Friday, August 29, 2008

P.Y.T. [Pretty Young Thing]

"We can make it right / hit the city lights / I want to love you"

Diana is getting too big and squirmy and curious to continue facing inward in her mei-tai, but she can't hold her head upright well enough for me to carry her on my back yet. So Dusty and I are in the market for a BABYBJÖRN. I'd been browsing the BABYBJÖRN website this evening when I came upon the Baby Carrier Original Star, touted thusly: "Star quality and glamour are the keynotes of this year’s elegant version of the classic BABYBJÖRN Baby Carrier Original." Here's a photo [click through for the full effect]:

Is it just me or is this couple a little too Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones for comfort? I'm not one to judge*, but . . . Ewww.


"P.Y.T. [Pretty Young Thing]" by Michael Jackson
*HEE!

Thursday, August 28, 2008

It's Not Right, But It's OK

"I've been through this before"

When I was in Barcelona in April 2007, I came across this sign on the Modernisme walking tour:


As soon as I got home, I e-mailed Karincita the photo and lamented, "Sweet Mother of God, does the Oficina Turista need editors! Just look at it! Ay! Que mal!" She and I plotted to go around the world, armed with righteous indignation and red Sharpies, to correct such abominations. We would do it for the children. Why won't anybody think of the children when they wield punctuation irresponsibly?

Jeff Deck and Benjamin Herson beat us to the punch. These two "self-styled vigilantes" corrected a sign in a national park and were banned from all national parks for a year, plus fined $3,000 for the repair of the sign. I guess that's the price you have to pay for guerrilla grammar.

Still, I applaud their moxie and agree with Deck, who didn't correct a misspelling and says, "I shall be haunted by that perversity, emense, in my train-whistle-blighted dreams tonight."
I feel your pain, brother.

"It's Not Right, But It's OK" by Whitney Houston

Monday, August 25, 2008

Tell Me Lies

"Close your, close your, close your eyes"

My mother bought me this dress, which I wore when we gathered for the full moon at my house. I sortof wore it as a joke, a lark, if you will. But Karin and Jamie told me it was cute.

Dear Mom: Thank you. I love you for shopping for me, but come on now. I bury one placenta in the back yard and you think I'd wear this in public? Didn't you always tell me I should say no to drugs?

Dear Karin and Jamie: I love you for telling me sweet little lies, but I think the print on this dress burned your retinas irreparably. Y'all should get that checked out.

Kisses,
Cookie


"Tell Me Lies" by Fleetwood Mac

Sunday, August 17, 2008

More Than Words

"More than words is all you have to do to make it real"

A bit of cross-blog promotion from the PostSecret website: "Read thousands of submitted "six-word memoirs" and post your own for possible inclusion in a new book. Visit Frank's PostSecret Blog on MySpace." Summing up my life so far in six words . . . color me intrigued.

Here's one of my six-word memoirs: Maybe I'm more scared I'll win.

Here's another: My name is Concepcion. How ironic.

Care to share one of yours?

"More Than Words" by Extreme

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Dancin'

"I keep on dancin', dancin' / Nothing left to say, nothing left to do . . . / You've got me dancin'"

It seems to have become our new family tradition to attend the Sunday evening show at Folkfest. We love us some live music, but four straight days of it is a bit much. Thankfully, the last night of Folkfest tends to be the best. Dusty, Diana, and I arrived at Gallagher Park just in time to meet up with Uncle KPAX for a sampling of Luc Doucet's twangy "wheat rock". The set was pretty good, but not compelling enough to keep us distracted from our hungry bellies and thirsty gullets. After just a couple of songs, we headed down to get our food and drink on. Diana outdrooled everyone at the beer tent.

We took note of all the families with young babies picnicking on the grass and patted ourselves on the back for not hauling our gigantor stroller onto the grounds. I was really happy not to be among the exhausted parents pushing their overtired kids in strollers up the hill after the show like so many Sisyphuses [Sisyphi?]. Diana did just dandy in her carrier and we were able to roll in and out of the festival pretty quickly. KPAX was impressed that we traveled so light, with just one backpack to hold all our baby gear. A happy baby is clean, warm, and fed. So for a day out, Diana doesn't need much more gear than a couple of diapers, a blanket, and warm clothes. My boobs don't fit in the backpack, but I never leave home without them anyway.

During Broken Social Scene's set, we met up with Laurel, Mike, and Su at the beer tent and headed up to their tarp after finishing our pitcher. Every year, Laurel does the tarp run and gets a prime spot on the hill for all her moocher friends like us. Thanks, Tita Laurel!

KPAX was sure that the Peatbog Faeries would be my new favorite band, but I wasn't that impressed. Sure, Diana and I had a fine time dancing to their Celtic rock electronica, but I felt like a bunch of their songs sounded exactly alike. I may be a Scottish accent whore, but it takes more than a wee brogue and a great set of bagpipes to impress me. Maybe our friend Kevin, who is apparently a huge fan of the Faeries, can enlighten us on their appeal.

Now the Duhks from Winnipeg - these cats may very well be my new favorite band. Their version of the folk standard "A Mighty Storm" was fierce and "Out of the Rain" was phenomenal. Dusty joined me and Diana near the stage area for a dance to one of their more uproarious fiddle songs. Diana got so excited by all the dancing, she pooped her pants. At least she waited until the song was over. I guess if you don't know how to clap yet, you have to express yourself some other way.

I'm a little perplexed at her reaction to Chris Isaak, however:

The hot-pink-suited Mr. Isaak was brilliant, funny, charming, and laid-back. His set had just the right mix of hits and favorites to make the ladies swoon and get the rest of the audience dancing. He got the entire hill on its feet when he decided to run through the crowds during "Love Me Tender". He then climbed the scaffolding to the left of the screen you can see in the photo above and waved to all of us. Oh, Chris, you so crazy!

I can hardly believe I never saw his live show before Sunday. What the hell was I spending my concert money on when I lived in San Francisco?! I'm so glad he changed into his famous mirrorball suit halfway through the set; Laurel had talked it up so much I was going to be bummed if I didn't see it. Only Chris Isaak could wear a mirrorball suit. Sigh.

Folkfest was as fun as it was last year, but I can't wait until next year, when Diana will be old enough to actually dance on her own two feet. Now that will be -- to steal a phrase from my good friend Drew -- awesome like a spossum.

"Dancin'" by Chris Isaak

Thursday, August 7, 2008

No More Words

"I'm still listening and still unsure"

Dear Lady at Winners:

Four things I didn't get to say to you this afternoon:

1) I don't know why, but I totally dug your Skechers! They look comfortable, and yet the style is sortof retro. I think I owned a pair just like this in seventh grade, but these are way cuter.

2) Your hair is super adorable! If you were Katie Holmes, you'd look like this:

3) Thank you for saying my daughter was beautiful when you peered into her stroller the way so many other women do whenever I am out somewhere with my Button. It seems to be a "thing" among women pushing strollers in public places, especially stores: you lock eyes with another woman pushing a stroller and smile, peer into her stroller and declare the wee creature sitting there to be "beautiful" or "adorable" or "big" or "little" or, if the wee one actually LOOKS a bit creature-ish, "precious". The woman then reciprocates.

4) I'm sorry I broke the rules above and didn't reciprocate but--how do I put this delicately?--you had a Yorkshire terrier in your stroller. YOU WERE PUSHING YOUR DOG IN A STROLLER!!!!!11!!!!! And you were blithely talking to me about my baby in her stroller! What was I supposed to say back to you? "I'll bet mine doesn't shed as much on the sofa"?! Now you know why I suddenly feigned interest in that heinous poop brown Tommy Hilfiger logo tote bag. I should've complimented you on your shoes or hair, but the DOG IN YOUR STROLLER distracted me.

Dear Other Ladies Who Push Dogs in Strollers:

Let's not compare "babies". I don't . . . I can't . . . Just . . . NO, okay? NO.

"No More Words" by Berlin

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

How Do You Sleep?

"Ah, how do you sleep? / Ah, how do you sleep at night?"

You know, I really need to just unpucker and relax. The trip to Calgary was a dream. Diana slept through the 2 1/2 hour drive down to Calgary and almost all the way home the next day. She got hungry right outside of Airdrie, so I had to take her out of her car seat and feed her, all illegal-like, while the car was in motion. Thanks for reminding me to bring my boobs, Betsy!

We ended up getting a room for our overnight stay at the Calgary Days Inn with two double beds, so we set up Diana's co-sleeper in one of them. It not only provided a familiar place for her to sleep, it also assured me that she wasn't actually touching the hotel sheets. Because, as you know, suddenly hotel sheets = ICK. It took her a little while to get to sleep that night, but once she was asleep, she was down for 5 1/2 hours. Let me type that again - FIVE HOURS AND THIRTY MINUTES. Sorry for the shouting, but you can imagine why uninterrupted sleep would be so exciting to a new parent. It was also nice being able to snuggle with my hunny again, after six weeks of sleeping with Diana's co-sleeper between us.

Diana was actually a champion sleeper for the trip. She slept through the entire proceedings at the Consulate, including the part where her parents and the rest of the American citizens were separated from the Great Unwashed. The security guard actually physically put us in separate lines, handing us tickets that designated "A" if you're American and "V" for "Visitor" if you're a filthy foreigner. I guess only Lady Liberty embraces the tired, poor, and wretched masses yearning to breathe free. Uncle Sam would really rather they stood in that line over there.

After the trip, she continued her champion sleeping. For two days afterward, she slept six hours each night. SIX CONTINUOUS HOURS OF SLEEP. She's back to her usual two- to three-hour stretches of sleep now, but I will treasure those two glorious days, three if we count the hotel stay. How I'd missed Rapid Eye Movement. How I'd longed for my brain to function like that again. It was still only chugging along at half-speed, but half is greater than zero. [Right? Someone check my math.] For the first time in weeks, I was able to speak in complete sentences. I knew where my glass of water was at all times and not once did I leave tea steeping from 10 AM until 3 PM.

I will remember those continuous hours of sleep when we let her sleep on her own at night for the first time. I will probably need to find lyrics that go something like "Tore my own ears off" or "Sweet Zombie Jesus, please stop the crying".


"How Do You Sleep?" by John Lennon