Gnumoon's Stuff

Bling bling and skinny genes

gI thought this was funny ... my photo of Tyler Hansbrough (last post) and the AP's photo. I think I might have been sitting near them, whatcha think? It did my ego some good to look through the wire photos and see that mine were on that level. I'm not generally impressed with myself, but it was nice to know that my work is basically industry-standard.

We had the National Championship banquet this weekend, where all the guys received their rings and we ate and drank and listened to speakers talk about stuff. (I was paying lots of attention, can you tell?) I was feeling pretty in a nice White House/Black Market dress that ended up being practically the same thing that everyone else was sporting - Black cocktail-length dress? Check! National Championship pendant? Check! Black heels? Check! We are GO for banquet!

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This weekend I noticed 2 things that made me sad for this country. The first was this article. Seriously. Whaaaa? The second was this ad for "skinny jeans for baby" from Old Navy. Huh? Skinny jeans for your BABY?  Let me tell you something, Old Navy. My baby inherited the thigh genes from me, and I don't want her cursing me for it until she's at least 13. "Skinny jeans" in a size 6-12 months won't even fit on her chunky little arm.
The more I think about it the more it pisses me off.
Babies are supposed to have some meat on them 1.so they won't get dangerously underweight should they get sick 2. So that they have room to grow vertically and 3. So they have energy reserves for when they start walking and running around.
I'm adding this to all the other levels that skinny jeans offend me on.

Tarheels and Cougars

Last night's trip down to Charlotte turned out to be a lot of fun in an "I'm an observer of the human condition" kind of way. Washington State was happy to be there; their players and fans were polite and excited. UNC expected to be there; their players and  fans were kind of looking past this game to the next.

The bigtime AP photogs were mostly male and mostly jackholes, as usual. There were (I counted) 5 women on the 2 combined baselines, but with 36 photo spots, that still isn't a large percentage at all. Alas, sports photography remains a boys' club.

Of the 5 women, one of them had most of the AP shots this morning, and also had the experience of getting absolutely creamed by a player last night who couldn't seem to stay on the court. I think her ankle may have gotten broken, and I snagged a couple of her cameras before the guy could fall all over them. It was a nasty collision, and it could have been any of us.

Other observations:
-Tyler Hansbrough seems to be physically incapable of shutting his mouth. He has a dazed, slack-jawed expression in all of my shots. I'm not a follower of UNC, but a quick Google search tells me this is his default. Good thing he's such a badass on the floor.

- The Media Hospitality room is where reporters, SIDS, photographers, and the like go to 1. Impress and bigtime each other and 2. Shovel as much free food into their gaping maws as is humanly possible. This phenomenon is no different if you are at a D-II wrestling match or the Sweet Sixteen. {Gossipy bit: A certain major North Carolina school's radio guy was pretty much holding court over the BBQ while letting his media minions come over and pay homage to him and kiss his ass. *eye roll*}

- I pumped in the parking lot. I have now pumped at 2 major NCAA sporting events and about 6 regular-season games. I think I deserve a cookie (but not one with milk).

- Tennessee played after UNC/WSU. Being a native of that state, I was powerless to stop the appropriately-placed "Whoo!" that escaped my lips as the band struck up "Rocky Top." I know all the verses of that song, which is, I believe, one of the finest ever written about moonshine.

I'm sure there are more things to be told about my evening, but honestly I am too exhausted right now to remember them all.

My super-sweet 16 and internet idiocy

I thought my basketball shooting season had ended with the 'Neers' loss in the 'les, but apparently not. I'm heading down tomorrow to shoot a little-known tournament game that is too insignificant to even
really mention. I'm sure none of you will be tuned in (if you are, look for me on Washington State's side ... I'm there to shoot the UPSET, BABY!) I asked for a shot list and was told "The big white guy." Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

I am mostly hoping that someone takes out Hansbrough again and I am the only shooter on that side and that my shots of the kerfuffle end up in all the major news outlets. Probably won't happen, but I'll be there just in case.

This next bit is completely un-basketball-related. Consider this photo of Pooks in the bath your segue. I love this shot - it's good from a photography standpoint AND a mommy standpoint. (I'll discuss my weekend with the FONG diffuser later.)

Since I was first pregnant oh so long ago, I have frequented an online message board for mothers, expectant mothers, women who are hoping to be mothers, and all other interested parties.

I was able to overlook the proliferation of ridiculous acronyms (TTC = trying to conceive, DH = Dear Husband, LO = Little one, AF = Aunt Flo (that's yer period)) and I've been fairly successful at keeping my cynical nature hidden, since most of the women are fairly nice and going through the same things that I am. (The groups are arranged by your child's birth date, so you are in a group with women whose pregnancies progress at the same time as yours. Rocket science, yes?)

In the past months I've become less active in the group and have morphed into more of an observer. The women who I consider to be like me are more "lurkers" due to time constraints, while the ones who seem to have nothing better to do than bitch about things on a message board (and make blinking scrolling shiny signatures that seem to belong more on MySpace) are the big posters. They have a million bits of badly-worded and horribly-spelled advice about parenting and about why their way is much much better than yours, but I don't see how they have time to DO any actual parenting, since they are constantly posting shit on the internet.

I think it's time to leave the group, and I've been feeling this coming on for some time now. One girl (woman, technically, although I think she's 18ish and her maturity level is even lower than that) called me negligent for putting my baby in daycare "where everyone knows that babies are rutinely (sic) hurt".
I held my tongue about the reason she is afforded the luxury of being a SAHM (stay-at-home-mom), which is that my tax dollars pay for her to sit on her lazy ass and play on the internet all day. (This same girl once made the brilliant statement that formula feeding was better because hers was WIC so it was free and she wouldn't have to mess up her "perfect tits".)

Tonight's example of "reasons I should leave before I go up to the virtual belltower" was during an innocent conversation about how it seemed that the breastfed babies in the group seem to be hitting some developmental milestones a little bit slower (crawling, walking, etc.) and some faster (talking). It was benign enough until someone freaked out because we were "obviously" insinuating that she had stuck a bottle in her baby's mouth at 2 days old and plopped the kid on the ground to fend for herself. I didn't point out how paranoid and guilty her knee-jerk reaction of a post sounded. The fact is that this group of women are more interested in tearing each other down than sharing tips and stories, and I don't have time or energy for that.

I wish there was a more targeted mommy group for people like me. I'm not interested in blinking "siggies" or fighting about elective C-sections or posting "piccies" of who has the hottest DH (or SO). I want a PBS mommy board to float on in the neverending seas of Fox. Not because I'm a snob, but because I have a brain that I prefer to use, and I would love to find like-minded mothers. They MUST exist somewhere.

I hate easter and I hate you and I hate daffodils and

I hate Cadbury and I hate Peeps and I mostly hate that you continue to make me pose for pictures that I DO.NOT. WANT. TO. POSE. FOR.

Well, if you sing my favorite song, Peanut Butter Jell-eh Time, I might reconsider being in your idiotic photo.

Here comes Pookie cottontail

OK, sorry about the bitch-fest in the last post. To know me is to know that willful ignorance pisses me off every time. Oh well...live and let live, etc.

In more seasonally-appropriate news, I managed to snag a photo of the Easter Bunny's 'tocks in all their fuzzy glory:

And in "thing today that I'll probably go to hell for laughing at and then hotlinking to", I simply cannot NOT laugh at this horrifying photoshop.

Long weekends and mental days off

I just finished a huge, hulking, beastly project, it's 60 degrees outside, and I'm on the front end of a 4-day weekend. Ah, spring.

What should I blog about today? I have several thoughts knocking around in my head.

- March Madness? My bracket is already busted, and I have Duke in the final. Considering last night's debacle against Belmont, the Dukies have long miles to go.

- I still haven't reshot the Easter pictures. I may do that tonight, or I may go hang out with friends and tell them how I'd planned to reshoot them. That sounds less work-intensive.

Oh, there is one thing. You ever see Arrested Development, and there is that whole plotline about the beautiful girl who he thinks is a spy, but it turns out she's mentally challenged? Something like that happened to me. I was talking to someone who I'd consider a "friend" (although since I don't worry about them reading this post, perhaps they are merely an "acquaintance") and made some mention of the flooding in the midwest, followed by me making some blanket statement about climate change making stories like that more common.

"Oh." he said, "That isn't true."
"What isn't true?"
"Global warming. I don't believe in it."
"Why not?"
"My preacher said it wasn't true."
"Have you read anything about it?"
"No, I don't have time."
"So you believe a statement made by someone who is in no way an expert or even degreed in any field of science?"
"Yes, he's my preacher."
"And you believe anything he says? He isn't Jesus Himself, he's just a guy."
"I believe that Jesus told him that global warming was a media conspiracy."

wh-wh-what? wow.

All the things I wanted to say, all the questions I wanted to ask. In just 5 seconds, this guy managed to change my entire opinion of him. I now think that he is stupid, lazy and ignorant, because he willfully chooses on a daily basis not to use his brain. I more subscribe to the "God gave me a brain so I can THINK CRITICALLY AND MAKE DECISIONS" way of looking at the world (but it is admittedly a lot more work than being force-fed your opinions). 
I knew the guy was a Republican, but I didn't know that he'd tripped his mental "off" switch. I thought he was more of the "small government and fiscal conservative"-type, not the "Scientists are de debbil, evolution is de debbil, Obama is a radical Muslim (and probably de debbil), so let's go all glass parking lot in the middle east"-type. I just did not see it coming.

I mean, I know certain people who are hardCORE one way or the other. These people are generally hard to carry on normal conversations with, but at least you know what you're getting into. For example, I know a guy in advertising (let's call him "Robert") who thinks Sean Hannity is pure genius, and that Limbaugh is an angel anointed with a dusting of Oxycodone by God himself. But you can just look at Robert and know that he is a purebred dipshit- if they had papers and registration for being a dipshit, this guy could sweep the Eukanuba Tournament of Champions. So you are never surprised when he spouts off some idiotic incendiary junk he read over on Free Republic.
He hates Snopes because it debunks so much of his blabbering- he may be the actual patient zero on all that "muslim Barak" bullshit (I showed him a photo of Barak being sworn in ON A BIBLE, and he told me it was an obvious photoshop).

I don't even know where this post is going. Apparently all the things I know about science are wrong. Perhaps I'll spend the weekend contemplating that and mulling over how much simpler life would be if only I would swallow the blue pill.

Little Pookie foo-foo

When oh when will I learn that my child does not like to take part in my costumed shenanigans? Never, most likely. And my photos will continue to come out like this.

To be fair, the ones in her Easter dress turned out much better than this. But the longer we went on, the tireder and hotter she got sitting under the lights, and the situation degenerated quickly. Even after a quick nap her mood wasn't as light as it should be when undertaking a shoot that includes props and costumes - I pushed it when I shouldn't have. 

She went apeshit when I added the "chocolate candy smeared on face" element to jack up the cute factor. In hindsight, I should have known better.

But I'm sure I've learned nothing, and I will try this shoot again tomorrow. I sure didn't sew a pair of fur undies with a cotton tail on them for nothing!

ps- Remember when I said I'd try not to blog as much about my kid? Turns out my pants are, as they say, on fire.

Top o' the mornin to ya

She didn't keep it on long.

Everyone though she'd be a redhead like dad, but she turned out to be a greenie, like mommy.

I'm your friend too, Mister Todd

It’s bad when you put “update your freakin’ blog!” on your “to Do” list.

So here I am, updating my freakin’ blog. I’m going to try to make it less “BABY baby baby”-centric, and get back to the random musings on life that has brought literally tens of readers to my site for the past few years. So here we go …

This weekend I finally got to see Sweeney Todd (the movie), and in news that shocks no one, I absolutely loved it. It had great music, Johnny Depp, and lots of gore. What more could a girl ask for? NOTHING, that’s what.

Seeing it (at the old-ass movie theater in my hometown with me best mates) reminded me just how much I love musical theater. I used to be in many productions, but I gave it up for a bevy of reasons, one of which being that there came a point that it just seemed frivolous to spend so much time memorizing silly little dance steps and adorably clever harmonies. But I miss it, because it was lots of fun and I have great memories of playing cards backstage while listening for my cues. In fact, with the exception of Spoons, which my aunt taught me at the beach one year, I learned all the card games I know in the backstage of various productions. Yes, that includes bloody knuckles.

Don’t be shocked that I can sing and dance. I only became cynical and bitchy later in life.

Actually, what killed my theater career (and my adolescent self-esteem) was one person.
…
OK, I just wrote a whole rant about this person, but erased it because I am completely convinced that the person in question would somehow KNOW I’d written it and hop on her broom and fly up the mountain and eat my soul. She’s a big witchy crane-ish bitch like that. If you’re from my hometown, you know about her. If you’re not, well, you’re lucky. Suffice it to say that, save for one “charity case” every year or so to keep up the “community” appearance, it was, across the board, doctors’ and lawyers’ kids who got the good roles. Even if they couldn’t find the right notes with a Garman and a bloodhound.

But I think back fondly to the roles I had and intermissions spent in green rooms and late nights painting sets with my dad, and long hours spent learning about stage makeup and lights and gels and wigs and whatnot. (I’m wearing a wig right now, actually. A bright green one. Happy St. Pats!) My first role was as one of the kids in “Flower Drum Song,” a play so inherently bad as to be renamed by my father “Flower Dumbsongs”. Ah, the theatre.

Maybe once Pooks is a little older we can be in some little community production together. I think it would be fun to go to practice and make costumes and do makeup with her… and I’d love to surprise her on opening night with roses and a card that says “break a leg!” like my family always did for me.*

* - I would never be the pushy stage mom/me me me me me/make my kid the center of attention type, for I have seen what happens to those who travel that perilous road. I could write several blog posts, or perhaps an entire trashy-ass novel, on that phenomenon. If I did write that book, though, you wouldn't believe me, and although I would insist it was all true, you'd accuse me of having pilfered an old manuscript from a dumpster outside a soap opera set, and then I would yell at you for never trusting me, and then you'd tell me to make up something more believable next time, and I'd call you an asshole, and we wouldn't be friends anymore. So I won't write it. But I swear it's all true. And juicy. And sad. And mostly depraved.

Facebook Amusements

I have so neglected you, little blog. I'm so very sorry and promise to post again soon. I have much to say.

But I'm swamped at work, so for now I'll just post a screenshot from when I logged into FaceBook this morning. What can I say, I have diverse friends...