Nice duds

Tornado warnings, hail the size of some sporting equipment and a scaredy-cat beagle sent Robert and I home from our well-blended Fourth of July bbq at the Conners. And because life is one big circus of concentric circles, Robert wasn't the only one surrounded by alumni. Because Syracuse Jen now works where I worked, the orange people are now mixing it up with WBJ alum. And yup, fruits and nuts do make a good party mix
But we left when it got soggy and the local news crews started first uttering what could have been the best line of any Fourth of July drinking game: "looks like Mother Nature may be setting off her own fireworks ..." (c'mon, you'd be one lit fuse had you lifted that patriotic (or ironic and idiotic?) Sam Adams each time a red-blazered or navy blue wind-breakered tv talker said it). But of course, that Mother is much more of wiseass than a pyrotechnician and now it's sunny, sunny, sunny. And I'm at home in my jammy pants way too early, like a kid who got in trouble for riding her bike to the convenient store, crossing a busy street in her quest for Lik-m-aid.
But the night is not totally free of silliness. I just played my own version of fun with headlines. I take the top headlines from CNN or Yahoo or whatever and then match the subjects of one line with the predicates of the other. Today was especially good, no duds in the bunch. But i do play fast and loose with the rules, so no Betty Buzzkills allowed.


Here they are, from CNN's "Viewed Most Emailed Top Searches"
Orgasm clip spices up EU meeting
Bill Clinton blasts Bush
5 die in dairy farm manure pit
New hot dog eating champ for 4th
Missing lake swallowed up by crack

Here's the remix

Orgasm clip blasts Bush (he never knew what hit him, Cheney denies he was target practicing)

Bill Clinton spices up EU meeting (old news, baby)
New hot dog in dairy farm manure pit
Eating champ swallowed up by crack (only fair)
Crack spices up EU meeting (works everytime)

Yea! Freedom of speech.

Monday morning -- freelance style

I should be in bed. But I don't have to get up at 6, so I'm not. And I had to pack for Robert's brother's wedding. It's outside, in a backyard in New Hampshire. There are bbqs, a skull-and-crossbone tie-wearing groom, in-laws, pig roasts and New England night temperatures to consider. Those are things I seldom consider when dressing, so it took some time.
Jeff, the brother, is doing the 7.7.07 wedding thing. It's his third wedding -- but really he and this wife already officially got married, so this lucky pig roast thing (not so lucky for the pig) is really just for show. But most weddings are. Why am I writing more about a backyard wedding than I did my own?
I should be in bed. It's 1:23 a.m (ignore my time stamp, i romantically set it at Indiana time and it's one hour behind, I shall change it).
Maybe I'm just stalling because I don't want to tell Winky I cheated on him while I was off the blog. I didn't want to, believe you me, but here's one of the oddest upsides of being married to someone who works for AARP. Two days after your friend dies, AARP-employeed spouse comes home and says, "I met with a Web vendor today whose company does online memorials."
And in this f-uped year, and especially in that gray, gross f-uped blurry week, that bit of information was completely relevant and helpful.
Here's the upside of being married to Robert: He sat it all up. And unable to write a headline or edit any stories at work that week, I put by production skills to work tribute writing, candle lighting, slideshow making and "share this site with a friend"ing.
Enough already, here it is:
http://john-mccalla.memory-of.com/
I've also been doing some old-fashioned blogging-- I like to call it MicrosoftWording. Actually I don't like to call it that for obvious reasons, but still that's what it is, keeping an ongoing journal offline in my Documents folder. Documenting? Menting? It's like journaling, I guess, but without a trip to barnes and nobles for the moleskin. Oh, yes, I think it's commonly referred to as writing, for those brave enough to own up to it.
I should go to bed.
Perhaps I'll bring the document to life on here, if Winky doesn't mind the complete detour froom cycle talk. I am still riding, but not to work, in fact, I ride away from work around 10, so I don't have as many Share the Road tirades to go on or bike-lane runners to go off on.
I am going to bed. As soon as I turn in this grandma as primary caregiver story.
Funny, my grandmas weren't really even secondary caregivers to me. Nice lady to visit in town, always good for Club crackers (stale), a spritz of Miss Breck hairspray,a two-week old People and a visual reminder of why I stay up late and worry constantly. (grandma payton would just be starting a crossword at this hour) That's just the one. The other requires much more introspection than I can muster right now.
But both would tell me to go bed.

Crazy train

Talk about derailed, oh goodness. Was that a prescient posting way back there in Aug 2006 or what. I'm not just off the rails, i'm off the track, nowhere near the station, haven't even bought my ticket ... you get the idea.

2007 -- the year I gave a eulogy for my best friend that incorporated a Britney/Madonna/Belinda/Manic dance interlude -- has been one beyond words. See that's why I danced. What else do you do when your best friend up and dies two hours after you planned a "Facts of Life" marathon for the following evening and nixed plans to go to the new mayor's inaugural party because it was, in John's words, going to be a pig fuck.

There's a couple of words I'd apply to this year. Pig fuck. Messy and necessary, productive but sloppy. And painful.

Since then, I've quit two jobs and started full-time freelancing, and full-time feeling like I don't have a job , need to focus, interspered with immense feelings of freedom, rest, and pride that, hey, here I'm a writer again. For the Washington Post, for whatever will pay me enough to justify a life of no button-down shirts or need to visit that Anne Taylor Loft sale.

So maybe firing back up ol Winky isn't the wisest of choices, but it was a gut reaction. And that's pretty much the organ that's been orchestrating most of my actions lately.
Must go wrap up an article "What to expect when you weren't expecting this" (working title) about grandparents raising grandkids and send my resume to the Campaign for Tobacco-Free Kids. I only stripped it as a child, never inhaled. And I've already got an online feature in mind for them to add to the site: "Let me Butt In" -- where kids tell why they quit.

Ok, snuff said for today.
Welcome back me.