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Zoo Lights at the Oregon Zoo: Why Admission Should Not Be Raised (or, another smackdown of Krista Swan)

December 6th, 2015

Steve & I had to do a major smackdown of Krista Swan awhile back. We had to. She’s a friend of child rapist Neil Goldschmidt, and was trying to rally support for him.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

So when I saw that the Oregon Zoo has decided to raise the (already too high) prices for its annual Zoo Lights festival, I said two words. No, four.

“No, no, Krista Swan again.” OK, that’s five.

Sure enough, she’s quoted in the article, blah, blah, too many people! The lines are too long! So we’ll raise the prices and fewer people (ie — the hoi polloi) won’t show up.

You’re talking about my crowd now, baby. Because there are a lot of working poor, and poor, and kids who are impoverished on the west side, and the east side (the south side, the north side)… And part of their taxes? Paying for the Metro bond that is keeping the elephants enclosed. And sick. On exhibit. (Not in a sanctuary, as promised by the Oregon Zoo when they floated the bond.) Did you stop to think, maybe Zoo Lights was just barely affordable for some families, as it was? It’s a tradition. People like it. That’s why it’s crowded. So why not do timed tickets or something like that? Not oversell tickets. (Where’s the fire marshall when you need him? This venue is over capacity!)

It makes no difference to me, per se (rich people’s phrase) cuz I frickin’ boycott (poor people’s words) the zoo. (See: “elephant sanctuary” bond measure. See: “Free all the animals from their cages!/No matter how new or modern!” — Raffi) (also, see: Krista Swan, zoo publicity flack, Neil Goldschidt fan, etc.)

I want all community events (and Zoo Lights is a community event, in a public facility, largely taxpayer-funded, not just for rich people) to be open to all, not just those with money.

Peace.

wm

Let’s end with a quote, shall we? Wise words, from the film “Pretty in Pink”:

Blaine, to Stef: “You couldn’t buy her, though, that’s what’s killing you, isn’t it? Stef? That’s it, Stef. She thinks you’re shit. And deep down, you know she’s right.”

Open letter to Seth MacFarlane and the Onion

February 25th, 2013

Hey smarmy Seth MacFarlane and idiots from the Onion,

You want to fight? Sure. How about you go out in the street and practice falling down for awhile, first.

Like we used to say in my old neighborhood: Two hits. Me hitting you and you hitting the floor. It wouldn’t even take a hit. I could tap you with my finger and you’d fall down go boom. Or you’d call me a name, let’s say, the “c” word.

Abby: Did you call me?
Roy: What?
Abby: I heard dumb bitch. I assumed you were talking to me.
Roy: I was talking to her.
Abby: Your name is dumb bitch TOO? No wonder I keep getting all of your mail! You know, we could be related. There are a lot of us dumb bitches here in LA.

– “The Truth About Cats & Dogs”

You’d be all, “C word!” and I’d turn around and say, Perdon? and you would… dissipate. Spontaneously combust, or maybe just implode. There would be a little pile of lint, that’s all that would be left of you.

You’re wussies, that’s why. Not just those garden-variety wussies, either. You’re the next level of wuss, my friends. Remember that trucker from “Thelma and Louise”? Now, he was your garden-variety wussie boy.

Thelma: I mean really! That business with your tongue. What is that? That’s disgusting!

Louise: And, oh my God, that other thing, that pointing to your lap? What’s that supposed to mean exactly? Does that mean pull over, I want to show you what a big fat slob I am or…

Thelma: Does that mean suck my dick?

Trucker: You women are crazy!

Louise: You got that right.

You’re the kind of wussies who make certain people (moms, women, little girls, men who aren’t wussies) totally lose their shit. “Oh, what, you don’t have a sense of humor?”

Yeah, I like jokes.

When they’re funny.

1) You guys aren’t funny. You’re assholes and…

2) You can run, son, but you can’t hide.

Here’s a New Yorker article, because it’s all on the damn record now, isn’t it?

And then the Culture Vulture weighs in.

Also, a thoughtful post from Happy (or whatever).

On the one hand, I would like to pretend, like I have so very many times before, that this was just another bad date. You called me a slut, I went on my way, but you know what? We need to have this conversation, right here, right now. On the record. Because I’m not going anywhere.

But you are.

You guys said what you said, and acted like you acted, and it was bullshit. Old boys’ network and bwah-ha-ha and jokes about Jack Nicholson’s house and women’s “boobs” and calling a sweet little girl a horrible name… And really? Fucking really? More of this shit?

The difference this time is…

Everyone knows. And your way (the old way) is on the way out.

And that gives me, and my sisters, and our daughters, and all of those guys who aren’t wussies like you, a really good gift…

Hope.

And a big smile.

So head on out to the street now, would you?

love,

nancy

addictions, Russell Brand and yearnings

February 21st, 2013

Just another glorious sunrise

(Photo by Steve Rawley)

Russell Brand on addictions and 10 years clean (from an interview with Ellen DeGeneres): “Certainly it’s true, Ellen, that there are challenges. It’s just a tendency. If you’re naturally inclined to take drugs, or have problems around food, or problems around ‘How’s your father?’, it sometimes seems like it’s a solution. I think people that have those addictive tendencies, you feel a bit sad in your tummy, or a bit down. And you think, ‘I can’t feel this feeling, I must have some booze, I must have some drugs,” (gesturing with hands) “I must have a cake, or some sex.” (Thinks it over.) “You can’t probably hold sex like that in the palm of your hand. Unless you’re really attracted to mice. You must never do that!”

On February 24th (that is three days from now) I will have gone 22 months without booze. Feels good. Two years in April.

xo

wm

#freepussyriot, my 30th high school reunion and movies! movies! movies!

September 23rd, 2012

(Pretty much everything in this post I swiped from the People column in yesterday’s Oregonian. Oh yes I did.)

Item one: John Travolta says he feels for Kate Middleton, who apparently had her nipples photographed when she was sunbathing topless in France. a) if you’re a princess, don’t show your ta-tas in public. Kate, did you learn nothing in charm school? b) well, it is France, after all. c) Travolta says he wants his privacy. Even though he allegedly likes to be topless — and pantless — with masseurs, and allegedly requests R&Ts (see: a Rub & Tug) from them. d) people who live in glass houses…

Item two: Steve and I went to my 30th high school reunion last night. The 30th, for those of you who aren’t there just yet, is the one where you walk in and think, Dang, everyone looks so old. But I’m sure I look just the same. (see: delusions of the middle-aged.) It was so fun. And I’m teasing — everyone looked great, and it was good to catch up.

Item three: But we couldn’t stay for the whole thing. They were having a revival showing of Roman Polanski’s “Rosemary’s Baby,” my top-favorite movie of all time, at the Hollywood Theatre in Northeast Portland. It’s right up there with “Harold and Maude” (which, like “Rosemary’s Baby” also features Ruth Gordon), “White Christmas” and “It’s a Wonderful Life.” And “Muppets from Space.” Those are my top five. (see: devil, suicide, Xmas, Xmas, muppets.) (What is the meaning of this, d’ya think?) I say, the quality of the restored print was quite good, and I noticed all kinds of things I never noticed the first fifty times I watched “Rosemary’s Baby.” ie — Polanski’s use of the color yellow throughout the film. (I say, I have to add some Cary Grant movies to my list. see: “North by Northwest,” “The Philadelphia Story” and “Bringing Up Baby.” I say, I must thank my late theater teacher from high school for turning me on to these old movies. see: “The Women,” “Auntie Mame” and “The King & I.”)

Item four: When you don’t drink alcohol, and everyone is getting toasted, well. I can’t see the allure. Also, you know they’re not going to remember any of the conversations they had, so why bother? (see: man, people really like to get hammered at high school reunions.)

Item five: J.K. Rowling’s house in Edinburgh is for sale for 2.25 million pounds. I don’t have 2.25 million pounds, but if I did…

Item six: A picture in the People column of Yoko Ono and the USA executive director of Amnesty International giving the LennonOno Grant for Peace to the husband and daughter of a “Russian band member” who has been jailed. What’s the name of her band, Oregonian? Pussy Riot! Just say it! Pussy Riot! #freepussyriot

Item seven: Back to the reunion for a minute… I went to the same K-8 for nine years, and the same high school for four years. So that means I can go in the way-back machine to 1969 with some of these people! How cool is that? Yeah, 43 years ago, we were 5-year-old kindergarten babies, and now…. Whoa. I don’t write about school politics anymore. (“It’s so… tedious,” as Beth untactfully put it one time.) Yeah, I guess it is boring, but I’m glad that I grew up in a time when most of us in the neighborhood all attended the same school. It made us closer. There was usually someone around to watch over me, and that was good.

Even if we don’t hang out all the time, we keep in touch (thank you, Facebook). Some people live in their parents’ old houses and are still in the neighborhood. Some (like us, and a few of the people I talked with last night) moved away specifically to be shut of the Portland school district. It was nice to catch up with everyone, especially my theater geek friends. Ahhh, now I need a nap. Cuz I’m old is why.

Item eight: Performer Chris Brown, on his “controversial” tattoo that some say resembles a battered woman (perhaps his ex, Rihanna): “I’m an artist and this is art.” No, it’s not. And how about you try not to be a dick, Chris Brown? Thankyouverymuch.

Have a great week.

xo

wm

“Look! It’s a Hat!”

August 27th, 2012

You know how when you hear someone is expecting a baby, you feel compelled to share all your wisdom with them? Even if you haven’t actually had any babies? Uh, yeah. Most of us do it. Except the dog and cat people out there, who skip the advice and just chime in, I love my cats/dogs, they’re so much easier than babies.

No, they’re not.

For instance, our creaky, kind of kooky 15-year-old boy cat, Wacky Cat 2, (you may remember him from such blog posts as this one, or or this) decided to stay out all night last night and stressed Steve and me the hell out. “Stressed me the hell out” is a phrase I use way more often when talking about the cats than when I am discussing the kids, fyi. I went out on the back porch and called for him, and miaoooow!! There he was. Steve: “He never comes when I call him. I can’t believe all you have to do is call, Here, kitty, kitty, and he trots right up.” Me: “Yeah, after 2 1/2 hours!” Seriously. I was all, Woog! Woogie! Boogie! Here, kitty, kitty! starting at 6 a.m. Our poor neighbors. Miaooooow!! And he won’t tell us where he was. It’s maddening, really.

Next: Kids generally tell you before they throw up. Once they’re verbal, that is. Before that, all bets are off. You will not get that kind of notification from a pet.

My friends, a couple I’ve known since college, who are just adorable and yummy and live in the Bay area with their exciting life, have surprised us all by announcing they’re having a baby girl in a few weeks. I should have known, because they bought a house, and then they got a dog. Breeders. (Kidding. Congrats to the three of you, and blessings. You will both be great parents.)

They even posted pix of preggo mama on Facebook to prove it to us. Wow! Pretty woman. Love her. I promptly sent them a list of the top 5 items they shouldn’t forget to pack in the bag for the hospital (nail clippers for the baby, because the hospitals tell you because of “health codes” or something they won’t/can’t do it; sleeping/nursing bra, without underwire; the baby book, so they can put the footprints in that when they do the state birth certificate; a couple of sizes of clothes for baby; a couple of sizes of clothes for mom) (oh, and I told the dadd-o, for god’s sake don’t eat pizza or a peanut butter sandwich when she’s in labor. Just sayin’…), They promptly sent me back a note that said what they really need is 4 or 5 binders to gather up all the “helpful advice” they’re getting from everyone. My response to that was, Yeah, we’re all obnoxious, sorry. PS it usually takes about 3 weeks to get the hang of breastfeeding; it’s not exactly the most natural thing in the world.

Next time I hear a close friend is having a wee bebe, I’m going to keep my mouth shut. Because why shouldn’t they re-invent the wheel? We all want to. (Except me. I figure, that wheel looks good enough, I’ll use it.) Seriously, I like checking in with other parents, grandparents, nannies, bartenders… whoever… about child-rearing. I didn’t realize my first baby was teething until a mother of triplets pointed it out to me. (See: drool. See: cranky face. See: gnawing on hand.) I didn’t think babies started teething until… later. What the hell did I know? I was also surprised that she started scooting at 4 months and crawling at 6. Both of mine walked on their first birthdays, which was kind of hilarious. “Developmentally, you’re right on track!” were the first words out of my mouth. Kidding.

A friend’s husband also told me, worried, Well, be sure you don’t leave her on the table. (Cuz he did, and his girl went boom on her head.) Just… damn. Don’t leave them on the bed/couch/table/changing table/anywhere high up, unattended.

Some of them start rolling and flipping over from birth, it seems like. (It was three months and younger for our 2.)

“It’s just a matter of time before they’re locking you out of the house.” — my great-uncle to my great-aunt, when her kids were toddlers.

Truer words were never spoken. To wit: The time my kids locked me out. And the other time. And that one time when… Then there was the incident wherein my son smashed his Thomas the Tank Engine bang into my nose, stating calmly, after the fact: “Train coming.”

“It’s like those books, ‘You Never Know What to Expect…’” — my girlfriend Zip, when I was asking her for more advice. “That’s not even what they’re called! They’re called, ‘What to Expect…’” Her response: “Well, they should call it what I said, instead, it’s better.”

What is it, this desire to “share”? I think we all struggle with parenthood, especially that first year. Especially those first few months. Especially those first few weeks/days/hours/minutes. We want to make it easier for others than it was for us, maybe. Some people (Steve) take to it like a duck to water. Others (me) have to have the obvious pointed out to us. Some advice, however, is messed up.

* My granny, calling every few days while I was pregnant with Wacky Girl. She’d yell, Spina bifida, spina bifida! at me, then hang up. She was making me cry. So I finally said, Granny, I took my folic acid… I’m still taking it… My baby is not going to have spina bifida! “Oh, OK.” (click.) That was my granny, God rest her soul.

* The cow I worked with at Fred Meyer, who told me I really should have another baby right away (our daughter was 1 at the time) because what if something happened… And then she went off on it. Made me cry, just like my granny. I was hormonal at the time, due to the fact that I was already knocked up again and didn’t realize. Sheesh. One child can never replace another child, just fyi, cow-lady.

* You know what I told my friends who are soon-to-be parents? That I used to know so much about parenting. But what I know now, you could stick on the head of a pin and still have room left over for the Pledge of Allegiance.

* The only real advice you’ll need is what our ultrasound tech told us, excited, at the same time she was flipping out about my advanced maternal age 1) “Oh! My kid is 3. I’ll tell you everything I know about parenthood. It’s not the terrible 2′s, it’s the terrible 3′s. 2) Do you want to wear the green shirt? Or the blue one? 3) Do you want the yellow sippy cup? Or the red one? 4) After the baby comes, your dog… is just a dog.”

OK, I’ll add one more, cuz I can’t resist. If you want to make a baby or a little kid laugh, put something… anything… on your head and say, “Look! It’s a hat!”

The end.

“Don’t be yourself. Be someone a little nicer.” — Mignon McLaughlin, journalist and author (1913-1983)

note from my good friend…

September 17th, 2011

…when I told her I did not get the full-time job I interviewed for (adding that I have not been offered full-time work since 1998):

“I think you forgot that you have been working more than full time since 1999. Yes it’s unpaid and undervalued but you have been doing the essential and invisible work of mothering since you got pregnant. After the revolution, mothers and elders will be revered properly, but until then we have each other to remind us that making breakfast, feeling warm foreheads, remembering the asthma meds, folding laundry, etc. is THE MOST IMPORTANT WORK ON EARTH.”

So those of you who need to hear this today? Yes, it is the most important work on Earth.

Thanks, my friend. I needed to hear that.

well, i wouldn’t mind blogging

July 3rd, 2011

Dang, summer gets busy, doesn’t it?

Happy Sunday to y’all. And to those of you patriotic types out there, happy Fourth of July. Try not to blow up anything right outside my bedroom window, okay? OK! Hey, I know I’ve been missing in action. But I also know that you don’t read blogs anymore, cuz you’re so busy with that little hussy, Facebook. I have a whole long essay I’d like to write, re: Facebook, but they did a switch-up and made it so you can easily cancel a friend request, if you so desire. And that makes me happy because, you know. Drunk Facebooking: Why It’s Bad.

Kidding! I stopped drinking two months ago! Just booze. I still drink water and iced tea, fyi.

So I cannot blame The Booze for anything anymore. But I never could, anyway. I don’t really know where I’m going with this, but I’ve lost some weight and my blood sugars seem to be not freaking out as much, and that’s good.

Oh. Here’s a social etiquette FB question for you: Let’s say you have a friend, and your friend changes her home number, her cell number, gets a new job, doesn’t give you any of the three new numbers… OK. That’s bad enough, right?

(“Grab a fucking clue!” — my drug-addicted friend’s drug addict boyfriend, when I called her before noon one time. She hung up, then when I called back, he yelled that in the background and she hung up again. Later, this happened. (Different guy.) Uh, yeah. I used to have the sweetest friends!)

Where was I? OK, the phone number thing, then she de-friends you on FB. But keeps your husband as a friend? I think not. She’s not even real-life friends with him! We were friends from, you know, back in the day, WTF? Steve is all, Cat fight, i’m out of here. hahaha. I sent her a friend request, then thought, What am I, nuts? (Grabbing clue, canceling friend request.) The Nice Girl inside of my head keeps saying, primly, I’m sure it was all a big mistake.

Ha.

Here’s how kids cry in the suburbs: “Hu-waaaaaaaaah, hu-waaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, hu-waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh…”

Here’s what the moms say: “If everyone can’t play together nicely, then everyone will have to go home.”

Kids: “Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!”

(verbatim dialogue from across the street.)

So my question is, I guess: Do I call her? Oh, wait… Alright, if she calls me, do I ask, WTF? Do I send her a message on FB, asking her if we’re still friends? (What am I, a teenager here?) We didn’t have a fight or anything, that I can recall. To the best of my recollection. She got pissed off about something, but that was a long time ago, and I thought we patched it up? (It wasn’t me, anyway — it was a third person, and was just lame.) (I wasn’t even there, alright? Long story, nevermind.)

(here’s some skateboarder dialogue from midnight, the other night. we live on a steep hill that the long-boarders loooooooooooooove. It’s like the Mountain Dew action tour, every frickin’ day):

SPECTACULAR CRASH, followed by:

1st skater: “Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!”

2nd skater: “Dude!”

1st skater: “Dude, seriously. I just fucked up my leg.” (Thirty-second pause.) “It’s okay, it’s just fractured, not broken.”

(thoughts from Dr. Mom: Really? Without an x-ray you just diagnosed that in less than one minute? Wow, you are good!)

2nd skater: “Which direction did your board go?” (we live in the suburbs — it’s like the country out here, at night — dark and everyone asleep in the barn.)

1st skater: “That way. Aiiiiiiiiiiiiii why did I think I could pull that one off?”

Man.

What else? Steve and the kids made me the best birthday dinner last night. (The guys were out of town last week, so we had a belated celebration.) Homemade Cheese Ravioli (thank you, Wacky Girl — your pasta-making skills astound me) and Cake Poppers, a la Zoot. (Thank you, Wacky Boy, for your willingness to smush together cake and frosting and turn it into art). (More pix over here.)

What? It’s not your birthday?

Frances (from A Birthday for Frances): That is how it is, Alice. Your birthday is always the one that is not now.

i (heart) my family for a lot of reasons, and especially because they always make my birthday special.

Now they’re at a family barbecue, and I am not. Which means I need to get back to editing, already.

hugs and kisses, little fishes,
xoxoxo

me

someday…

February 6th, 2011

…i will write a story about my childhood, and it will all begin with how messed-up “I’m OK — You’re OK” and Transactional Analysis really are, but… that day will not be today. HaHA!

– wm

ps did u know that Steve has been blogging for five years this month and I’ve been blogging for six? Happy anniversary to us!

up on a roof, oh oh, up on a roof…

May 17th, 2010

I think they wrote this one with my kid in mind.

Sunday Night Advice Column for Wacky Mothers & Others

April 19th, 2009

Hmm. It’s been awhile, let’s see how rusty I am…

Q: How much $$$ do you make from your blog? Can I make some money if I start a blog, too?

A:  I review books, so I do get free copies of those (yes!!!). As for cash infusions? About $5 a month from my ads. Subtract the cost of the servers (we host our own sites, and a few others), DSL, the domain registrations, the Swiffer dustcloths for my desk and keyboard… Yep. The lifestyles of the rich and infamous, that’s us. Don’t quit your day job.

Q: Why are you so political, with the school politics and all?

A: Because I am an idiot. Next question?

Q:  How do I get my kid to read? He is not much of a reader.

A: How old is he? Read to him, if he’s young enough. Have him read to you. Go to the library once or twice a week. Learn how to put books, DVDs and CDs on reserve on your library card. Does he like graphic novels? I’ve had good luck with those, with the non-readers. They’re not “cheating,” they count! I promise. Try “American Born Chinese,” “Baby Mouse,”  any of the others. Superman should be renamed “super popular.” Go figure. And Kill Your Television, after that. (Isn’t it TV turn-off week this week? Lemme check…  Yep. SHOOT. I am tivo’ing Desperate Housewives and Brothers & Sisters while I write this. Shoot.)

Q: How often do you and Hockey God have sex?

A: Why not ask Yahoo? Next question, please…

Q: Why don’t you blog more?

A: Because I’m so busy having sex.

Happy Sunday to you!

ttfn,

wm

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