chickleta’s Neighborhood

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Just a second ago I was looking at the shopping list I posted here on Vox last year, and thought to myself, hey, it's only 2 weeks away. I wonder if Vox is asking a question about Thanksgiving? 

So there you go. 

While not working on my NaNo thing, I ran across a brief and weird parody I did a few years ago of the final passage in Joyce's Ulysses. Yes, that's the sort of thing I do for entertainment, which should surprise no one. Anyway. 

I got the CD out to hear this and decided to share it with you.

(Yes, it probably is. I mean, look, I've had to give up noting the days or dates; it's pretty much an on-going condition these days. I hear that it passes away in a few years, though, and then you have to eat soy, or some such nonsense.)** 

I'd rather be doing a more complete parody or pastiche of that passage which goes like this, 

than working on my story. Or I'd rather be painting. I still haven't tried out my new brushes yet. 

**If you didn't get that oblique statement, you have not been reading enough of my blog posts. Seriously.

So then I was thinking about how many of my celebrity crushes are aging;  it's diffferent than it was 15 years ago when they were my age now. I don't want to imply that I find men hovering around age 60 unattractive and creepy. I'd rather just pretend they haven't aged so far along yet, but what can you do? So I was thinking it might be okay to very carefully cultivate a few younger crushes. This one, for example, is a possibility.  Not exactly a celebrity. But on the TV. Also, still over 40, a fine thing to be. 

Yeah, I'm just being silly. I'm going to get a text asking me if I am serious or if, you know, see above parens regarding no longer noting the days. Just trying to have a little fun, folks, that's all!

Because the story is causing me great anxiety. It wants to talk about lovestuff, and not be terribly funny, or have much to do with all the quirky stories I'd set myself up to tell. This is, frankly, pissing me off. I didn't gear up for this thing in order to fail. And how irritating is it to not be able to take control of the ideas that come out of my own head? That's just ridiculous, immature, and unworthy of a good intellect. 

Where were we? Oh, yes. I renamed my iPod. It used to be called Enterprise but now it's called The Fine Arts, after a cool vintage movie theater in Mission, Kansas that I used to go to nearly every weekend (until The Gods Must Be Crazy happened, but that's another story.) I made playlists using the titles of some of my favorite movies, to reflect the songs within them, of course. However, it's rather challenging to develop them well. It sounded like a really good idea to have a playlist called Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, but now I'm not so certain. 

Oh, I found this on the YouTube yesterday.

Isn't this guy kind of awesome? I never really thought so growing up. Mom had a thing for him back when all her girlfriends were grooving on Elvis, who Mom thought was a little icky, and she had a couple of his albums, but when I learned ladies threw their panties at him while he sang, I was so utterly grossed out, and also, there was all that hair and those sideburns. However, he's actually quite good, and although I'm still grossed out at those 1969 ladies with their polyester dresses and nylons and I don't even want to think about the panties, I am charmed by the fact that he was born on Dean Martin's birthday. That's just cool. It's probably not his fault about the panties. 

Okay, back to the thing. ::sigh::

I realised that if there was ever a time for me to update the shop, just before Christmas would be it.

 

 

I have new prints in a range of sizes and prices. Soon I will have Christmas cards and copies of Meow Magazine for sale as well. Watch this space. :) 

Can you tell I'm a Londoner?

These are for the new issue of the zine the students on my course produce (Meow Magazine). This month's theme is I Love London so this was what I did. I'm also on the editing team this year and we have big plans for it.

It's National Adoption Week. I found out by accident; for my family every week is Adoption Week! I came across this article on Google News. The article talks about the complex reality of adoption:

The British Association of Adoption and Fostering (BAAF) has published information today stating that one in every three parents looking to adopt would not consider a child born out of a pregnancy that included alcohol or drug abuse by the mother. This view on adoption is troubling given that nearly half of children in the U.K. that need adopted families originate from homes where drugs and alcohol were abused.

With National Adoption Week beginning today, BAAF wants to place an emphasis on steering prospective parents out of a fantasized ideal of adoption and into today’s modern reality of adoption. (Bolding mine.)

I don't blame adoptive parents for wanting a baby with a "clean slate". Raising a child with special needs, be that a disability or a troubled past, is heartbreaking and difficult. But the idea that a "baggage-less" adopted child  will be just like a biological child is a fantasy. Every adopted child has a past:

Genetic ties and shared history can never be severed. An adopted child and their new family must always live with that difference.

YES. I want every person who has any contact with an adopted child or their family to understand that. I want people to understand that adoption is a beautiful and wonderful thing, but that it ain't perfect. Adoption is born out of hope, but it's also a connection forged out of the grief of parents: birth parents who have to give up a child and many adoptive parents who are unable to concieve. Adoption changes everything you know about family and genetics and love. I want people who know my family to acknowlege that. Don't put adoption or my family on a pedestal.

"Adoption is such a miraculous process!" Yes it is, but so is having a biological child, and that is messy and scary and frustrating while also being joyful and more fulfilling than anything else in the world.

Happy Adoption Week to everyone touched by adoption. God preserve all of us! :) 

...I would buy everything in this store. I look at their website and salivate. I walk into their store and get weak at the knees. If I found some genie, my third wish would be to get a hundred-thousand dollar giftcard to this store, right after world peace and the elimination of hunger.

Seriously....this quilt? These shirts? This skirt?? To die for.

 

What are the can’t–live–without things on your web homepage?

Sponsored by Yahoo!

Really, Yahoo? You wanna play this game?

I use myway.com so a big thing for me is what isn't there. Banner ads.

That's pretty much it. You gonna do that for me, Yahoo?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

I was at Barnes & Noble today, where my daughter gets her fancy British music magazines, and roamed some of the bargain aisles; there are always twice as many this time of year. Some of these interest me and some amuse me.

First, there are always lots of books on war, for you to buy for Dad. WWII is very big this year, but then it generally is. If it didn't have the benefit of Nazis, Holocaust, fighting in half the world, and G.I. Joe, it still would have been set in the awesome 1940s, which informed the thing highly (and of course were informed by it, as well.)

For the man who is always certain there's more to know. (He is also convinced Kennedy was shot from two different directions. And frankly, I'm kind of on his side, but that's another story.)

For the sort of man who enjoys reading old blueprints.

For the armchair social historian:

For the dad you really don't know very well.

And now here's a fun juxtaposition I felt must have been a source of humor for the person stocking the shelves:

This is something I'd probably enjoy owning; I felt a little sad it's marked down to 14.95:

A threesome from the man who made it safe for Evangelicals to collect "art."

Here's one for the sort of person who likes to start semi-drunken arguments at the Thanksgiving dinner table:

And finally, proof that I flipping love the person stocking these shelves, as all three of these are featured on the same one.
Angels are slightly cheaper to own than information on awkward sex. FYI.

I just came back from a walk. Not too exciting? Well, THIS is: It's the first time since 12/27/08 (when I fell partway down the steps onto concrete and ripped up my ankle) that I took my "normal" walk around the neighborhood.

WOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

I was beginning to think I'd never be able to again. But today it happened.

YAY!!!!!!!

I hope you're all doing great!!!!

So I'm doing dishes, as repsonsible people ought to do, and as I'm finishing up I notice two limes sitting at the bottom of the sink. "Hm," I think to myself, "Ctirus is supposed to be great at making the disposal smell nice." So, I shove down the limes, lean over, flip the switch, a terrible grinding noise ensues and...

Half a shotglass comes flying out.

!!

I guess a shotglass had slipped into the disposal without my noticing, and the disposal shredded it. The entire base and jagged edge where it broke made a giant arc and landed literally six feet from the sink on the floor. O.O

It was pretty hilarious after I was done thanking God that I hadn't been leaning over the sink. Shotglass to the face is not a great way to end one's day. :-)