The journal of a momma/activist/artist/nerd.

Things that annoy me:

Glenn Beck.
My hair touching the back of my neck when it's wet/hot outside.
The fact that I put all my clothes that fit into the washer at the same time, then ran out of energy and didn't put them in the dryer.
Un-escapable clutter.
Contractions that don't bring on labor.
The way that money flies through our hands these days.
The lack of a decent thunderstorm lately.
Levon's school.
That the central air in the house doesn't quite make it upstairs.
Lukewarm coffee.
The boys' habit of pulling the blankets and sheets off my bed so that when I go to lay down there is only a bare mattress. Yuck.
Milwaukee Freecycle. (The new mods are slow, there are too many people who don't show up to take things away, and there are unbelievable "Wanted" posts.)
My flakiness when it comes to friends.
Public transit going all to hell.
Gas prices. The fact that very few people have been driving less, despite the prices or concern for the environment. The fact that Damien has to drive to work because it's too far and the bus won't get him there. The fact that I don't even want a damn car anymore, and our transmission is shot, and we're going to have to buy a new car in the next few months anyway.
My lame inability to accomplish anything.
Being too big to be comfortable.
Waking up every hour to pee and then not being able to get back to sleep.
That my persistent ice-craving is not being satisfied since we only have three ice trays.
Dirty dishes in the sink.

Things I like right now:

Iced Coffee.
Baby Gates.
Rocketdog Shoes.
Clever Shelving.
Open Spaces.
Target.
This American Life (thislife.org)
Purging. (Of useless stuff, not throwing up food.)
Yard Sales.
Really Sharp Scissors.
Severe Thunderstorms.
Lake Michigan.
Jelly Fish.
Scarves.
Yarn on Clearance.

A quick personal update:

Pregnancy is going along quickly. 36 weeks has passed in a blur, and we're almost there. In a month or less, Myles will be here.
I am so uncomfortable, and it's so hot, I can't wait to get him out. I'm a bit worried about the challenges and demands that the three boys will bring, especially due to the less-than-2-year age difference between Dexter and Myles. But, then, when was I really ready for any of my kids? I'm brave. I can throw myself into this.

The next week will be a scramble to finish the bedroom organizing, buy the last few things we need, and give the whole house a proper cleaning. After that, I'm hoping to take some time to breath and mentally prepare for this last baby's birth.
The last baby. We have decided that after this, one of us is going to go under the knife to ensure that there are no more surprises in our future. If, in the end, I cannot achieve my VBAC, I will have the surgery during the cesarean. If I can, Damien will be getting a vasectomy. It's permanent, and it's a little sad, but I want to be able to ensure that the three kids that we have are well-taken-care-of and that we can travel soon, and make sure that they have many wonderful experiences growing up. If we keep having kids, this will not likely happen.

I will try my best to update this blog as much as I can in the next few weeks. I have many things to write about, and want to get it all out before I forget. Also, for those of you who care, I will get here as soon as I can to let you know when Myles has arrived.

Much love and happiness to you all.

I've been stewing lately, thinking too much, and one one of the things rolling around inside my head has been the cover of the New Yorker. (I would post a link or a picture, but by now I'm sure everyone has seen it.)
I couldn't come up with the right words to use, but thanks to an awesome article, I found it-
Hipster Racism.

Hipster Racism is when someone is being "ironically" racist. They drop the "N", but everyone should realize that when they use it, they are witty and clever, not ignorant and hateful. They are above racism, so far above it, in fact, that the rules don't apply to them, that they can use words and make jokes and wear t-shirts that are just nasty, and when someone is offended it's because they "don't get it".

The New Yorker issued a statement claiming that their ugly cover is satire. But shouldn't  satire focus the critique on the instigator? It would seem as if some of this satirical picture is missing, and what you have left is a "joke" that so many will take as a "TOLD YOU SO" fact. (For instance, my dad. He only half-assedly watches the news, he doesn't read, and somehow forms these insane opinions on everything. My younger brothers and I support Obama, and love engaging him in debate, for comedic value. Every argument boils down to my dad yelling "HE'S MUSLIM! HE'S A TERRORIST! etc", which is amusing until you think about the fact that my dad votes.) Whether intended or not, it is perpetuating the idea that the Obamas are angry, militant black Muslims to people who can't think of anything that they hate/fear more. (Except for us white girls who marry these angry black men and produce little mocha babies. Whee, Lord, they hate us.)
Worse than that, maybe, is that is confirms to the confused that it is okay to make jokes like this, that this is an accurate assessment of certain groups of people, etc.

Case in point-
Damien and I love Dave Chappelle. (For the sake of argument, this makes me a hypocrite, I suppose, since so much of his brand of  humor is based on race/racism.. But whatever. He's fuckin' funny.) A few years ago, we bought his show on DVD, and would watch it occasionally with our friends. Relatively harmless, for the most part, except when it came to one particular friend. This friend went from constantly quoting the show, to adapting jokes for his own personal use, to using the "N" in every other sentence, to calling Damien the "N". He truly thought it was okay to do this, because 1. Dave Chappelle uses that word and 2. Because we knew he wasn't being racist, only funny.
(This is heading into either the Chappelle/Boondocks/racial humor that is smart vs. offensive discussion, or the "I'm not racist, but..." discussion, both of which are neccesary to talk about, but not today. Let me reel it in.)

Anyway. Hipster Racism is my point.
The New Yorkers smugness at the reaction their cover caused is alarming, especially considering the fact that they are not exactly known for a diverse staff. Duh, it's a joke seems to only make sense if it 1. was funny or clever somehow, 2. was in the correct context, or 3. wasn't made by a bunch of white people who were edited and influenced by other white people.
The editor in chief stated that he thought people would be smart enough to get it. But, really, it's mimicry, not satire. And no matter what excuses the New Yorker comes up with, the damage has been done.

I'm ending this here, and I will come back later to post more. Until then, maybe a flame war will break out on my blog, which would be fun and beneficial (because I need more friends).

Please note, this is not my video. I found it on YouTube.
Coheed and Cambria at Summerfest '08.

Again, I have to say it- the Coheed and Cambria show was AMAZING. I am so glad that we braved the terrible heat/storms/then cold weather that night. Besides that, my hips and back were off that day and I was in terrible pain, AND a check that was supposed to arrive didn't and we had very little money for the day.

We arrived at Summerfest around 3pm, after walking from downtown (since it costs about $15 to park in the lots, and parking downtown on the street was free. We are those people- we will do anything to get something for free). The next few hours were spent meeting up with friends, running from one side of the grounds to the other to see various local bands performing that day, window shopping for things we could never afford, and hiding under tents to avoid the various downpours at different points that day. We ate a quick cheap dinner at Crawdaddy's, which is the most amazing place to eat on the Summerfest grounds, and I recommend the restaurant to anyone in Milwaukee with a decent amount of money to drop on dinner. (The one time we went to the actual restaurant, we left as soon as they brough the menus. It was prohibitively expensive. However, at Summerfest, it's pretty cheap for some reason.)

It was getting close to the time for the meet and greet, and that is where we made our first mistake. A band that Damien has been looking to work with was playing a set on the local stage, and he wanted to watch them (since they knew we were there that day, it would have looked crappy had we not shown up to see them). Their set ended about a half an hour before Coheed was supposed to be at the booth. By the time we got over there, there was a mile-long line, which I suppose I expected. What I didn't expect was that at that moment, the sky would turn pitch black and it would start pouring like crazy. Also, my hips were ON FIRE. (Ah, the joys of pregnancy-related hip-spreading. I knew I shouldn't have been walking all over the place, but I did it anyways. My bad.) We ducked under a booth that was next to the Coheed booth, where a woman was selling sunglasses. After standing there for about 30 seconds, this woman started yelling at us that she was trying to run a business, we were blocking all her customers, we needed to move on, etc. Which I would totally understand if anyone was actually trying to get to her booth, but at this point, people were hiding from the rain under tents, and I don't think there were many people interested in purchasing sunglasses while it was dark outside. I digress.
So, everyone decided to head to the stage and forgo meeting the band.

The stage was already crowded when we got there, of course. Generally, at Summerfest, you have to stake out your spot for the night very early in the day, the one exception being a few years back when Damien and I snuck into a front and center spot to see Ray Charles. Coheed fans, however, are a little more aggressive than Ray Charles fans, and so we made our way to the back of the crowd. Luckily, by standing on a picnic table, we could see the entire stage (also- the new addition of screens at the stages was a good idea. Whatever we couldn't see because of the distance, we could watch on the big screens over the stage.)

The band came out, and I don't even know what to say about their set. They were fantastic. Very high energy show, though Claudio seems really fidgety- he was constantly asking for his glasses, putting them on, taking them off, pulling his hair back, letting it out, etc. The show seemed to be "Strictly the Hits", which is pretty normal for a festival, I  guess, even though I was a little disappointed that they didn't do either one of my two favorite songs (Wake Up and Mother Superior). Ther performance of In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth was fun, with the audience screaming along.
(At other shows I've attended, the audience singing along can be very irritating. For instance, when we went to see Regina Spektor last year, we had a hard time hearing her over the people around us. I was a little pissypants about it, because I didn't pay to listen to hundreds of 20 year old girls butcher her songs. But the Coheed show was different- for one, we could still hear the band. And who can resist screaming along to lyrics like "Man your own jackhammer! Man your battlestations!"?)
Then came Welcome Home, which has now taken a spot in my favorite concert moments of all time. Claudio, playing guitar, behind his head, with his teeth. Holy crap. I've always thought that drawn out guitar solos seem like self-indulgent bullshit, but this was awesome.
After that, a 20 minute version of The Final Cut, complete with solos by each member- including Chris Pennie, the drummer, which caused Damien to die with happiness on the spot.

I guess there is only one word to describe the show. "Amaaazing", my brother repeated several times on the long walk back to the car.

So that was it. Not a very eloquent or involved review, and no pictures, sadly.
But it's hard for me to put these experiences into words sometimes. As cheesy as it sounds, I feel music, so I have a hard time talking about it. It's like asking someone to define their belief in God or love for their child. There are words that you can use, but they pale in comparison to the actual feelings brought on by these things.
I guess that is my own backwards compliment, but it's the biggest one I can give- if asked to describe the music, the best I can do is "Oh God, it's...I can't...Just Listen."

Here's an interesting article:

The 9 Most Racist Disney Characters
http://www.cracked.com/article_15677_9-most-racist-disney-characters.html

I understand that Cracked is supposed to be a humor site, but this seems to be dead-on. Then again, I've often been accused of being humorless and easily offended.


(Coheed update coming soon. Unfortunately, there aren't many pictures, since it was raining pretty steadily all day, and I didn't want to destroy my camera. Also, we missed the meet and greet due to the combination of a storm, my hips and back killing me, and a mean lady selling sunglasses. Still- the show was AWESOME.)

Oh my goodness, I am so excited.
I see Coheed tomorrow! And there's a meet and greet!
I am bringing my Armory Wars graphic novel to be signed.
(That is quite possibly the nerdiest thing I have said in my life. I realize that. I'm cool with it.)


More of a real update later. We haven't been home in quite a while and are busy busy busy.

Yesterday-
Damien, Dexter, and I went for a drive through a lovely park before picking Levon up from school. It was warm and sunny, the sky was beautiful. Dex was happily babbling in the backseat, enjoying the wind on his face, while Damien and I discussed his music and whatnot.
As we changed directions to head to the school, the sky turned dark and it started pouring rain. Within a few minutes, sirens were blaring around us. I turned on the radio, and the standard "Take Cover" announcement was broadcasting. We sped to the school while I watched the sky. It was the odd gray/green color that means a tornado is coming, or so I was told many times as a child. "When the sky turns green, it's time to get in the basement", my mom would tell me.
We pulled up to the school, spotting Levon immediately. Thankfully, he had the sense to come out to the street and watch for us, as opposed to running loose on the playground with his friends. School staff was running back and forth, gathering up kids and parents to take them inside to shelter. We knew we had to get home to my grandpa, as he was by himself and I worry about him walking down the basement steps.
After making it home in record time, Damien and I sprung into action. I put Dexter and Levon on the couch with a popsicle to share, while I ran upstairs and grabbed diapers, candles, and other things we would possibly need. Damien ran to the basement, clearing out space and finding a place that would be comfortable for my grandpa. Grandpa watched the news, the weather radar with it's angry red blobs now completely covering our city.
We were as prepared as we were going to get, so Damien and I settled in and kept one eye on the news and the other on the sky. The sirens were blaring again. I was afraid to just go into the basement and wait it out, as we don't have any sort of battery-operated radio or anything, and not knowing what is going on is the scariest thing I can think of. So we sat, waiting to see something or to hear that train sound that a tornado makes.
After about twenty minutes of waiting, the sky cleared up. The sun poked through and the wind died down. The weatherman on tv told us that the storm had jumped out over the lake. We were clear.

Yesterday was the perfect metaphor for my life. Light and dark, beautiful and terrible, and always building up to something that never quite pays off.