Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Scary vs. Stupid

“C’mon, watch Halloween with me,” says Jim. “I know you will like it.”

“Can’t we just watch Young Frankenstein?” I say, knowing that I won’t.

My Suspension of Disbelief is sitting in the corner shaking his ragged little head in warning – still pissed off from the last time Jim convinced us to watch one of his ‘classic’ movies.

I love Jim and all his quirkiness. He is one of the most sweetly nostalgic souls I know – always remembering people and places and things way better than they actually were.

This is particularly true when it comes to movies.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Michael?” the parents say as the cherubic boy removes his mask, a dripping dagger in one tiny fist.

Barely ten minutes into this and I glance over to see my Suspension of Disbelief cussing up a blue streak and banging his bloody little head against the wall.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I can count on one disembodied hand how many times a movie actually scared me.

Nightmare Elm Street. More stupid than scary, yes. But the scene where Freddy’s arms stretch wayyyyy out in an alley and scrape against the walls? That got me. Couldn’t sleep.

Silence of the Lambs. Hannibal's voice haunted my dreams weeks after.

And more recently Ju-on, which is the original (and way better) Japanese version of The Grudge. This movie taught me that there is nothing more frightening than a cold, dead Asian chick under your covers.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Stupid walks into a neighbor’s dark house after being stalked by a creepy masked stranger all day.

Stupid doesn’t turn on any of the lights.

Stupid assumes that the creepy masked stranger - who has already killed three of your stupid horny friends - is dead after poking him in the forehead with a knitting needle.

Stupid leaves children alone to barricade herself in a closet.

Stupid assumes that the creepy masked stranger is dead after poking him in the forehead with a bent wire hanger.

Stupid turns her back on creepy masked stranger, who is on the floor pretending to be not dead. Or something.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I can't remember.

It was after the second or third time Michael is 'dead' when I glance over to see my defeated little Suspension of Disbelief kick the tiny stool out from under his tiny feet, a tiny noose around his tiny snapped neck.

I turn to sweet, nostalgic Jim - oblivious to his complicity in this sad crime - and fight the urge to stab him in the forehead with a knitting needle. Or a wire hanger.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Scary isn’t about a well-timed “BOO!” from behind the couch, oh no.

Scary is smart. Scary is psychological.

Scary gets in your head and whispers your worst fear.

Scary never shows you the Really Scary Thing, only its shadow.

Scary slips its cold dead hand around your ankle as you’re crawling into bed alone in the middle of the night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The movie ends. Michael is gone.

We’ve been asked to believe that he’s dead from knitting needles and wire hangers, but not dead from falling out of a second story window after taking multiple gunshot wounds to his torso.

Not scary. Stupid.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Office noises
I am reading: Winning by Jack Welch
And I am: Irritated

Monday, October 29, 2007

Overheard on the train this morning

"Of course I'll have to put a poncho on the One-Eyed Ranger," he says.

"You're making your penis sound like a super hero," she says.

"He is - he's MY hero!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Kid Rock - Half Your Age
I am reading: Winning by Jack Welch
And I am: Exhausted

Friday, October 26, 2007

Here's to you, butt sock surfer

There’s this thingy loaded on the blog that tells the search words people use to get here.

And yes, smartass, thingy is in fact the technical term.

To be more specific, it is Thingy Version 3.1 now with Retsin.

The highly anticipated Tourmaline Bionic functionality will be available when I upgrade to Thingy OS Leopard Vista Hoo-Ha X.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
For those depraved souls Googling for butt socks, HedyBlog is the #1 site.

Clapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclap.

I just wanna know what these people are really looking for when they’re searching on butt sock.

It’s gotta be some hip new anal exploration tactic that I, a middle-aged married type, will only learn about by watching re-runs of HBO’s Real Sex five years from now.

“Oh lookie there, she’s gonna take that sock and whoa jeez louise I’d a gone with a cotton-poly, that argyle’s gotta burn a bit.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Someone at Enterprise Car Sales in St. Louis did the butt sock search thing yesterday.

So you’re sitting there at work and you think: “Hmmm, butt sock.”

Because that’s what you do when you’re selling used cars in St. Louis.

Of course.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
HedyBlog also gets tons of hits from searches for The Rhythm of Your Shoes by O.A.R. – that song I mentioned a while back. These are people from Canada, Ohio and Michigan – all listening to 93.9 The River.

It’s still one of my current favorite songs. If you haven’t downloaded it yet, go here: OARSA.org.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Finally, there is the inexplicable “Britney’s piss flaps” search.

We here at HedyBlog are proud to say we’re #4 when it comes to piss flap searches the world over.

From what I can gather piss flaps are big in Britain. Well, not literally. One can only speculate of course.

But most of the piss flap related hits come from the U.K.

So, for those of you keeping score at home, it’s Butt Socks in the States and Piss Flaps across the pond.

Clapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclap.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Kid Rock – All Summer Long
I am reading: Real Simple magazine
And I am: The Baroness of Butt Socks

Thursday, October 25, 2007

So hott

You don’t like him. That’s okay.

He's all mine.

And Kid Rock’s new CD Rock N Roll Jesus has turned me into his dirty little disciple.
~~~~~~~~~~
Okay, the first song Rock N Roll Jesus is probably a bit forced but the song grows on you.

Trust me.
~~~~~~~~~~
It’s hard rock. It’s rap. It’s blues. It’s country.

It makes you wanna party hard and fuck harder and forget about everything for a little while.

It's trashy and truthful.

It’s so Michigan and so 70’s and so every single thing I grew up loving about life.
~~~~~~~~~~
Sippin’ whiskey out the bottle
Not thinkin’ bout tomorrow
Singin’ Sweet Home Alabama all summer long
~~~~~~~~~~
It’s an album - yes an album, goddammit - that you’ll listen to all the way through without skipping one song.

And in this sad era of pussy-ass ‘artists’ releasing one or two songs to MySpace or iTunes, Kid Rock is doing it the hard way, the old fashioned way. The right way.
~~~~~~~~~~
You’re so hot
I wanna get you alone
I wanna get you stoned
I don’t wanna be your friend
I wanna fuck you like I’m never gonna see you again
~~~~~~~~~~
Half Your Age is one of the finest, funnest country songs I’ve heard in forever – and I’m a Willie/Waylon/Merle girl goin' way back.
~~~~~~~~~~
I found someone new who treats me better
She don’t bitch about what we ain’t got
When I sing this tune it don’t up set her
She’s half your age; and twice as hot
~~~~~~~~~~
12 songs.

12 disciples.

Jesus Christ this is good.
~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Kid Rock – Rock N Roll Jesus
I am reading: Not a goddamn thing
And I am: Hot and thirsty

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

The phrase of the day

Someone said 'balls deep' as I was walking down Jackson to my office this morning.

Of course it has to be The Phrase of the Day.

Try working it into your normal conversations today. And let me know how that goes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Everlast - What It's Like
I am reading: Neil Steinberg
And I am: Quiet

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Lose my link

It happens every so often. More lately.

“So and so would like to link to you. Click here to read the message.”

Occasionally it’s someone I actually know/like/respect. Most often it’s folks just looking to make themselves feel better by collecting links.

Linkedin.com.

It’s MySpace for adults.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Last week it was different.

Someone from way back. A guy I hadn’t thought about since those crazy college days in Mt. Pleasant.

Apparently he remembers me way more fondly than I remember him.

“Well of course he does.”

Shaddap.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
How many links do you have, Hedy?

87.

I feel very good about myself.

It used to be 103 but I purged a buncha fuck-asses from my previous employer.

That felt very good, too.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After a veritable novel of blah blah about traveling the world and having adventures and surviving a particularly nasty divorce, he wrote: “Write back and tell me how the past 20 years have treated you.”

What is it about these situations that make me want to totally fuck with people?

“Life is great since I replaced all my bad habits with one good one. I am married to Christ. Call me Sister Hedy Francis Whatnot.”

“Life is great now that I’m off smack and outta prison. Call me!”

“Life is great now that Hillary is on the road campaigning all the time – gives me and Bill more quality time together, ya know?”

“Life is great now that all my baby daddies are finally caught up on support. It sure was hard tracking down all six of 'em. Except o’ course the one that’s still on smack in prison. Call me!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The thing is, life is great.

It's great because it's boring and unstressful (except for the occasional fuck-ass) and mostly uneventful.

And as much as I like writing, I'm not about to put 20 years of my blah blah into an e-mail so that someone I barely knew way back when can feel good about himself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Modest Mouse - Missed the Boat
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Holy

Monday, October 22, 2007

Outing Dumbledore

Oil hit $90 a barrel.

Cheney’s telling everyone that Iran won’t be allowed to have nuculer capabilities.

And now Dumbledore’s gay.

I dunno about you but after the weekend, it sure feels like a good time to break out the ol’ tin foil hat.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Have you heard about this?

Dumbledore, the main Yoda-type wizard in the HP series was outed by author J.K. Rowling over the weekend.

Because it’s so important that we know the sexual proclivities of a fictional - not to mention dead - character from the most popular children’s books of all time.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Do we care that Dumbledore was gay? Of course not.

It’s like saying someone is black or right-handed or Irish. It just doesn’t matter. It doesn't make the story any better.

Worse, the dude never told anyone he was gay. He never mentioned it in any of the books.

Because IT WASN’T IMPORTANT.

And it isn’t important now, except that the buzz around book seven has died and maybe J.K. Rowling is feeling a little lost because her media juggernaut is finally winding down.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Kid Rock – So Hott
I am reading: Wired magazine
And I am: Disappointed

Friday, October 19, 2007

Misery: Exhibit A

Woman A gets on the train and climbs up to the second level.

She greets woman B – someone she obviously knows from work – and then sits down several seats away from her. She opens a book and begins reading.

Woman B begins talking to woman A about woman C who “talked my ear off all day.”

Woman A acknowledges woman B with a smile and a nod, but doesn’t say anything.

Woman A begins reading again.

Woman B gets up and moves to the seat next to woman A and proceeds to talk her ear off all the way home.

Woman A nods and smiles but doesn’t say much, holding her book hopefully in her lap.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Metallica - My Friend of Misery
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Not an empty can

Thursday, October 18, 2007

Nuculer-ler-ler

Heading to the potty, I pass the TV in the traders' lounge in my office. Bush is yapping about Iran's nuculer something-or-other.

I return from the loo and he's still yapping.

Nuculer. Nuculer. Nuculer.

Twenty minutes later, I pick up something off the printer down the hall.

He's still yapping; his tinny voice echoing through the office because of all the TVs (these traders sure love their CNBC.)

Nuculer. Ler. Nucu. Ler. Ler. Ler.

It's 45 minutes of nuculer.

Bush's inability to pronounce nuclear is just timeless funny.

But the fact that this man is talking World War III scares the living shit out of me.

Bush is a born again Christian. A certain silly set of born agains believe that Israel will be at the center of events that bring about the end of the world as we know it and the return of Christ, our Cuddly Wuddly King.

Here's the money quote that ties all of this together:

"We've got a leader in Iran who has announced that he wants to destroy Israel. So I've told people that, if you're interested in avoiding World War III, it seems like you ought to be interested in preventing them from having the knowledge necessary to make a nuculer weapon."

Not funny.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: R.E.M. - The End of the World as We Know It
I am reading: Stephen Colbert in the New York Times
And I am: Cuddly wuddly

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

The first guy I slept with

So yesterday I was just a little black rain cloud.

Then I arrive in the office.

“This is BRILLIANT,” says the very first e-mail I open.

It was in response to a small bit of e-mail fluff I wrote targeting a specific group of people already in our database.

Brilliant, Hedy?

Um, no. That was a bit of hyperbole on the part of my co-worker. Of course I’m no Al Gore Nobel Prize winner or anything.

But it made me feel good. It said shaddap to the small part of me that suspects I’m a sham.

That’s the bounce.

Us Pooh types can be feeling rather down and all it takes is a p-p-p-Piglet to stop by and say one nice thing to lift us right back up again.
~~~~~~~~~~
Extra HedyBlog bonus points if you got the ‘little black rain cloud’ reference from yesterday.
~~~~~~~~~~
Confession: I’ve had a life long love affair with that silly old bear.

Back in the early seventies, there was a large fake tree in the children’s clothing section of the Sears at Lakeside Mall. It ran from the floor all the way up to the tiled ceiling. It had large fake branches with little fake leaves. And it had a tree house that was not fake. Not fake at all. Maybe you remember it.

Sitting on a little platform outside that tree house was a certain bear of very little brain.

I called him “The Big Winnie the Pooh” because that’s exactly what he was – a huge, stuffed Winnie the Pooh. Three feet tall. A bright red vest stretched over his portly, honey-pot shaped belly. Black shiny eyes and that tiny knowing smile.

I wanted him. Oh, how I wanted him.
~~~~~~~~~~
Extra HedyBlog bonus points if you can tell me Winnie-the-Pooh's real name.
~~~~~~~~~~
We’d be shopping for Garanimals or Toughskins and that beautiful bear would beckon me from the top of that tree.

“Come, Hedy. Climb up into my tree house. Listen to my stories. Eat my honey.”

Our love affair was meant to be. I knew it.
~~~~~~~~~~
Pooh taught me how to deal with bossy know-it-alls like Rabbit and Owl.

Pooh taught me that eating a little smackeral of something sweet always makes you feel better.
~~~~~~~~~~
“What do you want Santa Claus to bring you for Christmas, Hedy?” everyone would ask.

“The Big Winnie the Pooh at Sears.”

I remember being more than a little worried that Santa Claus wasn’t aware of the exact location of The Big Winnie the Pooh. Of course Santa doesn’t need Sears. He has elves. Elves would have no idea how to make a Big Winnie the Pooh. Even if they could, they couldn’t. Of course not.

Because the Big Winnie the Pooh is one of a kind.

And he’s at Sears, goddammit.
~~~~~~~~~~
So Christmas morning comes, and unbelievably, so does The Big Winnie the Pooh.

I hug him thinking God I can’t wait to get you alone.

Well, not really. I was six.

But I did sleep with him. Yes.

He slept in my bed under the covers. With me.

Our affair was short-lived, sadly.

Several reasons: A) His yellow fur had a mildly unpleasant chemical smell to it which made me itch; B) Pooh under the covers created a tent-like effect making it impossible for me to stay warm; and C) At six, I was still wetting the bed on a regular basis so before too long Pooh smelled like pee.

He's still the first guy I ever slept with though.
~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Little Black Rain Cloud
I am reading: Press kit materials
And I am: In the mood for food

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Eeyore moments

Blognonymous is leaving us. He’s giving it up.

It will be a melancholy moment removing his link from the blog list to your right.

But I understand why he’s doing it.

You write practically every day for a year or two and it wears you down a bit. Especially if you’re Blognonymous, always writing about the Really Important Stuff like the economy or Iraq or [insert your favorite governmental cock-up here].

Of course life isn’t all sunshine and honey pots.

But why is it part of the human condition to focus on the negative? Why is it easier to write about everything that’s wrong with our world?

And why, even when things are going exceptionally well, do we seem to anticipate losing it all in some fiery explosion of underpants and embarrassment?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Confession #1: A very small part of me was actually relieved at being let go last month.

Heh?

Yep. Picture my tiniest toe yelping “Whew! So GLAD that FINALLY happened!”

Because – and this is twisted – I was overdue for something bad to happen.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Most of the time I try to be like Pooh: Wandering through life, eating a little more than I should, visiting friends and having adventures. Pooh-like people tend to be happier although we are more than occasionally clueless when it comes to serious matters such as warding off heffalumps or getting caught in rabbit holes.

Eeyore people always anticipate the worst. They actually believe that nothing good will ever ever happen again. Ever. And on that rare occasion went something actually goes their way, Eeyore types invariably find the One Thing Wrong With It and focus on that until every last bit of joy is sucked out of the occasion.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Confession #2: In spite of the fact that things seem to be going exceptionally well at my new job, I am anxious. There are small, weak moments when my tiny toe feels like a big fat fraud and is screaming WHY THE HELL DO YOU PEOPLE TRUST ME WITH ALL THIS REALLY IMPORTANT STUFF?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The thing is, I do believe the world treats you how you expect to be treated. If you’re always anticipating the worst, it colors your view of everything – including the good stuff.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So we’re Poohs with occasional Eeyore moments. Or we’re Eeyores through and through.

Which one are you?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Sia – Breathe Me
I am reading: Nothing
And I’m: Just a little black rain cloud

Monday, October 15, 2007

Getting the best of me

First, big thanks to Dave from Rather Than Working for giving me yet another reason to publish this, my all time favorite picture of Our Cuddly Wuddly Savior.

Here's the idea: I read through my previous posts and pick three that I like best. Then I publish them at the bottom of the list of what other bloggers picked as their best. And then I tell two friends. And so on. And so on.

Except I've never been good at passing this stuff along. So here are some posts that Dave published that I liked, with my favorite three at the very bottom:

Cosmic Cat - Just An Ordinary Thursday Night..., Not Gone With The Wind. Just Gone., The "Weekly Thoughtful Reminder" And Other Hazards Of Working

Field Lines - Even MIT Girls Get the Blues, Bye Bye, Friend, Bad Hair Day

Rather Than Working: Tryptophan and Thanksgiving Walls and History The More Things Change

HedyBlog:
A Passel of Jesus - December 20, 2006
I love this country - January 24, 2007
Conversation 101 - August 31, 2006
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If someone asked Jesus to describe his best work, what do you think it would be?

That bit with the fishes and loaves? Walking on water?

Nah.

I'm guessing if that rascal ever makes his Big Comeback, that's when we're gonna see the real serious shit.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Not to overburden anyone, part 1: If Pos, Mrs. Pos and Crusty wanna play along, by all means please share your best. And don't feel guilty if you don't have time to do this.

Not to overburden anyone, part 2: You might not agree with the favorites I've chosen for myself. If you'd like to share what topics or entries you liked best, we here at HedyBlog would sure appreciate it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Foo Fighters - Best of You
I am reading: Nothing yet
And I am: Sleepy

Friday, October 12, 2007

Broken people

“Her husband just died, she doesn’t need to be dealing with this shit.”

That was Mom this morning.

They were married for more than 30 years. They tried and tried but couldn’t have kids. They worked their asses off. Her, caring for elderly and severely disabled people. Him, crunching numbers for big steel. He was retiring soon and they wanted to travel a bit and enjoy life.

I don’t think anyone ever heard either of them say an unkind word about anyone. Ever.

They loved each other way more than most married couples do, which is saying a lot these days.

Now he’s dead.

It’s unbelievably heartbreaking.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They had a memorial service for him in Nevada, but he was to be buried next to their infant son in a Michigan cemetery.

Except the Catholic Church only allows one funeral mass per person and when she tried scheduling a second memorial for the family in Michigan, the church said no.

So she went to another Catholic church – didn’t tell them about the Nevada service – and of course they agreed to do it.

Did I mention this woman is a former nun? She’s a good Catholic through and through.

But she had to lie to her own church so her husband could have a second service.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He’s in the hospital dying and a relative asks her for his car.

She’s losing her husband and losing her mind in grief and losing everything that’s been her life for 30 years.

And they’re offering her the fine deal of ‘making payments to her’ for his car.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She wanted two people to speak at the mass: her husband’s college buddy and my father.

Again, the church said no. Only priests are allowed to speak at Catholic funerals within the Archdiocese of Detroit.

Fortunately, all of the regular priests were at a retreat the day of his mass and she got a surprisingly compassionate guest priest who told her “hey, this isn’t my church, of course you need the people who really knew him to say a few words.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Another relative criticized her decision to ‘take on the Catholic Church’ by having a second mass.

This is the same woman who paid to have her marriage annulled after nearly 40 years and five kids.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Her husband is dead. She’s just been through the worst thing that can happen.

And Broken People somehow manage to make it even worse.

Broken people can’t see beyond their own shit to be compassionate.

Broken people would rather make trouble for someone at the worst time in their life than make a difference.

Broken people can’t say anything nice – they’re constantly picking and criticizing and causing trouble because they feel so terrible about themselves, they can’t possibly feel anything good for anyone else. Even when they need it most.

Someone has died suddenly and unexpectedly. It is a tragedy.

Isn’t that when most people realize that life is short? Isn’t that the best time to be exceptionally kind to each other because you Just Never Know? Isn’t that when you forgive and forget every Bad Thing that’s ever ever happened to you and hug each other like you’re never gonna have to let go?

Broken, small-minded people.

I know these people. They are part of my family. And they disgust me.

[Editorial note: If you’re family and you’re offended by anything here, be sure to read that last part about Broken People over and over and over again until your head finally POPS out of your ASS. Thanks so much.]
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: U2 - One
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Disgusted

Thursday, October 11, 2007

I'd rather be lost with dry pants

“How’s your butt?”

“Heh?”

How's my butt, I think. How's my butt? It's fat and kinda jiggly. And I'm all for experimentation, but if he thinks we're gonna be exploring new realms at this late stage of our marriage, the timing couldn't be worse. Seriously.

“How’s your butt?” Jim asks again, with a sneaky little smile.

“It’s . . . fine,” I say with obvious trepidation. “How’s yours?”

Then I start to feel it. A tiny bit of warmth coming up through the seat.

Feels like I’m peeing my pants.

It was cold out and Jim decided to try out the seat heaters in the new car on the way home from dinner.

Ahhh.

An odd bit of relief and discomfort came over me. Kinda like when you pee your pants.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My old car was a ’98 Honda with nearly 200,000 miles on it. It was my all-time favorite because it was the first one that I actually picked out and saved for and bought on my own.

Of course 1998 was before all them fancy schmancy navigation systems that are pretty much standard now.

We thought the map thingy in the dash of the new car was extremely cool until the first time we went for our usual summer night drive on the farm roads and realized that we’d never be able to truly get lost again.

It was more depressing than peeing your pants.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Cowboy Junkies – Misguided Angel
I am reading: Nothing – still recovering from Harry Potter
And I am: Missing my Honda

Monday, October 08, 2007

Ions – now with Retsyn!

“Leaves hair frizz-free, shiny and silky smooth.”

“Ball-tipped bristles smooth and detangle without pulling hair.”

Sounds practical enough so far. It’s a hair brush. I wouldn’t expect it to do much beyond that.

But wait, there’s more.

“Tourmaline – 100% crushed gemstones release IONS for intense shine.”

“Use with a blow dryer to increase the benefits of tourmaline-ionic ceramic technology.”

Tourmaline? Ionic? Ceramic?

Who knew hairbrush technology was so advanced? And what rocket scientist discovered this? I wonder if NASA knows.

I toss it into my Target cart half expecting it to explode on impact.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When did they stop calling them lazy Susans? When did they become turn tables? Did someone named Susan complain? Maybe file a lawsuit?

You put records on a turn table. You put a lazy Susan under your Scrabble board to make it spin, dammit.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The ions in my new hairbrush remind me of Retsyn.

You remember Certs with Retsyn, don’t you?

A brilliant yet evil marketing campaign in the 80’s.

Certs with a drop of Retsyn was supposed to keep your breath fresher longer.

Nobody actually knew what Retsyn was or what it did.

But everybody bought more Certs because we thought it was something special, something extra powerful that would make our constant battle against ass-breath a little easier.

[Editorial note: The usual Google search turned up nothing but additional sarcastic references to the mysterious Retsyn. If you can find a reliable source that actually knows what it was, please share.]
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And when did they stop calling them throw pillows? Now they’re toss pillows.

Is toss less violent than throw? Who the hell cares, if it’s a pillow?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Of course thinking about NASA and Retsyn reminds me of Tang.

Remember Tang? The powdered orange instant breakfast drink favored by astronauts (literally) around the globe?

More amazing, insidious marketing.

Here’s little Hedy, the first (and last) time she tried Tang back in elementary school.

“This is what the astronauts drink! Screw you, Kool-Aid! This will make me feel like an astronaut! Where are my moon boots?”

Sip. Ew. Cringe.

“Fuck those silly piss-drinking astronauts. I’m gonna be in marketing.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Modest Mouse – Missed the Boat
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: A frizzy space cadet with fresh breath

Friday, October 05, 2007

O.A.R.

If you're like me, you heard this song on a radio station in Detroit and loved it.

Download the MP3 for Rhythm of Your Shoes here:


OARSA.ORG

I like the acoustic version best (5.8 MB) - but you decide.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Ya know
I am reading: HP7
And I am: Helpful

Swear therapy

“Who’s going to handle marketing after this?”

“Well, that’s the really bad news,” says the guy firing me. “We’re not replacing you so I’m going to be working 80 hour weeks to cover everything you did.”

Wait just a tick there, champ.

The really bad news isn’t that I’m fired with no notice after working tirelessly for you goddamn stinking cock sores; it’s that YOU HAVE TO WORK HARDER?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It’s what? October 5?

It seems safe to start spilling some of the more silly stuff around suddenly being sacked in September.

Contrary to the whole stinking cock sore thing (isn’t that nice? I made that up today), I’m really not angry any more.

Really.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
More silliness: We’re letting you go for financial reasons. Sales aren’t where they should be and we can no longer afford to keep you.

That’s virtually verbatim from Mr. 80 Hours. And it’s in the termination letter, too.

However, telling everyone that you’re sacking one of their favorite employees for financial reasons isn’t such a good idea. Because if the firm is in fact having financial troubles, then how long will it be before MORE favorite employees are fired and then before you know it, it’ll be dogs and cats looking for new jobs, mass hysteria (with apologies to Bill Murray).

So they let it leak a little that I was let go for performance issues.

I was so shaken by this that I went back to review my last review trying to find something, anything that would indicate a problem.

Because when you’re unhappy with an employee’s performance you say nice things about them and give them a $3k raise, right?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The picnic was prolly the biggest pooper.

Again, I'm not angry.

But it sure helps to share some of this silliness after a month of sadness. And isn’t stinking cock sores just so much fun to say?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Nina Simone – Feeling Good
I am reading: Complete Idiot’s Guide to Futures and Options
And I am: Grateful

Thursday, October 04, 2007

Trading places

“So you’re targeting mostly eye-bee’s, right?” asks the aging tchotchke vendor yesterday afternoon.

We're chatting in my new office, which is nice in spite of smelling like a frat house couch.

“Introducing brokers? No. This show’s all retail,” I say.

“Are you sure?” she asks with no small bit of incredulity.

“Yep. I’m Sure.”

Confession: Like I knew what the fuck an introducing broker was 48 hours ago. But it makes me happy in small ways to be keeping up with this irritating, know-it-all bitch who makes a living pushing cheapie pens and stress balls.

Feeling a tad touchy are we, Hed?

Nah. Not really. I’m meeting tons of great people this week – in an industry that is totally new to me – and nobody save her has captured that oh-so-charming combo of condescension and conceit.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cool Thing #1: They got me a flowering plant for my desk (which I will likely kill), plus a huge box of office supplies. A brand new BlackJack. And a nice “Welcome Heather!” note on the white board in my office.

This is the nicest welcome I've ever received in my life. Outside of Wal-Mart.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The thing is, as they say here in Chicago, "I gotta guy."

I've already got a tchotchke vendor. I've been working with him for years. He's awesome.

And he sure as hell knows better than to show up with 15 catalogs featuring all the same shit only in different colors expecting me to do all the work figuring out what I need.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Which industry, Hed?

Think Trading Places combined with Wall Street, then throw in a little Boiler Room and you’ve got it.

Except these folks are ethical. Super ethical.

You don’t survive in this business for more than 20 years if you’re not.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cool Thing #2: First thing outta the shoot on Monday, a co-worker takes me down on the trading floor at the Chicago Board of Trade.

It’s huge and confusing. But apparently more quiet than ever since the advent of electronic trading. Some even say the pits will go away eventually, which is kinda sad, given the history of that place.

So the new gig is going well. It’s a relief to be out of IT services for goddamn good. The people I work with are sharp and fun and interesting. And best of all, they seem to really appreciate what I do. For the first time in 10 years I’m really excited about work again.

And that's a feeling I wouldn't trade for anything.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: O.A.R. – The Rhythm of Your Shoes
I am reading: HP7 + The Complete Idiot's Guide to Futures and Options
And I am: In a better position (Get it? A better position? I’m so into this.)

Friday, September 28, 2007

Clinton's baby bonus

Candidates say the darndest things.

If Hillary Clinton is elected president, she'd like the government to give a $5000 "baby bond" to every child born in the U.S. to help pay for college or for buying a home.

According to the article, 4 million children are born here every year.

That's $20,000,000,000. Each year.

Compliments of all us babies who had to make money the old-fashioned way by earning it. And we still haven't figured out how the hell we're going to cover Social Security benefits beyond 2017.

I'm all for helping out people who really need it. But $5,000 just for being born?

The United States has always been the place where you could start with nothing and if you work hard and make good decisions, you could have everything.

But in Hillary's world, nobody starts with nothing any more.

How depressing is that?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Modest Mouse - Missed the Boat
I am reading: HP7
And I am: Ready to get back to work

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Technology is a dirty little bitch

Best Buy Trip #1: Purchase new printer because parents' old printer is being a dirty little bitch and doesn't work any more.

Discover fancy schmancy new printer won't work with Windows Millenium Edition.

Best Buy Trip #2: Purchase Windows XP Home Edition.

Install new operating system. Discover new operating system is a dirty little bitch and won't support internal modem.

"Go to blahmodems-dot-com to download current drivers."

Well if the dirty little bitch of a modem was working, we could do that couldn't we?

Drive to Panera for wireless in hopes of downloading drivers to Mac.

"Our wireless is down. It could be down for just a few minutes or the whole night," says the dirty little bitch behind the counter.

Best Buy Trip #3: Explain modem situation to Geek. Geek suggests purchasing new modem for $40. Purchase new modem.

Tear apart computer, attempt to insert new modem card. Discover new modem card is a dirty little bitch and is too big.

Best Buy Trip #4: Take too big modem card and computer to Geeks for help. Get ridiculed by Geeks for bringing in 'antique' computer. Realize receipt for too big modem is at home. Get external/usb modem.

Install new new modem. Install new printer. Connect to Internet. Rejoice loudly whilst cursing Microsoft, Best Buy and Geeks - the lot of them, dirty little bitches.

Best Buy Trip #5: Return too big modem.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Plain White T's - All That We Needed
I am reading: HP 6
And I am: Tired of technology

Monday, September 24, 2007

Home

It’s Sunday night and she’s sitting propped up against two pillows in her old bedroom.

Of course it’s very different now. But if she closes her eyes, it is the way it used to be.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The drums start slow and hesitant. Then they grow stronger, more powerful. When the wind catches them it's even louder. It's the marching band practicing at her old high school across the street.

She opens her eyes and smiles. Sage green walls and carpet. The flowery, thick comforter over her on the bed under one window.

A blue electric typewriter sitting on the desk in the corner under the other window.

A wall of books to the left in the closet, organized alphabetically. Judy Blume. Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Madeline L’Engle. Laura Ingalls Wilder.

There’s a stereo on the dresser flanked by two big speakers on the floor. A smoky gray lid over the turntable. The click click click sound of the 8-track player finding the next set of songs. And the big beveled tuner dial - heavy and hesitating as it moves from country to rock to pop.

She’s on her stomach across the bed reading a new album cover and singing along with the songs. The Police. Devo. Queen. Prince. Bob Seger.

The phone rings soft in the corner and it’s Dannette or Lisa or Amy or Denise. Later, in high school, it’s boys – David or Joe or John.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There’s always a book on the nightstand. Stephen King for some unfathomable reason.

More books on the shelf under the nightstand. Maybe a diary hidden behind.

In the drawer, small wooden 3-dimensional puzzles she did as a kid. The classic cube. A sphere. And the impossible elephant.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She’s on her back under a boy named Jamie. Her family is away for the day and she’s kissing – serious kissing – for the First Time Ever. Led Zeppelin comes on the radio and it’s a perfectly perfect moment that will last forever.

Or maybe it’s just the memory that will last forever because the boy (who couldn’t be farther from perfect) doesn’t make it much beyond that hot, sweaty, silly afternoon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Now it’s almost midnight.

There’s a train whistle blowing. It’s urgent yet big and comforty since it’s the same train that rolls through every night around this time.

She’ll sleep well here tonight. She always does.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Led Zeppelin – D’Yer Mak’er
I am reading: HP 6
And I am: Home

Friday, September 21, 2007

Rudy it is then

Speaking of silly quizzes, here's something interesting: Select a Candidate.

Confession: I like this survey straight out of the gate. For 'Age' I get to choose 36 - 40, which makes me feel younger for some reason.

Answer a few questions and it lets you know which candidate shares your views on the war in Iraq, immigration, tax cuts, universal health care, gay marriage, abortion, blah.

For me, Rudy gets the landslide: 34 points. Apparently I agree with him on:

Immigration
Taxes
Stem-Cell Research
Health Care
Abortion
Social Security
Marriage
Death Penalty

Next: Democratic candidate Bill Richardson with 28 points. Joe Biden, another Democrat, gets 26 points.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So where's your man Barack in all of this, Hed?

He scored 20. Along with Clinton and Kucinich. Bleh.

The thing is, I've love-love-loved Rudy ever since seeing him speak at Benedictine University back in 2002. But I'm not sure he's electable.

As for Barack, I like his refreshing personality and charisma, but I don't like where he stands on the majority of issues.

Confession II: If Michael Douglas' character in The American President were running, I'd vote for him in a heartbeat. Twisted, yes. Also a sad, sad commentary on our current candidates when my favorite is a fictional character from a movie back in 1995.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Predictions: I'm going with Giuliani for the Republican nominee. Not that I'm a conspiracy theorist, but I suspect a well-timed U.S. terrorist attack in 2008 gives him the nostalgic Republican edge in the election. The one-two punch is complete when Clinton, the Democratic nominee, self-implodes with a juicy, lesbian-related October surprise. Obama gets a little less green and looks good for a re-run in 2012.

Based on this quiz, who's your candidate? And were you surprised?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: The Fray - All At Once
I am reading: HP6
And I am: Still waiting for Comcast

Thursday, September 20, 2007

Giving good interview

During that brief in-between-jobs malaise, I read tons of articles about job hunting.

Monster. CareerBuilder. Yahoo.

All of them - completely worthless.

So here are a handful of helpful interview tips from someone who recently broke the land speed record for getting fired/hired.

Don’t Sweat Your Pants: Dealing with Nervousness

I don’t get nervous interviewing because of Trivial Pursuit.

Growing up, we lived in a tight-knit, game-playing neighborhood. Some of my best memories are of playing Trivial Pursuit on the sun porch with my neighbors – adults and kids – on summer afternoons.

Interviewing is like playing Trivial Pursuit, only better, since every question will be related to your favorite pie category (I always liked green - Science & Nature - for some reason. Makes no sense.)

If you know your topic and have done just a little homework, it’s easy enough to get all the answers right and win the job.

“But Hedy, I sucked at Trivial Pursuit. Monopoly was my game.”

Real estate? Seriously? How’s that working out for you these days?
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Okay, sorry, here’s a better analogy.

Remember the first time you got laid? With someone other than your hand?

Unless you were some kind of sexual savant, it didn’t go very well, did it?

Of course you were nervous. You had no hands-on experience. But you reallyreallyreallyreally wanted it. And seriously, who performs well in the back seat of the family Buick with your head smashed against a door handle?

Now, think about the next time you had sex – comfortably situated on the bed of your girlfriend’s out-of-town parents with the soundtrack from Bladerunner playing.

Better, yes?

The more you do something, the better you get at it, right?

So get out there and interview.

If you’re nervous about interviewing, make a point to do it at least once per quarter. Even if you’re not looking for a new gig. Actually, it’s better if you’re NOT looking for a new job because then there’s no reason to feel pressure.

Interviewing when you don’t need a job keeps you sharp. It helps with networking. And it does wonders for that sweating-through-your-shirt-nearly-shitting-your-pants feeling that comes with the high pressure of finding a new job.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tip: Wash your hands in warm water rather than cold to eliminate sweaty palms. I have no idea where I learned that but trust me, it works.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Getting Good

Eventually, all of us neighbors got good at Trivial Pursuit because we played enough to memorize the answers. If you interview often, you’ll get good at answering the standard questions.

Where do you want to be in five years?

Wrong: “Drunk and naked on a beach in St. Martin?”

Right: “Here. Working here and making a difference for [insert company name].”

Regardless of the question – always make the answer about them and their business, not about you and your goals.

If you say “In five years I’d like to be a senior-level blah blah with a team of minions, making blah blah” they’ll think you’re nothing but a salary-chasing job-hopper and show you the door.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tip: Look good. Get a haircut. If you need to buy a new shirt or suit to make yourself feel better, do it. However, DO NOT BUY NEW SHOES. A potential employer will not appreciate you doing a Passion of the Mel thing, bleeding on their carpet because of blisters from bad shoes. Trust me on this one.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Do Your Homework

It’s never been easier to learn about the company where you’d like to work. Of course you’ll want to check out their web site – they’ll expect that.

But what they won’t expect is that you’ve Googled key words from their web site to read articles published about the company, their industry, their competition, and the key people who’ve made their business successful.

Doing your homework also helps you ask well thought out questions. If you really want this job, you’ll have a few questions of your own. Interviews are always better when it becomes more of a conversation. It gets the interviewer thinking about actually having you in that position and what it would be like.

Of course, don’t over do it with the questions. Two employers ago, we brought in a woman to interview for a marketing position.

She asked all the questions. We couldn’t get a word in edgewise and we knew nothing about her when she left.

And then she wondered why we didn’t hire her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Classic Three-Way: Interviewing with Multiple People at the Same Time

Unless you're Cameron Crowe losing your virginity to three hot, stoned groupies in the movie Almost Famous, your first time is usually one-on-one. It's the same with interviews.

If you do well in enough first interviews eventually you get a shot at the big time: The Second Interview.

This is your time to really shine and show 'em everything you've got. The people interviewing you might start out asking you questions one at a time, but eventually they'll be pounding you simultaneously from all sides. Stay cool. Stay focused on your goal and give them exactly what they want. You'll quickly figure out who's the lead decision-maker of the group - focus most of your attention on him. But it's also important to make sure you're paying attention to the dude sitting quietly in the corner waiting for his shot at you. Being able to think and react quickly while addressing the demands of multiple people is the key to a successful three-way. Interview. Ahem.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Time Management

If you've lost your job, take a few days to cry. Eat Duncan Hines Chocolate Fudge Frosting from the can. And watch Working Girl or The Devil Wears Prada over and over and over again.

Once you're ready to commence huntin' for that new job, DO NOT waste another moment of your precious time on Monster or CareerBuilder or other job sites.

The best jobs never get posted. So work your network. First thing on Monday after I was let go – everyone I know knew I needed a new job. Mostly because of the loud, uncontrollable sobbing. Ahem.

What's more, the jobs that do get posted on career sites have already been filled - by someone who knows someone there. The position got posted because of some bullshit bureaucratic policy requiring all jobs to be listed publicly.

LinkedIn is a good site for professional networking - it's like MySpace for grown ups without all the drunken photos, bad music, and mindless quizzes.

Also, don’t limit yourself to the people you know from your industry. Think of everyone you know - friends, neighbors, acquaintances - the people who know you best. The new gig I’ve got starting October 1 came from a guy I met on the train.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Mythical Trick Question

“If you could be any animal, what would it be?”

“How about a big fucking snake so I can bite your retarded little gourd off for asking such an absurd question?”

The fact is, people who are serious about hiring don’t mess around with ridiculous questions like this. I suspect that most of those trick questions were made up by unemployed journalists writing unhelpful articles about interviewing.

Also, do you really want to work for someone with a burning need to know what you wanted to be when you were 10 years old? Seriously.

“When I was 10? I don’t remember. But I can tell you this: I didn’t want to grow up to be interviewed by some pseudo-psychological chooch who wastes my time with silly questions. Are we done here? I think so. Thanks.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Okay, so maybe after reading this you won’t be a porn star when it comes to interviewing.

But it can be fun if you take a little time to get better at it.

And trust me, stay out of Buicks. Nothing good ever happened in the back seat of a Buick.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Bladerunner soundtrack
I am reading: Harry Potter – Book 6
And I am: Waiting for Comcast

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Seven days

Friday, September 7, 10:35 a.m.

“Heather, when you have a minute, could you stop by my office?”

“Sure thing, let me dump this at my desk,” I say, dragging the booth and other crap in from a two-day user group conference in Schaumburg.

I didn’t really want to drive into the office that morning. It would’ve been much easier to head straight home from the show and take the rest of the day off – especially since I’d worked 12+ hours the day before, staying late for an inane nerd-ridden networky thing.

I plop down in his office with the Mac on my lap like always, fully expecting to hear about some new idea or direction or project that I’ll have to spend part of my weekend making happen for Monday.

It didn’t go that way. And I can’t share what he said because of the severance agreement.

But I was unexpectedly out of a job. Let go. Axed. Fired. RIF’d. Pink-slipped.

For the first time in my life.

It was unbelievably fucked up. It made no sense.

Knocked me on my ass.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Saturday, September 8, 1:05 p.m.

I drive to the office again, this time to clean out my desk.

I park illegally out front of the Opera House daring the gods to ticket or tow me. Surely I’m worthy of a little mercy at this point.

Insult to injury: Someone has STOLEN the un-opened fifth of Jack Daniels hidden behind some software on my shelf. It was a Christmas gift from one of the sales reps – destined to be tapped on a yet to be determined Special Occasion. Unbelievable.

I'm in and out in less than 15 minutes with just a pause to contemplate peeing on someone’s desk.

I forego going. No point pissing off (or on) the gods in this fragile karmic condition.

Back out front – no tickets, no tows – and I’m gone-daddy-gone from that infernal office forever.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wednesday, September 12, 6:32 p.m.

“So how was your day?” Jim asks, fresh home from work.

“I’m unemployed,” I say from the couch. “And drowning my sorrows in The Devil Wears Prada and peanut butter.”

“Well,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. “I’ve got a JOB for you. Doesn’t pay much…”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Friday, September 14, 11 a.m.

A good first interview gives my withering self-esteem a smallish boost but the blisters keep me sequestered for the rest of the weekend.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Monday, September 17, 7:37 p.m.

Me: Still in my pajamas, no shower, attached to the couch.

“How was today?” Jim asks, but he already knows based on my appearance.

“Nothing,” I say. “Nothing. Even the people I thought for sure would call, didn’t.”

“Do I need to keep you away from sharp objects?” he asks.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tuesday, September 18, 12:35 p.m.

A good second interview. A three-on-one situation (shut it, you) and I’m cool under pressure.

“Thanks for coming in again,” says Jeff, a partner with the firm. “We’ll call you soon to talk about next steps.”

We do the thank-you dance but after two and a half hours on the hot seat I can’t think of much but the fact that I’ve gotta PEE. RIGHT. NOW.

Stopping off at the old office for a well-placed pee stop pops into my head. But karma keeps me proper and on the potty.

“Could you point me to the restrooms please?” I ask, walking out.

“You need a key; let me get it for you.”

I walk back to return the key and that same partner is waiting for me in the lobby.

“Walk with me, Heather,” he says.

Heh?

I follow him back down the hallway to the hot seat in the conference room. Same three guys. They're smiling.

“We want to hire you. When can you start?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Half of Friday. Five business days, plus Monday. Half of yesterday.

And I have a job. A great opportunity. Starting October 1.

Seven business days.

It’s gotta be some kind of record.

Especially with all of the sobbing and sulking and mulling and moping in between.

It’s gotta be.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I meet Jim the IT Guy for lunch at Bar Louie in Printer’s Row after the interview. It's the first time I’ve seen him since the Friday I was fired.

Apparently I’m not the only one who is confused about why this happened.

“We still don’t understand it,” he says. “It makes no sense. Listen, my analogies are never good, but I know you’ll understand this: Firing you was like dumping a chick that gives phenomenal head. You just don’t do it. Ever."

“That’s IT!” I say, laughing/choking on my second celebratory Jack & Coke. “That explains why I was fired! I didn't SUCK!”

Definitely something to keep in mind for the next job. Or not.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: The Killers – Read My Mind
I am reading: Harry Potter 6
And I am: Employed!

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

10%

"What is he thinking?" asks Jim, as a nostalgic-looking O.J. is taken away in handcuffs last night.

What IS he thinking, hmm?

O.J. is promoting his book. Obviously.

But Hedy, the Goldman family gets the proceeds - they published the book.

They get 90%.

10% will go to O.J.'s creditors.

Say what you will about Simpson, but this is downright twisty-brilliant.

He's making headlines. Again.

For criminal behavior. Again.

And his murder how-to book?

It's #2 on Amazon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Two and a Half Men
I am reading: Harry Potter 6
And I am: Staying away from sharp objects

Monday, September 17, 2007

You'd think

You'd think all this job drama would translate to blog fodder.

Of course it hasn't.

There are talkers. There are doers. And there are thinkers.

I am a thinker/doer when it comes to processing Major Life Events.

So I cut the grass this weekend. Avoided social situations. Helped Jim trim trees out front. Hauled brush to the ginormous burn pile out back. Read a lot. And figured out a much easier way to clean the filthy, dust-ridden cushions on the sun porch furniture.

I still don't know exactly what to make of this situation, but goddamn, the house looks GREAT.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Also: Had my first interview on Friday.

"Way to go, Hedy! An interview! Wow, that's GREAT!"

Okay, shaddap.

When I finally find a job working for people who actually appreciate what I do and are willing to pay for it, then we can all do the happy dance.

For now there will be no dancing, happy or otherwise.

Mostly because of the blisters. Angry, quarter-sized blisters. One on each foot. You would think it's stigmata if you didn't know me as Hedy, faithless heathen.

The interview went well. They always do.

But I nearly crippled myself walking from Union Station to the Chicago Board of Trade building in exceptionally cute new "I'm jobless" shoes.

Worse, I had to jettison the new shoes and buy newer new shoes to make the hike back to the train.

So, for those of you keeping track:

Jobs: 0
Interviews: 1
New shoes: 2

Now get back to work. I'm going to take a nap.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Gromit breathing
I am reading: Harry Potter 6
And I am: Quiet

Friday, September 14, 2007

Bad day

If you make sure you're connected
The writing's on the wall
But if your mind's neglected
Stumble you might fall

A semi-rainy April morning in 1993. Stereo MC’s are telling me I need to get myself connected. And I’m driving to work - anxious to get there for a big client event we’re hosting.

Approaching the intersection of North Avenue and Gary, a car turns in front of me with seconds to spare. The light turns yellow. The car behind the one that turned turns, too.

POW! Slams right into me.

I can’t breathe. Unbelievable, sharp pain in my chest.

Ambulance. Surgery. Five days in the hospital.

Bad day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Walking at a fast clip on the treadmill. It’s two months after ACL surgery to fix the silly snowboarding mishap and I am feeling fine fine fine.

Foot slips. I go down on the bad knee. POP!

Within minutes my ruined knee is as big and round as a baby’s head.

Broken kneecap. Surgery.

Bad day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
November, last year. We three ex co-workers at our monthly stay-in-touch night at the local pub.

A mobile phone rings and is answered.

“Hey. Oh? No.”

The cancer he nearly died beating is back – brain, lung, skin.

Very bad day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Two weeks ago, my aunt in Reno finds my uncle in their driveway coughing up blood.

Now she’s dialing his office just to hear his voicemail because all that’s left of him is in an urn waiting to be buried in Michigan.

Bad, bad days.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So I was fired last Friday.

To say that it was shocking, unbelievably fucked up and downright wrong is an understatement.

But it wasn’t a bad day. Not by a long shot.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Black Snake Moan
I am reading: HP5
And I am: Trying for a little perspective

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Back

to our regularly scheduled programming tomorrow, kiddies.

Sorry for the unexplained absence.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Stereo MC's - Connected
I am reading: HP 5
And I am: Unemployed

Friday, September 07, 2007

Hedy Potter

Blast-Ended Skrewts. Bubotubers. Floo powder. Grindylows.

I’m in the thick of Harry Potter. Book five, to be exact.

And there’s just no other word for it: Magical.

It’s a classic story of good versus evil. Like an updated Wizard of Oz with good witches and bad witches and elves instead of munchkins.

What’s more, Harry’s stories are surprisingly moral. He’s just everything you want in a hero – brave, kind, and generous. He cares about his friends. He’s passionate about fighting evil.

But even if if if the stories were crap crap crap, the books are still worth reading simply for all those cool words like remembrall and quaffle and niffler. And even cooler names like Mundungus and Dumbledore and Severus Snape (who we love to hate).
~~~~~~~~~~
So, ya got any magical powers?

Here are mine in no particular order:

Eye Tripping: It happens all the time – a stranger is walking toward me. We make eye contact. They trip. Not the fall down/skinned knees kind of trip. More like a walking hiccup.

Magic Hands: There’s a seminar tomorrow morning and I need 18 brochures. I find the right tray in the veritable wall of collateral and grab exactly 18. Same with pens. I always pick exactly the right amount. This is an extremely valuable talent for a Marketing Goddess like me. Bonus: This magical power also applies to finding the exact page I need in a book or magazine.

Disappearing Dog: Gromit is pestering me. Again. Jim is conveniently elsewhere in the house. All I have to say is “Gromit! Where is he?” and that silly little bugger runs off to find Jim like his tail’s on fire. Technically, this is not magic. It helps just a smidge, having a semi-retarded dog.
~~~~~~~~~~
“I need a cauldron,” says me, watching a show about naked Pagans.

“Why don’t you try cooking something in a pot in the kitchen first?” replies Jim.
~~~~~~~~~~
Harry Potter has a scar shaped like a lightning bolt in the center of his forehead.

In the center of my forehead there’s a big wrinkle that, if I squinch up my face just right, looks kinda like a lightning bolt.

I can’t wait to hear what Jim says about purchasing a broom.
~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Some football game
I am reading: HP 5
And I am: Not a muggle

Thursday, September 06, 2007

Re: Retard

I've heard using 'mentally retarded' or 'retard' is offensive.

I've also heard - just in the past six months - that retard is making a huge comeback in the medical/educational professions. Mental retardation is, in fact, an official medical diagnosis.

Retard, the noun, is not.

Here at HedyBlog we strive to straddle that fine line between completely offensive and mildly distasteful, so it really doesn't matter so much.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Last Saturday, we went for an inaugural overnight visit to our friends' new cottage in Lake Geneva. The goal: Get Gromit the Dog acclimated to their house so he won't freak out and shit on the kitchen table when we leave him alone there to go out and enjoy the lake. FYI: 'Enjoy the lake' is Wisconsin vernacular for taking a tour of all the bars around the lake and drinking your ass off for an entire afternoon/evening.

You'll be relieved to know that Gromit did well. He was a little hyper - he always is in a new place - but overall, he was the barky, needy, clingy nut-job that he always is.

Overheard as we were leaving Sunday morning:

"Sorry about the retard," says Jim.

"Eh, Gromit was okay," says Chris.

"No, I meant Heather."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This whole thing gets me thinking about some of my sillier moments.

For example: Before I was married, I lived alone in a walk-up apartment atop a lovely yellow home in a quiet Chicago suburb. Of all the places I've lived, it was my favorite. A huge maple tree out back made my little screened in porch seem like a tree house - the perfect spot for reading and napping and thinking.

My landlord and his wife lived downstairs and they used the driveway, so I always parked out front in the street.

One day, I pulled up to my house and a car identical to mine was parked in my spot.

"Oh - I'm home!" popped into my head.

Yep.

We all have classically silly moments.

Your brain takes an unscheduled break and you suddenly you find yourself saying Oh! I'm home or something equally ridiculous.

The upside: Maybe if I act retarded they won't spank me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Exhibit hall noises
I am reading: Harry Potter 5 - Fabulous!
And I am: Prone to temporary retardation

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

The big chill out

“Remember those laboratory rats who went crazy when they were deprived of their privacy?”

“They’re living with you, too?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That's a conversation from one of my all-time favorite movies: The Big Chill.

Confession time.

I've been completely burnt out from all the activity this summer. We've had a lot of visits and visitors, small trips and major vacations.

And it was lovely. We are so blessed.

But by Sunday afternoon, I was officially DONE.

So I popped some popcorn, popped in The Big Chill and chilled out on the couch all afternoon.

Yes, it was beautiful outside. Yes it was the last weekend of the summer.

No, I didn't care. I needed couch and comfort and quiet.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I was so caught up in needing a little peaceful alone time that the irony didn't catch up with me until this morning on the train ride into the city.

When I saw The Big Chill for the first time in an English class in high school, it changed my perspective on what love is. And what friendship is all about.

It was a powerful message - love and appreciate your people while they're here rather than waiting until it's too late.

So I'm done being crabby and done being done.

I'm focusing on the blessings of a busy summer.

And it's beautiful.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Matchbox 20 - Push
I am reading: Harry Potter - Book 5 (finally!)
And I am: Quiet

Sunday, September 02, 2007

Next

My next post will be Tuesday morning.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Silence
I am reading: Harry Potter - Book 4
And I am: Done talking for a while

Thursday, August 30, 2007

Human maintenance

"Your uterus is inflamed."

That was my chiropractor this morning, jabbing tiny needles into my ears.

"Your ears are a road map to your whole body," he continues. "And yours are saying inflamed uterus."

It was a morning for human maintenance: A visit to my regular doc for the annual girlie check-up. And then to the chiropractor for some much-needed bone crunchery.

My regular doctor had, shall we say, first-hand knowledge of the whole uterus situation but didn't mention inflammation. She recommended blood tests for irregularities that she wouldn't have known about if I hadn't told her.

But my chiropractor - who rightfully has never seen me in anything less than head-to-toe hospital scrubs - somehow knows about the uterus en fuego situation.

Amazing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I had a mini-proud moment with the regular doctor.

"Your HPV test came back negative so you're on the three year plan for Paps," she says.

"Is HPV common?" I ask, proud of my HPV-free status, but wanting more.

"Yes," she says. "Very."

There's nothing quite like a squeaky clean coochie to make you feel extra-special-good about yourself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Accupuncture will help," says my chiropractor. "It'll straighten out this hormone issue."

I like my regular doctor. She's smart and practical.

But I love love love my chiropractor. When no one else can fix me, he can.

I lost count on the needles. Three in each foot. One in each ankle. Four in my stomach. I don't know how many in each hand. Plus the ears.

After about 15 minutes on the table, you begin to feel...flattened out. That's the best way to describe it. Flat and smoothed out and mellow. Extremely mellow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Go ahead, say it, she's your real doctor."

That was my chiropractor again.

"I never said that," I say, defending myself. "She's my regular doctor. You're my real doctor."

My regular doctor recommended one needle - drawing blood.

My real doctor recommended dozens of needles and somehow I know he's on the right track.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: The washer winding up in the spin cycle
I am reading: Happy Trotter - Book 4
And I am: Relaxed

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Such as, maps

“I bet she sucks dick like a champ,” said Jim over dinner at Melvin B’s Truck Stop last night. “So she’ll be okay.”

We were watching the ubiquitous clip of Caitlin Upton, a Miss Teen USA contestant who badly botched her answer during the “All This And Brains Too!” portion of the competition.

The question?

A fifth of Americans can’t locate the U.S. on a world map. Why do you think this is?

She muttered something about 'U.S. Americans' not having enough maps and then went off into a muddled mess of South Africa and 'The Iraq' before shaking her tits, flashing a smile and shouting TA-DA! to the packed auditorium.

Well, maybe not that last part, but you get the picture.

First of all, why do we expect these chicks to speak, let alone answer Very Thinky Questions? They’re up there because they’re cute, not because they’re smart.

So let ‘em jiggle and sing a little and then pick the one that looks most likely to pose in Playboy after her 'career' hits a low point 10 years from now and be done with it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By the way, one fifth of Americans can't find the U.S. on a map because we don't need to, we're HERE!

TA-DA!!!

I'm callin' Playboy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Suchas, maps, suchas
I am reading: Harry Potter – Book 4
And I am: Map happy

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Three freaky f*ck monkeys bouncin' on the bed

There's a new guy on HedyBlog's Freaky Fuck Monkey Tote Board: Larry Craig, Republican Senator from Idaho.

Are we surprised?

According to Yahoo! News:

Idaho Sen. Larry Craig, who has voted against gay marriage and opposes extending special protections to gay and lesbian crime victims, finds his political future in doubt after pleading guilty to misdemeanor charges stemming from complaints of lewd conduct in a men's room.

I'd never begrudge a man for getting his junk pumped in a men's bathroom, but apparently Mr. Craig does - but only when he's not there to participate in the fun.

So here's the tally so far:

Republicans – 3 (Tobias & Vitter & Craig, oh MY!)
Democrats - 0
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: The Fray - All At Once
I am reading: Happy Rotter - Book 4
And I am: Not a monkey

Monday, August 27, 2007

Cost-plus

Back to school, kiddies.

And it’s time for a little homework. Read this article from Rolling Stone magazine:

The Great Iraq Swindle

“But it’s TOO LONG, Hedy! And I’m BUSY!”

U.S. soldiers in Iraq would love to trade places with the likes of you, sitting safely at your computer sipping a hot mug of something without sand in your shorts.

Cowboy up and read the fucking story. Now.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Done? Good.

But before you go slapping a shiny little star on your forehead, it’s quiz time.

Question #1: What’s a cost-plus government contract?

It’s a government contract that guarantees a profit of three percent of the total cost of the deal.

Which means there’s no incentive for government contractors in Iraq to do a job well – they are paid and more importantly, they profit – regardless of what they deliver.

And the more they spend on a project, the more they’re paid.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Question #2: What’s missing from this story?

C’mon. You know.

3732.

That’s the number of American military casualties in Iraq.

Cost-plus. Yep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Quiet office noises
I am reading: This article again
And I am: There just isn’t a word to describe this kind of anger + sadness

Friday, August 24, 2007

Cunning stunts

"Up next, a stunning development in the Nicole Richie story!"

That was brainiac anchor Warner Saunders on NBC 5 here in Chicago last night.

We've got Major Local Weather to report but let's all pause from the death and destruction to hear this stunning news.

What, has she gone into hiding and ordered a pizza?

I've decided I'm not watching local news anymore. It used to be depressing, which I could handle.

But now it's just stupid.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Psychobillly Freakout – The Reverend Horton Heat
I am reading: Harry Potter – Book 4
And I am: Stunning

Thursday, August 23, 2007

Slobs

Here’s the mess I had to step over to get to my regular seat on the train this morning.

Newspapers. And an empty yogurt cup (and lid). In the middle of the floor.

From this sad little camera phone pic, you can’t see there’s even more mess up top on the luggage shelf: three empty Starbucks cups (and lids) surrounded by coffee stained napkins.

Slobs. People are such fucking slobs.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Here’s the thing: There are large garbage cans at every door on this train. So the Train Slob has no excuse for not cleaning up after himself.

And it’s taking every ounce of my self-control (ahem) to clean up the mess that someone else made.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
No spoon. Inexplicably, there’s no spoon in the yogurt cup.

I can see him: shaking thick yogurt down his gullet like the fucking troll that he is, wiping a bit of white slobber on his sleeve before setting the empty cup on the floor between the mud-spattered legs of his pants.

Of course he’s a he. Surely a woman wouldn’t do something like this.

And his hair’s greasy. His fingernails? Filthy. He’s overweight and his wrinkled t-shirt - which he picked up off the bedroom floor with the rationalization that wearing it three days in a row saves water - is stained. With coffee and yogurt. He hasn’t shaved in a week.

Is it fair for me to make these assumptions about someone who would leave such a mess behind on the train?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One of my train buddies says he’s keeping someone employed by leaving trash on the train.

I dunno.

One thing’s certain: He’s keeping someone disgusted.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: The Way Life is Supposed To Be – Bob Schneider
I am reading: Harry Potter – Book 4
And I am: Yep, disgusted

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Five for the price of one

You know how I feel about illegal immigrants. The majority of them are hard-working, family-oriented folks who just want a better life.

Unfortunately, Elvira Arellano is not one of them.

She's a pathetic media whore with zero regard for her son's well-being.

Anyone who'd use a child to prove a political point … oh, fuck it, you know what I mean.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Every time I try to type Karl Rover. . .See?

Rover. Every time.

Freaky.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Watch:
Entourage
Lil’ Bush
Californication
Flight of the Conchords

Do not watch:
The Astronaut Farmer
America’s Got Talent
Anything with High School Musical in the title
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One in four Americans did not read a book last year.

So c’mon. How many for you?

And why not more?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Confession: I've been watching America's Got Talent.

I know.

I got sucked into it late in the series when the contestants, in fact, did have some modicum of talent.

However. A paunchy white dude with his hand up a turtle's ass singing Crying was just christened America's Top Talent in the finale and it feels so dirty I'm heading to the shower for a good long scrub.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Five for the price of one? C’mon, Hed.

It’s free. Whattaya want?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Elvis Costello - She
I am reading: Harry Potter - Book 3
And I am: Caught up

Monday, August 20, 2007

Damp yet dry

Unlike all of northern Illinois - which has been pounded with rain for the past two days - my mental well is dry today.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Mad World - Sara Hickman
I am reading: Harry Potter - Book 3
And I am: Damp yet dry

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Why

Why does my hair finally cooperate on the day it’s getting cut?

Why does the iron make the wrinkles that are hardest to smooth out?

Why does my computer finally do what’s expected after I’ve contacted the IT guy?

Why is everyone so goddamn slow when I’m in a hurry?

And why do all the maniacs come out when I’m taking my time?

Why does your boss always walk up behind you as you’re opening something twisted/pornographic sent by that one deviant friend?

Why, when he has the whole backyard, does your wet dog stand right next to you to shake off?

Why are those most interested in controlling the behavior of others the last people you’d want in charge of anything?

Why does your spouse change the channel at the exact moment when what you most wanted to see/hear comes on?

Why, when I drop something, does it always land on that One Spot on top of my foot that hurts like a motherfucker?

Why do the people who talk the most always seem to have the least to say?

Why do the things that taste the best make you feel the worst?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Indigo Girls – Rites of Passage
I am reading: Harry Potter – Book 3
And I am: Asky

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

When flowers mattered

So we're strolling through a gift shop at Honolulu International Airport waiting for the long flight home when I see a ginormous pile of Godiva chocolate boxes.

It reminds me of something I haven't thought about in years: The Godiva Chocolate Incident.

It was very strange. Freshman year in college, out of the blue, I received a large box of Godiva chocolates from some dude I barely knew in high school.

Turns out Bill was 'wooing' me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Vot is dis voo?"

That is Bubbie from the classic movie Crossing Delancey. Watch it. It began my love affair with everything and everyone Jewish.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Anyway.

If you've known me more than 10 minutes, you know that kinda shit doesn't work.

Flowers & chocolate? C'mon. You're gonna have to be smarter than that. You're gonna have to work harder than that. You're gonna have to think harder than that.

But feeling guilty about the chocolates, which of course were shared with my roommates, I went on a date with Bill. Once.

And as suspected by the golden box of goodies, he was fairly vacuous.

I'm sure after the cash he dropped on the fancy schmancy chocolates, he was expecting something. That box was worth a good blow job at least.

But he didn't even get a kiss.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The point is, the godawful Godiva Incident got me thinking of The One Time that getting something like that actually meant something.

When I was a kid, Da would bring Mom and me flowers. Flowers from a road side stand. Flowers wrapped in wet newspaper and a rubber band holding it all together. He took his motorcycle to and from work quite a bit, so he'd tuck the flowers down the front of his jacket.

I've often thought it had to be such a lovely, romantic sight: Da zipping along, flowers poking out. I can still feel the wet texture of the paper as we carefully unwrapped them. I close my eyes and I can smell them - a mix of marigolds and daisies and baby's breath.

That is the only time flowers mattered.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Sarah Hickman - Mad World
I am reading: Harry Potter Book 2
And I am: Busy

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Recipe: How to Feel Like a Kid Again

Sit sideways in a big comfy armchair. Flop your legs over the side. Read a book for hours.

Eat peanut butter from a spoon.

Spray your favorite girl in the back of the head with a garden hose. Laugh like hell.

Eat Cheerios outta the box.

Bury your face in the thick fur around your dog's neck and just ... breathe.

Watch the Wizard of Oz. Hide your eyes when the flying monkeys come out.

Pick a dandelion and give it to someone you love.

Spread out on your back in the grass under a tree.

Play Scrabble with your friends.

Sniff a Zippo lighter.

Say the first thing that pops into your head and don't regret it.

Bounce a ball against a wall. Repeat until someone yells at you.

Let a tiny little olive-green bug crawl around on your hand. And talk to him.

Be naked and barefoot as much as possible.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Just Jack - Snowflakes
I am reading: Harry Potter Book 2
And I am: A big kid

Monday, August 13, 2007

A sign

Here's a sign you've been on vacation wayyyy tooooooo looooonnng: You leave the house for the grocery store and forget to wear shoes.

I refuse to bore anyone with a "what I did on my summer vacation" column (unlike Neil Steinberg, who always seems to be so above the places he deigns to visit).

I will say this: It was lovely, but there's no place like home.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Sia - Breathe Me
I am reading: Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets (Book 2)
And I am: Not quite here yet

Thursday, August 02, 2007

Something good

“So I figured out where we’re going to dinner for our anniversary,” says Jim, standing behind the grill last Saturday.

I am distracted.

Gromit is barking at a ball bobbing in the pool. It’s what he does. He’s perfectly happy to go in and get it, but first he must bark at it for a few minutes. I’m assuming to put the ball on notice that it is about to be rescued. Or something.

“Oh yeah?” I say, playing catch-up with the conversation after Grom finally makes the plunge. “Where?”

The where-do-we-go-for-our-anniversary rodeo typically begins in early July, in anticipation (and dinner reservations) of the blessed event in early August.

We went to Gibson’s in Chicago for our first anniversary and it’s been a lovely tradition ever since. The steaks are good, but the people watching is outstanding (Outstanding!) and we always see someone semi-famous.

Semi-famous?

Yes. Think Jesse Jackson and Dennis Hastert. Semi-famous.

But after nine years of marriage, Jim wants to break the tradition and change things up a bit.

Six weeks ago he was talking Italian. Two weeks ago it was seafood.

Both times I gave him the standard wrinkled-up-nose-but-it’s-a-tradition response, effectively tabling any additional anniversary dinner debate.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I’m thinking seafood AND Italian,” he says, looking up from his famous chicken wings popping above the charcoal.

Jesus. Can’t we just go to Gibson’s and keep it simple? I don’t want to try a new place. I don’t want seafood. Besides, my parents are coming for a visit that week, our anniversary is on a Sunday and it’s only nine years. Let’s go to dinner at Gibson’s the following week after my parents are gone and we’ll celebrate then, no biggie. It’s only nine years after all.

Of course I think all of this but don’t say it.

You don’t get to celebrate nine years of wedded bliss without learning the #1 Rule of Marriage: Keep Your Mouth Shut.

“Oh yeah?” I say again, waiting to hear about some new amazing Italian fish place in the city.

“I made two reservations.”

Heh?

“We’re going to two places in one night?” I ask, thoroughly confused.

Sure, I’ve become a fat-ass since the back injury, but damn. Two dinners?

“We’re going to Mama’s Fish House on Sunday for our anniversary,” he says with grin. “And that Italian place at the Four Seasons Maui for the sunset on Tuesday.”

It takes more than a minute to sink in.

He’s taking me to my favorite place on the planet for our anniversary. My parents are coming to visit so they can watch Gromit.

I’m going to Maui.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So, to summarize:
  • I have a wonderful husband
  • I am NOT wasting one minute of Maui time with the Mac
  • You guys are on your own until at least Thursday of next week.

Aloha!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: That song called Something Good by Maria and whatshisname from The Sound of Music
I am reading: Nothing until after the trip
And I am: Blessed

Wednesday, August 01, 2007

Sniff & Lick It

“Jim!” says the Nephew. “Get ready! This song gets faster coming up.”

“Um, Andrew?” says Jim, without looking away from the TV. “It’s Free Bird. I was listening to this before your mother was born.”

That was last night – the three of us, up ‘til nearly midnight playing Guitar Hero.

I am not a musical person. I appreciate music. And I can dance like a motherfucker.

But when it comes to instruments – even the crappy plastic Guitar Hero guitar – you might as well give it to Gromit to play. It’ll sound about the same, except I probably won’t sniff and lick it so much.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Have you played yet?

It’s a blast. You’re listening to classic rock songs. You’re “playing” classic rock songs. And if you get good, you can even begin to incorporate some of the more classic rock star moves.

How’d you do, Hedy?

Again, I am not musically inclined.

Jim and Andrew suffered through my rendition of Heart Shaped Box six times before I finally made it through without the greasy-haired rocker on the screen hanging her head in shame to the sound of an angry boo-filled stadium.

But that was only after I stopped trying to “play” the song and started trying to “play” the game.

Remember Centipede? It’s my all-time favorite video game.

Back when games didn’t have sixteen bazillion buttons for you to slap/jump/kick/rip the alien’s head off and cheats to download from the Internet.

Centipede. A marvelously simple game. You shoot with one button. You move with the other.

Guitar Hero is like Centipede put to music.

These colorful disc-looking things representing music notes fly at you. You shoot them.

And if you manage to shoot all of them, Dead! by My Chemical Romance sounds like it ought to, and not like three cats fighting over a Fender Stratocaster made of cat-nip.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Watching Andrew zip through Killing In The Name and Billion Dollar Baby and Psychobilly Freakout, we now know the real answer when we ask him what he’s been up to and he says, in typical 15-year-old fashion “Nothing.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sniff and Lick It. That’ll be the name of my band. If I ever have one.

Band names that make you laugh? What would the name of your band be? What was your favorite video game growing up?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Hed’s Guitar Hero Mix
I am reading: Neil Steinberg in the Sun-Times
And I am: Rockin’ out