Book Review: Pursuit of a Dream (Victory Lane: The Chronicles)

So, forever and a day ago, I picked up a book in support of the #Indiesunite4Joshua campaign because the author, Rob Pruneda was donating all the sales of the book to the campaign. I thought it was a sweet gesture, so I bought the book both to support the author and to support the campaign. (The campaign has since closed, but Maxwell Cynn, the author whose son Joshua is still  fighting Leukemia, is still taking donations and using his book sales to help pay his son's bills. If you have a few bucks, pick up some of his books on his website or make a donation. He'd be thrilled!) Since then, I've become twitter friends with the Rob (or Sharky as he likes to be called) and I find his blog and his twitter feed very entertaining.

Now that I've read his book, Pursuit of a Dream (Victory Lane: The Chronicles) I can honestly say he's an entertaining and great author as well. I don't like being tied to any one genre and I found Pursuit of a Dream to be a breath of fresh air because it dealt with two subjects quite well; one I didn't know very much about, which was racing, and the other I have quite a good deal of knowledge about, family and the inner workings of the familial bond. He dealt with both subjects lovingly and with a deft hand.

Pursuit of a Dream chronicles the ups and downs of the Lockhardt family and one family member in particular, Caleb Lockhardt as he grows up and tries to achieve his dream of becoming a NASCAR race car driver. It follows Caleb through his youth as he deals with the loss of his mother, his father's ups and downs with joblessness, his father's new love life and his extended family's struggles with health concerns and death and also his own faith. It also describes his love affair with the sport of racing and what it really means to love a sport so much and the hard work, sacrifices, and tears it takes to be a part of a sport like racing.

I have to be honest, the book took awhile to get where it was going. There were moments early on in the book that I just didn't see where they were going, some involving the father, John Lockhardt and his losing his job, that I felt were a little too detailed for their own good. But once I got to the end, I understood why some of these things were so meticulously detailed and their importance to the rest of the story. Each detail added layers to who these people were and how they made it as a family. Once I understood how  John, Caleb, his brother Jared and the whole extended Lockhardt clan reacted to the lowest of the lows it made the highest of the highs in the book that much more worth it. Pruneda really brought you into their lives, even into the mundane day to day aspects of their lives to make their inner connections that much more meaningful. Even characters that had minor parts in the beginning of the book I ended up being very invested in. One of Caleb's childhood friends, Brian, ended up being a bigger cog in the machine than I had expected and I really became invested in him and rooting for him by the end. It's those little unexpected layering of characters and how they fit that made the book that much more charming.

Where the book really excels is in the descriptions of racing. If you would've told me months ago when I started this book that I would be holding my breath for the outcome of a go-kart race I would've laughed in your face, but here we are. There were pile-ups and close calls, bumper hits, and 'Big Ones' as the book calls them, that literally has me gasping for air awaiting the outcomes and praying that Caleb made it out OK.

It's an enjoyable, if long (by the author's own admission) read but well worth it. I enjoyed my time with the Lockhardts and am waiting with bated breath for the second installment of the series. My Rating: A-

[Ed Note: Edited to add, I forgot to mention that you should stay tuned on this blog for an interview with author, and maybe *Gasp* a book giveaway! Stay tuned! ]

Trifecta Challenge: Dwell

The new Trifecta Challenge word is dwell, which is a word and meaning I think about alot. This is what I came up with.

DWELL

1

: to remain for a time

2

a : to live as a resident

b : exist, lie

3

a : to keep the attention directed —used with on or upondwell

 on my fears>

b : to speak or write insistently —used with on or upondwelling on the recent scandal>

**************

It was happening again. She was about to make her invisible scars visible again in the most uncomfortable and public way possible. She couldn’t help it. Even though some time had passed, it didn’t take much to trigger a thought, an emotion, a memory tied to that loss.

That’s why she absolutely hated parties, especially parties where she barely knew anyone. But here she was making seemingly innocuous small talk with a lady who asked the question. “So do you have any kids?”

“Yes.” Andrea answered, trying to prep herself for the next question. Normally, a parent would be forthcoming with a number right after the question was asked. Something like, ‘Yes, I have two wonderful children, a boy and a girl,’ or ‘I have two lovely girls ages 2 and 5’ but Andrea always felt it was supremely hard to answer the question given her current situation.

“How many?” The lady asked, not noticing that Andrea had some difficulty with the question at hand. Andrea faltered time and time again at this question. Saying she only had one child was clearly disrespectful to her son’s legacy, but admitting she had two children and one of them was no longer with her not only exposed her wounds but made them bleed anew as if she was freshly cut by the grief again.

“Two,” Andrea stated clearly, although the grief was right below the surface. “One that’s almost two and another that’s an angel in heaven.”

The lady slowly digested the information, while Andrea tried not to dissolve into tears and make a scene. “I see.” The lady stated. “So I hear you are running in a 5k soon.”

Andrea breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t make a scene, there was no reason to dwell on that pain. It was a gift this stranger had given her, not exposing her scars for the entire party to see, but acknowledging they existed anyway.

Trifecta Challenge: His Voice

“Sometimes you have to make your own path.”

It was her grandfather’s voice echoing in her head. The voice was resigned but clear of purpose. It was unbidden, but it was there reminding her of the advice he’d given her all those years ago. She remembered the event perfectly. It was the day she told her grandfather she no longer wanted to go to church with him. That church that he’d loved so much had done nothing but break her heart over and over again. She went to church in the beginning because it felt like the thing she had to do, a chore like taking out the trash. Then she went with him because she got to be with him, he’d hold her as she fell asleep during the sermon, she’d listen to all the stories he’d tell as he drove her home. It was their time together and it was something she cherished, especially now. But then so many things started to happen and the faith he clung to was something she couldn’t be a part of. So she explained to him as best she could at her young age that she’d no longer be going to church with him. And he listened and at the end of the conversation he said it:

“Sometimes you have to make your own path.”

Having those words resonate in her head in his voice made her want to weep. She missed him so. He’d been dead and buried for so long, but she still felt his presence in her life. He had been her beacon, her stalwart for most of her childhood. Somehow, when she needed it, he came. And she needed him or something, anything to help her through. She didn’t know which direction to go, where to turn. But now she knew. She’d do exactly what he said.

“Sometimes you have to make your own path.”

****

This week's trifecta challenge was the word path: 

PATH
1: a trodden way
2: a track specially constructed for a particular use
3a : course, route
  b : a way of life, conduct, or thought

This is what I came up with.  I feel like I should've spent a little more time with it, like there's more I could've said, or I should've explained it a little differently, but here we are. Enjoy.

Trifecta Weekend Challenge

Now that I've found Trifecta, and have started writing for it/reading the entries and getting more inspired, I'm attempting to enter more challenges. This weekend's challenge was to write 33 words of dialogue. This is what I came up with: 

“What was I like, the night we met?”

“Honestly, you were kind of a dick to me.”

“Oh.”

“That’s OK. I was kind of bitch to you. Then, you became human, connected, real.”

His Button

I can still see the little mechanism that resided on the right side of his stomach, etched in my brain as it is. It was such a mundane apparatus but since it kept my son alive, to me it was his everything. It was a small little button but because it was his mouth, the way he received nutrients, the way, one of the ways he was kept alive, it will always stay with me.

That little device was a part of a way of our life. Plugging in the tubing into that little button was a muscle memory thing for me. I matched up the line on the tubing plug to the line on the feeding device, twisted slightly so it was locked and place and let the bottle drip until he was fed. Once it was done, I matched the lines, popped the tubing out, and put the little plastic cap back on the button. It served its purpose until the next time.

I miss the button in the same way I miss him because it was part of who he was. He had that little apparatus since he was two weeks old. He died with it in place. I don’t know for sure, but I think he was cremated with it in place. I’d give anything to have that back, the old routines, the feeding rituals, the mechanism and tubing, because it would mean he was back. I miss him terribly.

I have another mouth to feed, and she is fortunately free of all the devices and mechanisms that granted him life for so long. I wonder what I’ll tell her about her brother one day, about that time in our lives. I know I’ll definitely tell her about the little button in his stomach that ate for him and gave us the time we so desperately needed with him.

 

Trifecta’s editors asked for 33-333 words using MOUTH in its third definition:

3: something that resembles a mouth especially in affording entrance or exit: as
a : the place where a stream enters a larger body of water
b : the surface opening of an underground cavity
c : the opening of a container
d : an opening in the side of an organ flue pipe

This is what I came up with. For some reason, when I thought of mouth, I thought of the surrogate mouth my son had while he was alive.Check out the other writers signed up for this challenge!

Important Dream Update

I guess if I bitch about it on my blog, it will come. I actually had a dream that I remembered and I got finish this morning! I saw the dream to its conclusion for the first time in I don't know how long! It was glorious ya'll, to dream and not be woken up. When I woke up, I was ready to take on the day, energized from all that dream having! I will triumph over everything now! I am dream filled! My dreams are the yummy icing filling to the chocolate cupcake shell that is my life. Getting to the middle of them is one of the funnest parts. (Hostess Cupcakes. Tear!)

Yes, yes yes.I hear you. What is that you want to know?.... What was the dream about? Oh that's not important. The important thing is that I finished the dre....  No I didn't get an exciting conclusion to the Viking versus Loganworth dream.... Was it just as exciting, this dream I had? Well, no not exactly. It's really not important.... Yes, I know I said I remembered the whole thing, but that doesn't mean it's worth elaborating on.... What's that you say? I can't just tell you I had a dream and not tell you what the contents of that dream consisted of? Ok Fine. *cough ItwasadreamaboutridingBMXbikesinaparkwithsomekidsandthenthey
ditchedmebecauseIwasanoldwomantryingtodowheeliesonadirtbike cough*. Yeah I know. Out of all the dreams I could've seen through to fruition, I somehow chose the most boring one in history. But remember, you asked the question! Some of the blame lies with you!

So, in conclusion I dreamed dreams and got to the conclusion of said dreams. Forget about the content! The dream is the important part!

Stop Interrupting My Dreams!

So for the last couple days now, the little munchkin has been getting up a little earlier than usual, and because I don't want to enforce this behavior, I'll give her a bottle but once she's done, I'll put her back to bed and try to get another hour of shut-eye before we all get going.

This has turned out to be a mistake. Apparently when I go back down for another hour, that's when my REM sleep wants to take place, so I'm usually in the middle of an epic dream by the time we need to get up in earnest, which means I will fight getting up at any costs. But I can't help it. It's a weird dream. I need closure damn it.

Why, Logan, what are you doing in my dreams? via

Take yesterday morning for example. I was sort of dreaming a movie up in my head with who I initially thought was Wentworth Miller but upon further introspection I'm pretty sure is Logan Marshall-Green. Although, maybe it's a weird mesh of the two, like what would happen if the two of them had an illegitimate child together and he grew up to be all fit and gorgeous. Anyhoo, Logan/Wentworth or Loganworth if you will, was on a magical quest with some buddies when he's stopped by a big burly viking. I'm talking the dad from Brave, the dad from How to Train Your Dragon, and the Scotsman from Samurai Jack all rolled into one. (Although, now that I've had a lot more time to think about it, the viking dude looked a whole lot like the goons in Tangled, but that's not even here nor there.) The viking dude is blocking a path that Loganworth wants access to. There's some witty banter back and forth and I know things are about to get good when suddenly, "Bloody Munchkin." Nudge. "Sweetheart." Nudge. Tug at covers. Nudge. "Time to wake up."

The world's coolest Scotsman? I think so. Via

"Uhhhhhhh," I answer back. I wish my husband understood Sleepingese because he's know that 'Uhhhhh' translated to: 'I'm about to watch an epic fight scene! Five more minutes!' But he doesn't understand Sleepingese so he takes that as a sign that needs to do more prodding and poking. Apparently the adage  'let sleeping dogs lie' has no bearing on his life whatsoever. Then he proceeds to try and strip the covers off me until I wake up. So, to sum up, I don't get to finish my dream, I'm woken up in one of rudest ways possible, short of getting water dumped on my person, and I have to wake up my fifteen month old and get stink eye from her in the process. Banner morning. If I do say so myself.

This morning he was even more maniacal. He tried waking me during the middle of a dream I can't even remember because he woke me up in the middle of it! It felt pretty good. It probably was pretty good, but I really don't know because I was woken up! He wanted me to get the munchkin who was awake, but I was not to be stirred I even said "Uhhhhhh", hoping in vain that he'd learned Sleepingese since yesterday (Spoiler Alert: He didn't). In a devious move, he brought the little munchkin in. And she stops being busy for no man or woman. She proceeded to twist and turn and crawl and squeal, and thwap and kick me with reckless abandon until I finally got up. What's worse as I couldn't even growl at her that I needed five more minutes because she really could care less.

It's really maddening. I mean all I need is five more minutes to have some sort of dream closure and nobody in this house seems to want to give it to me! I would pay cash money just to see one of my dreams through to a conclusion before I wake up. My whole kingdom for a complete REM cycle! Until then, don't mind me, I'll just be trying to sleep through a slapping munchkin and and nudging husband hoping to have an exciting conclusion to the 'Loganworth vs. The Viking' dream. I just need to see them fight. It's gonna be good! Come on!

Another conversation in which Quentin Tarantino figures heavily

Fighting Nun doesn't really understand this, but in the morning when I get up with the baby and I turn on the TV in the living room, my immediate inclination is to find something that I already know and thus don't have to pay full attention to. Lately my go to of choice has been Prom. That movie is a stinker but a stinker filled with pretty people and Emily Valentine (OMG!) of all people so it's easy to let it pass before my eyes. This morning though it was Pulp Fiction.You all know how I feel about Tarantino, and how I sometimes get too emotional about his work, this one in particular. Well my Pulp Fiction obsession reared its ugly head again.

Mia Wallace in Lego Form! Via

To Wit:

Bloody Munchkin: So what I want to know is, how is it that when we quote this movie 'Warm, Warmer, Disco!' never comes up?
Fighting Nun: Because... Uhm, its not a very good line.
Bloody Munchkin: It could have its uses!
Fighting Nun: 'Look at the Big Brain on Brad' Uses?
Bloody Munchkin: Well, no.
Fighting Nun: Guess you answered your own question then huh.

Ok, this all may be true, but I'm still struck with the fact that years later I'm still finding little Bon mots like this one that I've never used. Something else I find intriguing is how well this movie goes at its own pace. I found the movie on cable right before the "What does Marcellus Wallace look like?" conversation and continued going about my morning business of playing with my daughter, getting her breakfast etc. I look at it once and hear the "Warm, Warmer, Disco!" line which gets stuck in my head, then I keep moving on with my morning. I expected to be well into the golden watch conversation by the time breakfast was finished, but Mia Wallace hadn't even OD'd yet! Actually, when I went upstairs to clean up the munchkin, she was just in the process. Quentin goes at his own damned pace and nobody better rush him! The movie has its own idiosyncratic rhythm, as do all Tarantino movies and you better be willing to let the rhythm wash over you, else you're not watching his movies right. I haven't seen Django Unchained yet, so I don't know if that's like some universal truth I just unlocked, but it feels about right.

New Year's Resolutions, belatedly

I know I'm already eight days late on this conversation, but, better late than never right? I need to list out my new year's resolutions where somebody somewhere might make me accountable or at least it is in writing what it is I planned to do with the year. But before I do, I thought I'd quickly review how I did with last year's resolutions.

I only had two, to read more and write more and I have to say, for me, I did pretty good on both accounts. I read a lot more, and I'm also glad to say that I bounced around in genres and didn't get stuck in a rut on that account. The one thing I didn't do was finish an honest to God book. All my reading took place on my Kindle, so the second part of that resolution didn't go anywhere, unfortunately.

On the subject of writing more, I have put work into stretching myself and writing more here, and in writing creatively, which is good but it's all kind of sitting there, not doing anything, which isn't good. I need to make more of an effort to get my writing out there and have it do something. I'm happy with what I've done but I can do more. So I propose the following as my resolutions:

1. Read More Routinely
   
   The problem with reading is trying to fit it in with everything else. I'm only going to read more if I carve out a  time for it. Last year, reading with my Kindle was so effortless because I was usually reading while feeding my daughter. Now that she's older, and she needs that feeding time less and less, my window for reading is smaller and smaller. I try to fit it in, but it sometimes just doesn't happen. Fighting Nun has made some resolutions of his own and he thinks I can fit in reading while he's working out and so I hope to make that a habit.
   
2. Read an actual book in between all the Kindle Reading
   
   This will be the year I read a book with actual covers and not just digital media. It could be Swamplandia, Kavelier and Clay, Downbelow Station, or it could be Lois Lowry's Son, which I just got for Christmas and have been eagerly anticipating for years. Lois Lowry is my jam ya'll. If you haven't read The Giver, get yourself a copy post haste! Who knows, but I vow to read an actual book this year, even if it kills me.
   
3. Write more of Substance
   
   I have done better about writing stuff and writing here, which is surprising to me. I had 56 posts last year, which is more posts than the last four years put together. So that's something. I hope to do close to the same amount this year. But I'm less concerned with the writing on this blog than I am with my creative writing. First there's the matter of that unpublished book I need to get out there and the two more I have yet to write. I'm still not very far along with completing the second book in the series and I really don't want it to stagnate. I also have some other big ideas that I've started that I need to see through to some sort of completion. But I think I've scared myself into not doing anything because I've timed myself and I can write about a page an hour, and since I only have about 70 pages of the second book, I'm scared about knocking out pages and the work and time it will need. But I asked Santa (read: mother) to get me Dragon Naturally Speaking for Christmas and now I should be able to make the process a little faster, I'm hoping.
   
4. Eek closer to my goal of getting published
   
   I'm working towards getting my book critiqued by an actual critique partner (Hey Jason, what's up? Consequently, if you'd be willing to buy a copy of his book Eternal Retribution and promise to buy copies of his upcoming Homecoming with the caveat that he finishes my critique faster, I'd really appreciate it. So would he.) I think I'll have a better understanding of what I can do to the book to make it more publishable. I took a class last year on getting published from the always awesome Gotham City Writers Workshop and I want to put that information to use once I've completed revisions based on my friend's critique. (I also can not wait to critique his upcoming book. Good luck Jason!) 

So that's it. I think all of it is achievable and doable and I've just got to see it through. Wish me luck....

The Pancake Conversation Redux

Bloody Munchkin: So, now when he goes to daycare, he tries to hide the pancake however he can. I was told he usually stuffs it down his pants.
Fighting Nun: He stuffs the pancake down his pants?
Bloody Munchkin: I don't know if he's really hiding it or trying to get our daughter to do something else by stuffing the pancake there. Either way, he's still sticking pancakes down his pants.

The pancake conversation has taken a weird turn people, a very weird turn.

A Conversation from Last Night

Bloody Munchkin: We kept getting him to try and say her name but he kept saying something about pancakes. Turns out, the first day the little munchkin met him, she up and stole the pancake he was eating right out of his hand. He's still mad about it.

Fighting Nun: That kid better prepare himself for a lifetime of that because it only gets worse there on out. 

Bloody Munchkin: Probably. Anyhoo, your daughter's nickname is now pancakes.

Dismantling the already Dismantled A Christmas Story 2

So we're watching the TV over the weekend and Comcast has these incredibly bad banners at the bottom of the TV menu and one of them caught my eye and I immediately pointed it out. Somebody had the audacity, the outright nerve to make A Christmas Story 2. Yes, you read that right. There's a sequel to the much beloved A Christmas Story. And despite my outright horror of even attempting a sequel to this movie, Fighting Nun and I attempted to give it a shot. The outcome? Not good. Not good at all. They took everything I loved about the original and mutated into the most generically toned down, unfunny, sad depiction of all the characters in the original. It was so watered down that I wasn't angry at it, I just pitied it. I even remarked to Fighting Nun that the saddest part was I probably wouldn't be mad enough to tear it to shreds on this here blog.

Well, I've decided, that even with a few days since watching it, I'm still mad enough to want to catalog as many of its sins as I can, because you don't just create a sequel to a beloved classic without kicking a few hornets' nests. I won't be able to list them all, because we'd be here for ages and I have Christmas shopping to do, but I'll do my best.

And the sins this movie committed:

Sin #1: Blatant, Bad, and Blatantly Bad Stunt Casting

This movie is ripe with it. Actors were either cast because they would be good as cartoon versions of our beloved characters or they tried to find the blandest substitutes. In the case of the former it was so blatant as to be criminal. I mean, you are not casting Daniel Stern because he's a master of subtlety and will give the character of the Old Man the nuance he deserves. You're casting Daniel Stern in a movie essentially to play Daniel Stern in Daniel Stern: The Movie. That man is sending it to the nosebleeds is what I'm saying. And hey, Darren McGavin's performance wasn't a master class in laid back performances either. He was probably buried with set pieces from this movie still stuck in his teeth, but there was a heart in that character clearly visible that Daniel Stern's version just didn't have. Yes, we get it, he's a cheap old man. There are better ways to sell that than to have a temper tantrum in a butcher's shop. Gah!

And where it really gets horrible is with the side characters the movie took the time to include (which no Scut Farkus? Of all the indignities... Well I never!), but didn't take the time to do anything with. Take the beloved Schwartz and Flick as another example. In the original, both characters, while plucky and trouble-making, always felt like kids, not cardboard cutouts walking around in kids bodies. And they felt like Ralphie's friends, not people he begrudgingly hangs out with, but friends. Friends that don't rat you out when you clearly dared them to do something stupid and friends who watch in horror as you beat up the school bully.

This movie's Schwartz and Flick were obviously none of those things. The only thing they tried to be was really schticky comic relief and that failed miserably. There's a whole bit in the movie where Schwartz sticks him mouth in a compressor tube hole that was obviously supposed to mimic the flag pole scene and it was so lame as to even make my eye rolls at it seem redundant. Heck, I even got angry when they were introduced. I think I ranted "That's Schwartz. That's who you chose for Shwartz!?!!" at the TV, as Fighting Nun laughed at me.

But then there were those instances of stunt-casting that felt like the movie didn't even try to come close to the original. I mean I get that Peter Billingsley is a hard act to follow because he will forever be Ralphie and those are some mighty big breeches to fill, but filling those breeches with this kid? And giving him the worst dye in a box bleach job the world has ever seen since Courtney Love? Not filling those breeches in the tiniest. It's as if some casting director just threw up his hands, handed the director a head shot and said "Eh, he'll do." And it's ever so sad. the kid tried. He was trying to deliver his performance to the back of the house, but it just came off as trying too hard and sad.

And the other place where the casting director didn't even try? The role of Mother. Melinda Dillon was incredible and played the part of harried housewife to the nines. She wasn't prim, she had a hard time getting out of the house with her apron off and was covered in flour and probably her kids' bodily fluids. Stacey Travis did not even attempt to play the same role as Dillon. She was playing June Cleaver for Christ's Sake and it was so obvious and it took away all of the things that I loved about the original character. It was just embarrassing.

Also, do not even get me started on the Narrator for this movie. He wasn't a good imitation Jean Shepard.  Imitation Cheese could've done a better job than this guy.

Sin #2: Paper Thin Plot

Not that the original didn't have a paper thin plot. I mean come on "Kid plots way to get his parents the Christmas gift of his dreams" is not rocket science. But it blended in seamlessly with so many other plots and themes the movie was trying to get across that it made such a blatantly obvious story so much more. In this one the paper thin plot never materializes into anything else. "Ralphie wants his own car and a girl. Ralphie goes through needless rigamarole of Goldbergian proportions to try to get car and continues to fail miserably until he doesn't and gets his car and his girl." So lame, so unearned, so generic. The other plot is "the Old man is a cheapskate and tries to cheapskate Christmas. And in the end he learns.... nothing." Yawn.

Sin #3: Gags in the first movie did not work in the second

The aforementioned tube gag, a leg lamp moment, some big to-do involving the department store Santa Claus, and the little day-dream fantasy sequences were all used to hardly any degree of success. It all fell flat. The only part that worked was when Randy had to suffer the same costume wearing fate Ralphie did in the first movie. I mean, come on. Forcing kids into uncomfortable, horrible-looking costumes is just plain fun!

Relationship Memes

One of these days, Fighting Nun and I are going to be at some get together and I'm going to have a glass of wine in my hands and just as I'm about to take a drink of wine, he's going to give me the side eye, utter the term "Hindenburg air tunnel" and I'm going to my best to swallow that wine without doing a spit take, but I'll be overcome with a case of the church giggles at that very moment and I'll have to choke down that drink of wine and it will sound like I'm gurgling and everyone will wonder why I'm making a scene and I'll blush wildly and demure by saying "Oh, its nothing." whilst still catching my breath and Fighting Nun will smile smugly and laugh knowingly that he got me.

(That is if he actually remembers what "Hindenburg air tunnel" is and how he came up with it and how we laughed when he created and how perfect an inside joke it is. Because it is hilarious I assure you.)

Everybody already knows what a meme is right? Well everybody but my husband because he lives in a pop culture bubble and the only things that penetrate that bubble are things we wants let in and just as many things leave and are forgotten about, but that's besides the point.

I think a relationship, one that's worth its weight in salt, has its own memes. These moments, or phrases or things that happened that tend to live on in a relationship in infamy. Fighting Nun and I have several. Fighting Nun and I currently have probably forgotten a ton more than we actually use even. And they all get our points across with surprising accuracy.

Fine, you can call them relationship inside jokes if you MUST, and yes, if you aren't my husband you are going to have no idea what I mean when I say "Bitches Be Crazy" (ok, maybe you would if you watch Big Bang Theory and have committed that to memory like me, but probably not). Or you wouldn't be able to finish "Bring me a for realz salad." with the appropriate "and put some chickens on there" when I say this in public. Or *Gasp* you wouldn't say "Turkey Slapper. Ham Slapper. We Both Slap Meat" with me in unison.

But they are memes instead of inside jokes, because they take on their own life in our relationship. Fighting Nun can look at me, his eyebrows raised and say "Jesus Pole" out loud, and I'm either going to giggle like a school girl or role my eyes at him and hope nobody heard him say it so I don't have to explain where it came from. Maybe a better term for it is shorthand. There are these phrases and terms that have just become a part of our lexicon that evoke certain memories that, upon conjuring those memories up, you know exactly what that person is talking about.

The For Realz Salad meme is a perfect example of this. It was a story I heard on a radio station forever and a day ago about this woman who returned a salad at a restaurant and said "Bring me a for realz salad and put some chickens on there." This was hilarious to me and I committed it to memory and whenever I order something at a restaurant I don't enjoy and Fighting Nun asks me how it is I mutter "Bring me a for realz salad," and Fighting Nun will give me a knowing look and utter "and throw some chickens on there." And we both know we won't have to go back to that restaurant for awhile. It's even appended itself to things we think are stupid. If we're watching America' Next Top Model for example, and some stupid model says something stupid, one of us will look at the tv with our best "Oh no you diin't" face and utter "Bring me a for realz salad" or "Bitches be Crazy." because you know on ANTM, those Bitches be Crazy! with a capital C (Shut Up Victoria 4 Eva!)

I think a relationship has to have that sort of short hand in order for that relationship to mean something, because it means you've shared something with that person, a lot of somethings and those somethings have meaning and, ok maybe they aren't 'worthwhile' per say, but they are notable. And they mean something to the two of you at least. And some should stay right there, between the two of you. Seriously. I'm never going to tell you what "Hindenburg air tunnel' means if I live to be 150. It would just be too embarrassing. Ditto goes for Jesus Pole. Just sayin'.

Running and liking it!

So remember how I decided to train for a 5k and I thought I was going to die, and I was miserable and I had the mother of all running mood swings? Well, I finally ran my first 5k race this weekend and I have to say, I'm pleasantly surprised (read: Holy Crap am I shocked!) at my transformation and my results.

**Warning: Boring running training information ahead. I went from running a mile in 14 minutes to running a mile in at around 10:30 . I went from thinking I was going to die after only a mile and a half to running just over three miles pretty gamely and easily. Before I started training, I was pretty convinced I'd be walking that last half-mile. Instead, I ran the whole thing, and I put in my personal best time to date!

I think a lot of that had to do with the experience and the cause for which I was running. I had never run a race before and I really had no idea what to expect. I just knew I needed to pick a race that was benefiting a charity I could get behind. So we found the Run Because You Can race. This race benefits the Runnin' For Rhett organization, which was founded by a family who lost their little boy in circumstances very similar to the way we lost Ukiah. How could I not get behind that? All of the decorations and race t-shirts were baby blue, like Ukiah's eyes. That's really all I needed to sign on.

The race itself was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. At first I was a little intimidated. When the hubbie and I run, it's by ourselves on a very deserted stretch of neighborhood. I'd never been in a mass of people like that, and I really didn't know how I'd manage running in a group. But everybody was cool. People who wanted to pass us did, people who were slower let us pass. I didn't find it intimidating at all. In fact, I felt a kind of confidence in numbers. All those people running around me buoyed me and made me feel confident in my abilities, motivating me. Also motivating? The bag-piper in a kilt. You guys know how I feel about kilts. I may or may not have made my feelings known about bag-pipers, but I'll briefly explain anyway. I think they are completely awesome! He was stationed at a turn in the first mile and he made me completely happy. That is he made me happy until I realized one of my shoes was fully untied and I was slipping out of my shoe and telling my husband that I had to stop and tie it was going to piss him off. And it did. I don't know why he was so bent out of shape though, because I spotted three other racers that had the same footwear problem, but oh well. After I got it tied, he put the hammer down pace wise, consciously or sub-consciously punishing me for not checking my shoes before the race.

Fighting Nun doesn't want to admit this about himself, but thanks to years of playing soccer, he feels this innate need to keep up with or pace the guy in front of him, which means he started going a lot faster than I'd ever gone with him. Until I successfully got him to pull back a little, it was a punishing pace. There was a kid, not more than thirteen that would put the pedal to metal, pass us, then walk and we'd pass him and then he'd starting running flat out again. I think my husband was trying to match that little pain in the ass's pace! At that point, I had no idea how far we had gone because I had forgotten the GPS watch at home and I knew I had to pace myself for the finish. At about the halfway mark, I heard a fellow racer say it was the halfway mark and I breathed a sigh of relief.

At the 2 mile mark, there was a watering station. Fighting Nun had been carrying a water bottle for me and I felt getting water at the water station was an advanced maneuver so I demurred. Fighting Nun got a gatorade from the station, tried drinking it while running, failed and threw the drink away at the earliest possible trash can. At about the 2.5 mark, there was an overpass that winded me and took my pace down a little, but then I saw a crush of people at nearby walking bridge that signified that we were near the end. My daughter and my father-in-law were the only two people there for us at the end of the race, and I doubted very much to hear any cheering. But that's thing, everybody cheered for everybody. Before I stepped on the mat that timed us, they actually announced our names over the loud speaker and a huge cheer erupted from the crowd. I smiled and waved and was completely in awe. Thankful to be done, we kissed our daughter at the end, grabbed some water, fruit and cookies and made our way to the car. I was so thrilled to be done, to have completed the thing, to have been part of something bigger than myself. Hopefully I'll do it again.

Worried for My Daughter's Future

So this morning, I watched this movie called Beware the Gonzo. I had started it a few weeks ago, but finally got around to watching the rest so I could clear it off my DVR. The movie is mostly forgettable, but you know me and my high school movies. I am compelled to watch them at least once. I wish it were better. I mean, Campbell Scott and Amy Sedaris are both in it and yet are given hardly anything to do. Ezra Miller is Ezra Miller playing Ezra Miller but admirably. Jesse McCartney, Ugh.

But I don't want to review the movie, not really. There's a scene with Zoe Kravitz that struck a nerve with me. It's basically a cell-phone video of her character right after she had been essentially gang raped. She's humiliated and the humiliation is caught on video. I shuddered, not because of it being graphic, but because I was holding my daughter at that moment and I thought about her and how utterly I am worried that something like that could happen to her. It's terrifying.

Also terrifying is the idea that my daughter could end up like Amanda Todd:



If you haven't seen it, watch it. The ever amazing warrior/writer Lorna Suzuki tweeted it last week and it hasn't stopped shattering my world. For those faint of heart, I'll recap. The video features Amanda Todd, some time before she committed suicide, explaining in detail, one scrap of paper at a time the type of torture she's had to endure at the hands of bullies. It ranged from cyber-bullying to flat out physical abuse and beatings by her bullies. It was something she felt she couldn't face any longer and that's utterly heartbreaking.

What's more heartbreaking is how persistent bullying can be at this day and age. Yes, I was bullied and absolutely hated junior high and high school, but then I got to go home and at least I was in a safe environment and could compartmentalize. Now, thanks to social media, that bullying can follow the kids home and can continue to follow them through their years. Now some drunken mistake could be posted on the internet and never be taken down, or somebody starts a hate blog about another kid, or some text involving something sexually explicit supposed to stay between two people doesn't and it ends up haunting and torturing these kids for a long long time. Kids today have a lot more to deal with, especially on this level than I ever did. And who knows what my daughter is going to face when she reaches puberty. She could come out relatively unscathed, or she could have a slight lapse in judgement and there could be a video like the one in the movie, or worse, she could end up like Amanda.

In the same movie I mentioned at the end Zoe's character says that the she's tired of being a victim and she's not going to let that video the fact that it's out in the world control her. That was a very powerful statement and one I'm glad she made. But the very next scene undercuts the entire sentiment. The scene featured a character named disgustingly enough Horny Rob Becker. He's showing a friend (Ezra's character) a video he uploaded to the internet of him having a three way that he said "was [him] communicating with god." It's totally barf inducing and it's totally the thing I thought the movie was partially standing against. In putting that video out to the world, he exploited the other girls in the video. This message that maybe, just maybe we shouldn't be video taping this sort of thing and exploiting and humiliating these girls was completely thrown out the door in that one scene.

We need to be talking about this more, as a society. We need to be telling girls that people will do this sort of thing and have no guilt about it whatsoever. We need to be talking about how prevalent bullying and humiliation have become with teenagers and come up with constructive methods for dealing with it.

As for me, all I can do is try to arm my daughter appropriately when the time comes and tell her that not everyone has her best interests at heart. I guess I can always buy her The Gift of Fear and force her to read it. But unfortunately this is something I have to prepare myself and her for. I hope for a brighter future, especially in regarding to this, but I'm preparing for a lot messier one.

Helping Hands

via

If you've lurked around here for any period of time or if you just look at my my blog archive timeline you'll notice I go MIA for big chunks of time. There's a lot of reasons for that. For one I have a lazy streak a mile long, for another I have a full time job, a daughter and husband that keep me plenty busy. But sometimes it boils down to something else, something a little more sinister. I can sometimes succumb to long periods of being down in the dumps. From the time my son coded in the car, up to and definitely for a long time after he passed away I spiraled down into my own depression. It could've been a lot uglier, but it wasn't pretty. I started going to therapy and working myself out of it. I was never officially diagnosed and I'm not seeking medication or therapy for it any longer.

For the most part, I manage it. I'm able to see the silver lining around those low hanging clouds. That silver lining is there in my daughter's giggle or my husband's crack comic timing and I can and do enjoy life on a daily basis. But sometimes it rears its ugly head in ways I'm keeping hidden from people around me and especially from myself. Sometimes I hit a low spot without even noticing it.

It happened the other day and it took just a little word of kindness for me to identify it for what it was and start digging my way out again. It was a simple acknowledgement of something being out of place by someone who cared enough to straighten me out and it doesn't seem like much but in fact it was huge. (Thanks again Jason. I might be thanking you a  lot.)

The topic of mental illness has come up a lot lately in my mind. I've been reading a lot about mental illness on Laura Zera's blog, and having discussions about it with family, and obviously having my own mental health battles. What I'm coming to realize is that a little concern goes a long ways in helping. Just voicing some concern in someone's life who may be struggling with a mental illness or who has someone in their life dealing with mental illness goes a long way. Voicing concern to any one going through a difficult time mental illness or not goes a long way. I know we all get busy and forget to reach out to the important people around us and just see how their doing. But imagine how better off we'd all be if we just reached out every once in awhile to people and find out how they are. I know it did me a world of good. (Thanks again Jason. Told you I'd be thanking you a lot.)

An especially unimportant rant regarding the latest Supernatural episode

So, apparently the most recent episode of Supernatural bugged me enough that I went on a tirade last night to my husband, while running, which is a feat in and of itself. Said tirade bares repeating.

Bloody Munchkin: So I have a bone to pick regarding Supernatural.
Fighting Nun: We've already talked about the flashbacks!
BM: No not the flashbacks.
FN: Ok then. What about it?
BM: Kermit TX!
FN: What's wrong with Kermit TX?
BM: That they mentioned Kermit TX! This is the second or third show in recent memory* that has used Kermit TX in any kind of capacity and it pisses me off every time they do! (This may take some explaining. I grew up in a town (THAT SHALL REMAIN NAMELESS!) that wasn't Kermit, but was very close to Kermit, thus making Kermit kind of my running grounds. Where I grew up, you had to drive an hour to get to the nearest Wal-mart, the nearest decent mall was an hour and a half away and so basically anything within a two hour driving distance of my hometown is basically home turf. I visited a friend in Kermit like every other weekend of my teenaged life. I had a very serious high school boyfriend from Kermit. I would drive to Kermit just to get my Sonic fix. I am very territorial about said town and its surrounding environment that I get uppity when said turf is featured in pop culture. If you feature my little neck of woods, freaking do it right).
FN: But they are featuring Kermit! What, are you like Romney and suddenly hate Sesame  Street and Big Bird and Kermit now too!
BM: Don't bring Romney into this! And don't invoke Sesame Street! You know I love Sesame Street!
FN: So what's your problem?
BM: That they mentioned Kermit TX but that it wasn't the real Kermit TX. And don't tell me they did. They picked some random house in Toronto or Vancouver or wherever the hell Canada and called it Kermit TX, but if they are going to find some backwoodsy house and call it Kermit, they might as well film in Kermit TX, that's as desolate and remote as they come!
FN: So your problem with a show about two people fighting demons, vampires, and other wackadoo creatures is that there isn't enough location realism?
BM: Yes!  God yes. And another thing? Kermit does not have a veterinary clinic. You need your cat fixed, go to Odessa.
FN: Didn't have a veterinary clinic. You haven't been there in what? A Decade plus? They could have one now.
BM: OK good point, but if it did I seriously doubt it would be occupied by the world's hottest veterinarian.
FN: So what, Sam was supposed to fall for an overweight fifty year old with a hump.
BM: Yes! At least then I'd know for sure Kermit was represented properly!

[* Ed. Note: The one other instance that sticks out in my mind was from Heroes. Hayden's character goes from Midland to Kermit. For the record, their representation of Kermit didn't feel right either. I think there is one more, but I can't quite remember from where.]

 

Random thoughts regarding some TV obsessions

Regarding Elementary

Dear Jonny Lee Miller;

That crush I've had on you ever since Hackers that has made me endure some very crappy movies (Mindhunters anyone?) and some not so successful TV shows (Eli Stone anyone?)? In case you were wondering it is still very much on. Your hairline may wain but my crush on you never will.

Dear Lucy Liu;

That girl crush I've had on you that began for reasons I can no longer remember but was definitely fueled by your ability to wield a samurai sword? Still very much on. Just thought you'd like to know.

Dear Aidan Quinn;

This whole 'Aging professor silver fox' thing your rocking? It's a good look for you. Keep it up. That is all.

Regarding Revenge

Dear Revenge!

I love you! Never leave me again! I need Nolan's fanciful layering and Victoria's bitchface, and both Daniel's and Jack's alcoholism, and Emily's wardrobe and Jennifer Jason Leigh's face of seriousness (or serious collagen injections, I can't tell which)  and... well I don't really need Deckland, Charlotte, or Emily/Amanda (Lisa P) Clark's pregnancy of contrivance. But I'll take them if I can have the rest! And can I go ahead and put odds on Emily/Amanda being the body in The Amanda, the flash forward at the beginning of this season? Cause she's my horse in this dead pool. Just sayin'. Also, Nolan and Emily as housemates? Best. Idea. Ever. I love you show that I have to wait until my husband is out of the house to watch. Never change.

Regarding Supernatural

Uhm, WTF was that last night? I'm still trying to process it all and I'm not sure that I'm very happy about. The flashbacks were chintzy at best and unnecessary in a lot of instances. Sam's flashbacks? Not worth the price of admission. Period. And the best this show can do for Purgatory is some backwoods somewhere? Lame. But not even that can diminish my love of the brothers. They've got an interesting angle of this season, but I don't know if it'll hold. We'll see.