Two Things

1. Williams-Sonoma is selling this jar of "Handmade Peppermint Snow" for $10.00, yes, ten bones. I know, it's William-Sonoma, but I'm sorry, I CANNOT HANDLE that they are selling CRUSHED candy canes for a ten whole dollars. MY TODDLER can "HAND-MAKE" "Peppermint Snow" in 30 seconds flat. This has to be THE MOST RIDICULOUS FOOD PRODUCT EVER. And yes, I am aware of the marvelous variety of products over at Steve, Don't Eat It*.



2. I like that out of all the photographs this debt relief company could have chosen, they picked this guy.

Because nothing says "we're a reliable company" like picking Rob Zombie's little brother, Ben Zombie. Awesome sauce.




*The Sneeze featuring Steve, Don't Eat It, is disgusting and incredibly cool, but not for the faint of belly. You've been warned.

The Alternator

The car is having trouble again. A new battery didn't fix it, which means we're looking at a new alternator. It would be better to do more than just look at an alternator, since looking won't make the car run any faster than it is now (which is not at all.)

The funny thing is that the car having trouble is not my twenty year old car, it's the ten year old car. No, my car, with its hole in the floor, no airbags, cracked dash, cassette deck, oxidized paint, rusting side, ripped upholstery, power nothing, and volume control issues, runs like a dream. E.G. informed me the other day that my car was "old" and "falling apart." I tried to turn it into a teaching/gratitude moment. "You know, we decided to get you a new house instead of a new car, don't you like our new place?"
"I liked the condo, you could run around the back of it."
"But you have your own room, and a yard, and a huge playroom!"
"I liked our old house. And you could have gotten a new car."
"Our car may not be nice and shiny, but it gets us where we need to go, doesn't it? Lots of people don't have cars, and we do!"
"I guess," he mumbled, unconvinced.

E.G., dude, if you're reading this in 15 years, I was faking it. I want a new car real bad.

Instead, I'm going to try to bribe a man.

You see, I make pies from scratch. I make a great deal of things, but I really like to make pies. I'm going to take this pie-making prowess and bribe petit elefant's husband into putting in a new alternator. Her husband, for those of you who keep up on these things, was separated from my husband at birth. They are the same person, in humor, temperament, inability to care about things they deem inconsequential, the level of fear they are able to induce in strangers for no reason, and acting in complete disregard for social niceties, only one can fix things and the other does not.

You can get in on this action, too--if you are handy, can fix things around the house, can do minor installations, or tile work, electrical wiring, know how to change oil, whatever, really--I will make you pies. I could even make you cakes. You ask nicely enough and I'll throw in a pot roast. I can't think of a reason this wouldn't work: you know how to install a light fixture, and clearly, you are also in need of pie. I forsee a new world order, based entirely around the free flow of baked goods as currency.

(That's got to work, right? Because mama doesn't want a new alternator for Christmas.)

Cheetah

El Guille came out of his room after bedtime tonight and told Other Half, "I think I want to run fast like a cheetah."


"OK, but you really need to go back to bed fast, like a cheetah."


"Would it be OK if I looked like a cheetah? Would that help?"


"What do you mean?"

Yes, he'd already used a black marker to color in spots.

Reds Are The Best

photo by food2

I received a phone call while out with some friends.

"I bought something for the house," Other Half said very seriously.

"Oh. OK," I try to keep calm.

"And about half of it is already gone," He responds, more seriously.

"OK..."

"It's an 89 cent package of Skittles. We're about 44 cents out at this point."

I start laughing.

Other Half has a system on Saturdays. The boys go do a specific task, pick up their rooms or put away all the toys in the play room, and they each get 2 Skittles. They rush up and down to finish chores since every completed one earns them 1-3 candies. The children think this is the most awesome thing ever on the face of the planet. I have to admit: it works, it works like only a sugar-coated sugar drop could.

However, it smacks of bribery to me, sweet, Red 40 bribery. I think I may be morally opposed to using candy to get children to do their chores. Children should do their chores the normal way--with threats and punishments hanging over their heads--and they should be grateful to have parents who recognize the value of hard work for the sake of hard work. But Skittles also work, really well.

It is really bribery if the candy is earned?

Or am I calling a spade a club and we're digging ourselves a hole that tastes like the rainbow? Guide me, Internets!

photo courtesy

El Guille asked if I would play Ninjas with him. "How do you play?" I asked him.
He explained how one person hides and the other person tries to find the first person. Then he drew out his hands, made them into guns, and emitted gunshot noises from his mouth.
"Ninjas don't use guns," I immediately injected, because I am a know-it-all and a fun squash-er. (So I like my children to play their imaginary games with a dedication to historical accuracy--SUE ME.)

Apparently, the revelation that ninjas didn't use guns is a disappointment. Just wait for your further lessons on 17th Century Japan, child, there will be a quiz on the rise of the Tokugawa Shogunate.

I agreed to play Ninjas after we looked up throwing stars on Google. (Why I agreed to play after the tutorial on throwing stars and not before the tutorial on throwing stars is a lingering mystery.) It's my turn to hide first. I pick a spot around the corner in our very dark formal living room. E.G. creeps up the stairs and creeps back down. I jumped out, all silent in deadly ninja pose, as he turned to go into the living room. He jumped back and started crying. "TOO SCARY! You can't be that scary, mom, you're not supposed to be that scary!" He sobbed and sobbed.

Kid. Seriously. You wanted to play Ninjas and now I am going to play the crap out of historically-accurate ninjas. My new go-to outfit will include veiling my face and I shall work it with super stealth. I will take up Kanji for daily communication. I may go as far as to consider a resume supplementation indicating an interest in part time ninja-ry.

After the upsetting events of the previous evening, and some deep ninja soul-searching, followed by a long ninja bath, we had friends over for homemade churros y chocolate. Because Ninjas eat mostly churros, right?

(And before you ask, here's the recipe: Make some churros. And some chocolate. Eat.)

Spinning

Based on a hastily conducted and incomplete survey, all creative people get spinning days. There are lots of days: bad days, good days, miserable days, I-just-can't-believe-it days, but the strangest of all are the spinning days.

The thoughts come so fast, spilling into one another, that you feel light-headed. Even though you try to get a grip on your brain, it doesn't work, and you keep spinning, spinning, spinning. You try to narrow your eyes to focus, but it doesn't work like that; your vision doesn't need to focus, it's your brain.

You can't pick a task, you certainly can't finish a task, as soon as you decide on one thing your thoughts move to the next, and the next, and the next. Holding a conversation becomes nearly impossible. A person is talking and you can't respond to the last thing they said because you've already moved 9 steps ahead. You say words and then stop in the middle of sentence, trying to retrace where you were when the thought went skipping beyond your grasp only to have it replaced by 18 more thoughts. The deluge is too much.

Do spinning days happen before creatively productive periods, or after? Are they the precursor to clever ideas, or the fall out from highly concentrated brainstorming? Can a pattern be found? A friend wrote once that there are idea people and execution people. Idea people divine brilliant ideas but won't see them to fruition. Execution people don't often have ideas, but they know a good one and can take an idea to unprecedented places. Do you know which you are? I love execution people because my rush of ideas can't go anywhere without their measured steps. Execution people don't have spinning days, do they? I doubt it, their mental organization is too regimented. Meanwhile, here I sit, moving faster than light.

Sometimes I can control the spinning with noise-canceling headphones and loud music aimed through my ears to the firing synapses; neural counter-pressure. Other days focus eludes me no matter what I do. I hopelessly blink while the whirl speeds images and ideas through my consciousness. Whiz-bang-flash.

Do you spin?

Are you?

Have you?

A Wakeup Call From My Blog

"Hey Blog, how's it going?"
"Oh, HAI Carina, isn't that what you're calling yourself these days?"
"Carina is my name, it's what most people call me."
"But your handle has been Azúcar for so long, people don't know you by Carina and now it looks affected that you're using your real name."
"First of all, props for the proper use of 'affected' and second, I'm not going to have a conversation with you, Blog, about whether I can or can't use my real name. Drop it."
"Fine, whatever, I'm just saying."
"I'm busy, Blog, with important things, more important things with you. Why did you call?"
"I heard a rumor about you."
"I'm sure you hear a lot of rumors about me."
"I heard that some of your friends, like Vanessa, said they "want to be like Carina when they grow up."
"That was nice of them to say, wow, I'm blushing."
"Right, you don't blush. Anyway, they don't know that you're a nerd."
"I'm not a nerd!"
"Yes, you are, you are a total nerd."
"How can I be a nerd? I own and wear these shoes!"

"You are a nerdy-nerdy-nerd, no matter what shoes, what pants, what shirt you're wearing."
"I have just figured out how to dress myself, that's all."
"Yeah, after years of trial, error, and some really questionable fashion choices that involved the color peach."
"How was I supposed to know I can't wear peach, or really any pastel colors?"
"Well you know now, don't you? I mean really, peach moiré taffeta, could you have picked a worse color for your prom dress?"
"I just thought the watermark on the taffeta was so elegant."
"Snort. And how funny was it that not only did you pick peach moiré taffeta, but that your mom made your dress, and when you got to prom you were in a group with another girl whose mother made her dress and you had both used the same pattern--you were wearing the same homemade dress!"
"Yeah, and hers was far more elegant, being made of black and white, and not peach taffeta."
"Nah-heard."
"I've grown out of that, I am not a nerd."
"Let me ask you a question, did you buy a book this week?"
"Yes."
"And is this book The Gathering Storm, the twelfth book in the Wheel of Time fantasy series by Robert Jordan? A series that you've been reading since 1993?"

"Yes. They're really good though, promise."
"Oh, I'm sure they are. Aren't you planning on taking a day off this week just so you can read your nerd-gastic fantasy novel?"
"I have to take time off, you know that, or I'll lose my paid days at the end of the year."
"And didn't you freak out when Robert Jordan died and were unable to even talk about how this series that you'd spent fifteen years reading might not ever end? And you resented Harry Potter fans for getting predictable and compact release cycles?"
"It was a difficult time."
"NERD."
"But I'm all pop culture aware and listen to cool music!"
"Poser. You're a poser nerd. That's even worse than a regular nerd. You watch all these hip TV shows, like Gossip Girl and Vampire Diaries, but deep down, you are still crying over the end of Battlestar Galactica. Sometimes you even watch shows, like Castle, or Smallville just because they have the same actors as Battlestar, or Firefly, or whatever nerd show you love."
"Remember how Helo and Colonel Tigh are on Dollhouse right now? That's so awesome."
"NERDY nerd! Only nerds call actors by their old character names on their new show. Mostly because you can't let go of the past. Battlestar, sheesh, I can't believe you watched that show."
"Hey, you're hurting my feelings!"
"Whatever, this is just a pattern. Do you recall your first crush? While all your friends were pledging their hearts to Kirk Cameron, Johnny Depp, or Corey Haim, your heart belonged to Wil Wheaton."
"Sigh. I know. I had such a crush on him. He was in this TV movie starring as the young Harry Houdini? And then he was on Star Trek: The Next Generation, which I never missed, as Ensign Wesley Crusher.I thought I would die from his cute. Seriously, my heart hurt every time I saw him."
"And then years later you ran into Wil Wheaton's blog and found out that he was a Dungeons and Dragons playing computer nerd. Is it any wonder that you married a computer nerd who was a former D&D player?"
"I guess it's not exactly a shock, is it?"
"It's about as shocking as snow in January. It's all just a pattern of nerdery that you've gotten really good at hiding with MAC makeup, learned ease in social situations, and remembering that no one wants to hear about cold war theories."
"You know, there's nothing wrong with being a nerd! We've changed the world! Steve Jobs is a nerd! Everything you see, from your computer, your phone, the Internet, LoLcats, it all came from nerds!"
"Just what a nerd would say."
"I glad I'm a nerd! I'm glad I love science, genetics, history, and know about the Crystalline Entity. I listen to music obsessively and read sci-fi/fantasy. I know what an RPG is and wish I could be more like Starbuck! I watch Joss Wheadon shows and sing Dr. Horrible songs all the time. All your base are belong to us! There's nothing wrong with that!"
"Just don't tell anyone, OK? We have a reputation to maintain. We're The Jet Set."
"My lips are sealed."