Saturday, October 30, 2010

(Belated) Friday Photoblog: Lady in the Water

Because I occasionally moonlight as the Lady of Shalott. 


Monday, October 25, 2010

Summer is the new winter.

First off, I need to thank all of you for taking the time to comment in the Great Comment Debate 2010. Your insight and opinions were incredibly helpful, and I really appreciated how much time you all put into your comments. My neurosis has quieted, at least for a little while. 


This post is inspired by a post/comment I left on a post by Lacie over at Tickets for Two. If you aren't reading Lacie yet (and I'm pretty sure you all are because she's fabulous), you need to. She's a great writer, a great blogger (yes, those two are different), and a flight attendant. Which means she and her husband Isaac have one of those jetsetting lifestyles we all SAY we're going to have, but never do. So we watch Lacie's blog hungrily. And jealously. So check her out. And don't tell her about my slavish, zombie-like adoration, kay?

Fall is the new summer. Winter is my new fall. Summer is the new winter. And I really haven't thought out the whole "spring" thing. Spring is me impatiently sitting on my bathing suit. Spring is like the doctor's office waiting room where all the magazines are AutoWorld or Parenting. I'll read Parenting. Nothing against Parenting. But I am NOT their targeted demographic.

Let's discuss.

I am a Pennsylvania native.


I am an extremely rural Pennsylvania native. When people ask me where I'm from, I say Pennsyltucky. It's a step up from Pennsylbama, people. And I've been to Pennsylbama.
The backyard

I'm a short jaunt from Amish country. My neighbors are farmers. I grew up playing in the woods barefoot. Which explains why when you put me into a society party, I turn into an awkward ball of elbows. This explains why girls and I usually don't get along. I don't speak the normal language. Unless those girls are equally quirky, but not in the "I'm a cool hipster" way, but more in the "I'm a starving actress" or the "I'm a taxidermist" way.

For Halloween one year, I was a horse. Yes. My mother tried to talk me out of it. But she ended up sewing the greatest brown felt gigantic horse costume the world has ever known. I had eyes. A yarn mane. A giant pink satin tongue (leftover fabric from my princess costume) lolling out of my gigantic mouth. Looking back, I'm pretty sure she based the head for the costume off of the horse-in-bed scene in The Godfather.

Kids were infinitely less cruel in Pennsyltucky, but putting a horse costume on parade in front of them was like offering a T-bone to a starving dog.

But one of the best things about living in Pennsyltucky was the seasons. Summer was splashing around in the creek in my backyard, carving things out of the clay on the banks. Summer was my neighbor's pool and grilling fresh-caught fish.

Autumn was Halloween, jean jackets, school shopping (the only time I went clothes shopping all year, so it was like NewChristmas), pot roast, leaf art projects. It meant the mountains changed colors. It meant that Thanksgiving was coming, and with Thanksgiving, my mom's famous to-die-for better-than-pure-cocaine-and-vodka-too apple pie. I'm pretty sure the gods dine on nothing but my mom's apple pies. They just lounge around, send out a massive flood or two, and cram their divine mouths full of  warm cinnamon crusted apple goodness.

Winter? Christmas. Snow days. Snowmen. Gigantic snow forts. Snow milkshakes. Beef stew. I'll say it again: SNOW DAYS.

Spring? Again, spring just conjures up a whole lotta anticipation. Waiting for warmer temperatures. Waiting for school to be done. Waiting for the leaves to come back.

But I couldn't spend the rest of my life in the Pennsyltucky Bermuda Triangle (it sucks you in and you can never leave), so I migrated on down to coastal Virginia. Here? We have seasons, alright. Summer is when everyday is 100 degrees and I can't go outside for fear of dying of heat exhaustion. Do you know how I spent July? Inside, doing puzzles. I WAS A SHUT-IN. Hence, summer=winter.

Beaching in October

Autumns here are perfect. The leaves still change, but I can finally go outside without my face melting off, Indiana Jones style. It's a week from Halloween and I'm still wearing shorts, t-shirts, and flip-flops. I still go to the beach, except now I'm actually allowed to bring the dogs and let 'em swim because I'm the only crazy out on the beach in October. I'm doing all the things I wanted to do in summer: camp, hike, play tennis, WALK MY DOG WITHOUT WANTING TO COLLAPSE FROM HEAT EXHAUSTION.

So I want to know--what are seasons like in your neck of the woods? Are you judging me because I can't handle the VA heat (you're allowed, I'm a self-admitted heat pansy)? Are you one of the Southern Cali kids who doesn't HAVE seasons? Do you want to buy a slice of my mom's apple pie? 20.99, does not include shipping and handling, sorry, no C.O.D.s.

Kidding. I'd give it to you guys for free.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

(Belated) Friday Photoblog: Condemned

Part II of III of the Halloween Photoblogs. Part I is found here


Thursday, October 21, 2010

Is There a Blogger Hotline?

Can we talk about comments?

I adore comments. Every blogger does. Because 90.3% of us are narcissistic, needy, and neurotic about our writing. At least slightly. We kinda like the idea that we are not throwing our voices/opinions/recipes/photos/confessions of murder into a black hole.

Why is she asking for help when
she clearly
has it all together?
But what do you do about comments? What is the blogging protocol? I need an Emily Post of the blogging world, y'all. Because I used to respond to every. single. one. Then I got worried that no one was really reading my responses, so why make them? Or should you  do it on the commenter's blog? Do you not respond at all unless it's a direct question? WHAT IS THE CONSENSUS?

I love those Wordpress widgets that let you reply to each comment individually. Genius. But newsflash: I don't have Wordpress. Shock, I know. Is there a Blogger widget that does this?

ALSO. Can we talk about anonymous commenters? I currently have anonymous users disabled because anonymous trolls are the equivalent of Beatrix the Bully kicking my shins on the playground and taking my lunch money.

-----No one in elementary school actually took my lunch money. They were probably afraid that I'd bite them and give them rabies. Which, in retrospect, was a completely valid fear. -----

So. What do YOU do about anonymous commenters? Am I really excluding that much of my readership? Do you make everything submitted for approval? If I do that, then I'll still actually have to read the anonymous comments. That kinda gives me hives. 

Consensus, dear reader-bloggers?  Imagine me flickering before you in a Star Wars-esque hologram.  White dress and everything. You must see this droid safely to Alderaan success. Help me, Obi-Wan Blogobi, you're my only hope.