Friday, July 31, 2009

Big Toe Woe

It makes me sad that I can no longer get into "This Little Piggy" since learning that the first one might not have gone to the market to shop for himself, exactly.

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Tips for Creepy People

If you don't want to be treated like a creepy person, search opportunities to dump your creepy behavior. Such as, if you see a mother and her toddler walking in the park, do not follow them and continue to make creepy small talk. The world is on to you. When the mother treats you like you're creepy, take the hint and EFF OFF!!!

GOD DAMMIT!! It was 90,000 degrees and 5 thousand percent humidity and I had to park our overheated car near Maine Med so Jimmy and I took a stroll around the Western Prom and this guy just kept following us "You've got your hands full, haha!" "Sure is hot today!" "That ice cream truck sure is tempting the little one!" (Jimmy doesn't even realize that the ice cream truck dispenses ice cream, not that it matters.) Sometimes I feel like a jerk because I'm not always that friendly, but there were acres and acres to explore, he needn't follow our specific route. This week an 8-month pregnant woman was killed and had her baby removed, youngin's are desirable I ain't taking any chances!

Thankfully, our car was sufficiently de-overheated so we could leave the crayp on Western Prom. Apologies to future harrassees!

Sunday, July 26, 2009

The Steps Outside My Door

Jimmy and I have one thing in common (well, maybe more than one...last name, red highlights, aversion to growing up, brown eyes, fondness for Wally, smelly asparagus pee to name a few...) and that is we both were born in Portland. Slightly different neighborhoods, but much of me wants to make sure he doesn’t take for granted what a JEWEL of a town this is. Sometimes there's so much to do that time gets in the way of everything Casco Bay has to offer...Yesterday at 6pm I saw on the back of the Portland Daily Sun that the 7th Annual Festival of Nations was being held at Deering Oaks----a festival he and we had the opportunity to stumble across in 2008 and I didn’t want to miss out on a cheap, cultural, closeby (the 3 c's!) activity for Jimmy. The fair was going on until 8:30pm, “plenty of time” I initially thought, but ah, superhubby was napping after a grueling day of childrearing and had to be up-and-atom by 7:30 to be in at work at 8pm, and we wouldn't be able to live with ourselves if he overslept. Jimmy and I didn’t have a lot of time. I shoved some tater tots (organic!) into our mouths and we were stroller-strapped and skidding out the door by 6:30.

It was a seasonable Saturday night, touch of muggy but no bugs could catch us. As Jimmy and I roll to Deering Oaks I couldn’t help but notice how many big, awesome things we pass on our way. Such as:

*Our new, luxurious fence. It may be tagged by hoodlums, but it’s still a point of glory for us on the inside.

*A lush, grassy meadow that I’m sorry I didn’t get a picture of Jimmy sitting in when he was ~12 months old, so cute, little-tiger-baby-in-the-grass-never-to-be.

*A scary exit bridge on 295. A little dumpy, a little seedy, but nothing we City Folk can’t handle. The same unsolicted artwork from our fence is featured inside here. Shaking my fists at you, you know who you are!!! Why I oughtta….

*A milk factory. Oh gosh no, not MEEEEE, my milk factoring days are on the dwindle-down, but thank you. No, this milk factory is bigger than I will ever be, and has way more semi’s to get the milk on the moo-ve. Ouch! Hey! It was just a joke! But just as with new mothers, there’s never a day off at the milk factory.

*A La Quinta. I can’t go by this place without thinking of being in a cab in Austin, TX in the late 90s. I never took Spanish and Ms. Northern wasn’t sure how to pronounce this hotel chain. We got picked up by this girl who looks like Lydia from BB11 and when I attempted to tell her where we were going (“Laa. Lah Kwih-…? Luh Kwa-ih?”) she helpfully shot out in the most moonshine-soaked Texan accent I’d ever heard “La Keeen-tah?” YES! Of course, La Quinta. I thought it meant "The 5a" but Google says I'm wrong. When did these come to Maine? It mattered not because that night it appeared to be hopping with khaki-blasted folks staying overnight for that evening’s Sea Dogs game. Take me out!

*Another creepy bridge, sometimes we laugh when there’s a stereotypical bum underneath…sometimes we don’t.

*The railroad bridge my father painted when he was 16. I can't believe it's due for a touch-up already!

*Some old-school firehouse? I think? I really want to investigate this, but get rustled away by nosey-watchy people always sitting around or waiting for the bus there.

*Cobblestones---this IS Portland, Maine, afterall. Jimmy loves the bounce.

*Hadlock Field, home of the Sea Dogs, Portland’s very own minor league baseball team. It’s always so exciting out there when there’s a game going on, all the people and kids and family and activity. Maybe someday we’ll make it through the doors to actually watch a game. Wally seems to be interested in baseball and we enjoy walking by the little league games behind our house, but yours truly is usually zzzzzz…pass the beer! But I do like baseball fans, and I like the fireworks the Sea Dogs put off in the summer, we can see them from our house!

*The Portland Expo, where they just installed parquet flooring for the future home of the Red Claws, our new basketball team! The Expo is also home of such events as the autumn beer festival, the Jehovah’s Witness convention and as advertised last night, Maine Roller Derby. MRD hosts 2 teams, The Calamity Janes and The Port Authorities, and these chicks is badass! Even fans have to have guts!

*The Portland Ice Arena. I wish I had more to say about this, maybe someday. I’d be happy if Jimmy wanted to get into figure skating, but no hockey! Mumma says it’s too dangerous. Not that ice skating isn’t, but at least I could see his beautiful face. Signed, Notsarah Palin

*The Iris Network. A big brick home with for the blind where the blind have been tending a raised-bed garden that looks thousands of times better than ours. Don’t tell hubby I said that.

*A house with wonderful but rusty old milk trucks in the back yard. Again with the milk! But it’s kinda sad, the trucks weren’t nearly as rusty a few years ago.

*King Middle School, which earned national attention in recent years for making The Pill available students without parental knowledge. Middle school. Uhhh…excuse me, Portland Public Schools...? No.

*A crosswalk where we begin to hear Stream Reggae at the Festival of Nations, and they sound great. Hubby once mentioned singer Nyah (nigh-ah) Stream, and instead of Nyah Stream I thought he said “9-Inch Stream” and he got all mad, ha ha. It still makes me laugh. =D

*Our destination: Deering Oaks! Jimmy makes a half-leap from his stroller seat, he knows we usually come here for the wading pool, but today we’re here for the Festival of Nations!! Even though it had been running all day and was due to close within an hour, hour-and-a-half, there are tons of people and activity. The food smells great, the tables are bustling, Jimmy and I roll by henna artists, school representatives, 3 Joe Bornstein frat punks (what does a life-size cardboard Robert Vaughan pointing at me with “Tell them YOU mean BUSINESS!” in a quote bubble have to do with multi-culturalism??), Smiling Hill Farm ice cream, one of my Facebook friends selling her jewelry, a guy running for guv, more food, more art/craft, more activism, more families, more reggae. It was awesome!

Jimmy was dying to get out of his seat, but I don't like to let him roam too much at Deering Oaks for, ahem, fear of rogue hypodermic needles (Portland's not always as Mayberry as I idealize it to be) AND Daddy mustn’t oversleep! I wasn’t sure of the time but figured better safe than sorry and we hustled back the way we came. We got to at least experience, if not participate, in a fun happy Portland summer event and didn’t have to spend any money, gas, only calories to get there. Love it! Because we were in a hurry-ish the walk back seemed more utilitarian than the walk in, we didn’t romanticize each sight we were coming across (though Jimmy did pick a flower) and the rat traps outside the milk factory were a little more noticeable than on the way in, but we did have the opportunity to hear the Sea Dogs crowd cheering, which is a low, rumbling, large buoyant sound unlike anything else in Portland, and we were back home before the hour was up! I say that’s a pretty amazing trip, I heard a song earlier that day mentioning “walking a country mile” and even though I tend to get acreage whimsy of wide open fields to place my baby in and setting him free, you just don’t risk as many deer ticks on walks like we had yesterday. Score for Summer in Portland!

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Goode Art Imitates Us

I'm the only person I know who has even breathed the words "The Goode Family" which is a hysterical show and is therefore destined for cancellation. Still, I feel a supernatual bond with it, check this out:

1) July 3, I took my son out for a walk---we turned the corner around to the path around our house and ugh, dagger to my heart, 2 hoods had tagged our brand new fence! Due to where we live I knew it was only a matter of time and I spent portions of the day bumming about it or thinking of ways to deal with it or thinking of the nature of "tagging" in itself. 8:30pm and it was time to watch The Goode Family, and what do you know--it was an episode about GRAFFITI...about washing it away, about the neighborhoods where it appears, about the legality, its artform, everything! It was like a cosmic handbook on how to help us deal with our own spray-painted situation, thank you, Goodes!

2) July 17, Wally, Jimmy, and I were taking the scenic route to the Yarmouth Clam Festival when we saw a 5-inch turtle crossing the road. Wally kept checking the rear view mirror and by the time we turned back around the little guy had already speed-lollygagged an additional 3 feet. He was nearly across the road, but there was also an oncoming dumptruck NOT slowing down. Wally raced to move him out of the road and I swallowed hard and watched hesitantly--the road was so narrow and dumptruck was coming on so fast! At last, turtle and hubby were out of danger and once Wally was back in the car we noted that the dumptruck was barrelling so heavily it would have definitely killed the wee reptile. Wally saved that turtle's life.

That evening's episode of The Goode Family---an eco-farmer saved a turtle's life. Awmahgawd!

According to the Wikipedia there are 2 more episodes :sob: in the season's run. That's two more episodes to cosmically connect with this family, and lots of finger-crossing vibes and positive waves into the universe to keep this show running!

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Through Firehose Colored Glasses: A Property Poem

A few nights ago I saw Valerie Haboush, the "Property Poet" on Nightline. Valerie is a copywriter contracted by agents to compose "mouth-watering descriptions of real estate" to help give properties an extra selling boost in this troubled market. The segment brought to mind some paperwork we found after we bought our house. The paperwork looked like a brainstorming session by the seller to gather ideas to help sell the house, and after living here with his family since the 1960s he listed its primary selling points as:

+Public pool down the street
+Cable line in the master bedroom
+Fire hydrant very close by.

Really. There wasn't much to "sell" but a lot's changed since 2004* yet still, watching that Nightline segment I couldn't help but wonder....what might a property poet poetically wax about OUR property......?


A fantastical unilevel oasis awaits you on this corner lot flanked by lush city greenery and popular Section Huit housing. America is on the move as you enjoy private backyard views of glittering highway lights during hours of subdued repartee aside the tricklings of a river of transit. You will revel in opportunities to display your cultural spirit as urban artists arrange impromptu spray-painted murals on your new privacy fence. Imagine easy access to parks, shopping, and GED testing. Savor security surrounding you with a survivalist fish, gun, and worm shop outside your bedroom window, and a public fire hydrant just steps from your front door. Inside boasts hardwood floors, 2-inch maple countertops, and natural grain toilet seating. Environmentalists predict significant land erosion in the upcoming century---come secure your grandchildren's waterfront property today!

I don't know...that fire hydrant does sound pretty good, knock on wood, I should stop making fun of it!

*I love my house, I love everything my hubby has done to better it and I deeply appreciate all the help we've been given by friends and family (MG, BJ, MDL, M) to help return it to a homey, safe, livable state. Aspects that make our property undesirable to some are what I love about it, and I love highlighting the bright side of our life here! So, in other words---I'm not bitching about my house after so many people have worked so hard on it! I love it! And we don't even use the easy-access bedroom cable line!

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

wondering wondercleanser wonder

I'm wondering why everytime I clean my bathroom (Often! Really! It is[n't]!) my hands smell like cornflakes. What's the connection? Corn in cleaning chemicals? Or cleaning chemicals in corn. Maybe? Flakes?

Thursday, July 9, 2009


Some people get offended or feel disenfranchised by certain terms, and aspects, and attitudes of our society like: Merry Christmas, global warming, Hilary Clinton, the wealthy, suburbia, having children, leash laws, suv's, authoritarianism, racism, marriage, consumerism, gerbils, Ann Coulter, cable news, R rated movies, bad tv, bad lyrics, South Park, mommy wars, nicknames, the mall, welfare, ageism, hedonism, mcmansions, greenpeace, soy, professional wrestling, food coloring, peanuts, fur, midol moments, the French...

But wherever you go, no one ever objects to (sorry atheists) saying "TGIF!" everysinglefriday and when that's over we're all forced into a somber national grouphug over "A case of the Mondays!" and then things pick back up to celebrate "Humpday!" which is so obnoxious yet yields no objections ever. Clearly, this is Schedulism. Some of us work full time but not necessarily Monday thru Friday and awkwardly try to work our way into society explaining situations like "it's my Friday," or "So Happy It's Thursday!" only to be responded with "Yeah, but I would hate to work on THE WEEKEND!!!" as though if doing so is some sort of embarrassing punishment. I'm here to say that not bowing down to The Man, that not having to skidsteer through thousands of Saturday rugrats at Chuck E. Cheese, or not having to wake up with sweaters on your teeth and a bad case of regret every Sunday is a beautiful thing! But in this culture, it's "My weekend was great, how was yours---oh, wait, you had to work." Why are we all forced into this hopelessly narrow concept of 'time'. It is time to declare TGIF as a four-letter letter thingy and declare that we the counterscheduled are getting tired of constantly having to explain why we get Saturdayitis rather than Mondayitis and why we excite ourselves about Tuesday being the New Humpday...oh the confusion and dismay, is this what Al Gore intended when he invented the 40-hr workweek? (or was that the internet.....?) I think not!

And then there's the graveyard shifters, what about them! Honestly, I don't know what to think about these offensive people of the night, they're weird and I don't understand them. But, as you can see, schedulism must be abolished forever!

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Just wondrin',

Why is it that you primarily only see men on bikes with babies? Sometimes the baby's in a bucket, sometimes it's in a trailer, sometimes worn as a fez, what is up with this? Do female cyclists recoil from baby-biking due to a sense of danger? Then why do mothers let men take bike babies? Why do men HAVE to ride a bike the moment they have a baby in their care? Are they traveling, or are they just exercising, what is up? I have to wipe my stomach off my shoes every time I see one of those vinyl trailers, picturing it breaking free and Bike Dad too busy with podcasts to notice.

Anytime you see a young mother pushing a stroller down a dodgy part of Congress Street, behind her you will see some vicodin addict dragging his ass as though it is 9000 degrees and he is ALWAYS dangling a Pepsi bottle by the neck between his knuckles. We see this outside our window about 600 times per day, and I just don't understand the appeal. "C'mon hunny, let's take a miserable walk again!" from countless families countless times per day. And where are they going?

Why are babies designed to test chokeworthy objects with their mouths? Why does my safety-conscious toddler wrap cords around his neck? Is booger eating truly the inherited trait my hubby insists it is?