Today I was watching Top Chef on YouTube (oh yes! it is very Top Secret, but it is there) and somehow stumbled on this crazy video of Penn Teller talking about atheists and agnostics.
From there, I found Sam Harris' website and became briefly absorbed in the forum discussions on religion.
I've only written a little about religion on here, it being such a controversial subject and my views being decidedly in the minority. But it is a topic of endless fascination and consternation to me.
As I've gotten older, I've learned to hold my tongue. I worked in a Christian school for a few years without getting into any blazing philosophical debates.
But when I was younger, I loved to argue about religion. Part of the reason I did my undergraduate degree in the Study of Religion was so that I would have a good comeback when religious people asked me (as they often did) if I had ever truly explored a religion. ("Why, as it so happens, I have a degree in the subject!)
Oh. And I also love The Big Lebowski.
(You: Huh? What the eff does that have to do with anything?)
All of this is just background to explain why I so greatly enjoyed an email that I received today from my fabulous and hysterical husband. This is what he wrote, in response to my mom's request that he pick something off the menu of a local Mexican place for an upcoming family gathering:
"I would like the Jesus."
Now, I have not confirmed this with him, but I am completely convinced that he picked this meal (it's a combination dinner, btw) primarily for the chance to say "I would like the Jesus." Or later, "I really enjoyed the Jesus." And maybe also, "You have to try the Jesus!"
(Yes, I know it's not "Jee-zuss" it's "Hay-soos," but "I would like the Hay-soos" just isn't as funny.)
My husband is selflessly ignoring his own desires in order to get a laugh.
Or maybe he really just wanted the "Dos Beef Tacos" combo plate.
---
Friday, September 4, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Future Tech Guru
Chelsea: Sometimes Thomas Googles himself!
Me: EXCUSE ME?
Chelsea: Sometimes Thomas types his name into Google to see pictures of himself!
Me (to myself, in my head): Who taught her that? How does she know to use Google as a verb? Well, we do sometimes type "Thomas" into Google and look at pictures of trains, but really? If she has been listening to me saying I'm going to Google something, what else has she picked up and just not spoken aloud yet? ARGH!
---
Me: EXCUSE ME?
Chelsea: Sometimes Thomas types his name into Google to see pictures of himself!
Me (to myself, in my head): Who taught her that? How does she know to use Google as a verb? Well, we do sometimes type "Thomas" into Google and look at pictures of trains, but really? If she has been listening to me saying I'm going to Google something, what else has she picked up and just not spoken aloud yet? ARGH!
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Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Personally, I Prefer my Robert Smith a Bit Less Randy
We were at the home of some new friends recently for dinner and they asked us what we liked to do when we weren't chasing our kids around.
Our response? (insert sound of crickets chirping here)
Pretty sad. We're so wrapped up in our children and the hectic pace of daily life that we don't even know what we like to do anymore.
The following weekend, we had some free babysitting (thanks Grandma and Grandpa!) and decided over dinner that we should not just go sit in a movie theater, but do something different.
We decided on a concert in Pacific Beach at a place called Cane's. Now PB is a very college-y, party-ish part of town and Cane's is the kind of place where you see more fake boobs than real. Despite that being not at all our scene, we went because they were hosting a trio of 80s tribute bands: The Long Duck Dongs, The Cured, and Dead Man's Party.
We got there in the middle of the Dongs' set and they were actually really good. They are an 80s cover band, so it was like being at an 80s night except with a live band.
Then came The Cured. They looked silly with their ridiculous spiky wigs, but they sounded just like the Cure. Jeremy and I made bets on what they'd start and end with and both agreed that we'd barf if they played Friday I'm in Love at any point. (They did and we rolled our eyes.)
The Cured just went on for too long for my taste, but we had to stick it out for the whole reason we came: to see Dead Man's Party.
DMP is an Oingo Boingo tribute band and Jeremy and I are hardcore, old skool Boingo fans. We own all the albums, know all the words, and have seen them in concert over and over again. I even stalked the lead singer's brother in a shoe store in LA back in the day.
But that's another post.
DMP was more than worth the wait. They were excellent, so much fun. We danced and sang and screamed until it was way too late for two grown-ups with two small children to be out.
We went home with sore throats and ringing ears.
I don't think I ever need to do that again. But, boy howdy, I'm glad we did.
At least now we can say one thing we like to do.
---
Photos from the bands' websites.
Friday, August 28, 2009
I Heart the DMV!
Round 1
DMV Bitch: Next in line!
Me: I need a license and registration.
DMVB: (handing me two forms, a clipboard, but no pen) Is your car parked in the front lot? You need to go around the side for vehicle verification.
Me: Ok... (Go outside, drive around, get another form from the car verifier lady, go back inside.)
Round 2
Me: (handing the DMVB my verification form)
DMVB: Where are the rest of them?
Me: I didn't finish them yet.
DMVB: I need all three.
Me: (sitting down with the hordes, only to see that question number 8,459,922 is "List the current mileage of your vehicle; go back out to the car and note mileage; call Jeremy to answer question 9,445,899: "List the purchase price of the vehicle." Leave question 9,889,656 intentionally blank: "How much sales tax was paid on this vehicle?" Cross my fingers and hope for the best.)
Round 3
DMBV (to another customer): I'm only trying to make sure you have everything so you don't wait in the big line and find out you can't do what you need to do. That's what this desk is for."
Other customer: (takes papers and leaves unhappily)
Me: (handing DMVB my completed papers)
DMVB: Registration card?
Me: Yes! (handing it over)
DMVB: License?
Me: Yes! (ditto)
DMVB: Passport, birth certificate, and marriage license?
Me: (crestfallen) I didn't bring any of those things.
DMVB: You can't get your license, but do you still want to wait and get your registration?
Me: Hmmm, let me think. Do I want to stand in the long-ass line for a couple of hours only to partially complete the chores I came here to do? And then come back on another day and stand in the same fucking line again? No, I don't think I'd like to do that.
(I didn't really say that, of course. I just said no, took my papers and left. Called Jeremy and cried. Went to the car and cried some more. And then waited until I'd cooled off to start driving back to my mom's, where my parents were watching the girls yet again.)
Mostly I am mad at myself, because it's my own fault for not having everything I needed. (Although, why do they need my marriage license to let me drive a car?) But I'm also mad at the DMV Bitch, because if her job is to prevent me from wasting my time why didn't she tell me I needed all that shit the first time I walked up to her? I still would have been pissed, but at least I wouldn't have wasted both of our time.
Yay! California is just so much fun sometimes I can't even stand it.
---
DMV Bitch: Next in line!
Me: I need a license and registration.
DMVB: (handing me two forms, a clipboard, but no pen) Is your car parked in the front lot? You need to go around the side for vehicle verification.
Me: Ok... (Go outside, drive around, get another form from the car verifier lady, go back inside.)
Round 2
Me: (handing the DMVB my verification form)
DMVB: Where are the rest of them?
Me: I didn't finish them yet.
DMVB: I need all three.
Me: (sitting down with the hordes, only to see that question number 8,459,922 is "List the current mileage of your vehicle; go back out to the car and note mileage; call Jeremy to answer question 9,445,899: "List the purchase price of the vehicle." Leave question 9,889,656 intentionally blank: "How much sales tax was paid on this vehicle?" Cross my fingers and hope for the best.)
Round 3
DMBV (to another customer): I'm only trying to make sure you have everything so you don't wait in the big line and find out you can't do what you need to do. That's what this desk is for."
Other customer: (takes papers and leaves unhappily)
Me: (handing DMVB my completed papers)
DMVB: Registration card?
Me: Yes! (handing it over)
DMVB: License?
Me: Yes! (ditto)
DMVB: Passport, birth certificate, and marriage license?
Me: (crestfallen) I didn't bring any of those things.
DMVB: You can't get your license, but do you still want to wait and get your registration?
Me: Hmmm, let me think. Do I want to stand in the long-ass line for a couple of hours only to partially complete the chores I came here to do? And then come back on another day and stand in the same fucking line again? No, I don't think I'd like to do that.
(I didn't really say that, of course. I just said no, took my papers and left. Called Jeremy and cried. Went to the car and cried some more. And then waited until I'd cooled off to start driving back to my mom's, where my parents were watching the girls yet again.)
Mostly I am mad at myself, because it's my own fault for not having everything I needed. (Although, why do they need my marriage license to let me drive a car?) But I'm also mad at the DMV Bitch, because if her job is to prevent me from wasting my time why didn't she tell me I needed all that shit the first time I walked up to her? I still would have been pissed, but at least I wouldn't have wasted both of our time.
Yay! California is just so much fun sometimes I can't even stand it.
---
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Today
Outside my window... darkness, and in the distance fireworks at Sea World.
I am thinking... about dirty flip flop feet and BPA-free water bottles.
I am thankful for... living close to my parents and in-laws. Kendra being done with chemo.
From the kitchen... yogurt and fruit for lunch, brought Jeremy's version of my mom's famous Sombrosas for a cookout at the marine lab for dinner.
I am wearing... new UCLA t-shirt, Melissa's hand-me-down cargo pants, no shoes, just took out a bun I've been wearing for 24 hours.
I am creating...this post! a new life in California.
I am going...to bed, once I get Chelsea in her bed.
I am reading...magazines my mother-in-law brought me from the library.
I am hoping... that I can start posting more photos now that I have a better computer.
I am hearing... traffic from Mission Gorge Road. Chelsea whispering to me from her doorway: "Mommy, I'm having scary dreams." (Even though she hasn't fallen asleep yet. Faker.)
Around the house... boxes, boxes, everywhere! but cleaner than it was this morning.
One of my favorite things... during the cookout, Savannah was chasing a little boy and repeatedly trying to hug him. He shrugged her off and then turned and hugged Chelsea.
A few plans for the rest of the week... Target on Thursday (baby wipes), German storytime on Friday, and Wicked with the grandmas on Saturday. Nice!
I am thinking... about dirty flip flop feet and BPA-free water bottles.
I am thankful for... living close to my parents and in-laws. Kendra being done with chemo.
From the kitchen... yogurt and fruit for lunch, brought Jeremy's version of my mom's famous Sombrosas for a cookout at the marine lab for dinner.
I am wearing... new UCLA t-shirt, Melissa's hand-me-down cargo pants, no shoes, just took out a bun I've been wearing for 24 hours.
I am creating...this post! a new life in California.
I am going...to bed, once I get Chelsea in her bed.
I am reading...magazines my mother-in-law brought me from the library.
I am hoping... that I can start posting more photos now that I have a better computer.
I am hearing... traffic from Mission Gorge Road. Chelsea whispering to me from her doorway: "Mommy, I'm having scary dreams." (Even though she hasn't fallen asleep yet. Faker.)
Around the house... boxes, boxes, everywhere! but cleaner than it was this morning.
One of my favorite things... during the cookout, Savannah was chasing a little boy and repeatedly trying to hug him. He shrugged her off and then turned and hugged Chelsea.
A few plans for the rest of the week... Target on Thursday (baby wipes), German storytime on Friday, and Wicked with the grandmas on Saturday. Nice!
Thanks to Robyn for the format of this post.
---
Only in LA
Linda and I drove up to LA with Peter on Sunday, to visit Kendra and give Brenda some much-needed downtime. We all stayed overnight and the next morning in the hotel breakfast room an older gentleman asked if he could join our table.
Brenda has mastered the art of talking easily with strangers and quickly got the man talking about his life and livelihood as a glassblower in Las Vegas.
Then, out of nowhere, he says: "And I was on the Ed Sullivan Show with the Beatles."
He explained how he'd been part of a unicycle duo and they'd been booked for the same night. He told us that the Beatles were terrified of American girls, who threw their petticoats and underpants at the band. He said one girl even went so far as to remove her bra, stuff the lining with nickels, and hurl it at the stage from the 9th row, over the heads of all the other girls, landing it on Ringo's cymbals.
The day after the show, he continued, he and his partner were invited up to the Beatles' room to help them understand and deal with these wild American girls. While there, a large box was delivered and out popped (can you guess?) a wild American girl!
At this point in the story, the man suddenly announced that he needed to get back to his wife who was still in their room. He held up his Danish and said, "She loves these. I'm not even supposed to be eating them; I'm diabetic."
After he'd left, Linda and Brenda began to discuss the amazing story he'd told.
And I said, "I'm not buying it." (Which is pretty ironic because usually I am ridiculously gullible and Jeremy is the hardcore skeptic in the family.)
Brenda was determined to uncover the truth and started scouring Google.
And here's what she found:
Yep. That's Paul on our glassblower's unicycle. And Don (the future glassblower and renegade Danish-eater) is the shaggy-haired dude on the far right.
Huh.
Guess I need to hang out in LA more often.
---
Brenda has mastered the art of talking easily with strangers and quickly got the man talking about his life and livelihood as a glassblower in Las Vegas.
Then, out of nowhere, he says: "And I was on the Ed Sullivan Show with the Beatles."
He explained how he'd been part of a unicycle duo and they'd been booked for the same night. He told us that the Beatles were terrified of American girls, who threw their petticoats and underpants at the band. He said one girl even went so far as to remove her bra, stuff the lining with nickels, and hurl it at the stage from the 9th row, over the heads of all the other girls, landing it on Ringo's cymbals.
The day after the show, he continued, he and his partner were invited up to the Beatles' room to help them understand and deal with these wild American girls. While there, a large box was delivered and out popped (can you guess?) a wild American girl!
At this point in the story, the man suddenly announced that he needed to get back to his wife who was still in their room. He held up his Danish and said, "She loves these. I'm not even supposed to be eating them; I'm diabetic."
After he'd left, Linda and Brenda began to discuss the amazing story he'd told.
And I said, "I'm not buying it." (Which is pretty ironic because usually I am ridiculously gullible and Jeremy is the hardcore skeptic in the family.)
Brenda was determined to uncover the truth and started scouring Google.
And here's what she found:
Yep. That's Paul on our glassblower's unicycle. And Don (the future glassblower and renegade Danish-eater) is the shaggy-haired dude on the far right.Huh.
Guess I need to hang out in LA more often.
---
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Sick Day Conversation
Chelsea has a scratch on the outside edge of her nostril from when her face accidentally collided with her father's fingernail the other day.
It is severely hindering her nose-picking, which is one of her top three hobbies these days (right after playing with trains and coloring pictures of trains).
She's not feeling well today, so I was lying down with her as she was settling down for a nap. She told me that her nose was hurting.
Me: Leave it alone. It'll get better faster that way.
Chelsea: But I can't reach inside it!
Me: Reach inside tiger's nose instead. (Tiger is her stuffed lovey.)
Her: Tiger doesn't have a nose!
Me: TIGER DOESN'T HAVE A NOSE?!
Her: Well, she has this kind of nose, but she doesn't have any pokes. (Pointing to tiger's nose and then my nostrils.)
Me: Nostrils.
Her: Yeah.
Me: Poor tiger! How does she breathe without any nostrils?
Her: She's not a real tiger. She just... she's just like... she's made of fuff!
There's no point to this story except that pokes and fuff are my new favorite words.
---
It is severely hindering her nose-picking, which is one of her top three hobbies these days (right after playing with trains and coloring pictures of trains).
She's not feeling well today, so I was lying down with her as she was settling down for a nap. She told me that her nose was hurting.
Me: Leave it alone. It'll get better faster that way.
Chelsea: But I can't reach inside it!
Me: Reach inside tiger's nose instead. (Tiger is her stuffed lovey.)
Her: Tiger doesn't have a nose!
Me: TIGER DOESN'T HAVE A NOSE?!
Her: Well, she has this kind of nose, but she doesn't have any pokes. (Pointing to tiger's nose and then my nostrils.)
Me: Nostrils.
Her: Yeah.
Me: Poor tiger! How does she breathe without any nostrils?
Her: She's not a real tiger. She just... she's just like... she's made of fuff!
There's no point to this story except that pokes and fuff are my new favorite words.
---
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