act, hunh?”
“Gimme a break!” taunted my Left side. “She can’t even accurately describe the Voting Rights Act, much less comply with it. And Bush says she’s qualified! Ha!”
My Right side bristled. “Don’t be dissing the President! Her credentials are outstanding, she’d be great for some high post, sure, but maybe not right for the bench, that’s all.”
“Oh, yeah, RIGHT,” snarled my Left side. “Even Rush Limbaugh thinks she’d be better off running the Federal Reserve.”
My Right side couldn’t help but snicker at that one. “Ha! She can’t even remember to pay her own lawyers association dues! She’d be good in another post, sure, but not the Federal Reserve.”
“I think you’re just blowing smoke up my dainty derriere,” said my Left side, her eyes narrowing. “You act all huffy and angry about this nomination, like she was a liberal activist judge or something. What gives?”
“Oh, you and your commie conspiracy theories!” huffed my Right side. “She IS a liberal! What, haven’t you been listening?”
Now my Left side was insulted. “She ain’t a liberal. She’s a conservative crony! That’s all!”
“Shut up! She’s a liberal! You know it, I know it, and the American people know it!”
“She’s an Evangelical Christian! ”
My Right side threw up her hands. “Religion means absolutely nothing!”
“Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I said…. EVANGELICAL CHRISTIAN! Say goodbye to gay rights!” my Left side shouted.
“Get off that horse already! Since when is being religious a crime?” My Right side shook her head in disbelief. “Besides, we have no guarantee her religious beliefs will guide her on the bench, despite what Dobson keeps hinting, you, you… you socialist, left wing nut job!”
“If I’m a nut job,” said my Left side, menace in every syllable, “then what do you call someone who ignores every mistake Mr. Presidential Ding-a-Ling has offered up, from non-existent WMDs to outsourcing American jobs? Hunh? The nice word would be ‘delusional,’ but I think ‘corrupt’ applies here, as it does to the entire administration!”
“Why, you….” started my Right side, clenching her fists.
“Bring it on, baby!” answered my Left, assuming a kickboxing stance she learned in one of our aerobics classes.
And that’s when both my sides got down and dirty in a brawl that had me rolling on the floor in the dust bunnies and magazine advertising inserts… until Hubby came in and told me I had too much coffee again.
So I guess I’m going to have to say I am neutral on the Miers nomination. Or I am, at least, until one of my sides lets me know who won.
I had an issue with a blog aggregator that made me realize I don’t want to give full content to my RSS feed, not even with Angusman’s copyright plugin.
I switched on the WordPress “summary” RSS option and my RSS posts immediately began to look funky. A trip to the forum taught me that WordPress strips HTML tags from the RSS summary if the excerpt field is empty.
So I immediately created excerpts for all my posts excerpt fields… only to discover the feeds STILL looked bad, because it’s hard to tell they’re only excerpts.
The feed may continue to go nuts this weekend as I figure it out.
Once upon a time some young men got together for some Xbox and Cheez-wiz and after many happy hours of joyful play they put their game controllers down and began to chat.
1st Guy: Hey! Let’s make a movie!
2nd Guy: DUDE! (high-fives all around) But there’s gotta be a monster…
3rd Guy: …that eats your face off!
1st Guy: Yeah! And a porn star!
2nd Guy: A naked porn star! With lotsa oil!
3rd Guy: This is gonna be great. (starts writing on his hand) Monster, porn star, oil…
1st Guy: And a bad government guy…
2nd Guy: A government coverup!
3rd Guy: He’ll look like that X-Files smoking dude!
1st Guy: With sunglasses. Bad government guys always wear sunglasses. Even in dark caves.
3rd Guy: (writing) Sunglasses, caves… Dude! We’ll have lots of men in black!
2nd Guy: And a coupla scientists in white coats! The monster will eat them, too.
1st Guy: Tell me more about the porn star.
2nd Guy: Whoa, dude. I just got a brain flash. DUDE. She does a little sexy act, you know, maybe a naked dance with strobe lights or something, a little tongue action and then… SHE EATS THIS GUY’S FACE OFF!
1st Guy: Will she be covered in oil?
2nd Guy: Yeah!
1st Guy: I’m all with that. Sick!
Seriously, this could be the best grown-up party movie, ever. It’s so confused your guests won’t miss anything if they stop watching to play a game of ping pong or go to the bathroom or even if they arrive a half-hour before the movie ends. It’s got the kind of unintentional humor that’ll make anybody who does watch it bust a gut laughing.
But that porn star scene… sadly, Squirt and Tiger will not be allowed to enjoy The Thing Below until they’re married with at least two kids.
Mom: What happened to your swim team jacket?
Squirt: Somebody took it!
Mom: Somebody took it… (rolls eyes) Somebody took it out of your room?
Squirt: (agitated) Somebody took it out of my room! Who went into my room? TIGER! WHY DID YOU GO INTO MY ROOM?
Mom: Where’s that sweatshirt we got you?
Squirt: What sweatshirt?
Mom: The one I bought at orientation, the TWENTY-SEVEN DOLLAR SWEATSHIRT.
Squirt: Oh! THAT sweatshirt. What about it?
Mom: Where is it?
Squirt: Where is what?
Mom: Where are your retainers?
Squirt: (hand on hip) Don’t YOU know? Well? Where are they?
