I have reached that point in life where my listening pleasures tend toward what is kindly called “Adult Album Rock.” Younger musicphiles will probably call my faves “rocking chair noise.” Nevertheless, I find myself in the position of pushing valiantly ahead toward newer music while trying to hold to the roots of what came before.
SiriusXM, in trying to market music for every taste, genre and generation, has provided my set with The Spectrum. Broadcast icons from my youth (Mark Goodman, Carol Miller, the late Dave Mack) and younger on-air personalities (Kristine Stone and Jenny Eliscu) play a mixture of progressive rock and old favorites. The business plan is genius: make the old fogies comfortable while introducing them to new music that they can afford to buy on impulse now that they have the bread.
Works for me. Continue reading
I was watching “Super Friends” with Island Boy the other day. Unconsciously, I began a running commentary on how disappointing the show is. I mean, when I was a kid, that show had such promise — almost all of the world’s super heroes coming together in friendship to defeat evil. An amalgamation of their super powers. Come on, what could be better?
It turns out that lots of stuff could be better. In fact, “Super Friends” is anything but that. It’s a collection of super lameitude. Continue reading
The intellectual values of the Algonquin Round Table live on at sleepovers.
The Fashionista arrives home blurry-eyed, cranky and unable to string together two comprehensible sentences. The rest of the day, she is ornery and generally unproductive. Her household chores (if performed) are done in the briefest and most truculent manner possible. By 2:30 p.m., she is down for a nap.
While she is sleeping, the phone rings. It is a friend inviting her to another sleepover.
I don’t share Running Girl’s Carol Bradyesque appreciation for the overnight party. But, that’s not to say that I am entirely against the concept. Continue reading
I have very fond memories of sleepovers from my childhood. My first sleepovers were with my grandparents. Every summer my sister and I would spend a week at our grandparents’ house in Pittsburgh. We both have very fond memories of those visits. Continue reading
I do not condone this conversation, but it’s pretty typical for a 5 year old.
IB: My big brudder is stupid.
RG: Oh, wow. Really? Why is that?
IB: He is really mean to his little brudder. That is why he is stupid.
L to R: Mama, IB with a beard & SD
Not a conversation, but an update:
This summer IB has learned how to do a somersault under water, swim a version of front crawl/freestyle, backstroke and can touch the bottom of the pool.
We’re still working on riding the two-wheeler and tying shoes.
IB: May I watch TV?
IB: Why not?
RG: You already watched a program this morning, remember? You can watch one show either in the morning or the afternoon.
IB: Okay. I pick this afternoon.
Miserable men scare me. Their gloom and doom outlook on life depresses and dispirits me.
Miserable men are easy to spot. They are generally over the age of 40. They are world-weary — they’ve seen it all, and they don’t like what they see. They know it all, and feel it is their duty to impart their toxic world-view to everyone else.
They are almost incapable of joy. And if they see others experiencing the goodness of life, they take it upon themselves to snuff it out as quickly as possible. Continue reading
“Are we going to my Haiti?” asked a somewhat bewildered Island Boy.
“Yes, IB,” we reassured him. “We are going to the Haiti picnic this weekend.”
“No. Today is Tuesday. We leave on Friday. The picnic is on Saturday.”
And so it went every day last week.
When Friday finally arrived, we packed up the car and left as soon as
possible Running Girl & The Fashionista got out of the Harry Potter movie. Pennsylvania here we come.