musings and misadventures

In case you missed it ...

2008-09-03T09:50:00.000-05:00

This is my old blog.

My new blog is here.

It's, like, way newer.

Farewell blog friend!

2008-09-02T05:52:00.002-05:00

It is with a sad heart that we announce the demise of Musings and Misadventures. M&M passed away peacefully this morning while trying to publish a post. It died doing what it loved best, which is a great comfort to close family, friends and a few guys at Google.

Musings and Misadventures was born on December 6, 2005 and made a huge impact on up to 10 people during its short 2.75 years on Blogger. It chronicled the average life and random misadventures of one Mrs. Dub, who is just like you, only shorter.

M&M was proud to have made many friends in Blogville, including "Save Now," "Edit Layout," and the N key. (Sadly, the N key was killed by Miss Dub in a tragic accident several weeks ago. Our condolences to his family, M, O & P.)

Farewell, dear friend. We've had a great run. But it's time for bigger and better things, like a domain that is much easier to say and spell. Like www.mrsdub.com. We will carry on the great sarcastic spirit of M&M there, but in different colors and better posts. (And quite possibly more parentheses.)

In lieu of flowers, please send blank checks to Mrs. Dub. She'll be happy to fill in the amount for you.

A viewing will be held here until the Web expires in some sort of freak hacker accident.

Nie Nie Day

2008-08-28T05:53:00.002-05:00

I miss this goose.

I've been really unsure about how I could participate in Nie Nie Day. After all, I don't even know her besides a degree or two of separation.

I do know there are some lovely silent auctions being held here and here and (look here for more). But I've been a bit preoccupied with my own family's health issues to gather auction items or to make any myself. And, let's be honest, what would I make? A sandwich?

So I thought about intangible items I could auction at my site, but I just didn't think anyone would want to bid on my keen wit. (I still have it, don't I?) And offering to guest blog for a price sounded conceited, but writing is my one TALENT in the conventional sense. (Apparently, dainty toes do not count.)

Anyway, I decided that the best I can offer is my compassion. And it's free to all of you, but most especially to Nie. Something about the level of pain and the extent of physical scarring she'll endure seems so disturbing when juxtaposed with her jovial personality and dedication to beauty, which we saw daily on her blog. Not to mention the pain we feel for her husband who is experiencing a similar trial, and for their four children who are temporarily orphaned - though in great, familiar hands.

Like most of you, my mind has been haunted by thoughts of what she felt during the crash, the pain she suffered in the flames and the excruciating physical and mental journey she has ahead, assuming all goes well. The trials she and her family are experiencing have given me a retroactive love for her blog, which I merely enjoyed before. It's helped me learn a few things:

1. Life is beautiful even when it's boring or monotonous. We need to appreciate the present because it's the only thing we can count on, so make every day special.

2. Take pictures! Even of yourself on a fat day/bad-hair day/frumpy day. You might surprise yourself at how beautiful and confident you'll look a year from now. Plus, your posterity will have lots to remember you by.

3. Treasure your children. Have lots of children. Be the mom you are naturally, not the mom you think you should be.

4. Have an affair with your spouse.

5. Wear more red lipstick. Or, in my case, buy some red lipstick. Life is too short for taupe.

What have you learned from Nie?

RIP esophagus

2008-08-26T20:11:00.002-05:00

I'm ecstatic to report that Pdaddy's surgery was a success. If by success you mean he's now missing a vital organ.

Some of you have wondered how someone lives with an esophagus. (It's a question I asked myself when I first found out my dad had esophageal cancer, shortly after, "No, dad!" and, "I will beat you with a wrench, cancer!") Just call it God's Gastric Bypass, because it's a modified version of the surgery made popular by B-list celebs like Carnie Wilson and Al Roker. Basically, they pull up your stomach and attach it to what's left of the esophagus. That makes your stomach smaller and your faux esophagus not as good at things like eating spicy foods and vomiting, but it's a small price to pay in exchange for your life ... though I do know my dad loves him some hot sauce.

And I so know that if Pdaddy was awake and alert right now, he would school us all on the risky procedure using intricate vocabulary and a few tart jokes. But he's still coming out of anesthesia so you'll have to settle for me. And recent polls suggest I'm slightly more accurate than Wikipedia, except when discussing Arctic animals. (Never been my strong suit.)

Anyway, I really appreciate the prayers and fasting and general love that I've felt from my fellow bloggees this entire year. I found out my dad had a horrible form of cancer a mere six weeks after Baby Zee died. It was like getting punched in the stomach - one still healing from a C-section. So things have been rough, to say the least.

But I have never lost my hope or faith, though I'll be darned if the devil didn't try to beat both of them out of me. So thanks to all of you for keeping me strong. It truly takes a village to get out of bed sometimes.

Now, where's that wrench?

p.s. You can keep praying for Pdaddy. The hard part has just begun.

Prayers not optional

2008-08-25T05:20:00.002-05:00

This is going to be a weird week.

Mr. Dub is taking a vacation without me since I took a few this year without him. (We do love each other; were just not crazy about airfare prices.) In his place, my bro and SIL* will be coming to hang out with me and Miss Dub and our baby, Chicago.

Oh, and my dad is having his esophagus removed tomorrow. (That's not a joke; they actually do this.)

You can imagine I'm a bit nervous. I'm not even sure if Pdaddy will sleep tonight. I've already lost my appetite in support of the poor guy, who will be getting his meals through a tube while he recovers for the next few months.

So we'd really appreciate your prayers, even though I know they're pretty full these days.

I also won't be "normal blogging" this week out of respect to my dad and to my guests, though I will post an update when I get a chance.

But if all goes well (and it WILL), I will share a big surprise with you all next Tuesday. And, no, the stork did not deliver it.

* I should note that SIL is one of the few Web acronyms that I approve of. DS and DH drive me crazy, as do IMHO and YKTR. And if you know what EWCM is - gross, huh?

How I didn't blow your minds

2008-08-22T07:53:00.002-05:00

This is the blog post that wasn't.

It started yesterday when I realized that I'm over all our summer activities (pool, park, beach, bungee jumping). Yet, staying home all day is not an option with my TV-loving, mommy-come-watch-this, easily frustrated toddler.

So I decided on a whim to head down to Steve & Barry's, the world's weirdest store where I've had mediocre luck in the past. (And only thanks to SPJ and her Bitten line.) I knew that S&B had fallen on hard times, so when I saw a sign announcing the store was closing in a week, I assumed it was related to their bankruptcy.

Everything in the store was marked $8.98, because $8.99 is, like, sooo expensive. But ever greedy, I decided I was going to barter for a better deal like the inspiring blogger I inspire to be. I started to craft this post in my head, envisioning the great comments I'd get, like, "You always do things I never have the guts to try."

So I started to throw things in my cart. Cute things. Average things. Things you would give to a person you really don't like on her birthday. I gathered pants, capris, shorts, shoes, tops and one item that might have been a shirt, a dress or some sort of nursing wrap.

I cruised up to the register with my sky-high pile of threads, pulled out some cash and said:

"Look, I'm going to offer you $40 for this pile of clothes right now."

Startled cashier: "What?"

Me: "I know you're going out of business next week, and I've seen the massive amount of clothes you still have, so there's no way you are going to sell this all before then. This is a deal for you guys."

Startled cashier: "Um, we're closing because they are redeveloping this shopping center. We're just going to send our leftover stuff to the other Steve & Barry's."

Me: "Oh. So this isn't related to the bankruptcy?"

Annoyed cashier: "No."

Me: "Oh. So you're not going to adjust the prices?"

Incredulous cashier: "No."

Me: "I better sort through that pile then."

Me: (Handing her my three pieces.) "Sorry about that confusion. It's shopping tradition to barter when a store is going out of business."

Interested cashier: "Really?"

Me: (Continuing to lie to assuage my discomfort.) "Oh yeah, I do it all the time. I usually get things for 90-95 percent off."

Impressed cashier: "Wow. I'll have to remember it."

Me: "Glad to help."

The worst part is I got home and decided I don't even like the three things I bought. So now I have to go back and return them. I'm just hoping they've managed to put away my pile of clothes by then.

p.s. It's a no-TV, no-computer day at our house, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell Miss Dub about this post.

Without further a ... 'do

2008-08-21T07:03:00.001-05:00

First, I'm aware that a self portrait is always awkward.

Second, I'm still not sure about this darker 'do, but it is growing on me.

Third, I'm not keen on the (LAYERED!) haircut. I feel like I should join Ace of Base and sport a pager.

Fourth, I've realized the best haircut is losing 20 pounds.

Fifth, your honest comments are welcome. (Hint. Hint.)

HTT - Waxing Edition

2008-08-19T06:09:00.001-05:00

I read this article last week.

I then threw up in my mouth.

If you are too lazy to read it, and 9 out of 10 people are, then I'll sum it up: Moms are taking their young (i.e. 10 and under) kids to be waxed - eyebrows, legs, back, bikini line - all in the name of beauty. Because, you know, young kids with hair (gasp!) are so disgusting.

I'm disturbed by this, just like I am by all beauty trends that that dictate maintenance standards until we are waxed, plucked and primped into copies of each other. And I'm even more disturbed that mothers are behind this latest craze.

Let me make this clear - your child is beautiful just as he/she is. Right now. With a unibrow. With an unnatural amount of back hair. With average peach fuzz on her legs.

Now, I should clarify that there are two types of moms they discussed in the articles - those who bring their children in to avoid/curb teasing and those who do it to improve their child's appearance. I can sympathize with the former, but the latter may be the scum of the earth. (Oops! Just checked and that title still belongs to people who take advantage of the mentally disabled ... but it's a close second.)

In my house, we didn't get to shave until 12. I cheated at 10, but I fell into that early puberty category that necessitated it. But I was probably the only girl in fifth grade with smooth skin. We all wore our unruly hair in ponytails and loose T-shirts and distinct child body odor scent with pride. Whereas today's fifth graders are sporting highlights, fitted designer gear and hairless gams. It's sad.

Kids deserve to be kids, and teenagers deserve to be young, as well. The pressure to be perfectly primped is too much to ask emotionally, physically and financially of people who can't even drive themselves to an appointment.

But what do you think?

Is this just a harmless trend?

Or is it hurting our kids?

Discuss.

Life is still beautiful

2008-08-18T07:30:00.006-05:00

Since I started blogging, I've received news of several tragedies - some of true friends who spread the news on their blogs, some from people I only know through their blogs, and some of people I've met after their traumatic experiences.

The latter happened to me last night, like it probably did to all of you, when I found out that Stephanie and Christian of "Nienie" fame were in a private plane crash and fighting for their lives.

I don't know Stephanie personally, and I've only met Christian a few times, but I do know that they are parents to four small children - and that they have a unique passion for life and finding its dramatic charm. (Even if it made some of our homes look awfully average.)

So I'm praying for them and hoping for the best. I'm sure you are, too.

Do I feel completely unjustified in posting about them when they aren't my family or even my friends? Yes. Is it still weighing heavily on my mind? Yes.

It's hard to not feel like tragedy is raining down on our world between the recent experiences in my family, world affairs and roundabout news like this. Maybe it's being an adult. Maybe it's modern communications. Maybe it's the end of the world.

But this I know - there always still hope. While one person lies in a hospital, another lies there bringing new life into this world. It's tempting to stop living for fear of all the things that can happen to us, but as NieNie showed us, you have to keep believing in beautiful things.

... unfortunately, I'm not so sure that my hair is one of them. So that pic will have to wait for another day and lighter post fare.

Stay blond!

2008-08-15T07:50:00.005-05:00

I had a mediocre day yesterday.

There was nothing tragic about it, but my mind was a constant recording of things I needed to do, including future ones, like, "Make sure to get a tuneup in 3,000 miles." And yet, I didn't really do anything. So then I started to beat myself up about my utter failure, adding even more things to my list, like, "Research alternative fuels" ... and by the end of the day I had a migraine and several stains on my shirt of unknown origin.

(I might be crazy, but sometimes crazy people make lots of money so I'm just rolling with it for now.)

So when the night came, I did what anyone would do - I blew off a friend's baby shower and got my hair done.

I'm now a brunette with blond highlights - something I've dreamed about doing for years in protest of the over-peroxided world we live in. But I took one look in the mirror and thought, "Caramel blond would be perfect." Plus, I'm not crazy about the cut. I wanted to ditch my A-line, but ended up with a few too many layers, a la 1994.

I guess I should have gone to the baby shower.

Mr. Dub says he likes it (good boy!). Miss Dub, however, took one look at me and said:

"Mommy hair dark. Noooo! Like it yellow!"

I'm afraid today may be mediocre as well.

* As for the lack of picture - please, I'm not going to post one until my confidence deepens to match my new hue.

Target is the new Playland

2008-08-14T07:49:00.008-05:00

I consider myself a pretty busy person, but every now and then I accomplish so much on Monday and Tuesday that Wednesday comes and it's, like, "Will I just be counting the minutes until I eventually die?" (Technically, this is impossible, because you can't count while you're sleeping; and if you're not sleeping, you might be an alien and therefore immune to human boredom. Glad to clear that up.)

Miss Dub, despite her tender age, is actually quite content to keep herself busy playing with her three baby dolls - Mimi, Kiki and Carma. She could spend several hours just rearranging their sitting positions: "Mimi, Carma, Kiki - no, Carma, Mimi, Kiki!" She also likes to mimic me, which is very telling. She's either having a party with them or ordering them to the "mad chair." So apparently I'm a disciplinarian socialite. There are worse things.

But I can only handle so much baby doll time myself. So I decided we would take a trip to Target and let Miss Dub walk around sans cart. (Insert gasps.) Upon getting there, we immediately headed to the ... baby doll section! Yes, I let my child play in the baby doll aisle of Target for 90 minutes. (You did not read wrong. I am a bad person.)

When I realized the aisle had serious appeal, I went and got some magazines. (No worries, I just hid Miss Dub among the baby dolls while I browsed the tabloid section.) I then removed a few stuffed puppies and made myself comfortable on a bottom shelf. Miss Dub happily took down a nice selection of baby dolls - some that pee themselves, some that talk, some that perform delicate surgeries - and rearranged them.

It was sheer genius. Not to be confused with Shear Genius, which is really letting me down this season. No wonder I'm in desperate need of a haircut. I'm just so uninspired in this world of Holmes 'dos. (And, yet, it's still so cute. Curses!)

But the best moment came when I finally insisted we go to the "Mommy section." Miss Dub ran off for a second and then came back carrying a bra.

"Wook, Mommy!" she exclaimed, quite proud of herself, and in full view of Target's teenage male population. (Why were they in the intimates section, anyway?)

"Our house," she added, meaning I have some at our house.

Not one to embarrass my daughter, I gave the bra an enthusiastic examination.

32DD.

Very flattering. Maybe I am doing something right.

Lesbians, dessert, babies and mastheads

2008-08-13T06:29:00.000-05:00

Four wonderful things happened to me yesterday:

1. I got mistaken for a lesbian at the park. I took it as a compliment that I was raising my daughter in such a modern way that I could only be a same-sex partner parent. Obviously, the person didn't see the fruit snacks I was giving her. Lesbians hate fruit snacks.

2. Mr. Dub made me an amazing dessert, like right now - as I'm blogging it. (Welcome to the future, folks.) If I was a cool blogger, I would tell you how it was home-churned vanilla bean ice milk with tender cubes of fresh bananas and ripe strawberries served in a red vintage bowl. But I'm not. So I won't. (And it wasn't.)

3. I found a baby on the side of the road and brought it home to live with me. Or maybe that was just a dream. I'm really baby hungry. Did I mention there were baby bits on that ice milk? Mmm ... delicious.

4. Lyndsay (a friend of a friend) sent me this fabulous masthead. Don't you love it? I love it. Or, as Miss Dub has been saying lately, "I wuv it, wuv it." I do believe you can get one, too, right here. Or here. Or here. (Yes, it's all the same link, but have you linked yet?)

HTT - Olympics Edition

2008-08-12T07:21:00.007-05:00

So, did you hear? NBC used computer-generated graphics to look like a live fireworks display during the opening ceremony of the Olympics. Apparently, Beijing is so smoggy that there's no way the fireworks could have been captured by aerial cameras. But, oh yeah, they didn't tell us it was fake. (Or to avoid Beijing if you have asthma.)

And while this trickery is pure Milli Vanilli to me, I think NBC thinks it's totally OK. After all, the opening ceremony cost $300 million dollars. (That's 2,061,119,985.5700 yuan for you finance geeks out there. Hi Dad.) So they had to show an aerial view, even if it was from a computer in New Jersey.

That's OK, because it just represents what I hate about the Olympics - that it's an inaccurate gauge of athleticism, because it's ultimately about ratings and not raw talent. (Though I do love the water sports. I was once a synchronized swimming coach. Seriously.)

I mean, Beijing is a smoggy city. And some of the athletes are doping and/or 10 years old. And some of the judges are not being fair. Also, sometimes you feel embarrassed by some of the outfits, but you pretend like it's normal for men to wear short-shorts because you're at a friend's house, and she makes a mean chili-cheese dip.

But instead of exposes on Olympic failings, you get some 30-minute, overly dramatized bit about how the athlete overcame an ingrown toenail to participate. And while some of the athletes have great stories, it's overkill to me. Let's face it, while they have faced some human adversities, the only thing that makes them remarkable is that they have no life besides their sport.

I feel bad for some of the athletes. While winning gold medals is infinitely cooler than what I plan to do today - park? pool? - it's an overwhelming obsession for them that keeps them from accomplishing some of life's less notable, but more fulfilling goals. And what about the guy who places seventh? He's still seventh in the world, yet he goes home feeling like a loser.

But I'm still rooting for Michael Phelps, even though I generally hate dominant athletes. It's, like, give another dude a chance!

Anyway ... are you watching the Olympics?

What do you like/dislike?

Have you considered a career in table tennis?

Go.

Check your children's backpacks!

2008-08-11T06:12:00.001-05:00

I hate to steal other people's material, but when the other person in question doesn't read my blog, and most likely doesn't have a blog, I feel OK about it. Also, it involves Antarctic wildlife, and that makes the following somewhat of a public service announcement.

I was at a party the other night when a woman I know shared this ditty about a friend who brought her 5-year-old grandson from Indiana to the Shedd Aquarium in Chicago.

At some point during their visit, she looked down and realized her grandson was missing. She searched around on her own, but couldn't find him, so she contacted security, and they began to search every nook and cranny of the aquarium.

I should interrupt this story and tell you two things:
1. This is not a story about a missing child.
2. I do not mean to promote missing children. I'm strictly against kidnapping, wandering off and any other childhood absenteeism.

After two hours of fruitless searching, they were frantic, so the aquarium locked down the building to do a total sweep of the entire facility and all of the patrons. As this was going on, the woman heard, "Hi, grandma!" She looked down and saw her grandson was standing next to her, clutching his backpack to his chest. (Note the foreshadowing.)

In her anger and embarrassment, the woman shouted, "I found him!" and got out of there as fast as she could, without determining where he'd been hiding for several hours.

In the car, the boy wouldn't reveal his whereabouts, keeping his backpack close to him. When they got back home, she angrily threw the backpack on the floor - and it moved! There was something alive in there. She opened it up and found a BABY PENGUIN.

Turns out this kid had managed to access a restricted area behind locked doors where there was an incubator warming newly born penguins. He apparently took a liking to one and stuck it in his backpack.

By the way, I'm not into penguin or backpack abuse. Don't sic PETA on me. (If you do, please warn me so I can take off my penguin-skin backpack first.)

Anyway, I thought that was a crazy story. And, no worries, the penguin was returned.

Then, the same woman who told me this story told me another story about a 13-year-old who jumped into a tank at the aquarium, wrestled a grown penguin and put it in his backpack - all without anyone doing anything.

So I'm, like, "Are you, like, the penguin-backpack-story-lady?"

But I swear she's a real credible lady. She shops at Talbots.

Surgery, schmurgery

2008-08-08T06:38:00.001-05:00

Anesthesia is so weird. One second you're all, "Hey doc, love the new clogs," and then next, you're like, "Where am I?" "Why am I not wearing a bra?"

And it's so nauseating to try and get conscious. Usually I'm happy to tune out of life or discussions about other people's vacations, but when you want to tune in, it can hurt. Focus. Focus. Oops, sleeping again. Talk to the nurse so she thinks you're a brave little girl. Crap, you just closed your eyes halfway through something about her son and a missing pancake.

In fact, I'm getting nauseous just remembering the experience, which I've had way too many times in my (not as) young (as it used to be) life.

But the good news is I'm OK. The even better news is I didn't really need the surgery as the problem apparently resolved itself in the two months between discovery and waking up at 5 a.m. to go to the hospital. (Am I being too vague? I had a mass in my uterus that was causing me excruciating pain, probably related to my molar pregnancy. Still confused? A uterus is where a baby grows. Ask your mom how it got in there.)

This is not the first time I've had an unnecessary procedure. There was the time on my LDS mission when I had my appendix taken out for fun. Just imagine coming out of anesthesia to have a doctor tell you in Spanish that the appendix was extraordinarily long but fine, and that he "poked" around in other areas that looked "strange," but resisted the urge to operate on them.

For the record, I never went back to that doctor and removed the stitches myself. See, I am a brave little girl.

Anyway, I still have a bad case of the cramps, but it's nothing a few hundred Advil can't cure. (That was for my mom. She thinks everyone is addicted to drugs, including vitamins. But seriously, 8-9 Advil do the trick.)

How many Advil do you take?

Prayers optional

2008-08-06T05:50:00.003-05:00

If you have to be stuck with a picture for a few days, this one's not bad.
Miss Dub gets very excited when she sees a lawn mower.

I'm going to have a little light surgery for breakfast today.

If I never post again, you can assume it went badly.

If I don't post for a few days, you can assume I'm using it as an excuse to do nothing but lay around the house and bark orders to Mr. Dub.

"Pillow fluffing, STAT!"

"Where is my butter substitute?"

"French braid, please!"

p.s. If you couldn't access my blog recently that's because my domain was suspended as they somehow thought I was writing from Iran - and that's an apparent no-no. I guess there must be a lot of chubby, whiny, blond housewives in Tehran.

HTT - News Edition

2008-08-05T06:50:00.001-05:00

I'm riding on the coattails of last week's Hot Topic, when you all went criz-azy on the media, claiming it to be biased/slanted/(insert derogatory comment here). And while I'm fully aware that there are bad journalists and publications out there, I hate to see you all so jaded about newspeeps as a whole.

Mind you, I used to be a reporter, and I'm still a freelance journalist, so I suppose that makes me biased - hate that word; after all, some bias is inevitable by virtue of being human and having different life experiences.

Here's the deal: The coverage of any news organization is slanted towards the audience it is trying to attract. For example, if they know their biggest viewer demographic is women, ages 60-93, they are going to cover more stories on health care and retirement than the station whose viewers are typically 20-year-old males, and thus need constant coverage of exploding cars, hot girls with cool diseases and cheesesteak sandwich store openings. Or, likewise, if their audience is more conservative, the stories will be more conservative and vice versa. (Or vice-a-versa, which I've also heard.) It's a matter of ratings, profit and survival.

Also, a story is inevitably going to be slanted if your source pool comes from one side of the story. For example, if Brangelina's publicist won't talk to me about rumors that they used in vitro to conceive their holy twinnies, but their "friend" who saw the vitro go in will talk - my story is going to sound a bit slanted. I'll do my darnedest to clarify that it's all hearsay, but without an actual quote, it won't mean much. Don't blame me, blame the Jolie-Pitts. (And those crazy lips. They will eat you!)

However, beyond those reasons, content is going to be unbiased. Any legitimate news organization (New York Post and Star magazine and anything featuring Bat Boy not included) prides itself on ethics and objectivity. They will do their best to write the story from middle ground, although that's hard to pin down sometimes. What you may consider to be neutral territory could be far different than the general public's viewpoint - but you use your best judgment.

What I've found is that people take fault when a news story doesn't exactly agree with their opinion, which they pride themselves on being factually true. For example, if you think ice cream has healing properties, but read an article that is critical of fatty frozen desserts, you might think it's biased or slanted. You might be mad that a differing viewpoint is even mentioned, even though it's essential to present both sides of the story. You might get fixated on what you don't agree with, rather than recognizing a balanced representation of the issue.

Also, people expect journalists to be experts on any given topic. And while it is their job to quickly indoctrinate themselves, in an age of immediate news coverage, they aren't going to learn it all in a few hours. They are human, and yet journalists are expected to be perfect.

I'd also like to say that if you see a grammatical error, it's probably the copy editor's fault. So, no, do not send emails with links to grammar lessons and/or question my university degree. I will respond, and I will misuse "affect" intentionally.

Anyway, my whole point is that there is not a media conspiracy out there. When it comes to editorial coverage, there are obviously liberal and conservative news organizations out there, but when it comes to general news content, 99 percent of the time no one is lying or intentionally skewing something on purpose. (And they're not being told to do it, either.) If anything, I think journalists can be some of the most open-minded people out there because they have been exposed to a wide spectrum of people and ideas.

But what do you think?

Is the media biased?

Is it intentional?

If so, how do you know?

Write.

* Thanks flickr for that rad piece of radness seen above.

Right now (not a Van Halen tribute)

2008-08-04T07:08:00.005-05:00

Right now, I am looking out my window at a cloud that looks like it will deliver a weather whoopin'. To say I'm frustrated with Midwestern weather would be an understatement. We get a few perfect days each year, but the rest are either frigid and flurry-filled or sticky and stormy. (I know that alliteration is really overused these days, but my true calling in life is to be a card writer. I am NOT kidding. If anyone has connections with a telecommuting card writing job, please email me. I have a hilarious idea for a Rosh Hashannah card. Again, I'm NOT kidding here. It involves a talking calendar.)

Right now, I am not wondering why they call it hand-foot-mouth disease, because one look at Miss Dub confirms the name's inspiration. She has sores on her hands, feet and mouth. So I guess if I had any suggestion for the disease namers, it would be to call it hands-feet-mouth disease, because the sores have been no way limited themselves to one side of her body, and the name is sort of misleading in that regard.

Right now, I'm hoping that none of your children has hand-foot-mouth disease, because Miss Dub probably gave it to them. Probably through the Internet. It is very contagious for, like, three weeks, which means we are going to be watching an inordinate amount of children's TV, because I just cannot think of 10 hours of indoor activities each day.

Right now, I'm trying to figure out a way to enforce our no "Caillou" rule. That whiny brat is way more annoying than educational. Also, his mom wears clothes that are not flattering to her figure.

Right now, I am watching a young Justin Timberlake sing to Elmo on an old episode of "Sesame Street." I'm wondering how someone with such a high vocal range has been able to score such beautiful girlfriends. Then again, besides Britney, his lady friends are on the sinewy, masculine side. And we all know Britney isn't even human, but part of some fedora-wearing alien species who probably live on the same planet as suspender-wearing animals. (Why must chimps always wear suspenders?)

Right now, I'm wondering who would win in a street fight - a taco or a grilled cheese sandwich.

What are you thinking about right now?

Mormon musings

2008-08-03T06:00:00.001-05:00

As most of you know, I'm a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Some people call us Mormons, which is great since it's a shorter moniker and not offensive.

If you've ever admired my sense of optimism, cheerful attitude and kindness, you should know it has everything to do with my faith. If you've ever criticized my negativity, crudeness or ignorance, you should know it has nothing to do with my faith.

But most importantly, you should know how important my faith is to me. It gives me clarity and understanding in a contentious world. It gives me peace amid chaos. It gives me direction and purpose instead of confusion. And, most gloriously, it gives me hope.

Hope has come in handy lately. Life hasn't been easy this past year, and without a moral compass to guide me, I might have gotten lost in my grief. Instead, I found sweetness in the most bitter of trials. How thankful I am for that.

Still, I have a lot more that I can do. I realized recently that being a mom has actually drawn me away from my spiritual pursuits. While I am closer to God in many ways due to the sacred charge of raising my daughter(s), I am also busier, more stressed and more tired - not to mention more focused on others than myself. While that's all admirable, I've used it as an excuse to go through my spiritual motions without really experiencing them.

But lately I've felt like getting raw - really stripping down to my spiritual bones and thinking about life; about my purpose; about what the Lord wants me to do in this life. I'm not going to lie, it almost made me wet my pants. Opening your heart to what you are supposed to do - not what you want to do, not what's convenient, and most certainly not what's socially acceptable - is scary. Sometimes we have to be very vulnerable to become powerful.

I don't know what the next few months will hold for me or my loved ones. There are some tough times ahead for lots of us, and I plan to face them head-on and head held high. No matter what I am asked to do or experience, I know I will be doing what is right for me. I will be trusting in Christ and counting on his sacrifice to help assuage my fears.

It might sound like mumbo-jumbo to you non-religious folk out there, but I know it's true. I'd honestly be less surprised if the sun didn't rise tomorrow than if my faith were founded on false doctrine or prophets. I believe it. I know it.

Anyway, that's what I wanted to say today.

Also, I love carbohydrates.

Amen.

My favorite book ... if I liked it

2008-08-01T06:51:00.000-05:00

Have you ever read a book that you knew you should adore, but didn't? I had that experience the other day. Everyone and their grandma's cousin's manicurist had been yapping for years about Ian McEwan's Saturday. Genius. Life-changing. Freaktalicious. The back of the book even said things like, "Mr. McEwan is the best writer on the earth. And, no, your favorite author is not even close."

So I picked it up. Within minutes, I understood the hype. The man is a genius. His work is subtle, yet life-changing. His poignant use of the English language was nothing short of freaktalicious. And, yet, I was bored.

The premise is great - the extraordinary events of a somewhat ordinary Saturday. So, like 24, but without Kiefer Sutherland and the overused "government mole" plot. But most of the book is reflections on his family, his past and the beginning of the Iraq war. A post-9/11 commentary, if you will. But I really didn't want to philosophize; I wanted a plot. I loved any chance to read dialog, but it happened so rarely that I found myself skimming pages at a time before dropping back in for a read.

Yet, I know it's a brilliant masterpiece.

Is that weird?

Please enlighten me. Although, I should warn you that I'm apparently too frivolous for enlightenment - so try to spice it up a bit.

p.s. Book recommendations are also a good idea if you're feeling comment shy.

Coupons are for wimps

2008-07-31T06:00:00.001-05:00

A lot of you have been emailing me, wondering how my coupon quest is going. Actually, no one has emailed me. What, am I not cool any more? You're all into podcasts, or something?

Anyway, my coupon quest is going great. Like, I totally canceled my Grocery Game membership on Monday. It's not that I wasn't saving money. On one occasion, I went to CVS and got $60 worth of free stuff. Free. Totally free. Most of it feminine hygiene products. And I was generally saving $40-50 on each grocery trip to Jewel-Osco, so that's all good and nice.

But there were hidden costs: my sanity! Clipping coupons and preparing a compatible menu took me a few hours each week. And since our fridge likes to declare its complete emptiness on Monday mornings, it was a few hours each Monday morning. In my pajamas.

Shopping with coupons was no cake walk, either. Actually, a cake walk wouldn't be that easy for me because I don't have much of a sweet tooth. But let's assume that the term is "nacho walk," in which case, shopping with coupons was no nacho walk, either. I was going through a couple suckers to keep Miss Dub entertained and still leaving with a migraine. Also, a cart with a sampling of products and brands I would never buy without coupons. (I almost bought LA Looks hair gel. On the bible.)

So on Monday I told myself, "Forget it. This is not worth the stress. Spending too much might have been bad on your budget, but it was good for your mental health." Also, we don't have a budget, but we are thinking about starting one with your donations from my upcoming podcasts.

I cannot describe the weight I felt lifted off my shoulders. I imagine it's like unto someone who has committed a heinous crime and spent years on the lam before finally confessing. Except they would end up in a small prison cell, whereas I had the freedom to head to my nearest Dominick's and put Miss Dub in one of those cute shopping carts that looks like a car. (FYI, after 10 minutes she announced, "I done driving," which brought down the cuteness factor quite a bit.)

When I got to the checkout, my bill was the same as when I was using coupons. It was a scam! I felt elated! I felt vindicated! I felt - cheated, when I looked in my cart and realized that I had half the amount of groceries I would have had using coupons.

So now I don't know. I think I'm going to try my own coupon strategies at Super Target, where the prices are consistently lower. Or I may just hold out for those donations. By the way, what is a podcast?

HTT - Talk Radio Edition

2008-07-29T07:15:00.002-05:00

A few years back while working as a reporter in Utah, I developed a "friendship" with Sean Hannity. Like, we chatted on the phone and exchanged emails for several weeks before meeting - for professional reasons, of course. He was a nice guy. He was reasonable. He was even moderate in his views and ideas. On the radio, however, he's a different story.

Talk radio. I love to hate it. And thankfully there are idiots out there like Michael Savage who say inane comments about autism just to get a rise out the public. (See above, and then take a bath to wash his filth off you.)

To me, there is no difference between Marilyn Manson and talk radio hosts. They all know it's an act but are happy to play up their extremism to attract an audience. They enjoy the attention, and they enjoy a following. They're exaggerating their viewpoints, yet people believe it's who they really are - and they become faithful followers.

Even worse than listening to a talk radio host is to listen to a caller. "Oh, Dr. Laura, I've been listening to you for years, and I have modge-podged your face on all my Precious Moments figurines." The effusive gushing and blind agreement drives me mad! I understand sharing political or moral viewpoints with a particular host, but to agree with everything they say because you "know" them is crazy, in my opinion. And to make them your authority figure is just foolish.

At least Jon Stewart is funny, but even he has gotten too critical for my tastes. Because I want my entertainment to be enjoyable, and my political information to be polite - and preferably in print.

Yet, lots of people I know and love are huge talk radio fans. (Sports talk radio is not included in this attack, I should note, before my dad pens a diatribe.) But when I listen, I just find myself filled with rage at the blatant ignorance, bigotry and general hate that is spewed by most hosts. They aren't looking to make the world a better place; they are looking for ratings.

Of course, I still listen, even if it's just to make my drive go faster as my temper rises.

Do you listen to talk radio?

If so, who do you like?

And do you think talk radio is a good thing or just bad news?

Diamond is a girl's best friend

2008-07-28T07:08:00.006-05:00

Most of the time I wonder why anyone would want to be my friend, much less read my random blog. But then I do something so blow-your-delicate-mind awesome, that I can't imagine why everyone isn't flocking to be my Be-Fri.

Like when I went and saw Neil Diamond in concert on Saturday night, fulfilling a lifelong dream and most 55-year-old white women's fantasy. (Sorry mom, accidentally your demographic.)

As the concert began, my heart was so full of love for Brother Love himself that I could hardly breathe. He pelted out some great favorites, like "Sweet Caroline," "Forever in Blue Jeans," "I am ... I said," and "Love on the Rocks."

Unfortunately, he played some new material (yawn). And he played so many songs with a strong Southern Baptist flavor that Dave's coworker and I had to agree that he must be a "Jew for Jesus." Also, despite my familiarity with Mr. Diamond's repertoire, I wasn't aware that ALL his songs can be summed up in the following words: "I'm a lonely 67-year-old man who misses New York and craves the attention of drunk women."

And I must admit that the cheese factor was more than I had anticipated and craved. There was a vignette performed for "You don't bring me flowers," which was a bit much even for my campy tastes. And by the third singalong of the last refrain of "Sweet Caroline," I was wishing I had to use the restroom.

But the best part of the whole night was watching a young, black usher watching the whole spectacle with such a puzzled grimace on his face. I'm sure he was wondering why a bunch of old, white women were shaking their things to a bunch of songs he'd never heard. I half felt embarrassed to be part of such a shameless display of cheesiness, and half wanted to indoctrinate him into the Gospel of Neil.

I went up to him afterward and asked him if it was the worst night of his life.

"No," he said, "Those last two songs weren't so bad." (Referring to two songs from his new album that had a strong gospel feel.)

"And that one song is on that Disney show - 'That's so Raven.' That's cool!"

Aw, Neil. You can sway even the toughest critic.

A is for awkward

2008-07-25T07:29:00.004-05:00

I wish someone would do a study to determine just what portion of the male mustache-wearing population is pedophiles. Because we have a foreign neighbor who sports a 'stache who has taken a liking to Miss Dub. It's nothing too strange; he comments on how cute she is, and waves "bye-bye." He doesn't seem overtly creepy, but we're not setting an extra plate out our table, ifyaknowwhatimsayin.

He does like to call Miss Dub "baby girl," which is more embarassing (for him) than alarming (for us). So we may have rushed into the house a few times to avoid the 'stacher, as well as the enormous suckers he likes to give Miss Dub. (So far, none have tested positive for razors or Roofies.)

Things got a little weirder the other day, however, when he ran up to apartment and brought back a - wait for it - Hannah Montana doll for Miss Dub. I didn't even know what to say. "Why are you buying gifts for my child?" seemed too cold. And, "My child is more fond of Elmo than wig-wearing tweeners," seemed too rude.

So now we have a really obnoxious Hannah Montana doll lost somewhere in our toy stash. And we have me wondering if I should change the locks or pen a thank-you note:

Dear 'Stacher,

Thanks for buying a doll that's not age-appropriate for my daughter. If you were really creepy, you would probably know to buy something else, so that's a good thing, I guess.

In the future, however, if you wish to make sweet comments and/or distribute gifts, you will have to have to shave your mustache.

Thanks again!
The Dubs

Maybe I should be Catholic

2008-07-24T08:28:00.007-05:00

Like any red-blooded American, I suffer from a healthy sense of guilt. Here are a few things currently racking my conscience:

* The effusive post I was going to write thanking PROVO CRAFT for donating a brand new Cricut machine for Zuzu's Petals. It arrived in the mail last month with no note or no explanation, but with a warm glow surrounding the box. (Maybe it was the tears in my eyes that caused that.)

* The fact that I have yet to open the Cricut box, because I've been busy vacationing and dreaming about more vacationing. But when I do - whoa-boy! - there will be paper flowers all over my 900 square feet.

* The thank-you notes that will never be written for my birthday gifts, cards and other treats. What? You didn't know it was my birthday? Yeah, it was in June. I hate birthdays. However, I do enjoy gifts, I just feel so undeserving of them. Next year, send a check to my mother's womb.

* The formal thank-you that was never written to Mr. Fabulous, who purchased a crib for my parents' house because Miss Dub is not a port-a-crib fan. The guilt over this one singes a little.

* Not making millions doing something that could include a best-selling novel or a new hair removal system. (Remember Epilady?)

What's making you feel guilty*?

* Posting and/or commenting about items that make you feel guilty immediately absolves guilt and/or responsibility.