Joyspotting

(Tough long week- thanks for hanging in there, I know my posts haven’t been too interesting. Good stuff coming up next week)

I recently saw an Instagram ad for technology where your children can wear this headset and see virtual bears and tigers, etc. Of course I offered my opinion on the matter.

How ’bout taking your damn kids to see animals in person? What the hell is happening in this world?

So to finish up the week, here are five things you can do to get off the tech and connect with joy.

Take your kid to breakfast or lunch. While it’s tough to get all of my boys out at the same time, I can usually get at least one out a week. One-on-one conversation is unrivaled.

Walk around a city. Make sure you go to the good parts, I know some cities are sketchy right now. Take in the culture and restaurants.

Take a class. I’m signed up for burlesque dance classes, but I’m going to wait until I don’t have to wear a mask.

Detail your car. Don’t pay someone else. Go to the local auto store and get some supplies and put some manual labor into your vehicle. This is the kind of manual labor I love, because it’s aesthetic.

Cook something complex. This makes it necessary to shop for obscure ingredients, and then put time and effort into the actual creation. Nothing will ever taste so good.

Hasta la vista baby.

Timpani

I fell in love in high school during the drum solo of “Tom Sawyer.”

I’ll never forget my father’s face when this boy came to pick me up. I was this egg-heady corduroy wearing little brat living in an intellectual and conservative household, so when this long-haired guitarist who looked perpetually stoned (and probably was) walked up my driveway, I thought my father was going to slam the door in his face.

To my father’s credit, he steeled his jaw, shook his hand and wished us well. I can’t imagine how hard it was for my father to let his only daughter climb into that broken-down Dodge Dart to attend a stoner house party.

I can’t remember even to this day why I agreed to go out with Kenny. He wasn’t smart, or athletic, or even good looking, but I remember thinking that he was nice. I also remember figuring, “What the hell?” Even then I liked hanging out with different and interesting kinds of people. I’ve always had a wide-ranging friend group, and on any typical high school day I could either be sitting with the tennis team or the drama club or the “popular” set or the cheerleaders or the auto class or with my poetry club fam.

The party was far from my usual group, even for me, and I distinctly remember walking in with Kenny and hearing three stoned goth girls laughing at my collared blouse and corduroy pants. They whispered to each other, “What the hell is she doing here?” People hid their marijuana because my father was Superintendent of Schools, and they thought I would turn them in.

So they turned on Kenny.

“What’d you bring a narc here, for?”

Then the music started, and all was forgotten. Kenny’s band was exceptional, and when they started with “Tom Sawyer,” I became entranced. It remains to this day one of my favorite songs. And when Kenny’s brother rocked the drum solo, I felt as if all of the air was sucked out of the room.

Kenny who?

I’ve always had a thing for drummers, what can I say? Even the drum section of the marching band could get me all hot and bothered, and I have no idea why. Maybe, like Quora says, it’s their hands? Their energy? The hope that a hot drummer can replicate that rhythmic talent in bed?

Hmm. Anyway, here’s to hot drummer stuff.

Dave Grohl. Hold up. Dave. Freaking. Grohl. Dear God in heaven. I could watch him for hours. Here’s “Under Pressure.”

Neil Peart taking center stage on “Tom Sawyer”:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4KTnyzYczk

Cute AF “Rush” scene in “I Love You, Man”

Big Southern Classic scene in “Drumline”:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q6eZYDUCQdg

And of course, Miles Teller and J.K. Simmons in “Whiplash”:

Perks of Turning 55

(Hey, take a minute to check out my new beautiful butterfly logo on my home page!)

My birthday is on Wednesday, and I thought it would be fun to write a blog about the fun of turning 55.

I don’t have hang-ups like many women about getting older. It’s a cliché, but to me it’s just a number, like the scale. I don’t pay the slightest bit of attention to either one, because they’re both lying jealous whores as far as I’m concerned. If my clothes fit and I look good in pictures, that’s enough for me.

I always hike on my birthday, arduously, in a different location every year, then usually get a deep-tissue massage and use a hot tub, so I always turn my phone off on the 25th. If you get a Facebook birthday notification for me on Wednesday, please feel free to ignore it, because I will either be huffing and puffing around mountains or moaning in pleasure. And if you want to wish me well, thank you- it always comes as a nice surprise when anyone shows interest in me.

Let me try and do a fun Onion-like slideshow entitled:

The Hidden Benefits of Turning 55

I can finally put the twenty backscratchers I’ve gotten for assorted holidays throughout the years to good use.

I can no longer reach my itchy spots. I can only blame my skeletal system, and the fact that I have no hot guy to reach them. I know, I know, yoga would help. Fuck yoga. I actually snuck a Bear Claw Backscratcher into my car, and one into my work bag, just to be safe. It’s better than rubbing up against walls like some kind of psychotic animal.

I get to look forward to a home colonoscopy kit.

I once re-created this photo in my powder room for my sons, and their laughter remains a highlight of my life as a mother.

You should have seen me the other day. I have a few things ordered, and when I saw the box on the front stoop, I thought it was either my makeup or my sneakers. Excited, with my endorphins pumping and my face flushed, I tore that box open not to Thrive Cosmetics Eye Brighteners, but the Cologuard box. Bummer. Hey, it’s still better than going in person. (Note: I know you know this, but it behooves me to mention that if colon cancer runs in your family, you should get the in-person one every year).

It’s not a lie when I use this excuse to get out of doing something I don’t want to do, or when I want someone to feel sorry for me:

“I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m attending to some minor medical issues, nothing serious but I’ve just been lying low.” Mid-to-late 50’s is all about minor medical issues, and we don’t have to explain them. All I had to do was drink Super Beets, but how do they know it wasn’t more serious?

I can say “I have Uggs older than you” to most people and it’s usually true.

When watching a movie with a hot actor like Ryan Reynolds, Chris Hemsworth, Henry Cavill, or Michael B. Jordan, I can say:

“He is so hot,” and elicit disgust from my sons. I can feel their disapproving gazes bore into my soul. I love grossing them out, it’s the best perk of being older.

“Mom, ew, stop, you’re not funny.”

My favorite movies now play on TCM.

Pass the popcorn, Granny.

I’m not 56.

Or 57.

Altered States

We had guests this past weekend, and one young lady brought not only flowers, but also her traveling companion, her pet bunny, Benny. We renamed him Benedict Cumberfluff. See the featured image above? That’s exactly what he looked like.

Cuteness overload.

So while the young people ran around at the tiki bars and beaches, and lolled around on the family boat, Benny and I spent some time together indoors avoiding the heat and the crowds. Hours passed by like minutes as I observed him acclimating and then enjoying himself in my home.

In “Why Look at Animals?,” John Berger observes that the animal scrutinizes the human, and the human sees the animal, even if the animal is domesticated, across a similar, but not identical, abyss of non-comprehension. So when he is being seen by the animal, he is being seen as his surroundings are seen by him. His recognition of this is what makes the look of the animal familiar.

Now, there are scientists who have argued that the human gaze across that divide disrupts the world of the animal, harms it, even. But here’s another possibility: when two creatures, one of them human, meet each other halfway across the abyss, both enter a world of potential.

Observing an animal, really concentrating on him, is like experiencing an altered state, without drugs. Because when we spend time with animals, we are released from ego.

(Research above from Our Wild Calling by Richard Louv.)

And as I observed Benny’s antics, and watched him grow more and more comfortable in my house throughout the weekend, it occurred to me that not only did Benny release me from ego, but had straight-up Benny sense.

Benedict, it seemed, had all the answers. He taught me some things that I already knew, and some I didn’t.  

When in doubt, explore. Benny ran up and down the stairs, stood on his hind legs to see what was going on on the couch, and found fun things to hide under, in, and on top of. He was very curious, very energetic, and very cute.

Eat healthy, in small amounts, all day. Benny was forever chewing greens, carrots and hay. Being the “cool aunt,” of course I gave him one too many carrots, rendering his bunny pellets orange. Oopsies.

Enjoy the zoomies and the flops. Binkies. For bunnies, zoomies are called “binkies.” Benny cavorted, jumped in the air, and made sudden and unexpected turns and twists. He was so little and light that it was like watching dandelion fluff dance around the house. Benny was very dramatic, obviously trying to attract attention. Binkies and flops are what bunnies do when they’re happy, and it made me happy that he was happy in my house.

When you’re tired, rest. After Benny ate a piece of carrot or some lettuce, and then had some zoomies, he would hide under my lounger for a bit of a breather. We would respect his space, and he would return full-force, like an Energizer Benny.

Flaunt your cutest feature. It would be hard to pick Benny’s cutest feature, and while we loved his long ears, his pert little nose and his stubby tail, his tiny spotted caramel-colored paws were simply bunnylicious. He flaunted them, of course, and they just sat under him like little Irish potatoes.

Benny’s antics ran the gamut. He would circle our feet, which in rabbit language means “I love you.” He would rub his chin on objects, so as to leave his scent and define his territory. A few times he even put his front legs on my lap (I was usually on the ground so it was easier to play with him), leaned in close to me, and made this great bunny eye contact as his whiskers twitched. I may never recover from the sweetness of it.

Animals kill me.

And here’s wishing you a week filled with plenty of binkies and flops.