You know what I’m thankful for right now? Italians. It’s their stylishness and inventiveness in design that I’ve long admired. Today, specifically, it’s our mutual appreciation of moon boots. Who else would be offering the entire Tecnica line, in so many enticing colors? (Well, I guess Tecnica USA does, but their site sucks.) I am extremely tempted to snap up a pair in sizes 36 (for myself) and 26 (for the little man). But the combined total, with shipping, would be close to $150. Ouch. I’ll have to be content with admiring from afar.

You got me, I’ve been swiping my recent headlines from the weather forecast. Thank you Paul Douglas. My excuse? A higher-end headache on the verge of becoming a low-end migraine, combined with a lingering low-grade cold. The combo has been robbing me of any creativity I may possess. Glamorous, no. Pathetic, yes. I’m hoping, against all odds, that my personal cold front will clear up miraculously by tomorrow. We’ve got one action-packed day ahead of us. As usual everyone wants to see the lovely little man. And who could blame them? So we’ll be schlepping ourselves all around town, all day long. At least we’ll be well fed. The highlight of the day will be the last stop on our list…the site of a vegan extravaganza which will offer up a homemade tofurky (better than store-bought any day), pumpkin pie, my bbq tofu, J’s apple galettes, and much much more. Current conditions: the office is a veritable ghosttown, so I’m hoping to head out early and hit the co-op. Yes, I should have prepared ahead of time. It would have been wise to obtain the necessities last weekend. Or at least on Monday night. Or even last night. Well, maybe not last night. I’d wanted to get home well ahead of Buffy, so that wasn’t an option. Rambling now. Must stop. And make ready to leave.

I’m currently pondering questions that have been fleshed out elsewhere. Issues like “How public is a weblog?” and “Are we, as creators and publishers of content, afforded any rights to privacy?” It’s an issue of netiquette and a topic of great debate. It’s long been of interest to me, but recently hit too close to home. Via usage logs and an intrusive email my suspicions have been confirmed. That we have a most unwelcome visitor to this site. Someone who has, thankfully, not played an important role in my adult life. By my choice. Still trying to figure out the best reaction to this intrusion. With the mad chaos of my daily life, combined with the approach of hectic holidays, any extra little thing threatens to push me over the edge. It’s hard to suppress my knee-jerk “Calgon, take me away” reaction. (You know, they still make that stuff. I used to mercilessly mock those commercials when I was younger, but now I totally understand.) But I’m not going away. Nope. Not going anywhere. This site has been an enjoyable outlet for me, and for friends and like-minded folk who seem to appreciate it. Obviously I’m a fairly open person. But there are limits. This person has repeatedly pushed me past them. And is again attempting to test them. And should now gracefully turn around and walk away. Or slink away. Or run. And stay the hell away.

So. That said. I’ll carry on in fine tradition with a bit more blather. Been enjoying some non-Dune Frank Herbert. After coming late to the Harry Potter books I finally saw the first film (doh, forgot to return it) over the weekend. Enjoyed it well enough, though I thought the constantly swelling music was a bit obnoxious. Hopefully the second film’s score is a bit better. Currently listening to an odd mix of music. John Brown Battery’s “the only normal people are the ones you don’t know that well“. Ani’s collaboration with Utah Phillips, “The Past Didn’t Go Anywhere”. And the Flaming Lip’s “Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots”. Speaking of music, J and I managed to attend the long-anticipated Low show on Saturday. It was lovely, as was the newly renovated Pantages Theater. Though I’d had the tickets for weeks, it was a last-minute scramble to find appropriate guardians for the little man. The usual suspects were either attending the Low show, or incapacitated by flu and/or colds. But some fabulous friends came through…and the little man is still raving about his wonderful evening. Again, many thanks ladies.

Weird week. More on that later.
What the weatherman is saying:
“We still don’t see any major knock-down, drag-out storms brewing for the next 5 or 6 days.”
Honestly I’m a little disappointed. This Fall has been colder than usual, but not in any notable, interesting way. Yesterday morning marked the first time I had to brush snow off my car this season, but it had all melted by mid-day anyway. I’m ready to build a snow-monkey in the front yard, dammit. Oh well. I must bide my time. I will manage, somehow.

I finally did it. After years of intending to, I finally whipped together an online portfolio. Recently I’ve had more inquiries about freelance web work. These days I have a limited amount of time to work on such projects, so I have to be more selective. But that means the projects I do end up working on are usually quite enjoyable. Not all are yet listed in the portfolio. Naturally it’s a work in progress. And not yet as comprehensive as I’d like. But it’s live. Using a domain I had in my back pocket for over a year. Check it out here.
And yeah, yeah, I know I’m not blonde anymore. I need a decent recent photo. Sigh.

Let’s blame it on bad parenting. Because I am queen of multi-tasking. Ok, maybe viscountess. I try to do too much and feel like I’m doing none of it as well as I’d like. I perform daily triage to determine which tasks get green-lighted. It’s a constant struggle between the day job, the little man, the house and a couple of freelance and personal projects I’ve got in the hopper. Naturally the housework always falls to the bottom of the list…and the little man reigns as supreme ruler up at the top. But occasionally I try to sneak something in past him. And sometimes I can pull it off. Sometimes not. Today I’m trying to ignore a burgeoning cold…because I’m unusually motivated to work on a particular project. Earlier, after we returned from a visit to the coffee shop and playground, I thought it would be good for P to fingerpaint (instead of watching Monsters, Inc. for the twelve-thousandth time). So I set him up in style with his smock, paper and paints. I considered doing dishes, just around the corner, but instead settled in to watch the artist at work. But a niggling thought popped in to my head. I wanted to capture the idea for my project before it faded away. And thought, foolishly, that it would be ok for me to slip into the computer room for a few minutes. About two minutes later my super-mom hearing picked up a disturbance. I was about to investigate when I heard the little man heading my way. Being a bit under the weather I thought it best, all right, easiest, to let him come to me. He burst into the room, all smiles and innocence, not letting on what the problem was. Took me a moment to notice that his blue pants were saturated with blue paint. It’s called fingerpaint, not legpaint. Not buttpaint. But he’d managed to leave a trail up the stairs, and a couple of handprints on the door. I stripped him down, marvelling at the volume of paint the polar fleece pants had sucked up. Better than Bounty any day. I ran the bath and inserted my blue boy in it. Then, at last, I headed downstairs to check out the mess. It could have been worse, I guess. I never liked those chairs anyway. The upholstery of the dining room chair he’d been sitting on was covered in blue paint. I don’t think I can Shout it out. Unless screams of frustration will somehow do the trick. But I’m beyond that. It’s all about quiet resignation. Because I’m torn between laughing and crying. And can’t choose which.

Dang. Once again I skipped a day’s worth of Neil Gaiman’s journal, and it bit me in the ass. So to speak. He posted some great stuff. Including a heads up that last night’s Fresh Air would feature interviews with two of my favorite guys. Bruce Campbell and Frank Miller. And I missed it. The other Frank Miller-related news had to do with the COMICON.com/CBLDF auction. My favorite piece up for grabs is original art from Frank Miller’s DK2. I’d love to have it, but it’s already up to $4,850.00. Ouch. But for those of you who can afford it, I think it’s great to show you support for the CBLDF.
//blurb
They are a non-profit organization protecting the First Amendment rights of the comics community. Founded in 1986, the CBLDF’s guiding principle is that comics deserve the same freedom of expression accorded film, literature, and other media.
//end blurb

But she sure is divine. Today I came across a great Neko Case article. I’d just been thinking about her, and how I hadn’t gotten around to posting about her fabulous Chicago show (I still intend to post a rundown of the trip soon). I got goosebumps from reading the article…while listening to her latest album. Naturally I found the interview in typical fangirl fashion. I was reading Starfire’s tour log and noticed a picture of Alan puckering up to a photo on some magazine cover. The woman looked vaguely familiar. The masthead said it was the Seattle Weekly. So I looked it up, and whadya know. It was my girl Neko. She’s so dreamy.

My house is trying to kill J. He moved in with us a few months back, against everyone’s better judgment. For the most part things have been great. If you can overlook the wheezing and hacking and itchy eyes and frequent inhaler usage. You see, the poor man is asthmatic and seriously allergic to my arthritic cats. I love the cats dearly. But I love J more. So I’ve been making an effort to relocate them for the past year or so. First I tried everyone I know (and I know a lot of people) but no one has been willing to take either of them…citing petty things like:
“dude, Jasmine is a psychopath” and
“didn’t you just tell me she peed all over your couch and you had to throw it away?” or
“is Selina that really twitchy one?” or
“you mean that imaginary cat that no one has ever actually seen?”
You get the picture. So I moved into phase two of the relocation plan. I contacted all the area no-kill animal shelters, but to no avail. They’re all full up, and generally don’t take in animals who are as old and/or neurotic as my cats (as they are unlikely to be adopted). Plus they’ll make you feel bucket loads of guilt for even inquiring about it. There was one sanctuary that does accept “difficult to place” animals. But at a cost. My life. And then some. The deal is I can donate $400 per animal now, and in the event that I die before they do, then, and only then, will they take in the cats. Umm, no. I think I’ll take my chances. So back to J. We’re stuck in a no-win situation. He’s been sick three times now since he moved in, and the cats only aggravate his condition. It takes much longer for him to become well again. Tonight he’s off to stay at his sister’s hypoallergenic household in hopes of getting some relief. We briefly discussed this before he left. Somewhat jokingly I pleaded with him “but when will I see you again?” His reply, “Soon. I’m too dumb to stay away.” Ain’t love grand.

We have passed through potty-training purgatory and have officially entered potty-training hell.
//alert
If you don’t want to know the gory details, gentle reader, I suggest you move on.
//end alert
Several months back, when the little man was about to graduate from daycare, I set out to find the best possible pre-school environment for him. And I found it…in the form of a wonderful little montessori located near my office. Unfortunately they only accept fully potty-trained pupils. And understandably so. So at home we worked at it and worked at it, but to no avail. I realized we’d need a plan B to hold us over until he was ready. So I found a pre-school that I initially gave a capital A, for adequate. Now I no longer think it is even that. It is not a good fit for my child, or for me. I’d gladly keep him home if I could, but it isn’t feasible at this time. So to be able to move him to the montessori instead, he needs to have more control over his bodily functions. We seemed to be making decent progress for a while. Working at it in the all-too-brief time we spend together in the evenings, and the generally action-packed weekends. But this past weekend left me frazzled. The little man willingly spent lots of time sitting on both the little and regular-sized potties, but failed to, er, produce. Despite incentives (yes, I’ve been told bribery makes for bad parenting, but I’m at my wits’ end here) and despite lots of coaching, he neglected to tell me when he needed a little help, or if he thought he needed to go. And my frequent questioning was either quickly met with a “No”, or a plea for candy. The inconsistency and timing problems resulted in a lot of messes for mom to clean up. At one point I was preparing lunch. He was out of my eyesight for all of five minutes. I returned to discover that he had:
a) used one of his markers to color much of his pantsless lower half and
b) had created a small ocean on the dining room floor.
After our meal I decided to give him a bath, to wash off the blue marker. Just a tad too late he pleaded “I need help”, as he was fouling the tub with a substance that would have been easier to clean up off of the floor. So I quickly washed and toweled him off. Then unwisely let him wander off into his room, in the buff. I set about the arduous task of thoroughly cleaning not just the tub, but each of the twenty-three bath toys that it contained at the time of the incident. Every now and then I called out to him, to ask if he was all right…if he wanted help getting dressed. But he just replied with “it’s ok”. When the sterilization was complete I walked in to his room to find another unexpected situation (though I should have known better).
Problem 1: He had been standing on his toybox, baring all in front of the window.
Problem 2: He had peed all over said window, which caused massive amounts of urine to splash back on to the toybox and the dresser.
Thankfully we have hardwood floors. At this point I was nearly ready to give up for the day and let him relax in a diaper or pull-up. But no, I decided we must forge ahead. So we went back downstairs, with the little man clad in fresh underwear and pants. Things went well for a while. He showed some initiative and sat on the potty a few times, all on his own. But he gave up around snack time declaring “all done”. All done what? All done sitting pantsless on the potty I guess. I went into the kitchen to grab some animal crackers and soy milk. Returned, once again, to find a puddle. That he’d made through his clothes. I finally declared defeat for the day and grabbed him a diaper, before washing another load of laundry. At this point I feel like persistence is futile.