I learned something new today and it made my Friday. I was so excited, I called Clifford right away.
Me: OMG! I didn’t know the liquor store opened at 8AM!!!
Clifford: So?
Me: Well, I just thought, I don’t know. I just thought it’d open later in the day I guess …
Clifford: And why would you think that?
Me: You know … because of the bums.
Clifford: Or maybe because of the alcoholics like you who are still bending from the previous evening?
Me: …
I’ve been obsessed with television and movies since I could crawl to the dial flipping it back and forth between The Electric Company and The Brady Bunch. I’ve binged watched with the best of them, but it is time for me to expand my horizons.
I’ve decided to read a book. This is huge for me. This is me adulting. For those who know me, and as I mentioned above, I’m a TV and movie kind of gal. I’m visual. I prefer sequentially moving images to that of the printed static word. Every book assigned in school got the sufficiently skimmed treatment to complete whatever essay, test or quiz was assigned. I never actually took the time to read from beginning to end, cover to cover. I even cheated at Choose Your Own Adventure Books. To be clear – I CHEATED at CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE BOOKS. My attempts at investing in the written meanderings or machinations of the published variety have been limited to Cosmopolitan, Mad and Highlights magazines over the years. So, as you can see, I’m not a reader.
That said, there are a select few I’ve read through and through, and in most of those cases I read them more than once. Unfortunately I could likely count that number of fully read books on two hands.
1. Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire – 8 times. Because I was living in Italy and everything else was in Italian.
2. Pride and Prejudice- 6 times. Because it’s Pride and Prejudice.
3. Catcher in the Rye - 4 times. Because I HATED IT THAT MUCH.
4. A Brave New World – 2 times. Because WTF?
5. The Princess Bride- 2 times. Because who wouldn’t?
6. Revolutionary Road – 1 time. Because Kate and Leo totally sold it for me.
Now these are just the through and throughs. Not one missed word or page. Other than that, I’ve fake-read MANY books. All skimmed in some way, shape, form or other. Sometimes I just outright skipped to the end or read the book wrapping to gather the general idea before BSing my way to good grades and teacher’s graces. And for the record — straight A’s in all of my English classes since always, so apparently my half-read-general-gist method works. No cliff notes or Google summaries back in the day. Just pure glancing and guessing earned me those A’s. Books were time wasters in my opinion. I had tennis to do, friends to see and Dawson’s Creek to watch. I’m ok with that.
I renewed my library card last week, because, well, apparently libraries still exist. So I checked out a book. I suppose in these days of Amazon Prime and bookstores every other block I could have purchased the book, but I’m also trying to de-clutter my life. Who needs more dust collectors lying around? Besides, if I really love the book, then maybe I’ll purchase it. Unless this is one of those instances of why buy the cow if I’m getting the milk for free…or is that just a sex and marriage idiom and not applicable to library checkouts?
With all the pop-culture and podcasts I’m invested in these days, Chuck Klosterman has come up the lucky winner. Shortly I will be embarking on Killing Yourself To Live. I would have preferred Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs from what I’ve gathered online, but the library only had it on Audio CD which would negate the whole me reading a book thing in this instance. Beggars, or stubborn people, can’t be choosers so Killing Yourself To Live it is. We’ll see how it goes.
I didn’t start this blog because I’m a writer or because I took that one creative writing one-off in college and suddenly needed an outlet for those ideas to be released. I started this blog as an experiment with social media. Prior to it, I followed 15 people on Twitter, didn’t have an Instagram, and intentionally hid from people I knew on Facebook (I still kind of do that, though). I didn’t even know what Tumblr was. I hated the idea of people I don’t know knowing what I’m doing or saying or thinking. I didn’t understand hashtags or why people would take a selfie, but now I do. The one thing I did understand back then was that social media is important whether you love it or hate it or are completely indifferent to it. It’s how we communicate today. So, I needed to be a part of it. This blog forced me to be a part of it. It forced me to share me with others and the funny thing is, I’m an extrovert, yet, I still had qualms about people being in my business and knowing personal things about me. A girl who loves to travel and will talk to total strangers pretty much making friends anywhere and everywhere had issues with documenting her life for the world to see. It’s been a good run and I’ve grown tremendously because of it.
So I’ve been thinking long and hard about my blog lately. It is my blog, so I can pretty much say or write whatever I want. I know this, but since the beginning I’ve been limiting myself to throw-back little ditties or exciting adventures I’m having right now. Maybe I’ve thrown in a music challenge or themed related section for a short time, but they’ve been limited topics all the same. I keep telling myself that the people who read what I write want funny and routine. Maybe. But it shouldn’t be about them. As any Millennial would say – “It should be about me.”
Over the last several months, I’ve realized this has caused me to not post as frequently. I’ve been pressuring myself to share a funny story of way-back-when or something super cool I’ve experienced recently that my readers would enjoy. But what happens when I can’t really remember anything because I’m getting old and my mind is a great big fog and my recent life experiences have been likened to that of a crabby cat lady who’s shut-in her shabby chic laden home? I created a box and forced myself into it. It helped me get this blog started because I had a formula, a plan. I put my flag in the ground and declared “this is what it’ll be”. Now, I want it to be more. Or rather I want to be more.
I want to share my thoughts, theories and points of view – something I rarely do. I’m not planning on going all political or anything, but what if I want to review a TV show? What if I want to interview someone? What if I want to talk about being a Hoosier? What if Iwant to share top ten lists of things I like? Or, what if I want to talk about sports? I LOVE sports! I’ve never used my blog as a forum to just spew whatever it is I’m thinking, but I’ve noticed that that’s kind of what people do. So maybe it’s my time to do so and by exploring more topics or expanding more deeply, I can continue to grow. It’s selfish not thinking about my readers and only thinking about me, I know, but it began as an internal project and it will continue to be so. Don’t get me wrong, I love you for taking the time to read what I write, just know that it isn’t because of you that I write it, if that makes sense.
I say all of this to let you know that some of my posts may look a little different moving forward. This doesn’t mean I won’t be blogging about things I’m doing or throw-backs that happened a while ago, but maybe my posts will be a little shorter or just about different things. Maybe they’ll be questions I have that I want to throw out to the masses. Regardless of the form they take, I am hoping to get back to a somewhat regular posting schedule. I’m hoping this expanded blogging experiment will at the very least help me with my brain block. I want to be unbounded in my process and approach because I’m not a writer with a goal or motive in mind. I’m just a girl, sitting behind a computer dipping her toe in the worldwide water of the interweb hoping to survive. And hoping that the water isn’t too cold. I hate cold water.
See you on the flipside.
Every memory was carefully selected and quality crafted. Highlights include a large backyard with sprinkler amusement, capture the flag contests, star gazing, campouts, football pick-ups and lawn mowing thrills, a full basement for hide and seek, a spacious playroom for Barbie’s Dream House and Star Wars schemes, epic ping pong battles and large yet comfortable tornado cover, a lovely den perfect for Commodore computers or long Atari nights, a driveway with the state’s seemingly mandated Hoosier hoop and double car garage for tapping tennis balls till all hours of the night, beautiful trees that capture TP just right, the smells of fresh cut grass and burning fall leaves, and glorious corner rooms that overlook cornfields and back country roads.
Entertain in grand fashion in a living room graced with a wood-burning fireplace for cold winter nights, toasting marshmallows and warming feet, perfectly ornamented by a delicately hand-decorated Christmas Tree to celebrate the holidays in style. The chef’s kitchen is clad for washing dishes, popping corn, making drinks, cooking comfort food, impromptu dance parties and teaching old dogs new tricks. Sliding glass doors in the living area showcase fields of dreams and soft pillowy snow drifts depending on the season while opening up the home to even more light and the smell of fresh made burgers being brought in from the grill.
One dramatic hall on which little girls draw in carefully chosen crayon leads to sibling rooms for game playing and make believe, including a roomy bath equipped for makeup applying, hair crimping and those Calgon moments that take you away. Though the master bedroom is the ultimate retreat for daddy/daughter sports watching and mother/daughter movie marathons complete with beauty makeovers.
Built in 1977 as a home for five that grew to seven, 18844 CR 142 is perfect for those wanting to experience that quintessential piece of Americana on one of the most picturesque streets in the quaint little town of New Paris. If you want to create the best memories in the best place in the best town, look no further. She could be yours, and she won’t last long. Buy her today!
Sprinkler Amusement
Football Pick-Ups and Camping Out
The Hoosier Hoop
Delicately Decorated
Old Dogs, New Tricks
Calgon Moments
Picturesque Street
Quintessential
Piece
Of Americana
Birthday Girl
Animal lover.
Free spiriting it since 1967 …
Much love from the only little sis wicked enough to publicly out your age.
I’ve noticed how Waffle House is a thing here in Atlanta. Granted it’s from Atlanta, but still, its popularity surprised me when I first made the move (maybe because the one in Savannah had a serial killer vibe and a what seemed like a call girl call center in the parking lot). Clifford told me Waffle House was a high school hang out for him back in the day. A late night place to go for greasy food fast, sobering up any alcohol addled brain that wandered through its double doors. For me, IHOP was the It Spot in college and Hacienda was the place to be in high school. Regardless the exact chain, local eatery or bar, one always seems to unintentionally seek and find their own St. Elmo’s wherever they are.
Waffle House is not exactly St. Elmo’s for Clifford and me. The man just really likes breakfast and apparently waffles. That said, it has become “our place”. Which is weird and slightly sad that “our place” is Waffle House and not like Ruth’s Chris. But hey, 5 bucks a person is different than 50 bucks a person, so Waffle House as “Our Place” it is. Here’s the crux, it’s really about our time together there, to catch up on each other’s week, make fun of things we find ridiculous, and gossip about the people in our lives (sorry people in our lives) because we often have opposite widely ranging schedules. It’s not about the giant chocolate chip waffles being served (although for Clifford I think it might kinda be about the giant chocolate chip waffles being served …).
Regardless, it’s a moment where I get to slow things down, no TV, no Twitter, no emails, and just enjoy my husband’s company for 45 minutes straight. It’s where I get a chance to rediscover the little things. Like how he has one green eye and one brown. How frustrated he gets when people don’t understand the difference between cement and concrete. How his South African A’s are sounding more and more Midwestern these days. How fish is a side dish, not a main meal. His teary eyed soap box about how wrong and repulsive Americans’ love for sweet and meat is as I pour maple syrup on my bacon once again.
I also take stock of the qualities I never noticed before, after all these years, often times adding much clarity to our relationship and reaffirming the love I have for this man. Such as I did on this day a while back.
I rarely order waffles at Waffle House. Clifford will tell you that my eyes are bigger than my stomach. I sit down and contemplate a waffle every time, yet seldom actually order one. And every time, this exact conversation is had:
Me: I’m SO hungry. I think I might get a waffle this time.
Cliff: Don’t get a waffle. You don’t really want a waffle. You just think you do.
Me: Not true! I think I really want a waffle today.
Cliff: No. You’ll order the waffle and eat half of the waffle then complain the entire day about how sick you are because of it. Don’t get a waffle.
He’s right. This happens every time. And even though I’m well aware of this, sometimes a Waffle House waffle just needs to be ordered and eaten (even if partially so). I ordered a waffle on that day. This is what hit me. The way Clifford and I each approach eating our waffles is the way we each approach living our lives.
I order a plain waffle, a clean slate that needs my personal touch to make it truly great. My plate is set before me and without hesitation I begin. I throw as much butter at it as I can, then I pour the syrup. I’m not a huge syrup lover actually, so I go a little light on that, but I do “draw” faces with it as I pour because it makes me smile. Sometimes I even laugh out loud at the funny faces I create. Clifford hates this. Then I start grabbing pieces of the center because it’s the best part! I’m actually tearing at the waffle not really cutting it. It’s aggressive. Next I mix in eating an edge because I still have to save a little bit of the best part for last. I throw in a swig of juice here or there. Halfway through, I haphazardly add more butter and more syrup before randomly, but enthusiastically, tearing off another piece of waffle to pop into my mouth. The waffle is loved, but messy. It’s a messy love. It’s chaos, but it works for me.
Clifford orders a chocolate chip waffle. His plate is set before him and he immediately sets it aside. He will eat and drink everything else – the eggs, the bacon the smothered and covered hashbrowns, his two cups of coffee, anything and everything else placed before him is consumed but his waffle. Once he’s ready for it, he slides everything away and places his waffle neatly front and center. It is time for the waffle to have as much attention as the rest of his meal. Clifford smoothly and evenly spreads a touch of butter across the entire thing. He then carefully pours the syrup over his waffle in a clockwise motion creating a spiral from the crisp outer edges to the softer center. He does this twice. Then he picks up his knife and fork and begins methodically dissecting his waffle into precisely four equal parts. He then rotates his plate, picking one fourth and systematically dissects it into fourths as well. Finally he puts one perfectly cut (with a SUPER dull butter knife mind you) piece of waffle into his mouth. After one larger fourth has been eaten, he rotates his plate, moving onto the next and proceeds to dissect it into smaller fourths the same way he did with the first and so on and so on until his plate is clean. He never adds extra butter or syrup having anticipated just the right amount needed for his enjoyment, factoring in the waffle element absorption rate and level of sweetness to satisfaction ratio. It’s meticulous, but it works for him.
Watching him do this the other day, looking back and forth between our two plates, is when I had my epiphany. We are the way we eat. There’s no wrong, an approach is an approach, but the way Clifford and I eat is why we work so well together. We balance one another. When you’re someone who dives in head first, you need someone who carefully takes the steps instead to make sure you haven’t cracked your head on the bottom of the pool.
At least on that day, I couldn’t think of a clearer illustration.
Me
Cliff
Last week I opened my car door to run a quick errand and this happened.
It was disgusting.
Clifford walked over, took a whiff and had the same reaction as me.
That level of disgust that turns your stomach, allowing you to revisit your lunch. Multiple times.
“What the hell is in there?” – Cliff
“Nothing! There’s nothing in here! I don’t understand…” – Me (trying not to hurl)
“Are you sure it’s not a french fry or something under the seat?” – Cliff
“A french fry?” – Me
A french fry?
“No. It’s not a french fry because I don’t eat in my car.” – Me
“Well there’s got to be something in there.” – Cliff
“…” – Me
But before I could actually address Captain Obvious, he found the source of the offensive smell. I’d accidentally left a grocery bag on the back seat. Raw chicken and hamburger. For two days…
Yep.
Never again.
Happy Birthday to the best mom in the world! Younger than the Civil War and older than the Internet… You deserve the world!
The Birthday Girl – such a pretty little lady.
Love you, Mom!
I’m a few weeks late, but since yesterday was Valentine’s, might as well post it now… a HUGE shout out to my mom and dad.
Dazzling Diana and Dapper Dave – I’d say here’s to 45 more, but let’s be honest, the folks aren’t exactly Duncan MacLeod. BUT, here is to many many more beautiful and wonderful memories and anniversaries to come!
Without your union, I wouldn’t be here today.
And boy I’m glad I happened. The goats are glad, too.
I seriously can’t thank you enough for everything through the years. Words are not enough. Pretty sure I have four other siblings that feel the same way. Love you both SO MUCH! Happy Anniversary!
If you do not watch Arrow or Gold Rush, this may not be the post for you. You’ve been warned…
Those who know me well know I am a HUGE Arrow fan. I binged the first two seasons just prior to the season 3 opener and I was SO hooked. It was the type of show I’d been missing from my television lineup. I was never a comic book girl, but I’ve thoroughly enjoyed every Michael Keaton and Christian Bale iteration of Batman that’s been produced. I still think Gene Hackman’s Lex Luthor is probably THE BEST comic book villain portrayed in a theatrical release EVER. And I always look forward to whatever DC or Marvel creation is being brought to the big screen next. So though I wasn’t necessarily familiar with the story of The Green Arrow, the show had me intrigued and my appreciation has just continued to grow to epic proportions ever since.
Clifford can’t stand it. Every time I have Arrow, The Flash, Legends of Tomorrow or Supergirl on (yeah, Greg Berlanti pretty much owns my eyeballs Monday through Thursday), Clifford rolls his eyes and starts to moan. No matter how amazing the episode, how action packed, how captivating the storyline, he scoffs and pokes fun and does this irritatingly asinine commentary for the duration of the show. The man likes Batman, Spiderman and any one of the The Avengers films or their characters’ stand-alones he’s seen, so I don’t get it. Of course he didn’t like Affleck’s Daredevil, but then who did? It’s not like he doesn’t like those types of stories or that sort of action. Here is Clifford’s argument summed up in four words – it’s all the same.
He wanted to offer an argument, so I offered mine in return.
He thinks that every episode that airs is the same old same old and he can’t watch. Too boring and too terrible. Here’s the rub – Clifford’s favorite show (next to Modern Marvels) is Gold Rush. IF EVER THERE WAS A SHOW ABOUT THE SAME OLD SAME OLD IT IS THAT ONE RIGHT THERE. Don’t get me wrong, I can watch and enjoy Parker’s struggles and Tony Beets’s gruff attitude as much as the next guy. I am more than happy to watch Todd Hoffman’s inevitably stupid next move, but if we want to compare apples to apples (as in same old same old) let’s look at the facts here.
I watch a show about a hero’s journey. I am watching the story of a rich playboy idiot child on his way to becoming a beloved superhero man. There is ever growing character development, ever evolving plots, and an ever expanding universe. I am a spoiler fiend and yet I still sit on the edge of my seat wondering how a character is going to react to the latest curve ball coming their way. What will Oliver Queen or his team do? What villain’s throwing his hat in the ring? Who will come back from the dead? What wrench will be tossed in to shake things up? Where are they going with any of this? And why isn’t John Barrowman gracing my screen more? These are things that keep me invested. These are the things that keep the show fresh and different and compelling week to week.
Now let’s take a gander at Gold Rush. Even if you are invested in the characters, the only curve ball they’re thrown is what piece of rusted old equipment is going to break down next. That is the only question. Oh, and maybe what super moronic decision Todd Hoffman’s making after that.
Let’s talk character development first. In what, 5 or 6 seasons? I haven’t seen an ounce of growth in Todd Hoffman at all. And even though I readily admit, Oliver Queen often takes many steps back from that latest step forward, he’s gone from a serial killer in the first season to running for mayor of the freaking city! That’s something. That’s momentum. That’s progress. Todd Hoffman made poor life and rather arrogant choices from the beginning and those choices only seem to become poorer and more arrogant as the seasons continue. Gene switched teams, but is that progress? Parker has gotten taller. I suppose that counts for character growth even if it’s the more physical variety. After six years, each of Clifford’s little gold miners seems the same. The fight scenes, which tend to spur growth in any character in some way shape form or another, are just that, grown men yelling at each other and getting pissed off and walking away – a fight, sort of like what teenage girls do in middle school. No hand to hand combat, parkouring, swordsmanship or special powers to unfold anywhere on screen (though even in a middle school girl fight, there might be at least some hair being pulled). Nope. Just some miners’ egos getting in the way of the job leading to brief heated confrontations, and ending in public complaints on camera.
Now about plots … saying your goal is to bring in more gold than the previous season does not an ever evolving plot bunny make. In fact, it is the EXACT SAME PLOT year in and year out. There is no uniqueness to it. And the only thing keeping you on the edge of your seat is whether or not the excavator or the dredge is giving way this episode causing all the mining to come to an abrupt and utter halt. Seriously. Thanks to the dramatic score, there’s your tension. And like the Titanic sinking at the end of the film, it is never a surprise ending.
And let’s address an ever expanding universe. Todd Hoffman’s self-inflicted fiasco in South America doesn’t count. In Alaska. Always in Alaska mining this creek or that.
I will say, like my thoughts on more Barrowman, I’ll take more of John Schnabel any day. I LOVE that man.
In breaking it down, there is no contest in my mind which is the more interesting, dramatic, action-packed, ever changing story unfolding before me. I’ve tried repeatedly to explain these points to Clifford; I try to make my argument so he’ll see these things and maybe give Arrow a chance.
Then he dropped the why I will never get through to him on this.
“Here’s what it is – I could watch a channel that did nothing but show machines working and moving all day long. No people. Just watching machines doing their thing. Hauling dirt, drilling shit, grading sites, whatever. All day long. Every day. That’s my dream TV.”
Really???
I can’t argue with that. Like I can pretty much argue with anything, but I can’t with that.
I’ve got nothing.
But Arrow still wins. Every. Time.
