Saturday, October 29, 2016

Hallowed

I am practicing an upgraded way of being as I enjoy my little plot of reality on planet Earth. It's simple, it's free and it's nothing new. Anyone can do it. 

I am clearing the hairballs out of my chakras.

Kidding. My chakras don't have hairballs. They are filled with glitter and chocolate.

 Before I move on to the topic at hand (which was supposed to be Halloween), I want to congratulate my second chakra, as it must be spinning in a most bionic manner. Getting my period this month--AGAIN, RIGHT ON TIME at this stage of the game suggests my second chakra is a happy place to be. I embrace my ovaries, surrounding them in love and light. After all, it's pretty amazing that they've been able to shoot eggs for over 40 years. Thank you, ovaries. You've done me proud. I'm okay if you'd like to fade into retirement, though.
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Okay, NOW we can talk about Halloween.
*********************************************************As it is Halloween in less than 48 hours, I have a task of which I must complete, much sooner than not: I need to figure out a costume. Usually, this is a super-easy thing for me to do. This year, not so much. I'm not sure what the hold up is in my creativity department is but it's giving me a run for the money. After all, I need time to make/put together/buy the costume.

Side note: Don't suggest "pinning" to find a costume. I don't have time to Pin. If I go to that site, the next thing I know it will be November 1st.

This is serious business, this costume thing of mine. I have to be something for the work party. Let me clarify: a daytime work party, with clients--no booze, no nonsense--just music, costumes and sugar products. Still, this remains very serious to me.

It is important to me that my costume be relevant, recognizable and clever. A tall order, to be sure. So far over the years, I believe I have been successful on all accounts. This year, though.....

Suggestions from Book de la Face have included Tony Stark (a most wonderful idea), a cup of DD coffee (a most, most wonderful idea), a role of toilet paper (hilarious) and various cartoon characters (fabulous, but iffy--last year, I was Tina Belcher.... most people didn't know who that was, quite to my dismay). Let's brainstorm aloud, shan't we?

  • I've already been poop, so that's out. I never do a costume twice, although it's debatable, as one time I was just a plain old poop and another time I was later Mr. Hankey, the Christmas Poo, so technically I've been poop twice. 
  • I assume there will be a lot of "Rey" from Star Wars, so I've crossed that off the list.
  • I figure lots of people will be Chicago Cub baseball players OR Joe Madden (an easy enough costume), so forget that.
  • I do NOT want to be anything political, so that rules out a few costumes.
  • I've already been the characters from all my favorite TV shows.
  • I thought about being a cardboard-applicator tampon, but that seemed to freak people out when I mentioned it. 
  • Wonder Woman would be awesome--with the movie coming out sooner than not and seeing she's from island of all women--but, I'm not ready to don that measly outfit.
  • I could be a pirate, seeing as we'll be going to a Pirate Party in December--two for one... but, that's cheating.
  • I could easily be a zombie but that wouldn't be right, as I don't watch any zombie shows...
  • For some reason, I think there are going to be a lot of pineapples this year. I have no idea why I think this. Time will tell.
  • I can't wear a scary mask as my glasses won't allow it... and, trust me when I say I HAVE to wear my glasses.
  • I wouldn't mind being something chocolate, considering I've never done that, but I'm afraid people would mistake me for some form of poop (Hershey squirts, anyone?).
  • I do have an idea for a board game but it would involve flesh colored leggings and there IS NO WAY IN HELL I am donning or buying flesh colored leggings.
  • All princess ideas are OUT. No princess costumes. None. Don't toy with me. (I was one of the ugly step-sisters one year... that's almost a princess.... and, there is a certain Warrior Princess, but that's not the same thing
  • No clowns. I hate clowns. And, with all the clown problems this year, I might accidentally get shot or arrested.
Would it be wrong if I wandered around the office with my eyes closed and wearing ear plugs, pretending to be Helen Keller?


I asked the wife about a particular idea that sprung to mind while typing this. She said I shouldn't be anything of which requires me to buy something. Spoil sport.

What does she know? She finds no humor in Halloween. 

I daresay I am thinking WAY too much. I am confident that when I am helping the wife with the yard today, an idea will spring to mind. 

Perhaps I should go as my Facebook feed. Right now, it's a bunch of dogs, cats and Cubs (the kind with two legs, not four)... babies, recipes, positive memes and poop. Heaven. Sure would be clever, relevant and recognizable. Hmmmmmm..... that might be the winning idea.... although, who knows what will come to mind as I wander the yard this afternoon?

Time is of the essence, so if you have an idea of which you think I cannot live without, do say something. Send a message, a comment, an email, a text, a post, carrier pigeon.  Bet you can't wait to see what costume wins the honors.

While you are waiting, might as well clean your chakras. Make sure they are spinning in the correct direction. See them happy, clean, shiny and glorious. Get the fur balls out. Get the love and light in.

Flesh colored leggings. Dear god. Don't picture flesh colored leggings while cleaning your chakras. You have been warned.
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Sunday, October 23, 2016

Singing the Blues

OMG OMG OMG OMG! IT.IS.HAPPENING!

Okay, so non-sports fans won't care about my excitement but the rest of you can raise a Budweiser my way. 

The Cubs are in the World Series. The Cubs. The Chicago Cubs. Pinch me. The Cubs are in the World Series.



For those of you who jumped on the bandwagon more recently than not--you do not understand. Yes, you are Cub fans. But, lifelong Cub fans understand the pain, the angst, the agony. You are welcome in the Friendly Confines but unless you have lived through at least 25 "wait until next year" seasons, you're a rookie. Ah well, ya gotta start somewhere.
  
If you are going to the game, PLEASE do me a huge favor: do NOT put ketchup on your hot dog. It is just plain wrong. Chicagoans know that ketchup belongs on fries or some other place--not on a hot dog. I will ignore my one Cub Fan friend who uses ketchup (her hotdog pictured here, with her face cut out of the photo to save her from humiliation) and I only ignore her blasphemous behavior because she has been a Cubs fan since she shot out of the womb.  Ketchup. Sheesh.

I have few words this morning as I'm still in disbelief. If it were not for Facebook, I might doubt this is actually happening. Alas, my Chicago friends assure me it is true. My news-feed is blowing up in Cubbie Blue.

Although I am basking in the glow of this moment, there is one person I wish could see this. I know this series will be very bittersweet for his family. As I watch the games, I will think of him. Oh, how he would love this moment.

To Brian, who did not live to see this moment but was the truest Cub fan on the planet: this series is for you. To his family, who attended an astounding number of games with him: this one is for Brian, which is thus for you, too.

I know I will soon write of other things besides baseball but on this chilly October morning, I honor a team, I honor a man, I honor a family.

Holy Cow, Brian! The Cubs are in the World Series.  And for today, that is enough.   :-D
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Sunday, October 16, 2016

Delicate Pinstripes

I can't take it!

I am a delicate flower.

It's too much.

Of what do I speak? Politics? Climate change? Crime in our city? Bunions?

Oh, no. I speak of something much, much, much more intense. Much more stressful. Much more personal.

Post season MLB baseball, that's what. Or, more specifically: the Cubs playing in post season baseball.

During last night's game, I read a book and had the wife flipping between the Cubs game and the Badgers college football game. I needed to do all three lest I spontaneously combust.

I.am.a.delicate.flower.
Do you hear me? I.AM.A.FRAGILE.DELICATE! FLOWER. FRAGILE!!!!!

The wife laments that I don't get excited during sporting events. She hoots and hollers and yells while watching beloved sporting events on TV. Me? I sit there, seemingly emotionless, reading a book. She wonders why I don't give her a high five after a great play. She asks how I can sit there and read a book while "my" team is on, playing in a game of which I have waited so long.

What I am REALLY doing is trying not to throw up, trying not to let my very being burst into flames, trying not to go into A-fib.

Now, real life is much more important to me than any sporting event. I don't usually talk in the terms of "we" when referring to a team. "We" is reserved for family and friends, for people I actually know, for people who have something to do with my real life. A professional sporting team is not a "we." It is "they." I don't understand people who say "we" when referring to something that really has no bearing on their "real" life.

And yet, a few sentences ago, I used the word "my" in reference to "my" team. Go figure.

Perhaps my "my" is fueled by a kindred spirit-ship to Cubbie Blue fans who have followed the Cubs through a century of losses. Perhaps I like pin stripes. Hard to say.

Side note: I LOVE the way bleacher bums at Wrigley throw opposing team home run balls back onto the field. This.is.GENIUS. It is on par with that leaping that goes on in the Cheddarlands. No one dare keep a home run ball at Wrigley. No one. They will throw YOU onto the field if you don't get rid of that evilness that is visiting your sacred space. I love that. North-siders, you do me proud.

Being that last night's home opener against the Dodgers was on a Saturday night, I actually had a prayer of watching the entire game. (Remember: I am a delicate flower. I can't stay up late watching those late-late night games on school nights.) I settled in: I purchased a book to read on my tablet, grabbed a snack, checked my email and turned my eyes toward the screen.

I should have known everything was going to be all right once I spied Charlie Hustle on the network's announcer team. You can't go wrong when Pete Rose is in town. The guy is hilarious. (He should also be in the hall of fame, but that's a whole different discussion for a different day.) He's a hot mess who brings much laughter, rough-around-the-edges with badly dyed hair. He makes it possible for me to watch as much as I dare. He is awful and wonderful at the same time. A dialectic to embrace.

Despite it being a Saturday night, I could only take so much. I was so glad the Badgers were playing at the same time because that meant the wife was flipping back and forth between games. I was so glad that my no-brainer book kept my interest at times I dare not look at the screen. Even so, I couldn't take it and announced I was going to bed.

D.E.L.I.C.A.T.E.

I wasn't tired. I wasn't tired at all. I didn't need to go to bed; yet, I went to bed. I did not turn back. I did not have a need to turn on the TV or go on line to see what was transpiring. When those relief pitchers start hitting the mound, it's time to go to bed. (I am NOT a fan of this ridiculous one-pitcher-per batter relief thing that teams now do. It seems to work. I do not understand it, I do not like it, I do not embrace it.)

The wife is stunned by decisions such as this. She cannot fathom turning off a Packer game in such a situation. And yet, there I was, cleaning up and heading upstairs. I did not know the result of the game until the wife turned on the television in the morning and let me know that a grand slam saved the day.

Oh dear god. A grand slam. I can barely breathe when watching the highlights. Most people would be distraught--mortified-- that they went to bed before such a wondrous feat. Not me. It reinforced my decision. Once the game was tired up and they were going through pitchers like water, I would have needed anti-anxiety medication (intravenously--no time for a pill to take hold).

I know my viewing habits would be different if we were at a party or if watching the game with other people or if I were actually present at the playoff game. I would crawl my way through the last batter. Perhaps that is the key--to watch the game with a pack of pinstripes.

I shall not look ahead. I shall not speak of future games. I shall focus on the game of this day. Of this series. Of this moment. I will scan social media, pausing for a dot when an article or a replay or a post warrants a pause. I will accept invitations to watch games with others or... if given tickets... attend a game and watch every pitch, right through the final out. But, if I'm at home on my couch, I will do what I can to watch and go to bed when I no longer can. I will wear my Cubs paraphernalia and think of Steve Goodman and thank the baby Jesus for Joe Madden (even though he subscribes to that ridiculous relief pitcher way of being). I will laugh at Pete Rose and he will laugh at me.

Pete's no delicate flower. 

Today, I will hum in my head the song of which emanates from the friendly confines after a victory. I will not hum it aloud. I will not admit to humming it silently within my being. But, I will be humming it. I will smile when humming and I will do what I can to prepare for the game tonight. I'll have to buy another book and I'm glad NFL football will also be on--flipping between games will save my very being from having a nuclear meltdown.  I will watch as much of the game as I possibly can, even though it's a school night. I will watch and I will hum and I will go to bed when I can't take one more pitch.

"Go, Cubs, go!
Go, Cubs, go!
Hey, Chicago, what do you say?
The Cubs are gonna win today."

May the spirits of Harry Carey and Steve Goodman fill my very being today.
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Monday, October 10, 2016

Gloating, Goating, Squawking, Clowning

So, where have you been?

Oh, wait--it's me who needs to answer that question.

The Addiverse has been filled with avoidance techniques, requiring additional hours "hiding" people on Facebook, watching Amazon Video rather than cower in front of the TV, hanging out at art shows and contemplating the healing properties of making art instead of wasting brain cells on anything less profound. It's a beautiful time of year, with trees bursting into flaming colors and football season in full bloom. Oh, how I do love autumn. Even ragweed, the pathetic play of the Chicago Bears and the shortening of the days can't keep me down this time of year.

As you peeps of the Addiverse know, I always keep an "eye" out for our dogs-no-longer-on this-earthly plane, with Freckles showing up as a lion and Lucy showing up as a blue bird. I've seen a lot of lion photos lately; blue birds have been showing up in person. (I remain glad that lions are not showing up in person. After all, what the hell would I do if there were a lion in the back yard?) Lucy has decided to show up as a blue jay. A loud blue jay--a squawking blur of
blue. I've always loved the call of the blue jay, as it reminds me of childhood trips to the "cottage." Now, the sound makes me smile for two reasons, as it now lets me know Lucy is near. I have a blue jay that is hanging out at one of the sites; in fact, while sitting in the parking lot last week, a blue jay hopped onto the light right next to me and had much to say. At first, I was pretty stunned that this bird was perched so close to me. Then, I said hello and thank you, as one should always thank and recognize signs. The bird had something in its beak--I think it was a peanut, but that didn't keep it from talking. I had a quick conversation with this yappy bird and waited for it to fly away. Funny thing is, it didn't seem in too much of a hurry to hit the road. So, I stayed and it stayed and it was marvelous.

Halloween is right around the corner. Friends, a word of advice: don't dress up like a clown. 

I've never been a clown fan, no offense to clowns. This year, being dressed as a clown might end you up in handcuffs or worse, all because those scary clowns are lurking about the neighborhoods. This isn't a new phenomenon; clown sightings have been happening for decades. It's just that 24 hour news and social media have taken clown-mania to a whole 'nother level.

I have two young co-workers who truly believe the clown thing was devised by the government to distract us from other newsworthy things. At first, I thought they were kidding. Then, I realized
they weren't and thus worried for their sanity. Now, I think they may be genius. After all, we ARE talking about scary clowns instead of other scary things. Those youngsters might be onto something.

The Chicago Bears are not officially clowns but they might be better off in clown make-up, considering how awful their season has been. People are talking about them, so might as well make it two-for-one. They are making it easier for me to make picks in the football pool--just don't pick the Bears and it's a sure win for my fantasy football team.

Speaking of sports (the Bears still are a sports team, despite current record), the Chicago Cubs are firing up win after win, quite to my Cubbie Blue heart. Being a lifelong Cubs fan (the only team to which I am fully true) has me terrified that a goat will cross the field and the team will implode during the first round of the playoffs. The Friendly Confines will burst into flames and goats around the nation will gloat in glee.

What a year the Boys in Blue have had. Winning is fun to do and to watch. I pray to the Baby Jesus that this year brings home top honors. I hope that Sox fans are drowning their sorrows in some form of cheap canned beer instead of taunting their cross town rivals. Only time will tell. Call me pessimistically optimistic.

"Keep the goats and clowns off the field." That is my new mantra for the fall....

....although, they say one should always envision what is wanted, not what is not wanted, I think I'll fine tune that mantra to be:

"Thank you for the lack of goats and clowns in my life." That should do it. Winning is fun. Winning while wearing Cubbie blue is even more fun. Winning when while wearing Cubbie Blue and staying far away from clowns and goats is the most fun. I love winning at fantasy football but I'd love a World Series win even better. Be strong, north-siders, be strong.

Hey, maybe the government has the Cubs AND clowns in the news to really keep us distracted. Who has time for politics, global warming and whatnot when there are victorious Cubs and creeping clowns in the news? No argument here. I'll take the win. You keep the clowns.
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Saturday, October 01, 2016

Really?

Pawn stars, duck callers, singers, dancers, survivors, screaming housewives, bigger than not brother, dating bachelors, wrestlers, tiaras on tots, bosses and celebrities......

This election has me all fired up for a variety of reasons. One of the things that has bothered my brain the most is that reality TV has made it deliciously possible to have a "reality" TV star run for president and have a much larger than not chance at success.


Now, I'm not saying that the man in question is the first reality TV star to reach for the stars and he is certainly not the first star to run for or become a President. (Case in point: Ronald Reagan. "Bedtime for Bonzo," anyone?) My issue is with reality TV itself. Although I find today's supposed-reality reality TV shows very entertaining, I have the ability to discern that they are not, in fact, reality.

Somehow viewer braincells have lost the ability to tell reality from not-reality. I personally enjoy not living in reality more days than not but I still can grasp the real from scripted, reality from hallucination, entertainment from the Hollywood tainted. Some days are tougher than not for me to figure reality out from non-reality, but I've got a pretty good batting average.

I have a very specific, judgmental definition about what Reality TV is/should be: It is unscripted, with non-celebrity types living real lives, being filmed during various real-life adventures in their mundane or not-so-mundane lives. I found this slide while Googling. It depicts my thought exactly. Dump the actors. Dump the script.

Today's Reality TV is not unscripted nor is it real life. It might have been a long time ago but today's reality TV is not reality at all. No offense, but I cannot wrap my head around how many people believe such shows are unscripted and/or feature unscripted, real life situations. I'm not judging-- I'm just scratching my head....this from a huge fan of MTV's Real World. (We're talking the first two or three seasons. Let's be clear.) That show changed a lot of things in my media-cluttered mind. How it morphed into the Kardashians, I do not know, but here we are.

Because people believe Reality TV is actuality Reality TV, I feel like we are staring into the Eye of Sauron. I don't know about you, but I don't want to be staring into the Eye of Sauron. It creeps me out, almost as a certain candidate's bad hairdo creeps me out.

I affirm that Reality TV (and 24 hour news programming) is to blame for the current presidential election nonsense. After all, one of the candidates has a show that is a huge it. I liked it. I watched it. But, it was nothing more than a TV show. Entertainment. Narcissistic distraction. Mindless humor. But, never presidential. (Being bombarded 24 hours a day by biased news has helped us none. It has dumbed us down and ruined actual reporting. That's for a whole 'nother blog.)

I suppose we could blame "Candid Camera" in the late 1940's for the reality TV, as that is where it all started. I'd bet dollars to donuts it wasn't officially scripted but I'm sure there was a pretty specific plan behind the show. There were other shows along the way but I think things morphed once "Survivor" (in something like 2000) came along. It started out so.... real. The first two seasons of "Survivor" were amazing. If it was a scripted show, I sure was not in the know. Those people looked miserable.  Now, "Survivor" is a blur of staged activities with known entities, not reality at all.  There is nothing wrong with the evolution of the show because it is great entertainment and it is very enjoyable for many reasons. It's just not reality TV. It's morphed into a game show, a known entity based on strategy, not survival. 

I suppose it says how warped I am that'd I prefer to see "normal life" people eating bugs and crying in the jungle. 

Since I'm full of opinions today, I shall assert the following: I think I should make my own reality TV show. I'd call it...  

"55 and Pregnant in the Addiverse."

Seriously. How could that NOT be a hit? I'm still shooting out eggs on a monthly basis. My uterus hasn't fallen out. I'm sure I could find some unsuspecting guy to share some sperm. I'm sure there is some Hollywood doctor who'd love the chance to be on television and thus would pump me up with hormones. I'd make sure it was unscripted. I'd let the cameras in from preparation to birth. I'd go to work. I'd eat cereal for dinner. I'd bicker with the wife. I'd pay bills and weed the lawn and drive my ten year old car and eat fast food without qualm. I'd go grocery shopping and to the dentist and to the hair salon. There is only ONE SMALL PROBLEM.....

.....It's already been done.
In 2009, there was a documentary/reality TV show about a 55 year old woman who shot out a baby. (The lady's story isn't happy, as evidenced by her being charged with manslaughter. But, that's a whole different technically non-related issue.) Even at 55 years old, I wouldn't be the first person to achieve this success and I'd have to have a different name for my TV show because she's already hogged the one I would use. I could still have a baby and TV show, but I'd have to change it to "Pregnant and 56." But, even that wouldn't be that surprising as she had another baby when she was 62 years old. SIXTY TWO!

God bless America, I'm going to poke my eyes out if I still have the ability to cook a baby in my girl parts when I am 62 years old. I'm not ready for "Pregnant and 63." I'd like to provide my ovaries a well-deserved retirement by the time I'm 63 years old.

And, I wonder why we have a non-reality reality TV star entrancing the masses. The media has us by the balls. We eat this crap up. We ask for more. We believe what we see, even when we can see the wizard behind the curtain.

Like I said... Pawn stars, duck callers, singers, dancers, survivors, screaming housewives, bigger than not brother, dating bachelors, wrestlers, tiaras on tots, bosses and celebrities. Not my reality. Hopefully not your reality. Just for today: turn off the 24 hour news and make distance between you and the election. Go for a walk. Get some fresh air. Look for unbiased information. Eat some ice cream. Accept that wrestling is not real.


....I hope you know TV wrestling isn't real.  I'd hate to think I was like someone who tells a six year old Santa is not real.

Okay, okay. Wrestling is as real as a movie or a sit-com or your favorite book.  Wrestling is as real as any entertainment...

.....it's as real as those screaming housewives. Just leave Santa and my poor ovaries out of this.
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