Elderberry Wine

It's hard to respect my elders. I used to. Back in the day, elders were people who deserved respect. Because they'd made it to being elder and that was amazing. The village elder was respected by all as a voice of reason and leadership because no one could figure out how he became so elder. This is something on which we all pretty much agree. As late as 1900, it took a rare combination of smarts and luck to make it past 40.

But now medical science has conspired to make us all into elders. It doesn't take anyone special to be old now. Nowadays old people are--or will be--the same dopes and morons you see bumbling around at 25--or 50--texting while driving and drinking 5 hour energy drink. An endless supply of selfish, mediocre, old people riding medical science into the future. Evolution's oopsy.

The largest and most annoying wave of these defilers of Nature (these scornful, mocking, ancient, deriders of God's Will!) are the Baby Boomers. I'm not saying all Baby Boomers are bad, I'm just saying generally, as a generation, they remind me of the seagulls from Finding Nemo ("MINE. MINE. MINE."). Entitled egoists grasping at old age the way they grasp at everything else not nailed down in this country. Aging beyond reason while they continue to go up and down the 12 Steps, read self-help books, write self-help books, and take credit for everything good that happened after 1960.

Here's a list of people who are not Baby Boomers: Jimi Hendrix, The Beatles, Janice Joplin, Bob Dylan, Ken Kesey, Gloria Steinem, Allen Ginsburg, Jack Kerouac, John F. Kennedy, Malcom X, Martin Luther King Jr., Medgar Evers, and Rosa Parks. Here's a list of people who are Baby Boomers: The fucking BeeGees.

Politically, the first time the very oldest of the Baby Boomers got to vote was 1964. Lyndon Johnson. I think we can agree that their voting record has been a little spotty ever since. Really though, I'm generalizing. Some of my best friends are Baby Boomers.

Besides, what are you going to do? We're stuck with them. An entire generation of people who didn't eat right, didn't exercise, did drugs like other generations do air, polluted the planet, ran up our debt, and sold out everything, living on and on and on all the while telling us how great they were because Woodstock and Civil Rights*. Civil Rights are cool--eroding* in the face of a largely baby boomer controlled government--but cool. And Woodstock sounds like it was great fun. Otherwise, meh, Baby Boomers. Meh.  The largest voting block in history gets everything it wants and then realizes what it really wants is money and food. Where is the shame? I mean c'mon. You gave us the 80's.

HM

*With the help of a government not at that time governed by baby boomers.

*Except for gun rights and corporate personhood rights. So you know, way to go Baby Boomers. Civil rights and stuff, yay.


Over at DadCentric, I wrote something that while much less confrontational, is at least as inflammatory. It's about camping and bathing. Good luck.

Meatballs

The Great Outdoors. It's Great, isn't it? And it's really, really outside. And big. And not inside. And we are going camping in it. This week. In the White Mountains. Crawford's Notch area. On Tuesday. I post this so if no one hears from us for a while, you'll know what to tell the authorities. We're due back Saturday night. I'll be getting a pizza.

We're going to be just like that family of campers in that one book you read/tv survivalist expert show you watch with the small, almost not worth noting exceptions that: we'll be in a campground and our car will be parked less than 25 yards away. And we have a pop-up tent. No assembly required, just extend the poles and pop-up the middle and bam, instant wilderness shelter. And a big ass cooler full of food. And beer. And we'll be less than 20 miles from Story Land theme park (excited? you bet). But otherwise, totally hard core wilderness conquering motherfuckers. Like Lewis and Clark with a propane stove and an after theme park dinner planned at local landmark the Spaghetti Shed. But without any sort of Native American guide. Except for Mapquest. Also, there's a ton of outlet shopping. But that's including an L.L. Bean Outlet so again, nature and down vests and shit.

This is the 2nd time we've camped both this summer and ever. The first was at a campground in western Massachusetts on the shore of Tully Lake. Really had fun. Only went for two days. This trip is four straight days of nature lovin', private showerless fun. There are showers on the campground. And a store where we can get most anything we'll need. But still, trees and chipmunks and shit everywhere.

Also, this is supposedly bear country. I have always wanted to wrassle a bear. I think I can win. I've been sharpening my claws on the local telephone poles and Bear Necessities is practically my theme song.

Other things to tell you: I quit my job at Foods That Are Not Broken. Just wanted more time with the flim-fam. Especially with school bearing down and the Peanut has/has had a bunch of doctor's appointments mostly due to her stature. In the Fairy Princess community, she's considered average height.

And, the Pumpkin Man had his first rush to the emergency room injury. I wrote about that over at Dadcentric.

Finally, remember, if anyone asks: White Mountains, Crawford's Notch, last seen trying to suplex a black bear.  Thank you.

HM

P. S. For a real "stuff that happens to me when I try to go camping post," fuck this pithy bullshit and go here, if you haven't already. Oy.

Camping Checklist

Tent and rainfly? Check

Sleeping bags and bedding? Check

Food (and beer) stuffs packed and prepared to be loaded into cooler first thing in the morning? Check

Clothes and toiletries? Check

Games, cards, books and other rainy day necessities? Check

Take the dog out for a walk at 12:30 am before going to bed and watch helplessly as she gets nailed in the face and chest by a skunk while you're only 4 steps from your back gate? Fucking check.

Skunk spray is yellow and has a very strong chemical smell to it up close. We used a combination of wd-40 sprayed right on her fur and a solution made of 1qt 3% hydrogen peroxide, 1/4 cup of baking soda, and a teaspoon of dawn dish detergent.

It seems to have worked after 3 applications. I am now drinking. Thank goodness my wife heard me screaming--tragically ineffectively--outside at the dog right below our bedroom window and got up to check on us.

Fucking skunk even tried to scamper away and my moron dog just couldn't let her. Wish us luck on our camping trip. Maybe she'll get eaten by a bear.

HM

Believe That

"They baptized the baby on the 16th."

"Yeah I know, at the Methodist church. How'd you feel about it?"

"Well, it's not Catholic, but at least they believe in something."

We hear that kind of thing all the time. "Well, at least they believe in something. 1"

Even leaving aside the condescending nature of the phrase what really floors my wife and I is how widely that sentiment is thrown around.

In the interest of full disclosure, we're atheists. Not in your face, religion sucks, my-Nothingness-shark-ate-your-Jesus-Fish atheists, but mind our own business, keep our lack of faith to ourselves, mention it only if it comes up in conversation, atheists.2

"Hey, you wanna watch the Red Sox game?"

"No thanks, I'm an atheist."

So maybe that phrase rankles us more that it does other people. Or maybe we get to hear it more often than some. Mostly though, it feels like a widely held belief in our area of the world. Like automatically, just the act of believing in something makes everything better. Like that's the important thing. Faith itself. It matters little what people believe, as long as they believe in something.

"Tiny beanies and magic underwear they have to wear all the time? And they can't eat bacon like, ever? Holy shit. But you know, at least they believe in something."

"Jesus's Non-existent American vacation and Hebrews in America thousands of years before BC and no archaeological proof and magic spectacles and Utah? That is weird. But you know, at least they believe in something."

"Mind control and cutting you off from your family and threats and evil space aliens? And the Tom Cruise?!  Freaky but . . .  at least they believe in something."

"Hell fires and horned demons? Crazy tall hats? Magic cannibalism? And no sex at all unless it's between a clergyman and a little boy3? That 's pretty fucked up but well . . . at least they believe in something."

It almost feels like as long as a monotheistic God4 is involved it doesn't matter how a person worships. Human sacrifice, bestiality, worshiping at Carl Jr's, calling Jesus "Mr. Jeezle." Whatever. As long as a person believes in something, they have a shot at the presidency.

If you're going to believe in something, then believe in it. And when someone believes in something different, good for them. We'll find out who's right eventually. Until then though, a little respect please. If we can't drop that sentiment from our culture altogether then just once I'd like someone to say, "You believe that death is it, no greater power has its hand on the steering wheel, Michael J Fox was once upon a time one of comedy's greatest treasures, a good beach day is better than a day at the spa, Moonlighting never gets it's due as a classic, and if you just keep eating ice cream and pizza you'll eventually emerge through a cholesterol wormhole where on the other side those things are actually good for you? That is some dumb shit. But, I mean well, at least you believe in something."

---

1 Maybe this phrase is some sort of attempt at religious tolerance. I doubt it though. I'm pretty sure when people start lining up for Holy Wars, you don't really get a lot of "We'd kill you as a heretic but you know, at least you believe in something.

2 For those who've read here before and are wondering about our quest for religion, or at least a temple we can go to for some good, clean, Passover fun, no, we haven't completely abandoned it. We've visited a couple temples and it still comes up in conversation. It's just a big commitment for us in terms of my wife converting. Also, we haven't found a temple that feels right yet. Maybe the feeling of pursuing religion doesn't feel quite right either. I'm not sure.  Either way, Homemaker Family and the Quest for Guilt continues. 

3Possible cheap shot. 

4 And white. Or at least followed by lots of whites.  And vaguely Christian. Probably, someone who practiced voodoo or believed in Santeria could not be elected president in this country. Unless they were running against an atheist.

Source

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OMG!!! WHAT HAPPENED?!

In a special episode of MFTBP, a guest post from the estimable Mrs. HomemakerMan. As talented as she is beautiful, my lovely wife shares with us a true story. 

A stupid little cat scratch… sometimes it’s just easier to give them the flippin’ bandage

Players: Peanut (5 years old), Pumpkin Man (3 years old), Ivy Pickles (5 months old), Mommy (40 yrs old)

Conversation 1 – between the kitchen and the dining room

Peanut (in tears): Mommy! I’m bleeding really bad!

Mommy (panicked): What?! What happened?!

Peanut (matter of fact): Ivy scratched me, like really bad…

Mommy (washing a long, shallow scratch):It’s fine. What were you doing to her?

Peanut: (guiltily) Carrying her. (rising toward hysteria) But it isn’t fine! Look at this blood! I need a Band-Aid!

Mommy (rational): It’s too long for a Band-Aid, besides it’s not a big deal. Go play.

Conversation 2 – overheard in the playroom

Peanut (whining): Pumpkin Man, look at what Ivy did to me!

Pumpkin Man (concerned): Does it hurt, Peanut?

Peanut (proud): Yes, and look at the blood.

Pumpkin Man (awed): hmmmm …that is a lot of blood. A real lot!

Peanut (defiant): Yup, and Mommy won’t give me a Band-Aid.

Pumpkin Man (deeply concerned): Why?

Peanut (conspiratorial): She says it’s too big… hurts so much…

Pumpkin Man (amazed): Uh oh, look at that blood! Squeeze it again!

Peanut (authoritarian): Here, try to get the blood on this…

Conversation 3 – In the dining room

Mommy (frustrated): Peanut, come here!

Peanut (fearful): What Mommy? Do you need to see my scratch again? No doctors!

Mommy (acquiescent): No, no doctors. Let’s put a bandage on that scratch, okay?

Peanut (hopeful): Yes, please.

Mommy (resigned): Better?

Peanut (satisfied): Yup, all better.

-- End Scene

Epilogue: I still don’t know why they were trying to collect her blood – could have been drug testing, DNA experimentation, or genetic modification… I just knew that at that point it was easier to give her the flippin’ bandage.

Pickled Kitteh

This is Ivy Pickles

 

She is an asshole.

She spends much of her time living either in the shoe tree or in our food like some sort of huge, blue-eyed, boll weevil.

She is fiendishly cute and cuddly.

She will steal your heart right before she steals your sandwich.

This is Ivy Pickles.

And she is an asshole.

In other news this:

What stars shine and fade and shine again in the sky; warming upturned faces with the glow of patriotism writ loud upon a black canvas? Why, those would be fireworks. I fucking hate fireworks. 


You can read more over at ever lovin' DadCentric


Happy Independence Day.


HM

Strength in Numbers

There comes a time in every family's life when decisions must be made. When the petty bickering and every day disagreements that make up the white noise of our day-to-day existence must be drowned out, turned down, muffled. When we must pull together as a unit and face the onslaught that is life. The raging torrent of darkness that washes the light into gutters of malice.  The World at large. We stand in that torrent as a family. We embrace one another and hold tight and hope. And love. And maybe that torrent breaks around the bulwark of our collective soul. Maybe the strength of our bond redirects the hungry current and the waters find easier prey. Maybe, just maybe, we get a new kitty.

Which we did. Get a new kitty. We're back up to three now. I don't know why we need three kitties. Maybe it's in case the other two get drafted. She's about four months old and appears thus far to be full blooded Siamese. We found her online on a local animal shelter website and jumped all over that shit. 

You know how hard it is to find an actual full-blooded Siamese cat at an animal rescue? Imagine how hard it would be to find a Unicorn or one of Bill Gates's kids at an orphanage. But there she was, so we grabbed her. 

It wasn't easy. We had to give references and work numbers. We were in competition with another woman. We won because we have another young cat and because we stole our competition's identity and ran up her credit cards betting on Siamese cat fighting rings. 

She is cute as hell and after kicking around on the streets for a bit, she'll eat anything, anywhere, at anytime. So far upon waking in the morning I've found an empty can of Pringles, a mangled cereal box, and a dozen cracked and empty eggshells. The weird part is, we don't even eat Pringles. 

We got her because we lost both our other Siamese over the last two years or so (I really need to update the characters list), and my wife really missed having one in the house. You know, because they yowl like babies and demand to be spoiled, so who wouldn't want that kind of per around?

We let the kids name her. Sometimes, families make mistakes. We let the kids name her and here's what they came up with: the cat's name is Ivy Pickles. Seriously.  That shit is like, Brady Bunch precocious. I don't know how I feel about referring to a living thing as Ivy Pickles for the next 15-20 years, but what choice do I have. The Family has spoken.

I wish I had pics to post, but I don't. I will as soon as I have them. Be warned, she is really frigging cute.

In other news, We went to our first at the movie theater movie this week. I wrote about it over at DadCentric.

HM