stupid human tricks

“You’ve trained the cats to beg for food from your dinner plate.”
“At least they aren’t raccoons.”

“I accidentally cracked my phone screen, but there are not raccoon scratches on our door.”

“There’s cat fur all over my clean shirts.”
“There ISN’T raccoon fur on your laundry.”

“I failed to get the Netflix dvd in today’s mail. I succeeded at not putting food out for raccoons.”

I am excessively appreciative of the relative who taught a raccoon mom to scratch on the door for a plate of food for the raccoon babies every night.

tech wary

My husband calls himself a gadget junkie. He somehow manages to get new tech in our house on a regular basis. I greet most of it with a suspicious side eye. It isn’t because things that don’t matter to him, like the children’s Cartoon Network, get the budget axe while things you operate with a phone app do make the budget. It is because where he sees all new tech as shiny and wonderful, I question if it is a solution to a problem that doesn’t exist. He is enthusiastic and optimistic about new tech. I put my hands on my hips and ask it to prove itself.

I like entertainment as much as anyone, but using multiple remote controls to watch a movie just to add a sound system that doesn’t always cooperate is over complicating things. Light bulbs that change color based on a phone app doesn’t seem like something needed outside of a theatre environment. Is there something so difficult about flicking a switch when you enter and exit a room that warrants voice operated lighting? I can get a current temperature report from half a dozen different tech devices while standing in my living room. I can also look out my front window.

I don’t hate tech. I love it. I have learned to love light bulbs that I can adjust to allow me to read in bed while my husband sleeps peacefully on the darkened side of the bed beside me. I like not getting out of bed to flip the switch when I find myself sleepily staring at the same sentence repeatedly. My phone once alerted me that there was smoke in the house while I was grocery shopping. That was amazing! Still, there is some tech that has yet to prove itself.

My husband is the easy sell on tech. I am the difficult customer. Is he the norm? Am I the anomaly? The products are certainly marketed toward his eyes. He seems oblivious to the amount of time he spends working out kinks in each and every bit of tech. He is an adult with gadgets that require tinkering. I am an adult who wants functional tools. I live in a toybox, but it’s a pretty cool toybox.

“You can join social media when you are 13.”

Now, you are 13. You’ve been the “only person in the world not on facebook” for at least three years. As promised, you can venture forward into the hyperbolic world of social media if you follow a few simple rules.

1. You will friend/follow your father and I on every social media platform you join.

2. Problems with anything posted online will be addressed IRL.

3. Do not allow others to harm you on social media.

4. Do no harm to others via social media.

5. Even though your friends are awesome, I won’t friend/follow them until they are 18.

6. Do not friend/follow your teachers until they are no longer your teacher. Accounts created specifically FOR your class to keep up with assignments and do group projects are obviously something you SHOULD follow.

7. Do not repost or comment on articles you did not read.

8. Only Hitler was Hitler. Nothing and nobody is just like Hitler.

9. If you aren’t willing to sign your real name to it, don’t post it.

10. Rules can and will be added based on your actions.


“It’s asking if we want regular commercial breaks or a single four minute ad at the beginning.”
“What? When did it start asking this? Why do we have to make decisions that don’t matter?”
“It started doing that now. This is a no-brainer. Let’s get the commercial out of the way. It’s a no-lose scenario.”

It was an Entourage trailer. He made me watch four minutes of Entourage.

I want my four minutes back.

things forgotten

After a year in the dorm, ReadingNoah went to church with the Grands. They sent him home to choose a “more appropriate outfit” than his jeans and flannel shirt, but he made it there eventually. When he came home after church, he and the two youngest had raided the church’s Mother’s Day decor to give me flowers and balloons. Except for the imaginary dress code, my parents have chosen a much more pleasant church than the one they attended when I was a teen.

I’m sure it was a deliberate choice on my part to forget until today that we used to attend a church that would end Sunday morning service with a dozen repeats of one of the “Just as I am” verses. They made us sing that song over and over and over. Then, we had to stand “with heads bowed and eyes closed as the organist plays another verse” while the preacher had a three minute ‘I know what you did last week’ chat with God on our behalf. This was followed by singing the song again. Youth group members would walk to the front of the church and kneel for a minute in the hope that we would get out of church before evening service.

Now that I’ve remembered that, I hope I can forget it for a few decades again.

Thoughts while watching tv

How does Alfred have time to play detective with “Master Bruce” when Alfred is the only person maintaining that giant estate?

When stomping about a sewer with Grodd graffiti on the walls, doesn’t it occur to any of the team that they are walking in Grodd’s toilet?


Starving Artist graduates college in less than three weeks. Graduation is at the Lincoln Center. My entire summer wardrobe is jeans, loose shirts and flip flops. After an hour and a half in the consignment store, I’ve decided I’m too fat and old to go to NYC or to be seen in public anywhere.

parenting and the radio

When you’re chatting in the car and the child says, “turn up the radio” mid-conversation, it means they want you to stop talking and leave them alone.

When your child says they like a song that was released before they were born, it was either:
A. a song on Glee, “Yes, but Glee did it better.”
B. on a cartoon soundtrack. “This was in Turbo!”