The Matrix!

Omgosh, why did i never see this movie before?!

Ben, Sacked Moments Before at the Winter Formal

My brother R. and his wife J. dropped out for a visit yesterday. R's arrival always causes a certain level of unsuppressed excitement in our house, excitement that even the dog anticipates. Pre-visit, the kids whip the dumb thing into a frenzy shouting,'Frodo! Uncle R's coming! Treats! Fighting! Get him!'

There's always reason for excitement, and yesterday was no different. R. arrived with a 60' HDTV for us, some very gas infusing Moroccan Red & Black Lentil Stew, (there is no such thing as a gentle lentil) spinach pastries, candy bags, and by the end of the visit, all the kids bank accounts had been replenished on the sly. Even Frodo gets his own bag of special dog treats. We all feel incredibly special and it's not because of the stuff.

It's just soooo fun. Over the years, the kids have dove naked in to our swamp green swimming pool to retrieve toonies R's tossed in there, (and emerged covered in putrid slime) eaten dog marrow bones for $5 (and barfed afterwards while R. filmed it) and even run completely bucked to the end of our cul de sac on the promise of reward. (and were then reported by the neighbors).

One summer we had front row tickets to a party gone south in the neighbors yard. We all watched in great amusement, while underage kids were stashing beer in bushes and fleeing, and the mother of the kid who had the party, out of her mind, clung to the fence post screaming madly 'I'M NOT GOING ANYWHERE!' as the cops attempted to drag her away. When they finally got her confined in the cop car, she kicked out the window and made a run for it. R. was the one who called the cops. It's the stuff of history. We'll probably relive those stories forever...

My fav part tho' is R's photoshop skills. He teaches computer graphics for a living & is total pro. I'm a photoshop user 'wanna be' - always struggling with an idea I don't have the skills to carry out. Right now, as the world, (and especially my husband and inlaws) are revelling in Olympic mania - I have a slow burn going over it. I could be almost indifferent if it wasn't thrown in my face everyday - but even my Internet browser reminds me first thing in the morning, that a bunch of idiots made a decision it's more important to pay for entertainment for rich people, than take care of poor ones... Well, that, and I always like to have some sort of 'anti' fight going - it keeps me sane, well, almost sane...

So here's the fruit of yesterday's photoshop session. We're going to make T shirts today, dress up the whole fam, including the dumb dog, and arrive at Mike's school for a protest. Wanna come? It's gonna be sooooo fun.

My second oldest son, Josh, and I drove in the Vancouver Airport this week. He was on his way to catch a flight back to the February chill of Fort McMurray & not too psyched about it. Thursday was a glorious day here though, bright, almost warm - a perfect road trip day, hot coffee and tunes blasting as the road whizzed by.

I'm pretty enamoured with my new MP3 player - did I mention that before? (now that i'm 50, all my stories are bound for repeat) My daughter loaded it for me with 700 songs, and I'm in literal rap heaven. Eminem, Jayz, Jay Sean, Kayne,Chris Brown, Wheezy... Songs from last summer's trip to the States, songs from mornings riding down to Dog, songs from learning to drive with Lisa... And every time a fav would come on, it'd be like a rush of pure musical adrenaline.

So we both belted the songs out like rock stars - at first with Josh looking at me both impressed and a little embarrassed that I was a fan of 'his' music and knew all the words. Our conversation was mixed with emphatic, 'this part! this part! don't you love that harmony?!' or, 'wow, isn't that crashing back beat percussion EXACTLY the sound of your soul?!' or, 'it's incredible how smart these lyrics are, isn't it?!'

- Eminem in his edgy, somewhat depressed rap, 'Don't let them say you ain't beautiful! They can all get fucked, just be true to you...'

- Rihanna in the Emergency Room, 'I can't hurt you even though you hurt me...'

- Ne yo in 'Better Today', 'life's too short to dwell on all that's wrong...'

We arrived at the airport in way too little time. Josh jumped from the car, saying, 'Mom, that was awesome, really.' I drove away choking a little. Those kind of experiences don't happen often enough. Music is wonderful for that, it expresses the stuff we all feel - our realities, our pain, our hearts, our dreams...

***

Later the same day, Mike emailed, a little concerned Josh had gotten away ok. Mike always likes to do the airport run, because it gives him a chance to prep Josh for the challenges ahead, through spiritual accountability, prayer and verse repetition.

(acccckkkkkkkk.)

I replied, 'Yup, and we had a great time of spiritual encouragement and worship.'

***

Thing is, if you look, you can find inspiration everywhere. And if you listen hard enough, you can find the very things you believe expressed by the most unlikely sources. When you're able to find the right language - the world is a virtual open mic for communication. Where people will actually hear you. And you'll hear them.

I love that.

Thot of the Day

The things we're most reluctant to see are often those most worth looking at.

This is FREEDOM!

I love my new MP3 player.
The power to choose from 700 songs while driving...

And to back in to a 10 foot high garbage disposal container while doing it.

Well it's been seven weeks since Christmas, and being almost recuperated now, I thought I'd share a little post script holiday tradition in our house.

Every year, after we cook a turkey, Mike and I have the same debate over the carcass. I like to make soup out of the leftover meat only, Mike likes to boil the carcass and pick the bones. Prior to making the soup, Mike, in his mom's tradition, leaves the turkey carcass outside in a pot of boiled water to allow the fat to rise to the top. Maybe it's just my non-Julia Child-ness, but the idea of reboiling a sat-outside, dead, de-fatted fowl in my kitchen just grosses me out.

This year Mike won the annual turkey soup debate and proudly put the turkey carcass outside in a pot of boiled water, strategically on top of the planter (to keep it from the dog) where I grow summer herbs. And all I can say is, it's been 7 weeks and we still haven't made that turkey soup. Last week, feeling a little bored and adventurous, I began to wonder what a 7 week old turkey carcass floating in water might look like. And in case you're interested, it grew this amazing psychedelic purple mold that I would have liked to investigate further but my gag response kicked in. I left the pot, which was borrowed in the first place, (sorry, Scott, from you) on the deck in disgust for Mike to deal with.

A few days later, the turkey carcass pot vanished, much the same strange way laundry vanishes in our house. But growing underneath where it sat on the planter, are these amazing, bright green, summer chives - in February. I guess that psychedelic purple turkey carcass mold growing in the pot had heat qualities that enabled the chives to sprout early beneath it.

Now that I think of it, the pot vanished on the same night the dog was violently barfing in the basement, but isn't it amazing what can grow under a little forced heat?

As promised, I was all ready to post about vaginal farting today but South Park beat me to it! God bless South Park.

I had noooo idea tho', and was greatly amused to discover yet another new word!

Queef!

For an exhaustive definition, check the Urban Dictionary but let me use it in a sentence for you first:

'Rumor has it that Thea can queef the alphabet.'

Oh, the limitless pleasure of the English language!

The Politics of Exhaust

Well, now that I'm on a streak, (no, not a brown one, hahaha) and desperately trying to distract myself from mammogram result terror - and I share the family appreciation of all things fart, I thought I'd outline, (since it's likely not been done before) the politics of exhaust...

Rule #1 - Do Not Eat in the Bathroom
When R & I were young, we were mentored by the master of exhaust, my dad. My dad was a machine. Like clockwork, at 6 am every morning, he headed to his ensuite with a bowl of corn flakes, or a jam and baloney sandwich and the Sun for his morning ritual. I won't go in to deep detail, but we were used to a daily Hiroshima like explosion. Powerful, deadly and omgosh, it made us run. All of us in the family are early risers. I think this might be why. No one wants to get caught around a Hiroshima... Someone else I know, (not that I'd say who it is) often heads to the washroom with a bowl of cereal. I seriously have never understood the pleasure of eating and expelling at the same time, and find it quite repulsive, but you know what they say about girls marrying men like their fathers...

Rule #2 - Grown Men Should Never Fart Under the Covers
Now I don't mean to pick on my dad, but you know, home is where you spend your formative years. Weekend mornings, R & I would jump in to bed with dad, always forgetting that the highly enjoyable games of Tickle Spiders and Willy Lump Lump would eventually deteriorate into the fart game. Few things matched dad's pleasure in the game of trapping us under the covers during a big one. We never won. Not once.

Consider this advice, guys, especially if you hope to have sex with a woman. Many untold women, (who now may be your wives) have been traumatized by this game. And having been victimized for so many years, have now earned the right to let loose themselves under the covers at their leisure. But don't for one instant however, consider you also have that right. Men's exhaust is structured different molecularly than women's. Men's has substance. Oily substance. Women's is a simple, light aersol and they usually have the consideration to aim toward the outside of the bed, with the covers lifted.

Rule #3. Never Ever Stick Your Finger Behind Your Unwashed Ear, Then Loudly Proudly Proclaim, 'Smell THIS! It didn't come from my bum!'
I don't think one needs much more explanation.

Rule #4. Manage Fletch
Years ago, when i was about 20 and Xavieira Hollander was writing sexposes (you know, sex-po-says) and I was still interested enough to read them, she told the story of a male lover who left 'fletch' (beautiful word) marks on her satin sheets. At the time, I'd never heard the word and as you can tell, have never forgotten it. In fact, I had hard time when my kid's elementary principal was named Mr. Fletcher. Kind of like when learned that the word 'Johnson' had a double meaning, and it was also the name of my gynocologist...and have I ever mentioned my psychiatrist's name was Dr. Misery? (Bet you never suspected I had a psychiatrist, did you?)

At any rate, I could go on here, but I just looked at the clock and it's been a whole 2 hours since I last worried about cancer.

So I should probably get my shit together.
Tomorrow I'm going to discuss vaginal farting. Til then!

Got a new mattress this week, big event actually after 22 years on the old one. My brother, who bought a new mattress, passed his newer than mine one on to me. Normally I wouldn't be much of an advocate of used mattresses, you know with imaginations of bed bugs and every manner of bodily leakage but this one came all in the family, so how bad could it be?

My old mattress, my daughter described as a 'brown mattress'. Not as in colour, but as in race - and this isn't a derogatory inflection. Brown people, apparently like me, buy rock hard mattresses. We like them that way. Rock hard mattresses however, have different heat retaining qualities - as I've discovered this week. The loft and foam of the new mattress retains heat - whereas my old one was more like sleeping on the floor.

Not having much of a life at the moment, this has been a big topic of interest to me and I even emailed my brother with my discoveries - to which he promptly responded:

'The warm bed effect… I totally understand it. As a matter of fact, I am an expert on the subject. The bed is warmer because of stored gas. Let me explain....J was excessively farting all night, every night. Her excessive fart gas was being pushed (under pressure) into the mattress and stored for future use. When you toss and turn during the night, the stored gas is released and heat is created. Too many blankets on the mattress, keep the heat from escaping into the atmosphere. The warm bed/too many blanket effect is very similar to global warming.'

Man it's good to have heat science properly explained. My youngest son, who deeply appreciates all things fart, thanks you also, R.