Currier & Ives Gotsta Stop Eatin'

A while back, I went to the Cape with a bunch of friends from college. One friend commented toward the end of the trip that I should become a “snacktress” because my eyes light up and I become animated whenever someone opens a bag of Frito's.

Wouldn’t that be a great job?

I envy the guy who walks around the country asking, “Can you hear me now?” What could be better than receiving a nice, recurring revenue stream from an oft-broadcast commercial? He was on TV constantly for a while but no one would ever recognize his face in LAX. And, even if we did, would we care?

Until my first snacktress job appears, however, I need to back away from the chips. My oldest brother joked over the phone a minute ago that, much akin to the Grinch’s heart growing three sizes, my ass appears to be keeping pace.

What a holiday card that would make.

Carry Me Home to My Kin

Having spent a number of years in NYC and a brief 18 months outside of D.C., I know firsthand —and can fully appreciate—that the Rochester airwaves are much more compelling than those in some of the major broadcast markets in this country.

For a relatively small city, we have great radio stations and world-class programs including: Friday night soul on WRUR, Saturday morning Memory Lane (R&B) on WDKX, Bad Dog Blues midday Sunday followed up by a Whole Lotta Shakin’ on WITR, New Wave Wednesdays on alternative music’s WBER, and the homegrown jazz station that my hubby favors, WGMC.

This is why it came as a bit of surprise when my five-year-old and I were in a local pizzeria recently and he screamed, “Sweet Home Alabama” after three (maybe four) notes of Skynard came on the air. Everyone turned to us and laughed.

Turn it up.

Fortune Cookie

I took my recent fortune cookie as a sign from God. It read, "You are offered the dream of a lifetime. Say yes!"

My husband took the fact that I was now believing in fortune cookies as a sign of the ongoing and prolonged demise of my faculties.

Heaven Sent

When I was pregnant with Son #1, he came to me in a dream.

Son #1: "Is there anything I need to know before I'm born?"

Me: "Just remember where you are right now. Somehow, after you're born, you forget."

Me: "Speaking of which, what are you doing right now?"

Son #1: "Just playing with my little brother."

I awoke the next morning amazed that we had connected in that way and shocked to boot: I'm having two boys?? I thought I was going to have girls! Oh nooooooooo!

In retrospect, it's been a huge blessing. To quote the Rolling Stones, you get what you need. But now who's going to go shopping with me when I'm 80? I guess that's what girlfriends are for.

Soccer Mom

Son #2 was on fire last night on the soccer field. While one of the kids on the opposing team kept reclining on the field and gazing at the crowd, our little guy kept tearing down the field and scoring. Four goals and one assist to be exact.

I was so proud.

Things that Perplex Me

Why was I, someone with a passion for music, given the world’s worst voice? Why was I, someone who loves traveling and adventure, paired up with a man who prefers to stay at home? How can I reconcile my refusal to buy shampoos with parabens and sodium lauryl sulfate with my fondness for ingesting toxins in the form of martinis with my girlfriends? Why am I more comfortable slam dancing in a dive bar than I am moving my body during worship at church?

And lastly, why does contemporary Christian music have to be so lame? Every cell in my body screams in protest when I’m listening to the radio and John Tesh electronica crap comes on. Why Lord? Why? I’m really trying here.

If only Bowie would convert and record a new CD . . .

Captain Underpants

Son #1 and I were riding in the car last year when we passed through a construction site.

Son #1 (plugging his nose): "What is that smell?"
Me: "It's coming from those trucks that are repaving the road."
Son #1: "Oh I get it. Is that why they put the 'ass' in asphalt?"

Damn. There are adults who don't get the subtle nuances of the English language as well as a six year old.

Thank you Captain Underpants.