flightless hag

A chronicle of the adventures of birdwoman: a lonely, talentless freak who wanders the internet in search of entertainment.

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Location: Philly

I'm a 40-something married white female, survivor of weight watchers, avid reader of pulp. Dogs (not cats), extreme right (handed, not politics), ENTJ, alto, wanna-be knitter.

May 13, 2007

Happy Sunday!

I’m sitting here, reading blogs instead of going to choir. Bad me. John said, “Do you want to skip church entirely?” (When I was a kid, there used to be a local program on the T.V. – Skip Church on Sunday Morning at 11!) The Moth was sitting on my lap, and Stinky was playing war (his army fighting the kissy kissy army – they kiss him if they capture him, eeeeewwww).

I said to Tim, “Do you want to go to Sunday School or stay home?”

“Go to Sunnay Skoo,” he rasped.

“Stay home!” Sean shouted.

It reminds me of Sunday school when I was a kid. We sang lots of songs (often with accompanying hand signals) like:

Climb, Climb up Sunshine Mountain, heavenly breezes blow
Climb, Climb up Sunshine Mountain, faces all aglow
Turn, turn from sin and doubting, look to God on high
Climb, Climb up Sunshine Mountain, you and I

Which my brothers, sarcastic lot that they are, changed into:
Don’t climb up Sunshine Mountain, don’t you be so dumb
Don’t climb up Sunshine Mountain, you’ll turn into scum
Turn, turn from Sunday School and church because it’s yuck
Don’t climb up Sunshine Mountain, you’ll get stuck!

(that’s more like it!)

This post is in honour of my own, sweet (heh) mudder, who raised all of us cherubic pups.

Poor Mom. Even if she does have hands. (That’s a Ron story. For those who think Ron is so innocent, and John is the mischievous one. When Ron didn’t get cookies sent to him at college, he told his roommates that it was because his mother didn’t have hands, and they believed him, expressing their surprise when the met Mom and her hands…)


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May 10, 2007

Dispatches from the Merry Old Land of Odd

John and I took a day off together yesterday. I know, what were we thinking? We actually have something to talk about after 14 years?! Dropped the kids off late, picked them up early, but in between, we went for a celebratory lunch.

We were prematurely celebrating the demise of the rat-dog that lives next door. That pooch has pooped in my yard for the last 11 years, bitten both of my children, and been a general menace to society. After 4 hours of not hearing the daggone thing yap, I thought it might be gone. 24 hours later, no bark, still! Party time!

Oh, Hope Dashed! Nothing is more bitter than having a prize sought, won, then ripped from your grasping hands. He must have been off to the vet, or dog-from-hell training, or something, because he was back last night. (Side note – John swears that Hitler’s dogs are in hell. I say you can’t blame the dog for the master. What think you?)

In the interim of our glee, we went to
Le Bec Fin. Whoa Doggie. Since we never go out anymore, it was a great time for us, and they had foods and spices that even John has never tried. (Purple mustard? Orange peppercorns from the south of France?) It was awesome. But, in my father’s tradition (he always got the cherry pit), I got a bone in my fish. I always get the bone in the fish. It’s one of the few things I know I inherited from Dad. Thanks, Pop. Couldn’t you have made me an athlete, instead?


One final note from the land of Odd… typing in Word or any other app, I notice that sometimes I do use the little buttons at the top of the screen. The blank page means new page, obviously. The opening folder means open something. But the next button on my screen is the button for SAVE. It’s a floppy disk. Question for ya – do today’s youts even know what a floppy disk is?! Not even 25 years old, and it’s an anachronism.



May 02, 2007

Not-So-Silent Partner

I think I’m disgusted with Mrs. McGreevey.

For those of you who mightn’t remember, New Jersey had a governor recently step down. Governor McGreevey stepped down from his position because he was outed as someone who gave paid positions within the government who did nothing but service him. He gave his lovers jobs for which they were not qualified, simply because they were his lovers.

Of course, his lovers were men. So, instead of the public slapping on the hand (and private high-five) most pols would get, he got ousted.

I don’t know if Jersey would hire a guy who was openly gay. It’s a daggone shame if the answer is no, and it probably is. It’s not as though NJ is a state with a large conservative religious presence.

When I first moved to Philly, it was because I yearned for a more open, accepting mindset. I come from a very conservative town. And though I, myself, am quite conservative in my personal behavior, I don’t think anyone who is not should be hassled. Does that make any sense? Live and let live. So I figured the big city would be better about that. Then my gay housemate was put in the hospital for being openly-gay in the wrong area of the city. Talk about an eye-opener. I now believe that Philly is just as conservative as my hometown, we just lie about it.

Now, almost 20 years later, Philly
openly brags about its new gayborhood (reg req), putting pretty rainbow tags on the street signs on that area of the city with the most class and taste. But what about the rest of the city? If you step out of that area, will you still be beaten to within an inch of your life for cross-dressing? I hope not. I pray not.

Governor McGreevey’s situation leads me to believe that we’re not nearly as accepting as we say we are. Yes, he was given flack because of the payola he dished out. But daggone it, Mayor Street did the same thing, and he’s still running city hall. It’s a double standard, and it stinks.

The one who makes me the most disgusted right now, though, is Mrs. McGreevey.

She was Governor McGreevey’s beard. She knew she was. You can’t tell me she didn’t. She got all the perks and privileges of the first lady of a very prosperous state. She lived the high life. Then it came crashing down.

So she’s cashing in.

She’s written a book called “Silent Partner…” justifying her own part in the private decisions of Mr. McGreevey. Really, she’s just trying to get her 15 minutes and make a buck off of Mr. McGreevey’s private life, the decisions he made, and the lies he told. The ride ended too soon for her, so she's going to op it. For some reason, I just think that stinks.



Flattery By Imitation

There are no new ideas under the sun. Music, like every other human endeavor, goes through cycles. In pop music, there are cycles where certain “classic” artists are covered by the newbies. Sometimes, this is done in a tribute, but sometimes it’s just serendipitous.

Supertramp has been the recipient of flattery by imitation lately. First the Goo Goo Dolls covered “Give A Little Bit.” This cover added nothing to the original, but did show a new generation that the old generation could write a darn good lick.

Then a band called Gym Class Heroes wrote a song which takes a riff from “Breakfast in America” and used it in a very clever manner – I think that’s when I like pop best; when it’s clever.

But no matter how clever, the original “Breakfast In America” is still better. Sorry, Heroes.

Oh, a side note on another pop “song”. This dude who goes by the moniker MIMS has a song “this is why I’m hot”. I simply do not understand the appeal of such egocentricism. So, in my usual MO, I make fun of him. I’m ranting on it at supper the other night, saying stuff like “This is why I’m hot?! If he’s so hot, perhaps he ought to take off his sweater, turn off the furnace, open the window, or drink a long, tall, cold one.” Stinky puts down his fork, looks over at me, and states, “Maybe he means ‘hot’ like ‘cool’, ya’ know?” GAK!



May 01, 2007

Taunting 101

Stinky is doing very well in school – especially the part where he learns how to “deal” with his peers. The teachers’ biggest complaint is that he teases other children.

The force is strong in this one.

The other night at dinner, he looked at me and started singing:
“Daddy and Mommy Sitting in a tree
First comes marriage, then comes love [side note, I didn’t know it was an arranged marriage?!]
Then comes baby in a baby carriage!”

I suppose since he’s a teaser I should have told him to stop singing that song. Nope.
Me being me, I’ve corrected the problems he had above, and taught him the ending with the “hula hula dance”. Only later did I smack my own head and think, Damn, I’m a moron.


The Moth, meanwhile, has discovered a stash of t-shirts from Cousin Ben, and wants to wear them all at once. They have race cars on them. They are ultimately cool. Today, he requested the pickle race car.

I paused, looking through the shirts.

None had green, elongated cars. None had Heinz or Vlasic symbols or anything else remotely related to pickling.

He pointed to the one I had put on him Saturday. It took me a minute, but I remembered. When I put it on him I said, “look at that big ol’ race car!” Which he promptly translated in his (almost) 4 year old brain to “pickle race car”.