Plus: He Looks Good Doing It

Barack Obama is not only my President, he's also my FaceBook Friend (FBF, not to be confused with BFF, as much as I would love hanging out with him it's probably not going to happen).   As his FBF I see the updates he posts on the really cool, progressive stuff he is doing. 

As a bonus, at least initially, I am amused by reading the moronic comments written by people who seem to split their time between playing Farmville, watching Jerry Springer and Glen Beck and listening to Rush Limbaugh.    The entertainment factor of these misspelled, gramatically incorrect, ill informed comments gives way eventually to a sinking feeling in my stomach that cable TV and the internet have ruined our ability as a people to a) think for ourselves or b) put together a sentence with subject, verb and object.  God help us all.  My only hope is that all along we have had this idiotic fringe and the only difference is they now have a platform to spew their hate and ignorance.

Anyway, Barack, my FBF, also posts pictures of the White House goings-on.  That's where I got the above picture.   I must say, President Obama has it going on.  I'm not sure I'm supposed to have these sorts of feelings when looking at a photo of the POTUS.   I remember the following emotions from images of former Presidents: Carter - sympathy, Reagan - bewilderment, Bush Sr. - indifference, Clinton - amusement, Bush Jr - disgust.    Never has a Presidential photo elicited long dreamy gazes and heavy sighs.   That swagger, the confidence, the handsome good looks.    I'm sure I'm doing exactly what his PR media folks are expecting me to do and as much as I hate being anybody's pawn, it's working.  Keep the photos coming.

Fashion Disaster Plate

I usually don't go out on a fashion limb.  Hell, I'm usually firmly on the ground hugging the tree trunk when it comes to fashion.  I like white and black clothes.  They go well with every other color.  You simply can't mess it up.  Perhaps you look boring, but you never look mismatched.  When I really want to make a statement I do black and white together.  Bold move, I know. 

I have a long history of making poor fashion decisions. I blame it on my mother.  Don't take pity on her.  She's used to taking the blame.    She has gladly accepted responsibility for my big feet, my mild heart defect, my thin lifeless hair and my introverted personality.   I in turn am responsible for the genetic crosses I have laid across my children's shoulders.   It's the whole circle of life - Take the bad with the good - Shutup and work with what you got - thing. 

Why do I blame my poor fashion sense on my mother.  See that picture above.  I ran across it on the internet.  It's a "vintage" pattern.  That picture could be me, circa 1969, complete with pixie haircut, turtleneck and poncho.  I think it actually might BE me.  Butterick owes me some royalties.  God I hate pixies.

Here's another sample from my childhood wardrobe.  Stirrup pants.  I had a pair that was exactly this color green.  A humiliating choice when paired with a little sweater vest over a turtleneck.

Or how about this number.  The BOX dress.  Mine was a yellow plaid number made of wool.  Ugly and itchy to boot.   That dress was also responsible for my most embarrassing first grade moment.  I neglected to put a shirt underneath it one morning when I decided to give Mom a break and dress myself for school.  I left her sleeping as I walked to school not realizing (or maybe just not caring) that my little girl chest was on display for anyone who looked at me from the side.  My mother was called to come get me and told to put some proper clothes on me.



Sure, these clothes look all mod and retro now but they were the stuff of nightmares to a girl who just wanted to wear bell bottom pants with cool vests.  Or a kicky little dress with a scarf and white go-go boots.  Sigh. 

My whole life my outfits have always been a little off or a step behind or they just don't fit right.  From tube tops and nylon "scene" shirts in '76 to the orange leather trench coat with the rabbit fur collar in '78.  I learned to accept that "style" just does not come naturally to me.   Then as I got older I realized that "my" style does come naturally to me.  I know what I like, I know what I'm comfortable in and black and white never go out of style.

Miscellany

Not feeling inspired to blog about anything lately.  Lots of activity, all of it fun none of it significant.

I had a wonderful 4th weekend. We hosted a small BBQ on Saturday. I tried several new recipes. Some were a hit (the chicken wings and baked pita chips went over really well), one was a tasteless nightmare (the “tangy” coleslaw was most definitely not tangy) and the rest were OK. We have decided that ribs should ALWAYS be pre-cooked before grilling and that staying home to watch the fireworks from our own backyard can’t be beat.


Most of Sunday was spent recuperating from the BBQ with a quick run to the dog park. It was oppressively hot and the dogs were only able to muster a little enthusiasm which quickly disappeared. They were happy to go back to the air conditioned car when it was time to leave. That was OK by me because the park was mostly empty. Half the fun for me is seeing and petting all the other dogs we meet there.

Our big ambitious project of painting the family room this weekend did not happen. Instead we went to IKEA and planned out a craft room. I have lots of plans for my craft room. Scrapbooking for sure. I’ve also decided to try my hand at beading. Plus it will be a nice place to store all those half finished projects I have stuffed all over the house. There are loads of other miscellaneous projects I’d like to try. Husband is giving me the old "you better practically live in that room if we go to all the trouble to set it up." Yeah, yeah....

Five week countdown to Germany starts today. Most of the time will be spent at my Uncle's farmhouse in Mahlow which is just south of Berlin. Every time I've visited Berlin I run out of time to see everything I want to see. So today I booked a studio apartment in downtown Berlin for 3 nights. It's pictured above.  We'll be right near the Brandenburg Gate, Checkpoint Charlie and all the museums. We will be able to roam the city for a few days. Should be wonderful.

My Digital Legacy

A co-worker of mine recently mentioned that a facebook friend of his died.  The friend's page is still up and running and getting activity.  Mostly farewells and tributes from the deceased's friends.  He said it was very odd to have these pop up on his FB news feed, bringing memories of his friend when he least expects it.

The digital age has changed things in so many ways.  How we interact and communicate.  How we are entertained. It's changed our language.  Now it may even impact what our families need to do after we're gone.  I know it will for me.

My e-mail account - How long would it continue to collect junk mail if nobody turned it off?   Indefinitely?  Come to think of it, I'm sure I have at least five or six accounts I've set up over the years in an attempt to keep my real mail free of junk.  A futile exercise, by the way.   Will these accounts just keep waiting for the log-in that never comes?

My facebook account -   I think I'll ask my daughter to post a tribute update.  Something along the lines of "Mom's final update...... It's been fun, see you all on the other side!"

My blog - I don't trust the digital world to maintain my blog for the long haul.   I am going to start printing it out as a backup.   Not because I think it is super significant in any way but because it's important to me.  I also think it would be a good way for my future progeny to get to know great-great-great grandma Christine.   I wish I had my ancestors' blogs to know what they were all about.     

My WOW character - As in World of Warcraft.  You know, the on-line role playing game.  Sounds silly I know but I have a lot of time and effort put into Falana.  Scientist have done studies of the brain while people are playing "avatar" based games like WOW.  They found that the areas of the brain that are activated when somebody is controlling their character are the same as when people are asked to think about themselves.   These digital personas become like extensions of ourselves.   I am entrusting Falana to my guild leader, Tony.  He would do right by her.  My family, not so much.  They don't get the whole WOW thing.

All of this is assuming we make it past 12/21/12.  As my sister says to my niece.  None of it will really matter if the Mayans were right and we are going to get fried by some solar flare anyway.   Just in case, maybe we should be sending our digital personas into space....  wasn't that a Star Trek episode?  The one where Picard lived another life on a planet that had a dying sun.   The one where he plays the flute he finds floating around in space even though he never learned to play the flute before.  Not a Star Trek TNG fan?  You should be.

Tired Routine

Girls/women can be so mean to each other. For some it seems to be hard wired into their DNA. Most of us have had “that” friend. She’s the one that somehow managed to wrap a punch to the gut around every compliment she ever gave you. Or sometimes it was just a nagging little lilt in her voice with the hidden message that you are not as pretty, smart, funny or “fill in your own adjective here” as her.

Some of us were lucky enough to have strong women in our life who taught us about these emotional vampires. We learn that their cruelty isn’t about us. It’s about them and how they feel about themselves. We leave these girls/women behind and seek out friendships built on mutual respect and acceptance.

So why, after 30 years, can a person like this pop up and stir the same emotions in you that she did when you were an insecure teenager? How did she learn your buttons so well and remember how to use them after all this time? Or does she use the same, old tired routine on everybody?

Ignore her.  She doesn’t know me anymore. I doubt she ever really knew me. Let it go. Move on.




Photo credit:  Just Let It Go by Kotama Bouabane

Hang a Left at the Giant Jesus

I, like most women, navigate by landmark. Men, on the other hand, usually navigate by direction, north, south, east or west. Test it out if you don’t believe me.

If you ask a man how to get to the airport you’ll get “Go West on Michigan Ave. then South on 275 and East on Eureka to the airport exit on the south side of the road.”

Women will say, “Take Michigan Ave that way (pointing) then go south on the freeway, take the Eureka road exit left. You can’t miss it. It’s right past the airport landing lights that run along the side of the freeway. Then there’s a big sign on the right side of Eureka for the airport entrance.”

I do have a good sense of direction.  Even after many turns I can generally tell where I am in relation to where I started.  But it's not a north / south thing.  I’ve never understood why someone needs a compass in their car. I only see two situations in which a compass would be handy. Lost at sea or lost in the wilderness and you have to make sure you don’t end up going in circles trying to find civilization. Do people really decide which way to turn at an intersectin by consulting their compass?

I used to regularly drive from our tech center in Michigan to our plant in Ohio. Four hours of driving down I75 through corn fields, boring/flat Ohio landscape and truck stops. If you weren’t careful you’d be mesmerized by the boredom and find yourself in Kentucky.

Fortunately, right next to my exit off the freeway, the Solid Rock Church built one of the most distinguishable landmarks I have ever navigated by. A giant Jesus. I’m not talking about a big Jesus. I mean a GIANT JESUS. He was pure white, outstretched hands to heaven, with the upper half of his body emerging from a man made pond. Just so you don't mistake him for John the Baptist, a big cross lays in front of him.  No possible way to miss it. From there it was right at the prison, left at the ice cream shop, left after you cross the bridge and then the first right. For the life of me I couldn’t tell you the name of one of those streets. But I trust that I could get you there time and time again.

That is, until today. My friend told me the bad news. The Giant Jesus was struck by lighting and burned to the ground. The church promises to “resurrect:” the statue. I wonder who came up with that line, the church or the journalist.

I can’t help but secretly think this is divine intervention. Some higher power trying to tell them that such an in-your-face symbol of Christianity isn’t everybody’s cup of tea. A message from on high to "Tone it down".

Their plan to rebuild the Jesus is a "testament" (see, I can do it too) to their commitment to bold statements of faith. As a precaution against another lightning strike I think they should give Jesus a lightning rod to hold over his head. Or would they worry that a lightning rod laid witness to their lack of faith and trust in God?

                                                                        BEFORE

                                                                          AFTER

Lake Michigan

Dogs love beaches too.  Daughter, me and husband along with Maize, Chance and Mario.  Memorial Day weekend.




photo credit to my son-in-law Luis