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All posts for the month July, 2011

Mascots

Published July 31, 2011 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

My view of the world has been skewed by the media.  The 1970’s seemed to spawn a bizarre conglomeration of mascots.  What created the need for cutesy mass marketing through such spokespeople as the Pillsbury Doughboy, Tony the Tiger, and my favorite Fruit Pie the Magician?

Poor Fruit Pie, he seems to have gone the way of the Frito Bandito and King Ding Dong.  I’m not sure why, particularly in a world that seems perfectly comfortable with   the surreal antics of the M and M guys.

It’s not just the food industry.  Cleaning products have the Scrubbing Bubbles and the disturbingly attractive Mr. Clean and the Brawny man.  The Tidy-Bowl man couldn’t make the cut. Besides, who really wants to socialize with a grown man who rows a boat in a toilet tank?

I suggest that the corn growers of America jump on the bandwagon and create Gritso, Anthropomorphized grain to promote the traditional Southern cereal.

I think he would fit right in.

 

Which hunt?

Published July 27, 2011 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I am still trying to pull myself together to become a better writer and perhaps make some money. I am researching various and sundry topics (the origin of the word sundry would be an interesting tangent)

As Maria McKee says, the more I wonder, the less I know.

I just discovered that there are two garden hoses under the carport, and not just the one hose that’s in the murky swamp that used to be the pool. (long story, house foundation shifted, flooding, its the end times so whose priority is pool maintenance?)

The air conditioner is being serviced so the house doesn’t burst into flame (speaking of end times). I know so little about my house and it’s maintenance that I did not know the whereabouts of the other two hoses so I went outside (it burns! it burns!) and detached the hose that was attached to the pool pump.  I dragged it in all of its slimy green glory around the house and over the fence to give to the a/c guys who looked at me like I was the stupidest thing ever to crawl out of their ears. There are two guys, I don’t imagine someone would have something crawl out of both ears at the same time.

This is just an example of the so many things that I don’t know clogging up the vent of my life.

I do want to continue to challenge myself, but does it have to be so hard?

My original plan was to talk about how I started free writing during a documentary about the mania that swept through Kern County, California. (Lots of people falsely accused of child molestation)  My research was slightly derailed by the arrival of the service people. And now I feel stupid and it’s still hot.

Happy Brain Day, folks!

 

Progress In process

Published July 27, 2011 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

This is an unedited rough of a work in progress, please excuse the rambling 

What a job parents have. When my mother was my age, I was a senior in college.  I can not even imagine what a task that must have been.  I am on the verge of releasing my own kid out into the wild.  I began fostering him when he was 17. He is now 21 and we are at the protégé/mentor stage.

It’s hard to let him go.  This will be the first time since I became the mom that he will be more than a day’s drive a way.  He will be way past rescuing.  It’s time and it makes me wonder, how is it possible for a mother to fail her children?

I know it happens, but how can someone do that?

I just did a search on “Worst Parents” I was thinking of it as a joke, but what came up was even more horrifying than I can imagine.  The worst parents range from too young parents to too high parents and too drunk parents and too protective parents.

Then there’s the photo essay which shows parents carelessly parking their kids on a high voltage transformer whilst they wait on line, plus the endearing shots of kids in the background while their moms pose for cheesecakey facebook photos. Then there is the lovely pictures of moms drinking and dancing while their children pop into the frame. Oh and of course, how can we forget the girls who are dolled up for pageants.   (no pun intended)

It’s a fine line between protecting and ruining.

Casey Anthony is indeed a bad parent, or maybe just clueless or some gooey combo of the two.

Mary Kay  Le Tourneau is a bad parent but is Vili Faulauu’s mother worse?

Is being a good parent a matter of knowing when to not say something and walk away before you punch your kid in the mouth ( He was 17, and a foot taller than me, but I could have flattened him.) I know being a parent comes with more than a handful of regrets.   I think my parents did a good job because they raised me to never leave a job unfinished or leave my mess for someone to clean up.  They also taught me that sometimes it’s ok to play instead of clean and to have tortillas fried in butter once in a while (like once every two years.) We went to R Rated movies with my parents and they explained that what was happening on the screen wasn’t real, and that it was not ok to act like that in real life.  We went to restaurants that were nicer than elementary school age children usually go to because my parents wanted to teach us social skills.

We went to private school, not because we were spoiled but because my parents wanted to invest in our educations.

We were spanked, but not beaten. We were respectful, but not afraid.

My parents were never afraid to set boundaries. Mom and Dad have completely different philosophies. I like to think that both my brother and I are open to different points of view.  Is that nature vs nurture or just being raised well?

I haven’t lost my mind, just my perspective.

Published July 18, 2011 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I took Basic Stagecraft as an Undergrad, and then took Advanced Theatrical Design as a Grad student.

I took these classes because they were requirements for my BA in Theatre and my MA in Performing Arts. I know my limitations and I’m aware of who I am and what I am.

I have always had a problem with spatial relations and I can not discern a straight line on a page without a reference point.

As a M.Ed candidate, I learned that art classes at the Early education level may have corrected or at least had a positive influence on how I visually perceive the world.

As a I  did my initial recovery from my brain thing, I learned to practice seeing.   Yes, practice seeing, by working word searches.  This is in addition to working on my processing speed and coordination.

No wonder I’m so tired all the time, I am constantly have to practice seeing and walking upright.

My perspective is visibly altered. Just watch me try and walk across the room without bumping into anything.

I don’t think this has anything to do with my brain trauma.

One of my occupational therapy exercises was to walk through the hospital gift shop without knocking anything ever.

I couldn’t do that on any of my better day before my head blew up.

But I still like me.

All forty-two years, five two-ish, dangerously over educated, multi-task procrastinator of me.

 

It may be True, but it’s no Life

Published July 15, 2011 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I have learned a lot from watching MTV’s  True Life.

The main thing I have learned is that 20 year olds are stupid.

I would like to think I wasn’t that stupid when I was that age, but I’m pretty sure I was.

The current episode is about  kids who want to be Sugar Babies; meaning they want to be taken care of by an older person. By taken care of I mean spoiled.   One of them is male and he is an ass.  I just watched approach a woman at a bar and he had absolutely no game.  One of the girls was a bit taken aback when I guy who she met online as a potential Sugar Daddy wanted to make sex part of the equation.

Seriously.  What the sweaty hell is wrong with them? Not just the idea, but the fact they are so clueless about what is expected. The guy works full time and he wants  a Cougar to take care of him and buy him things.   Really?  He’s not cute enough to have to pay for it.

Now the potential Sugar Daddy just said he doesn’t want to be played for a chump.  And there are a certain amount of expectations.

What I don’t get if these kids don’t have any self-respect or basic ethics, why don’t they go the whole hog and prostitute? At least they wouldn’t have to go through the awkwardness of introductions and the male wouldn’t have to be a public douche and pay his own cover and buy drinks.  Surely there is a market for pudgy guys who are basically jerks.   On the other hand, maybe prostitution isn’t the life for him.

The girls though, seem to be one step away from round-heeling it anyway.

Girl one also wants help promoting her music career. Um, ok? Her potential SD has done research on record labels and bought her a rhyming dictionary. He just said, “Do you think there’s something we could do for each other? It’s a two way street.”

She likes him, but says she knows sex is coming, but she’s not ready to compromise herself.  What does she think she’s doing by accepting fine dinners while dropping the hints that all she needs is funding.  Her conversation is not that sparkling.

Girl two has met twice with her potential SD and isn’t sure how this may affect her relationship with a guy her own age, but they haven’t mutually agreed to start taking their relationship seriously.  She says she’s disappointed, but she’s kind of glad, because she wants to consider courting her SD.

The guy, who has had a woman call him a douche to his face, has the nerve to ask his friend’s girl friend to introduce him to older women .  I’m amazed and impressed that she didn’t laugh in his face.  He went to a strip aerobics class to charm someone. I am impressed that he actually went through the class.

Girl two just had her potential BF tell her that she should ask her SD to get her an apartment so that they, the BF and SB can have a place to build a relationship.

I don’t know what’s more frightening, the way these young people treat themselves or how other people treat them.

As Eleanor Roosevelt said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”
I’m not sure what these kids are consenting too, exactly, but I don’t think it’s good.

 

Can’t Sleep, Clown will eat me.

Published July 8, 2011 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I hate hate hate having insomnia.

At least once every six weeks I absolutely can not sleep, even  with Ambien, Benadryl, and Valerian root.

I haven’t tried the ramming my head into the wall, because I’m not supposed to hit things with my head. ( Really, is there someone who IS supposed to ram their heads into a wall, not someone who needs to have said head ramming, but one who is self ramming. )

I can not make my head shut the hell up. No idea why.

I am trying to do something constructive

I took part in a Webinar today, Topic: Freelance writing, articles and columns.

It was very helpful and did give me a lot of ideas such as an article  on

  • How to be a band wife (I’m sure there will be sarcastic comments made by all and sundry because of my separation and reconciliation with Katboy, and I will indeed have to change names so I don’t get slugged at a bar.
  • Teaching theatre as if my hair were on fire
  • Parenting a Teenage foster child
  • Overcoming an eating disorder
  • Processing grief while dealing with a layoff and missing 9cms of my brain
  • Interacting with the world from left of center
  • Trying to get a grip on the planet while it is clearly trying to reject humanity like a bad cow heart
  • Starting a third career in one lifetime, and at my age, averages out to one every 15 years.
  • Intensive reviews of current non-fiction as it relates to, well, everything.

So you see, it was very helpful in organizing my idea file.

But I also have a mere three weeks to spend with The Kid before he is running down his dream and we are not likely to live in the same place every again.  Ever. Ever.

And an even merer two weeks to liquidate the contents of my recently deceased best friend whose ashes still reside in  my closet ( as an openly gay man, he would love that) . His obituary is still on my bulletin board

My life is just on the strange side of spicy.

Canine in the Cold Pantry

Published July 6, 2011 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

One of the eternal dichotomies of my life is that I do a lot and work myself up into a worried frenzy whilst I have heart of slug.

(I also have an excellent vocabulary.)

My agenda, written in blue pencil on gray paper, just to challenge my eyes, apparently, is insane.

And it’s not the fun kind of agenda, like planning to overthrow my arch-nemisis  whilst chanting my manifesto. (Yes, I imagine my manifesto accompanied by the pounding of bongos or perhaps the rattling of a tambourine.)

I need to spend a good part of the day taking digital pictures and posting them on the internet (Antiques and Ebay)

I start the day having follow-up tests for my wounded wrist. ( Doctor wants to rule out gout.)

I also need to work out. (Mall walk)

I have to sketch out a query for free-lance writing. (legitimate not Penthouse Forum.)

My life is almost spicy.