In Which Cat Defends “We Are The World 25 For Haiti”

Yes. I’ve heard the criticisms. But to me, this is a heartfelt remake of the original USA For Africa version, and for a selfless cause, to boot! Sure, they could have written/produced a new song, but hey, there’s a reason this one’s a classic. I’m only saying. Plus, the rap portion is pretty fantastic, and Wyclef Jean singing the song as translated into Creole? Beautiful.

(Although I do have to wonder how many people were like, “DUDE. What the hell does ‘hi-uh-tee’ mean?!” Because I am sometimes prone to strange and random wonderings?)

As a side note, I will admit, the posthumous Michael Jackson tribute almost turned me off– due to the Singing Along With Video Footage Of Dead People Totally Gives Me The Wiggins factor? which is MY issue, clearly!– but I decided I liked the inclusion after I overheard TD explaining to TGIM how seamlessly they were able to incorporate MJ’s part: “Yeah, see, they had some lady dressed up to LOOK like Michael Jackson, and she sang with him.”

Poor Janet.

In any event, my kids were moved by the video, especially the footage from Haiti, so I bought the album at iTunes. I figure it’s just one more little way we can give hope to the people of Haiti, and to the world.

Think about it.

Insomnia and Prince and Donuts, Oh MY!

Whoa. Stop the presses. (Vicki Vale, Vick-V-Vicki Vale!) How did this happen?! This NEVER happens! I fell asleep before 9:00 PM?! What the…?! Okay, I blame this anomaly on exhaustion stemming from bad bedtime choices. But let’s not point fingers, GOSH. Everyone just settle down!

(Keep bustin’.)

In any event, my bedside clock tells me it’s two in the morning and, hello? I’m wide awake. WIDE. AWAKE. Aaaaand now I can’t seem to get “Batdance” out of my head, thanks a WHOLE LOT, “Chuck” and Prince!

What now?

(This town needs an enema!)

Oooh, I say donut run! Donuts! Dunkin Donuts is open 24 hours, right? Just gotta grab my Uggs and some cash…. gotta beat the snow storm and whatnot… it’s just down the road, no one will even miss me… mmmm, cinnamon cake donuts…

(Batman!)

As it turns out, sleep deprivation? Not my friend. Clearly.

(STOP!)

The Heart Never Forgets. Thanks A LOT American Idol!

(NOTE: If you have read my blog for a while, or you know, actually KNOW me, you may—perhaps—know a little something about my forbidden relationship with a certain Secret Greek Idol Luvah. I think I love him. You have been warned.)

So TGIM’s youngest sister, Candice, and her husband are living in Manhattan for the next three months while he attends training for his new job with the devil. I meant to say Goldman Sachs. And just so we’re clear, I already asked her if she had ever read The Firm and she assured me she had indeed, and I was all, “Okay, then,” and she was like, “Okaaaaaay…” so I wash my hands of it.

Anyway, Manhattan! Home of the Broadway Theatre district! And other noteworthy stuff, of course— such as Wall Street and the United Nations, not to mention cultural landmarks like the Met, where one might stumble upon world-famous Vermeer paintings or Bernini sculptures or Gossip Girl’s Queen Bee and her entourage eating their lunch on the steps!— but mainly, Manhattan has Broadway.

And Candice lives in Manhattan, albeit temporarily. Like, right there in the Broadway Theatre district, oh, yes, a wonderful place of joy and joyness that people visit in order to attend theatrical performances such as Wicked and West Side Story and The Lion King and Mamma Mia! and the like.

Do you see where I am going with this? Do you? Do you?

If not, allow me to clarify. See, we totally miss Candice and, come to think of it, I have never even met her husband, so we absolutely must visit them in Manhattan. You know, in NYC? Where the Broadway lives?! The whole Broadway aspect being secondary to the hanging-out-with-family thing, I might add. Clearly. Because family is IMPORTANT.

So TGIM was checking some online sources for tickets to, say, Wicked or perhaps The Lion King— shows we could attend as a FAMILY (which, as stated previously, is super important)—when he stumbled across a newer show which upon first glance looked somewhat promising. From the other room I heard him yell, “Hey, Cat! Ever heard of Rock of Ages?”

I had not, and told him so.

“It’s some sort of rock musical! It has classic rock songs from the 80s!”

While I was trying to think of a zingy comeback to him throwing the word “classic” all willy-nilly-like in front of “rock songs from the 80s,” TGIM must have clicked on a video clip because I heard the opening bars of “Don’t Stop Believing” blaring from the vicinity of the computer. Not the Glee version, mind you, but the old-school version. The arena-rock version. Naturally, I started boppin’ my head to the beat. Because I am cool that way, a’ight?! Shut up. I AM cool. Plus, Journey?! I DARE you not to bop to Journey! Take THAT, haters!

Anyway, the first verse began, “Just a small town girl…”

I may or may not have scared the living daylights out of my husband when I– perhaps!– came tearing in from the other room, wild-eyed and screaming, “HEY! HEEEEEEEEEY! That’s Constantine! COOOONSTANTIIINE!” Maybe that’s how it happened. It’s all fuzzy. It’s possible I stood up too quickly or something. That would account for the hyperventilating, right? I’m just saying it’s a BLUR. And TGIM lies a lot, so you totally cannot ask him.

In any event, guess who was on the computer screen? Singing and whatnot! Just guess who! Constantine Maroulis, that’s who! Yes! My Secret Greek Idol Luvah, right there on my computer, totally rocking the eyeliner and the pretty highlights and the greasy hair and acting all smoldery and shizz. YOU know. “Doing his thing”? Er, “dawg”? While singing JOURNEY! I mean, was it my BIRTHDAY?!

Honestly. It’s a wonder I didn’t faint on the spot.

(Thanks again to Mrtl for the t-shirt. You still ROCK.)

Sadly, I didn’t see Constantine bust out any of his legendary ki-YAH! kicks or awesome crouch-landings in the clip, but hey… one can dream, y’all. One can dream.

So… wow. My sweet Constantine. On Broadway. BROADfreakingWAY! Who knew, back when he graced the American Idol audience with the rocker screeches, the camera lovin’, the hair tossing, the duck-lip pouting, the cheesy grins, and the somewhat polarizing KISS tongues, that my Secret Greek Idol Luvah had the star power to make it to Broadway?! It’s madness! Who knew?!

Oh, wait. That’s right. I did. But I won’t say I told you so. Much. (I told you so!)

*sigh*

In the spirit of full disclosure, I do not see a scenario in which I could convince TGIM and the kiddos to go see this musical with me, you know, as a FAMILY, over shows such as Wicked or The Lion King. But still… good on you, Constantine! Good on you.

(Call me.)

Amazing Gertrude!

While on my way to watch Hannah perform as Gertrude in Seussical the Musical, I had some SERIOUS nervous energy going on. Nevertheless, we got there, and FRONT ROW!

5th Generation Ipod Nanos (with video capture capability) ROCK in a covert ops situation. Just so you know. They’re just so… unobtrusive! Honestly. No one even suspected a thing! At all! So, awesome covertly obtained video footage will follow. Oh, yes. It WILL follow. And they’re gooooood, yo? Because, well, Hannah simply ROCKED Gertrude!

Uh-oh, I feel the motherly pride kicking in again. Gosh… I promised myself I wouldn’t cry…

Booty Shaking and Hair Tossing

Hannah, whilst singing most enthusiastically along with Metro Station’s “Shake it” which was blaring from the car radio:

“‘Shake shake, shake shake, shake your BOOTAY! Shake shake…” (turned to Alli, who was also belting out the tune) “C’mon Alli, WORK those curls!”

Okay. She may have taken some liberties with with Metro Station’s lyrics– but honestly, “shake it” IS somewhat vague, truth– but you have to admire her energy!

Yep. That’s my girl. Shaking her booty and working those curls.

*proud*

DWM Soundtrack

So, it’s been a while since I’ve written a post explaining exactly why one might describe me as an “Odd Duck.” You know, if one happened to be totally RUDE and stuff. Thus, I present Why One Might, if One Were Totally Rude, Call Cat an Odd Duck, Reason 216:

Sometimes after work, I hit my “On the Go” iPod mix and crank Justin Timberlake’s “What Goes Around Comes Around” as I step onto the escalators and begin my descent into the subterranean bowels of the Metro station. And as I stride along to the beat of my life’s soundtrack, everyone and everything around me seems to morph into slow motion because I am the protagonist in some super awesome dramedy and this is that moment in the show/movie– you know the one– where I freaking rock and take CONTROL of my life and everyone is all “Woo! You go, girl!” as I toss my hair playfully and twirl and smile triumphantly and then, just before the inevitable montage kicks in, my train has usually come so I am free to switch to a more mellow mix. You know, if I feel like it.

What?! Don’t judge. I mean, sometimes I go with less pop culturally controversial tunes such as The Postal Service’s “Such Great Heights” or Lee Coulter’s “Booty Voodoo” (shake it, shake it!). And when I’m feeling a bit retro, I kick it old school with Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes.” So, see?! That’s absolutely less Odd Duck-y than the Justin Timberlake track! Ha! Take THAT, Judgy McJudgerpants.

In other news, occasionally I am melodramatic and strange.

“Spin With It” or “The Stupid Wasp”

I’ve been feeling anxious lately. Unsettled. Discombobulated, even. And if you’ve ever been combobulated, you know how unsettling the opposite of THAT can be. I’m only saying.

Perhaps it is the heat. Here I am hard at work inside, while the sun is shining away outside, all, “Come out and PLAY, cave dweller!” And I’m like, “Don’t interrupt! RUDE.”

Perhaps it is the sounds of imminent summer pressing against my bedroom window. The first wave of summer bugs and their veritable cacophony of buzzing, chirping, whirring, zitzing. Distant mowers and leaf blowers whining and buzzing intermittently. A wasp, trapped between the window and screen, thumping fitfully against the pane. I am painstakingly ignoring the wasp’s plight; hornets make me cranky. I am aware of the inherent pun.

Even still, my house seems unnaturally still, somber… withdrawn from the restless, almost-but-not-quite-summer day brewing outside, and I wish I could withdraw and still the restless anxiety softly brewing inside.

Of me, not my house. Pay attention.

It is as if I am waiting, holding my breath, but I don’t understand why or for what. You know how there are times when you gaze out the window of a moving train or vehicle or airplane, and find yourself mesmerized by the scenery flying by… but not while you are the one in actual physical control of the vehicle or plane because that would be super dangerous? And although the scenery is moving by in lightning-quick flashes of lakes and trees and earth and sky, you struggle to capture it, to put it in your pocket, all of it—the meadowy greens and azure blues, the earthy browns and oranges and purples, even the strips of barren desert or occasional muck along the way—because it is just… so… breathtaking… it is!… and all that beauty is yours at that very moment, and you have no doubt in your mind that if you could just grab it and hold it all in your hands for even a teensy second then it would be the most wonderful, most perfect second of your life?!

But you can’t touch it because you can’t slow down, you can’t just stop, you’re not where you’re supposed to be yet? And your chest tightens and you can barely take a breath? Because as the scenery continues to pass by, to elude you, it changes, it always changes, and though it is still oh-so beautiful and utterly mesmerizing and you know that there is more to see, so much more, you also know in your heart that the you can never get it back, and you will never see it exactly the same way again? And even though you never had it, not to keep, not really, because it was never yours to take… still, you feel the loss?

Yup. The anxiety I’m feeling is a lot like that.

Like my life is speeding by in a whirl of restlessness and obligations and TGIM and my kiddos are only a mesmerizing blur along the way—lightning quick flashes of growing and changing and learning and becoming—so beautiful, yet so fleeting… and I can’t make it stop! I can’t snatch my children out of time and hold them close to me just as they are, so lovely and young, so full of innocence and love and trust, because there are miles to go and places to be and that’s just the way it goes, this life. And before I know it my son is a teenager with braces and hormones and opinions, and my daughters are not quite as grossed out as they used to be when they see people kissing and they will soon be too cool to cuddle up with me and ask me to read them bedtime stories.

So I’ve been feeling anxious lately. Unsettled. Discombobulated.

The wasp is still trapped. I hear it thumping futilely against the pane, and it strikes me that its only thought right now is probably to get out, get out, get OUT of the place in which it is stuck. And if the stupid thing would only slow down for a moment, take a breath—although insects technically breathe passively, but work with me here—maybe it would realize that, hey, it got itself IN there—it crawled right in, uninvited and whatnot—so it can certainly get itself the hell out. There is ALWAYS a way out! A way to move onward, to be free from the frenzied, futile thumping, because what you are doing is not WORKING.

Except for when I open the window and swat it dead, of course.

Hey, I TOLD you. Hornets make me cranky.

But, I’m thinking. Just like the poor deceased wasp, maybe what I ought to do to dispel the unnamed restlessness is to slow down for a moment, breathe, look around. Take notes. Enjoy the view. I mean, I have traveled this far, and I know the ultimate ending, but if I am always waiting, holding my breath, always searching for something more, or looking for a way to get… oh, somewhere else, I am missing what is plain, what is right in front of me. The mesmerizing blur, so to speak. And I can’t get that back! Like it says in “World Spins Madly On” by the Weepies:

Everything that I said I’d do
Like make the world brand new
And take the time for you
I just got lost and slept right through the dawn
And the world spins madly on

So, pay attention, me!

Also? Occasionally I am melodramatic and strange.

Oh, Think Twice

There’s a man… living in a cardboard box… down by the White House.

I want to joke. It’s what I do. You must understand: it is genetic. I had absolutely no say in the matter. Because, yes, you see, I have inherited the Loud Laugher/Loud Talker gene from my mother’s side of the family, which makes for good times in cubicle-land, let me tell you. Especially when I get phone calls. Or an especially funny email. I get shushed. I do! And when I break my butt walking down icy stairs , I laugh (after I pass out). When I pass out (again) while locked in the ER restroom, resulting in a twisted ankle and a bruised up face, I laugh. When my husband hits me in the head with a racquetball going mach 7, after I cry like a baby and cuss him to bits, I laugh. When I joke about someone hurting my feelings or breaking my heart, I laugh. I can’t help how I am.

But I can’t find the funny in this.

I work in DC. A block away from the White House. (And that’s all the details you’ll ever get out of me. Because it’s none of your business where I work, THAT’S why. STALKER.) And when I remember to get my hyper-focused self out of my cubicle and into the fresh air, I see him. During the bustle of the midday lunch crowd, there he is, right there on the sidewalk, fast asleep on a ratty old bed of blankets and newspapers, wearing several layers of clothing, his only possessions (as far as I can tell) an old metal shopping cart, a coffee cup filled with change and folded-up dollar bills, and a plastic drugstore bag filled with well-worn paperback books and assorted paraphernalia that is usually resting against the abandoned storefront window. The first time I saw him, I thought, Why doesn’t anyone steal his money? Or his bag? He’s SO out. Because I am a horrible person and that was the first thing that popped into my head. Theft. Yes, my parents are so proud. But in thinking that thought, I realized that no one stole his stuff… because they didn’t see it.

He wasn’t even there.

She calls out to the man on the street
“Sir, can you help me?
It’s cold and I’ve nowhere to sleep,
Is there somewhere you can tell me?”

And now it’s winter, and it’s bitter cold, and today I actually remembered to get my hyper-focused self out of my cubicle and into the fresh air. And I discovered that where the ratty old bed of blankets and newspaper used to be is a cardboard hut, built in a sort of half-hexagon shape and propped pretty solidly up against the abandoned storefront window. It’s a pretty intricate structure, with a swinging door (blocked by the shopping cart when I walked by). The coffee cup was there, filled with the usual change and folded-up dollar bills. And this time I thought, How did he build that? Did people stop and watch? Did anyone help him? The authorities have to know he’s here. Are they going to make him tear it down? Good LORD, he is LITERALLY living in a cardboard box! People don’t live in cardboard boxes. You can’t LIVE in a cardboard box. And I thought all this as I pulled my coat more tightly around me and pulled on my mittens to help ward off the icy wind blowing by.

But y’all? There’s a man living in a cardboard box down by the White House.

I have a confession: If he were awake when the crowds bustle by, perhaps sitting on his blankets reading, or talking to himself, or simply staring into space, I probably wouldn’t be able to recall such vivid details of the living space he has staked out as his own. I couldn’t. Because I know in my heart that I would probably look away. Like I do when the strange, shouty man at the corner of the street by the Metro entrance waves his coffee cup full of change at me as I rush to get to the train on time. Because I never have cash, and even if I did, I wouldn’t know what to do with it. Is it like a Ding Dong Ditch? Drop in a dollar, make no eye contact, and hurry by? What happens then? Will I be obligated to drop money into his cup every time I pass him? Will he expect it? I don’t know! I don’t!

Today, from across the street, I watched covertly as others hurried by him. Some dropped change and dollars into his cup, thus earning his strange, shouty thanks. Some smiled in his direction as they passed, flashing him a “Sorry, buddy, not today” type of gesture. But mostly? People walked on by, some even quickening their step or swerving as far from him as possible as they passed.

He walks on, doesn’t look back
He pretends he can’t hear her
Starts to whistle as he crosses the street
Seems embarrassed to be there

Yes, the economy sucks. Yes, people are losing their jobs. Yes, we need a change. Yes, we need hope. So I can’t help but be bewildered by this sense of complacency regarding homelessness I perceive in our nation’s capital, this abandonment of the needy, people who have the time and the wherewithal to build cardboard huts on the streets, right in front of us, right outside buildings where thousands of people work, only a block away from the home of the most influential person in the entire country, and yet… there they are? Are we, as a whole, complacent? ARE we? I don’t know! I don’t! I’m not judging. I’m ASKING.

Because there’s a man living in a cardboard box down by the White House. And I can’t find the funny in that. I just… can’t.

Oh think twice, it’s another day for
You and me in paradise
Oh think twice, it’s just another day for you,
You and me in paradise

Just think about it.

DWM Rewind: A Snaking Tutorial and Other Horrifying Stuff

Okay, I just found the best, most embarrassing video EVER! It involves a “Snaking Dance Tutorial” (not to be confused with the The Axl Rose, as seen on Sweet Child Of Mine and other Guns & Roses late-eighties videos) recorded in a moment of insanity, which I now believe was brought on by sleep deprivation coupled with extraordinary amounts of caffeine in my system, and… well, no shame whatsoever. I cannot stress ENOUGH that I was triple-dog-dared by Charlotte in PA (FYI: I think this may be a private blog now…), so it is ALL HER FAULT.

I was pleasantly surprised (read: horrified beyond belief, yet secretly pleased, but mostly just HORRIFIED) to find this gem of cinematographic goodness while looking back over some old posts. The following is the post that linked me to the video; it captures so well how I have been feeling lately about what of importance I have in me to pass down to my kiddos, that I decided to do a little DWM Rewind and post it in its entirety. Enjoy.

Or not. Whatev.

__________________________

Live Your Life With Arms Wide Open

Sometimes I look at my children, who are growing up so quickly right before my eyes, and I am at a loss as to what of importance I have in me to pass down to them. What? My love of books? My inner Drama Queen? My freckles? My Loud Talk/Loud Laugh gene? My charming wit and sparkling personality? My humilty? The list goes on and on… Then, this weekend, in the most roundabout way possible, I discovered one of the most powerful aspects of myself that I have to pass down to my progeny.

You see, nostalgia struck this weekend. One minute I’m downloading Sway by the Perishers, and the next thing I know I’m downloading music I remember listening to as I spent rainy afternoons in my parents’ bedroom thumbing through my parents’ old 45’s, jamming out to Purple People Eater, Charlie Brown, Shimmy Shimmy Ko-Ko Bop, Shoop Shoop Song, My Boyfriend’s Back, Rescue Me, oh, and this really catchy song about sitting in my a la-la waiting for my ya-ya (uh-huh… uh-huh…), amongst others.

So I went online to iTunes and legally downloaded Sixteen Tons by Tennessee Ernie Ford. I know, right? Me? Obtaining music on the up-and-up? All legal-like and shizz? Recognizing that creative works online are protected by copyright law? Not contributing to the illegal music trade which is destroying artistic creativity and innovation, eliminating jobs, and more than likely bankrolling organized crime?! I KNOW!

(Whatever. You’d think these people would be flattered that someone wants to listen to their stupid music, but noooooo. Money money money! That’s all any of these guys– singers, musicians, managers, producers– care about! I mean, honestly. It’s not as if I couldn’t do what I used to do when I was a teenager… which was to keep a cassette at the ready in my boombox and push RECORD whenever a song I liked came on the airwaves? Oh, the mixed tapes I used to make! At absolutely no cost to myself whatsoever! Well, except for the cassette, of course, but did you know that with a little tape and a tad of ingenuity, you can tape the new songs over old albums that you totally don’t want anymore anyway?… Anyhoos, no one was coming after me then, confiscating my Tainted Love Breakup Tunes or Hair Band Heaven Mix, no sir! Now it’s all about the money. Freaking selfish bastards.)

Um, okay. I had a point when I began…

Ah, yes! Sixteen Tons! Of course, of course… So I dragged my kiddos into my bedroom and forced them listen to the song. I watched delightedly as they fell in love with it, Ernie’s impromptu snaps setting a tempo like a coal-mining crew axing into a brick-solid wall, effectively sucking them into the hammer-like rhythm of the song. Alli snapped in time (fine, almost in time), Hannah bopped her head, TD attempted to look bored, but failed miserably– and as I was swept back to a time when I would giggle madly as my dad would bring this song on home: “I OWE my SOOOOOOUUUUUUU-OOUUUU-OOOUUULLL!… to the company store…” I realized that I was passing on a history. A legacy of music, if you will.

Which… scary thought.

This realization brought to mind my fourth grade end-of-the-year party, when my absolute favoritest teacher EVER gave us permission to bring in some of our own music to play for the class. Stoked, I rushed home and told my mother I simply HAD to bring her album– The New Christy Minstrels’ Sing and Play Cowboys and Indians – to school or I would absolutely DIE. So the next day, armed with my uber-cool album and a sure knowledge of my Cool Factor totally skyrocketing as soon as my classmates heard the opening strains of this kickass song called Navajo, I rushed to the front of the line, bypassing The Police, Air Supply, a few Blondies, Irene Cara (Fame, naturally), and– if I recall correctly– one Captain and Tenille album.

Needless to say, my classmates did not appreciate the music as much as I thought they would and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. I mean, this was GOOD STUFF, right? What the hell was wrong with these people?! But it strikes me now that they did not enjoy my music for many of the same reasons that my daughter’s 2nd grade classmates probably wouldn’t appreciate the phenomenal music from The Phantom of the Opera or Les Miserables. Perhaps my classmates’ mothers hadn’t yet instilled in them a love for the The New Christy Minstrels’ minstrely goodness by playing Lily Langtree or Betsy From Pike– or, oooooh! this super funny song called Three Wheels on My Wagon!– over and over again.

And perhaps their dads didn’t stand at the door “singing” (note my use of sarcastic quote marks) Nelson Eddy as he’d leave the house for work: “I’ll find you in the mornin’ sun and when the night is new… I’ll be looking at the moon… but I’ll be seeing… (*deep breath* *mom joins in*) YOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!” And my mom would be all, “Oh , JIM,” and we’d laugh and shout, “Kiss her, Daddy!” and my mom would blush and be all, “Oh, you! Go to work!” and we were like, “Aww!”

Although, come to think of it, I don’t much like Nelson Eddy. Okay, I don’t even KNOW Nelson Eddy. But I love that memory! See how that works? It’s tricky. But that is beside the point.

The point is that as I sat there playing music for my children, I began to imagine my daughters or son sitting down with their own children, playing my music, perhaps songs from U2’s The Joshua Tree album or The Offspring’s hit single Pretty Fly for a White Guy, music that perhaps my grandchildren would take to THEIR fourth-grade end-of-the-year parties. And maybe my kids will teach their kids to Snake or Axl Rose, and maybe, just maybe!, they’ll even gather ’round the karaoke machine and belt out the oldies from their great-grandma’s and grandpa’s generation, perhaps Sixteen Tons or Rescue Me, and they will all laugh at how crazy life was back in the day, and maybe they will videotape it and send it to me, and TGIM and I will laugh and probably bust a tear or two due to the whole Empty Nest Syndrome, and, oh, how glorious that will be.

Yes! I thought. I shall pass down the music!

Of course, I began to panic. I mean, the pressure I suddenly felt to produce the quintessential 21st century mixed CD– representative of the most influential music from 2001 through today– was crushing, but I calmed myself with the knowledge that, hey, I’m totally up to the challenge. I watch American Idol. I pay attention to the music of Veronica Mars. I’m hip to the pop culture, fo’ rizzle, my shizzle.

Gosh. I tell you what… my kids are SO lucky to have me.

In truth, however, around the seventh time I played Sixteen Tons the nostalgia faded with the final strains of the flute and clarinet. I came to my senses and realized that my children, though influenced by my taste in music now, will grow into teenagers and will develop their own tastes, just as I eventually did, and they will call my music stupid and tell me I’m way out of touch and be all, “Ooooh, my music is so much cooler than yours, Momma! Ooooh!”

I must admit to a few moments of frustration and despair. Because if not my love of good music, what?

Then Natasha Bedingfield’s sassy song Unwritten came on my iPod and I was immediately struck– struck, I say!– by the words:

I am unwritten,
Can’t read my mind
I’m undefined
I’m just beginning
The pen’s in my hand
Ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words
That you could not find
Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins

The rest is still unwritten.

Good LORD! That was it! The part of myself I absolutely MUST pass down to my children! Because if nothing else, I want to them to learn from me how to take life as it comes– grab it by the balls, if they must– and freaking OWN it.

I can DO that. I just know it.

And the fact that I am instilling this lesson in their minds not only by example, but covertly, as we dance and laugh and sing this song together while cooking dinner, cleaning our rooms, even folding the laundry?

Well, that’s just gravy.

The Day Has Come! Oh EVIL Day!

It’s here! It’s time! It’s arrived! The Day! The Evil Day! YEEEEEES!

*ahem* I’m totally cool and collected and not out-of-control-excited AT ALL.

So… yes. The Evil League of Evil is finally accepting applications. Right? DUDE. I’m only saying!

Naturally I have had my application at the ready for MONTHS, so my “Horrible Evil Sidekick” video is up and Super Evil Chassy is ready to kick boo-TAY and take names and… other horrible, water-related evil stuff!

Thanks to Charlotte and Sue and my friend Jen for the heads-up. Apparently, my Dr. Horrible Newsletter announcing the opening with the ELE got lost in the email or something! Yo! What up, Dr. H?!

The following is my official application to the Evil League of Evil. I think it’s pretty solid this year.

Dear Evil League of Evil:

Here’s my application! I ain’t no stinkin’ henchman!

FYI: I can help with any kind of water-related evil. You know, with the evil goggles of watery evilness and whatnot? Water boarding, Chinese water torture, synchronized swimming… the works.

Hmmm… Was that too braggy?

In any event:

That’s it. Fingers crossed.

Super Evil Chassy and the Evil League of Evil

Well CHECK IT OUT! I’m FAMOUS! SIX people have VOTED for me! SIX! As of RIGHT now! And only ONE of those was ME! FOOYAH!

Dude, I’m saying. Wonderflonium.com ROCKS, yo? Solid.

So, yeah… feel free to click over and vote for Super Evil Chassy’s quite compelling argument for a spot in the Evil League of Evil as Dr. Horrible’s Sidekick. And while you’re at it, head on over to YouTube and spread the love. Joss Whedon, I mean Dr. Horrible, MUST pick me! MEEEE!

The Horrible Evil Sidekick gig will be mine. Oh, yes. It WILL be mine.

Now excuse me. I need to go call everyone I know.

SIX. Woo!

Horrible Evil Sidekick

What? Like I could resist doing a TechnoGeekery episode about this?! Please, biznitch.

Or, you know, refrain from composing a song to Dr. Horrible…

Shut up! It’s a sickness! Enjoy.

(This is also posted at YouTube, so feel free to click over and give me some luuuuv… or a video response! Whatev.)

Singing Along with Dr. Horrible

Okay, I fully admit I had NO IDEA that Joss Whedon had gone live with his latest project (bad Joss Whedon fan! BAD!), Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog, a three-episode internet musical starring the super awesome Neil Patrick Harris as a blogging, low-rent super villain named Dr. Horrible, who longs to gain entrance into the Evil League of Evil and talk to the pretty girl at the laundromat. Seriously. No clue.

But he did.

And I had NO IDEA that if I decided to watch said super villain internet musical while, say, riding the Metro into work this morning, there would be the possibility that I might, perhaps, nearly bust a gut laughing and freak out the very nice-seeming gentleman in the army uniform sitting next to me, who might then, maybe, swiftly move across the car from me and stealthily watch me for signs of The Crazy, fully intent on taking me DOWN if need be.

But I did.

But, c’mon. By the time Captain Hammer (played by the super awesome Nathan Fillion) jumped atop the wonderflonium-filled courier van that had been hijacked by Dr. Horrible’s Horrible Van Remote application on his iPhone, I was gone. I mean, a blogging, singing super villain?! With an iPhone?! Loaded with applications of super villain evil?! How genius is that?!

Hey. You know who’s an evil genius? Joss Whedon, that’s who! Honestly. What I wouldn’t give to work with that man!

Well, probably not my first born. Or my soul. Or, you know, anything remotely dear to me. But still! I would so love to hang with the man for a day. Pick his brain. Learn his process. See how he does it. Check for signs of soul-sellage, what with his evil genius and all. Maybe take him out for a beverage of some sort. You know, geeky stuff.

Enough with the sharing. If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to watch Act I, Episode I again while, perhaps, this time singing along. Because it’s Dr. Horrible’s SING-ALONG Blog, that’s why! Sheesh. Keep up.

As you were.

The Wonkerers *updated

(If the video below doesn’t work for you, click HERE for some serious Wonkerering.)

We weren’t allowed to video tape TD’s musical, Roald Dahl’s Willy Wonka, (what is UP with that?! HUH?!) but hey! Who needs to tape the show from waaaaay back in the audience, when one’s kiddos have memorized the whole darn thing anyway, and commandeer the family computer for an afternoon to capture the entire show– up close and personal– for posterity? Not me, that’s who!

So, yeah. I have no actual tape of Tanner performing on stage as Charlie, but I have him (and his sisters) performing every other role in the musical– with FEELING, no less… so FOOYAH!

Yup. Feel free to take a quick peek at what it’s been like at MY house for the past five months.

Enjoy.

You Did It, Charlie!

Not to brag, but a certain desperate working momma’s son was sensationally awesome as Charlie Bucket in a certain Willy Wonka Jr. musical at a certain elementary school!

Hey. I call it like I see it.

Okay, but tonight? I’m bringing the GOOD camera!

Think Positive

Is it normal for me to be MORE nervous than TD? He’s the one singing all of Charlie Bucket’s songs and performing all of Charlie Bucket’s lines in the 6th grade Willy Wonka Jr. musical tonight! It’s out of control!

I’m a wreck, that’s what I am… A wreck, I say!

Aaaaaand TD just rushed by me, belting out “Think Positive,” complete with wild gesticulations that I certainly hope are a part of the choreography. Because if not? EMBARRASSING.

“You’ve nothing to lose so why not choose to think positive?”

Well all righty then. I’m off to the show.

And TD? Break a leg, kid.

Legendary Music Video

Okay, so I created this song using my mad Garageband skillz… also, by using a Media Converter to grab the karaoke version of the song off YouTube, but whatever. Still cool!

A legendary music video is in the works. I’m hoping to enter it in a contest and win some sweet prizes. Because I’m a huge geek?

Enjoy!

Or not. Whatev.

(BTW: Any thoughts on how to MAKE said Legendary Music Video would be much appreciated! I’m envisioning RockBand instruments… oh, AND a strobe light. Because, AWESOME?)

Street Cred

Crap.

I may have just been spotted–at work!–air guitaring along with the (wicked awesome) song playing on my iPod.

Hey! I can’t help it! The music is in my SOUL, so kindly step OFF me, yo?

Well. This can’t be good for my street cred with the urban cubicleland demographic.

TechnoGeekery Show #14: Podsafe Music… Pump Up the Volume!

Remember when Christian Slater was hawt? You know, like in Heathers? Oooh, and in Pump Up the Volume?! The 1990 dramady about rebellious quasi-political teens working out their angst via underground radio?! So they could Talk Hard?! ‘Member?! Do ya?!

Really? Cool.

And that’s what we in the biz call a “teaser”… because a new TechnoGeekery vidcast is up:

TechnoGeekery #14: Podsafe Music… Pump Up the Volume!

And while Christian Slater may not make an actual appearance, Chassy Cat may have an emotional Mary Katherine Gallagher monologue moment or two during this particular podcast. Perhaps. I’m just saying. It could happen.

Superstar!!

Oh, Snap!

Allison dragged me over to the dream home she had constructed for her Polly Pocket using an empty paper box, a pair of heavy duty scissors, assorted colored pencils, and some seriously stellar eight-year-old ingenuity.

“Momma, look, ” she instructed, flourishing at the box with a red colored pencil she had evidently put to work covering the outside of Polly’s new home with meticulously crafted bricks. “Check it out!”

Mentally tallying how many hours before TGIM tripped over Polly’s dream home one too many times and condemned it to tear down status, I said, “Ooh, uh-huh.” Hey! With motherly pride! Step off me!

“Well?” she asked, her face lit with eagerness and pride in ownership. “What do you think of Polly Pocket’s new briiiiiiiiiick… hooouuuuse?”

I ruffled her hair playfully. “It’s mighty mighty,” I replied, almost without thought. “Now Polly can let it all hang out.”

We stood there, mother and daughter, admiring Polly Pocket’s Dream Home in artistic and Motown solidarity. After a moment we went our separate ways, each of us humming and singing “She’s a briiiiiick… hoooouse…” under our breath and jiving to the beat. What can I say?

That’s just how we roll at the DWM house.

A Special Holiday Message

( I couldn’t let this beautiful season pass without expressing a heartfelt message of holiday cheer. So… yah. Here it is. Music in this podcast provided by the Podsafe Music Network, with Santa Claus is Coming to Town by Dokken. Yes, I said DOKKEN.)

Ha, ha, ha! Merry Christmas, everyone! HA, HA, HA!

Oh… didn’t you hear? In Australia, street Santas are being encouraged to replace “ho ho ho!” with “ha ha ha!” You know, because all that deep “ho ho ho!”-ing scares the children? Not to mention the blatant sexist connotations inherent in the traditional phraseology?

Then again, potentially any large man in a red velvet suit with a scraggly white beard could scare the everlovin’ bejeebies out of a child, especially when said child is coerced into sitting on the man’s lap while “He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake!” blares in the background.

But that is totally beside the point. Belting out “ho ho ho!” at all those unsuspecting children? All they want is a candy cane, after all. That could damage a child’s psyche, that’s all I’m saying.

Yup. Leave it to Oz to straighten out Santa Claus and his Eurocentric, closed-minded, rigid value judgments. I mean, ‘ho’? And what about ‘naughty’ and ‘nice’? Hello? Who is he to say?! Huh? This is the 21st century, Santa. We don’t burden children with labels that could damage their self-esteem. We prefer “obedience-challenged” or “potentially disruptive on a large scale.” And EVERYONE gets a present. But I digress.

So, the family and I just finished singing a rousing chorus of ‘Rudolph the Differently-abled Reindeer-American,’ which is one of our favorite Holiday Ballads of Strictly Secular Joy. Those are always fun this time of year! Good times!

Aw, I kid. Kidding! My family and I are in fact quite full of the holiday spirit and are feeling extraordinarily thankful for the blessings we have received this year.

Speaking of blessings…

Top Ten Lambson Moments of 2007

10. Buying Guitar Hero and rocking out as a family. Need I say more?

9. Allison discovering acronyms, and-after hearing that I made bran muffins-skipping along behind me and happily yelling out for all the neighborhood to hear “Yay! Mom, Come on! Let’s go eat a BM!”

8. Hannah telling Tanner she loved him, just out of the blue, then-after Aaron and I finished cooing, “Aw!” and “How sweet!”-shrugging and admitting, “Yeah… that was an awkward moment.”

7. Breaking up with American Idol so we could have those three nights per week of our lives back.

6. Making wedding videos and Public Service Announcement vidcasts with the kiddos. Just for the heck of it.

5. Hannah yelling, “Momma! Swinging with the wind rushing over my toes is my favorite way to swing! (flinging hair as if she were the Breck Girl) With the wind in my hair!… While wearing a skort!”

4. Allison proudly showing off her new gerbil, then announcing, “One of them I thought had babies, but it was actually only his tentacles.” Then, after our explosion of laughter, insisting, “No! I’m not kidding, guys! Those tentacles were HUGE!”

3. Scoring an interview with actor Michael Muhney (AKA: Sheriff Lamb)-from my favorite TV show Veronica Mars-for my sleeper hit vidcast, Veronica Mars REWIND, (Michael Muhney says I “rock”… Booyah!)

2. Tanner auditioning for and WINNING the lead part of Charlie in his school’s musical production of Roald Dahl’s Willy Wonka.

1. Crawling into bed at the end of the day and cuddling up with a novel, smooshed between my kiddos–smelling of playground sweat and sunshine–eagerly devouring novels of their own, the only sound the whisper of turning pages, the rustle of blankets, and occasional bursts of laughter followed by silly passages read aloud for all to enjoy. No television. No phone. No computer. No radio. Just my kids and me tucked away from the world, immersed in worlds of our own… together.

And I mean this… happy holidays, y’all.

TechnoGeekery Quickie #4: iTunes… an Analogy

Hey! Hey! Head on over to TechnoGeekery! Hey! There’s a new Quickie! Hey! And there is singing! And ANALOGIES! Good ones!

And, hey… did I mention the singing? Yep. I composed some original tunes and debuted them on my vidcast. I know, right? Sweet.

What can I say? I am ALL about the giving this holiday season. And my analogizin’ skillz coupled with the guitarin’ and singin’ and whatnot? Well, that’s just my little gift to you.

TechnoGeekery Quickie #4: iTunes… an Analogy

Oh. No need to thank me. It was my pleasure.

The Blue Sparkly Dress and TechnoGeekery

And I mean this… CUTE. Aaaaaw. The infamous Blue Sparkly Dress. Sewed by Grandma Sue and the cause of much joy and contention amongst my kiddos. Oh, the good times Tanner had in that dress…! But that is a story for another time.Regardless, I repeat… so, SO cute. I’ve been on a digi-scrapping spree for the past week or so, frantically scrambling to get some super-duper top-secret Christmas presents taken care of, and this is the result of my practice removing picture backgrounds using the”Instant Alpha” feature in iWork Pages. I tell you what, y’all… digi-scrapping? Totally addictive! NOT. KIDDING. Nope. Not even one little bit of kid. Er, -ding. Kidding.Also, a new TechnoGeekery Quickie is up:TechnoGeekery Quickie #3: Reach Out and iPod Touch SomeoneThere is good music! By Waltham! The band! For real! Check it OUT!Phew. I’m exhausted from all that exclaiming.

Wizards in Winter Equals Good Times For ALL! (except possibly the neighbors…)

I know many of you have already seen this, but it’s so amazing to watch! Honestly. Who can CREATE something like this? I mean, stringing Christmas lights alone is a daunting task, but this…?Amazing. Enjoy!

rmgf60CI_ks

Confessions of a Desperate Working Momma

I was once banned– that’s right, I said BANNED–from the TWoP boards for one teensy tiny moment of indiscretion–moments after the season four finale of American Idol–in which I may or may not have–I’m not sure, it’s all so hazy now–POSSIBLY suggested that all the Carrie Underwood haters just go ahead and SUCK IT. I know, right? What’s up with THAT?! Give a gal a break, yo? I was understandably carried away in the moment! I think! Again with the haziness! Honestly. And I liked my old TWoP user name, too. You don’t just come by sweet user names like that one every day, that’s all I’m saying. I mean, how wickedly cool is the na– well, my super cool, now unfairly defunct TWoP user name so isn’t the point. Whatever.

Ahem.

Then what IS my point? Oh! Yes! I have one!

Carrie Underwood haters? SUCK IT!

Hoo!

Aaah, the sweet, unmoderated freedom of blogging…

Feels GOOOOOOOD.

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